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

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 world that 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 went 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 east coast. 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.

He’d graced her with one of the charismatic smiles that came so naturally to him. “I’m nothing like your father Jen,” he’d said gently. “When I see something wrong I have to do something about it.” He could tell she didn’t understand so he elaborated. “At school, have you ever had the feeling that one of the rules was wrong?”

She’d thought about that for a moment before answering. “Yes, we have to stay inside during lunch, but I want to sit under the trees.” She pouted.

“Do your friends feel the same?” he asked, gently guiding her to understanding.

“Yes.” She nodded.

“But no one does anything about it, right?”

“No.” And understanding slowly began to dawn.

“So, it’s up to you little Jenny.”

At the time she’d felt dwarfed by the immensity of the task. “But how?”

“If you want to eat under the trees you have to think of a plan that’ll make the teachers listen. Sometimes just telling them what you want is enough. Other times you have to stage a protest, or get the other students to sign a petition. What do you think?”

“I’ll get my friends and we’ll ask together.” She squealed in delight. “Maybe then we can sit outside!” She understood now, her grandfather had a passion for life but he had to live it his way.

“So you see kiddo?” he’d said. “If we don’t do anything we can’t expect anyone else to do it either. Activists are people with principles and enough moral conviction to stand up for what they believe is right.”

Jen had soaked up his wealth of advice.

“And the way things are going…”

“Mike!” Jen’s mother had berated him. “Stop filling her head with all that.”

But it was too late. His passion for doing what he thought was right had rubbed off on her already. She’d assimilated his critical commentary on society and bottled it inside for nearly two decades until she found a way to challenge society’s problems on her own.

Jen opened her eyes to the darkness and whispered, “And that’s why I’m following Mike, Dad.”

Then, too abruptly, the memory was gone and she began to wonder whether David and Samantha had made any progress.

*

Tuesday, September 14, 2066

08:26 Baltimore, USA

Cigar smoke hung stale in the air and plastered the expensive furniture with a film of grime that needed constant attention lest it get out of control. Esteban slouched lazily on the sofa in the back room, naked from the waist up and puffing of his fine Cuban. He enjoyed the taste, he’d always associated it with success and not even the end with the sticky drool could detract from the experience.

A moan accompanied the persistent squeak of rusted springs, wafting from somewhere else in the compound. It had a persistent urgency to it, something animalistic and ferocious. Esteban took another deep drag and practiced blowing a halo of smoke. He’d always wanted to master that trick.

“Fuck Junior makes a lot of noise.” Adrian tossed the Fortune magazine he was reading onto the coffee table in disgust, his concentration ruined.

Esteban nodded mutely, pursing his lips to better form a ring of smoke. The slimy end finally began to nauseate him and he snapped out of his reverie and snuffed the cigar out on the plate he was using as an ashtray. He clapped his hands together hard enough to tingle the nerves beneath his skin and ran his fingers through his slightly knotted black hair. “Now this is what I’m talkin’ about.” A smile split his face and his neat row of white teeth beamed at Adrian.

“What?” Adrian grunted, still suffering from a hangover. He didn’t appreciate Esteban’s clapping and loud talk.

“This!” Esteban swept his arms around the room. “Haven’t you ever dreamt of this moment?”

The squeaking finally stopped after a climactic groan.

“You’re still drunk.” Adrian gingerly massaged his temples.

“No I’m not!” Esteban frowned and strapped his arms to his sides. The haze in his eyes lifted just long enough for a decent glare.

Junior shuffled into the room, shading his eyes from the muted light with a sweaty arm. His real name was Frank Albert Hansen, but so was his father’s, so everyone called him Junior - something he loathed with a passion. He held an upper-middle management position at the colossal computer manufacturer Global Integrated Systems and pined for admittance to the senior-staff boardroom. Some said he was nearly there; after all, the sales portfolio for his branch of the company had outperformed all the others. A favour here, a slight boost in performance there, and he’d be in. Nobody ever noticed the super discounts and promotional freebies offered to NeroTek from his office. Even if they did, and even if somebody bothered to investigate, they’d find a valid company profile, a legitimate company number and employees on the payroll. The fact that NeroTek didn’t actually exist was buried beneath enough bureaucratic red tape to deter even the staunchest investigator.

They shared the burden of keeping their secret buried. Adrian knew how to fool the system from seven years at law school, Junior had access to the required databases via his security clearance at Global Integrated Systems, and Esteban was their secret weapon. They would only unleash him if the unthinkable happened. He alone had the power to remove anyone silly enough to stand in their way, and he reminded Adrian and Junior of that at every opportunity. It would be difficult to argue he was their leader, but he carried more sway in group decisions because he was the only one who’d survive if somebody shook the bag.

Esteban waved good morning to Junior and swaggered behind the bar. The fridge was elegant, blending perfectly with the other fittings. Not even cigar smoke could dim its highly polished stainless-steel front. “Want a bud?”

Adrian scoffed. “You’ve gotta be kidding? I’m due at work in a half-an-hour. Some of us work in the Eastern states.”

Junior shook his head and flopped onto the third couch, sinking deep into the comfortable cushions. “I’m out. I’ve got a meeting with Deakins in the morning and if he smells piss on my breath I can kiss my promotion on the arse.”

Esteban selected a beer according to criteria only he understood and held it up to the light, watching the beads of condensation trickle down the slender neck of the bottle. It made his mouth water. He used the bottle opener under the bar and flicked the cap across the room by balancing it between his middle finger and thumb and snapping his fingers beside his ear. The bottle cap whistled as it arced across the room, then struck the far wall and flopped into some moss that blanketed the base of a pot plant.

“Do you have to do that?” Adrian peered around the thin rims of his glasses. “I don’t think the others like finding your beer caps everywhere.”

“Fuck the others.” Esteban was wise enough to keep his voice low in case the ‘others’ were nearby.

“What if they say something?” Adrian was busy adjusting his tie and collar; something was off kilter, he just wasn’t sure what.

“Let me tell you a story about the last person that objected to my bottle caps.” Esteban flopped onto the couch and kicked his feet onto the coffee table with a grace that belied his sobriety. “Once upon a time I was contracted to do some uptight arse.”

Adrian and Junior shared a look.

“He was blowin’ the whistle on some governmental toxic shit scam. This is going back a few years, back when the government still held some sway. So he’s a real do-gooder little fuck and he has to be whacked. So I started trailing him, you know, to get to know his patterns. I was at that for what felt like a months and I tell you, this guy was so boring. He was the sort of mouse who’d finish work at six and be home by five-past, even on a Friday. He didn’t have any friends, or if he did that scarecrow bitch he called a wife frightened them away. So I was getting ready for the job and decided to show this prick some excitement before I sent him on his way. He got a message from his ‘wife’,” - Esteban made the quotation marks with his fingers - “and she told him to meet him in