Hard Lines 3

Memory from the first partition

It's a warm and sunny day, not quite eleven, and I'm sitting on a wicker chair on the patio of Rudi's and sipping from a small white mug of espresso. A pleasant, cooling breeze blows off the Pacific, and the sparkling, deep-blue sea forms a glitter band that shimmers on the horizon.

It's a remarkable sight, at least for me, because twenty-four hours earlier, I was in a familiar and cold little coffee shop at Manchester Airport. Sitting and eating a jam doughnut opposite one of those vast new EV car parks and staring at the rain.

Fast forward to now, and I'm staring up at the gigantic palms that line the parkland between the boardwalk and the beach, and this moment feels momentous, beyond belief. I mean, it's not every day I sit down to eat brunch alfresco beneath blue skies on Venice Beach. And with the commissioning editor of one of the world's largest content distributors no less, Influence, sitting opposite me.

But that is what's happening to me now.

Incredibly, Janine McVey is also swatting the air as she makes the unmistakable gestures of someone who hasn't updated their headface correctly. 'This damn thing!' She keeps smacking her palm on the table like she's trying to hit an invisible fly. 'For the love--'

'Sorry to interrupt,' I say, sitting forward and trying to be helpful. 'But have you tried the latest update?'

The comissioning editor gives me a baleful stare. 'Do you want to get on the next flight back to England?'

Janine sports short and spiky chestnut hair today, which she has chosen to pair with her trademark neon pink-rimmed glasses and rose-coloured blouse. Roughly around fifty and stocky, with a no-nonsense stare and a famous gutter laugh, Janine still has her distinctive New York accent despite two decades on the West Coast.

She has gained some pounds since we last met, but so have I. In my own case, I'm wearing my own short-sleeve shirt that's extra large and which hides my belly nicely.

All you have to do then is ignore the acrid scent of burnt rubber that drifts over from a nearby alley and you could fool yourself into thinking this is still a desirable place to have lunch. Although I'm sure that when Janine elected to come here yesterday, over email, desire most definitely came into it.

Ripped men and women with excessive curves jog up and down the length of Ocean Walk. Everywhere I look, it's lycra and bosoms, buttocks and revealing muscle tops. Gulls, meanwhile - and their cloned analogues - fight over another one of the unidentified carcasses that I gather keep washing up on the beach.

I watch the gulls break the carcass into smaller parts while others fight over the remains. The sun is already bright and starting to prickle my skin.

I'm thankful I bought a new pair of Ray-Bans at the airport. But even though I'm enjoying wearing them now, the occasional word from Janine is breaking through my disconnect and the meaning of what she's saying is causing me to squint.

'So that's why we thought about sending you to Utaya.'

I nearly shout, but our waiter is here, so I play the good Brit abroad and wait until he leaves. Then, turn back to face Janine and speak quietly across the table. 'Sorry,' I say, still taking care to smile, 'but you do realise no one's ever reported back from Utaya, don't you? Like, not once, ever, not even a peep to say they made it in the first place?'

Janine nods a little too vigorously.

I whisper the next sentence, uncomfortable even saying it. 'And you want me to go there and run what exactly? An expose or something?'

'In a word,' says Janine before biting into her burrito.

'I see.’

‘Are you OK?

It's like I've just been hit over the the head with a spade. 'Surely you're not serious if you're thinking about sending me?'

'Why not you, Rene?' She takes off her glasses and narrows her eyes. 'And why would I be kidding?'

'OK,' I say before biting down on my burrito. 'Leaving my recent history aside a minute...'

'Your recent history?'

'Oh, don't pretend like you don't know,' I reply, and immediately, she smiles. 'Come on, Janine, you know my love-life is a car crash.'

Janine cocks her head to one side like she's inviting me to divulge.

'But that aside,' I say, making a point of moving on. 'Ninety-three dead journalists can't be wrong, d'you know what I mean?'

'I do,' Janine says, holding up her palms. 'Security on all of Elsen's facilities is water-tight. As you'd expect.'

'Exactly,' I nod, relieved she can see sense. 'Trillions go into its defence every quarter.'

'Yes,' Janine agrees. 'But no matter how much they spend or fortify that wall, there'll always be a weakness.' She dabs the side of her mouth with a napkin. 'Always.'

'You sound very sure of yourself,' I say.

'You forget my age,' she replies, and her voice is firmer now. Resolute. 'Trust me, whether or not you find that weakness, well...' She gives me a knowing smile before putting her glasses back on. 'That all boils down to your motivation.' She pauses. 'And the Confederate want that planet back, Rene. Come hell or high water.'

'You sound very confident they'll get it.'

'I have it on good authority.'

'I see.' I nod and pour another coffee. 'From who exactly?'

Janine smiles. 'And you think I'd be stupid enough to tell you that in here, in a conversation that could later played back as a memory?'

'No, but...' I stir my coffee furiously, creating a muddy whirlpool with the cream. 'If you're talking about sending me to such a place, I need assurances you have the backing to get me in and out again.'

'Oh, I have the backing, Rene,' she says, taking a large gulp of her espresso, 'both the backing and the tools'. And I can tell from the intrigue in her tone that her eyes have been snared by the form of someone jogging past.

'I hope so,' I say. 'Because you're messing about with a shady bunch of oligarchs, you know that, right? And regarding immigration, they clearly don't take kindly to anyone trying to breach their lines.'

Janine gives verbal nods but appears uninterested in my objections, so we both trail off, marinating in the heat and admiring our respective views.

As midweek sales meetings go, it beats the rain in Manchester and the frenetic chaos of London. But I'm not interested in the proposal, and I tell Janine as much when I finish my burrito. 'And if you can't supply me with any more details,' I say, standing up and dusting myself off, 'I don't see how my position will change.'

Janine looks up at me, faintly amused but saying nothing.

'So, I'll be going back to my hotel.'

'Oh, so soon?' she asks, her expression switching now from amusement to anguish. And now she appears to be backtracking. Or, at the very least, changing her approach. 'Rene, I thought you cared about human trafficking stories--'

'Of course, I care.'

'So you'll want to know that we're planning to run this story across every outlet in the solar system.' She makes direct eye contact. 'Which means you'd be getting the story out across every platform.'

I don't say anything, inviting her to continue.

'Which, of course, will deliver you added revenue streams.'

'I see.' And now her words are beginning to sound more appeasing. But only a bit. I clear my throat. 'What else do you know?'

'I know you're still ambitious, Rene. And you want an award,' she adds, referencing the Galactic that's eluded me all these years.

'And what story are you hoping to get?'

Janine licks her lips, then leans in close to whisper. 'We think the facility will experience a phase shift soon.’

‘OK’. I frown. ‘Explain.’

‘An expansion in their operations and capabilities. Some new tech, more than likely. And, when that happens, Utaya and Ironforge will present a different class of threat to humanity and the Confederate.'

'Ha.' I roll my eyes, my ears having heard rhetoric like that many times before. 'Surely that's a job for the Confederate to find out?'

'It is. But they only have agents, and they only have boosted biomechanisms. Traces in their skin and whatnot. That's why it's always better to send an undercover reporter. A real civvy.'

'In whose opinion?'

'Rene, everyone knows undercover reporters are still largely untraceable. Plus, they're trained in covert ops, at least to some degree. And the rest can be taught, so who else better to make a sense recording than someone who already does it for a living?'

'And you think that if I expose what's happening, whatever it is will just stop?'

Janine says nothing; just shrugs in that bloodyminded way of hers, which I don't find helpful.

More than likely, if I uncover anything, Janine and her mysterious backers will use the evidence as just cause. Presumably to invade and get their planet back. But Janine doesn't bother with reasoning. Instead, she tries to entice me with cheap gossip.

'Witnesses talk of genies, Rene. And no, I don't mean the things you rub from a bottle. The other kind,' she adds, and I can see the fascination in her eyes. 'Gene-hacks. And not even gene-hacks, Rene, but human clones as well. Whole sections of the working population apparently grown in a lab. I mean, can you honestly imagine?'

The thing is, I had heard rumours. But hearing Janine speak like this, it feels much worse than I imagined. 'What's happening to all these people,' I ask, keen to emphasise the fact that they still have souls.

'They're being used for cheap labour,' Janine says, 'according to one of my sources. A food supply, according to another.'

'What?' Now my voice is incredulous.

'Experiments,' Janine continues, 'according to others. But sources are sources, as you well know. We need to get someone in there,' she adds, smacking her fist on the table, 'see for ourselves.'

'Surely sending a proxy would be easier?'

'With the level of security the ELG have on Utaya?' Janine shakes her head. 'No, no way. Like I say, we have a blind spot, a weakness. And it has to do with sending flesh and blood. For now, that’s all I can say.'

'OK...'

'Make it back alive, Rene, and you'll never have to work again.'

'Thanks,' I say, amused by her incentive, 'but I value my life over my ego and, well, my bank balance doesn't need the boost.'

And now it's Janine's turn to suppress an involuntary bout of mock-laughter. 'Are you sure about that?'

'I...' I narrow my eyes. The shifting angle of her attack is relentless. 

'I mean, how are you keeping up rent payment, Rene? Because it must be difficult. What with Yve and everything.'

'I do OK,' I say tersely.

'And Yve? It must be quite some time since you last spoke.'

And now she's got me. 'The trail went dead some years ago,' I snap. Then, unable to help myself. 'How do you know about that?'

'Rene, please,' Janine says. 'I'm the editor of an intersoler news organisation. I wouldn't have got to this position if I didn't do my research.'

I squint in the sun. Take another sip of espresso.

'Come on. Wouldn't you like to at least know what happened? You've been drifting like an empty vessel ever since by all accounts.'

'Have I?'

A knowing smile. 'You think I don't know about your latest outburst?'

I look up and make eye contact, my mouth suddenly dry. 'You--'

'Editors talk, Rene, especially over the mental state of our freelancers.' An uneasy silence descends, and to my surprise, Janine seems happy for it to continue. Only when it gets really uncomfortable does she add, 'Yve may still be alive out there--'

'Don't.'

'Come on, Rene, I thought we were friends.'

'Just don't, OK? You know nothing about it.'

But Janine can smell blood and, like a piranha, keeps nibbling. 'I know that if anyone could find out what happened to her, you--'

'Please!'

'OK, OK. I'm sorry.' But she's clearly not.

I shake my head, furious that she's dragged Yve's disappearance into this. 'This isn't about her,' I say, my voice cracking at the edges.

'No,' says Janine, in an attempt at meekness. 'But it could be.'

For a moment, I don't know what to say.

Another one of those mischievous smiles dances on the corners of her mouth.

'You're a bad person,' I tell her.

'Yes,' she replies, without missing a beat. 'But one who can pay.'

And I can't fault her there. That's what got me here in the first place. 'How much?' I end up asking.

'Ninety million,' she says without blinking.

My adam's apple bounces more than I would like. Enough to buy a home outright. For the first time in my entire life. 'I see.'

'Think it over,' she says. 'You don't have to say yes just yet.' She sniffs. Opens and uses the hot towel brought over by the waiter. 'You busy for the rest of the day?'

I wish I could say no, but Janine has caught me off guard. To concoct an excuse now would take too long and seem too obvious, so I shake my head, still numb from our exchange.

'Well, that's settled then. We can take some time out; I can show you my new apartment in the canyon. Fill you in on how this will work, that kind of thing.' She grabs my wrist. 'Honestly, Rene, you're going to love it, you really are. I know you've always had an interest in advanced technologies...'

And she carries on talking, but I'm no longer listening, trying to work out if it's the desire to right social wrongs, the chance to get closure on my mourning over Yve or just the life-changing sum of money that's being dangled in front of me that is making me consider leaving my life in the hands of Janine, and God knows who else. But perhaps it could also be none of those things. Maybe it's just the chance that I might not return alive at all. Maybe it's the opportunity to finally end all this madness.

Once and for all.

I'm sure Janine already knows the answer. So I guess we'll see if she tells me back at her apartment.