[Grid 01.0] Fall of Justice Read online

  It was all a matter of stability. Monitoring population growth and depletion, putting an immediate stop to any form of lawbreaking or resistance, maintaining the perfect economic balance between rich and poor: someone had to do the work after all. Every societal model in history had relied on a manipulated majority who aspired to little more than sustenance and shelter. Of course, someone always had to be at the top of the food chain too.

  They’d created this equilibrium out of the ashes of the plague years, and it was his kingdom in which to rule. Nothing was going to end that, as far as he was concerned.

  Damien began to flick through the papers on his desk. Even in Utopia paperwork had to be done. He scanned the names and one in particular caught his eye: Lucy Slater.

  Isn’t that the daughter of Talya Slater? he thought, placing the paper back on his work area and keying the name into his terminal to check her files.

  Name: Slater, Lucy

  Parents: Slater, Tom and Slater, Talya

  He was right, names didn’t usually jump out at him like that, but that Slater woman was such a pain in the neck, she was beginning to feel like an insomniac mosquito. She had that uncanny ability to charm large groups of people. She’d been used as a legal expert on one of the debates shown on the screens and somehow, bit by bit, she’d gained a massive following among both rich and poor in The City. They loved her fire and passion. She was dangerous, he knew. Most people he could just remove if they became a nuisance, but Talya had supporters. If she disappeared without explanation, that might cause trouble for him.

  So what was Slater’s daughter up to if she’d caught the attention of the Centuria? Damien picked up the file again and carried on reading. This might be just the chance he’d been waiting for.

  Inside The Climbs

  However many times Joe sprinted up the fifty-two flights of stairs, he could never do it in less than eleven minutes. When he was younger it was one of the big challenges of his tower, trying to achieve fifty floors in nine minutes. The problem was you never climbed them empty-handed, it was one of the unwritten rules of The Climbs.

  Within every dilapidated tower block was a community of people: babies, seniors, those with disabilities. There was no welfare here beyond basic subsistence, not in The Climbs. You lived or died, the world wasn’t particularly worried about it. They alone took care of each other, with the able-bodied residents bringing water and food for those who couldn’t make it up or down the stairs.

  You had to carry if you could. That was how people survived, and that’s why Joe was always weighed down when he went up or down the stairs. He was fit, young and healthy, and he made enough currency on the black market to feed his mum, his brother and himself, so he felt it his duty to ferry more than he should have. Many were incarcerated in those concrete tombs, fated never to leave until they were carried out dead.

  People like Joe and his friends were in high demand. They’d learned tech skills that enabled people to patch up what they could afford to buy if they were lucky enough to have employment.

  He reached floor fifty, stepped off the staircase and moved towards Zach Fuller’s door. As he went to knock, the door crashed to the ground. It had been barely hanging on to its hinges for months; the door had finally given up the battle and fallen off with a simple strike.

  ‘That you, Joe?’ came a voice from inside.

  Joe heard the tap of Zach’s makeshift crutches as they struck the concrete floor. He’d lost a leg in a factory accident three years ago, and the stairs were no longer a safe option for him.

  ‘Damn, Zach, that door’s had it. Are you going to be okay in here on your own?’

  ‘Don’t you worry, Joe, I’ve still got the knife you brought me, and I keep it with me all the time.’

  Joe wondered how Zach could fight off any intruders when he needed two crutches just to stand up, but he also knew how determined this man was. He’d survived an amputation without anaesthetic – a privilege denied to most people living in The Climbs, especially those who’d just lost their job after an industrial accident.

  Joe placed the provisions and water on Zach’s battered table, dropping some bread on the floor as he did so. A large rat emerged from under the cupboard and made a dash at the ready-made meal. Joe jumped as he realized what was moving across the room in his direction. In an instant, Zach drew the knife from his belt and threw it with lethal accuracy, stopping the creature dead in its tracks. Joe figured that Zach could take care of himself after all.

  ‘Hope you don’t mind if I leave you to clear up?’

  Zach laughed. ‘No worries son, I know you hate the things, I’ve been after that one for weeks now.’ Joe smiled at Zach, picked up the remainder of the provisions for his family and headed out towards the doorless entrance.

  ‘See you tomorrow Zach!’ called Joe as he departed. ‘You want me to prop the door up before I go?’

  ‘Leave it,’ came the reply. ‘Anybody intends to steal what’s mine, they’ve got fifty levels to climb before they do. I reckon they’ll be so tired out when they get here, I’ll just be able to blow them over if they try it.’

  Joe smiled to himself and started making his way up the final two flights. He hoped that he’d be as resilient as his neighbour if he were ever thrown on his own resources like that. He didn’t know it then, as he walked into his home to be welcomed by his mum and brother, but he’d be needing some courage like that in the days that followed.

  The Old World

  Talya reached Harry’s floor, exhausted by the climb. Her daughter Lucy had boasted that she could manage Joe’s fifty-two flights in less than twelve minutes – and she didn’t doubt it – but for her, progress was much slower. Still, she knew it would be worth it; she’d never spent time with Harry that had been wasted; she was a mine of useful information.

  Not many books had survived the plague years, and those that did exist had to be held in a secure area of the Fortrillium building by decree of the Law Lords. This was for archiving purposes apparently, but Talya knew that it was more about suppressing the truth and creating a new timeline. A more convenient version of their history. Life according to Damien Hunter probably.

  She despised the man, and she knew how much he hated her too. She understood that she was a threat to him, but there was nothing he could do about it – yet. Her power and influence within both city communities was too far-reaching. If the screens were ever switched off, that might change quickly, but Hunter relied on these to sedate and misinform the people.

  Talya caught her breath at the top of the staircase and mopped her forehead with a handkerchief. She felt ridiculous as she did it – she’d passed babies who were barely clothed as she made her way up the stairs, how dare she even pay any attention to her own discomfort?

  Talya knocked at the door. She knew to give it several hard bangs, as Harry was losing her hearing.

  ‘Come in, Talya!’ came a bright voice. Harry was incredible, 103 and still sounding like she was only sixty.

  Talya gave the old lady a hug. Harry welcomed her visits – most people dared not even talk about the pre-plague years. For her, it was the world that she’d been born into, and she wanted to remember, even if there did end up being consequences for her.

  Talya put her hand into her bag and felt around, eventually drawing out what had been secreted in the lining.

  ‘I got you these.’ She handed the packets to Harry. ‘I don’t know how long until I’ll be able to get my hands on more.’

  Harry thanked her. The drugs that Talya had smuggled in would help to reduce the pain of her arthritis.

  ‘Damn getting old!’ she cursed to herself. Her mind was still sharp and agile, if only her body could keep up.

  Talya prepared some food for her friend, making a hot drink on the gas stove that Lucy and Joe had managed to procure on her behalf. They sat down by Harry’s window and gazed out over the city.

  ‘What lies beyond the boundary, Harry?’ asked Talya. ‘Is there anything left there now?’

  There was a glint in Harry’s eyes. It was forbidden to say what she was about to say, but who cared? What could they do to a 103-year-old lady now?

  ‘That depends on who you ask, Talya – Damien Hunter or me.’

  Incarcerated

  Clay Hillman had had one week to get used to life in The Soak. There were rumours about this place, where it was and what it was like. Nobody ever got out of here anyway. Once you’d been sent to The Soak your time was up, there was no release.

  They were right about the soak bit. It was so wet in his cell that there was a constant dripping from the river bed above.

  They were in a vast circular underground dungeon. Hundreds of cages surrounded the walls, and each enclosure housed ten detainees – he reckoned there were several thousand people incarcerated there.

  Every cage was accessible via a narrow walkway. There were only four ladders down to exit or enter the containers, and these were placed at quarter points. The steps were retracted unless someone new was coming in or leaving. Most of the time people only came in. The only time anybody got out was when they’d chosen to seek justice in The Grid.

  The cells were mixed gender – women, children, youngsters, the elderly, they all suffered in the same cages. The sanitation was perfunctory, only open toilets with no showers, and food and water were delivered via automated hatches built into the concrete walls at the rear of every cell.

  You got to eat if you were strong enough to fight for what came through the upper hatch. If you weren’t assertive enough, you died, and then you left through the small trap that was placed at the front of each cage before you started to decompose and stink the place out. If anybody noticed, that is.

  Clay sat in the corner of his prison, still not
used to the stench given off by his nine companions, all of whom had been there much longer than himself. He surveyed the vast central watchtower from which they were monitored twenty-four hours a day, large rapid-fire guns aimed at them continually in case of any unrest.

  He was in a cell with four females and five other men. The women were scared for their lives, terrified by one of the men in particular who had been jailed for violence. Clay knew that sooner or later he’d have to confront the man and take the consequences. That’s if they couldn’t all team up and sort him out between them.

  They had been too intimidated. Two of the men were nearly dead, and the other two didn’t seem as if they were capable of putting up a defence. It would probably end up with Clay intervening, but if he made too much fuss about it the shots would begin.

  He’d seen it already on his second day when a fight broke out in one of the cages overhead. Without warning the guns began to fire from the tower – all of the inhabitants of that cell were gunned down, no questions asked about the cause or the instigator of the trouble. The deaths were followed by a flush of water from above. This usually sufficed for a shower in The Soak. As the bloody water from the upper cages turned clear, Clay had realized that an arm had washed its way through the grilles and come to rest at his side. By the time he’d woken up from a restless sleep, the rats had taken it, there was just bone left on the floor.

  Whatever Clay did to sort out the maniac, it would have to be done quickly and quietly. After only a week in The Soak he was beginning to think that it might be worth taking his chances in The Grid.

  Chapter Three

  The President

  Damien sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair that had been put out for him in the President’s office. He was sure that nobody else had to endure the discomfort of that godforsaken, battered old thing. It was a torture that President Josh Delman reserved just for him. It was no secret that there was no love lost between Damien and Delman, but they were forced by necessity to work together. Fortrillium wouldn’t exist without there being a form of governance within The City. They’d just be a bunch of bully boys without their legal remit – and the government couldn’t survive and maintain the peace without Fortrillium. It was a stalemate, but Josh Delman was the senior of the two, and he wasted no time reminding Damien of that fact at every opportunity. In every meeting, Damien would be left on his own in that threadbare chair facing the President’s massive polished wooden desk and his comfortable leather seat. He would ponder if there might be a time in the future that he might get to sit in Delman’s place and have overall control of The City.

  Certainly Fortrillium was powerful enough, and it afforded Damien the cover he needed to achieve outcomes that were advantageous to his career and standing. If a particular high-ranking official were to find themselves condemned to The Soak as a result of charges of corruption arising from Centuria ‘evidence’, who was to argue? If the occasional political agitator ‘disappeared’ without trace, who would dare put up much fuss if they’d been forced to enter The Grid before they got a chance for justice? And if an official or two were to go missing and the only witness to have an unfortunate accident soon after, would anybody worry about that in the grand scheme of things? Damien thought not. In fact, he knew not.

  For those on Silk Road, life in The City could be sweet. The people who held all the power, influence and money lived on the outer perimeter, and because their lives were so perfect they never needed to wonder what lay beyond that. Besides, Fortrillium Information, the public service division of the corporation, kept them fully updated about life outside the high city walls.

  The plague was still out there, having left billions across the planet dead in its wake. Former cities were deserted and crumbling, and this, their city, was the only refuge. They were safe in this sanctuary, they had food, heat, water, shelter and comfort ... lots of it too, if you were fortunate enough to live in the outer perimeter.

  Those on the inside were effectively imprisoned by Segregation. This meant that although Silk Roaders could enter The Climbs, the reverse was not possible without a permit. And those permits were hard to come by, extending mainly to work-related duties.

  Curfew was enforced between 20:00 until 06:00 every day, and this controlled the flow of people in a way that made resistance impossible. With the firm arm of Damien’s Centuria controlling legal matters throughout The City, the best option remained to keep your head down and get on with your lot, whatever that was.

  Even though Damien Hunter would have balked at any such crass suggestion, an outsider looking in might comment that this had every appearance of astute social engineering. The poor kept in their place, the rich made so comfortable that they had no need to complain; the fear of death beyond the city walls, and a powerful policing force threatened anybody who dared to challenge the status quo. Plus a legal system that was formidable and unbeatable: the Law Lords and The Grid. It meant, for all intents and purposes, that Fortrillium – or Damien – was the law.

  That’s why he was sitting in that unforgiving wooden chair at that moment. He wanted to petition the President about his recent tactical move to promote Talya Slater to the position of Law Lord. There were seven Law Lords in all, each one a respected member of the Silk Road community. ‘Respected’ generally meant ‘chosen by Damien Hunter’.

  Damien had made an error of judgement by removing a Law Lord unceremoniously from the panel. What that entailed in reality was that this particular Law Lord had been found dead, thrown from the top of one of the tower blocks in The Climbs, having been mysteriously trapped in there after curfew. Nobody knew why he was out after Segregation, what he was doing or who would want him flung from the top of a high-rise. Neither could the Centuria find any witnesses or evidence, after what seemed to some to be a brief, even cursory, investigation. That left Damien with the problem of finding a replacement. Surprisingly enough he had just the person in mind, an influential businessman from Silk Road, who ardently supported the good work of Fortrillium, particularly under Damien’s leadership.

  President Josh Delman had other ideas. He was not driven by the same base desires as Damien Hunter, his priorities were more political than self-serving, though, of course, it all boiled down to the same thing in the end. Josh Delman had a leadership to sustain. His position was preserved through a combination of public charm and background control, whereas Damien seldom felt the need to exhibit any charm at all.

  That’s what this meeting was about. Delman was forcing his choice of replacement Law Lord. Hunter was resisting. This particular Law Lord could cause all sorts of trouble for him. Delman’s acute political sense told him that a well-placed Law Lord would help to maintain harmony within The City. Hunter’s survival instincts knew that if this particular Law Lord made it to the panel, things could become difficult for him.

  Most Law Lords could be offered sweeteners to lean the way that Damien wanted them to. If the sweeteners didn’t work, then a threat often did the job. And if threats didn’t work? Well, being thrown off the top of a tower block usually resolved that little matter. That was what had forced Damien into the President’s office for this particular meeting. He was not at all happy with Delman’s choice, and he’d come to protest against it in no uncertain terms.

  As President Josh Delman finally entered his office, a full ten minutes after the meeting was supposed to have begun, Damien knew that he was in for a tough time. It would be difficult convincing him not to assign the popular Talya Slater to the panel of Law Lords. But if the President insisted on forcing through the appointment, he had an excellent counter-play up his sleeve which would stop Slater dead in her tracks.

  Taken