Freedom Incorporated (54 page)

*

Saturday, September 18,
2066

05:28 Baltimore,
USA

Jen
lay on her back, staring at the
ceiling. From the outside she looked calm, but her unblinking eyes
masked a whirlpool of frustration, anger, and fear, each fighting
hand-over-fist to dominate her at any given moment.

She’d tried to sleep with
little success; she doubted she’d be tired until morning. The
difference in time zones was wreaking havoc on her circadian
rhythm, but she intended to use that to her advantage. A loose plan
was forming in her mind and desperation made her believe it was a
good one.

But several
questions blared through her mental anguish, demanding answers lest
she go insane:
How can they get away with
this? How can they steal women from their homes? Why aren’t
investigators barging through the portals to arrest
them?
She studied the problem from every
angle trying to justify answers, but found none.

She checked her watch.
The ghostly glow of the analogue hands was just visible in the
gloom. It was nearly time to give impetus to her plan. Like any
good tactician, she fretted about whether it would work and the
excess nervous energy left her giddy.

Jen hauled herself off
the mattress and the carpet tickled the soles of her feet. The
Guild was quiet. She’d monitored and catalogued every sound for
hours, hearing nothing to indicate human activity for at least two.
Not that she’d expected a din, Dan’s house had been quiet too –
earth was a wonderful insulator. She obeyed her plan like an
unquestioning soldier because she knew doubt would only wheedle her
back to bed, defeated. The halls were empty, though she suspected
cameras were constantly scanning the corridors.

She’d talked
to Claire for almost an hour and already felt a special bond with
her.
If I can just break free, I
can…
She seized her thoughts.
If? When!
She charged her
psychological batteries for the ordeal that lay ahead, telling
herself it would work. It had to work. Every cell in her body
demanded freedom. She couldn’t cope with captivity, not for long,
and that knowledge scared her.
What if it
fails?
But she snubbed the thought before
she could answer and hope glowed like a fragile ember in her
stomach, driving her forward.
Break free.
Return with police. Free the others.
She
ticked the steps off on her fingers. She hoped to stay in touch
with Claire afterwards.
But I’m ahead of
myself again.
She swallowed and focussed on
the moment.

The dark
licked oppressively at the fairy-like safety lights, which lit the
corridors at baseboard level. They timidly illuminated the way to
the toilets – the Guild didn’t want captives sullying their perfect
décor with pungent urine if they were unable to hold on until
morning. But the glow was eerie and a shiver crept down Jen’s
spine. She’d thought of two ways to reach freedom. Esteban had one
in his pocket. If she could retrieve her chip selector, she could
crack it apart, hand out microchips as if they were candy, and lead
an exodus.
Or, failing that, the hard
way.
She wasn’t yet sure she had the stomach
to kill a man, let alone gouge the microchip from his body.
But if that’s what it takes…
She wasn’t worried about her captors’ souls; they were black
beyond repair. Of that, she was sure. But neither did she want
blood on her hands; she was only considering it because the
alternative was life as a sex slave.

Leaping into a portal
with a Guild member wasn’t an option due to PortaNet’s safety
mechanisms. Every portal scanned for multiple signs of life and
would deactivate the instant it detected a positive reading. There
was also the weight to consider. Every microchip contained a field
for the individual’s weight and portals refused to operate if they
sensed more than 30 kilograms above the posted amount. PortaNet
deemed anything heavier was cargo. No, if Jen wanted to escape on a
Guild member’s microchip, she’d have to rip it from his
spine.

She blinked
moisture back into her eyes. Given the chance, she knew what she’d
choose.
All I need is an effective
weapon.
That was the first task. She scoured
her room for anything even mildly weapon-effective but the best she
found was a table leg, which she could use baseball-bat style.
First, she’d have to smash the table.
No.
It’d be hard to hold… not good enough.
It
certainly wasn’t suitable for what Jen had in mind. She needed
something better, like a knife.
Or better
yet, a gun.
She doubted her captors would be
stupid enough to leave weapons lying around but she intended to
check.

An icepick
maybe?
It was an intriguing thought and far
more effective that a hunk of wood.
Easier
to conceal too.
She remembered the bar in
the lounge and made a beeline toward it.

She was tiptoeing
silently across the carpet when a slurred voice startled her from
the dark.

“
What are you
doing here?” He had a thick English accent, reminding Jen of an
Oxford professor who had once guest-lectured at her
university.

Shrill panic squeezed
adrenaline from her glands and conflagrated a fire in her stomach.
The only sensible answer came unbidden to her lips. “I was
thirsty.”

“
Ah, you must
be the new girl they warned me about.” He was tipsy and Jen
wondered why he’d been sitting alone in the dark. “I’m Edward
Tinlin.”

Jen started sidling past
him, unsure whether to classify him dangerous. “I’m Jennifer
Cameron.”

“
Oh yes, I
know,” he said. “Mike Cameron’s granddaughter, they told me.” He
pressed a button on the remote he was cradling and a light
flickered on, temporarily blinding them. “Oh sorry.” He pressed
another button and the light dimmed to an acceptable level. Under
other circumstances Jen would have called the duskiness romantic,
but now it just felt unsafe. “Ah, there, that’s better.” He
gestured casually to the bar and said, “If you’re thirsty… Of
course you’re not
allowed
alcohol, but you’re new so they probably won’t
mind.”

Jen noticed that he kept
saying ‘they’, as if he was an outsider. Quickly, she forged
another plan, one that didn’t involve killing. “Thanks.” Still, she
canvassed the area for a weapon while pouring a glass of tonic,
just in case her new plan failed. The Guild had stocked the bar
well and it included a hefty icepick. She tucked it into her jeans
and folded her shirt over the top to keep it hidden.

“
Where are you
from?” She carefully gauged his reaction while lowering herself
into the furthest armchair.

“
England,
would you believe? I only come here when in serious need of getting
drunk.” He beamed happily through an alcohol haze, doing a poor job
of concealing a deeper misery. Jen didn’t care what it was or why
it was there, but he enlightened her nonetheless. “I arrived home
early today.” He chortled and spilled liquor unnoticed onto his
crotch. “I thought I’d surprise my wife on our anniversary with
flowers and a box of chocolates. But wouldn’t you know it? She
surprised me… fucking her girlfriend she was.” He downed the
contents of his tumbler with a quick gulp and looked ravenously
toward the bar.

“
I’m sorry,”
Jen said. But she wasn’t sorry at all. She didn’t give a toss what
happened to him or his wife. She just wanted to keep him
onside.

“
Yes, well,
shit happens.” He looked lazily at the rainbow of light refracted
by his tumbler, lost in thought.

She didn’t want to risk
waiting any longer. “You look like a decent person.”

“
Really?”

“
Uh,
yeah.”
Is he too drunk to
help?
Jen wondered, fretting that he may not
even comprehend her plea. “There are women here, held against their
will.”

“
Oh, ‘s that
right?”

Jen nodded, trying to
snare his attention for long enough to make her proposal. “I’m one
of them, Edward.”

Hearing his name jolted
him back to the present. “Yes, I know.” He regarded her blearily
and without much emotion.

“
Do you think
that’s right?” Talking to drunks had always frustrated her, which
was why she rarely drank anything herself. She despised feeling
intoxicated.

Edward shrugged. “I don’t
suppose it is, no. But then, you’re either going to be here or in
gaol, which would you prefer?”

Neither.
“Secret option number three…”
She let her voice trail away, sensing the conversation would go
nowhere.

“
Well,” he
spread his palms, “you should’ve thought of that before you went
and broke the law.” His eyes drifted away from her face. “You know
what my wife always said?”

“
What’s that?”
Jen felt ill thinking about plunging the icepick into Edward’s
temple. She felt like a criminal, just as he’d said.
I should’ve thought of that before breaking the
law.
She wished she could rewrite the law,
or have her vengeance upon those who’d written it.

“
Never pass a
golden opportunity.” He licked his lips, his pinched face looking
suddenly wolfish. “How about you take me to your room and we have
some fun? If you do that for me, I’ll see what I can do for
you.”

A wave of
repulsion rippled through Jen’s body. A proposition from an
intoxicated English self-righteous snob wasn’t her idea of a good
time.
But,
she
thought,
it
would
be the perfect opportunity to
steal his chip.
So she nodded and forced a
sultry smile.

She set her tonic water
on the carpet and stood, offering to help him to his feet. He
accepted her hand and pulled himself onto unsteady feet. Three
seconds later, he shoved her roughly to the floor and toppled onto
her. “On second thought, I can’t make it to your room. How about we
do it here?”

He was heavier than he
looked and was crushing the air from her lungs. “What? No! Get off
me!” She raised her voice shrilly and twisted, trying to worm her
arms free and reach the icepick.

He squeezed her right
breast hard enough to bruise and used his knees to pin her arms to
the floor, leaving his other hand free to undo the latch on her
belt. He was kneeling on her injured wrists, making her skin smart
and her joints pop.

She lashed out with her
legs and rammed a knee into one of his kidneys. But, anesthetised
by alcohol, it merely made him angry and he slapped her roughly
across the face. The impact whipped her head to one side and split
her lip, and the taste of warm blood trickling into her mouth. He’d
worked her jeans down by the time she recovered from the shock,
hopelessly entangling her legs in the unyielding denim.

“
Hello, what’s
this then?” He found the icepick.

“
None of your
fucking business,” Jen spat back. “Now get off me!”

Edward shook his head and
tossed the icepick aside. “No, I don’t think so you stupid cow.”
His fingers clutched at her underpants.

“
Stop it!” Jen
was nearly screaming, the pain in her wrists unbearable.

“
You’d better
do what the lady says, Edward.”

He stiffened, looking
into the gloom with wild grey eyes. “Why? She’s a fucking whore,
what does it matter if I drill her?”

“
It matters to
Esteban, do you want to argue the point with him?”

Edward hung his head and
reluctantly released the pressure from Jen’s wrists. She clutched
the opportunity to slam a fist squarely into his gonads, taking
pleasure in his squeal of pain. He whipped his hands into a
protective cup over his testicles, far too late to save them from
permanent damage. He didn’t know it, but later it would develop
into testicular cancer. “Ah, you fucking bitch!” He slapped her
again, harder than the first time and drew his fist back to land a
punch when Junior knocked him aside with a kick. Edward was too
drunk to do more than lie on the ground and writhe in
agony.

Junior used the remote to
cast more light on the room, sending another stab of pain into
Jen’s retinas. She pulled her jeans up and fastened her belt before
gingerly rubbing her wrists.

“
That bitch!
Did you see what she did?” Edward moaned, incensed.

“
Yeah, and you
deserved it too,” Junior retorted. “You’re just lucky you’re as
drunk as a skunk or it’d hurt even more.”

Jen rolled to her feet,
snatched the abandoned icepick, and rose to a defensive crouch.
Junior watched her with a mixture of surprise and
amusement.

“
Don’t be
ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Give me the pick.”

She refused and waved it
menacingly, jerking it back and forth in the air with a stabbing
action. If she landed it in the right place, she knew she could
kill him, which was deterring enough to make Junior cautious. But
she knew time was her greatest enemy. “You’ve been watching
me?”