Ellie Quin Book 3: Beneath the Neon Sky (4 page)

‘If you look at the ice face itself, you’ll see different layers of white and grey. That’s where the density of the ice changes and is a reflection of environmental changes here on Harpers Reach from long before man settled on the planet. As you can see, there have been climate changes in the past, but this time round the warming will eventually melt all of it.’

‘So why IS the world warming up?’ asked the middle aged lady next to her.

Jez concentrated for a moment as she recalled the detailed explanation Aaron had given her a few days ago. Somewhat bored and irritated by his lecturing tone, she hadn’t listened to all of it but, but she could recall enough of it to parrot-it-back.

‘As the atmosphere thickens across the planet, thanks to the work of the Oxxon refineries right at the very top of the world, the surface heat of the ground, warmed by the sun, is then trapped beneath it. The atmosphere functions a bit like a one way mirror, allowing…’

Crud, technical words coming up. I hope I get this right….

‘…
infrared
and
microwave
energy in one way, but not out the other. In effect, functioning like a layer of insulation,’ Jez said, proud with herself that for a few moments there, she’d managed to sound vaguely like an egg-head, even if she didn’t really understand the first thing of what she had just been saying.

The shuttle began to rise in altitude as the mottled white wall ahead of them loomed up large and intimidating. As the final thousand yards distance dwindled, the shuttle rose and dramatically skimmed over the top of the cliff with only a few dozen yards to spare.

Jez heard a collective out-letting of breath from either side of her. Ahead, the landscape was a brilliant, glittering, plain of white, punctuated here and there by enormous cracks and crevasses that snaked all the way to the edge of the arctic shelf. A world of orange and brown had suddenly been replaced with one of white, blues and subtle violets, in the blink of an eye.

She felt a passing surge of emotion that almost threatened the precise line of her lips. She wasn’t sure what it was…pride, sadness, loss?…or perhaps a dawning glimmer of realization that she was privileged enough to see something so beautiful; something that would one day be little more than a footnote on some other planet’s Toob-Interactive menu list.

As the doomed icy wilderness rushed past beneath them she felt like she was beginning to understand why Aaron and Ellie had spoken of it with a mixture of wonder and sadness. She decided to let their passengers enjoy the next few minutes in silence. She understood that what they could take in with their own eyes would mean far more to them than any hastily collated info-babble she could fill their ears with.

It was all a load of baloney anyway. Even Jez had to admit, there really were moments in your life when the best thing you can do is just shut up for a minute.

CHAPTER 6

Deacon looked out of the long and wide lounge window at the city below. New Haven was like so many other new world cities; untidy, overcrowded and garish. Every spare surface seemed to be filled with animated commercial images, the sky littered with floating billboards. It was one big, vulgar, tasteless bazaar that seemed to be poorly controlled by the city authorities.

It wasn’t as if it even had any unique charm. There was nothing out there that was uniquely of this world, nothing that identified this city, this world, from hundreds of others like it. Most of the logos he spotted amongst the chaos of flickering, flashing, brightly colored graphics were ones that he had seen over and over again with monotonous regularity; the same old companies selling the same old rubbish to the gullible herds throughout Human Space.

It was totally homogenous, generic. New Haven was as instantly forgettable as most of the other cities he had visited in his life; a ramshackle bubble packed full of good little consumer-sheep, passively grazing on protein-poor fast food and gazing listlessly at holographic commercials.

He turned back round to watch Nathan Collobie - one of Mason’s lab technicians - taking tissue samples from the bodies on the floor. Nathan was the ideal person to sequester from the Department of Genetic Analysis. He was a good technician; a very reliable and conscientious worker. But, most importantly, he already knew enough to be a security risk. It made sense then to continue using him, rather than bring in some other genetic technician to collect the tissue samples. The fewer loose ends Deacon was going to have to deal with when this was all over, the better. So, Nathan was along for the ride, like Leonard, until this little job was done.

Deacon watched as the technician worked. Nathan was in his late twenties and thickly-set. He wore fashionably baggy, bright colored clothes that sensibly blended in with the predominant fashion-paradigm on this world. He did a far better job of passing anonymously than Deacon did, with his distinctive dark tailored suit. He had to applaud the young man for that.

He moved with quick precision, producing a sterilized sampler bud from a hip-mounted pack and dabbing it delicately in the pool of blood beside the last of the four bodies splayed across the living room floor. He put the blood-tipped bud into a small plastic container, sealed it and then wrote the name and details on the lid:

Daniel R. Weston: biological father of candidate Imogen S. Weston.

He looked up at Deacon after he had finished. ‘I’m done, I’ve got all of them.’

‘Good. Add their samples to the others and have them sent back to the lab to be analyzed.’

‘Yes sir,’ replied Nathan casting another queasy glance around the room, the signs of their recent handiwork splashed in crimson across the walls and floor.

‘Why don’t you go into the kitchen and make yourself some coffee, Nathan?’

The technician nodded with obvious relief, and left the late Weston family’s lounge for their kitchen. Deacon watched him go and felt some sympathy for both him and Leonard. This
was
an unpleasant business. But there simply wasn’t the time to carefully take each candidate and its family’s DNA and wait patiently for it to be deconstructed and thoroughly scrutinized before being able to press on and locate the next potential candidate on their list. They needed to be dealt with now. Unfortunately, doing it like this meant a few innocents would die along the way.

Deacon was now certain that Mason’s creation was one of the names on the list; one of the sixty-three fetuses returned to Harpers Reach that Mason had personally been involved with. But he couldn’t relax until he had
samples
from all of them, and their immediate relatives, taken back to the lab to study. Mason’s handiwork would hopefully be in there somewhere, and once the candidate had been correctly identified, and he had made his report to the Administration that the child was dead…the crisis would be over.

However, there was always the chance that he’d made a mistake.

He could have picked the wrong world on which to start his search and the candidate even now, on the other side of the universe, might already be on the move, carrying out Mason’s apocalyptic errand.

He just had to hope Harpers Reach was the right planet to have come to first. Certainly the city beyond this window was the kind of environment in which the candidate child might head towards to stay lost for some time. This place fitted the profile. If he were Mason, he would have almost certainly chosen a Paternity Request from this world.

He turned towards the three armed men standing silently near the doorway, awaiting his orders. ‘Make it look like a robbery. Make a mess, break some things, take some things.’

The three men nodded and set about the task. The authorities in New Haven didn’t amount to much more than a poorly organized, predictably corrupt, civic council. He could do anything he wanted in this city and their local law officers wouldn’t be able to touch him, not after he waved his ID at them. But, for now, a little discretion would probably be wise. Time was of the essence, and he didn’t want to waste any of it having to explain himself or confirm his supreme authority here to some local law enforcement monkey.

He watched the men as they coolly and systematically trashed the habi-cube, which Deacon had to admit, was one of the nicer abodes in this crappy little city, perched as it was, high atop one of the more desirable towers. And the Westons had seemed like such a nice family too, as he’d talked to them, introduced himself and politely asked if their daughter was home.

Pity.

He looked towards Leonard, who stared at a tray of crystal marbles that had been knocked off the coffee table onto the carpeted floor by Mr Weston as he’d fallen. The young lad’s lips fluttered ever so slightly as he rapidly counted them over and over. That was how the young lad seemed to deal with situations he found unsettling; to focus on some tiny detail and quietly
quantify
it.

‘Leonard?’

He looked up, muttering to himself, ‘fifty-two marbles….fifty-two marbles, on the floor.’

‘It’s okay Leonard, all the nasty business is done here now.’

He nodded, ‘yes, Deacon.’

‘What name do we have next on the list?’

Leonard pulled out his data tablet. ‘Quin, Ellie. We have details on a home address outside of the city, an agri-plot several hours away. But we have a logged entry into New Haven some months ago. Just the child on her own, not the family.’

‘How old is the child?’

‘Twenty. Turned twenty a few months ago. Deacon took several steps back towards the window and looked down at the city again.

Twenty…the onset of adulthood and this creature has come to the city all alone.

He turned to look at Leonard. ‘What do you think, Leonard?’

The young lad nodded and spoke quickly, ‘it could be her, it could be. It fits the behavioral profile we have produced - yes, at the first opportunity, running away from home to the nearest big city, a place full of people.’

‘Yes,’ replied Deacon thoughtfully, ‘this one looks even more promising. Except we might be a little too late. If she’s here in New Haven, she’s already on the run.’

‘But she may well be running
only
on instinct. Unless, of course, someone has told her that she
should
be on the run.’

‘Yes,’ Deacon replied thoughtfully. Leonard had a very good point. If she knew what she was already, if someone had sat her down and explained that to her, she might already be travelling under an alias. As it was, some months back she had boldly entered the city under her own name. Careless. That was going to make it a lot easier to pin her down in New Haven.

‘Leonard, we need to run her details through this city’s transaction database, see where she buys her basics. We might even get lucky and find her name on some O2 bill, or a cube rental bill.’

‘Yes Deacon. I’ll get on it right away.’ Leonard pulled out his tablet to begin the task. His eyes once more darted towards the body of Mr Weston, Mrs Weston, half her head sprayed across the family’s gel couch, the two Weston children lying either side of the overturned toob projector on the floor…and the scattered marbles on the carpet beside them. ‘Fifty-two marbles on the floor…fifty-two marbles,’ he muttered unhappily.

Deacon gave him a reassuring pat on the back. ‘Why don’t you go and get yourself a coffee too, there’s a good boy,’ he said and then turned back to the window to look out once more.

Mason’s abomination is out there somewhere.

This felt like the one. Dammit! He should have started with this one, this Quin child. The other seven candidates they had already visited and dealt with on Harpers Reach had all seemed so very normal, docile, quite unremarkable, just like the vast majority of the emotionally neutered masses out there.

‘I think this Ellie Quin is the one,’ he whispered quietly to himself.

It’s her, all right.