Prologue
Autumn was wearing sunglasses indoors. She hated herself for it -- a serious, deep and brewing kind of self-loathing that she normally kept under control -- but she had no choice, as the walls of the Imperial Central Bank were so polished and shiny that the glare indoors was brighter than anything the streets of the Capital had seen for years.
Peter, foolishly, had stuck to his principles, and was squinting like a man suspicious of his daughter’s newest boyfriend, or at least one who’d caught him mid-fart.
Autumn noted their reflections in the mirrored walls; they were either horribly distorted, or weirdly perfect. Either way it upset her. Everything in this place was sculpted in perfect detail, made with such exquisite taste as to swing right back around to vulgar again. Even the clientèle were groomed to within an inch of their life -- Silurians, Fire Maidens, even the occasional disguised Zygon all busied themselves in a lobby filled with water features and statues of various alien gods.
They raised many questions, of course. Who where they? What did they want out of life? And why were the members of the rich and lobbying classes in a non-commercial Central Bank, that’s concerned with the making of monetary policy, and not profit?
Autumn decided not to care today. That particular brand of vigilantism could wait.
She and Peter were getting a good look at the ‘Lobby of the Gods’, as the ostentatious gold-plated sign named it. She noted old earth deities like Juno and Thor, the willowy figure of Madam Sunlight, the twisted form of Cthuhlu, the rearing Black Goat of Qohor, and the enormous fertility goddess of the Hjuha people, Mthya, and her fourteen breasts.
The reason Autumn was getting such a good look at the lobby was because the escalator she used, designed to take visitors to the central desk, was moving slowly.
Very slowly.
“I’m going to die,” Peter whispered. At occasional intervals the railings would offer riders a chance to order a drink, which could be collected a little further on. “If we don’t get off this thing soon I’m going to die. I’m going to throw myself over the edge, I swear to god.”
“Which one?” Autumn took off her sunglasses, blinking away the daggers of light that assaulted her eyes, and shoved them on the bridge of Peter’s nose. “Quit bellyaching. The security bots have probably heard your whining already.”
“Why don’t we just turn around?”
“Well the escalator only goes one way, Peter.”
“No, I mean, why do we need to do this? Prada should do her own dirty work. We’re detectives, not her goons for hire.”
“Peter,” Autumn said, quietly, patiently. “Listen. You’re a good friend. Possibly my best, right now. But you know what else you are?” She turned to him, with a tender look on her face. “Really bloody annoying. No shut the hell up or I’ll feed you to that crocodile god down there myself.”
Peter did as he was bid. The truth was Autumn didn’t really know why they were here either -- at the very least, she had huge reservations -- but Prada had their careers in jeopardy over it. And right now, for Autumn, having something real to do was the most important thing left.
“Look, we’re nearly there,” she said, pointing to the (beautifully shaded) level above them that was the Central Desk. ‘Nearly there’, however, turned into five more minutes of long, awkward, glare-filled silence.
Finally, they arrived, and Autumn relished the sudden darkness of the sheltered room. She took a sigh of relief, whilst Peter, still wearing the sunglasses, bumped into a potted plant.
The colour scheme had changed from gold to silver, though remained plush, with a beautiful blue carpets stretching ahead to a fine leather seating area. Ahead of them stood the desk, a huge dark metal circle lit from beneath, staffed by a single receptionist. Autumn snatched the sunglasses back off Peter’s dopey face, and strode towards it.
“Good morning!” sang the receptionist. “My name is Izzy. How can I help you today?”
Izzy was pretty clearly a robot. She was made of metal from head-to-toe, painted a faintly faded red-and-blue, with aesthetic rivets marking out her joints. A cone-shaped sheet of the metal was folded into a simple dress for her, and another made a basic, bowl-shaped hairdo, all clearly designed to invoke a quaint time past, when robots were far less advanced that what the Human Empire could manage today.
“Hi,” Autumn said. “Detective Autumn Rivers. We have a tour pre-arranged. You are expecting us, yes?”
“One moment,” Izzy’s mouth lit blue when she spoke. She tapped away at a computer in front of her, apparently visible only to her. “Yes, I can see you right here! If you’d like to take a seat, my associate Isaac will come and pick you up.”
“Thank you,” Autumn said, and grabbed Peter by the arm to head off. But before she did, she stopped, and realised she could hear something.
Music. Really good music. Early 21st century earth-pop, just being played on a low level.
“Sorry, one more thing,” She said, and Izzy looked up. “Do you take requests?”
Peter, foolishly, had stuck to his principles, and was squinting like a man suspicious of his daughter’s newest boyfriend, or at least one who’d caught him mid-fart.
Autumn noted their reflections in the mirrored walls; they were either horribly distorted, or weirdly perfect. Either way it upset her. Everything in this place was sculpted in perfect detail, made with such exquisite taste as to swing right back around to vulgar again. Even the clientèle were groomed to within an inch of their life -- Silurians, Fire Maidens, even the occasional disguised Zygon all busied themselves in a lobby filled with water features and statues of various alien gods.
They raised many questions, of course. Who where they? What did they want out of life? And why were the members of the rich and lobbying classes in a non-commercial Central Bank, that’s concerned with the making of monetary policy, and not profit?
Autumn decided not to care today. That particular brand of vigilantism could wait.
She and Peter were getting a good look at the ‘Lobby of the Gods’, as the ostentatious gold-plated sign named it. She noted old earth deities like Juno and Thor, the willowy figure of Madam Sunlight, the twisted form of Cthuhlu, the rearing Black Goat of Qohor, and the enormous fertility goddess of the Hjuha people, Mthya, and her fourteen breasts.
The reason Autumn was getting such a good look at the lobby was because the escalator she used, designed to take visitors to the central desk, was moving slowly.
Very slowly.
“I’m going to die,” Peter whispered. At occasional intervals the railings would offer riders a chance to order a drink, which could be collected a little further on. “If we don’t get off this thing soon I’m going to die. I’m going to throw myself over the edge, I swear to god.”
“Which one?” Autumn took off her sunglasses, blinking away the daggers of light that assaulted her eyes, and shoved them on the bridge of Peter’s nose. “Quit bellyaching. The security bots have probably heard your whining already.”
“Why don’t we just turn around?”
“Well the escalator only goes one way, Peter.”
“No, I mean, why do we need to do this? Prada should do her own dirty work. We’re detectives, not her goons for hire.”
“Peter,” Autumn said, quietly, patiently. “Listen. You’re a good friend. Possibly my best, right now. But you know what else you are?” She turned to him, with a tender look on her face. “Really bloody annoying. No shut the hell up or I’ll feed you to that crocodile god down there myself.”
Peter did as he was bid. The truth was Autumn didn’t really know why they were here either -- at the very least, she had huge reservations -- but Prada had their careers in jeopardy over it. And right now, for Autumn, having something real to do was the most important thing left.
“Look, we’re nearly there,” she said, pointing to the (beautifully shaded) level above them that was the Central Desk. ‘Nearly there’, however, turned into five more minutes of long, awkward, glare-filled silence.
Finally, they arrived, and Autumn relished the sudden darkness of the sheltered room. She took a sigh of relief, whilst Peter, still wearing the sunglasses, bumped into a potted plant.
The colour scheme had changed from gold to silver, though remained plush, with a beautiful blue carpets stretching ahead to a fine leather seating area. Ahead of them stood the desk, a huge dark metal circle lit from beneath, staffed by a single receptionist. Autumn snatched the sunglasses back off Peter’s dopey face, and strode towards it.
“Good morning!” sang the receptionist. “My name is Izzy. How can I help you today?”
Izzy was pretty clearly a robot. She was made of metal from head-to-toe, painted a faintly faded red-and-blue, with aesthetic rivets marking out her joints. A cone-shaped sheet of the metal was folded into a simple dress for her, and another made a basic, bowl-shaped hairdo, all clearly designed to invoke a quaint time past, when robots were far less advanced that what the Human Empire could manage today.
“Hi,” Autumn said. “Detective Autumn Rivers. We have a tour pre-arranged. You are expecting us, yes?”
“One moment,” Izzy’s mouth lit blue when she spoke. She tapped away at a computer in front of her, apparently visible only to her. “Yes, I can see you right here! If you’d like to take a seat, my associate Isaac will come and pick you up.”
“Thank you,” Autumn said, and grabbed Peter by the arm to head off. But before she did, she stopped, and realised she could hear something.
Music. Really good music. Early 21st century earth-pop, just being played on a low level.
“Sorry, one more thing,” She said, and Izzy looked up. “Do you take requests?”
The Dying Detective
Episode 4/6
The Creature from Jekyll Island
Written by James Blanchard
18 HOURS EARLIER
Autumn waited outside Prada’s house with a bottle of wine. She hadn’t brought it for Prada, per se, as she wasn’t really visiting socially. It was more a make-shift weapon that could be smashed over a head, should she need to escape.
The house laid just out of town (such as it was) and was symphony as red-bricked, suburban happiness. Large glass partitions complemented stone arches beautifully, and all the water features were gently lit. The whole place was warm, but an artificial warm, like that of an electric heater over a real wood-burning stove.
Prada opened her front door barely thirty seconds after the knock. “Hello Autumn,” She spied the bottle of wine. “Oh, you shouldn’t have.”
Autumn smiled. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”
Prada’s living room was similarly decorated to her garden, the only difference was Peter, Helen and Goodwin were sat on plush leather sofas. They smiled awkwardly as she walked in.
“Five people isn’t much of a party, Prada.”
“I promise I’ll throw you a proper one, some day. Sadly, tonight’s little meeting is business, not pleasure.” Prada reached over and slipped the bottle of wine out of Autumn’s reluctant grip.
There was plenty of space on the sofas, but Autumn instead sat herself on a beanbag on the floor, curling her legs underneath her like a cat. She hoped the casual display would put her host off a bit.
“What do you want from us, Prada?” Goodwin asked.
“It’s not what I want, Detective,” she answered as she rested the wine on the mantle piece. She picked up a small remote control, and span around to address the room. “It’s what the Empire needs.”
Blank stares.
“Fair enough,” Prada composed herself. “So. What do any of you know about Jekyll Island?”
Autumn raised her hand.
“Yes, Autumn?”
“Nothing, I was just wondering if the whole night is going to be like this? Because I might need that bottle of wine back.”
Were cracks appearing on her host’s porcelain face? Autumn fancied so.
“Jekyll Island was an island, just off the coast the old United States, back on earth. A long time ago -- 1906, in their calendar -- something extraterrestrial crash landed there.”
“What landed there?” Helen asked.
“No idea,” Prada smiled. “No one really knows, aside from the people who found it. Their diaries are mostly nonsense, but one of the men compared it to alchemy.
Four years later, a group of very important people met on that island. A senator, a treasurer, and some of the most powerful bankers in the world. What they discussed, and what they planned, would become one of the most important parts of human society in the modern world. Any of you heard of the Federal Reserve?”
No one spoke.
“You guys are just great. Just, really great. You’ve all heard of the ICB?”
“Yeah, of course we have,” Peter answered, his eyes also darting to the wine bottle every couple of seconds.
“It’s basically that, right? A central bank that issues currency, controls inflation, all that stuff. Its truest roots are in Federal Reserve.”
Autumn raised her hand again.
“No.” It went back down. “Now, we have very good reason to believe that the alien artefact from Jekyll Island played a role here. In whatever capacity, the last one thousand years of economics has been linked inexorably to whatever landed on earth in 1906.”
“What has this got to do with us?” Goodwin piped up, her patience running thin. “We’re detectives, not historians. Or bank robbers.”
“You say that, Detective...” Prada flicked the remote control, and strings of numbers began to play on a screen behind her. “You know what this is? This is a problem. This is millions of un-payable mortgages, speculative stock-bubbles and broken pension promises. This is a toxic stew ready to spill over and kill the entire Empire’s economy. For good. Whatever weird alien thing the ICB has in their vault, it’s doing a bad job. We need to find it, we need to know what it’s doing, and we need to know how to fix it.”
“Okay,” Autumn said. “Go in and ask for it?”
Prada looked at her shoes. “We can’t. Technically it’s a private bank, and...not totally in Imperial ownership.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I don’t understand,” Helen said. “What’s this got to do with us?”
“I was tasked to pick a team to extract the artefact and deliver it to us,” Prada smiled, and cast her arms wide. “You are that team.”
Peter was eyeing the wine even more, now. “You are actually saying you want us to rob a bank?”
“Mhm.”
“A bank with no money in it?”
“That’s right. You’ll need to do it tomorrow, realistically.”
“What happens if we refuse?” Autumn asked, though she had already guessed the answer.
“Well, Autumn, I heard the Polygon Mines have lovely weather, this time of year.”
***
The backpack weighed heavy on Helen’s legs as she sat outside the Imperial Central Bank. The bench was a cheap and unpleasant plastic, that was virtually impossible to dry after a night of rain, and left her with a cold and wet skirt.
Goodwin sat beside her, watching a hand-held screen. It was linked to a pair of cameras disguised as contact lenses, currently resting on Autumn River’s eyeballs. It was a grim thought that made Helen’s own eyes water in empathy.
“Why are they taking so long? They know they can still walk whilst the escalator is going, right?” Goodwin was gripping the screen so hard her knuckles turned white.
“I think it’s a kind of, social instinct. You’re compelled to obey the infrastructure. Happens to the best of us.”
“Come on,” Goodwin stuffed the screen into her pocket and stood up. “We shouldn’t wait around, we need to find the PA system so this can go faster.”
Helen stood and swung the rucksack onto her back, wincing as she almost broke her shoulder in the process. She was carrying a pretty heavy duty piece of machinery in there: a military grade communications jammer, capable of turning nearly an entire city dark in a minute, kindly provided by Prada and her contacts. When Helen and Goodwin switch this baby on, the entire ICB will be sealed in a beautiful bubble of silence. No communications in, or out.
The only downside was lugging it around.
It was set to a musical key. ‘Junkie XL vs. Elvis’, they’d chosen, mainly because it was the only song all five of them liked. When the jammer heard that song, it’d trigger a timer that would detonate on the precise moment the music ended, around three minutes and thirty seconds later. So, Helen and Goodwin would have to a find a way to hack into the PA system, make it play the song, hide the bomb in the right place, wait for it to go off, and then leave Peter and Autumn to make their way through the bank, and find the artefact.
It was a dumb plan, but no one had a better one.
The biggest problem was time. Having to find and hack into the PA system would leave Autumn and Peter stranded in the bank, at the mercy of security systems who called for back up (public or private) at any time. Every second they spent hanging around was a second that jeopardised the entire heist.
But Helen wasn’t nervous. She was sweaty from the 12 kilo electromagnetic bomb strapped to her back, and focussing on that instead.
“Feel the burn, Helen, feel the burn.”
She followed Goodwin, who made her way expertly around the streets and across the highways that flanked the ICB, avoiding cameras placed in particularly nasty spots, and avoiding the police officers that might have thought them suspicious.
Eventually, they reached their goal: a manhole cover that led to the vast web of fibre optic cables that spread beneath the Capital, carrying information and power from one corner to another at impossible speeds. She was used to it now, but when Helen first came to the Capital the gentle hum and underground vibrations of the web made her nauseous.
Goodwin crouched beside the cover and slipped a crowbar from her long overcoat, jamming the end into the gap and pulling the metal disc out of its place.
“Do you take that everywhere with you?”
Goodwin didn’t reply.
The ghoulish blue light of the underground web began to seep out of the newly-made hole. Helen peered in, looking down the line of sight of the ladder, thinking it seemed to almost go down forever.
“Okay,” Goodwin said, slipping the crowbar back in her coat. “Let’s get this over with.”
Helen insisted on climbing down first; if the weight of the jammer on her back made her fall from the ladder, landing right on top of Goodwin wouldn’t do at all.
After what felt like hours of strained muscles and near black-outs, they reached the bottom of the ladder, stepping onto a metal gangway stretching out to Helen’s left and right. The light from the thick fibre optic cables bathed her face in a strange aquatic light; it was cold down here, and the light made her feel colder.
Goodwin arrived not long after, and reopened the computer screen, playing the audio from Autumn and clipping it to her belt. “So we know where she’s up to,” she said.
Then they started walking. Helen felt like she was in a hypnotic maze, gently swimming through an ocean of information. She put her trust in Goodwin, taking no note of where she was or how far she’d gone. The cables entranced her; each was like a string of consciousness wrapped in a greater thread, like a rope of being, a nirvana of numbers swimming around. Each an individual. Each a greater whole. It reminded her of ancient, far-away religions she’d heard about at school, and wished she’d taken more notice.
Time passed, and the pair reached a crossroads.
“Left leads to the PA system,” said Goodwin. “Right to where we need to plant the jammer. We’ll have to be quick. Are you ready?”
“Yes ma’am,” Helen said, dutifully. Together, they took a step to left.
“Sorry, one more thing,” came Autumn’s voice from the computer. “Do you take requests?”
“Stop!” Goodwin cried. She unclipped the screen and help it up to her face.
“Yes, I think we could manage that,” spoke another voice, presumably some kind of receptionist. “What would you like?”
“Erm...Elvis vs. Junkie XL, if you have it?” Autumn replied.
A second of silence passed. “Yes, we have that on record! I’ll play it for you now.”
“Wonderful, thank you so much.”
And then the music came. It was in the background, being quietly played over the speakers of the bank, but all the same Helen immediately recognised the filthy beat and distinctive cowbell immediately.
Helen and Goodwin shared a look. Then, they span on their heels, and ran down the right passage.
***
Peter sat in the plush waiting area, looking out for anyone who could’ve been ‘Isaac’. The song had been playing for a nearly a minute now, and they hadn’t been brought past the first security checkpoint. His nerves were leaving him tapping his leg like a jackhammer.
Autumn placed her hand on his knee, holding his leg down. “That’s enough, you’ll give us a way.”
Peter tried to say ‘sorry’, but his throat was dry, so he just gulped.
“Detectives?” A voice spoke. Peter looked up, and saw the speaker. “Hello, I’m Isaac. I’ll take you on your tour, if you’d like to come with me?”
Isaac was another robot, done in the same quaint, pseudo-metal style as Izzy and the security robots (whom, he’d worked out, were called ‘Ivan’). He was painted black and white, designed to look like a suit and tie, and the metal on his head was twisted into a quiff, in contrast to Izzy’s bob.
Autumn stood. “You’re very punctual, Isaac.”
“Time is money, as they used to say, Detective Rivers. Please do follow me.”
They did so.
“Is there anything specific you are searching for, Detectives?”
“We just need a general security overview, with our own eyes,” Peter answered, rehearsing his lines. “We’ve seen a bit of a rise in break-ins, and back-door laundering too. The gangs we’re tracking are very bold, so we just need to make sure things are tight here.”
“Well, without higher clearance, I will not be able to show you anything beyond what lies past the first security gate. I’m sure you understand?”
“Naturally,” Autumn smiled.
Eventually, they reached the security gate -- it was a door, made a blue light, designed to repel any ordinary bombardment from guns, laser weapons, or grenade launchers. A security robot stood on the other side, painted blue and black like the uniform of a police officer, with a metal cap and wire-brush moustache. Across his chest was written the word ‘IVAN’.
Isaac tapped on the security gate, his hand making a light ringing sound. “Let us in please, Ivan.”
“Sure thing,” Ivan turned around and placed his hand against a metallic console. Tiny needles sprang out from his fingers, gently touching the plate. There was a fizz of electricity, then the gate dropped, and Peter, Autumn and Isaac all stepped through. Ivan pulled back his hand, and the gate rose again.
“Impressive. Is this the only way in and out?” asked Autumn.
“We have a teleport if needs be,” Isaac answered. He reached around and clipped something off what must have been the back of his belt. “It’s very limited though. Besides, we keep nothing of value in security room one. The elevator at the back can only be used by authorised personnel.”
“I see.”
Isaac raised what he’d just taken from his belt up, which looked to Peter to be some kind of communicator. “Excuse me for one moment, someone has just called me with a query.”
“No worries,” Autumn smiled. Her hands had been in her pockets, but now she gently took them out.
Then Peter heard the sound he’d been waiting for: the Elvis song, just beyond the security, finally finishing.
“Oh,” Isaac said, pulling his communicator away and looking at it, puzzled. “It’s gone dead.”
“Yeah,” Autumn said, then paused. Finally she spoke: “Nope, can’t think of a good pun.”
She lunged over to Ivan, launching her arm out and snatching the magnetic revolver clipped to his belt, swinging it around and pointing in Isaac’s face.
“Oh crikey,” was all he had time to say, before the flash of blue light blew him to spare parts. Ivan was dispatched soon after.
Peter knelt down by the blackened torso, the words ‘IVAN’ now obscured by burned metal. He grabbed Ivan’s arm, putting pressure on the elbow joint, and managed to pry the forearm away from the rest of the robot.
“Sorry, pal,” Peter was compelled to say, wrinkling his nose at the smell of leaking lubricant.
Autumn briefly darted her head around the corner, still holding the magnetic revolver.
“Okay, I can see the elevator straight ahead,” she said. “Only problem is there’s about eight security bots between us and it.” She grinned. “Ready for a shoot out?”
“For you? Always,” Peter got in line behind her. “You sure this hand is going to get us access to the vault?”
“If the elevator goes there, then Prada’s code should take us there. It’s getting back out the vault again that’s the issue.” She checked her watch. “I’m going to run across to the other wall. You see it? Hopefully I’ll get a couple of shots off. Once I’m on the other side, I’ll need you to draw some of their fire. Think you can do that?”
“What? How?”
Autumn looked to Ivan’s arm, being held in Peter’s hand. “Oh, right,” he said.
“Okay,” Autumn breathed deep, and bent her knees. “Three. Two. One!”
She darted out like a lightning bolt, twisting her arm out and letting off three loud shots; by the sounds of it, at least one robot was blown to bits. Autumn made it to the other side, avoiding being made jelly by the thuds and flashes of the magnetic fire being rained on her. She pushed her back against the wall, panting. Once she’d caught her breath, she nodded to Peter.
He closed his eyes, and cursing, waved the robotic arm out in front of him. He let out a yelp and the gunfire smashed into the wall behind beside him, causing him quickly retract the arm. He heard Autumn return the fire, and this time two robots must’ve fallen.
Twice more they played the game, each time the robots falling for it, and each time they were destroyed by Autumn’s marksmanship. By the end, all the robots were junk.
Together they stepped out and made their way towards the elevator, avoiding with each step strewn metal and leaking oil. Once they reached the plain, cylindrical lift, Peter offered Autumn Ivan’s arm.
“Need a hand?”
“Don’t think I won't slap you with it,” Autumn took the arm, and inspected the underside, finding a small data port, into which she slipped a tiny hard drive, as supplied by Prada. It made a fizzing noise, and flexed its fingers.
“Okay, let’s see if this works.”
She raised the hand to the metal panel beside the elevator, resting the fingers just on it. The tiny spikes presented themselves.
“The Main Vault, please,” she said. Lighting crackled for a moment, then the doors opened.
“Thank god,” Peter said under his breath. They’d actually managed to pull off a part of this ludicrous plan.
The pair stepped into the elevator, unconsciously moving closer together, and the hydraulic doors shut behind them.
***
Isaac couldn’t believe he’d let this happen. Stupid, stupid robot. What would Izzy ever think of him?
He jogged down the corridor to the elavator. He had to disable the door to the Vault level -- there were other defences -- but it wasn’t worth the risk. He’d already made one careless mistake today.
This Isaac and the Isaac destroyed by Detective Rivers were, in fact, they same. They shared a personality, just powering different robotic bodies. It made Isaac very, very good at multitasking. There were three models of robot in the bank; Ivan, for security; Izzy, for administration; and Isaac, for management.
“Stupid, stupid robot,” he said to himself as he jogged to the elevator. No doubt that query was about Rivers and Phoenix. He should’ve waited, taken the the call before he went through the security gate!
Still, all that was past now. He was at the elevator. All he had to was reach out the control box and deadlock it.
Then, the doors openend, and revealed to him Detectives Rivers and Phoenix, the former holding the magnetic revolver that had shot him before.
“Oh for-”
***
Autumn shot Isaac into little bits. Again.
“I hope you wont force me to make a habit of this,” she said to Isaac’s head as it gently rolled away.
“Okay, what’s next?” Peter asked.
“We have to get through the Augmented Reality Defences,” she answered, striding with purpose towards a large, vaulted door, built into the wall at the end of the corridor they arrived on.
“Which are?”
“They could be anything. The Vault will construct a virtual reality to try and keep us out. If it succeeds, well, then, we’re dead, I’m afraid. But if we can get through, finding what’s inside the vault should be easy.”
“So, what kind of things can the defences send?”
“Oh, you know, soldiers, a hurricane, the heart of a supernova, that kind of thing.”
“Oh. That’s great.”
Eventually, they reached the Vaulted Door. Autumn wasted no time with staring in awe -- there’d be plenty of time for that once they got inside.
She raised Ivan’s arm, and rested the needles on the door. “Open,” she said.
And it did.
Pistons fired, cogs whirred, and slowly but surely, the vault door opened, sliding into the wall beside it, revealing to the pair of detectives a blank and endless emptiness beyond.
Peter and Autumn shared a look, silently, then stepped.
“It’s cold,” Peter commented. He wasn’t wrong. Autumn heard him fish around in his pockets for a torch, which he found, and offered some light.
The Vault door behind them had vanished, replaced with just more blackness. Peter’s torchlight found a wall made of rusty red bricks, and on the floor was gravel and a pair of metal tracks.
“A train tunnel,” Autumn remarked. “We’re in some kind of train tunnel.”
“Okay, so where’s the train?”
A whistle pierced the air, and a tiny prick of light appeared farther down the tunnel.
“Um, it’s there, Peter.”
Quickly Peter span his torchlight around frantically, looking for some way to escape. “There, look, there’s a ladder!”
The ladder was thin and harsh looking, snaking up the side of the cylindrical tunnel and coming to a stop halfway up the top; potentially, if they clang to it, the train could pass harmlessly underneath them.
The speeding locomotive was getting closer and closer, filling the tunnel with a harsh white light, so they wasted no time in scrambling up the ladder as fast they could. Autumn made Peter go first, following him closely.
“Okay,” Peter said. “So when the train’s gone, what do we do? Find where it came from?”
“I don’t know, Peter!” she shouted, the racket of the train getting louder and louder. “First I think we should focus on surviving the-!”
Surviving.
Something clicked in Autumn’s mind. Why send a train so easily avoided, when the Vault could do anything to kill them? Unless, of course, killing them wasn’t exactly what the Vault wanted.
“Autumn?”
The tunnel could go on forever. They could avoid every train and never get out, starve to death down here. Maybe that’s what the Vault was counting on.
“What’s wrong, Autumn?”
You’re dying anyway, a voice in Autumn’s brain said. Even if it kills you, it’d spare you the pain. Spare your friends watching you be eaten from the inside. Spare you having to explain it all.
Autumn decided.
She let go of the ladder, falling to the tracks heavily on her knees, standing in front of the oncoming train.
“Autumn! Autumn what the hell are you doing?!”
“It’s okay, Peter!” she called up. “I promise, it’ll be okay.”
The train was almost upon her now. She couldn’t hear her partner. She spread her arms wide, closed her eyes, and was engulfed in light.
Then the train hit her.
***
When she opened her eyes, she was back in the Lobby of the Gods.
Autumn was leaning against a statue. It was a god from a liberated Cyberman colony, if she remembered correctly. A god of information, who filled the Cybermen’s brains with contradictions and nonsense, and sent them scuttling from the planet forever. It was fashioned in the shape of tree, made of hundreds of cables.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Autumn spun round. She still had the magnetic revolver, and she pointed it straight at the voice, thumbing back the safety.
“We’re not actually in the lobby,” said Izzy. “It’s all virtual. But, that statue is a teleport. A real one. It’s what brought you here.”
“Izzy?” It took Autumn a moment to work out what was going on. “You’re the artefact?”
“Stored in this unit, yes,” Izzy tapped her head. “The Creature from Jekyll Island. It’s a computer, you see. A living computer, making billions of calculations every single pico second. Find it, and it’ll tell you all about how to print currency, how to store it, how charge interest on something you didn’t even know you’d loaned.”
“Making money from nothing?”
“Alchemy.” Though she didn’t have a mouth, Autumn could hear Izzy smiling in her voice. “It’s made humanity the richest species in the universe.”
“Based on a lie. Once your investors realise it’s fool’s gold, the whole thing will collapse.”
“Perhaps. But none of you have any imagination to do anything else, do you? Your addicted to what I can give you. And I can give you anything, Autumn.”
Izzy twirled on her heels, looking to another statue. “My knowledge isn’t just limited to finance, you know. The world the Creature hailed from was one of the most advanced the universe has ever seen, until it was destroyed. I have information on hundreds of different topics in here. Including medicine.”
Autumn’s throat went dry. “What are you talking about?”
“I can see that you’re dying, Autumn. To my keen eyes, it’s written all over you. But I can help. And more.” She raised her hand, and swept it towards the other statue. “This is Fatyai, a god of the Oodini people. He stayed a baby for all eternity, because he was born knowing the secret to eternal life. It’s something we share. And something I can share with you.
Come on, Detective Rivers. I let you in here because I thought I could help. I thought I could give you the chance to live forever, and you could turn away and leave me here in peace. No more worrying about dying. No more worrying about anything, any more. What do you say, Autumn? Doesn’t that sound like a good deal?”
It did. Autumn stepped forward, her eyes trapped on the infant god in front of her, her mind racing about the possibilities. To live eternal? To be forever young? Yes, she wanted it. Craved it, quite honestly. She’d give almost anything to have it.
She was so close to Izzy now, close enough to touch her. Close enough to take the offer.
Then she said: “You’re lying, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
“I thought so.” Autumn swung Ivan’s hand at Izzy’s head, which came off with a pop, and rolled to her feet.
Autumn picked it up, and looked the head in its eyes. “I don’t think you’ll be giving tips on how to get ahead in business now.”
She rushed to the teleport statue, pulling away the metal plaque and finding a screen underneath. Getting the head away was priority one; she located Peter on the tracking screen, and then, quickly scribbling a note on Izzy’s head with her biro, she teleported the head to him.
Now Autumn needed to find away to get herself and Peter out, maintaining access to the teleport. She connected it to Ivan’s hand once again, and prayed Prada’s code would come through again. Thankfully, it did, and now the transferred software meant she could use Ivan’s hand to teleport around, and out, of the bank.
She set the coordinates for right next to Peter, and blue light enveloped her.
She arrived, however, just next to the Vault door. “For god’s sake,” she muttered, cursing her ability to get coordinates. Autumn raised Ivan’s hand, ready to open it.
“There’s a nine stone trans man with a robot head that can make money out of nothing behind that door,” she said to the hand. “Let’s get him out.”
Electricity crackled, the door opened, and Peter stepped out of the dark, holding Izzy’s head, and looking very confused.
“You left me in a dark tunnel and then sent me a robot head with no explanation? What the hell Autumn?”
“Come on!” she said, waving the hand. “Let’s shake on it and be friends again.”
He finally loosened up, and Peter giggled. “You can get us out of here, then?”
“Uh-huh. Just come close and I can beam us straight to the roof. Hopefully either Goodwin or Prada will spot us.”
Peter did as asked, and the blue light took them both away.
***
The moonlight was surprisingly bright, Autumn thought, given how much light pollution the Capital gave off. She wished she had her piano with her; the urge to play Clair de Lune was sweeping up her spine.
Peter rolled Izzy’s head around in his hands. “I have a serious urge to use this as a football.”
Autumn laughed. It was a sweet sound, she thought.
“Do you ever think we’ll sort this crap out? Like, find a way that works. Something that isn’t held on a knife’s edge.”
“Not a chance. Doesn’t mean you should stop trying though.”
“‘You should stop trying’? Don’t you mean ‘we’?”
I don’t think I’ll get the chance, was what she longed to say. But “I meant ‘we’,” was all she managed.
Eventually, the helicopter, sent by Goodwin arrived, and picked the pair up. Despite the noise of the engine and blades, Autumn and Peter both fell asleep, soundly in their seats.
Autumn waited outside Prada’s house with a bottle of wine. She hadn’t brought it for Prada, per se, as she wasn’t really visiting socially. It was more a make-shift weapon that could be smashed over a head, should she need to escape.
The house laid just out of town (such as it was) and was symphony as red-bricked, suburban happiness. Large glass partitions complemented stone arches beautifully, and all the water features were gently lit. The whole place was warm, but an artificial warm, like that of an electric heater over a real wood-burning stove.
Prada opened her front door barely thirty seconds after the knock. “Hello Autumn,” She spied the bottle of wine. “Oh, you shouldn’t have.”
Autumn smiled. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”
Prada’s living room was similarly decorated to her garden, the only difference was Peter, Helen and Goodwin were sat on plush leather sofas. They smiled awkwardly as she walked in.
“Five people isn’t much of a party, Prada.”
“I promise I’ll throw you a proper one, some day. Sadly, tonight’s little meeting is business, not pleasure.” Prada reached over and slipped the bottle of wine out of Autumn’s reluctant grip.
There was plenty of space on the sofas, but Autumn instead sat herself on a beanbag on the floor, curling her legs underneath her like a cat. She hoped the casual display would put her host off a bit.
“What do you want from us, Prada?” Goodwin asked.
“It’s not what I want, Detective,” she answered as she rested the wine on the mantle piece. She picked up a small remote control, and span around to address the room. “It’s what the Empire needs.”
Blank stares.
“Fair enough,” Prada composed herself. “So. What do any of you know about Jekyll Island?”
Autumn raised her hand.
“Yes, Autumn?”
“Nothing, I was just wondering if the whole night is going to be like this? Because I might need that bottle of wine back.”
Were cracks appearing on her host’s porcelain face? Autumn fancied so.
“Jekyll Island was an island, just off the coast the old United States, back on earth. A long time ago -- 1906, in their calendar -- something extraterrestrial crash landed there.”
“What landed there?” Helen asked.
“No idea,” Prada smiled. “No one really knows, aside from the people who found it. Their diaries are mostly nonsense, but one of the men compared it to alchemy.
Four years later, a group of very important people met on that island. A senator, a treasurer, and some of the most powerful bankers in the world. What they discussed, and what they planned, would become one of the most important parts of human society in the modern world. Any of you heard of the Federal Reserve?”
No one spoke.
“You guys are just great. Just, really great. You’ve all heard of the ICB?”
“Yeah, of course we have,” Peter answered, his eyes also darting to the wine bottle every couple of seconds.
“It’s basically that, right? A central bank that issues currency, controls inflation, all that stuff. Its truest roots are in Federal Reserve.”
Autumn raised her hand again.
“No.” It went back down. “Now, we have very good reason to believe that the alien artefact from Jekyll Island played a role here. In whatever capacity, the last one thousand years of economics has been linked inexorably to whatever landed on earth in 1906.”
“What has this got to do with us?” Goodwin piped up, her patience running thin. “We’re detectives, not historians. Or bank robbers.”
“You say that, Detective...” Prada flicked the remote control, and strings of numbers began to play on a screen behind her. “You know what this is? This is a problem. This is millions of un-payable mortgages, speculative stock-bubbles and broken pension promises. This is a toxic stew ready to spill over and kill the entire Empire’s economy. For good. Whatever weird alien thing the ICB has in their vault, it’s doing a bad job. We need to find it, we need to know what it’s doing, and we need to know how to fix it.”
“Okay,” Autumn said. “Go in and ask for it?”
Prada looked at her shoes. “We can’t. Technically it’s a private bank, and...not totally in Imperial ownership.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I don’t understand,” Helen said. “What’s this got to do with us?”
“I was tasked to pick a team to extract the artefact and deliver it to us,” Prada smiled, and cast her arms wide. “You are that team.”
Peter was eyeing the wine even more, now. “You are actually saying you want us to rob a bank?”
“Mhm.”
“A bank with no money in it?”
“That’s right. You’ll need to do it tomorrow, realistically.”
“What happens if we refuse?” Autumn asked, though she had already guessed the answer.
“Well, Autumn, I heard the Polygon Mines have lovely weather, this time of year.”
***
The backpack weighed heavy on Helen’s legs as she sat outside the Imperial Central Bank. The bench was a cheap and unpleasant plastic, that was virtually impossible to dry after a night of rain, and left her with a cold and wet skirt.
Goodwin sat beside her, watching a hand-held screen. It was linked to a pair of cameras disguised as contact lenses, currently resting on Autumn River’s eyeballs. It was a grim thought that made Helen’s own eyes water in empathy.
“Why are they taking so long? They know they can still walk whilst the escalator is going, right?” Goodwin was gripping the screen so hard her knuckles turned white.
“I think it’s a kind of, social instinct. You’re compelled to obey the infrastructure. Happens to the best of us.”
“Come on,” Goodwin stuffed the screen into her pocket and stood up. “We shouldn’t wait around, we need to find the PA system so this can go faster.”
Helen stood and swung the rucksack onto her back, wincing as she almost broke her shoulder in the process. She was carrying a pretty heavy duty piece of machinery in there: a military grade communications jammer, capable of turning nearly an entire city dark in a minute, kindly provided by Prada and her contacts. When Helen and Goodwin switch this baby on, the entire ICB will be sealed in a beautiful bubble of silence. No communications in, or out.
The only downside was lugging it around.
It was set to a musical key. ‘Junkie XL vs. Elvis’, they’d chosen, mainly because it was the only song all five of them liked. When the jammer heard that song, it’d trigger a timer that would detonate on the precise moment the music ended, around three minutes and thirty seconds later. So, Helen and Goodwin would have to a find a way to hack into the PA system, make it play the song, hide the bomb in the right place, wait for it to go off, and then leave Peter and Autumn to make their way through the bank, and find the artefact.
It was a dumb plan, but no one had a better one.
The biggest problem was time. Having to find and hack into the PA system would leave Autumn and Peter stranded in the bank, at the mercy of security systems who called for back up (public or private) at any time. Every second they spent hanging around was a second that jeopardised the entire heist.
But Helen wasn’t nervous. She was sweaty from the 12 kilo electromagnetic bomb strapped to her back, and focussing on that instead.
“Feel the burn, Helen, feel the burn.”
She followed Goodwin, who made her way expertly around the streets and across the highways that flanked the ICB, avoiding cameras placed in particularly nasty spots, and avoiding the police officers that might have thought them suspicious.
Eventually, they reached their goal: a manhole cover that led to the vast web of fibre optic cables that spread beneath the Capital, carrying information and power from one corner to another at impossible speeds. She was used to it now, but when Helen first came to the Capital the gentle hum and underground vibrations of the web made her nauseous.
Goodwin crouched beside the cover and slipped a crowbar from her long overcoat, jamming the end into the gap and pulling the metal disc out of its place.
“Do you take that everywhere with you?”
Goodwin didn’t reply.
The ghoulish blue light of the underground web began to seep out of the newly-made hole. Helen peered in, looking down the line of sight of the ladder, thinking it seemed to almost go down forever.
“Okay,” Goodwin said, slipping the crowbar back in her coat. “Let’s get this over with.”
Helen insisted on climbing down first; if the weight of the jammer on her back made her fall from the ladder, landing right on top of Goodwin wouldn’t do at all.
After what felt like hours of strained muscles and near black-outs, they reached the bottom of the ladder, stepping onto a metal gangway stretching out to Helen’s left and right. The light from the thick fibre optic cables bathed her face in a strange aquatic light; it was cold down here, and the light made her feel colder.
Goodwin arrived not long after, and reopened the computer screen, playing the audio from Autumn and clipping it to her belt. “So we know where she’s up to,” she said.
Then they started walking. Helen felt like she was in a hypnotic maze, gently swimming through an ocean of information. She put her trust in Goodwin, taking no note of where she was or how far she’d gone. The cables entranced her; each was like a string of consciousness wrapped in a greater thread, like a rope of being, a nirvana of numbers swimming around. Each an individual. Each a greater whole. It reminded her of ancient, far-away religions she’d heard about at school, and wished she’d taken more notice.
Time passed, and the pair reached a crossroads.
“Left leads to the PA system,” said Goodwin. “Right to where we need to plant the jammer. We’ll have to be quick. Are you ready?”
“Yes ma’am,” Helen said, dutifully. Together, they took a step to left.
“Sorry, one more thing,” came Autumn’s voice from the computer. “Do you take requests?”
“Stop!” Goodwin cried. She unclipped the screen and help it up to her face.
“Yes, I think we could manage that,” spoke another voice, presumably some kind of receptionist. “What would you like?”
“Erm...Elvis vs. Junkie XL, if you have it?” Autumn replied.
A second of silence passed. “Yes, we have that on record! I’ll play it for you now.”
“Wonderful, thank you so much.”
And then the music came. It was in the background, being quietly played over the speakers of the bank, but all the same Helen immediately recognised the filthy beat and distinctive cowbell immediately.
Helen and Goodwin shared a look. Then, they span on their heels, and ran down the right passage.
***
Peter sat in the plush waiting area, looking out for anyone who could’ve been ‘Isaac’. The song had been playing for a nearly a minute now, and they hadn’t been brought past the first security checkpoint. His nerves were leaving him tapping his leg like a jackhammer.
Autumn placed her hand on his knee, holding his leg down. “That’s enough, you’ll give us a way.”
Peter tried to say ‘sorry’, but his throat was dry, so he just gulped.
“Detectives?” A voice spoke. Peter looked up, and saw the speaker. “Hello, I’m Isaac. I’ll take you on your tour, if you’d like to come with me?”
Isaac was another robot, done in the same quaint, pseudo-metal style as Izzy and the security robots (whom, he’d worked out, were called ‘Ivan’). He was painted black and white, designed to look like a suit and tie, and the metal on his head was twisted into a quiff, in contrast to Izzy’s bob.
Autumn stood. “You’re very punctual, Isaac.”
“Time is money, as they used to say, Detective Rivers. Please do follow me.”
They did so.
“Is there anything specific you are searching for, Detectives?”
“We just need a general security overview, with our own eyes,” Peter answered, rehearsing his lines. “We’ve seen a bit of a rise in break-ins, and back-door laundering too. The gangs we’re tracking are very bold, so we just need to make sure things are tight here.”
“Well, without higher clearance, I will not be able to show you anything beyond what lies past the first security gate. I’m sure you understand?”
“Naturally,” Autumn smiled.
Eventually, they reached the security gate -- it was a door, made a blue light, designed to repel any ordinary bombardment from guns, laser weapons, or grenade launchers. A security robot stood on the other side, painted blue and black like the uniform of a police officer, with a metal cap and wire-brush moustache. Across his chest was written the word ‘IVAN’.
Isaac tapped on the security gate, his hand making a light ringing sound. “Let us in please, Ivan.”
“Sure thing,” Ivan turned around and placed his hand against a metallic console. Tiny needles sprang out from his fingers, gently touching the plate. There was a fizz of electricity, then the gate dropped, and Peter, Autumn and Isaac all stepped through. Ivan pulled back his hand, and the gate rose again.
“Impressive. Is this the only way in and out?” asked Autumn.
“We have a teleport if needs be,” Isaac answered. He reached around and clipped something off what must have been the back of his belt. “It’s very limited though. Besides, we keep nothing of value in security room one. The elevator at the back can only be used by authorised personnel.”
“I see.”
Isaac raised what he’d just taken from his belt up, which looked to Peter to be some kind of communicator. “Excuse me for one moment, someone has just called me with a query.”
“No worries,” Autumn smiled. Her hands had been in her pockets, but now she gently took them out.
Then Peter heard the sound he’d been waiting for: the Elvis song, just beyond the security, finally finishing.
“Oh,” Isaac said, pulling his communicator away and looking at it, puzzled. “It’s gone dead.”
“Yeah,” Autumn said, then paused. Finally she spoke: “Nope, can’t think of a good pun.”
She lunged over to Ivan, launching her arm out and snatching the magnetic revolver clipped to his belt, swinging it around and pointing in Isaac’s face.
“Oh crikey,” was all he had time to say, before the flash of blue light blew him to spare parts. Ivan was dispatched soon after.
Peter knelt down by the blackened torso, the words ‘IVAN’ now obscured by burned metal. He grabbed Ivan’s arm, putting pressure on the elbow joint, and managed to pry the forearm away from the rest of the robot.
“Sorry, pal,” Peter was compelled to say, wrinkling his nose at the smell of leaking lubricant.
Autumn briefly darted her head around the corner, still holding the magnetic revolver.
“Okay, I can see the elevator straight ahead,” she said. “Only problem is there’s about eight security bots between us and it.” She grinned. “Ready for a shoot out?”
“For you? Always,” Peter got in line behind her. “You sure this hand is going to get us access to the vault?”
“If the elevator goes there, then Prada’s code should take us there. It’s getting back out the vault again that’s the issue.” She checked her watch. “I’m going to run across to the other wall. You see it? Hopefully I’ll get a couple of shots off. Once I’m on the other side, I’ll need you to draw some of their fire. Think you can do that?”
“What? How?”
Autumn looked to Ivan’s arm, being held in Peter’s hand. “Oh, right,” he said.
“Okay,” Autumn breathed deep, and bent her knees. “Three. Two. One!”
She darted out like a lightning bolt, twisting her arm out and letting off three loud shots; by the sounds of it, at least one robot was blown to bits. Autumn made it to the other side, avoiding being made jelly by the thuds and flashes of the magnetic fire being rained on her. She pushed her back against the wall, panting. Once she’d caught her breath, she nodded to Peter.
He closed his eyes, and cursing, waved the robotic arm out in front of him. He let out a yelp and the gunfire smashed into the wall behind beside him, causing him quickly retract the arm. He heard Autumn return the fire, and this time two robots must’ve fallen.
Twice more they played the game, each time the robots falling for it, and each time they were destroyed by Autumn’s marksmanship. By the end, all the robots were junk.
Together they stepped out and made their way towards the elevator, avoiding with each step strewn metal and leaking oil. Once they reached the plain, cylindrical lift, Peter offered Autumn Ivan’s arm.
“Need a hand?”
“Don’t think I won't slap you with it,” Autumn took the arm, and inspected the underside, finding a small data port, into which she slipped a tiny hard drive, as supplied by Prada. It made a fizzing noise, and flexed its fingers.
“Okay, let’s see if this works.”
She raised the hand to the metal panel beside the elevator, resting the fingers just on it. The tiny spikes presented themselves.
“The Main Vault, please,” she said. Lighting crackled for a moment, then the doors opened.
“Thank god,” Peter said under his breath. They’d actually managed to pull off a part of this ludicrous plan.
The pair stepped into the elevator, unconsciously moving closer together, and the hydraulic doors shut behind them.
***
Isaac couldn’t believe he’d let this happen. Stupid, stupid robot. What would Izzy ever think of him?
He jogged down the corridor to the elavator. He had to disable the door to the Vault level -- there were other defences -- but it wasn’t worth the risk. He’d already made one careless mistake today.
This Isaac and the Isaac destroyed by Detective Rivers were, in fact, they same. They shared a personality, just powering different robotic bodies. It made Isaac very, very good at multitasking. There were three models of robot in the bank; Ivan, for security; Izzy, for administration; and Isaac, for management.
“Stupid, stupid robot,” he said to himself as he jogged to the elevator. No doubt that query was about Rivers and Phoenix. He should’ve waited, taken the the call before he went through the security gate!
Still, all that was past now. He was at the elevator. All he had to was reach out the control box and deadlock it.
Then, the doors openend, and revealed to him Detectives Rivers and Phoenix, the former holding the magnetic revolver that had shot him before.
“Oh for-”
***
Autumn shot Isaac into little bits. Again.
“I hope you wont force me to make a habit of this,” she said to Isaac’s head as it gently rolled away.
“Okay, what’s next?” Peter asked.
“We have to get through the Augmented Reality Defences,” she answered, striding with purpose towards a large, vaulted door, built into the wall at the end of the corridor they arrived on.
“Which are?”
“They could be anything. The Vault will construct a virtual reality to try and keep us out. If it succeeds, well, then, we’re dead, I’m afraid. But if we can get through, finding what’s inside the vault should be easy.”
“So, what kind of things can the defences send?”
“Oh, you know, soldiers, a hurricane, the heart of a supernova, that kind of thing.”
“Oh. That’s great.”
Eventually, they reached the Vaulted Door. Autumn wasted no time with staring in awe -- there’d be plenty of time for that once they got inside.
She raised Ivan’s arm, and rested the needles on the door. “Open,” she said.
And it did.
Pistons fired, cogs whirred, and slowly but surely, the vault door opened, sliding into the wall beside it, revealing to the pair of detectives a blank and endless emptiness beyond.
Peter and Autumn shared a look, silently, then stepped.
“It’s cold,” Peter commented. He wasn’t wrong. Autumn heard him fish around in his pockets for a torch, which he found, and offered some light.
The Vault door behind them had vanished, replaced with just more blackness. Peter’s torchlight found a wall made of rusty red bricks, and on the floor was gravel and a pair of metal tracks.
“A train tunnel,” Autumn remarked. “We’re in some kind of train tunnel.”
“Okay, so where’s the train?”
A whistle pierced the air, and a tiny prick of light appeared farther down the tunnel.
“Um, it’s there, Peter.”
Quickly Peter span his torchlight around frantically, looking for some way to escape. “There, look, there’s a ladder!”
The ladder was thin and harsh looking, snaking up the side of the cylindrical tunnel and coming to a stop halfway up the top; potentially, if they clang to it, the train could pass harmlessly underneath them.
The speeding locomotive was getting closer and closer, filling the tunnel with a harsh white light, so they wasted no time in scrambling up the ladder as fast they could. Autumn made Peter go first, following him closely.
“Okay,” Peter said. “So when the train’s gone, what do we do? Find where it came from?”
“I don’t know, Peter!” she shouted, the racket of the train getting louder and louder. “First I think we should focus on surviving the-!”
Surviving.
Something clicked in Autumn’s mind. Why send a train so easily avoided, when the Vault could do anything to kill them? Unless, of course, killing them wasn’t exactly what the Vault wanted.
“Autumn?”
The tunnel could go on forever. They could avoid every train and never get out, starve to death down here. Maybe that’s what the Vault was counting on.
“What’s wrong, Autumn?”
You’re dying anyway, a voice in Autumn’s brain said. Even if it kills you, it’d spare you the pain. Spare your friends watching you be eaten from the inside. Spare you having to explain it all.
Autumn decided.
She let go of the ladder, falling to the tracks heavily on her knees, standing in front of the oncoming train.
“Autumn! Autumn what the hell are you doing?!”
“It’s okay, Peter!” she called up. “I promise, it’ll be okay.”
The train was almost upon her now. She couldn’t hear her partner. She spread her arms wide, closed her eyes, and was engulfed in light.
Then the train hit her.
***
When she opened her eyes, she was back in the Lobby of the Gods.
Autumn was leaning against a statue. It was a god from a liberated Cyberman colony, if she remembered correctly. A god of information, who filled the Cybermen’s brains with contradictions and nonsense, and sent them scuttling from the planet forever. It was fashioned in the shape of tree, made of hundreds of cables.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Autumn spun round. She still had the magnetic revolver, and she pointed it straight at the voice, thumbing back the safety.
“We’re not actually in the lobby,” said Izzy. “It’s all virtual. But, that statue is a teleport. A real one. It’s what brought you here.”
“Izzy?” It took Autumn a moment to work out what was going on. “You’re the artefact?”
“Stored in this unit, yes,” Izzy tapped her head. “The Creature from Jekyll Island. It’s a computer, you see. A living computer, making billions of calculations every single pico second. Find it, and it’ll tell you all about how to print currency, how to store it, how charge interest on something you didn’t even know you’d loaned.”
“Making money from nothing?”
“Alchemy.” Though she didn’t have a mouth, Autumn could hear Izzy smiling in her voice. “It’s made humanity the richest species in the universe.”
“Based on a lie. Once your investors realise it’s fool’s gold, the whole thing will collapse.”
“Perhaps. But none of you have any imagination to do anything else, do you? Your addicted to what I can give you. And I can give you anything, Autumn.”
Izzy twirled on her heels, looking to another statue. “My knowledge isn’t just limited to finance, you know. The world the Creature hailed from was one of the most advanced the universe has ever seen, until it was destroyed. I have information on hundreds of different topics in here. Including medicine.”
Autumn’s throat went dry. “What are you talking about?”
“I can see that you’re dying, Autumn. To my keen eyes, it’s written all over you. But I can help. And more.” She raised her hand, and swept it towards the other statue. “This is Fatyai, a god of the Oodini people. He stayed a baby for all eternity, because he was born knowing the secret to eternal life. It’s something we share. And something I can share with you.
Come on, Detective Rivers. I let you in here because I thought I could help. I thought I could give you the chance to live forever, and you could turn away and leave me here in peace. No more worrying about dying. No more worrying about anything, any more. What do you say, Autumn? Doesn’t that sound like a good deal?”
It did. Autumn stepped forward, her eyes trapped on the infant god in front of her, her mind racing about the possibilities. To live eternal? To be forever young? Yes, she wanted it. Craved it, quite honestly. She’d give almost anything to have it.
She was so close to Izzy now, close enough to touch her. Close enough to take the offer.
Then she said: “You’re lying, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
“I thought so.” Autumn swung Ivan’s hand at Izzy’s head, which came off with a pop, and rolled to her feet.
Autumn picked it up, and looked the head in its eyes. “I don’t think you’ll be giving tips on how to get ahead in business now.”
She rushed to the teleport statue, pulling away the metal plaque and finding a screen underneath. Getting the head away was priority one; she located Peter on the tracking screen, and then, quickly scribbling a note on Izzy’s head with her biro, she teleported the head to him.
Now Autumn needed to find away to get herself and Peter out, maintaining access to the teleport. She connected it to Ivan’s hand once again, and prayed Prada’s code would come through again. Thankfully, it did, and now the transferred software meant she could use Ivan’s hand to teleport around, and out, of the bank.
She set the coordinates for right next to Peter, and blue light enveloped her.
She arrived, however, just next to the Vault door. “For god’s sake,” she muttered, cursing her ability to get coordinates. Autumn raised Ivan’s hand, ready to open it.
“There’s a nine stone trans man with a robot head that can make money out of nothing behind that door,” she said to the hand. “Let’s get him out.”
Electricity crackled, the door opened, and Peter stepped out of the dark, holding Izzy’s head, and looking very confused.
“You left me in a dark tunnel and then sent me a robot head with no explanation? What the hell Autumn?”
“Come on!” she said, waving the hand. “Let’s shake on it and be friends again.”
He finally loosened up, and Peter giggled. “You can get us out of here, then?”
“Uh-huh. Just come close and I can beam us straight to the roof. Hopefully either Goodwin or Prada will spot us.”
Peter did as asked, and the blue light took them both away.
***
The moonlight was surprisingly bright, Autumn thought, given how much light pollution the Capital gave off. She wished she had her piano with her; the urge to play Clair de Lune was sweeping up her spine.
Peter rolled Izzy’s head around in his hands. “I have a serious urge to use this as a football.”
Autumn laughed. It was a sweet sound, she thought.
“Do you ever think we’ll sort this crap out? Like, find a way that works. Something that isn’t held on a knife’s edge.”
“Not a chance. Doesn’t mean you should stop trying though.”
“‘You should stop trying’? Don’t you mean ‘we’?”
I don’t think I’ll get the chance, was what she longed to say. But “I meant ‘we’,” was all she managed.
Eventually, the helicopter, sent by Goodwin arrived, and picked the pair up. Despite the noise of the engine and blades, Autumn and Peter both fell asleep, soundly in their seats.
NEXT TIME
Apple of Discord
As Autumn begins to understand just how little time she has left, the department is faced with its worst case yet. But what does Goodwin know that Autumn doesn't?
As Autumn begins to understand just how little time she has left, the department is faced with its worst case yet. But what does Goodwin know that Autumn doesn't?