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

I want to stay here. We nearly have enough to hammer out a plan.” He ran a hand roughly through his hair. The exhaustion was getting to him but he wasn’t yet ready to give in. “Maybe I’ll do some preliminary recon too.”

Simon shook his head, thoroughly mystified. “You’re nuts mate.” He headed for the door. “You know how to let yourself out. Call me before you do anything stupid. Okay?”

“Done,” Dan agreed.

He felt lonely when the vault door closed, truly alone for the first time since meeting Jen in Elustra’s Melbourne giga-mall. Growing accustomed to human company again? He laughed bitterly and it echoed around the titanium walls.

His mood was slipping. He hadn’t taken his Zyclone at the regular intervals Xantex had prescribed. He’d thought about it, and even considered going back for his pills or getting another prescription filled, but he didn’t want it to impair his judgement. When he tallied his recent mistakes he felt old and tired. I wouldn’t have been this careless ten years ago… is this what it means to age? He took the time to examine his hands. They were calloused and strong, not frail like an old man’s hands. So he blamed the Zyclone. It enfeebled his mind, weakened his body, and devastated his libido. No more. He didn’t feel depressed, he felt angry. And while he had anger to feed from, he wouldn’t need drugs. He needed clarity of thought and accurate judgement - he needed to become the man he’d once been.

He yawned. But I do need stimulants. He’d taken them in the past and knew his body could cope with at least 70 hours of continual use. So Dan collated the useful records, folded them twice, tucking them inside his coat, and left the vault. Now, he thought. Where can I get stimulants at this time of night?

*

Sunday, September 19, 2066

Parramatta Business District

03:22 Sydney, Australia

His eyes were inefficient in the dark so he was feeding from visual cues delivered by the multitude of pole-mounted cameras, which the local council had scattered liberally around the business hub. It’s here somewhere. He wasn’t sure exactly what ‘it’ was, but he would recognise it when he found it. ‘It’ was the next clue, the special something that would help him find the trail again. He sensed he was close, though he had no facts with which to back up his assumption. But he’d certainly found interesting results when he ran Tedman Kennedy through PortaNet’s database. You’ve been a busy little bee, Sutherland.

He wasn’t using his eyes, and therefore had no need of a panoramic vantage, but he savoured the bird-of-opportunity analogy so much that he scaled the Hydro-Tech office building just to survey the cityscape. They were wasting energy. That was his first conclusion. Most of the buildings were lit like Christmas trees and even with the advances in fluorescent light design, they were still burning electricity as if there were no tomorrow. The Raven found it offensive, though he couldn’t compute why. Half a centaury ago there would’ve been pickets of protestors shouting energy-saving slogans throughout the night. But back then, atmospheric quality had to pay for every photon of light. Fusion power was cheap - for the environment as well as for EnFusion, the global electricity supplier. Still, it was a magnificent view, even if he was primarily using cameras and their night-piercing circuitry to peer into dark corners.

They’re hiding around here somewhere. He felt certain they were in Sydney, but it was a big city and he found it frustrating that he couldn’t narrow his search. The Raven was tracing a finger across the scar above his hairline while chewing on the data trail. His other hand was fondling the grip of his Redback, itching to squeeze the trigger at Sutherland’s face. He wondered which body parts he should return for verification. His cerebral cortex? He thought he’d enjoy peeling it away from the remainder of Sutherland’s brain. Or maybe his prostate, an eye, and his pituitary gland? It was a wonderful game to play. Sometimes he wondered whether surgery was his true calling. He did enjoy browsing the endless volumes of surgical procedures he could access.

He was still entertaining himself with thoughts of Dan’s anatomy when something interesting flashed in front of a camera, immediately snaring his attention. That’s curious. He raised his face to the clouded Sydney sky and whispered his request for a favourable omen. Tonight the hunt would end and the kill would begin.

*

Dan asked the officers - who were still playing cards at the counter - if they had any stimulants they could spare, but they patted themselves down and said, “No mate, sorry.”

He smiled his departure and slid into the night, unaware that a camera had captured him on digital security feed. There was always one Xantex prescription house open 24 hours and if memory served him correctly, Dan knew where it was. Nothing in the business district had changed much in the past 11 months. The same giga-corporations controlled the same turf and did an excellent job driving the sole traders out of business. Dan had never given it much consideration before, but he’d been trying to view the world from Jen’s perspective and found that once he’d started, he couldn’t stop.

Why am I always working at night? It was a disturbing question to ask, he thought. While in Holland, he’d thoroughly enjoyed the scant rays of sun that’d caressed his skin. It was too easy to forget the sun came up every morning when you spent so much time portaling around the world. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d appreciated a real sunrise; the digital interpretations just couldn’t capture the magic of an Australian dawn.

A blue neon sign proudly, but gaudily, flashed a capitalised Xantex logo, whisking Dan’s wandering mind back to his task. He couldn’t believe they did much business at this time of night, but the law was quite strict on that point. If Xantex intended to keep their medication monopoly, they had to serve the community’s best interests. That meant they needed to operate 24-hour pharmacies and have prescription doctors available for emergency consultations. Of course, there weren’t many, portals made that unnecessary. Xantex operated only a few all-night pharmacies in each state.

Stimulants didn’t require a prescription. Xantex had argued with various governments for nearly a decade about it, their prime argument being that people had regulated their stimulant intake for centauries. Was caffeine a restricted substance? No. Don’t be daft, they’d said. And it had worked, in Australia anyway.

He selected the strongest stimulant on the shelves and took it to the counter.

“Planning on a busy night?” She had puffy eyes herself.

Dan nodded solemnly. “Something like that.”

“Well you’ve chosen well.” Xantex trained all their staff to make customers feel good about their choice of drugs. “This’ll make you feel better in no time.”

I doubt it. Dan allowed her to scan him and swallowed two tabsules as soon as he was back on the street. The effects began almost immediately, too fast for the drugs to have reached his system - it was his mind anticipating the rush to come.

Now… He examined the police records he’d stolen from the vault. What’s your story Adrian Miller? He’d attended the same college as Esteban. So did Frank Albert Hansen, he noted. He intently analysed the data, sitting on a bench where the light flooding from Xantex illuminated his paper enough to read the words. One reference was particularly interesting. In the past, Adrian and Frank had mixed with the suspected mastermind behind a people-smuggling operation. But there’d only been circumstantial evidence to indicate they were involved, so nobody had charged them with anything. I bet this is gone from every database on the planet, Dan mused sourly. Another name appeared twice in the haphazard jottings, one that Dan was unfamiliar with and wished he’d noticed before leaving the vault. The emerging picture was all too familiar. They belonged to a breed of remorseless men who gleefully trampled innocent people to reach their goals. And too often their primary goal was to satisfy their avaricious greed with yet more money.

I bet Esteban’s the protector. Every successful operation needed one - someone to ward off the law. Dan’s grip tightened with rage until the paper crinkled in his fingers. Then he felt the real effects of the stimulant and leapt to his feet with enough spare energy to jog to the nearest portal.

*

Saturday, September 18, 2066

13:51 Baltimore, USA

She gulped for air, fighting to keep the water from trickling into her lungs. She’d been battling for nearly an hour and it had become her world. Life consisted of struggling to reach the surface to drink air through her straw before suction dragged her back under and the whole process began again. Her arms were tied behind her back and her wrists burned with pain; she could only use her legs to kick up for that next gulp of precious oxygen.

But her strength was dwindling and she knew she couldn’t keep going indefinitely. In the back of her mind she was relieved the nightmare would soon end. But mainly she was sad that life would end with such misery. She held onto her breath as she slipped beneath the surface for the last time. Too tired to kick, she sunk lower than ever and watched as the light above faded to dark blue. She risked a downward glance and saw the mystery of blackness below, sending a cold shiver to her bones. The panic it induced made her kick again and she struggled for the surface, fighting with every fibre for the next breath.

But it was too late. Her oxygen-deprived muscles had no energy for the journey. Slowly her thoughts turned to molasses and the edge of her vision blurred from more than just water. She began sinking again, with nothing left to prop her from a cold and certain death.

Jen let her last breath bubble from her mouth and nose, drew water into her lungs, and… regained consciousness. She blinked in surprise to see a white ceiling. It was spinning nauseatingly, but vastly different from the watery grave she’d expected. It took her a long time to remember what’d happened. Her arms, handcuffed behind her back, were too numb to feel. And she’d tangled the sheets around her legs by thrashing through her hallucinations. She couldn’t bear to think about what Esteban had injected her with. It was too terrifying to contemplate. What if I get addicted? The more pessimistic part of her mind told her it wouldn’t matter, that life was all but over.

She tried to sit but her muscles didn’t respond. They weren’t yet ready to relinquish control to her mind, but she felt the aches and pains. Every joint felt as if she’d hyper-flexed it and every ligament felt as if she’d pulled it beyond reason. When she closed her eyes she could easily imagine a fire was raging inside her body, charring her flesh and blazing a trail of pain in its wake. She wondered how long it would take to flush the drugs from her system, because she couldn’t stand any more torment. And she didn’t intend to give her captors reason to inject her again. So, although she’d never acknowledge it, they’d succeeded in phase one of her cowing.

Quarter of an hour passed before she had the strength to push herself to a sitting position. She immediately knew something was grievously wrong. Her clothes were misaligned and she could feel throbbing bruises on her breasts through the drug-induced pain. A sickening thought permeated the haze and soaked her mind. Did they rape me already? Someone had definitely unbuttoned her shirt, they’d put the buttons in the wrong holes when doing