Freedom Incorporated - Peter Tylee (best biographies to read TXT) 📗

ground looked no closer. Dan was just beginning to hope they’d slip away unnoticed when his plans shattered around him - they were taking the turn on the fifth floor when the Raven spotted them from fifteen floors above.

The Raven’s analytical mind calculated the risks and decided to seize the opportunity. He lined Jennifer Cameron’s head up in his Redback’s sights, whispered a silent prayer to his omen, depressed the trigger, and was gratified to feel the potent recoil in his palms.

Dan felt the pellet whiz mere centimetres past his ear. He knew what it was; he didn’t need to hear the Redback’s cough to be sure. Silenced, it barely made more than a puff - not something he expected to hear from a distance.

“What was that?” Jen heard it too.

“Death’s mistress.” Dan pointed at the black-clad man above them. Bah! Man? No - beast! “He’s the one that’ll kill you unless you do exactly what I say.”

Jen’s eyes went wide. A shrill feeling that wasn’t quite fear and wasn’t quite panic infused her. She shifted uneasily, realising she’d totally lost control of the situation - not that she’d had much to start with. She squinted at the distant figure just when another volley of shots whizzed through the air. Then she mimicked Dan and ducked beneath the rail, though the Perspex panelling seemed like scant protection.

“Come on.” Dan abandoned his plan for stealth and bounded down the escalator, taking two steps at a time. Jen laboured to keep up as they skipped down one, two, and then three stories. Her heart pounded in her chest and her teeth and bronchiales ached the way they always did when she overexerted herself.

They finally reached the only level of the mall dedicated archaic transportation - the car park. Dan veered wildly to one side, skirting the line of vehicles. With society no longer dependant upon vehicles for transportation, only a few motor companies had survived the paradigm shift. Cars were luxury items to entertain the rich. Spoiled sons and daughters used them to drag in surreptitious locations on stormy nights. Consequently, the cars parked in Elustra’s spacious lot were mostly luxury or sports vehicles. Scrap dealers had long since stripped the older models of everything recyclable and dumped the remainder in landfills - junkyards on Mars were brimming with spare parts because PortaNet made transporting scrap so easy.

Dan examined each in turn, looking for a car he could use. A ‘23 model Toyota Celica MT looked promising. Unfortunately, modern cars were expensive and most owners opted to fit them with microchip disablers. Only drivers from a predetermined list could start the engine. The Celica MT was one of the first models to run on methane gas. Except, Dan noticed, this one has a soybean-oil conversion kit. But as far as the productive lifecycle of a car was concerned, the MT was an old model, so he doubted anybody would’ve bothered installing a disabler.

He retracted his elbow, feeling safe within his thick coat, and smashed the driver’s window. He quickly disengaged the central locking and said, “Get in.”

Jen stumbled to obey, brushing the glass pebbles from her seat before sliding in and slamming the door.

Dan came prepared. He reached into one of his many inside pockets and fumbled for a small black-handled device known amongst thieves as a kick-start. It was barely larger than a thick pen but it emitted a strong electrical field at undulating frequencies and wavelengths. It could bypass the ignition system to start a car; the trick was finding the correct frequency. He waited impatiently with eyes fixed on the escalator, wondering how long before the Raven came streaking into view.

Jen was wondering the same thing. The shadowy figure she’d glimpsed from fifteen stories away sent shivers down her spine. She wanted a better look at him; something deep within demanded a face for her nightmare.

The LED on Dan’s kick-start was still flashing red.

“You are an unauthorised driver,” a non-threatening voice said over the car’s speakers. “I cannot start for you. I have alerted the nearest police department.”

“Oh shit.” Dan opened his door. “Get out.”

“What is it?”

“A disabler. It’s looking for its owner’s microchip,” Dan said, gingerly rubbing his jarred elbow. He’d hurt it breaking into the Celica and a numbness was radiating up to his shoulder, steadily making his right arm useless.

“Come on.” Dan was running full speed down the row of shiny cars. Jen was pale, panting uncontrollably in her attempt to keep up. The adrenaline helped, but it was gone now and she had only determination to keep her going.

“This one.” Dan kicked the window in.

It was a ‘31 model, built one year after portals had been invented. A spacious family car, it had probably been the top of its line. With sleek curves and fuzzy-logic controlling every system, it was difficult to find something to complain about. I just hope we can start the damn thing, Dan thought desperately. Mandatory microchipping hadn’t come into effect until 2059, so Dan hoped the owners of such an old car wouldn’t have bothered fitting a disabler.

He turned on his kick-start and watched the matchstick-like numbers on the display flicker through the range of possible frequency, wavelength and power combinations.

“Look out!” Jen rasped, pointing at the Raven.

“I see it.” Hurry up you piece of shit. He gripped the kick-start harder and shook it a little, as though trying to convey to its electronic circuits that they were in a hurry.

The Raven fired and one of his pellets burst through their windscreen before detonating, showering them with toxic slivers of glass. Dan reflexively closed his eyes and hoped Jen had the sense to do the same. “Careful,” he warned her, “whatever you do, don’t cut yourself on that stuff.”

Shards had sprinkled everywhere and Jen shook them off her shirt the best she could before reaching into the glove compartment for a tissue. She used it to wipe her jeans clean then mirrored the service for Dan, who grunted his thanks despite the desperate flutter in his stomach.

The Raven was relentless; he halved the distance to their car and steadied his aim a second time.

“Are you going to use that?” Dan pointed with his spare hand at the 1911 stuffed under Jen’s belt.

“Here, take it!”

He felt better as soon as he’d gripped the pistol and he leaned out the window to lay covering fire. It was difficult to aim without looking down the sights but he compensated for the awkward angle and squeezed the trigger. His shots scattered far away from his intended target, but it did make the Raven cautious, he crouched behind a vehicle for cover.

The ‘31 Ford Fairmont Future Dan had chosen, or the ‘Triple-F’ as everybody knew it, hummed when the kick-start blundered onto the ignition frequency. The dash came alive, displaying all manner of useless information.

“Finally,” Dan muttered, tossing the kick-start onto the floor. He selected reverse on the t-bar, floored the accelerator, and was thrust against his seatbelt restraint.

Jen stifled one shout of surprise when the car lurched back and another when Dan swung the wheel, spinning the car to face the exit.

The Raven clutched his opportunity to attack and sprinted after them, emptying his clip of toxic ammunition at the Ford. He wanted to shoot the tyres, or the passengers, or… something, anything. But glass was no match for the full-metal-jacket car. It was fine for puncturing flesh but it had little penetration power. He swore luridly and cursed his omen, which had forbidden him to use metal bullets.

Dan shifted the t-bar and stomped on the accelerator. There was a whirring sound when the engine fired before the transmission engaged the gears, and for one incongruous moment he thought they’d just sit there, redlining the engine until it exploded in a puff of smoke.

A glass pellet shattered his right side mirror just as the linkage collected the correct gear, forcing them into their seats amidst the sound of screeching tyres. It’s certainly got grunt, Dan thought as he flicked on the high beam to compensate for the dim lights in the car park. He was swivelling the wheel without slowing down, avoiding the many concrete pylons as he followed the twists and turns to the exit.

The speedometer crept up to 190, then 210, and Dan kept the accelerator to the floor until the car was travelling at 260 kph. Then he eased off. The Triple-F was fast, perhaps not fast enough to out-sprint the more recreational vehicles in Elustra’s car park, but it felt exhilarating none the less. The Ford’s tachometer was reading 6,000 and it redlined at 6,500. He didn’t want to push it any harder; he wasn’t feeling that lucky.

He turned onto a main traffic artery and quickly overtook three slower vehicles that were at least making pretence of obeying the posted speed limit. It took him a while to recognise he was on the highway heading north, toward his boyhood home of Albury where his parents still lived.

Jen watched him from the corner of her eye, gripping the seat to steady her racing heart. She’d never driven a car; she’d only travelled in one twice, and never at such a terrifying speed. Dan was tense, nervously scanning the mirror for any signs of pursuit. Five minutes and 20 kilometres later, he relaxed a little and slowed their car to a more respectable pace.

So, with the thrill of their escape subsiding, Jen began to wonder just who her mysterious saviour thought he was.

*

The Raven spat in disgust.

A stray dog chose that most unfortunate moment to trot through the car park, playfully waging its tail. It stared at the black-clad warrior with its big brown eyes, panting. The Raven felt nothing that even bordered on affection for the canine. It repulsed him. He raised his Redback and aimed it at the spot between the puppy’s eyes.

Unaware of the danger, the stray continued wagging and panting, and its tongue slid happily from the side of its mouth.

He didn’t do it.

There was a skerrick of humanity left in his brain after all. And that repulsed him more than anything - repulsed what he was becoming.

*

Jen considered her situation.

It didn’t look good no matter which way she looked at it. A bounty hunter was tracking her. Only me? She worried about Samantha, who was probably still in the mall with the monster. Okay, a new identity. She had difficulty grasping what that meant. She gave herself a new identity every month - a different microchip in the little box she always carried in her pocket. No, not enough. Her mouth took on a sour expression as it dawned on her what she’d have to do. A new city, a new life, probably no more activism. The realisation hit hard and sunk her good mood. The sudden shift was even more painful because it followed so soon after her recent elation.

And what of him? She turned to examine his profile. What’s his story?

“Who are you?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, shock and depression sapping her strength.

“My name’s Dan Sutherland,” was all he offered.

A bit robot-like isn’t he? “Yeah?” She snorted indelicately. “Well that’s good to know.” What’ve you been smoking Dan? Then she mentally disciplined herself and promised to keep all future sarcasm to herself. He did just save my life.

“I suppose I should say thank you.”

Dan took his eyes off the road for long enough to cast Jen a quick look. “Why do you suppose that?”

“Because you saved my life.” But Jen was still trying to unravel the mysteries she knew were lurking beneath the surface of life’s latest twist, so she added, “At least, I think you did.”