The Embers of Hope: A science-fiction thriller (Hibernation Series Book 2) Read online

  He pulled the cork and placed it to his nostrils. The petrol-like burn was pleasant, even though it made him cough. He poured a small amount into a tumbler and raised it to the world.

  Lesson learned, Zido.

  Having her back would be like a breath of fresh air. The next few years were critical to the master plan. He wanted her to be a part of it all and, starting tomorrow, had a particular mission in mind for her – one that suited her talents perfectly.

  Chapter 14

  Nathan awoke, arms flailing wildly, sending raw pain through his ribs. Why did they hurt? He instinctively reached for his rucksack and realised his arms were pushed through the straps like a reverse parachute. After double-checking the contents he relaxed a little, pressing it to his chest.

  Outside, the wind sent leaves whispering through the air and shutters banging in obedient unison. All around him the sounds of poverty and despair joined like a dark orchestra tuning up. There were drunks sleeping off days of booze; sobbing, desperate souls mumbling in the blackness. Near him a man was mumbling dark thoughts, transforming them into a malicious kind of poetry.

  Nathan lay on his back, the springs of the old bunk jabbing at his tender side. He moved his tongue, rolling it over a throbbing tooth, and sighed heavily. Each heartbeat brought fresh, sharp pain to his jaw and ribs. He remembered why: someone had tried to steal his bag a few days ago. Nathan ended up with two broken ribs and a nasty cough that wasn’t eager to leave. Now, he was awake and would stay that way, eyes blinking in the half-light.

  The drop-in centre had become his home. Not planned, but planning was a pastime reserved for the blessed.

  This was often when Jen would come, in the hours between states, between worlds. He would smell her first, her skin, sweet like almonds, and then imagine her touch. Tenderly she would kiss his forehead and tell him it would all be okay. He felt tears burning the back of his eyeballs but they didn’t break through. Not tonight.

  ‘Jen,’ Nathan whispered, but her spirit was gone.

  In the distance a light clicked on, casting elongated shadows of bunk-bed frames and ghostlike shapes across the large room. A figure appeared and began talking to the night porter. Nathan shifted position and watched, hands still clinging to his only possession. The night porter gestured in his direction and the stranger began to walk towards him.

  Nathan panicked, tried to sit up, but it felt as though a heated knife had been jabbed into his side. A white pain filled the room and he cried out through gritted teeth.

  The stranger leant forward, carrying the scent of a better life. Nathan could just make out a white shape floating around his neck.

  ‘My name is Father Paul Bendiksen,’ the stranger said. ‘I’m here to help you.’

  ‘Am I dying?’ Nathan asked.

  ‘Not tonight,’ the priest said. ‘Not on my watch.’

  ‘Don’t let anyone take my…’

  The priest placed a hand gently on Nathan’s head and whispered, ‘You’re safe now.’

  Drifting. Sinking, further and further down. Nathan had become unnecessary and unwanted, had disappeared, but someone was here to watch over him. The tears finally came and in the darkness he wept, until sleep finally took him.

  Chapter 15

  Alex was seated in a cold, bare room, still wearing the thin gown and slippers provided after Hibernation. Opposite him was Doctor Leon Povis and to his right, three young medical students.

  ‘Am I being held here?’ Alex asked as calmly as he could manage.

  The doctor seemed agitated, annoyed even. He peered at Alex with disdain. ‘No, Alex - may I call you Alex?’ He didn’t wait for a reply. ‘This is a routine check, we do them occasionally, a pain for us all.’ Two students shuffled awkwardly in their seats. Povis swiped his hand across a screen and began recording. ‘During your Hibernation cycle, were you aware of any colours or sounds?’

  ‘No,’ Alex lied. ‘Nothing.’ He could feel the Doctor’s eyes burrowing into him. It reminded him of his father, in control and easily described as charming.

  Povis studied him closely, eyes pulled tight. ‘No dreams or awareness of any kind? You’re telling me you were completely unaware during Hibernation?’

  ‘I don’t remember a thing.’ Alex felt his voice trembling. ‘That’s how it’s supposed to be, isn’t it?’

  Povis scowled. ‘Yes, exactly how it’s supposed to be, and may I remind you, these questions are not be discussed or repeated outside these walls.’

  Alex glanced around the room, noting the tiny cameras. He looked at the students. They looked away and Alex realised he wasn’t the only one who was afraid.

  * * *

  The following day, Alex was alone in a huge changing room. It was switch-over, a precise and perfectly orchestrated operation. Millions would be doing it across the UK and – over the next few days – across the world. He glanced left and right at the identical steel lockers that seemed to stretch on forever. Inside were clean clothes, ready to adorn bodies recently thawed from their year-long slumber. The room was silent, but for the quiet hum of air conditioning and his own shallow breathing. He stretched and tried to act normal, knowing he was being watched. In the distance, the odd shout, voices of staff preparing for the arrival of the masses.

  Povis had continued to question him for hours and Alex felt exhausted. He thought of Pascale, his girlfriend. She was hibernating too. He prayed she was safe.

  The sound of footfall began. A voice instructed people to keep moving and to head to their allotted area. Two huge doors slid open and a sea of faces spilled into the room. For them, the perceived time between arrival and departure felt like minutes, as simple as getting changed, sleeping a while, and then changing back again. People were becoming used to this new routine. They were out of their gowns and slippers quickly, back into clothes that defined them in the real world. Alex did the same, not wanting to look at anyone. He just hoped he’d passed the test.

  He walked out, surrounded by the safety of others, pausing only briefly in the large atrium to be scanned and processed. Guards were stationed everywhere but none of them spoke. Recorded voices told you everything you needed to know. Nobody asked questions.

  ‘Don’t forget to catch up on events and news!’ a voice instructed them, a little too excitedly. It took some getting used to – the need to absorb an entire year of news – but some people claimed to enjoy it. A massive news intake had a certain wow factor, Alex supposed.

  A few minutes later, he stepped out into the fresh morning air and breathed a deep sigh of relief. He couldn’t wait to see Pascale. Behind him, people streamed out of the Shepherd’s Bush Hibernation Centre in every direction. It was like the end of term at school. Soon, for millions of others, it would be the opposite. They would be going to sleep, doing their bit for the planet.

  The aches of his accelerated thawing were gone but a phrase echoed in his mind, a childhood memory: ‘It’s important to do our bit for the planet.’ It sent a tingling shiver down him. His father used to say it all the time. His father also used to beat the living crap out of him.

  When the opportunity to Hibernate on the year opposite his old man had presented itself, Alex jumped at the chance. The various application forms and interviews made it very clear. He would never be able to see his father again, even if he wanted to. Alex assured them that he understood. For some, it was the ultimate sacrifice. For him – twenty-six years old and abused for half of them – it was the answer to all his prayers.

  Alex walked quickly towards home, but the sense of being followed struck him immediately. Of course he was being followed; did he really think they would just let him walk away? He glanced back twice. A man was hanging back, trying not to be spotted.

  Alex crossed a number of streets quickly and ducked into a large department store. From there he entered a restaurant, jogged through to the exit and out into a narrow alleyway. A large man dressed in kitchen whites followed him out and began calling after him. Alex glanced b
ack, apologised and began to run.

  He was nearly home – sure he had lost his tail – when the man appeared again. Suddenly he was walking next to him. Alex’s heart pounded fresh panic into his temples.

  Where the hell did he come from?

  Alex glanced at the stranger, who looked straight back at him. He was tall and thin, wearing a leather jacket, heavy boots and sunglasses. His hair was dark and cropped into a kind of Mohican and he wore a beard that was out of fashion by nearly a decade.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Alex asked, stopping.

  The man looked like an ageing old rocker, but when he spoke his voice was polite and considered. ‘I was asked to give you something,’ he said, peering over his glasses. ‘But not here.’

  Alex stood in silence for a moment, staring into the shiny blue eyes of the stranger as a steady stream of people walked around them.

  ‘Asked by who?’

  The man pointed to a nearby building where two rooflines met and created a shadow on the street below. ‘Over there,’ he said. ‘There’s a dead spot.’

  He walked away and Alex, unsure what else to do, followed. The building was old, a warehouse with many windows, some smashed. It was run-down and looked disused.

  The man turned to him and pointed to an old doorway. ‘We can talk in there.’

  ‘No way,’ Alex almost shouted. ‘I’m not doing anything until you tell me who sent you.’

  The man glanced around and finally, when he seemed satisfied they were safe, began to change. His face shifted and moved, like chocolate melting next to a fire. Alex watched in amazement as the aged man became someone instantly familiar. The lines on his skin disappeared and his eyes changed colour, and all of his features sharpened, like pixelated triangles, before settling back to their usual - their real - form.

  Alex shook his head. ‘Jesus Christ, Paul!’

  ‘Not quite.’

  ‘You scared the shit out of me.’ Alex scowled at him. ‘What the hell are you doing? What’s going on?’

  Paul stared back. ‘You’re in trouble, Alex,’ he said. ‘You both are.’

  Chapter 16

  Zido Zitagi and Victor Reyland walked side by side, navigating the maze of corridors within the bowels of the UN Headquarters. Faces flashed past them, men and women in suits, some with trailing entourages. He had left her hanging all day, made her imagine a myriad of disappointing scenarios, yet here they were walking together, with purpose.

  ‘You said you had something in mind for me?’ Zitagi asked carefully.

  His gaze remained fixed ahead. ‘Yes, we’re nearly there.’

  They reached a lift and stepped inside. The doors closed. There were four people inside: an older man and three women. All seemed preoccupied, their eyes flicking side to side, their minds augmented and busy. It was a common sight but one that still caused unease for Zitagi. They were so distracted, so vulnerable.

  When they reached the nineteenth floor, Reyland stepped out and Zitagi followed. The foyer was deserted. Glass-partitioned offices stretched far and wide. There was movement from within some of the meeting rooms but they were silent gestures, shadows dancing on the polished marble floor.

  Reyland walked to another lift, one reserved exclusively for senior staff. His eyes flashed white as a retinal scan configured his options. A screen hovered in front of him and Zitagi noticed floor numbers she had never seen before. The building had twenty-five floors; that was five more than she knew.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

  ‘The library. I want to show you something.’

  * * *

  They entered the library – which was theirs alone – through large oak doors. It was a huge room, tall and stacked on all sides with books. Around its edges were old leather chairs and small tables with golden lamps on top. Zitagi was hit first by the smell – a mild vinegary scent – and then the cool air. Mind augmentation and information sharing had hit a critical mass in the mid-twenties and books had become practically obsolete, a relic of an age gone by. Of course, many people still liked them but so many in one place was a rare sight. Zitagi ran her hand over a column of neatly stacked books, the etched titles bumping like brail on her fingertips. They appeared to be mainly law and history books, neatly ordered alphabetically.

  Zitagi’s heels clicked on the hard floor as they walked to a large table in the centre of the room. It was only when they reached the middle that she realised the library was circular and books were stacked all around them, twenty feet high and lit by a huge chandelier that sparkled like a hundred suns.

  ‘Why bring me here?’ she asked.

  He gestured for her to sit and she did so.

  ‘Places like this are a link to our past,’ he said solemnly. ‘It reminds us where we came from, wouldn’t you agree?’ Reyland stood impossibly upright, stretched tall and straight like a piece of wood. ‘It’s important that we don’t forget what happened, how all of this came to pass.’

  ‘We don’t need books to ensure that,’ she said. ‘Everything in here exists out there, too.’ She nodded upward, towards the sky, metaphorically towards the data cloud that contained everything mankind had ever agreed to record and document.

  Reyland stroked a hand from his cheeks all the way down to his neck and tugged at the skin covering his Adam’s apple.

  ‘The content,’ he mused. ‘Yes. It’s there. But I want you to consider how this place makes you feel.’

  Zitagi nodded and tried. Feeling wasn’t her strong point.

  ‘These books had their place,’ Reyland said, ‘but things have moved on. They were hugely important once, they were necessary, contained important information. Now, they are relics of what feels – all too quickly – like an ancient time.’

  It had been years since she’d even seen a book. Reyland opened a thin leather case and placed a file onto the polished oak table. It contained a single sheet of paper. Zitagi picked it up and began to read. Again, she was slightly unnerved by the retrograde approach to her briefing.

  ‘This is your next target,’ he said. ‘It’s going to be a difficult mission.’

  She scanned the document, read the target’s name and swallowed. ‘Sir, I’ve always trusted you, but this is –’

  ‘You will need to get close to him.’ Reyland’s voice was cold and stern, ‘Gain his trust.’

  Zitagi read the name again – David Jameson, former Secretary General of the reformed United Nations – and then placed the briefing sheet back onto the table. ‘Sir. May I ask a question?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s important you understand I’m not questioning the order, it’s just…’ She paused, struggling to find the words.

  ‘Just say what’s on your mind,’ Reyland said.

  ‘I just need to know why this time,’ she said. ‘Can you tell me?’

  Reyland looked over at the rows of books, gazing thoughtfully, taking in the room, until Zitagi followed suit.

  ‘These books had their place, they were important once.’ He sighed. ‘Your target was too, but he’s about to do something that threatens everything we’ve built, everything we’ve fought for.’ His demeanour darkened and he stared at her, unblinking. ‘He’s planning to release his memoirs on the web, has decided to rewrite history, Zido, got it into his head that something isn’t right.’

  ‘But he started it all,’ Zitagi replied. ‘He was the one who sold the dream. Why would he want to destroy his own legacy?’

  ‘It made no sense to me either.’ Reyland sighed. ‘But our intel is solid. For some reason, rather than bask in the glow of his retirement, the old man has decided that his part in history needs some explaining. He feels that his legacy is being undone somehow, that his reputation is more important than the greater good. We can’t let that happen.’ Reyland slid his fingers together and rotated his thumbs like the cogs in a silent machine. ‘Perhaps it’s the tired mind of an old man, one that doesn’t know when his time in the sun is up.’

 
She frowned, not used to questioning him, but there was an unspoken concern in the air between them, one that needed to be voiced.

  ‘You’re wondering when we started killing our own?’ Reyland suggested.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘There is much I want to tell you, Zido. We’ve known each other a long time and you have never failed me. You are my…’ He trailed off and frowned.

  In some ways, Zitagi was relieved he stopped. Victor Reyland wasn’t a man she associated with awkwardness. What was he going to say? That she was his best agent? His favourite?

  I wouldn’t mind if he felt that way, she found herself thinking, I just don’t want him to say it.

  ‘Your loyalty is why I selected you for this mission,’ he said eventually. ‘But it’s important that you understand. If we don’t stop him and he releases his version of the truth, the foundations of all we have built could crumble. He isn’t the man he once was; he’s dangerous and needs to be stopped.’

  Zitagi nodded. ‘But if he knows who I am, how am I supposed to get close enough to kill him? His security will be strong.’

  ‘He has a weakness,’ Reyland said, the sparkle returning to his eyes. ‘One we can use.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘Me,’ he replied. ‘I’m his weakness.’

  Chapter 17

  The priest, good to his word, stayed with Nathan until morning. He returned the following night and then again two days later. It was morning and Nathan was awake.

  ‘I brought you food,’ the priest said, passing him a small paper bag.