Freedom Incorporated Page 2

  “But not a particularly clever one I see.” Adam rubbed an itch from his cheek onto his shoulder. “Not if you haven’t yet figured out the game.”

  “What game?”

  Adam searched Dan’s face for the answer to an unasked question then said, “To answer that would take me longer than you’d care to listen.” He grunted. “Tell me, do you have trouble sleeping?”

  On a whim, Dan played along. “And if I did?”

  He laughed. At least that’s what Dan imagined the sound was supposed to be. It sounded more like a crumbling wall. “Yeah, I bet you do. You have the brainwashed look. That naïve expression I’ve seen a million times in a million people.” His shoulders slumped, something invisible snapping within. “But I don’t have the energy left to save you. So do what you will, and find your salvation somewhere else.”

  Dan wondered whether Adam Oaten was entirely sane. Salvation?Dan didn’t consider himself in need of salvation, and even if he did, Adam would be the last person he’d seek for assistance. Months had passed since Dan had needed anything from anyone, and he was fine with that just the way it was. His patience snapped. “Whatever,” it came out harsher than he’d intended and he added more softly, “come with me.”

  The stinging pain registered first. Dan slapped a hand to his neck the way he might swat an insect and was surprised to see it splotched with red when he pulled it away. Blood?In the shocked moments that followed he couldn’t comprehend how that was possible. He looked to Adam, he hadn’t moved. Then how…?He left the question hanging as instincts took over and he drew his Colt, his eyes urgently groping for the threat.

  Then he registered the shattering sound. With rising dread he felt his wound again. Superficial. Just a graze.He risked a glance back to the toilet-block. Sure enough, there was a blossom of powdered glass on the bricks.The larger shards had already danced to a stop on the concrete path and causedthe nearby snails to retract their antennae.

  Dan peered through the drizzle, sweeping his handgun in an arc, ready to squeeze the trigger at anything that moved. He paced backward, acutely aware of the looming danger. He used his free hand to put pressure on Adam’s chest.

  “Get back,” he ordered gruffly.

  Adam shuffled to obey, pulverising a snail as they retreated into the women’s toilet.

  Dan was preoccupied scanning the park, alert to anything that moved. A pool of water collecting in the hollow of a sodden newspaper gleamed with movement 30 metres away. He jerked the Colt toward it then steadied his aim with his other hand. Damn trees.They provided the perfect cover. The assailant couldhave been anywhere;there was simply too much ground for Dan to cover. A copse of trees 20 metres away sprouted foliage thick enough to conceal an entire squad.

  Adam coughed. It was a strained, spluttering cough and it commanded Dan’s attention. One glance was enough. Someone had fired not one, but two capsules. And the first had hit its mark. Adam hunkered against the inner wall of a toilet stall. A spasm contorted his body, jerking his legs from beneath him and he landed heavily on his rump. He coughed again, this time flecking blood at the corners of his mouth. The capsule had entered his upper thigh and the hollow pellet had delivered a devastating strain of nanotoxin.

  It was useless. Dan could see that. The time until death depended solely on the potency of the nanotoxin. He wished he knew what to say. He fumbled silently for the key to his handcuffs.

  “Don’t bother with that now.” It obviously pained Adam to speak around the swelling of his tongue. The whites of his eyes darkened and Dan watched helplessly as they ripened to sickly saffron before blooming to rouge. “Do me a favour…”

  “Name it.” What else could he say to a dying man?

  “Spare me…” – blood flecked onto his shirt through a hacking cough – “a bullet.”

  Dan stepped back and lined Adam’s forehead into his sights. The barrel quivered and he held his breath to steady his aim.

  He fired a single round and Adam’s head jerked back and slammed against the flimsy toilet stall. For a moment that looked like where he’d rest, but slowly he toppled and slid to his left, striking his temple on the filthy rim of the toilet and dislodging his beret. He finally came to rest on his side, the handcuffs twisting his arms behind his back at an unnatural angle.

  How pointless,Dan thought. He didn’t have to die.A flame of hatred kindled in Dan’s inner darkness.

  He retrieved his cuffs and tightened his grip on the Colt before edging toward the entrance. Damn you!He knew who it was. He knew exactly who’d killed the crazy old fool. He peered outside, eyes locking onto anything that looked remotely dangerous. The park was empty. Impossible.He knew the Raven was close; the rain was too heavy for a long-distance shot. At fifty-metres a capsule might penetrate a dozen raindrops, and nobody could accurately predict where it would land after that. And that’s why I’m still alive.He gingerly felt the gash on his neck. It wasn’t bad; the nick had barely broken his skin. But if the glass had shattered…

  The world outside was a plethora of movement. Every leaf jiggled cheekily in the rain, all vying for Dan’s attention. He tried to scan beyond the noise, seeking something out of the usual. He didn’t know the Raven well enough to predict where he’d hide. And he may not wait for me to leave.It was a chilling thought. The last thing Dan wanted was a shootout with a lunatic.

  He heard another capsule shatter above the patter of rain and sheltered his eyes from flying shards. It couldhavecome from anywhere within a 120-degree arc. Damn.It was beginning to look as though he’d have to dash for safety, a dangerous prospect considering he had no idea where to lay covering-fire.

  One of the good things about late twentieth century architecture, at least in Dan’s current frame of mind, was their insistence upon skimpingwherever they could. Few things were made to last unless someone stood to profit from ensuring it would. And nobody was keen on spending unnecessary money on public property – such as a toilet-block. The wall separating the women’s toilet from the men’s was barely above head-hight. There was ample room to vault it and Dan wasted no time tucking his pistol into its holster and clambering to stand on the nearest toilet.

  A puff of dust mushroomed into the air with each hand he planted on the bricks and a few moments later he was in the men’s toilet – quite literally, having stepped in the men’s urinal.

  The rear of the toilet-block butted against a CityRail fence. Someone had painted a crude skull on its rusted links and it served as a stark warning to anyone foolish enough to trespass on the tracks. The rails were at the bottom of a 20-metre drop with sheer walls. A poorly concealed trail to Dan’s right slipped under a section of the fence where someone had yanked the wire from the ground. Dan supposed a local brigade of teenagers, who no doubt thought the skull was hilarious, did their secret binge-drinking somewhere in the artificial canyon.

  Dan wetted his lips and the creases on his brow deepened to a frown. There was only one thing he hated more than losing control of a hunt: betrayal.

  “Never again.” The words slipped out before he could keep them in check. He abandoned the cover of the toilet-block and dashed into the rain, wondering if he’d feel the sting of poison exploding in his flesh. Anacidic droplet rolled into his left eye, which watered uncontrollably. Upon reaching the fence he sank to his buttocks and slid forward, forcing his body through the tight squeeze. Thick reeds concealed the entrance from all but one oblique angle and they scratched his cheeks, ears and hands. Then his coat caught on a protruding wire. He angrily wrenched to his right andheard it rip. With another furious twist, his coat tore enough to allow gravity to finish the job and he slid off the ledge. Only when it was too late did he give any consideration to how he would slow his descent. The teenagers who’d created the hole had also provided a rope, but Dan didn’t see it in time and had no clue where he should reach. His back grated across the jagged rocks and a searing pain spread to his skull when an outcropping struck his coccyx.

  He twisted and gr
oped for the reeds that lined the embankment but the leathery plants just sliced his hands and snapped at the base. With a final desperate attempt, he dug his fingers into the rushing walland splinters of dirt dug deeply under his nails, but his descent continued. He landed heavily, one of the tracks smacking him across his upper shoulders and knocking the wind from his lungs. If he’d landed a little closer he’d have broken his neck, closer still and his brains would be leaking out of his ears.

  He lay there stunned, unwilling and unable to move. But then the track started to vibrate. He rolled onto his front, scraping his knees on the foundation of basalt rocks, and staggered to his feet. After briefly arching his back to alleviate the pain he backed into the scrub at the base of the slope.

  A stiff breeze buffeted him a second before the train screeched past and he used a forearm to protect his face from the swirling water that gusted along with it. Dan counted the carriages by the whooshing sounds. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the train was gone, seeming to take with it all the viable oxygen. The vacuum that remained sucked Dan forward and he stumbled onto his knees.

  Meadowbank station was only two-hundred meters away and he limped toward it.

  The adrenaline was gone, consumed by the pain, but the flame of hatred remained. In a way he’d always had it, he’d just chosen to forget. But now that circumstances had forced him to remember, Dan didn’t intend to let it escape.

  *

  The Raven approached on light feet.

  He was obsessed by the goal and would never rest. Not until the task was complete. Such was the omen he’d received.

  Messages arrived in his mind, two of them. But neither assigned with high enough priority to distract him from the goal. He entered the toilet-block cautiously, sweeping the stalls for Sutherland before focussing on his prize. Sutherland was gone. Good.A shiver ran the length of his spine when his ethereal senses told him Dan had just used a portal in Meadowbank station. He relaxed, holstering his Redback.

  He took no pleasure from his work; it was merely something he had to do. Slowly he drew the implement from his belt and twisted it to the muted light, watching as his reflection danced along the shiny metal surface.

  The Raven dragged Adam by his feet to the middle of the floor and slashed the clothes that covered his back. He paused for a moment, carefully selecting the correct position, and then plunged his instrument into the corpse. The horrific sound of grinding bone echoed from the walls as he removed the correct vertebrae, the one that contained the microchip. And that was his prize, the only part he needed to return. The stains on the floor and the state of the toxin-infected corpse never bothered him; they were anecdotal. This was his job. This was why UniForce paid him well.

  A wicked smile gleamed in his eyes. On second thoughts, he did take pleasure from his work.

  *

  Tuesday, September 14, 2066

  22:15 Coffs Harbour, Australia

  Jen sipped her lemon water.

  “It just doesn’t work like that.”

  She took another swallow, gulping the last of the bitter fluid before her temper made her say something she’d regret.

  “And it’s about time you realise it,” he said. “I just want what’s best for you.”

  She believed that. How could she not? Her father had always wanted the best for her. Yet somehow, he always managed to misdirect his efforts. “If that were true you’d let me discover what I need to do on my own,” she said sharply, cringing at her unintended tone. Her tongue was often her curse – she tended to say what everyone else in a room was thinking but had the tact not to mention. She’d never been good at tact; it was a mystery to her.

  “I just don’t want to see you struggle the way I had to.” His untrimmed eyebrows had turned grey five years ago and were now talcum-white.

  “I won’t,” Jen retorted.

  “Then find yourself a job.” John Cameron pleaded. “Start now, before it’s too late.” He paused, not wanting to press too hard. He knew he had to manage Jennifer carefully. “I can make some calls if you’d like?”

  “No!” She slammed her glass to the table and made the cutlery jump. “I know you mean well but I will nevergo to one of your interviews. Don’t you see?” It was her turn to plead. “I’d rather live in the gutter. I’m different, I just can’t do it, and I won’t. It’d kill me.”

  He sighed, taking the napkin from his lap and setting it aside. “Then how?”

  She cast her eyes to the tablecloth. “The same as grandpa.”

  John Cameron’s skin flushed at the mention of his father. This was precisely what he’d been trying to avoid through years of careful planning and parenting. His worst nightmare was sitting across the table. No, please.He couldn’t bear the thought of another activist in the family. His father’s activism had scarred his childhood and he didn’t want that kind of life for his daughter. He knew the world had problems, but he also knew there were limits to what one person could achieve. It came down to quality of life. Why can’t she see that?He studied her carefully. Stubborn child.He still thought of her that way – like a child.

  Jen stood and skirted the table to kneel in front of him. She took one of his aging hands in both of hers, squeezed it, and said, “I have to do what I think is right.”

  He nodded. “I know.” She thought she could see a thickening to the sheen over his blue eyes. “That’s what I’m afraid of. The world has changed since your grandfather’s day. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “I won’t.” But her smile looked strained. “I promise.”

  He grunted. “That’s not something you can promise. Just be careful, deal?”

  She smiled more strongly. “Deal,” she said, squeezing his hand a second time. “I have to go now.” And she fled to the bathroom before he could protest. There she stood, mesmerised by her reflection in the mirror. She was glad that she’d inherited her father’s eyes, and very glad she’d inherited her mother’s nose. Jen’srich chocolate hair swayed around her shoulders. There was something almost regal about the way she held herself, a confidence that came from the realisation she was doing the right thing. Other than that there was nothing remarkable about her, she was dressed like a typical university student–jeans, brown hiking boots and an oversized collared shirt. When she finally shattered the trance and opened the door, her father was waiting for her beside his portal in the foyer.

  Jen dug into her pocket for the microchip selector. The name on the tag read Elisa Turner but she’d been using that alias for too long and she pressed the next-identity button. Two other names flashed on the display before resting on Susan Beaton. That’ll do.She made a mental note to change them all, she hadn’t used a new identityfor months and that was a mistake.

  “Bye Dad.” She accepted the mandatory farewell hug and pecked him on the cheek.

  “Take care.” He watched as she stood on the platform, smiling at him as she flashed away.

  *

  Tuesday, September 14, 2066

  19:37 Carnarvon, Western Australia

  Deep down, Jen knew her father was wrong. He was trying to protect her the only way he knew, and she loved him for it. But they were approaching life from irreconcilable angles and there was no common ground between them. Grandpa understood.It made her feverish with guilt, but she felt closer to her deceased grandfather than to her father. Thinking about the infamous Mike Cameron left her with the dreadful feeling of emptiness – she missed him too much.

  Still, her father had a point and Jen hated the part of the worldthat lent it credibility.That was precisely why she would continue to fight, all the way to her own destruction if she needed to. She shrugged the morbid thoughts aside. Out here, at her favourite place, she was free. Or as close to free as she could be.

  There was a three-hour time difference between Coffs Harbour and Carnarvon so the sun wouldn’t set for another half-hour. Just enough time.She really needed it tonight, more than most nights. That was often the way things wen
t after a visit to her father. Reality was depressing.

  She filled her lungs with sea air and strolled down the ocean road. The warmth of the sun’s rays beaming on her icy flesh reassured her that everything truly would be okay. It was only a short walk; the Carnarvon city council had spared no expense, building portal stations every few kilometres.

  She rounded the bend and gazed out to sea, catching the slight tang of salt in the air. Carnarvon was by far the quietest seaside town Jen had found in her quest for the perfect place. The sheer tranquillity proved the deciding factor, bumping it to the very top of her list. More than anything else, she longed to settle on a small plot of land overlooking the ocean, build a modest house, and sail a charter catamaran.

  There it is.The sign was still there, just as she’d hoped. The local branch of Realty King had planted a monstrous plastic billboard at the front of the empty block. As much as she detested the sign, it meant that nobody had yet purchased the lot. The land hugged the coastline and gently sloped toward the ocean. It was squatting on a craggy hill half-a-kilometre from the water,but for Jen it represented Eden.

  She read the sign as she approached – 1.74 acres of paradise– but averted her eyes before the price could sink her mood. She strolled onto the lot and sat under the gnarled gumtree that dominated the upper corner of the block. Leaning against the trunk, she closed her eyes and inhaled the eucalypt scent, allowing the energy rolling in from the sea to energise her body and mind. After a time she reopened her eyes and basked in the gorgeous sunset. It was something she missed on the eastcoast. The Great Dividing Range blotted out the sun before she ever realised it was getting dark. But not here.She loved to watch the dazzling pinks and vivid oranges as the sun slipped below the knife-edge of the world.

  She closed her eyes and allowed the memory to bubble to the surface. She was just a little girl back then, maybe eight or nine years old. A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. Her grandfather had seemed to tower over her. So strongly principled.She’d always had a special affinity for him. Jen recalled the first time he’d explained to her what he did, and how he had thoughtful answers for all her childish questions about why.