3: Brice
1528 Words
3: Brice
Brice
It wasn’t quite dawn when Brice passed the sign that told him he was now entering the town of Padag. The sign told him to enjoy his stay. Brice doubted he would.
The noise seethed at the back of his mind, and he knew it would grow worse as the town woke. If it wasn’t for his low supplies he’d turn around and head back into the wilderness.
The pack on his back wasn’t empty, though. Brice was sensible—kept a few ration bars and a spare flask as back-up. There were clothes and tools.
And, beneath all that, the box. The one that contained the Cyastone. The lump of Ancient tech-infused rock that sent a tingle along Brice’s arm on the few times he opened the box, brushed his fingers over the smooth surface.
He tightened the pack’s straps, and walked into the town.
It wasn’t much of a place. He passed low-level industrial units, fenced off, traces and noise leaking out as night-workers did their stuff. There was a patch of wasteland, looked like a unit had been torn down, nothing more than w**d-infested rubble. The road narrowed as Brice reached residentials, two-storey blocks set back from the thoroughfare, paths cutting through soil and pebbles, might’ve looked serene if it wasn’t for the cracked paving and the discolouration that was visible in the sickly yellow glow of the overheads.
Brice gritted his teeth and walked on. The noise grew, so he focused on individuals, pushed the masses to the back of his consciousness. Listened to pathetic inner dialogues, the petty problems of people who had rooms and jobs, who weren’t hunted by Kaiahive.
Some of them didn’t have functioning lattices, others had company enhancements. Brice focused on those, even though it didn’t mean anything—the company had their tentacles anywhere, worked through countless subsidiaries and shells. Enhancement didn’t mean deep Kaiahive.
It didn’t exclude it, either. Brice couldn’t afford to relax.
He passed more buildings—residentials, a few offices and stores, a couple more units—and reached a park. At least, what passed for a park in this place. The grass was overgrown and filled with moss, surrounded by stubby, ugly trees. Paths crossed the grass in an ‘X’, and the local authorities had provided benches on each arm.
Brice sat on one. He didn’t need to rest—the way his body worked now, he could walk for hours without discomfort. But he needed a break.
He reached into his pocket and fingered the ident chip. He had three of them, each bought from a different place, all from back-street hackers. With his lattice hiding its presence, Brice kept one chip active, stored the other two in his boots.
They hadn’t been cheap, but he’d selected the techs with care, listening to their noise and offering them deals that suited their requirements. It bordered on exploitation, but they’d do the same if they could.
A breeze blew across the grass, bringing with it a stink of rotting vegetation, mud and frying food. An early-morning eatery beyond the trees had opened its doors, welcomed its first customers of the day.
Shadows stretched as the sun’s weak rays struggled through the low cloud.
Brice shut his eyes and let his head fall back.
Nausea rose. When had he last eaten? Should he c***k open one of his last ration bars?
No. He recognised the sickness for what it was. Not quite fear, or worry, but uncertainty. Lattice-rich traces hovered on the far side of the trees—nothing definite in their noise, but Brice felt their attention pulling in his direction.
Two less enhanced traces entered the sad excuse for a park. Local security. They moaned about the chill in the air, sussing because talking interrupted the stillness. The food-smells made them hungry. And the vagrant on the bench made them wary.
Brice breathed deep, controlling the flow of adrenaline. He didn’t move, but he opened his eyes. He focused.
The female was Shani Leos, mid-thirties, had been in the job too long. Shoulder-length hair pinned away from her face, large eyes that looked more friendly than the thin line of her mouth. Her companion, Cashel Kaya, was five years her junior, reckoned he should be in charge. He reckoned the thick stubble on his chin was imposing.
When they were a few metres from the bench they slowed.
“You okay?” the woman asked, as if she’d only just spotted Brice.
“Taking a breather,” he said. “Enjoy mornings like this.”
she sussed to Cashel before saying, “You not got somewhere you need to be?”
the man sussed.
Brice shrugged. “Passing through. Visiting. No immediate plans.”
“You got papers?” Cashel’s voice wasn’t as strong when it came from his mouth. Shani glanced at him, didn’t like him stepping forward like this.
“Papers?” Brice asked.
“Identification.”
“Oh. Right. Old term, isn’t it?”
“Common enough round here.”
“Yeah? Have to remember that.” Brice turned to the woman. “Only just got here. Didn’t know I needed any…papers, right?”
“Identification,” Shani said.
“Got a chip.” He reached into his pocket, noticed how Cashel opened his jacket, slipped his hand to the weapon he wore on his belt. Brice pulled out the chip, let it rest in the palm of his hand.
Shani scowled. “Most people round here have lattice idents.”
“Mine never took. Have to use chips.” He lifted his hand higher.
The woman hesitated, then shrugged, reached to her belt. “Got a chip-reader,” she said, taking his chip and slotting it into the device. Her eyes glazed as she read the output.
“Connal Mires,” she said. “Has your last location as Athelios. Bit of a distance, isn’t it?”
Brice shrugged. “I’ve been travelling.”
“Travelling.”
“Yeah.”
Cashel sussed.
“I’m not in any trouble, am I?” Brice asked.
“Just a routine check.” There was no warmth in Shani’s smile.
Cashel sussed.
She tilted her head, looked around. “You on your own?”
“I don’t make friends easily.”
But inside, she agreed with her colleague. Brice was a problem that needed to go away.
And there was activity beyond the trees. Three lattice-rich traces, moving closer. Two more company goons opposite, by the eatery. Didn’t mean they were after Brice, but Shani’s search had sent a trigger. The agents were aware of him.
Shani tilted her head, receiving instructions from her superiors.
Brice reached down for his pack. “Reckon I’ve been sitting around too long now,” he said. “Could do with a bite. Anywhere you recommend?”
He went to stand. The pair shuffled closer. Her right hand fell to the holster on her hip. His right hand curled into a fist.
“Got a few more questions,” she said.
Her supervisor told her to be careful. They didn’t want to make a scene. Correction—the company agents didn’t want a scene. They wanted to learn more without provoking an incident.
But they were armed, and they had resources. Brice probed, figured they’d been monitoring him as soon as he reached the town sign.
And he didn’t want to make a scene either.
He nodded. “Sure. What do you want to know?”
She asked her supervisor, got a response, passed it on. “Not here. We’d like to conduct this interview in our offices.”
“You’re taking me in?”
“Just routine.”
And there was no way out, was there? Brice could run, make his supplies stretch until the next town. But it made sense to play along until a different opportunity arose.
He nodded. “Sure. A chat, right? No problem. Still need a bite to eat, though.” He flashed Shani a smile.
“We might be able to stretch to a sandwich and a coffee.”
It wasn’t much, but his stomach growled in anticipation.
Brice stood, let the pair escort him from the park.
And the company goons followed.
- Writer
