Helix Nexus by Chris Lofts (spiritual books to read .txt) 📗

deep spiral staircase was slower than he would have liked. If he was to stand any chance of overcoming the odds he needed to get back to his old self. Three shorter flights of stairs later he stood outside another nondescript door. The stifling colourless void echoed in response to the knock-knock-knock, knock-knock he beat out on the black metal door.

His hands flew up. ‘It’s Helix,’ he said in hasty response to the two ceiling-mounted miniguns that scanned him.

Where was Mace? Angling his head to one side, Helix peered up beneath one of the guns and pulled an exaggerated smile at the emerald green lens of the weapon’s targeting system. Accuracy of aim wasn’t that important in something with six barrels and a fire rate of between two and four thousand rounds per minute depending on your mood. The trouble with Mason was you never knew what that mood might be.

The door clicked and edged inwards. Helix pressed his shoulder to it and pushed through to the chorus of the ‘We’re off to see the wizard,’ from the Wizard of Oz.

He nodded to himself. It was a Judy Garland day. Whatever floats your boat.

The dying notes of the song echoed in the gloom as it cut out. ‘You’ve been suspended pending disciplinary,’ Mace called from the back of his workshop, his deep Geordie accent giving away his location.

‘You can’t believe everything you hear, Mace.’

‘Hmm. What brings you to my back passage? I assume this isn’t a social call otherwise you’d have come through the front door,’ the Quartermaster said, smoothing down his pale pink and blue gingham dress as he stepped into the light.

Helix ran his hand over his stubbled face, trying to stifle the grin. The last thing he needed was to piss off Mace. ‘I need a few bits and—’

‘It’s almost ready, pet,’ Mace interrupted, flinging one of his dark brown plaits over his shoulder.

Helix paused between the floor-to-ceiling racks of equipment. ‘I haven’t told you what I need yet.’

Mace sighed and danced his fingers over the counter retrieving the order. ‘One PCM, as per attached specification, two Sig Sauer P226s with custom sighting systems plus eight clips of third gen’ smart ammunition.’ He yawned. ‘Lightweight bergen – black, One AX50 sniper rifle – good luck lugging that one wherever the hell it is you’re going, shall I continue?’

Helix nodded. ‘No, it’s fine, you’re all over it, as usual.’

‘Hmm. Flattery will get you anywhere, sweetheart.’

The door boomed behind Helix, the same coded knock he’d used. His eyes darted at Mace.

‘Nowt to do with me, pet,’ Mace said spinning the monitor around to face Helix. ‘Someone you know?’ His hand hovered over a large red plunger. ‘Say the word.’

Helix leaned in. ‘It’s OK.’ He sighed. ‘Let it in.’

‘It?’

‘Yeah. It’s a long story and I’m short on time.’ He looked over his shoulder at the door.

Sofi pushed through like it was fly-curtain. ‘Nice try, no cigar.’ She smiled at Helix. ‘Biometric payment for the taxi you took to get to Blackfriars Bridge. Hello, Mace.’

Mace pursed his rouged lips. ‘Do I know you, Miss—’

‘Sofi.’

Mace clutched his hands over his heart. ‘Sophie’s Choice. One of my all-time favourites, 1982, Meryl Streep, thoroughly deserving of her Oscar, do you know it?’

Helix shrugged at Sofi.

‘Err, no. I’m Ethan’s AI. Sofi stands for So Fucking Intelligent,’ she said.

‘Sound like something Ethan would come up with.’ Mace frowned. ‘Vulgar. How is the annoying little shit? Word is that he’s blown up the Observatory your girlfriend gave you,’ he said, turning back to Helix.

Helix narrowed his eyes. ‘Mace. Why don’t you just…’ He relaxed his jaw. ‘He’s… Ethan’s OK. Look, we, I mean I, need to crack on. Where’s the kit?’

‘Excuse me.’ Mace pouted. ‘Someone got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning. I’ll fetch it for you. Help yourselves to camomile tea,’ he said, nodding to a drinks machine in the corner next to a small table with two chairs.

Replacing his discarded jacket with a new one from the rack, Helix checked the interfaces to make sure they were compatible with his PCM and comms.

‘That’s a sixth gen’ jacket,’ Mace called out.

Helix nodded to himself, impressed. He helped himself to some water while Mace flounced between racks, humming to himself, gathering the last of the items.

Turning to Sofi, Helix said, ‘I told you I don’t need any help. As soon as I’ve reinstalled the PCM you can help the same way that Ethan used to, does. In my ears and behind my eye, but out of my bloody hair and don’t give me any more of the likelihood of mission success bollocks.’

Sofi folded her arms. ‘But you cannot deny the tactical advantage my being in theatre will bring. In your ear or behind your eye I am reliant upon what you are observing. Four eyes are better than two, two heads are better than one and one neural network is better than none.’

Helix wasn’t going to admit it, but she, it had a point, it could act as a spotter, share stag duties while they rested, cover an arc if they got into an engagement. An engagement? What the hell was he thinking? Where they were going, the only thing they might have to face was the occasional shotgun but they weren’t likely to encounter tribes of armed diggers, unless pitch forks, axes and other farm implements counted. Until that moment, he’d been pre-occupied with Ethan and hadn’t given a thought to Gabrielle. His hand gravitated towards his chest, the unconscious way it did when he thought about her and the letter. He closed his eyes, tried to picture what she might be doing. A faint smile turned up the side of his mouth as he remembered SJ waxing lyrical about life outside the cities and how they wore the digger name with pride. To certain city dwellers, like Ormandy’s spoilt little shit of a daughter, they represented a lower form of life to be sneered at. They were there to be