Authors: Peter Cawdron
Tags: #science fiction dark, #detective, #cyber punk, #thriller action, #detective crime, #sci fi drama, #political adventure fiction book, #science fiction adventure, #cyberpunk books, #science fiction action adventure, #sci fi thriller, #science fiction time travel, #cyberpunk, #sci fi action, #sci fi, #science fiction action, #futuristic action thriller, #sci fi action adventure, #political authority, #political conspiracy
The Road to Hell (25 page)
Kane was tired. Physically, the day had been quite relaxed, but mentally and, more important, emotionally, he was exhausted.
As he walked into his apartment, the lights came on and his robotic serf took his hat and coat. Sensing his mood, the serf played Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata quietly through the apartment's speakers and dimmed the lights in the lounge so he could remove his glasses if he so chose.
Kane slumped down in an armchair. The serf hung back. Looking at it, Kane knew it had learnt. It had learnt but it had never understood. It had learnt that certain pheromone emissions, lower sugar levels on his breath and a minuscule reduction in frontal lobe activity signalled a depressed mood so it could respond accordingly, but it had no comprehension of what that meant. How ironic, he thought, realising how much he knew but how little he understood.
“
Bring me a bottle of red, a bottle of white,” he commanded, echoing an old song from centuries past. The serf complied, fetching two bottles of wine from the chiller. Recognising that this was also an allusion to a twentieth century musician, the serf applied its artificial intelligence and started playing some Billy Joel in the background, selecting from his softer, quieter songs at first.
Kane poured himself a glass of red wine and another of white. The first glass of red disappeared quickly and he poured himself another, enjoying the warm rush to his forehead.
“
Your intentions were noble,” he muttered, repeating the words of Justice Dianora as Billy Joel began to sing about honesty. He sipped the red wine, leaving the white for his imaginary guest. He was beginning to understand. He was beginning to realise why the senator had invited him up on that cold, dark night. It was because, like him, the old man had no one to whom he could talk, no one in whom he could confide, no one with whom he could be honest.
What was it they drummed into us at the academy? He asked himself rhetorically. To protect against all enemies, foreign and domestic. The problem was, who defined the enemy?
He remembered one of his more passionate lecturers that phrased it even more personally: I have no friends when it comes to the words of the Law. Ha, he thought, realising just how that phrase had been used to isolate and confine him. The truth was, it had left him with no friends at all, just colleagues, acquaintances, associates, mentors and trainees, but no real friends. Like the senator in his darkest hour, Kane had no one with whom he could talk openly and honestly. That's why the old man had called a complete stranger to come up to his penthouse apartment, he realised. Oh, now he understood him. Now, when it was too late. Now, when he would have loved to sit and talk with him. Now, when he needed him most, he was gone.
Kane knocked back another glass of red wine, drinking it like it was water on a hot day and then he poured himself another. He grabbed his hat from the closet and sat it on the back of the armchair opposite him. Kane too would have someone to talk to tonight.
“
What? You don't like a little Chardonnay?” He asked politely, slumping back into his armchair, looking at the the hat in the soft light. Bubbles of gas sat up against the glass, slowly rising to the surface of the clear wine.
“
So it seems you and I have much in common,” he continued, warming to the monologue. “After all, neither of us has a conscience.”
He laughed at that, laughing at the bitter irony and at how he could surprise himself with a little wit.
“
What will they think of us?” He asked, echoing the words of the senator. Not that he cared, he'd never cared before, but he was curious to know. Like the senator a few nights before, he wondered about what he'd done and the ripple effect of his actions as they spread out across the pond.
“
I only ever wanted to do what was right,” he said pausing for a moment, thinking deeply before continuing. “I was devoted, sincere, convinced, passionate, noble, loyal.”
And there was that word again, always spoken of as a virtue, always a compliment to the others, always so innocent, never revealing it's true sordid nature, always seeming so righteous and pure. Loyal. The very word seemed to leave a bitter taste in his mouth.
“
They killed him, you know,” he mumbled, siping his wine, not really wanting to say this but feeling better to have spoken out. “Oh, they made it look like it was Artemis, but it wasn't. And I, I should have known better. I should have listened, not with my ears, but with my heart. And then I killed him, I killed Artemis. I did exactly what they wanted me to, like a good little lap dog, faithful and loyal.”
The word seemed to catch on his tongue.
He finished off the glass of wine. The bottle of red was almost empty.
“
Do you mind?” He asked, taking the bottle of white wine and pouring himself a glass. He sipped it. The stark contrast in flavours and styles lashed at his palette.
“
Oh, that was a mistake.”
The robotic serf, detecting a significant increase in his blood-alcohol level over just a few minutes, brought a tray of canapés and placed them on the coffee table in front of him.
“
Thank you,” he said, somewhat sarcastically. “Your loyalty has not gone unnoticed.”
And he laughed again.
Who else? He wondered. If they faked the senator's murder, who else had they assassinated along the way in the name of the revolution? Certainly Artemis was partial to the odd drop of blood, as he demonstrated so effectively at the police station. And that made him a tempting scapegoat, Kane realised. What about the murder of that NBC reporter on the same night Senator Johannes died? That didn't seem to fit the profile for Artemis either. Quite a convenient way to get rid of enemies of the state, he mused. They'll have to go back to accidents now.
He bit into a slice of bruschetta with a thin sliver of Bree, some finely diced fresh tomatoes and a light drizzle of olive oil. It would have gone better with the red, he thought.
“
So what now?” He asked his hat.
“
Shall we turn a blind eye? Shall we put the past behind us and look to the future? Does the good of the many outweigh the sacrifice of a few?"
There was no reply.
"We cannot descend again into the hell of civil war. Artemis was right, too much blood has been shed. It is a time for healing, a time for peace.”
He took one final sip of the sparkling white wine before walking off to the bedroom, adding, “It is a time for honesty.”
Harrison rubbed his eyes. It was nigh on impossible to sleep under the constant bright lights within the holding cell but to Rosie's amazement, he had. He'd managed to get a solid six hours while the others had to get by on bursts of an hour or so of light sleep before waking time and again. It must have been around four in the morning, Harrison figured, but it was hard to be sure in such a stark, artificial environment.
The cell walls were white, reflecting the light from the fluorescents overhead. A padded bench seat ran around the three walls. There was a small sink and a toilet in one corner. No need for modesty among the condemned. A neon blue glow marked the cell boundary along the fourth, virtual wall, where an arc-field ensured third-degree burns to anyone foolish enough to try to step through it. Beyond the cell, sanity seemed to prevail and the processing area along with the adjoining corridor were painted in battleship grey with soft lighting.
The cell was under constant observation by three prison guards seated in a control booth overlooking the processing area, but the guards seemed more interested in reading the news than anything else. They were just putting in time to pull a pay check.
The arraignment hearings had happened the morning after the incident in the park. The judge denied bail, even though no one had requested it. And a closed sitting of the Council with all five Justices present had presided over their mock trial and sentenced them to death without hearing testimony from a single one of them. It was conviction-in-a-can, just add water, thought Harrison, and he wondered why he was surprised.
He felt bad for Rosie and Brains. They had been caught up in the dragnet and lumped in with them. They really had been on the periphery of things, but the courts never were one to let the facts get in the way of a good prosecution. And, from what little he'd heard from the guards, the public was baying for blood, so the more the merrier.
Brains sat in the corner reading a ragged, dog-eared old Bible. Somehow, someone had left this symbol of past religious beliefs in the cell, something in which the condemned could find solace. Harrison wasn't interested in solace, he was interested in survival.
Olivia sat next to Susan on the far side of the cell, talking in a whisper. Kane had done a number on both of them. Perhaps that's why they were finally able to come together, thought Harrison. They'd finally stopped fighting each other. Harrison was amazed by Olivia. She harboured no malice, held no resentment. Her kindness had melted Susan's frozen heart, helped her through the realisation of what she'd done, the recognition of why, the remorse and regret. Susan looked like a new woman. A heavy burden had been lifted.
Kane always was a right bastard, thought Harrison. Not only had they not been released as he'd promised, but he'd even betrayed Susan, his own patsy. Judas seemed an amateur by comparison.
In the two days since Artemis had been killed, Olivia and Susan had covered a lot of ground. Olivia had been the one to take the first steps. There had been a lot of understanding, a lot of forgiveness, and with forgiveness the emotional scars they both carried began to heal. It was only now, days later, that Harrison realised just how much they needed each other.
Harrison admired the way the two of them could face the prospect of being executed with indifference. For them, the brevity of time became an impetus to be reconciled. Neither of them wanted to die with hatred still burning between them. Yeah, he thought, death row will do that to you, get you to see things in a different light. They've come a long way in a short time, but as for him, he was bitter. Given the chance, he'd kill Kane with his bare hands.
Rosie saw he was awake and came over to sit beside him.
“
You hungry, Harry?” She asked, offering him a prison-issue muesli bar.
He smiled. That was Rosie, always thinking about someone else. It was her way of dealing with things, Harrison realised. He passed on the cardboard.
“
I ain't worried,” she added, almost reading his mind. “I know you'll figure something out. You always do.”
Harrison smiled. She had more confidence in him than he did.
“
Hey,” said Brains, sitting upright suddenly. “I think I know who Daniel is.”
Olivia's ears pricked. She jumped up and moved over next to them, signalling for him to be quiet, keeping one eye on the guards. Two of them had fallen asleep and the third wasn't far behind. The care factor was low, which surprised her. But, importantly, no one had come down to wake them up. That meant whoever was monitoring the vid-feed probably wasn't paying too much attention either.
“
Daniel 2:42,” said Brains, taking his cue from Olivia and keeping his voice low. “It's a reference from the Bible.”
Olivia smiled in confirmation. It didn't matter now, she realised. With Artemis dead, the remaining members of the revolution would have scattered to the winds. Besides, she was curious to see just what Brains had figured out. She doubted he would understand the obscure reference.
“
Listen to this,” he began. “And as the toes of the feet were part of iron, and part of clay, so shall the kingdom be partly strong, and partly broken.”
“
Well, that clears things up,” said Harrison dryly, winking at Susan.
Susan smiled back. It felt good to be accepted, genuinely accepted and part of the team. That she'd caused all this and was scheduled to die today seemed the furtherest thing from her mind.
“
What does it mean?” asked Rosie.
“
Was he going to attack the pylons?” asked Susan, thinking about the feet of the city. She looked at Olivia for a response. The thought chilled her as she realised millions would die.
“
No,” replied Olivia softly, resting her hand on her sister's shoulder.
“
So what is it?” Harrison asked, looking to Brains for an answer.
“
Well, it's a dream,” said Brains, looking to Olivia to see if he was on the right track. “One of the kings of old dreamt he saw a statue standing in an open field. The head was made of gold, the upper torso was made from silver, the waist from brass while the legs were made out of iron and lastly, but most importantly, the feet were made from a mixture of iron and clay.”
“
So it's a real Picasso,” added Harrison, not seeing any relevance.
“
What does it mean?” asked Susan, intrigued.
Brains looked at Olivia. She gestured toward him, allowing him to explain his theory.
“
What does it mean indeed,” Brains continued. “That's precisely what the king wanted to know as well. Superstitious bunch back then, I suppose, so Daniel explained it to him.”
“
Each layer, the gold, the silver, the brass, etcetera represented a successive empire: the Babylonians, the Assyrians, the Persians, the Greeks, the Romans.”
Harrison still didn't get it but he knew Brains well enough to know there was a point coming along sometime soon. And Olivia was smiling, so Brains was on the right track.
“
Each empire conquered its predecessor by force of arms. Each one fell in that way, except the last one, the Romans.”
“
The feet of iron and clay?” asked Rosie. “So, what happened? Did the statue fall?”
“
Yes. And that's when the whole world order in that day and time came crumbling to an end. Almost a thousand years of world domination by successive empires ground to a halt.”
“
Why?” asked Harrison, seeing where all this was going. Whatever happened back then was the basis of Artemis' plan now.
“
Well, there's considerable conjecture between the various theologians I've read, but I think it was the people.”
Olivia smiled, genuinely surprised by how quickly he'd worked his way straight to the answer.
“
The fifth column?” asked Harrison.
“
Yes, but it's more than that,” Brains explained. “People in general. People are the fundamental flaw in every fascist regime. They rule with a rod of iron, but mixed in among them is the clay, human nature, a sense of right and wrong, a desire to do what's right, a sense of equality and justice. And, ultimately, if you can tap into that the regime falls, the feet crumble.”
“
The Romans were beset by the barbarians but they could have wiped them out with ease had they not lost the support of the people. The brutal reign of the caesars was transformed by the senate and then undermined further by the cries of the people. They compromised and compromised until the Roman empire was no more and it transformed into the Holy Roman Church.”
“
No one rules without consent, not even dictators. They all need some kind of power base among the people, someone to enforce their rule.”
“
And,” added Olivia, cutting Brains off and finishing his sentence, “they'll only remain in power as long as those people tolerate them.”
“
Precisely,” added Brains.
“
So that was it?” asked Harrison. “That was his plan? To turn the people against the senate? I don't get it. Why go to all that trouble with the data cube?”
“
Artemis was a soldier, a man of war,” added Olivia. “So everyone assumed he'd lead an armed intervention, but that was never his intention. Oh, he'd talk about force of arms, but that was just a ruse, something to distract their attention. He knew that would only ever lead to more death and destruction. His plan was to win the hearts and minds of the people, to rouse the sleeping giant, to provoke the silent majority. And that required more stealth than even a daemon can muster. But all that is past now. Without Artemis, it will never happen. At, least, not now.”
The conversation went uncomfortably silent. They all knew she was right and none of them knew quite what to say next.
For a moment there, Brains got quite excited about the idea of a return to democracy, but the reality of where they were, just hours away from being executed, soon washed back into mind.
What a shame, he thought, it was such a nice distraction while it lasted.