((The chapter heading is from the song Away by Deine Lakaien. The name of the story itself comes from Surrendering by Alanis Morissette. The address near Aberdeen that I give below should – apart from being incomplete – not exist. The highest number on the mentioned road should be 16, unless I failed at reading a map.
I wanted to withhold posting until I'm done writing, but I can't contain it any longer. I'm back in the office on January 9, and I won't be able to write there. Or only very little. I also need to keep some spare time for studying Ukrainian, so updates will definitely not be daily, but they'll come. I have this pretty much mapped out, that's the good thing about it. If I should feel a need to do some serious editing with an already posted chapter, I'll say so, but at this point, I doubt it.
The rating isn't justified yet (as of chapter 4) but it will be, so yes, I meant that.))
Chapter 1
A Lonesome Mourner
Frank had stopped listening to the TV the moment it was clear the Human Restoration Act had failed, now that they had finally managed to vote. A year later than scheduled, no less, a year for more death, more terror, more fear mongering. By a margin, yes. But it had failed. Eliza Cassan was spewing poison, a U.N. spokesperson talked about temperance and how a lot had to change now that it was clear all augmented people were not going to be stuffed into ghettos. Maybe the segretation would end. Maybe justice would once again be available for augmented people. Maybe.
'Mr Pritchard?' Judging by the concerned tone, the nurse had tried talking to him for a bit.
'Sorry. I was … distracted.' He put down his pocket secretary. He'd checked off a few items on his list. Fake papers. Checking on a couple of people to make sure they were still alive. Booking a flight. All done, aside from one small thing.
'Your last test came away okay. You can leave.'
'Checked with my insurance?'
'Ah … yeah. All seems in order.'
'Good.' He got up, glad to be able to leave. He still had to deliver his payment. Not that his personal forger would have demanded it. Not after what she'd done to him ages ago. In a different lifetime. 'Glad to be rid of this place. Am I immune to this crap now? 'Cause I'm going to be on a plane in a few hours.'
'To this particular virus, yes. But you should try not to catch another.'
'Thanks. Makes me really confident.' He grabbed what he had brought – a warm jacket, his laptop, and a set of spare clothes. One more visit and he'd be off in the night.
Ϡ
The voice in Adam's infolink was accompanied by a crackle and impossible to pinpoint. Trying to get a source ended with a random streak of numbers that kept changing. It was impossible to recognise the voice because of the heavy encryption. How many people could reach him that way? A handful. But then again, he'd been surprised before. The contact had Juggernaut written all over it.
'… abductions in Scotland … missing people … reappear confused and with … weren't there before. Police can't … on who did it or from where, probably from … country. … might want to … out before … of hand.'
'Yeah. Can I get that clearer?'
'… struggling … right now. … flight going in four days. You'll find a … mailbox. Think about it. … address … 21 Station … East, Peterculter AB14 0PT. Be there. … will all … there.'
'If I'm asked so nicely,' Adam muttered into the dead link. It sounded like a trap. The only problem with him was that he was intrigued. Very much so.
Ϡ
Frank was already at the gate when he decided to just do it. He recorded two brief messages to someone he was leaving behind. One went to David Sarif. It stated in no uncertain terms that he would be unreachable and that he shouldn't even bother trying to use his infolink. It also said that he was eternally grateful for a chance no-one else might have given him, but that at the same time he thought he had cleared his debt. He wasn't trying to go dark, so if Sarif wanted to find out where he was and send him a Christmas card he should knock himself out, but he shouldn't do it because he wanted something.
The second message came without revealing who he was and went to one Dylan Ferry, an actor for Picus. All it said was that he knew that Picus couldn't get in touch with the writer for Ferry's show for a bit, but that he had a feeling they would be in contact shortly and more than in time to keep things going. It also held a statement that Ferry was part of a dream come true for him. Frank had heard the guy in interviews. He wasn't stupid. He'd figure it out.
The gate opened. For a moment, when Frank held his papers over the scanner, he got nervous. Then there was a green light and a beep and for the first time in a long time, he smiled as he walked along the gangway.
Ϡ
There were only so many people Adam knew that might be able to trace the wild message he'd received. There was only one of them he trusted enough to ask. The problem was, the man had vanished off the face of the earth. Francis Pritchard might not be an easy person to be around, but he was reliable, intelligent, and Adam knew from experience that he could trust him with his life.
There were a million possible reasons why he couldn't raise him with his infolink. Adam's eyes were glued to the silenced TV in his apartment, where Eliza Cassan was prattling on about how the Spanish flu had decimated so many people in the US. Then, of course, there was the violence, and the fact that Pritchard had the talent to get involved with the wrong things or people. It didn't look good.
Adam convinced himself his main concern was the secrecy of the message. He had found a ticket to Scotland in his mailbox and the exact address on a piece of paper. He wasn't worried about Pritchard. The hacker had just killed their infolink connection, like he'd once said he should have. No reason to worry.
((Since I live in a country where an election has recently been postponed after the previous one was overturned, I don't believe I'm reaching with the thought that it gets delayed for a year just to suit my whims.))