While Chris and Janine could easily entertain the idea that the ESC was involved in foul play, Laura was less influenced by gossip. It scared her to know that she might have proof of foul play in her hand. If she looked at the micro file, there would be no turning back, no pretending the contents didn’t exist. She could be jeopardising her lottery chances. But her curiosity was winning out.
Laura tossed and turned in the bed, wrapping the covers tightly around her, willing herself to sleep. She had been so tired all week, but rest wouldn’t come.
She gave up and got up. What she was about to do terrified her. She walked over to the window and increased the tint just a little.
Her apartment in Haymarket, Sydney, was ten floors up and gave her a clear view of the street below. She reached for a pair of magnification glasses that had belonged to her dad; she’d taken them after he had died, along with a few other things. Fionnuala had no use for them, and Laura had never had a reason to use the glasses before now.
She put them on and looked down at the exposed areas to the front of the building. She checked the block across the street; the rooms were dark, even where the glass tint was at its lowest and there was nothing to see. She removed the glasses and decreased the tint on her window again.
Slipping into her robe, she tied the straps securely around her waist, as if the action would somehow offer her added protection. She retrieved the micro file from its hiding place and studied it more closely, turning it over with her index finger. How could something so small be so dangerous? She took her time getting to the living room.
The Light Box’s virtual display hummed into life as Laura stepped into the room. It waited for a first command. She prised open the cover to the hardware control unit below the virtual display and inserted the file’s tendril into one of six openings. The opening swallowed it and the two temporarily merged into one. The display changed and a new screen filled the wall, illuminating her apartment in the process. On the left-hand side, a yellow icon flashed.
‘Open icon,’ said Laura, and the screen listed the contents of the micro file. There were ten documents, each one identifiable by a security code, followed by the date; the files were arranged in chronological order. The information spanned several years. There was no indication of the contents of each document.
‘Open first document’.
Her heart thumped in her throat as she spoke the words. She figured she would start at the beginning and work her way through to the last.
The display changed and a report filled the screen. Laura checked over her shoulder—a new habit—but except for her furniture, she was alone in the room. She perched on the edge of her dining chair. It’s lacquered edge bit into her skin as a reminder she shouldn’t get too comfortable. Her sweaty palms and shaking body told her this was just the beginning.
The on-screen report had been issued from Daphne Gilchrist to Charles Deighton. At the time of correspondence, Gilchrist was Head of Operations at the ESC—a position that Suzanne Brett now filled—as well as being in charge of Level Five. The document centred around the indigenous race on Exilon 5, something Laura had already read about in one of Bill Taggart’s reports. The report had been written twenty-five years earlier, five years after the explosions that had transformed Exilon 5 into its current state.
The reports she had already seen contained information about the same events of thirty years ago, which gave her a basic understanding of what was being discussed. She ventured further into the new report, and noted the first mention of the experiments on the indigenous race. It wasn’t clear when humans had carried out the experiments, but she assumed it had been at the time of their discovery.
The graphic details forced her to stop reading.
‘What the hell is this?’
She sat back in her chair and took a few deep breaths, trying to forget what she’d just seen. It made her sick to her stomach. She looked at it again. There was no separating the ordinary detail from the experimentations. They were interlinked. She had to read on. Something stronger than her disgust compelled her to continue. As she did, the details of how humans had interfered in the lives of the Indigenes were laid bare for her to see; there appeared to be no limit to the amount of terror, destruction—and change—the World Government was willing to inflict upon them.
Laura closed the first document, stood up and paced across her living-room floor. She couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Was any of it even real? It had to be; why would the woman from booth sixteen risk her job, and her life, to give her false data? She sat back down and forced her voice to issue the next command.
The second and third documents opened and she read the content. The experiments on the Indigenes weren’t mentioned again until the fourth document: a recent one, just three months old. It tied in with the ongoing investigations on Exilon 5, mentioning the investigator Bill Taggart, who had headed up the mission. The story was starting to make sense.
But she wasn’t prepared for what she was about to learn. Around three-quarters of the way into the fourth report, it was all there: the reason behind the World Government’s obsession with the Indigenes was only given in outline form, but it was enough to explain their motives and expose their lies and secrets. Then there was ESC’s involvement. Neither organisation had conducted experiments so they could find out more about the aliens; they already knew everything about them.
When Laura read the fifth document, she gasped. She covered her hand to muffle the only words to pass her lips.
‘Oh, my God.’
Her eyes shot over to her bedside table where she had left the unopened letters addressed to the investigator.
33
‘Eleanor, love, it’s so great to see you.’ Jenny Waterson hugged her daughter as they sat down to dinner in a local Brisbane restaurant. ‘How long has it been since we last caught up in person? I can’t remember.’
‘About two months now, I’d say.’
Jenny shook her head in disbelief. ‘You’re kidding? I can’t believe how quickly time is passing these days.’
‘That job of yours has you working all sorts of hours. You’re looking tired, Mum. When was the last time you took a proper break?’
Jenny browsed the digital menu that was set into the table. ‘I don’t know. When was Christmas?’
‘Be serious,’ said Eleanor.
‘Okay, about two months I guess. The last time we caught up, probably.’ She sighed.
‘How long are they giving you this time?’
Jenny hesitated before replying. ‘A couple of days.’ She braced herself for what was coming.
‘See? That’s what I’m talking about. Last time you were given a whole week off.’
‘Look, love, I’m here to spend time with you, not talk about my work.’ Jenny selected chicken teriyaki with Singapore noodles and a glass of red wine.
‘I can’t help it, Mum. The way they treat you. It’s appalling. Maybe you should think about changing careers, working for people who actually show you more respect.’
Jenny stared at her. ‘And do what? I know I’m only seventy-five, but I make good money there. The only thing I know how to do is work as a pilot. If I leave, I lose all privileges and start at the bottom.’
‘The bottom’s not so bad.’ Eleanor’s eyes were downcast as she mulled over her dinner choice.
‘But you’re only a third of the way through your life cycle. Just a baby. Plenty of years ahead of you yet. I’m no spring chicken.’
‘And you’re not down and out!’ said Eleanor, looking up. ‘Give yourself some credit. Look, I can’t just sit here and pretend I like the way they treat you. You’re nothing more than a commodity to them. It annoys me to even think about it, especially since you’re the best pilot on their books.’
‘You know how it works, love. I don’t have to spell it out for you. It’s my choice to stay and take their abuse.’
‘Mum, you frustrate me at times!’ Eleanor threw her hands up. ??
?You know, it’s one of the reasons I moved away from law to study politics. I hate the way this world is being governed.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m still a qualified lawyer, so if you need someone to go in and argue your case, you only have to ask.’
‘Sure will, love.’ Jenny forced a smile and rubbed the nape of her neck. She hated arguing, especially with her daughter. ‘I couldn’t ask for a better lawyer. Just leave everything to me, love. I know what I’m doing. I’ll be fine.’
‘I wish there was something I could do for you.’
Jenny placed her elbows on the table and made a bridge with her hands. ‘There is. Keep me company while I enjoy my first break in months.’
Eleanor conceded. ‘I guess I can do that.’
Jenny’s communication device shrilled, loud and persistent. It was her employers, Calypso Couriers, who demanded she keep the device on her person and active at all times.
Eleanor’s eyes widened as Jenny touched the device. ‘Don’t you dare answer that!’
‘I have to. It might be important.’ Jenny connected her earpiece without looking at her. ‘Yes,’ she said flatly, ignoring her daughter who mumbled something under her breath.
‘All personnel are required to report for duty tomorrow morning. Deighton’s orders,’ said the voice at the other end.
‘But you don’t understand. I’m not due back until Monday!’
The line clicked dead. Jenny pulled the device out of her ear. If she didn’t show up the next day, she would be fired.
‘I told you not to answer it,’ said Eleanor.
‘Let’s just enjoy tonight and forget about everything that’s wrong with this world.’
34
That week in work, Laura struggled to keep a handle on her feelings, given the despicable things she knew about her employers. She had tried to talk to the woman from booth sixteen, but she’d been blanked at every turn. Chris and Janine’s continuing distance left her wondering who she could talk to. What was the point in giving her something she couldn’t do anything with? What was she supposed to do now? Just pretend that everything was normal?
Sixteen was using Laura to channel private issues with the World Government. How had she come to be her target? Had it been Laura’s eagerness to please that had attracted the woman’s attention? Her move to Level Five had been about improving her chances of transferring to Exilon 5, not to get involved in some conspiracy. But her needs seemed petty in light of the information on the micro file; information that was so dangerous for her to know, it had made her suspicious and hard.
Laura felt angry at having lost something she valued: her right to choose. Sixteen’s actions had pushed her down a path of lies and experiments and truths about the real origin of the Indigenes. She had tried to forget the words and images now ingrained in her mind. She had tried to move on from it.
Then there was Isla Taggart. But her letters were in code; Laura couldn’t decipher them. It was the image, the photo, of Isla talking to one of the Indigenes that she remembered. In one shot she was smiling at something that had been said. The picture had words stamped across it.
Destroy the evidence.
There was only one thing left to do: obey it. Destroy the evidence. She would pass the letters on to Bill Taggart, then burn the micro file. But could she bring herself to destroy the file now that she knew what was on it? Sure, it would be risky holding on to the coin-shaped device, and she wasn’t quite sure why she still had it. Maybe she hoped there was a different explanation for what she’d seen, or that the entire thing had been meant as a joke to break in the new girl.
No, this was something else. Something she shouldn’t ignore.
35
Galen Thompson watched Stuart, his overseer, pace back and forth along the length of the observation deck. The military muscle had arrived, and the operation was in full swing. Their primary role was to apprehend the stowaway on-board the ship. But they were still waiting for the ship to arrive, and the military were using their free time to inspect Stuart’s operational hub. He didn’t look too happy about it.
Galen had put his search for the ESC memos on hold. He wasn’t taking any chances of getting caught, not with Charles Deighton’s men breathing down his neck.
Stuart’s hand twitched as he shadowed the military around the room. Galen thought his reaction to their presence was over the top. Stuart fixed his communication device in his ear and stormed out of the room. Galen followed. His overseer moved into the corridor. Galen hung back, and tucked himself into a corner.
‘Jenny, pick up. It’s Stuart,’ he whispered. ‘Shit. I’ve made a big mistake. Remember that clean sheet I keep bragging about? Well, it’s like that because I’ve changed a few dates and numbers.’ Stuart began to pace back and forth. ‘Shit, Jenny. If you’re there, please pick up. I know you’re in the skies now but I really need to speak to you. I don’t know what to do. The military are here and they’re combing through everything. They’re going to find something, I just know it. I’m going to get canned for this. What should I do? Should I just come clean?’ Stuart waited a few seconds for a reply and disconnected the call. ‘Shit.’
Before Galen could move, Stuart rounded the corner and smacked into him. ‘Galen! What the hell are you doing out here?’
‘I was coming to get you. The passenger ship is almost in range. You need to get in there.’
Stuart stared at him. ‘What did you hear?’
‘Nothing. I swear. I just arrived.’
‘Look, it was nothing. A lack of judgement.’ Stuart stared at him. ‘I’ve seen you checking the monitors when you don’t need to. You’re looking for something, aren’t you? Were you trying to expose me?’
Galen said nothing.
‘We’ve been working together for a while now. I’d like to think we’re friends. Are we friends, Galen? I was thinking of promoting you early. I hope you won’t do anything to ruin that.’
Galen shook his head.
‘Glad to hear it.’ He pushed Galen ahead of him. ‘Come on, the sooner these assholes are gone, the better for both of us.’
As the ship edged closer to the docking station, the need for the military to distract themselves lessened and Stuart seemed to relax. Once the ship had passed the outlying planets in the solar system, the military personnel adopted hive-like characteristics and started to move and act as one. With the ship’s arrival just an hour away, the communications operative ordered the spacecrafts to rendezvous with the ship at predetermined coordinates. The pilot came into range and connected with the docking station through the satellites that orbited the planets.
The military began to hover behind controllers who were checking for debris in the ship’s path. The controllers ignored their distracting questions. The two heads of the military group—one a sergeant with cropped hair and a stiff pose, and the other a corporal—stood over the communications operative while he tried to speak to the pilot. Stuart shadowed their every move.
‘Ask him if there were any disturbances on board,’ the sergeant said to the operative.
The operative checked and the pilot answered in his earpiece. ‘No, there hasn’t been anything reported, sir.’
‘Doesn’t mean anything,’ the corporal said to the sergeant. ‘We should still consider the stowaway to be a serious threat.’
‘I agree,’ the sergeant said, and turned around. He jumped at Stuart’s proximity. Galen noticed him retreat a little. ‘We’re going to need everybody’s full cooperation until the person we’re after has been safely apprehended.’
‘Of course,’ said Stuart, and took a step forward into the sergeant’s space. ‘If there’s anything at all we can do, please don’t hesitate—’
‘I want to speak to the pilot,’ said the sergeant. He grabbed the operative’s shoulder and thrust out his other hand. The operative handed over the earpiece and the sergeant shoved it into his ear. ‘Pilot of the passenger ship. You have a dangerous stowaway on board. Do not engage with your pa
ssengers under any circumstances. Proceed as normal. The military will be handling this situation on the ground.’ The sergeant nodded when the pilot responded, then pulled the earpiece out and tossed it on the table, out of the operative’s reach.
‘Who have you got in the skies at the moment?’ he barked at Stuart.
‘Cream of the crop, sir,’ said Stuart through gritted teeth. ‘All experienced pilots have been recalled from leave or other duties and are at your disposal. Will you be sending your own people up with the pilots?’
‘Negative. We don’t want military presence to scare off this individual. We will apprehend the subject when it arrives. Who will be collecting the fake Bob Harris from the passenger ship?’
‘The best pilot we have. Captain Jennifer Waterson.’
‘Does she know why we’re here?’
‘Yes, but only that the person you are looking for will be boarding her craft. Nothing beyond that.’
‘Keep it that way. We don’t want the pilot to panic unnecessarily. When we have our man, we’ll be out of here.’
The ship arrived five minutes ahead of schedule and hovered in the outer perimeter surrounding Earth. Jenny waited alongside seven other crafts at the designated coordinates while it was steered into position. The crafts hovered in the black expanse as the doors of Cargo Hold 1 in the ship’s underside winched open like the jaws of a beast. One by one, they entered through the dock and landed on the port and aft sides. Jenny was scheduled to be the second-last to enter and the first to leave with her passenger quota. According to the manifest, her passengers would include maintenance workers, architects and road designers. Her destination was the HJA docking station. The rest, including several government employees, were scheduled to arrive at Sydney.
Inside the hold, Jenny tweaked the controls until she felt the landing skids touch the floor. The craft bounced off-course, forcing her to correct the movement with a flick of her hand. She tried to hit the landing spot again, but the lack of gravity made it more difficult. She tweaked the controls until it settled on the floor and disengaged the thrusters to keep it there. While she waited for the confine to decompress, she kept the force field in place. Once the hold was made safe, the eight craft-doors slid open to reveal dark, cavernous interiors.