Exile: Arc Page 15

  They took the elevator down to the lake bed and Bailey took goggles, gasmask and a grey-silver plastic body suit from the rack. With these protecting his body he pressed the button to go down, waving at a couple of the technicians who were looking at him worriedly. It was a horrible place to work but Bailey could see the logic in it. Since the computers there truly did connect into the main communications trunk of the prison, it was an extremely useful means to their end.

  It remains to be seen just how deep the trunk goes.

  The elevator reached the oil room, and Bailey walked around the hideous, hissing pool.

  Once inside the control hut he set about completing the set task, which took less than a minute.

  The room was thick with insects today. It seemed that some insect exterminator machine had malfunctioned, filling the room with white-striped flies, which buzzed close to his face now and again looking for a place to lay their eggs. He brushed them aside and continued.

  Bailey thought for a moment, then typed in commands enough to hack down into the top security layer of the communication trunk.

  So, it not only links to the Border Security offices. It also links into the Citadels as well.

  Bailey thought for a moment, then tapped into the citadels’ local area network, masquerading as the citadels’ antivirus program, scanning not for viruses, but for certain programs. He found most of the ones he needed, first, out of sheer curiosity, feeding through the internal surveillance cameras to the screens near the ceiling of the control room.

  All were static snow but for one, which simply looked at the corner of a window, which itself looked down on the dome of the prison, or maybe it was the other dome, he couldn’t tell. Bailey watched for a moment before seeing a dark silhouette move in the reflection of the window, and in a slight panic disconnected all video feeds.

  He stood head bowed, thinking and fiddling with the nozzle in his mouth. He breathed regularly as he planned out the hack.

  He needed to swim through the citadels networks, and precisely so to minimize the risks.

  Bailey felt it in a sense of shadow. He entered line after line of commands into the archaic console, until eventually he had navigated his way to a folder, and downloaded its contents to an adjacent console, where he began printing it all out in a tiny paper receipt.

  Security codes for every trusted system on the grid; every lock and key. Even the heletank? I’m laming my ass off! And now... Let’s say hello to Dr Chester Barron.

  He entered more commands, tapping into established lines of communication between the citadels and the highest ranking officers of Border Sec. Spoofing the identity of Horald Kinnyck himself, since this was the only member of this citadel culture that he had encountered, he opened an emergency communiqué with an officer general of Border Security, by the name of Dogan Lerrock. Dogan appeared on the screen, and Bailey double checked his monitoring program so to ensure that he couldn’t be seen himself. The screen at Officer General Lerrock’s side was mainly black snow, but for the insignia of Cequodus and below it the insignia of the Citadels validated the transmission.

  Bailey had found that this was a common method of communication between Border Security and the Citadels. He wondered if he, having spoken with Horald Kinnyck only briefly, had been one of the few people on the planet to have actually met anyone from the citadels. This made him even curiouser since he was only a terrorist, and why would he be given such unique treatment?

  Stop trying to think. Just do what I say.

  Part of the system of communication set up here was a text to voice program, which Bailey now used, being careful to erase the logs of his activity as he went, since he didn’t want anyone in the citadels to actually discover that their impenetrable systems had been hacked.

  He typed out his message “We have uncovered a plot by South Syndicate to escape from the planet. We do not wish you to intervene, but instead to contact their leader, Chester Barron. You will offer him a deal. He must wait until the escape is in progress, then turn guns on the people escaping. Nobody must be left alive. If he succeeds he will be transferred to the other dome city, and given a high ranking position in Border Sec there. Understood?”

  There was a pregnant pause then Dogan reached forward and typed “Understood. I will see to it personally.”

  “If Barron declines, kill him in the usual way. Then offer the deal to each of the Beldins, and if they will not bend, offer it to Aaron Bailey. Understood?”

  “Understood perfectly, High General Kinnyck.” Dogan typed.

  So, Kinnyck has a rank too.

  Bailey disconnected, while brushing away more of the persistent flies. He more than wondered how this could possibly be the right thing.

  This plan is doomed to fail. If we want any chance of getting away from this place, we need to let this pipe dream die out. And we will also see the prison defences at work. You must watch them. Study them. Remember them for later. Do you really care about a handful of worthless criminals?

  “I don’t care.” Bailey said around the nozzle between his teeth.

  Later that evening, Barron sat naked at the end of a long table with his huge hands cupped over his private parts. He was a massive man, thick with muscles from his shoulders to upper and lower body.

  The rest of the table, and the room around were filled with Border Security officers, all staring at him furiously, having told him what they knew.

  Barron raised his head, with tears dropping from his eyes and cheeks.

  “How…“ he whimpered. “Why haven’t you arrested them? What do you want from me?”

  Barron raised his voice slightly at them, but the officers just coughed arrogantly, chuckling to one another. From their position of power it seemed rather strange that they wouldn’t act.

  “We want to make you a deal.” a dinosaur of a man leaned at him from his right.

  Barron sniffed, and then composed himself.

  The following morning, Barron met with the Beldins, and told them the news that all teams were now ready, and they should make their break as soon as possible. The Beldins then travelled to each team in turn to tell them of a meeting to be held that evening in the South Syndicates village. They alerted each team, moving through Bailey’s team as they did all the others, ending finally at the team in charge of aerial combat operations.

  “How’s it going up there?” Barton Beldin yelled up to the men working on the plane, which was hung from the crane high above.

  “Well hey!” Flynn Randall took off a pair of huge engineering goggles, and looked down at the three over the wing of the plane.

  The room commandeered for their team was a long and high tunnel running around the entire circumference of the dome. It was one of many interconnected places within the dome wall used to circulate the different consistencies of air within the various districts, and biosphere of the colony. The air, rarely motionless, would change heat and smell every few minutes as the environment was regulated. Their team had taken over a small stretch of it, shipping in three huge cranes, from which were suspended three antique airplanes.

  The planes had been restored from wrecks that they had found in a museum leftover from the original colony. They were highly manoeuvrable fighters from the great world war of Lantis. It had surprised all species venturing out into space, just how similar the patterns within their histories were.

  The planes had been refitted with high powered jets, and anti-grav guidance systems. They also held beneath them an arsenal of firepower, from spark-based machine guns, to fire-and-forget micro-missiles.

  Flynn Randall had been working on these systems with his team when they were paid this unexpected visit.

  “We have some good news.” Cix yelled. “Please come down! All of you come down now!”

  There were five people on the team, led by a lady called Bethany Lux. The rest of the team comprised of the three pilots, Flynn Randall the fighter, Port Farnon from Border Security, and Mitchell R’Oskvikg, who came from
an undisclosed role in East Syndicate. All three had extensive piloting experience in their lives before prison. The others were the main mechanics, Erik Luminaire the famed punk fighter from South Syndicate, and Rhia NoVakahn, a black skinned girl who worked in haulage for Old Gang.

  The men and women in overalls gathered around, and Cix Beldin stepped forward.

  “We think we have a window.” she said. “So we’re bringing the teams together this afternoon for an official meeting. It will look like part of the Autumnal Solstice celebrations so feel free to come dressed in party gear. Costumes may be a little inappropriate though. Bethany, you don’t need to come unless you’ve changed your mind about coming?”

  Their leader, Bethany said “I’m afraid not. It’s too much for my partner. There’s no way she could handle something like this right now.”

  “Thanks for helping.” Barton nodded.

  “I guess I’ll wish you luck now. Not that I think you’re gonna need it.”

  “I’ll miss you, girl.” Cix said and kissed her.

  Barton took over “Gathering is at South Syndicate village, on the east field. Right beside the old market wheel, which you will all have driven past countless times no doubt, but never thought of visiting. Well the same will apply to everyone else hopefully, and so we’ll get a little privacy.”

  “Well, at last.” Mitchell said, slapping Randall’s shoulder hard.

  Randall smiled slightly and said “What time?”

  Cix looked at Barton and shrugged “We’ll be getting it going right away, but you can say… Eight in evening?”

  “Eight then.” Mitchell grinned.

  “We’ll be starting the countdown from ten.” Barron said “Your wristbands will be synchronized automatically. All you have to do is show up.”

  “Even if you don’t they’ll still be synchronized.” Barton said. “But we’d like to have everyone there for the beginning. Including you, Randall. Are you still sure you want to come?”

  “Yeah. Me and Faye have been having a few problems. Don’t think it’s going to last.” Randall said sadly.

  “Sorry to hear that, friend.” Barton said. “But it’s good to have you on board.”

  “Just Old Gang to inform now.” Barron said. “I’ll do that myself. You don’t need to come along for this.”

  Barton nodded “That would be good of you, Chester. The bad blood isn’t going away on this or any other planet.”

  “I have to settle up with a lady friend of mine anyway, so…” Barron smiled.

  “Be careful.” Rhia said. “This truce is hanging by a thread.”

  “What are you thinking, Barron?” Mitchell hissed. “Let’s not get sidetracked like last time, ok?”

  “It’ll be fine. Trust me please?”

  Rhia nodded and she, and the others walked back to the planes.

  “Oh, Mitchell?” Barron said “Can I have a word? Just a sec?”

  Mitchell looked at the others and then walked back to Barron and the Beldins.

  Barron walked away from the couple while gesturing to Mitchell, and so Mitchell followed.

  Once they were out of earshot of everybody, Barron said “I’m sensing a certain mistrust from you, Mitchell.”

  “Oh, you think?” he said sarcastically, looking back at the others as they continued their work.

  Barron smirked at him arrogantly, and said “Is there anything I can do to rectify this situation?”

  “I don’t get why you would gamble the whole truce on the eve of our escape like this.”

  “You mean Byder?” Barron smirked again. “We could all die tomorrow, Mitchell. This could be our last chance to be together.”

  “Byder and Josep are a couple. Do you even understand the importance of this? The importance to Josep? If he sees you two together it will destroy the truce. It will destroy this escape. There is no escape without their team.” Mitchell said emphatically, while Barron only stood and smirked in his disconnected way.

  Barron blinked and looked away. “You know I’ve longed for the day when I could be free of this planet. I should never have been sent here, like many others here. But for me, although I do like a lot of the people I’ve met while here, I do find them hideously ignorant. People like yourself, completely uninformed of anything other than what exists in the tiny tunnel of your life. And I hope you believe me, I don’t mean any offense by this. But I’ve had to put up with this intelligence gap for almost ten years now. It’s ten years of my life stolen away forever. They’re never coming back…”

  Mitchell, who was indeed furiously offended, said “You’re going to get us all killed. And you know it. What’s going on, Chester?”

  Barron smirked and chuckled, turning away.

  “I think we’re done here.” he said in a low voice, and walked away toward the exit.

  He gestured and the Beldins left with him.

  Mitchell stood staring at the exit, panting with the fear and anger of what he knew.

  “Come on, Mitchell!” Randall yelled from the far side of the place.

  Mitchell looked at him, then began running to the door.

  “Where are you going?” Rhia yelled.

  Skipping sideways he yelled back “We don’t need to run another check. I need to sort a few things out before tomorrow.”

  “They should have been done already, Mitch.” Rhia yelled, as Mitchell ducked through the dark door.

  At ground level, Mitchell managed to catch up to Barron and the couple, remaining out of sight behind them until they reached the exit to the sea.

  As the three left through the door, Mitchell ran to slip through just before it closed again.

  Mitchell stood in the dank space between the end of the pier and the forcefield, watching them through the grey haze of it as they walked away across the sea.

  As they reached what he judged to be the shore, Mitchell leaned his face through the field, emerging through the fake projection of a seascape.

  He could tell they were far enough away not to see him, and so began to sprint toward the shore. Two automobiles revved up and began rolling away toward the highway, but Mitchell was fast and reached the shore as they sped up onto the roads above.

  It was the temperate north zone, filled with patches of heavily overgrown fields, utilizing the perfect balance of a combination of plants, animals and insects to produce masses of food on an industrial scale. Small octopus-like robots gathered the harvest with greater precision than a human could achieve.

  Mitchell ran into the thick smell of the plants, pushing on to his own car and then sped at illegal speed onto the glass carriageways, and accelerated to catch up to the two cars. He could see them after the central ring road and so slowed to give a little distance.

  The Beldins turned away toward South Syndicate, while Barron, as he promised, turned toward the northern cavern containing the Old Gang headquarters.

  In the north was another city center that had been abandoned by the original colony, and had not been touched during the refurbishment and conversion to a prison. It now lay to the north, a series of half rings of derelict retail districts, with stagnant rivers instead of promenades surrounding a central district, that rested up against the dome wall. This one district in the middle of them all had been rebuilt and populated. Old Gang Central, as it had been named, now served as a remote hub of drugs, misery and crime in the gigantic colony. Hordes of cattle and other degenerates spread out from it by day and night clawing and feeding at the belly of the otherwise depressed and peaceful city. But the drugs they made were in demand at the end of the day, and business was always booming.

  Mitchell followed a car behind as they drove down into the wall of this central district, which itself was alive with the beginnings of the Autumnal Solstice carnival. It was a carnival organized by Old Gang so was hugely financed, and proved quite distracting to drive through as he left the tunnel and joined the outer highway.

  Old Gang central was much like the metropolis only halved by
the outer dome wall. There was the outer ring of retail blocks surrounding an inner space, and the road systems hugging around the circumference.

  There was a lot of activity spilling onto the lower street, highway, and even some on the tram tracks.

  Seeing where Barron was heading, Mitchell drove slowly around the dancing crowd and made it up the slip road to the parking hollow of the Fincle Harvesting building, which was a front company thinly veiling Old Gang headquarters. The whole outer ring here had been taken over and so it would be no problem parking in any of the outer blocks.

  At that height you could see right into the enormous, darker space on the other side, that throbbed and hummed with the vibrancy of a dance party. It was full of bodies and steam from the substances being cooked up between them, all jumping and dancing to the sound and lightshow pumping over them.

  The blocks on the inner ring of the district had been demolished and concreted flat with one, single building, a tiny cathedral built in the middle of the sea of people and flashing lights. Behind it all was a disused tram line that had been broken and twisted in shapes to read “Old Gang Central”.

  The district played host to this never ending party, thinly veiling the buying of stolen goods and the selling of hard narcotics. Tonight the party had a carnival vibe, and spilled over into the rest of the colony, drugs and all.

  It represented everything they wanted to escape from.

  Mitchell sat in the car and watched Barron at the far end of the stable-lane get out of his car, and allow it to drive away toward the parking lot. Barron, instead of turning toward the lobbies, turned to walk along the path to one of the graffiti abused glass elevators at the side, that then took him down in a perspex cubicle to the high street below.

  Mitchell left the car and ran to catch him once he was out of sight, then took an adjacent elevator down into the bustling crowd below.

  Staring along the length of the main street he found Barron walking along the side path under the loom of the highway.