Recalling Destiny Read online

  “Ha, high praise from you Lucinda, we wonder what Marion would say about him.”

  Ma’am only rolled her eyes, not deigning to reply

  “Right, so you have work to do then?” he said with a brusque finality. “Find that kid.”

  “But Samuel, my …”

  “No!” he slammed his fist violently on the desk again, this time spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke. “We are a secret facility, that kid wants to expose us. We don’t care about the bloody girl.”

  Before she could even answer him though, he raised his hand in the direction of the door, signalling for her to leave. She stood without argument and left the room.

  “We’ll be watching.” he said as the door closed.

  Meetings were always quick with Samuel, his impatience afforded her little time to discuss matters, but over the years she’d learnt to adapt to his style and become more decisive herself. It was actually more to her liking, it meant that she didn’t have to waste time relaying information to him.

  But he could be a prick when he wanted to be, she cursed his two-face nature.

  But she reminded herself that she was the true leader of the installation known as Destiny, the one who called the shots and gave the orders. She was only allowed one meeting a day with Samuel and they were always brief. The good side was she got to do what she wanted, without his interference. He consulted but never gave orders to the staff.

  He almost never came out of his office either, a guard kept watch every minute of the day. So she was left with almost complete anonymity.

  “Station Eight!?” she asked aloud as she came back down the stairs.

  “Still looking ...” came the reply from the woman.

  “Five?”

  “Satellites are active Ma’am, but no trace of her yet.”

  “Well hurry it up would you,“ she demanded. “Eight?”

  “What?”

  “We need to launch a countermeasure. Get your offsider ready for me …”

  “Here Ma’am,” a young girl stuck her head out from the other side of the hexagonal station eight.

  Ma’am moved over to the young girl and passed her the document folder, “Do you know the details?”

  “Yes Ma’am, my mother told me.” The girl smiled unreservedly.

  “We don’t use names down here, understand?” Ma’am replied with a stern look on her face.

  “Sorry Ma’am.” The girl looked sullen, taking the folder.

  “We don’t say sorry either, we do the right thing … every time!” she emphasised the last word. “Sorry is what you say after you’ve already stuffed up, so don’t stuff up.”

  “Ma’am … I found her.” the interruption came from the older woman at Station Eight.

  “Where is she?”

  “Some child’s memory thread, looks like it doesn’t end well either. She looks like she’s in trouble.”

  A look of horror is apparent on Ma’am’s face, “We have to change it.”

  “You can’t change her thread …”

  “No, but I can change all the others.”

  “I’m not doing that.” Marion sits bolt upright.

  “You don’t need to,” she replies, turning to another station and calling out. “Put the Viper into play.”

  Within moments orders are relayed and confirmations are received, Ma’am turns to Marion with an expectant eye. Marion holds her gaze for a moment and then returns to her screen, observing things are changing on the screen in front of her, real time corrections to real life.

  Destiny literally transformed in an instant, a simple command via a computer altering fortunes.

  “Hmmm … it’s changing, the child’s thread is changing.” Marion exclaims.

  “Now try find her again.”

  “It’s live, this ain’t easy. Maybe I better look further afield.”

  Marion exits the screen and begins retyping a series of commands, moments later finding what she was looking for.

  “Here,” she points to a spot on the screen. “I backtracked anyone travelling from airports, bus stations and the likes, searching their memories for a trace. It was easy, I found her on several memory streams, and she was seen boarding a plane.”

  “When?”

  “Eighteen hours from now.”

  “That means she’s safe then.”

  “Yes, it would seem so.”

  “Good, the Viper play worked … where is she going?”

  “QF-64, Johannesburg to Sydney.”

  “She’s coming home?” she asked, leaning in and checking for herself on the screen.

  “Yes.”

  She rests her hand on the lady’s shoulder, briefly, and said, “thank you, Marion.”

  “I’ll need to double check with some other memory threads but I’m estimating she will board the flight in about seventeen hours, she appears to be safe for now Lucinda, she’s safe.”

  The two of them had kept their voices low during the exchange. Despite Ma’am being strict on all stations and the use of names, she had known Marion since before this facility had even started and in this moment neither of them could help but to use one another’s name.

  “Hmmm, there’s something else.” Marion whispered, ever so silently.

  “What?”

  “The thread, live view, it’s changed again.”

  “To what?”

  “Go easy on him.”

  “What is it?” she leant in curiously and looked at the computer screen for herself, noticing what Marion was referring to. “Are you serious?”

  “He’s just …”

  “He’s endangering her!”

  “No he wouldn’t do that, he’s her brother for Pete’s sake.”

  “Is he?” she looked closer at the screen, shocked at what she saw taking place.

  “Lucinda!” Marion objected to the question.

  “She’s not out of the woods yet,” Ma’am moved quickly from Station Eight, yelling as she moved. “Get me the Viper again!”

  “Lucinda?” Marion questioned her motives.

  “Don’t call me that down here.”

  “What are you planning?” Marion asked.

  “You saw the thread, you know what he’s done to her.” She stared her down powerfully, “… and I have to keep her safe.”

  - -

  Harrison

  Harrison’s eyes open and he blinks them rapidly till the blurriness in his vision clears and he can take in his surroundings. He’s awoken in a poorly lit small room, all it contains is the bed he rests on and a table right beside him.

  There was no other furniture in the room, along with no paint on the walls, windows or carpet on the floor. The walls look like painted black concrete, though faded, the room looking as though it hasn’t been occupied for some time. He blinks his eyes again, several more times as he attempts to think back on what he was doing that must have gotten him here.

  Met with with ASIO contact … why?

  Why was I there?

  … that’s right, Destiny … I was there getting information on Destiny when …

  Suddenly his thoughts are interrupted as the door to his small room opens and a man walks in wearing faded blue coveralls. He is tall, over six foot six by Harrison’s reckoning. His best friend, Truck, is also a tall man and he knew he was six foot six. This man is taller than that.

  Not only is the man tall, he is also dark skinned, but with a strange complexion. He doesn’t bear a resemblance to other dark males that Harrison can recall. He certainly bears a lot of similarities to African males, even to Aboriginal males, but Harrison can’t quite place which nationality this man belongs to.

  The man’s body is lean, muscular and no trace of hair exists anywhere on his body. His head is a shiny bald dome, his nose rounde
d. He looks like he’s in his prime, with a mix of both youth and experience to his face, but his eyes are dark and tell a different story.

  His friend Truck always taught him you could tell a lot about a person just by looking at the eyes and observing characteristics. He’d taught him to look at their colour, as there were psychological indicators for each colour.

  Harrison had brown eyes, which meant he was family oriented, affectionate and placed high value on his friendships. Harrison now closely observed this man’s eyes, noticing they were a deep shade of blue with a fleck of grey, dark blue like the ocean depths with a shiver of dark grey. They were most unusual, he’s never seen eyes like this before and therefore can’t discern anything from them.

  As Harrison thoughtfully observes him, the man stands casually in the doorway, not looking at anything in particular, almost as if he is waiting for something.

  Before long Harrison’s memory flashes back to him and he recognises the dark man, he’s the man he had seen in the street, he was the one in the car.

  He tries to think, as he stares into the man’s eyes, why he hasn’t freaked out at the realisation. He’s a timid boy, usually frightened by a bug. But this man doesn’t frighten him, he actually feels quite tranquil in his presence. And more to the point his mind is still.

  “What happened to me?” he tries to sit up in bed. “Oh man my head hurts!” Harrison flops back down.

  “Accident.” comes the plain reply.

  “What accident? Who are you and where am I man?”

  The man looks at him blankly for a moment before coming over to where Harrison lays and calmly checks the intravenous drip that’s been inserted into Harrison’s wrists. Harrison notices he’s got a large bandage wrapped around his left arm, bound from the palm to the elbow. He touches it and feels the pain that’s hidden below, wincing a little as he does so.

  His mind flashes back to an image of him extending his hand forward as a car hurtled towards him.

  The black man remains silent a while, calm until he says, “left forearm broke ... head cut, ribs bruise.” he points to various places on Harrison’s body in broken English, “not long for fixing.”

  Harrison looks his wrist over and feels the stiffness of his other injuries, “how long have I been here, asleep?”

  “Four hour.”

  “Wow”, he could feel tiredness overwhelm him suddenly. “Not long at all … And how did this happen?”

  “Crash … car.”

  “How in the hell did I survive that?” he feels his speech starting to slur as he talks.

  “Very lucky,” the man replies, touching his hand to Harrison’s forehead softly.

  “Wait, what? You hit me on purpose, you drove that car …”

  The confusion on Harrison’s face is apparent, but another wave of tiredness sweeps over him. Before he realises what’s happening he quickly falls back into a deep sleep.

  He awakes again sometime later in the darkness, the grogginess in his head still there. He feels himself to check his body and breathes a sigh of relief when everything appears to be where it’s supposed to be.

  His arm feels stronger and his ribs don’t feel as painful as they did earlier. The headache from his head wound has disappeared. Maybe his injuries weren’t so bad, or perhaps he was on good painkillers, but strangely, Harrison cannot feel any of the pain he experienced earlier.

  He thinks to himself it’s a miracle he’s even alive, he must have smashed perfectly through the windscreen and onto the passenger’s seat. Is that even possible? He sits there wondering to himself, how could he have possibly broken through the windscreen when he weighed just under sixty-five kilograms.

  I’m too small, surely it’s not possible. Or is it? How much do I weigh? And what’s the probable density of the windscreen? And where exactly did I hit on its surface?

  His other senses start to come back to him, his smell firstly as he sense’s wet mould when he breathes in. Sniffing again, the air feels heavy to breathe, as if he’s underground. But the lighting in the room is dim, making it hard for him to see clearly.

  He sees he’s still on the same bed, with an I.V line hooked up to his wrist. He’s still wearing his jeans and shirt, but it looks like his hoodie has been removed, probably so the IV line could be put in. He vaguely remembers the sound of sirens in amongst the rush before the accident too. But he knew the sirens were not chasing him, they had been for someone else.

  The Destiny guys, I remember them chasing me. Man, they were really close to nabbing me!

  He also remembers the giant of a man he spoke to briefly before passing out. He discerns movement nearby and calls out, quickly hearing a response to his call as steps begin echoing towards him.

  Damn, what do I say? Hi, I’m Harrison, I just crashed through your windscreen, and how the hell are you?

  “Ok?” the black man asks, coming into the room.

  Harrison’s face contorts, his mind goes blank and all he can think to say is, “just wanted to say thank-you for looking after me,” he bumbles out, rather confused. “I think I’m ok. I feel fine.”

  The man gives no response, just stands there and looks at Harrison plainly.

  “How on earth did I manage to end up here?”

  The man doesn’t respond, instead he retreats from the room momentarily, returning seconds later carrying a tray. On it Harrison notes there is food and drink, he eagerly sits up in bed as the man brings it over.

  Harrison wastes no time in conversation, he launches into the sandwich offered, only taking breaks intermittently to gulp from the orange juice bottle that’s also on the tray. The black man only stands there, watching him expressionless.

  “I remember hearing sirens, what were they for?” he asks with a mouthful of sandwich.

  “Police siren.”

  “What were they doing?”

  “Ringing.”

  “Huh? Oh … I mean, why were they ringing?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Huh?” Harrison frowns. “I saw you, running … why were you running from the police?”

  “Men shoot … chase.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “No, I mean why the shooting, why were you in the bank?”

  “Need document.”

  “Huh, oh of course.” Harrison quips and then suddenly realises the man, although sounding sarcastic, must’ve been telling the truth. He also realises this likely doesn’t bode well for his safety as he shifts where he lays.

  Harrison’s a young man who’s never had much to fear in his life, but fear is very much a part of him. He’s a self-confessed nerd, but nobody at school ever picked on him for being one. He’s an average person who seemingly disappears when in a crowd. So, Harrison lived in his own world, a world inside his own head and a world dominated by fear.

  He looks up at the dark man and ponders him a moment, he’s almost a person you wouldn’t consider unless he made it so. Harrison can sense this straight away but doesn’t have the foggiest idea why, his normally active mind is not functioning as per normal. It’s unusually quiet.

  “Is my stuff around here somewhere?” he asks.

  The man makes no reply, so Harrison begins looking around for his things and sees his hoodie piled neatly on the table. He gets up slowly from the bed and slides over towards the table, “I must be honest with you, I was running from someone myself, but not from the police.”

  The black man only stares blankly, as if his mind is devoid of thought.

  “Yes, we have something in common actually … we are both thieves.” Harrison smiles, rummaging through the hoodie.

  The man raises an eyebrow in response.

  “Oh, I’m not quite the robber that you are, I’m more of a digital thief.” He’s still smiling until he finishes rummaging through his things,
not finding what he’s looking for.

  “Hey, I don’t suppose you found a small USB device on me?” he seems alarmed at not finding it.

  Again, a blank response.

  “Doesn’t matter if you did get it. You can’t have looked at it anyway, it’s encrypted, by me ... you can’t beat my encryption.” Harrison says, looking pleased with himself. He’s well known in the world for his exploits as a hacker and encryption specialist.

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because you don’t look like you are built for taking down firewalls man, you look more like my friend Truck and anyway, I am uncrackable!”

  “What firewall?”

  “See man, didn’t mean to offend you, but you don’t look the type.”

  “Type?”

  Harrison finds he’s getting a little frustrated with the questions now, the man has the appearance of intelligence but seems to lack normal conversation skills. “I meant that you don’t seem like the kind of person that spends his time on computers, like me.” he taps his chest to indicate his nerdy appearance and then points at the man’s chest.

  “You look like you were made for hunting or killing something, not hacking computer files.”

  The man listens but makes no reply, his face remains stoic.

  “So did you break through my encryption or not, did you take my drive? Please, it’s really important. I need it.”

  The man stares back at him for a while and makes the smallest of gestures with his bottom lip. He curls it up, out and downward with his eyes opening wide at the same time. It’s a gesture indicating he doesn’t comprehend the question.

  “Don’t you know anything mister?” Harrison asks pleadingly.

  “Know everything need know.” is all the man says in reply.

  “Ah bollocks!”

  “Why bollocks?”

  “You have it don’t you?”

  This time the man shakes his head, no.

  “You just said you know everything?”

  He nods.

  Frustrated, Harrison again looks through his things trying to find his missing USB, but to no avail. He turns back to the man, “Please mister, it’s really important. Do you have my USB? People are relying on me for that information.”