Freedom Incorporated, Peter Tylee [literature books to read TXT] 📗

rippling frown marred her forehead. “You look terrible.”

James hadn’t looked in a mirror for days so he hadn’t seen his bloodshot eyes, the dark sagging bags under them, or the sickly pallor of his skin. He looked as if the flu had flattened him and antibiotics hadn’t boosted his lagging immune system to stave off death. Either that or he hadn’t slept in days. “Thanks.” He didn’t know what else to say. “You look good. How’s Lillian?”

“She’s fine.” Susan was pouting. “But she’d also be better if you were here. Are you sure we’re not having an argument?”

“Not unless you started one without me?” It was possible. It’d be just like her to get angry at his extended absence.

“No, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t avoiding me, that’s all.” She looked depressed.

“I’ll be home soon.” James tried to smile but his lips were parched and they split before he could show teeth. “This can’t go on much longer.” He thought about the Raven. He’s homing in on the target now… “I’ll be there as soon as I can, I promise.”

“Okay.” She blew a kiss into the camera. “I can’t wait to hear your good news. Are you sure I’m going to like it?”

“Positive.” James returned the kiss.

*

Sunday, September 19, 2066

International Portal Terminals

4:45 Sydney, Australia

“Why don’t you just buy me a lifetime voucher at Liquor-Time?” Chuck asked dryly. Not even Dan could keep his spirits high during the dead hours of the night. His entertainment-starved mind needed a something like a ballgame to quench his thirst for distraction.

“I’ll think about it,” Dan said. “For now I’ll stick to, what is it? Seven bottles?”

It was actually six, but Chuck was the sort of person that’d scam a bottle if he could. Not because he was a heavy drinker, but because that was how he jested with friends. He’d crack open the first bottle and salute Dan and his crusade. Whatever it is. It was something to keep his imagination occupied anyway.

“That’ll do.” He tagged the weapons and passed them back. “Have a pleasant trip Mr Kennedy.”

Dan nodded and walked to the portals. He was glad Christopher was working tonight; it made things easier.

The mid-afternoon bustle of the United States east coast international terminal was in stark contrast to the lethargic pace Dan stepped out of in Australia. The jostle took him by surprise and he coughed for longer than usual. He still didn’t entirely trust his chip selector and fidgeted with it nervously in his pocket. What if it doesn’t work? What if two chips are active instead of one? What if they realise the signal’s coming from my pocket and not my spine? They were the same questions he’d tossed through his mind on the past two occasions he’d approached a foreign immigration counter. He knew instincts would take over if anything went horribly wrong, but what would instincts make him do? That was the scary part. Nobody could make a run for it; the immigration officials all had emergency buttons at their counters. If anybody bolted, the officials would override the system and lock down all portals. It was effective. Nobody had ever evaded the immigration blockade. Would I shoot? Hold a hostage? Would I capitulate? What? They were questions he couldn’t possibly answer until faced with the immediate need for a decision. He just hoped that need would never come.

The woman at the counter scanned him and checked his profile for consistency. “Your weapons please.” She looked frazzled by the pace of the work and didn’t spare any precious energy on pleasantries. Most travellers appreciated her direct manner. Occasionally an elderly person with a severe case of loneliness would complain that she was too abrupt, but they were the exception rather than the rule.

Dan stacked his weapons and ammunition onto the appropriate belt and allowed her to tag them.

“Next!” She squawked, her attention already shifting from Dan to the next in line.

You see? It works, Dan thought in an I-told-you-so tone. He quickly holstered his weapons and strode to the next rank of counters, American customs - which also caused him no problems - and soon he was striding for the domestic portals. Next stop, PortaNet.

He could think of two places to find a lead on Adrian Miller, who seemed the least violent member of Esteban’s gang and therefore a logical place to start. Where would he be? It was disheartening to think he might be with Jen, gluing her eyes shut or urinating through a funnel into her mouth. He had to believe she was still alive, just to keep himself going. Anger alone was not enough. A mixture of anger and hope was a far more volatile combination. It made him unpredictable and capable of just about anything. When he generously tossed desperation into the beaker, he turned out to be an unstoppable monster. But the combination that made him a deadly foe also had the power to destroy him - a risk he was willing to take.

His heart skipped when the portal folded space and sucked him through the subsequent wormhole. It’d been a while since he’d last visited New York and the sulphurous smell that assaulted his nostrils reminded him why. Nearly 70 percent of the population had absconded with their wealth - and lives - as soon as Portals had made cross-country commuting feasible and the population erosion had proved fatal for the once thriving city. Without enough people to support the local economy, the city had collapsed and died from rot. Those who could, fled - by any means at their disposal. Those who couldn’t, were stuck, and soon ran the city as they saw fit - usually through brute force and unspeakable crimes. Intimidation ran rife and fear kept much of the population under control, but none of the factions could keep the others at bay for long. They fought like a pack of deranged wolves, attacking the lead wolf until it fell from the stage only to focus their destructive attention on the next.

America’s view on the problem was even more disturbing for Dan. The puppet government didn’t care to spend money fixing anything. It was a city, a dirty, grimy city. A tumour on the land. A remnant from the previous centaury. A relic. It was where the poor people fled because affluent society had driven them away from the more popular, less crowded land. New York had developed its own ecosystem of humanity, independent from the rest of the country. The negative effects of portal technology had struck no other city in the world harder.

There was nobody left who was qualified to fix the damaged sewage pipes so greasy sludge seeped everywhere, spoiling the already fetid air and making life even harder for the struggling, miserable inhabitants. Still, a skeletal workforce kept the city intact, for the most part. Several million New Yorkers demanded goods and services, their ultimate dream to make enough money to flee, which would in turn worsen the problem for those left behind.

But PortaNet had refused to move their headquarters. Their office towered above the impressive New York skyline, a potent symbol: the most powerful corporation ever forged against the backdrop of a city wasteland that they’d created. Regardless of PortaNet’s desire to move to greener pastures, political tension held them fast. If they fled, they may as well publicly announce that their invention had destroyed a once-vibrant city. As long as PortaNet kept its base of operations in New York, people could still delude themselves into believing that human civilization, although decadent, wasn’t yet doomed.

On the ground it was another matter entirely. Dan had to walk carefully to avoid being shot. The police presence was a joke; they were one of the factions fighting for control of the streets and the lion’s share of the cash such control would bring. Of course, few people brought fresh money into the city. Greedy individuals shuffled the same wealth in circles, gloating over it for a day before it slipped through their buttered fingers and passed to someone else.

Little wonder therefore that bounty hunting often led to New York City, a refuge for the dispossessed and desperate. Several eager youngsters who’d chased targets into the warren of vice and crime with guns blazing had never resurfaced, consumed by the passionate hatred the locals had for authority. The older and wiser bounty hunters took their time, posing as part of the scenery until they learnt their targets’ patterns and could lure them into a trap. A dangerous game of cat-and-mouse at the best of times, New York put a perilous new spin on the tumbling dice bounty hunters cast every day. Suffice to say, Dan wasn’t looking forward to this part of his plan. He would’ve preferred to portal directly into the PortaNet lobby, but it was suspiciously absent from the portal directory so he had to settle for the nearest public station.

He reluctantly entered the street. Expecting the weather to mirror the horror of the city, he was surprised to find the sun shining on a warm autumn day. More surprising: the street didn’t look like a riot zone. Ordinary people were going about ordinary tasks. Street peddlers were selling wares. Newsagents were selling newspapers - the paper variety. New York’s own newspaper, the NYN - New York News - was proudly on display. A greengrocer was selling vegetables instead of standing in front of his stall with a shotgun. There was a chemist selling medication and Dan had to look twice to make sure he wasn’t seeing things - they weren’t Xantex products. He had no idea where the chemist had found the drugs. A forgotten basement from some ancient drug store? He wondered wether they’d still be potent enough. Those things have a limited shelf-life don’t they? He browsed the shelves as he passed, startled to see a new label printed on boxes of medication. Dan couldn’t believe a pharmacist would voluntarily move to New York, and he couldn’t imagine there was a large enough buffer from the surrounding turmoil to manufacture drugs. Half the city should be pounding down his door. A bicycle repair shop was next door, a row of shiny bicycles on display. They were the mode of transportation New Yorkers preferred. Everywhere he looked, people were pedalling bikes. Dan pinched himself. How’s this possible? It hasn’t been that long since I was here last… has it?

The United States of America had abandoned New York and now New York was turning its back in reprisal. Dan saw people exchanging cash - real cash, coins and paper that you could hold in your hands. And gauging by the number of bikes, New Yorkers had snubbed their noses at portals, which the rest of the world depended upon so desperately. Bikes are good, Dan thought, remembering Hans’s warning. It was an eye-opening experience: nobody cowered in fear; nobody eyed him suspiciously. Nobody is taking aim either, he was happy to note. None of the big brands had remained in New York after the bulk of the population fled. There simply wasn’t enough money in the community for them to leech off. But here, in the vacuum they’d created, small operators had filled the void. New Yorkers had tired of waiting for outside help and had created their own solution. The city was actually prospering and it lifted Dan’s spirit, something he desperately needed if only for a short time. Perhaps there’s some basic good in humanity after all.

A few street entertainers were begging for loose change, but they weren’t holding people at knifepoint. A pleasant change. New York had bottomed out and clawed its way back from the gunk-filled well. And in remarkably short time. Dan hoped they could sustain their newfound development, hoped they wouldn’t slide back into the