The Grid 2 Page 4

  ‘I had a permit to work on Silk Road, only I didn’t always do my job,’ he smiled. ‘Let’s put it this way, I used a lot of my time on Silk Road to pursue an interest of mine. And, before you ask, it had nothing to do with charity.’

  The way Schälen spoke unnerved Joe. Whatever he said seemed to drip with contempt and derision. He was not out to make friends, that was for sure. There was something remote and cold about him. Apart from the ridiculous name, he was the only person in the group who didn’t seem to want to be a part of it.

  The conversation moved on. The others felt the same about him, they didn’t want to engage more than they had to. Clay took the initiative once again. He was generally accepted as the leader now, though Schälen wasn’t responding directly to anybody, and kept his distance. He was listening to what was being said, but he didn’t help at all, he just took care of his own needs.

  Chris cowered when he was around, as though he emitted a dark force field. Joe resolved to watch Schälen carefully. They were safe at that moment, but he wasn’t at all sure how he might behave if left alone with somebody. Chris seemed particularly vulnerable.

  It was customary in The Grid to allow the Justice Seekers to fend for themselves. There was water from the stream, and if this trial followed the regular format there would be a source of food somewhere.

  Clay organized the groups into teams to go foraging. They knew that further danger would not be far away. In fact, things might turn at any moment. But it was impossible to know when the next Mode would begin. There were still two more to come.

  ‘Joe, Marjani, Ross, you head in that direction. Look for shelter, food, anything you can find.’

  ‘How about weapons?’ suggested Ross.

  ‘Anything you can find.’

  Clay sent out Miron, Rick and Grace in another direction.

  ‘Lucy, how about you stay with Chris and me. Let’s see if we can sort out a plan for Chris next time we get in a fix.’

  Lucy nodded. The next Mode would not be far off, and they needed to drill Chris to stop him getting into a panic. They’d have to coach him on what to do.

  Clay didn’t involve Schälen. He’d already indicated by his remote position in the group that he wasn’t going to be a part of the scouting exercises.

  It was beginning to get dark. Although The Grid was a completely artificial environment, the conventions of night and day would be preserved. The Justice Seekers would be given enough access to food and water, and there would be sufficient shelter, at least until they passed through the first Modes. After that, anything could happen.

  Dusk brought the groups back together again. They’d had little success finding anything useful and it looked as if they were all going to go hungry that night.

  The best bet seemed to be to settle down around the large tree next to the stream. They’d get shelter there and would be close to the water.

  ‘Stay together,’ Clay warned. ‘Always tell somebody if you wander off. If they start a new Mode while we’re separated, you’re on your own. We’re stronger if we work as a group.’

  There was a general consensus on this point, and the members of the group settled down for the night. They’d been unable to light a fire so far, and there seemed little else to do.

  Schälen was sitting on the ground leaning against a tree, some distance away from the main group: close enough to hear, but far enough not to be part of the conversation. He’d found something to eat, but they couldn’t see what it was. He just sat there, surveying them. He was still watching as dawn broke. Already their numbers were depleted, but he knew he was strong enough to stay safe, until the end at least. Sure, his crimes were ugly, but that made him a great person to have as a Justice Seeker inside The Grid.

  They called him a serial killer, but there was much more to it than that. He hated the word killer, he considered himself more of an artist. Every person he’d ever killed had been like painting a picture: starting with the idea, the rough sketch, then building up the layers, step by step.

  The word ‘killer’ made what he did sound commonplace or ordinary. What he did to his victims was far from ordinary. His unique skill was in drawing out the moment of death. It fascinated him how much of the body you could actually remove and still keep a person alive. He’d have to improvise a little in The Grid, they could not provide him with his usual tools, not straight away, but he’d been told to make his first move as soon as possible. If he created tension and fear among the Justice Seekers, Fortrillium would keep him alive a little longer, that was the deal. They’d even given him a weapon, which he’d kept concealed.

  The survivors from the fireball were tired and exhausted from their first challenge, in need of rest before the trial continued. They’d have to use the daytime to find food and shelter, plan their defence, and prepare for what came next. They were never safe, but the best trials came in the evening when more people in The City were gripped by what was playing out on the screens.

  Now they thought they’d reached sanctuary, he’d make his first move and break off from the primary group. So far they were sticking together, but if past Justice Trials were anything to go by they’d be split up within the first twenty-four hours and pitted against each other.

  He surveyed those who were left and wondered who he would pick as his first victim. This was the artist in him – a regular killer would not be so fussy. Then the decision was made for him. One of the women was getting up to explore the woodland environment. Lots of cover and many places to hide, just how he liked it. This would be his first masterpiece. He’d conceal her somewhere safe where he could work on her deliberately, allowing him to savour every one of her final minutes as he killed her, slowly, painfully, over a number of hours. They’d never even guess what was going on.

  As Lucy got up quietly to scout around for food, he followed behind, exhilarated that his first kill would come so soon.

  The Pact

  Damien Hunter flicked through the browning pages of the document. He might just as easily have viewed it on his console, but at times like this he liked to review the original item.

  He wondered what the world was like when this had been hurriedly written by a government which had virtually been wiped out. The world had been at a point where there was almost no rule at all. The plague had ravaged the entire planet, that much he knew from what he could piece together, and The City had been created from the ruins of a society that was gasping for life.

  Little was chronicled about the history of The City. He knew it had been a sanctuary for those with some resistance to the plague. They had penned themselves in, and this document had given instructions about how this new society should be rebuilt.

  He’d been in charge of Fortrillium for the past nine years. He knew from the dates of the signatures that it was almost a hundred years to the day since The City had been created.

  Books were illegal under his rule, he’d been very particular about that. With knowledge came power, and if he was to save his family as much power as possible had to reside in his hands.

  The problem was President Delman. He was the reason that Hunter was reading and rereading The Pact. The President had always been there – Hunter had never known a time without him. He’d been born in The City and Delman had been a perpetual presence, on the screens and in the news updates.

  As Hunter had progressed swiftly through the ranks of Fortrillium, he’d become increasingly fascinated by Delman’s position. He was not elected and he could not be removed. Succession was through death or illness. In spite of his age, Delman never seemed to falter. Hunter speculated that he must be in his eighties.

  You could apply the word ‘unknown’ to a lot of things connected with President Delman. Damien had heard the rumours about him being the only person ever to have walked out of The Grid alive, but there was no proof. He’d tried to find it once, after gaining the position of Head of Fortrillium, but the evidence appeared to have been tampered with. There were no records. In sp
ite of having the highest level of access to The City, he was unable to find out anything more about the President.

  It was all the two men could do to hide their hostility towards each other. Delman had the upper hand in seniority, but Hunter would do everything he could to antagonize him.

  The Pact was where Hunter turned for solace. He studied it hard, looking for any small space which might allow him to put additional pressure on the President. He’d even considered assassination at one point, but he knew how ridiculous that would be. This was the dichotomy of his leadership: he was paralysed by The Pact.

  As a younger man he’d aspired to the role of leader – he’d even dared to conjecture there might be a way for him to become President one day. But just as Hannah had been surprised to find that the realities of becoming a Gridder were much harsher than she could ever have imagined, so it was for Hunter as leader of Fortrillium.

  He was young to be offered the role, in his mid-thirties. He’d just demonstrated a skilled deployment of force and intimidation to quell a minor uprising in The Climbs, so he was very much the man of the moment.

  The sudden death of his predecessor resulted in an impromptu visit to the President’s office. Their relationship was a lot more cordial in those days, but it would never be the same again after that meeting.

  All meetings like this tended to happen the same way. Damien knew nothing about it beforehand. He suddenly became aware of a vehicle following close behind, and immediately began to fear for his life. A shadowy figure had stepped out of the car, sent from the President’s office.

  Hunter had been summoned to meet with President Delman. There was to be no delay. He’d asked if he could go home first, to check in with his wife and kids, but that had been deemed ‘unnecessary’. He still remembered the chill he’d felt when he’d heard those words, and it had proven to be justified. Delman had dispensed with all civility when they’d met. There was a sudden change in their relationship on that day, and it would only deteriorate from that point onwards.

  It was at that meeting that Hunter saw The Pact for the first time. It was sitting on the President’s desk when he was escorted into the room.

  Within the space of five minutes, Hunter received the best news and the very worst news that he could possibly hear. In the first minute of his conversation, he learned that he was to achieve his ambition of becoming the Head of Fortrillium. He effusively accepted the position – it made him cringe every time he thought about it. He’d been too quick to speak.

  In the next four minutes of this short conversation, he would see his life crumble and turn to ruins.

  Under The Pact, to ensure loyalty to the President, the Head of Fortrillium had to forfeit their family to the Umbilica. Only two people in The City knew what was in The Pact. Once viewed, the only way out was through death, such was its importance.

  To ensure total compliance, Hunter had to sacrifice his family. They would rest in the Umbilica until his death: safe, protected and frozen in time. But he would never see them again. Their lives would only be preserved if he fulfilled his duties and obligations to The City.

  He’d discovered that three minutes into his conversation with the President. Before four minutes were up, he found out that he had no choice in the matter. His family were in the Umbilica already, he would not be able to say his goodbyes. He had been chosen because of his undoubted skills of strategy and leadership. He was the man for the job, whether he wanted it or not.

  To preserve the rule of the President, Fortrillium ran the security forces, but it was the President who was in overall charge. In any dispute, the President had the final say. If Hunter had dared to use the Centuria to attempt a coup, their own families would perish, swiftly and without mercy, as would Hunter himself.

  For the Centuria, too, the small print of the job was never revealed beforehand. For each new recruit, their family members had their Gen-ID devices modified. If the strict rules of conduct weren’t observed, their loved ones could be instantly terminated. Only Damien and the President could activate this – it ensured complete loyalty. At the press of a button, they could take the life of a Centuria and their family in seconds. It had served to preserve the integrity of the system for almost one hundred years. The new world needed order – without it humanity could perish.

  Damien had pleaded with President Delman to allow his family to live by his side. Delman had refused his request.

  In the fifth minute of the exchange, Delman had handed over a copy of The Pact. He’d declared that everything Hunter needed to know was in there. Hunter had been escorted from the room, sobbing, with the document in his hand. He would be taken to a secure area to read and digest the paperwork, and then escorted to his new office in the Fortrillium building where he would receive a full briefing.

  People who knew the Hunter family would wonder what had happened to his lovely wife and children. They’d seemed such a happy family before he became Fortrillium’s head. There was speculation about marital separation. Some gossiped that his family had been sent to The Climbs. In spite of the rumours, they all agreed on one thing. Damien Hunter changed on that day – he was never again the same man that they’d known before his family’s strange disappearance. Something had broken him. They knew better than to ask, of course, and it wasn’t long until he moved out of the neighbourhood anyway. It was one more unresolved matter in The City and another one soon forgotten.

  Hunter understood that he’d changed on that day. He felt the hatred and the venom poison his body; he despised Delman and what he had done to his family. He was completely paralysed, there was nothing he could do. If he made a move to depose the President, his family would perish in the Umbilica. If he colluded with the Centuria on anything else but The City business, they’d all lose their families. It was checkmate.

  There was no way to depose the President – under the constitution drawn up in The Pact, his rule was absolute. Yet nobody understood how he had been invested with that power. There was no challenge to be made.

  If there was unrest in The Climbs, the Centuria would be forced to quash it. If they didn’t comply, they and their families would perish.

  If Hunter didn’t issue the correct demands, he would lose his own family.

  If Silk Roaders dared to make a stand they’d end up in The Climbs, along with their families.

  And if those in The Climbs dared to protest, they’d wind up in The Grid. Everybody knew how that ended. At the centre of it all was a system designed to claim that there was justice, but which was used to silence any hope or resistance.

  It was a city frozen by fear and the inability to act. And it all came to rest at the President’s feet.

  Hunter finished thumbing through The Pact, coming to an abrupt end at the back pages. The final three pages had been torn out, except for the last page right at the end. This one bore the signatures of the members of the government from the time of the plague who had passed this all as law. It was sealed with the official stamp and signature of the President at the time: James Morgan.

  Hunter had asked once why the final pages were missing. They’d been removed after the heading ‘Catharsis’ and the beginning of a sentence outlining what was to happen at the first Centurial.

  Delman had dismissed his query, claiming that the original creators had discarded those pages, deeming them unnecessary at their signing and sealing. Hunter knew there would be another reason, but he was unable to challenge further. Instead, he resolved to do everything within his very limited powers to get to the truth and be reunited with his family.

  He’d waited nine years for this time. The Centurial was almost upon them – he was not privy to the specific date. Whatever was hidden in those documents would soon become evident. He was ready to act when it came – if there was an opportunity to strike, he would. He could sense President Delman’s shadow behind him all the time – the two men had been trying to outmanoeuvre each other for years.

  Hunter closed The Pact, retur
ned it to his safe and activated the DNA locking system. He knew better than to let it fall into the wrong hands; that would result in his own death – probably in The Grid – and the death of his family.

  He’d come so close to understanding what was going on when he’d discovered Matt Parsons’ and Tom Slater’s activities, but then Delman had closed off all routes to the truth. He’d never figured out how he managed that.

  As soon as Hunter had received intelligence about the dubious activities of Joe Parsons and Lucy Slater, he immediately knew what it was connected with. Matt and Tom must have left a trail, one that Delman couldn’t stop and probably didn’t know about.

  He suspected that he knew what Parsons and Slater had discovered – it was likely to be the same information that he sought himself. He’d thought for a while that he might have to do business with Talya Slater, but catching her kid red-handed in the sewers like that had been the best gift that she could give him. Her daughter and Parsons had done his work for him. He was the closest to the truth he’d ever been. He could punish Talya and still get the information that he needed, without Delman’s involvement.

  Hunter moved to the next item in his stack of paper. Funny how things came together. There he was thinking about Tom Slater again and here was the latest request from his wretched wife. Delman had played his hand well in making Talya a Law Lord and keeping her close to him at the time of the Centurial. And here she was, goading him once again with another legal request he couldn’t refuse.

  Not content with her tour of the prison system and operational areas of The Grid, Slater now wanted to meet the Gridders to learn for herself how the Justice Trials were created. She’d get her visit alright, he couldn’t legally block it. But there was no way that she’d be leaving with even half of the truth. She’d hear what she needed to hear. And afterwards? He’d instruct the Gridders to make sure that something very nasty happened to her daughter in The Grid … a day or two before she was finished off for good.