Freedom Incorporated (47 page)

Dan was deliberately
leading them through the side streets, staying clear of the places
likely to have mounted cameras. So it came as little surprise when
an angst-ridden band of adolescents waylaid them.

“
Hold it, you
up-town fucks.” He was clearly the leader, wearing a spiked leather
jacket plucked from the punk scene of the last century, a pair of
faded blue jeans and army issue general-purpose boots. There were
five in total and the others wore a similar uniform, their badge of
conformity.

“
This here’s
our turf. You gotta pay to pass this way.” He was perhaps nineteen
years old, twenty at the most. But big for his age. He must have
figured the odds were in his favour, despite the determined streak
in Dan’s eyes. He menacingly hefted a metre-long pipe and his
friends carried everything from bike chains to machete-like
knives.

Dan calmly looked them
over. Samantha and Cookie knew about the arsenal he’d tucked inside
his coat and felt safe under his protective wing.

“
How much do
you expect us to pay?” All emotion had drained from Dan’s voice,
leaving an icy clarity that only Samantha and Cookie
understood.

The teenage gangster had
neck-length hair that sheened with grease and he ran his fingers
through it before answering, “How about you strip naked and we’ll
take what we want.”

“
I have a
better idea.” Dan took one pace forward and the gang fanned out,
flanking them threateningly. “How about you bend over and I’ll
shove that pipe of yours where the sun doesn’t shine.”

An alarm
shrieked in Samantha’s mind, reminding her that Dan was unstable
and possibly capable of carrying out his threat.
What’s he doing?
The gang
edged behind them, closing the ring. Their leader was fuming at the
insult, trying to think of a comeback and becoming flustered by his
lack of wit.

Samantha reached inside
Dan’s coat and pulled out the 8mm modified Colt, aiming it squarely
between the gang leader’s eyes. She took a step forward, mustered
her courage, and said, “Would you mind getting out of our way?” Her
harsh tone surprised even her; she’d never snapped at anyone that
vehemently before. “We’re in a hurry.”

Dan
whipped
his
hands
inside his coat and extracted both halves of the Cobra-KT, snapped
them together, and spun to aim at a fat, surly youth carrying a
machete. “Please?”

That was
enough.

They bolted for cover,
yelling unintelligible insults over their shoulders.

“
Nice
neighbourhood,” Dan said. “Maybe I’ll buy a condo here.” He
disassembled his rifle and slotted the halves back into their
holsters before presenting an empty palm to Samantha.

She reversed the weapon
and handed it to him grip first. “Sorry.”

He started walking, only
mildly irritated that Samantha had borrowed his Colt.

But the silence attacked
her conscience until she felt the overpowering need to defend
herself. “I just wanted to dissipate the tension.”

“
No,” Dan
grunted. “You were worried I’d kill one of those kids.”

“
Would you
have?” She asked. “I’ve seen death in your eyes.”

He didn’t deny it. “Yes:
Esteban’s death. But not a bunch of kids, I’m not a ruthless
killer.”

“
Yes you are.
You’re just selective.”

Dan whirled to face her.
“Don’t you think he deserves to die?”

Samantha shook
her head. “I don’t know what I believe. If you’d asked
a
week ago I’d have said
nobody deserves capital punishment.” She shrugged. “But now… well,
I don’t know.”

“
He’s above
the law you know. If we don’t do anything, nobody will.
Nobody
can
.”

The truth stung enough
for Samantha to question the rigidity of her moral code.

“
He’s going to
torture Jen, he’s going to rape and kill her, and he’s already done
the same to my wife. If that doesn’t mean he’s forfeited his right
to live on the same civilised planet as the rest of us, then I
don’t know what would.”

“
Perhaps
that’s where we differ,” Samantha said, doggedly standing her
ground. “I don’t think we’re civilised at all. And I don’t expect
much from people, but I don’t think anyone has the right to take
another life. Or didn’t… now I’m not sure.”

“
Come on,”
Cookie interrupted. “The sooner we get that chip out of your back
the sooner we can start looking for Jen.”

We?
Dan had never intended for anybody
to tag along, but he’d pick the moment to tell them carefully.
Another ten minutes and they were standing in front of the surgery.
It reminded Dan of the bubbles he used to make from detergent when
he was a child – it was one gigantic glass bubble, complete with
rainbows of refracted light dancing along its curves.
Somebody got drunk in the forties, right in the
middle of the glass craze.
It sprung from a
time when glass manufacturers mastered the complex art of
impregnating glass with current-controlled insulation. The
marketing team responsible for promoting it had won an
award,
and
Dan could
see why.

“
Round the
back.” Cookie led them past what had once been a neatly trimmed
hedge but had since grown out of control
.
It bordered
what had originally been a
customer car park. A single rusted shell remained, crouching on
tired suspension, a dinosaur of non-quantum transportation. “If we
don’t go through reception there won’t be any record of our
visit.”

“
Good.” Dan
approved.

It was surprisingly cold
inside the bubble, almost wintry, though it came as a pleasant
reprieve from the humid Brisbane air. Cookie weaved a confident
path through halls that appeared abandoned. It was clean and
smelled like chlorine, but it was dark and Dan couldn’t hear
anything to indicate human activity. “Are you sure it’s open on
Saturday?”

“
The door was
open, wasn’t it?”

“
Touché,” Dan
said, feeling ill at ease. “Lead on.”

They shunned the
elevators, which security typically fitted with microchip scanners,
and broke a sweat hiking three flights of stairs. Cookie showed
them to an antechamber in one of the deserted surgeries and pulled
a curtain around their tiny corner.

Scant
protection
, Dan thought.
He
frowned, “How many times
have you been here?”

“
Enough,”
Cookie admitted. “Every so often we have to refresh
our
identities. He has a
machine that… well, you’ll see. Stay here, I’ll go fetch him.” He
hurried from the room
,
leaving Samantha and Dan alone.

An uneasy
silence settled up
on
them
. Dan had the peculiar feeling that
Samantha didn’t like him much.
Or maybe
she’s scared of me?
He couldn’t be sure.
Either way the conversation wasn’t flowing as it had with Jen. He
simply couldn’t think of anything to say.

Samantha was
drowning her discomfort by meticulously itemising everything in the
room. She’d pulled the curtain aside with a roll of her eyes
seconds after Cookie had departed. The stencil on the glass door
read ‘Surgery D’.
How many are
there?
she wondered absently. The walls were
white and the tiled floor was as clean as the scrubbers could
manager. Thin veins of bacteria, immune to the strong chemicals and
disinfectants dumped upon them, flourished in green patches. The
only solution remaining was to use a scouring pad and scrape the
colony away.

Large
laminated charts of human anatomy covered one wall. A massive brain
captivated her imagination and, in her mind, she saw little brown
men squirming in mud, not carefully labelled lobes. Two hospital
beds dominated the centre of the room, a perfect symbol for the
fastidious nursing staff that had perfectly aligned the sheets and
folded identical hospital corners forward and aft. One had a hole
at the front for a patient’s face, designed for procedures where
the surgeon needed access to the patient’s back. She remembered her
own operation, in a similar room.
Surgery
B I think.
She shivered when she thought
about the scalpel slicing her flesh and the pulling sensation she
felt when the surgeon removed her chip. She couldn’t go through it
a second time.

A short, stout man with a
ruddy face and tufts of wiry hair sprouting from his potato-like
scalp flicked on the lights and temporarily blinded
them.

“
This is
Doctor Ingles,” Cookie said, introducing them. “This is
Dan…
uh…
”

“
Sutherland,”
Dan supplied, easing Cookie’s embarrassment at his momentary blank.
He accepted the surgeon’s offered hand and shook hard, noticing how
limp and sweaty the man’s fingers were. It felt as if he were
shaking cold, long-dead fish and wondered whether he’d trust
someone with such stubby fingers to operate on his
spine.

Cookie turned on the
electric shades to make the windows opaque, closed the door, and
engaged the lock. It clanked with finality, sending a shudder of
diluted panic to Dan’s stomach.

Doctor Ingles smiled
vivaciously and said, “So you’ve been chipped?”

Dan nodded.

“
And you want
someone to gouge it out?”

“
Yes.” Dan
cringed at his choice of words.

“
It’ll cost
five thousand.” The doctor eyed his potential patient with a degree
of curiosity. “North American Credits.”

Dan cocked an eyebrow.
“What’s that? About seven thousand Pacific Dollars?”

Cookie’s analytical mind
performed a more accurate calculation. “No, more like thirteen
thousand at the current exchange rate.”

If the fee surprised Dan,
he didn’t show it. “I’ll also need a chip selector-”

“
I know.” The
doctor smiled. “They come free with the procedure.”

“
A
nd three new chips,” Dan finished.
“All with authority to carry weapons internationally.”

Doctor Ingles frowned and
raised a thumb to stroke his lips. “That’ll cost extra.” He
pondered some more. “Say… double. Call it ten thousand Credits
even.”

Cookie piped
in
,
helpfully
whispering in Dan’s ear, “That’s twenty-six thousand
Dollars.”

“
I knew that,”
Dan snapped, irritably brushed him aside. “Done.”

“
Great.” The
doctor opened a drawer from a cabinet at the side of the
room
,
extracted two
surgical gloves
,
and
started tying a mask across his face. “Strip to the waist and jump
on the table.” He was already dragging a tray of medical
instruments across the floor and reaching for the floodlight
controls. He pressed a button and a shower of brilliant, white,
surgical-grade light blasted the table. It outshone the overhead
lights a hundred to one and Dan could only guess how hot it was
going to be under the dazzling blanket.

He handed his coat to
Cookie and his shirt to Samantha before peeling off his grey skivvy
and handing it to her too.

“
Ah, you might
want to take that off.” Doctor Ingles pointed at the silver chain
dangl
ing
around
Dan’s neck.

He reluctantly
unclasped the chain and piled it upon Samantha’s waiting palm. It’d
been a gift from Katherine and he couldn’t remember
taking
it off since her
death. “Is this going to hurt?”

Doctor Ingles smiled
gleefully. “Oh yes, very much.”

“
He’s joking.”
Samantha giggled. “I didn’t feel a thing.”

“
But I used
anaesthetic on you,” Ingles said. “And the administrator
confiscated it. She locked it in a safe downstairs and I can’t get
any unless you schedule an appointment through reception. I think
she became suspicious about my side business when I
began
rescheduling
legitimate appointments
, not to mention I
was using anaesthetic
faster than she could
replenish it.”

Dan paused
before entering the shaft
of
light
, reconsidering the operation. An
image of his wife’s beaten, bloodied and defiled corpse skirted
across his mind. Then the ghastly scene turned to a similarly
horrific image of Jen – a prophecy of things to come. It was enough
to override his natural aversion to pain, or in this case,
anticipation of pain, which in Dan’s experience was worse than pain
itself. He eased himself onto the operating table, his skin glowing
white under the beam of light. As he suspected, it was hot, and he
began to sweat.

The doctor
looked surprised. “I
was
kidding you know.” He pulled a
phial of clear liquid from his coat. “I always have a stash on hand
for black ops.” He wondered what kind of nut would
volunteer
his body to a
scalpel without the promise of anaesthetic. “I don’t want you
jerking at the wrong moment or I might stab your spinal cord with
my scalpel.”