Marcus waited in the holding area of the passenger ship as just one available spacecraft, carrying about twenty of the one hundred people on board, shuttled between the ship and the docking station. He and Harvey, travelling under pseudonyms beginning with the letter “C”, were next in alphabetical order to travel on the craft. With the surname Watson, Ben should have been in the last group, but the military had picked him out of line and put him on the first craft. Marcus pressed down his bitter rage for the teenager who, just two months ago, had been under his command. It appeared the boy had friends on Exilon 5.
The spacecraft returned to the hold a short time later and he and Harvey climbed on board. Marcus strapped in tight, remembering the journey at the start to the ship stationed above Earth’s atmosphere. He’d almost decorated the seats with his lunch. The five-minute journey down didn’t feel as rough, but when the craft landed Marcus scrambled to be the first to exit. He would never set foot in one of those things again.
A dozen receiving stations similar to those on Earth beckoned. Marcus entered a different station to Harvey and queued airside for his identity chip to be scanned.
The officer motioned Marcus forward and Marcus passed through the barrier to landside. While he waited for Harvey, he saw a man in his early fifties with greying hair escort Ben to the exit. A blonde-haired woman too scrawny to be Marcus’ type was with him.
Harvey joined him. ‘No issues?’ Marcus shook his head. ‘Good. Let’s go.’
He’d planned on ditching Harvey as soon as he made it through the receiving stations, but with freedom just moments away Marcus had no idea where to go. He followed Harvey to the exit, looking around for the box of gel masks that usually sat by the entrance. But all he found was a shallow dish on a table containing strange-looking eye wear.
‘Where are the masks?’
Harvey picked up a pair of dark eye glasses and pressed them to his eyes. ‘Don’t need them here, but you will need a pair of these.’
Marcus glanced at the bowl of glasses, then at the exit door made of tinted glass that gave the outside world a dark, ominous look. He picked up a pair but didn’t see why he had to wear them. The lack of gel masks and oxygen canisters worried him more.
Harvey approached the door and it opened. Marcus held his breath, not sure what to expect. Fresh air and a brightness to which he was not accustomed assaulted him.
He shielded his painful eyes. ‘Holy shit.’
‘That’s what the eye wear is for,’ snapped Harvey. ‘Put yours on.’
Marcus put the glasses on without complaint. The heat on his skin felt strange, but nice; he was used to a much colder climate on Earth. But it didn’t take long for that feeling to switch to discomfort. The heat reminded him of the old food replication terminals where the air conditioning couldn’t cope with the numbers.
He walked on but something jerked him to a stop. ‘What the hell—?’
Harvey pulled him back to the entrance and nodded at a car that Ben Watson was getting into. ‘I know the man and woman with the boy. I don’t want to see them right now.’
‘What, the skinny bird and the jackass?’
‘The very same. I have a past.’
Marcus never doubted that for a minute; Harvey Buchanan didn’t strike him as a pushover. Yet, on Earth, Marcus had power while types like Harvey kept a low profile. It encouraged him to learn more about the weaknesses of the man who claimed to own Marcus’ ass.
Marcus dropped his idea to ditch Harvey. He would play along for a while, get a feel for things and see where he fit in this world.
The sun felt like it cooked him from the inside. He draped his arm over his face. Even with the eyewear in place, his eyes pinched. At least the air tasted fresh. He pulled new oxygen into his lungs—not as pure as the canisters the criminal factions used, but good enough.
The vehicle carrying Ben and the pair Harvey avoided pulled away from the parking spot next the station. Harvey emerged from his hiding place and walked to the same parking area, where two buses were parked. Marcus took in the rolling, green park the station overlooked. It reminded him of Astoria Park in Brooklyn, the place where Gaetano Agostini had run his operations.
Marcus followed Harvey, who approached the first of two buses. A sign on the front of each read: Processing.
A woman with a DPad waited by the first bus. ‘All passengers will be taken to the detention centre for processing, medical care and assignment.’
‘Detention Centre? Assignment?’
That wasn’t part of the deal. Marcus had agreed to a new face and a better life.
‘We have to blend in,’ said Harvey. ‘We can’t exist outside of the system. ITF rules. Everyone must be useful in society.’
‘So what kind of assignments are we talking about?’
Please don’t say cleaner. It had been his old job before he worked for Gaetano Agostini and he had hated every fucking minute of it. He’d been someone important on Earth. No way would he start from the bottom.
‘Whatever they need. Mostly construction jobs. There’s a lot of ongoing work, a lot of undeveloped land.’
The line moved forward and Marcus shuffled with it. ‘I didn’t agree to this, Harvey. I have no interest in being a lackey here. I’ve got skills. Management and such.’
Harvey leaned in close to his ear. ‘Lesson one: Keep your mouth shut. You’re not supposed to be here. I had to pull strings to activate your identity and put it on the grid. Don’t fuck it up for yourself. And don’t call me Harvey in front of the officials.’
Marcus almost blurted out to Harvey that he was full of crap, and that he’d never work for him. But Marcus accepted the rare opportunity handed to him to live with a new face and a new identity on a world where no one wanted him dead. Carl, that backstabbing piece of shit, wouldn’t have made it this far. His choice to side with Gaetano probably got him killed.
Couldn’t have happened to a nicer asshole.
Marcus owed nothing to nobody, least of all Harvey. But he’d play along for now because, for all his ambitions and ideas, this world felt alien to him. To familiarise himself with his surroundings, he had to trust people who knew the lay of the land. He could fake it with Harvey. Or should he say John Caldwell.
‘Okay, John. Whatever you say.’
Harvey patted him on the head. ‘Good boy.’