Hurt World One and the Zombie Rats (16 page)

‘In truth, I was having to use my willpower
not to finish it.’

Prian chuckled with her supreme
self-confidence. ‘You were holding yourself back before? Alright,
why don’t you show me how good you are now then?’ He gestured to
the obstacle course. ‘I’ll be happy to see it.’

‘Fine, but first you should make the course
regulation. You know as well as I that the genuine astronaut
certification course is twenty metres longer than yours and has a
one minute less cut-off time.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes, and the electrified wire is lower and
the wall a good metre higher. You even have obstacles missing. You
couldn’t afford the laser hurdles?’

Prian went pale. ‘If you want authenticity,
there are other schools that offer that.’

‘I don’t want any kind of school. I want to
sit my Astronaut Grade One trials and I need a school director to
nominate me.’

‘Only after the two month program and the
final exams have been completed.’

‘Like I said, I want to graduate today.’

Prian frowned. ‘Plenty of my students are
rich, but you can’t buy your way to being an astronaut. Trust me
it’s been tried many a time.’

‘I just want to buy my way to the trials.
I’ll take it from there.’

‘And you think I’m easily bought?’

‘I think you need money, but it is not
entirely your fault. How could you have known that while you were
up in space observing black holes a new one would be opening up on
Earth with your name on it. By the way, how is your ex-wife?’

Prian shuffled uncomfortably, looking around
at nothing in particular. ‘I’m not as cheap as you might
think.’

‘Your bank balance will tell you how cheap I
think you are. The money has already been deposited. The sum is
fixed. All that is negotiable is how it came to be there. Hiring a
hitman to take care of your ex is the best I’ve so far been able to
come up with. Do you like it? I’m sure I could make it stick.’

Prian’s frown was spreading such that his
whole face was becoming scrunched up like a pug. ‘Who the hell are
you?’

‘I understand why you’d find me unfamiliar,’
said Mas, stepping forward and looking up at the helicopter as it
gently lowered towards them. ‘I’m your first astronaut.’

12 Organisations

In the Ministry of Culture there was a door
marked
Office for Wine and Whisky
. Phillipe
Dumont was the officer on duty and he was not sure what to make of
Kaptu Z. He scrutinized his ID carefully. ‘You belong to the Hurt
World Agency of the United Nations and you want more whisky?’

‘Three bottles.’

‘And yesterday you took one?’ Dumont was
inquisitively flicking through files on his desk screen.

‘I’m on an undercover assignment,’ said
Kaptu. ‘One bottle has got me in. Three more bottles will keep me
there.’

‘Any more details than that?’

‘Confidentiality is important.’

‘I am the French Government.’

‘I know, and the best part.’

Dumont delved through files some more.

Kaptu’s attention strayed to the vintage
whisky and wine advertising posters decorating the walls. There
were happy faces and sparkling glasses of alcoholic drinks in a
time that had long since passed - although, perhaps not for Dumont
and his department. His bloodshot eyes and bulging waistline hinted
that perhaps not all of the Paris stockpiles were being accurately
accounted for. Finally, he looked up from his screen, his voice
measured. ‘Your name comes up in an incident in Switzerland.
Apparently, they are still repairing the damage. And you have your
HQ confused. They think you are in Portugal.’

‘They don’t think anything. I’d say they are
trying to set up another trap for Mas. It will have to be
convincing if they want to get close to her again.’

Dumont felt his neatly bearded chin. ‘We are
in charge of the biggest cellars in France and our usual requests
for liquor are for state banquets or state funerals. To my
knowledge the only requests from police agencies have been for
senior retirements, not operational matters. I am going to grant
your request nonetheless. Hurt World has an A1 Integrity Rating,
which of course is the highest possible. I warn you, taking wine
for corrupt purposes will see that fall.’

‘It is whisky I want.’

Dumont wrote a rapid message on the screen
and signed it
Officer for Wine and Whisky
.
‘There will be a case waiting for you at the reception,’ he said.
‘A thirty day Explain Clause is attached. It means you have thirty
days to provide an official explanation to the French Government as
to how the grant has been used. To put into context how we value
our old liquor, if you had requested a sub-nuclear missile, you
would have had fifty days to explain why.’

‘Thirty days will be plenty of time,’ said
Kaptu.

Dumont slid his ID back across the table. ‘I
look forward to hearing more about how our whisky has helped heel
the world.’

‘Sure,’ said Kaptu, getting up from his
creaky wooden chair. ‘I have to go.’

He left the office and took the elevator to
the ground floor. He leaned with his elbows on the reception
counter like it was a bar and smiled at the receptionist. After a
few minutes, the bottles of whisky came in a non-descript black
briefcase. Kaptu left the building and took a taxi to Port De Bercy
where Natalie from the Spanish Club was waiting. Kaptu had not seen
her in the light of day before and liked her freshness. They
daylight suited her. Her blue eyes and pale lips were the centre of
an intriguing, expressive face. She was wearing a light blue
miniskirt and her hair was hanging freely over her shoulders. She
was leaning back on the steel barrier of the Seine River, holding a
bulging paper bag, which she held up to greet Kaptu with. ‘I’ve
brought the cheese and crackers,’ she said. ‘Have you brought the
illegal one hundred year old whisky?’

Kaptu gestured to the briefcase. ‘Two bottles
for the Spanish Club and one bottle for us.’

Natalie smiled. ‘Normally I would rather
break an arm than have a picnic. So, it seems today is a special
day.’

They set up their spot on some cobbled steps
overlooking the river. Natalie produced a knife that did not seem
to have been made with cheese in mind: it was a big blade and she
used it to cut large slices.

‘So, how did you get out?’ she asked as she
handed Kaptu a piece. ‘I mean, from Asylum City. Some people would
do anything.’

Kaptu filled the two glasses that had also
been in Natalie’s bag. ‘It will take a few of these to loosen up my
tongue enough to talk about that.’

‘By then it may be too late. I’m trying to
work out if the person I’m drinking with is insane before the
whisky goes to his head. Of course, most the men in my company
inevitably go crazy anyway. It’s the performer in me that seems to
encourage it.’

Kaptu passed her one of the glasses and
smiled. ‘I’ve noticed that.’

‘It’s how I got out. Asylum City has
scientists and doctors and designers but it was because I could
dance that I was granted a visa into Europe.’

‘Was it Hannah that sponsored you?’

‘No. She helped me to get away from the man
who did. A very powerful man. A friend of sorts.’ She shivered and
took a quick gulp to settle herself. ‘If he wants someone dead,
that’s what will happen.’

‘He does not know you’re here?’

‘You cannot escape from him by hiding. You
can only escape from him if he gives you permission.’

‘Then you are not quite free.’

Natalie frowned and gazed out over the river.
‘You walk around Paris with briefcases of whisky and you ask people
if they are free. I have a bad feeling about you.’

‘Are you concerned that I may be another
friend?’

‘No, I don’t fear that.’

*

The San Francisco Tower’s twentieth floor
conference room was tense with anticipation. Seated at the long
table were Renaissance; US Special Envoy, Kalp Falno; and Colonel
Smithers. Falno and Smithers had only just flown into San Francisco
and their very presence indicated that they were taking the mission
seriously, for they were no strangers to luxury hotels and could
not have been lured by the promise of one. Renaissance was pleased
to have them, and she was even more pleased that Falno had ordered
away the insurance agents: it meant the price of action was being
left off the agenda for a change.

Spiros Pardos strode into the room. He was
the one who had called the meeting and it very much looked like he
had something to say. He stood at the foot of the table and cupped
his hands together at his waist. ‘The World Court verdict is in,’
he began. ‘The events in Switzerland have swayed the judges our
way. We have been granted an all access search warrant for the
poacher Mas. It means any individual the signature dog detects
Mas’s scent upon can be held without charge for up to one year, and
any item of property can immediately be seized. Anywhere in the
world.’

The US Special Envoy seemed surprised. ‘We
will have those powers?’

‘We have those powers now. The warrant has
been signed and ratified.’

‘Which makes the signature dog quite
important, doesn’t it?’ said Colonel Smithers. ‘Where is it
now?’

‘Our technician has gone underground with it.
Last known location was the Leanov Clinic in the Swiss Alps. Dr
Leanov operated successfully and placed the dog in a Cocoon 41. He
is confident it will be ready for active service at the completion
of its two week recuperation period. That is five days from
now.’

Smithers looked to Renaissance. ‘Your
technician is currently uncontactable?’

‘That’s right. But it is not of significant
concern. As a matter of fact, we have been using faked
communications in an attempt to lure Mas to Portugal.’

‘Any indication of a result?’

‘Not at this stage. We will transmit news of
the World Court’s arrest warrant and that may make the bait
impossible to resist.’

‘Perhaps, but when we start incarcerating
people close to her, we won’t need to fake our messages anymore,’
said Falno. ‘Do you know who those people are?’

Renaissance gestured to Pardos to answer.

‘It is a decidedly short list,’ Pardos said.
‘We have a starting point, however. A woman in the Congo who we
think trained her, a woman named La Pack. There is evidence they
were hunting together when Mas was as young as five. We believe she
may have been some kind of nanny.’

‘So you’re staking out a nanny?’ Falno
muttered unimpressed. ‘Isn’t there a mother or father or some
siblings?’

‘Her father is dead. He was a poacher too and
every bit as secretive as his daughter. He might have known who her
mother was, but no one else seems to.’

‘Alright, so there’s a nanny then. But we
need to know what Mas is doing now in the heart of Europe, not
twenty years ago in some Congolese backwater.’

‘You’d be surprised how quickly the past can
catch up with people, especially when a little pressure is
applied.’

Falno stood up to leave. ‘Just remember your
own past and what Mas did to it.’ He shook his head admonishingly.
‘Don’t let it happen again.’

13 Internally flawless

Naked bodies floated in silence on the warm
waters of the European Science Society’s central bath; it was known
as the death pool, for its network of sensors could predict future
causes of death so accurately that it had become the most sought
after bath in Europe. It was located in Baden Baden and was
constructed of comet-forged silver and glass of absolute purity.
Pierre Prian had captained the mission that extracted it and it
gained him access to the control room as the European Space Agency
scanned its latest batch of candidates.

‘How’s she doing?’ he asked, looking down on
the pool through the one-way mirror.

Inga Huffine, the Chief Scientist, was
monitoring the twin control screens’ flood of data. ‘Which
candidate?’

‘C19.’

‘Well, your question needs to be more
specific. We’re running a hundred tests simultaneously. If you’re
wondering what natural death is awaiting her should she make it
that far, it’s simply going to be an old, worn out heart that stops
beating, a long time from today.’

‘That sounds promising. How is she doing
overall?’

Huffine zoomed onto Mas’s superbly toned
physique in one corner of the pool. Her vital functions and genetic
makeup were surrounding her on the screen in charts and graphs that
meant nothing to Prian but had Huffine’s eyes widening.

‘Where did you get her from?’

‘She’s just another student.’ replied Prian,
trying his best to sound indifferent.

‘I find that hard to believe. Her genetic
integrity is flawless. Governments scour their populations looking
for that level and draft them straight into the military, or for
medical research if they’re not so lucky. It appears she has been
through her own wars, however. The scars on her body are quite
exotic. The scans are inconclusive but it seems the marks on her
left leg are the result of a crocodile bite.’

Prian shrugged. ‘I’m sure you’ll see on the
obstacle course that she moves freely.’

Huffine chuckled dryly. ‘With an A1 rating,
she doesn’t have to go jumping around obstacle courses. She is
genetically strong enough for space.’

‘What about her astro-physics test?’

Huffine put her finger on the screen and
clicked through files, coming to a stop with the one labeled Norah
Lee. ‘There was one candidate with a higher score. But he happens
to be a nuclear fusion graduate from MIT.’

Prian nodded awkwardly. ‘She has been one of
my better students.’

Huffine glanced at him doubtfully. ‘So a
woman like this just turned up at your little school in Boudreaux
and wanted to become an astronaut?’