Dark Side of the World: Golden Silence

By Lee Jerrard

GOLDEN SILENCE: A story of isolation, the effects and a retaliating war surrounding it.

Future Earth has a new face of blue.

Across the ocean, the new circular island of Pervil is congested with impressive towers and giant TV screens in every direction, but crime and terror wander the streets with a violent race of disfigured mutants.

As for one man, the greatest thing to ever happen to him was to fall in love and have a baby girl, but against his line of work it was also his biggest mistake. Forced to live an anonymous life in Pervil, he is entrapped, living on borrowed time and desperate to escape to the other side for the safety of his family.

When officially offered his chance to escape to the other side, he has no choice but to take on an operation far from his control. On a journey with a band of hopefuls he becomes tangled up in a war. Fighting to survive with the horrors that await him he must face his own conscience when he learns the awful truths outside of Pervil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Dec 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483442181

Book preview

A PROLOGUE TO

DARK SIDE OF THE WORLD

Present Day

Planet Earth, a glowing, blue marble, is set against the infinite blackness of space. Across the earth’s surface and beneath the ashy haze are the colours of life. The green and brown lands along with the frozen white polar caps continue through time to battle against the dominating power of the blue waters. Covering over 70 per cent of the surface, water always wins, but not yet has it delivered that knockout blow that would end the battle once and for all.

It started off as nothing more than one of the many billion specks of light scattered across the black void. But as the increasing size and energy swathed the object, it became evident that this was steering towards earth’s glowing presence. The frozen rock, however, lacking emotion and intelligence, rolled with elegance through space as though it had been slowed in motion. Lit up by the sun, a glimmer of the lightest grey edged across its hull, identifying gouges and the rims of hundreds of dotted craters deep enough to swallow the tallest of mankind’s buildings.

That lethargic appearance came to an end. Its transformation was contrary, entering the earth’s upper atmosphere. The air around it reached a staggering sixty thousand degrees Kelvin, ten times more than the surface of the sun. Long streaks of intense energy slid close past its solid body, royal blue and magenta, then green to brick red. Fragments split up, but continued their path like a school of rainbow remoras desperately trying to keep up with the larger, unwilling host.

Nothing could obstruct the mass tearing through the atmosphere, falling crazily towards the earth’s surface, although it was not heading for green or blue. With the gravity wake parting the waters of the ocean below, heating them to steam, the burning ball was heading south to the frozen area of white.

By the result of the greatest surge of force on earth, the dominating water was now convinced it had won the battle once and for all. Covering over 90 per cent of the surface, planet Earth had a new face of blue. But it had not won. There was still land and its living habitués. The largest area of greens and browns was known as the fortunate land while across the blue World, on the other side the very peaks of old land formed new island groups. Archipelagos were overseen as a desperate move for an extension of life on Earth. However, the one’s constructing, underestimated the effects of isolation.

PART 1

GOLDEN SILENCE

There was always a considerable temperature drop around dusk on the circular island of Pervil. When the sun set on the west horizon and a thick blanket of darkness would swathe over the cities’ chaos, the vacant borders would be hit by air that would bite coldly into anything living. The winds, carrying the taste of salt, would weave inland through a jungle of structures while the ocean was left on the flanks, tormenting the beaches by constantly striking into them. Even though the outskirts would drop to nearly freezing at night, the large central city heated the streets within. A bright yellow glow of energy circled that inner city and radiated high into the night sky.

This same glow suddenly shone on the thick skin of a couple of approaching objects. High above the ocean, heading towards Pervil, were unfriendly visitors in the shape of two metallic blue whales. Dark grey in colour, the thick armoured pressurizing tubes, over twenty metres in length, belonged to FXC combat craft.

Surprisingly there was no panic call, no defending ally craft on their tail, and not even a sign from tracking sensors protecting the city. Something was wrong.

The FXCs descended closer, over the tallest of towers that seemed to lose themselves down into an abyss of spotlights and metalwork. They swooped in between a forest of blurry structures, closing in together. Vibrant colours flashed past them like laser beams. Ahead, at the end of the main street, a speck of blue light grew gradually through the front screens. Heavy missile weaponry attached to the narrow wings engaged in position. It had been a tedious journey, but finally the target below was in view.

The Central House wasn’t exactly the most discreet landmark. The sheer width of the square structure was equal to many apartment blocks. Lit up at night with a perimeter of vertical blue beams along the white marble walls, it posed arrogantly, dominating its area. But that was all about to change.

A rocket-shaped missile from the side of one FXC detached and screeched ahead. Another from the other side followed. Immediately the parallel craft also released its missiles on each side. Four fluorescent energy trails raced away from them and ended their path with four explosions into the base of those marble walls.

The Central House erupted in a shudder. Expanding dust clouds mixed with rising black smoke filled the air and began to swallow the building from the bottom upwards. Fire spread through its innards.

Both FXCs had already ascended over their destruction below, too far now to watch the building about to collapse into a greater perimeter.

Moving farther away from Pervil’s warm glow, they continued into the night sky. High above the ocean, only they could see a spot of light shine from another remote island. The troops aboard knew this Pervillian secret isle was destroyed by an insider, and they cheered him for his success.

CHAPTER 1

‘He must be stopped! He must be stopped now!’ the politician retorted, slamming his clenched fist on the desk he sat upon. His weighty facial features for a man so lean were creased with fury. His look of cold, majestic contempt reached the faces of the seven other officials sitting around him.

It had been three days since the attack on the Central House, a house for the legislature in which over a hundred people were killed including ministers and armed guards. Following the views of the community since the event, the political debate was covering the security of Pervil.

The politician went on: ‘We can go on and on with this debate, but it’s plain and simple: Carlang Bodelle is a barbaric terrorist, an evil leader that will not give in until he gets what he wants. This is all preposterous. It’s no good sitting here on our backsides, waiting for him to strike again. We must take whatever action we can that will stop him destroying our city.’ He finished short purposely and fell back into his chair, his heated crimson face staring ahead.

Fidgeting in his seat, the politician appeared in the middle of a two-metre-wide screen. In the bottom right corner of the screen was a permanent logo, a red box with The Mercury in white text, and appearing along the bottom were the words Broadcast Earlier Today.

A lady’s voice sounded over the picture that cut to reveal the news reporter standing outside, in front of the Central House ruins. Her angelic face was full of sincerity. Her blonde hair blew wildly in the tormenting wind, and so did her paper-thin skirt and blouse, pressing against her hourglass body.

But her voice on this particular screen was drowned by various conversations and commotions. Fixed out of reach upon a bright yellow wall, the TV played across a bar on the west side of Pervil.

Rich with odour, Dandy’s Bar accommodated a mixed bag of disfigured and run-down beings. In fact, there were faces within that bar that could petrify any sensitive person. Paying scant attention to the news, many were too drunk while others were just fed up with the same story. However, individuals looking up kept themselves involved by shouting out abuse at the news reporter for her alluring appearance.

Sunlight streamed through the windows amongst them all, revealing the warm, circling smoke and stained carpet. It was only around twelve thirty, but located on the ground floor in this area of Pervil, these reprobates never worked genuine jobs. Instead they spent their free time within their locale. These people were called loachas. They were known as the incestuous ones, recognisable as the ugly race, the scum of the city.

To the right of the screen, the bar stretched down to the far wall, congested with bodies rotting away on stools. Grunts and groans travelled along the line. At the far end, one drunken woman, plastered in makeup in an attempt to drop her age by ten years, soon became the centre of attention. She danced and teased playfully in a see-through white vest, her pancake-sized areolas pointing towards the bulge of her exposed stomach. Her thighs ballooned from out a pair of skin-tight denim shorts as she tried to remain balanced in her heels. Loachas around her drooled, licking lips and timing moves, like a pack of vultures waiting for the lion to leave his kill.

In front of the bar area, dangerous parties sat around wooden tables, expressing themselves in conversation. The mixture of tarnished faces belonged to thieves, drug dealers, and many organised criminals, trading amongst the rest of the rogues. The dim interior was perfect for the regular habitués who didn’t want to be seen clearly, whether they were on the run or just ashamed of their appearance. Empty glasses cluttered up all their tables, quantities of alcohol continued to disappear, volumes had already risen, and stares were exchanged from the agitated to the noisiest.

In the corner a man sat alone, drinking in silence. His oversized facial features were the cause for his isolation. Further along from him, by an empty stage that played adult entertainment at night, a lady sat. Her muscles shook so much it was an effort for her just to inhale the butt of her cigarette. Next to her a man was mumbling in between taking slurps of his drink. A chunk of his top lip was missing, revealing a black gum and remaining teeth displayed like a vandalised graveyard. He was speaking of his ancestors that helped build this city, but the lady was not interested. She had heard it all before. In fact her ancestors too were part of that construction. And that went for every loacha in Pervil. Each one held a story involving the city’s development. It was their history, and for many it was all they had to be proud of.

There was a disruption when the main entrance doors swung open. Daylight entered around the silhouette of three unfamiliar men. They remained by the doorway as the doors swung shut behind them. Locals stared at them, checking them out, knowing very well the new arrivals would be blind for a couple of seconds when entering the establishment.

At the centre of the three stood a man of authority, surveying the area with deep disdain. He wore small, round, black glasses that contrasted against his skin, as white as milk. His hair was bleached into a flaxen tone. He was swathed comfortably in a lengthy dark jacket within which his hands disappeared. Larger in weight and height than him, minders stood on either side. They had much darker, heavier features, and both were dressed in identical black polo neck jumpers. Their expressions were identical as they scanned the area with disgust. By now the majority of locals had turned away.

‘Welcome to the freak show!’ the pallid man at the centre chuckled to his two associates. ‘Which one is he, then?’ he asked in a solemn tone.

The man on his left pointed across him to their right. ‘That’s him; that’s him over there.’

Up ahead in that very direction, Edward Sole sat alone, secluded in the very corner of the room. With his back against the TV screen that displayed above him, he faced the rest of the punters across the bar. Now Sole was not like the rest of them at all, and his position in the bar proclaimed his alienation to the rest. He was handsome, but not in a too-delicate way, although his skin, a clear olive brown, would have been called beautiful on a girl. His eyes were like perfect green marbles. His dark brown hair was short and roughed-up, and stubble shadowed the bottom of his face. Sole was strong and of medium build at his age of thirty, although three years prior, during intense training, when he ignored rough foods, he was as fit as he could possibly be with that physique.

Married to a wife he loved very much, they shared an eighteen-month-old baby girl. And although he had the look and mentality of a calm, unruffled man, inside he was not at ease. Tormented by the life he had to lead and the world he had to live in, he was depressed, concerned for the future of his family in this run-down city, and driven to depression by the filth and crime he had to face, like he saw in the very people he was watching in Dandy’s. He looked at them as scum. He was better than them and he knew it, which made it rather odd that he was there.

His pure Caucasian features stood out across the bar, and because of that he received many threatening stares from others. He fought hard to erase the frustration he held for these people and had to remain thick-skinned in that moment. Sole leaned back casually in his chair. His right hand cupped a cloudy glass of Ale on the round table in front. He was watching a certain group around a table and was focused on one particular person amongst them. That was until the three approaching men blocked his view.

‘Edward Sole?’ a grave voice asked above him.

Sole looked up to see a fixed gaze upon a ghostly white face. He could feel the unseen eyes behind the small black glasses pounding on him. His body heated up, warning him. But his apprehension was well disguised on the outside. Sole glanced briefly at the two men on either side then responded to the man in the centre: ‘Who wants to know?’

The centre man introduced himself. ‘My name is Smitz.’ He paused for a moment, studying Sole’s casual expression. Smitz then pulled out a chair opposite Sole and sat down, tucking his legs in under the table. He turned round towards the bar, examined the spirits hanging above, then requested the minder on his left, ‘Get me a cup of tea.’

His associate wandered to the bar while Smitz took the opportunity to gaze round again at the company drinking behind him. He turned back to Sole, grimacing.

‘Everybody looks wrong in here,’ he said. ‘There’re loachas everywhere. Why would you want to drink in here?’ He answered his own question: ‘I suppose this is where your kind go.’ He stared intently at Sole and added, ‘But then you don’t really look the way I imagined.’

Sole never replied, interrupted by Smitz’s minder pulling out a chair to sit on the right of his pale superior. They both sat staring at him silently, deliberately ruining his comfort, and not another word was said in that time until Smitz’s tea arrived.

The other associate sat on Smitz’s left, forming a symmetrical pattern of bodies. Smitz grasped his cup. His long fingernails were manicured like a lady’s. He was about to take a sip when he was distracted by a drunken figure staggering up to the table beside them.

Smitz lowered his cup. ‘What the … What is that?’ He sighed, turning his head away.

An old man, his face wrinkled with erosion, his eyes red and lifeless, looked down, trying to form contact with whoever looked up at him. His head rolled side to side, and the palm of his fragile hand hovered towards them.

Smitz looked back at Sole. ‘Sorry, is he with you? Am I in his seat?’ he asked, waving his thumb at the old man.

The drunken lout smiled and then mumbled a few words that only he could understand. Vulgar white sap dribbled in the corner of his mouth.

Smitz gestured with his hand to his associate on the right. ‘Will you get rid of him? He stinks.’

The burly man got up, spun the drunk round, and pushed him away from the table before returning to his seat.

Smitz paused as if waiting for the stench to drift away. He blew into his tea then sipped it, licking his lips. ‘Not too sweet,’ he said, praising it.

At that moment, Sole focused over his shoulder on a particular person behind him, who got up and left his group. Sole’s eyes followed the man across the bar until he left the bar alone through the exit.

He looked back at Smitz, who was still talking straight to him. ‘Cos I don’t like it too sweet,’ Smitz was saying. ‘Isn’t that right?’

Frustrated with his new company, Sole muttered back, ‘How would I know?’

‘Well nobody wants their tea too sweet.’

‘What do you want?’ Sole had had enough.

Smitz took another sip of his tea then placed it in front. He leaned back in his chair to further the distance between him and Sole and said gravely, ‘I’m looking for a bounty hunter.’

The bounty hunters he knew of worked solo and were hired by many underground organisations in Pervil. Their tactics in tracking down and killing government agents were both notorious and ingenious. These government agents, on the other hand, worked secretly under a division for the ones in power. They were anonymous, disposing of government threats, and were identified only by their title: eliminators.

Smitz went on. ‘You see, I am a business man. I have many connections, and I know a lot more that goes on in this city than you would think. I was sent to you by an insider. I was told you will do the job for me.’

Sole replied, ‘Your insiders are wrong. I am not a bounty hunter. I work on the …’

Smitz raised his voice. ‘Have you heard of my brother, March Smitz?’

Sole shook his head lightly.

There was an intense pause. ‘He was murdered by government property, murdered by an eliminator.’ Smitz gazed down into his tea ‘It’s been a very sad day for me. I’ve just come back from his send-off, and now he is fish food at the bottom of the ocean.’ His gaze rose back up to Sole ‘I’m going to hire you to hunt down that eliminator and bring him to me.’

At that point Sole felt the pressures of all three sets of eyes. He glanced at Smitz’s minders on either side. Their hands had vanished under the table. His response was relaxed. ‘That is not my work. I am a transporter. I deliver goods from the docks.’

Their expressions conveyed they were not convinced. Shuffling in his seat, Sole reached into his trouser pocket, raising his left hand to calm them. He pulled out a wallet and from that produced an identity card with his photo to prove his work. It read: East Side Dock, Transportation Unit.

Sole displayed the card then returned it and the wallet to his pocket. ‘I told you – you have the wrong man.’

‘No, we have the very man we were looking for.’ Smitz’s tone was low and aggressive. He leant forward, stretching out his neck. ‘I know who you are.’

Those words were followed by silence. For Sole it felt like the longest pause yet.

Smitz sat with a stern look on his face. He gave the impression he knew a lot more than he was saying and was keeping one step ahead. He looked up at the TV screen behind Sole. ‘So what were you doing when our famous Central House landscape was destroyed?’

‘I was at home.’

‘Were you?’ he mumbled softly. ‘This is what everyone has been asking each other for the last three days. Where were you? What were you doing? How has it affected you? Well that night affected me. That was also the night my brother was murdered.’ He paused. ‘I will not stop until that eliminator is dead.’

‘What makes you think it was an eliminator?’

Smitz snapped, ‘Cos there was no media story on my brother’s murder. It’s controlled, covered up, every time they work.’ He leant forward. ‘But we can get to them now. We have insiders. The ones in power are not loyal. They’ll quickly forget the old and recruit a replacement, but we’ll just get to them too. If we work together, then we can wipe them out.’ He spoke slowly: ‘The lifetime is up for eliminators in this city. They should know that.’

Smitz then reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out a plastic stick, just smaller than a domino. He slid it towards Sole. ‘My contact. Put it in your phone. I know the fixed price, and I shall expect some result within a couple of days. If not, believe me you will be joining my brother at the bottom of the sea.’ Smitz got up, his face not leaving Sole’s gaze. ‘I told you I had many connections in this city. We will be watching your every move … bounty!’ He downed his tea. ‘Let’s get out of this hole,’ he said to his minders, and the three turned and left the bar.

Sole gasped in relief when the doors shut behind their exit, yet continued contemplating. This Smitz was using a clever scheme. Sole was not a bounty hunter, and he knew full well that Smitz was aware of that too. No one would be so careless to approach, speak to, and threaten a bounty hunter in that way.

It was no longer necessary to be where he was now. Still, he waited a good five minutes before he too got up, put the stick in his leather waist jacket, and headed for the exit.

As soon as he opened the doors, the sunlight hit his face. His eyes squinted and the wind wrapped his body. The sound of vehicles and commotion in the streets ahead drowned the muttering of drunks who disappeared behind the closed doors. He liked the fresh air in his lungs but stood indecisively by the entrance. Sole looked out and around as his eyes customised to the light.

Surrounding him was a jungle of impressive architecture. Skyscrapers zoomed up alongside one another into the sky, vanishing beyond the clouds, like a humongous garden of compact building blocks destined to reach the sun first. Solid structures as they were, it was the sun that would move, stroking their reflected sides by day. The row upon row of windows peered down at Sole, as well as gigantic TV screens, stretched across the entire width of buildings. In every direction screens were mounted above screens. Conflicting advertisements boasted their dominance across the streets. Media stories were broadcast, repeated, and re-repeated. While displaying to the people on the streets, the multicolours projected onto all activity belonging to in-flight vehicles. Like a scattering of mechanical swallows, they soared in different directions, following straight beams of light that guided the roads above. They would turn and disappear behind structures. Others would land onto inflight platforms and drive off out of sight into that building. This form of transport was used only by the emergency services, restricted taxi ranks, and the privileged.

But lower down, below an invisible line between the wealthy and the poor, it was devoid of all elegance. Congested vehicles queued up along the ground roads. Heated drivers were under pressure to get to their destinations, longing to take that unaffordable journey above them.

Sole stood an average six foot one under Dandy’s illuminated sign. He had scanned the area and could not detect anyone watching him from ground level. He turned left along the pavement and headed for a taxi home. The closest taxi depot was a twenty-minute walk. Many living above would never attempt these streets, but Sole was used to it.

The west side of Pervil had always been known for its adversity. Yet the mass population of uneducated loachas continued to multiply like a germ. Many swarmed the streets, looking for food and shelter while chosen mobs were used for cheap labour work to help maintain the rich. Large estates were crowded by benefit claimers, such as parents who would never turn to work and give up their free, fraudulent income. There were underage single mothers who claimed they hadn’t seen the father that secretly visits her every other day. In fact, it became a common means of living for these men to purposely impregnate young girls then share a cut from their allowances.

There was a constant tone in the air on the streets of Pervil. Bouncing between a middle C to a D-flat was the hum of the airborne vehicles above, carried by winds down to ground level. But when Sole turned a corner, that sound was soon drowned out by the ground vehicles to his right and chants from parties at a market parade ahead. He marched his way past the usual nauseating locals hanging around the corner, who were asking for change for cigarettes and alcohol. He approached a short, stocky man who deliberately stood in Sole’s path. The man held up a black case of metal jewellery, but Sole declined with the raise of his hand and weaved round. His long stride did not stop for anyone, not for the man running out from under his stall to show him wood carvings, nor for the man who tried to convince him to buy the best rotten fruit money could buy. Up ahead a loacha swaggered drunkenly towards him. Sole chose not to make eye contact and widened his path until the person passed him.

Sole glared up at a ten-metre high widescreen ahead. Colours beamed from an advert expressing Special Offer – Ribs in a Bucket from the food franchise OB’s. Then it switched to a familiar logo, white bold letters within a red box that read: The Mercury. Underneath it read: Top Stories This Hour: Prime Leader Continues to Pay His Respects.

Will Holden, the prime leader and most powerful man of Pervil, then appeared close up on the screen. He was expressing his deepest sympathy for the families who lost loved ones in the disaster. Mixed into his speech were flashes of the Central House ruins and hardworking foreman ordering labourers during the clear-up. For a man in his late fifties, Will Holden was well groomed. His hair was thin but still had colour and life. His face was wrinkled, which only enhanced his over-mature looks, but it was his eyes that shared his pain and grief. He spoke of how he would do everything in his power to put an end to this terrorist war. His face had honesty imprinted on it. That’s why he was loved by the many that watched and read about him. He was in his third successful term in power. Although there were rumours on the streets making accusations that the last election was a farce and that his current power was used to dominate and win over the smaller political parties, there were also rumours of a protest during the inauguration that was kept from the Pervillian people.

Sole passed more stalls selling daily magazines. They were the glossy paper prints from news pages, transmitted to networks around the city, aimed for the poor people on the street.

More pictures of the Central House wreckage plastered the front covers with the Mercury logo above. But one cover stood out against the rest, a picture of a face. The white features of his heavy, structured cheekbones contrasted against the black background. Facing downward, with vindictive red eyes staring ahead under bulging eyebrows, was the most notorious face of that moment. Above, in a sincere, white times bold typeface, the headline read: What’s Inside the Mind of Carlang Bodelle?

The media continued to repeat stories of this terrorist leader responsible for the Central House destruction. His face was so infamous that even young children unaware of the politics behind it would ask their parents who he was. They would respond with ‘He’s just evil’. Or some used it in their favourite saying: ‘If you don’t do as you’re told, Carlang Bodelle will come for you!’

The man was built in the minds of the people as the Devil himself, but however numerous these stories were, the media could never reveal the exact reason for his attack. Land, power, and property were always written as the common source. For years it had been said that war was always over property and religion.

Sole continued down the street. Magazines that had been purchased, read, and carelessly abandoned tumbled and skidded towards him with the wind. He passed retail stores on his left, their fronts ruined with graffiti. Star-like symbols sprayed in black represented a local gang marking their territory. Next to them were white fly-posters plastered randomly over the wall. Underneath, broken bottles were swept into piles away from doorways. To his right the traffic was moving so slowly the same vehicle moved parallel to the pace of his walk. He overtook it when it stopped for a crossing. Crowds of people crossed over in front and past him, going about their individual affairs. A mixture of faces from all over glanced at him, exchanging eye contact. Sole couldn’t help glancing at the most peculiar faces. Like many others, he was intrigued and cautious. His gaze turned to a small elderly lady following the crowd, pushing an old-fashioned pram that held two canaries in a birdcage. He passed her as she was hurrying the wheels of her pram onto the curb before the traffic was signalled to go.

Further up, a gang of sixteen to twenty-year-olds were moping around outside a convenience store, their identities concealed under hooded tops and headwear. The volume of their muttering increased as Sole approached. Women walking past the gang were struck with verbal abuse. Four broke from the pack to make it look like they were crossing to the other side. Swerving in between gridlocked vehicles, their swagger exposed their ignorance to all around them. They peered into the vehicles, searching for any valuables they could grab before they could flee and leave their victims stranded in the traffic. Everyone loathed their uncontrollable nature and attitudes. Their villainy still growing within them, they acted like animals.

Sole passed through the gang, and like every tormented civilian, he could feel their stares pounding on him. They shouted abuse at him. Sole ignored it, remaining thick-skinned, which was rather surprising in his current condition.

He reached the end of the street, turned the corner, and approached a taxi depot, where the commotion was less than on the streets. The shelter where customers waited was nearly empty, with only two men in suits in it, seated and muttering to each other. They both had slicked-back hair. The suit on one must have been two sizes too big. Sole gazed at a thread of cotton hanging from his cuff onto the back of his hand. The other man’s hands were expressing his speech. They appeared shabby, although the transport they were waiting for was only ridden by the wealthy.

Sole’s gaze continued further up towards three young girls sitting on railings. Their lack of clothes told him they were using the opportunity to sell their bodies to the bored wealthier man on his way home from work. One had her arms folded. One had both hands on the railings. The other was playing with her hair.

Sole approached a ticket booth, took a numbered ticket, and remained there, leaning against the wall. He always preferred his own company and to be secluded from strangers regardless of what they looked like. It lessened the possibility of someone attempting to talk rubbish to him. If he didn’t know them, he wasn’t at all interested in what they did in their lives.

On the wall beside him were printed fly-posters. He recognised the same posters from back down the street. The white posters in black text read:

Were Your Ancestors Involved with the

Building of This City?

If So, Call the Number Below and You Could Benefit!

There was a six-digit number, and below that it read:

Together We Can Fight to Change Our Lives!

It was a roundup, Sole thought, a gathering of loachas in the city.

He gazed up ahead at the small screens embedded within the shelter walls, broadcasting the same advertisements and news everyone was familiar with. Between the screens a lady’s voice broadcasting from small speakers warned customers to look after valuables because thieves do operate in this zone.

A vehicle pulled up in front of the shelter. Sole watched the suited men get in. The vehicle then wheeled off to a clear runway and began to ascend freely into the air. Sole stepped forward to view and check his number on the screen above when all of a sudden a hand landed on his shoulder. Sole grabbed the hand and swung round, twisting it.

A man wearing a well-fitting suit sobbed lightly in protest for his hand. His eyes moved to his twisted hand. ‘Err, do you mind?’ His voice was serene and polite.

Sole let go. ‘What do you want?’

The man held his twisted hand. ‘Redburn has been trying to reach you. Your mobile’s off, so I have my orders to escort you to HQ offices.’

Sole was silent for a moment. He recognised the man well, although he never knew him or his name. ‘My mobile’s off because I was working,’ he replied. ‘How did you know where I would be?’

‘I was told you would be this side of town,’ the man replied sincerely. He glanced around. ‘I’d rather not spend too long around these parts.’ Then he pointed behind him. ‘Your lift is round the corner from here, so if you please …’

A mental commitment in Sole’s head made him obey the man’s orders. He glanced back at the numbered screen above. His number was displayed. A vehicle then pulled up, ready to take him to his chosen destination – home. He looked at his ticket then threw it into a wire net disposal on the wall. He turned his back on the taxi and headed off with the escort.

Along the way Sole turned to the man. ‘By the way,’ he added, ‘don’t ever grab my shoulder like that again. I could have killed you!’

CHAPTER 2

A vehicle so polished that the mirrored surroundings crept across the bodywork wheeled along a clear path. It turned onto a small runway and with the permission of a green light accelerated forward. With hardly a run-up it rose into the air, leaving nothing below but a breeze generated by the propellers within its indented underbelly. The vehicle, block-shaped to replicate a classic model, continued to ascend following in between beams of light.

Inside, Sole sat behind his escort in the back, already feeling the tranquillity away from the ground level, square windows on buildings either side of him rushing diagonally down. Their course took their flight beside a gigantic screen, which was out of the driver’s view. In the back Sole looked out as the coloured picture shined against the bodywork and one-way glass. His eyes flinched, focusing on the spectrum of dots that created a giant face of the prime leader, Will Holden.

They travelled further through the city, turning at junctions, the odd vehicle flying past them from time to time. Shifting beams of light tickled the underside as they approached a gigantic secured building, covering acres of ground, towering up to a fort of pyramids, surrounding an elevated centre dome.

The vehicle swooped into the perimeter, landed smoothly on a platform, and entered the building. It came to a halt outside large double doors after the driver keyed in an identity code. A sensor scanned the front of the vehicle moments before the doors opened, cameras eyeballing the polished machine. It rolled into a parking slot, and Sole got out. Without glaring back even once at his escort, he automatically marched on across the parked bay and towards another door. He looked into a rectangle screen beside the door, held his gaze for three seconds, and the door opened.

Inside, the corridors were at least three metres wide. Two smartly dressed ladies crossed past him. A pleasant smell of perfume lingered, triggering his eyes to wander after them for a second. He continued ahead, the walls beside him changing through the colour spectrum with his stride. He took no notice of the feature. The path was familiar to him. No one else was in sight at that moment, but the faint sounds of distant voices and movements from secured rooms and offices travelled down corridors to his ears. He came up to a right turn when suddenly a figure came rushing round and barged right into