 
THE RED LIGHT

By Ian Parker

Copyright Ian Parker 2012

Published at Smashwords

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CHAPTER 1

The stench was unbearable, a sickly odour that filled the frigid air with a pervading rottenness. Maurice endured the stink as best he could, his nostrils flaring and twitching in disgust. He didn't know how long it had been; only that he had to get out soon. With his resolve failing he began to rock rhythmically, his despair twisting and mutating into something much worse. Sanity was a word he no longer dared consider, the cold fear that he was losing his own barely kept at bay.

The boredom and constant discomfort were the worst things. There was nothing to provide relief, the cold damp walls of his cell bleak and unforgiving. If there had been a decent light then maybe he would have carried his punishment easier, but the hole was just that; a dark dank pit dug into the cold earth. Fear, anger and despair were his only companions here, torrid emotions that fought for dominance over his aching soul. As the hot anger took him again he began to shout in defiance, screaming wild threats as he pounded the earthen walls, his fists protesting in bursts of fire. There was no response, his threats and desperate pleas ignored and unheeded. As time trickled by he felt his isolation grow, slowly drowning in the suffocating silence.

Respite was a dream in the hole; the simple yet cruelly effective design ensuring the prisoners continued suffering. He'd experimented with crouching, standing and leaning but nothing helped. The mud walls were just too narrow and the grill above his head far too low, the only option an enforced hunch. The cell if you could call it that was an almost maintenance free torture device. The unfortunate inhabitant made to squat in an unnatural crouch, their spine and limbs bunched up at painful angles.

Maurice screamed again as his voice broke into a despairing weep, the hopelessness of his situation insurmountable. Straining his aching body he attempted to twist, seeking a comfort he would never find in the hole. He grimaced as his feet squelched wetly on the boggy floor, his toes sinking deeply into the urine soaked faeces that layered his cell. Since his incarceration he'd dry heaved numerous times, only the enforced starvation staying his stomach's revolt.

Minutes stretched into hours and hours into days, the semi darkness of the prison confounding his senses. Survival was a daily struggle, what little sustenance he received was tossed unceremoniously through the covering grill. Humiliated, but not willing to die Maurice was forced to wait with gaping mouth, desperate for a drop of the life giving gruel. It was a show that the guards loved to watch, laughing at his humiliation while they took bets on when he would break.

Not a day passed without enduring their death threats, the overzealous guards taking great pleasure from stamping on his grill, while they shouted and jeered into his pit. Maurice could feel himself crumbling, his mind slowly snapping as constant terror forced ever closer to the edge. Even the short respite of sleep was stolen by the sadistic guards, laughing as they dowsed his wretched frame with icy water. Fighting desperately he tried to cling on, only the thought of her face bolstering him.

Over the last few days he'd grown delirious, coughing and shivering while his body remained feverishly hot. Exhausted he couldn't even hold a crouch anymore, reduced to squatting with his feet bent in awkwardly against his bare behind. The boggy earth beneath him and the overpowering stink were constant afflictions, he tried his best to endure them knowing there could be no escape. He didn't even have the strength to imagine freedom anymore, the hole slowly destroying him from the inside. It felt as though the very core of his being was been eaten away, consumed piece by piece in the cold wet darkness.

Yet even in his darkest deluges of self-pity there remained a small spark of hope, a spark that grew dimmer but still managed to smoulder. Maurice clung desperately to that hope; willing the long days until his release to pass quicker. He cried a lot. It wasn't something he could control, as powerful torrents of despair overcame him. It was during the throes of fever that he first saw her again, a breath of beauty that filled the ugly cell. Her soft eyes peered at him with understanding and love as she moved closer to him.

With tears of happiness he reached out, stroking her gossamer soft hair. She smiled a perfect smile at his touch but then she froze. Her eyes narrowing as her smile twisted into a grotesque leer. Her soft white skin darkened as splotches of disease grew on her flesh. Ugly welts of infection erupted on her sweet lips, the boils red and puss laden. Screaming he faced the nightmare, powerless to withdraw his hand that still reached out to her. There was nothing there; only cold earthen walls greeted his numb fingers. Screaming in fresh despair he began to weep, the fever born hallucination harrowing and hurtful. More and more he thought of her as he suffered, unable to stop the unwanted memories.

That previous life seemed like a dream now, his only reality the hole. Yet he knew he'd once held her, smelled her perfume and kissed her sweet lips. No matter what they did to him they couldn't take that from him. Reaching as a drowning man he pictured her face, this time her likeness was true, nothing soiling her innocent beauty. If only he could hold her again, the desire was so strong it hurt. Never before had Maurice craved anything so badly, but desire alone wasn't enough. If only they hadn't taken the test they could have still had each other. Of course it wouldn't have been legal, but it would have been something. Anything would have been better than this.

Living further and further in the past, his fever addled brain played his memory's projector. The life he'd had presented before him; it hadn't been a bad one. All his worries and daily irks, trivial and insubstantial from his current perspective. He now completely understood the happiness he'd once held, a pity his enlightenment came with such a heavy cost. Sure his working hours had been long, but the rewards of his job had more than compensated him. Working as a paramedic had always felt like a calling to Maurice, the sense of wellbeing he'd felt as he saved someone's life a reward in itself. Maurice distinctly remembered one morning; it was one of the last few days he'd had with Rachel before everything had changed.

CHAPTER 2

Slowly Maurice swam to consciousness, regarding the bedside alarm with building frustration. It was 6:00 AM and time to start a new day. Bearing more resemblance to Neolithic man than his modern day ancestor he clobbered the off button, clambering tiredly out of his pit. Yawning deeply he stood up, unable to shake the sneaking suspicion he hadn't slept. A quick shower went some way to restoring his humanity and a gulped cup of coffee did the rest.

Leaving his H class domicile with seconds to spare, he headed towards the Southbound Interlink Speedway. Unfortunately the streets of New Leeds were busy this morning, a constant throng of commuters jostling for position. Maurice hated commuting and today was no exception, cursing inwardly he fought against the morning's workforce rush. The streets were full of amber lights today, their pitiful eyes and fearful looks filling him with a quiet unease. Shaking his head he continued to walk, pointedly ignoring them as he fixed his eyes on the station entrance.

He made the platform just as the speeder was getting ready to leave, only just managing to squeeze onto the packed vehicle. As usual there wasn't a seat to be seen, the carriages fit too burst with their cargo of human sardines. Pushing his way through the crowds he managed to secure a precarious hand hold; penned in between a large halitosis wielding woman and a morose man in a threadbare suit. Staring out of the window he resigned himself to his fate, the fifteen minute journey suddenly seeming much longer. With an electronic hum the speeder slowly rose in the air, the anti-gravity engine cycling then rumbling as optimum output was attained. With an impressive whoosh the tubular vehicle departed the station, careering down the speeder lanes.

As Maurice glanced around the carriage an unexpected sight caught his eye, a few booths back there seemed to be an unoccupied seat. Surprised, but feeling very smug he began to struggle through the uncooperative crush. A few more steps and it was his, the unlikely find unoccupied and inviting. Unfortunately his internal celebration was cut short as the reason for the vacant seat became clear. Occupying the neighbouring space was an amber, the women's wrist light burning with a sickly pallor.

Coming to a sudden stop he tried to retreat, gripped with an awful repugnance at his social faux pas. It was no use; the jostling wall of people had thickened behind him removing his escape route. The amber turned slowly as she noticed the commotion, her dark ringed eyes finding his. Within their depths he witnessed an agonising despair, her gaunt face burning a guilty hole inside him. Like a moth to a flame he was transfixed, her desperate eyes capturing and holding his own. With a great mental effort he finally managed to pull away, spending the rest of the journey in an uncomfortable limbo. Was it his imagination or could he feel her eyes burning into his back? Unfortunately he didn't have the gall to turn around and check.

As soon as the Speeder docked he darted forward, quickly immersing himself in the departing passengers. The stream of people swallowed him as he left, washing away the journey's discomfort as he regained his anonymity. It was a short walk from the station to the City's South Side Hospital and he made the journey in good time. Climbing the steps to the entrance he shook his head, still unable to fully shake the feelings of guilt the amber had stirred in his social conscious.

Maurice considered himself an avoider; surviving life's trials by ignoring what he didn't like or understand. That was his way of dealing with the ambers, a sustained denial of their existence. He'd often pass by them as if they weren't there, ignoring their pleading looks, staying safe within his bubble. It was a coping tactic he'd invented in his youth, using it to ward against the street walkers and tramps left over from the war years. At least he didn't have to deal with that particular annoyance anymore, the governments Clean Start programme had seen to that.

Unfortunately the morning's events had forced him to acknowledge an amber, her suffering rudely piercing his many layers of carefully manufactured protection. Grunting in exasperation he reached the hospital door, forcing the woman's image from his mind. Angelo the security guard nodded to him as he passed the first security gate. The inner door was manned by Bill; a friendly old Yorkshire man.

"Ey up Maurice," called Bill, as he released the gate. "Wasn't sure I'd see you in today with all the shifts you've been pulling, you're going to give yourself stress lad." Maurice smiled as he passed through the gate; Bill's bluntness always had a cheering effect on him.

"Well you know me Bill, I just can't get enough of this place. I'd sleep here if I could."

"Same here my old mate, only way I'm leaving is in a box!" Bill quipped. Maurice left him still chuckling and made his way to the paramedics changing room. Climbing inside his protective suit, he made sure to cover all his vulnerable spots and headed to the ambulance pods. Tiredness seemed to be his long term companion of late and he yawned deeply as he walked.

His ride was waiting in Bay A, piloted by Rachel his long term team crew mate.

"Morning Rach, sorry I'm a late, the speed way was murder this morning, how you doing?" Rachel smiled as he entered the vehicle, her long eye lashes flickering demurely.

"I'm good thanks, just wish the administration would give us our old shifts, I don't know how much longer I can go on like this." She yawned as she spoke and Maurice couldn't help but notice the dark bags beneath her eyes. The observation brought an unwanted memory of the amber which he quickly banished.

"I know it's not fair Rach," he said sighing, "But I guess it could be worse and unfortunately ours is not to question why." She sighed as he spoke, reaching out and stroking his thick black arms.

"You know Mau, I don't know what I'd do without you." They both smiled at each other, his gentle brown eyes communing with hers as they hugged.

"As long as I've got breath in my body I'll be there for you." He whispered into her ear.

"I know you will Maurice, that's why I love you." They had been an item for almost eight months now and it was going really well. It was so serious in fact that they'd decided to go for green light status, wanting the chance to take their relationship to the next level.

"Well I guess we better get on, we don't want Harper breathing down our necks."

"Aye, Aye boss!" she joked, scanning her ID card to fire the generator. With practiced grace she pulled the hover ambulance into flight, heading towards the hanger doors. Contacting control Maurice gained clearance, as the double clad Tungstenite doors slowly rumbled open, releasing the vehicle into the busy skyways. Floating anti-grav buoys painted carriageways in the sky which Rachel navigated with the ease of an experienced pilot. Upon clearing the hangar the communication panel lit up with incoming calls.

"Looks like it's going to be one of those days," Maurice grimaced. He punched up the first call; there had been a fire in a Domicile Z building, burns victims and smoke inhalation the order of the day. Rachel Hit the siren and pulled away from the public lanes, exiting the skyways into open air. They reached their destination in minutes, a testament to their individual skills as pilot and navigator. Even before their romantic relationship they'd made a great team, the next step had just seemed like a natural progression.

Spread below, the Z towered block was being consumed by a raging fire, teams of emergency vehicles sprayed retardants in a bitter attempt to control the blaze.

"Looks like they've got their work cut out for them," Maurice observed. He quickly located a clear area a few metres away from the building. "Set her down there, just in front of the police line." Rachel complied with professional ease, coaxing gentle blasts from her landing jets she expertly brought the ambulance down into a text book landing. By now there was quite a crowd behind the police barricade, passers-by pushing and shoving to get a better look. This was the cities lower class and events like this were seen as cheap entertainment by the majority of the residents.

Leaving the ambulance they rushed over to the police sergeant who was manning the barricade.

"What's the story?" asked Maurice, "Any injured made it out?" The officer turned to them, his bearded face grim and hard.

"Not yet, the fire teams struggling with two fires, a small one up on the second and that beast up there." He pointed skyward. "The first ones nearly under control now, so hopefully they should be able to get to the people trapped above." As he spoke the crowd suddenly surged forward, "push um back lads, hold the line" he bellowed. The human barrier bent but held, as the plexi-shields pushed hard against the rowdy crowd. He turned back to Maurice, "I really don't get these people, why anyone in their right mind would want to get closer to that is beyond me."

Minutes later the first casualties were freed, their limp bodies deposited on the concrete floor as the firemen rushed back to the building. Initial assessment was poor; two of the casualties had suffered more than seventy percent burns and were struggling to breathe. The third was less serious; a few nasty burns but nothing that a rehydrating cream and dressing wouldn't fix. Working as a team they secured the two critical patients first, strapping them both to medi-boards and loading them into the ambulance. Maurice immediately began emergency treatment, providing pain relief and much needed oxygen. After helping the less injured woman aboard, Rachel quickly returned to the cockpit.

With a full load Rachel powered up the engines, tearing back into the air. Maurice remained in the back monitoring the patients and fighting to keep them stable. He inserted life monitors into their arms and began to gell-pack their burns. The two criticals were really struggling, their heartbeats erratic accompanied by critically low respiration levels.

"Rach, we got two code oranges what's our eta."

"Nearly there Mau, should be hitting home base in under a minute." Rachel's voice sounded strained, all her attention focussed upon navigating the busy hospital skyways. Setting the craft down in the emergency bay she hit the landing siren, on cue four blue coated med assistants appeared. Maurice quickly informed them of the patient's condition, as they hurriedly carried them into the hospital.

The fire set a trend for the rest of their day, the unusually hot autumn turning New Leeds into a pyromaniac's playground. It was approaching seven before control finally gave the word, the relief staff ready to take over for the nightshift.

"Well that's another twelve hour shift under the belt," said Rachel, "I honestly don't think I can cope with many more." Maurice stroked her soft hair, looking affectionately at her pretty face.

"I know it's hard but what can we do? With the funding cuts recruitments frozen, were just going to have to sit it out." Rachel laid her face on Maurice's large hands, drawing much needed comfort from him.

"I know your right Maurice, I'm just so tired," she yawned. "And these shifts are killing me, I need a holiday."

Maurice chuckled, "me and you both love." They smiled tiredly as she navigated into the open hanger, no matter what happened they still had each other.

"Fancy coming over to mine tonight?" Rachel asked. "I can cook if you want, I'll do us chicken surprise." Maurice was undecided, he was dog tired but the promise of her signature dish was very tempting. Looking down at her expectant face was too much, how could he ever say no to her?

He grinned, "I'd love that gal, you know I can't resist your home cooking."

"Great," she smiled back at him. "It's a date." They used the hospital showers and then Rachel drove them back to her apartment. Rachel's block was on the other side of the city but the construction was identical, both being the standard H class domicile. Placing her palm on the print lock she opened her apartment, the magnetron door sliding apart noisily.

Although the room's layout matched Maurice's, the interior couldn't have been more different. The main living area was awash in a sea of pinks and purples, punctuated by crazy spotted cushions and bean bags strewn across the thickly carpeted floor. Multi coloured crystal lightshades adding to the rainbow effect, immersing her visitors in a symphony of light and colour. The living room was an incredibly busy area yet everything gelled, creating a perfectly functional work of art.

Sinking gratefully onto her purple suite she grabbed Maurice eagerly, pulling him down on top of her. They embraced, caressing each other passionately, their hands delving beneath their clothes. Maurice pulled off his t-shirt revealing chiselled abs as he hungrily fondled her soft flesh. She gasped with excitement at his figure; perfect chocolate flesh moulded into gladiatorial muscles. Pouncing forward he pushed her down, her lithe body spread before him. Straddling her he tore off her top, her soft bosoms covered by a red lacy bra. With strong hands he cupped her warm breasts, Rachel's breath coming in short passionate gasps. She peered up at him with adoring eyes; here was the man she'd gladly spend her life with. They stroked and held each other for a while, until eventually Maurice pulled back.

"I'm sorry Rach, I've got to stop, any more and I'll lose control." He looked at his girlfriend with unveiled lust, reluctantly pulling on his shirt. Rachel met his gaze sadly, her eyes filled with longing and unfulfilled desires.

"I love you Maurice, we've got our tests in a few days," she bit her bottom lip, "we've just got to be strong." Maurice lowered his head, rubbing his tight knit hair in frustration.

"I know, it's just so hard." She embraced him as he spoke, trying to soothe his pent up emotion.

"You just sit there Mau, I'm going to make you a dinner that will make you forget everything," she winked as she left, her perfect ass shaking sexily. Sighing loudly he leaned back on her sofa, his member an iron bar beneath his pants. Resigned to his frustration he turned on her holo-set, the machine starting with a hiss of static and an electronic pop. The Gov-info channel immediately jumped into life as Lord Earnest Smyth appeared in the living room, the intruder composed entirely of light. The man was halfway through a party political broadcast preaching the World Parties rhetoric, just the light sort of viewing that Maurice needed. Sighing again he watched Smyth spout his dogma of strength and unity, ever the perfect orator and ideal world leader.

Maurice wasn't politically orientated; he preferred to leave politics to its own devices in the hope that the courtesy would be returned. His outlook had served him well during his life, keeping him from trouble and avoiding unnecessary confrontation. It wasn't that he harboured any strong opposition to the world party, it was just he didn't care very much about it. As long as their policies didn't interfere too much in his own life, then he was happy, what more could he want.

Of course he'd known people who were openly anti-government, especially during his student years. Accusing them of wild unthinkable things; population control, orchestrated terrorist threats, contrived diseases and many other half-baked conspiracies. Maurice had listened to their theories as was only polite, but never once had he crossed the line of actually believing. To think that a number of the so called academia could be so misled was distressing.

In his own mind he preferred to think of the party as a benevolent watch dog, giving a guiding hand and a set of life rules. If you lived by the laws then you were rewarded with a good life, it didn't take a genius to see the alternative's folly. You only had to look into the eyes of an amber to see that, their dejected anguish enough to keep Maurice from ever straying from the path.

At thirty years of age Maurice was a child of the new world; the emerging beacon of civilisation forged in the aftermath of world war III. The Final war, as it was termed had ended in 2022, with the subsequent world treaty ensuring a lasting worldwide peace. He'd entered the world a year after this monumental event, the child of historian Patrick Williams and loving mother Martha. His childhood had been a relatively pleasant affair; raised under the watchful eye of his pacifist parents, they'd taught him the values of peace and non-violence. They weren't exactly wealthy, but neither were they poor, able to provide Maurice with a good schooling from an early age.

He'd grown up in a time of great upheaval; the shadow of war, famine and violence still ever present. Even after the treaty was signed, hatred burned strong between the opposing nations, atrocities on both sides keeping it smouldering for years to come. The war had officially ended when the allied nations of Europe, USA and Russia dropped the first Alpha Bomb, (or 'Country Killer' as it was later termed) on what was China. The event ended the ten years of long war, as years before the 2012 London Olympics had sparked it.

An unconditional surrender of the Eastern Alliance immediately followed the option preferable to complete annihilation. Eventually the defeated nations joined sides with the Allied Countries creating the now fabled World Treaty, a treaty that had ensured that wars were a spectre of the past. Gradually over the ensuing years this had evolved into the world Maurice knew today, a world where borders and boundaries no longer existed. A one world state reigned over by the supreme leader and the elected council. Lord Earnest Smyth had held this position for the last five years, a great honour which very few could claim.

Under the current system Supreme Leaders were elected every ten years by democratic process, if the current leader hasn't decided to step down. Of course there were no opposing parties to choose from; only the leader changed not the government itself. In Maurice's opinion that choice was a small thing to relinquish, especially if it meant the current peace could endure.

Maurice tiredly watched Smyth gesticulate as he professed the values of the unified world, praising and quoting the world treaty to the letter. He wished he could change the channel, his mood seeking distraction of a much lighter fare. He glanced at the wall clock hopefully; surely the compulsory viewing was nearly up. Thankfully he wasn't wrong, as the set's doleful chime indicated that other channels were now available. Quickly he switched to the music channels, locating the latest album from the semi synch band Primal High. Electro synth music never failed to relax him; the impossible melodies washing over him as he closed his eyes. A noise close by made him start, looking up he found Rachel's alluring blue eyes hovering in front of his face.

"It's ready hun, I almost didn't want to wake you, you look so innocent when you're sleeping." Maurice smiled.

"What you trying to say girl, that I aren't innocent all the time." He grinned cheekily, stroking her baby soft cheeks. Abruptly he grew serious, staring deep into her eyes. "I love you Rachel Smith."

She giggled, "Gosh, you scared me then babe, I love you too." She reached out her hand, her purple nails caressing his face. After a moment she gestured to the glass dining table. "Let's eat before it goes cold." Maurice nodded and helped her pull the wheeled table closer.

They enjoyed a romantic meal, Rachel had always been a good cook and tonights chicken was no exception. Finishing he looked down at his empty plate in satisfaction.

"That was perfect gal."

"Did you expect anything else," she answered playfully. Smiling he stroked her soft blonde hair, watching as she finished her meal. She picked at it with dainty little bites, her manner delicate, almost sensuous. Becoming transfixed he watched as she speared a baby carrot, bringing it slowly to her luscious red lips. They parted slightly, glistening in the lamp light, the morsel slowly disappearing into her lovely mouth. His member rose as she ate, the involuntary reaction breaking his trance. He looked away embarrassed; the testing couldn't come soon enough, even watching her eat was turning him on.

Maurice departed shortly after the meal, reluctant but with good reason. By the time the hover cab landed it was already 11pm, he was going to suffer terribly in the morning but as always it had been worth it. At least tomorrow was Friday, the obligatory weekend away from work nearly within reach. Sleep came easily that night, a luxury he would come to miss in the future.

A piercing sound ripped through his dream, rudely bringing him out of his slumber. Grunting he turned over, pulling his pillow over his head to block out the noise. However the shrill alarm had other ideas, cutting easily through his fabric defences. Even his shower and coffee shot did nothing to dispel his dazed state of mind this morning.

The trek to the speeder station was a re-run of the day before, a brutal battle through the packed streets. The Ambers once again out in force, their sickly wrist lights shining offensively in the dull morning light. With practiced skill he ignored them, eyes forward, frowning in concentration he walked toward the station. Nearing his destination he witnessed two youths bullying an amber woman. He couldn't hear their words, but their faces were contorted into aggressive scowls. Averting his gaze he passed them, staring fixedly ahead, not wanting to become involved. Somehow he arrived on time; the Southbound Speeder just pulling into the station.

Punctuality had its perks, the luxury of a seat his to claim. He relaxed thankfully into the cushioned chair, staring blankly out of the window as the city scape flash by. His day was quiet and passed quickly, a fact that his sleep deprived mind was grateful for. It seemed that New Leed's citizens had decided to refrain from injury that Friday. The only change to his normal routine came when control called them back early; his direct manager Alan Brown wanted to speak to him. Rachel waited nervously in the cafeteria, while Maurice headed up to the hospital's higher floors. This was where the administration and managers grander abodes were based. Biting his nails anxiously he watched the numbers flash by, as the lift slowly ascended the tall building. Alan was a busy man and rarely held individual meetings, unless it was a matter of discipline or something else unavoidable.

Tapping on the wooden doors with perspiring palms, Maurice waited for a response.

Almost immediately a cultured English voice called.

"Come!" He entered the plush office hesitantly, taking a seat in front of Alan's large desk. Alan regarded his employee coolly, the imposing dome of his bald head reflecting the lamp light. Probably in his early fifties Alan had done well for himself, securing his own medical team and a dozen subordinate team leaders. Leaning forward he looked over his spectacles, the well-crafted lenses balanced on the end of his hooked nose. Maurice held his gaze, wondering if he actually needed glasses, or if they were just a prop to intimidate his staff with. Without giving Maurice a word of acknowledgement he returned to his data pad, navigating the complex screen with nimble fingers.

After a minute or so of using the pad, he finally looked up again, utilizing his spectacles to full effect. Alan's grey eyes stared deeply into his; an expression of study animating his face as he examined Maurice. After a few seconds of 'the look', Maurice lowered his eyes, unable to hold his gaze.

"Well Mr Williams, I'm glad you could make it," he announced, in clipped tones. "As you know," he sniffed. "I'm a very busy man, and unfortunately don't get to see my staff as much as I'd prefer." His words seemed at odds with his disdainful expression. "So because of this I wouldn't call you here today unless there was a very good reason," he paused for effect. Maurice fidgeted uncomfortably as fresh sweat prickled his spine. "So Mr Williams, do you have any idea why you've been summoned here?" Maurice panicked, a rush of adrenaline flowing through him as his stomach lurched. Suspected misdemeanours flashed through his mind, last Monday he'd left two minutes early. Was that it? Seconds trickled by as he racked his brain, punctuated by a teak grandfather clock set against the far wall. Alan continued to watch him, as Maurice squirmed beneath his knowing glare.

"No Mr Brown, I'm afraid I have no idea." He eventually answered, his voice trailing off into a pitiful squeak. Alan leaned further forward, his black leather chair creaking as he placed his bone white hands on the desk. Fixing Maurice with another stare, he drew a slow exasperated breath.

"You don't know Mr Williams, tsk, tsk; you should make it your business to know everything when it comes to your position." He sighed again, drumming his manicured fingernails on the desk. "If you ever want to progress into management then you need to know everything, or at least act and bluff it out if you don't." Maurice nodded cautiously as Alan continued. "Well it can't be helped, even I had to learn what I know now and I'm still learning." He nodded then smiled, the expression almost causing Maurice to duck under the table.

He'd never experienced an Alan smile before; it was both disconcerting and disturbing the man's face contorting into an unnatural grin. This unexpected turn of events further threw Maurice, heightening his panic to a new level. Glancing discretely behind him he checked the distance to the door, suddenly doubting Alan's sanity.

"Maurice," he called jovially, "I've called you here to bestow an honour upon you, one which isn't often given to staff paramedics." He paused, still holding his ghastly smile. "Today my boy you get the chance to play in the big leagues; we're offering you a six month intensive induction programme to enter my management division." Maurice was shocked; in house promotion to management was almost unheard of, the administration much preferring to recruit external prospects. If he passed the training it would mean relocation, an F class domicile or maybe higher.

It was a brilliant opportunity one he'd be foolish to miss. Yet he couldn't help but explore the negatives, he'd practice much less medicine and no longer be at the forefront of preserving life. For all its downsides he still loved his job, the hours were bad and the pay wasn't brilliant but it was his passion. Alan continued to smile as Maurice forced his numb lips into action.

"Well thank you sir, I honestly don't know what to say, for a moment I thought I'd done something wrong." He laughed nervously. "But this, has taken me completely by surprise."

Alan chuckled, "I'm sorry for the shock Maurice, but you must understand something." His brow furrowed as he spoke. "This is a one-time offer Maurice; it will absolutely not be made again. Also I must warn that it isn't indefinite and must be given your consideration immediately." Maurice nodded again, his own face a mirror of solemnness. "Well look Mr Williams," Alan said brusquely, once again all business. "I think this is a brilliant chance we're giving you, a unique opportunity to further yourself and most importantly your career."

"It is," Maurice agreed, not wishing to sound ungrateful.

"As you well know most management candidates are externally trained, fed through the accredited management schemes and business schools. You on the other hand have been chosen due to your hard work, diligence and general capacity for excellence." Maurice couldn't help but smile, his head doubling in size.

"I've reviewed all your work reports, and you're setting an example to be proud of." His face grew graver; a feat Maurice didn't think was possible. "So please, take some time to think about it, but don't take too long." He paused again, holding Maurice's eye with a motivating glare. "Because as I've said, it won't be repeated."

Maurice's head span as he left, conflicting emotion running through him. On the one hand he was extremely excited, but the niggling doubts were still there refusing to be extinguished. For one it would mean his time with Rachel was slashed, this downside was almost enough to make him refuse the offer. In addition the lack of actual medicine was unappealing; the hustle and bustle of the frontline was his preferred playground. Deciding nothing for the moment he headed to the cafeteria, hoping that Rachel could give some direction.

She gasped with delight at his news, immediately advising him to accept the offer. His doubts were set to rest as she professed the benefits; a larger domicile, a much greater wage and possibly the power to have a say in the administration's decisions. Even his fears at seeing her less were allayed, the approaching test would allow them to legally co-habit. Her soothing words convinced him, the pros easily outweighing the cons. He allowed himself to smile now that he'd come to a decision, yes he could feel their lives coming together. The purity test was booked for this weekend and it couldn't come soon enough; it was the only thing blocking their way to the family life they both craved.

Even the day's late finish didn't dampen his soaring spirits, still buzzing from the unexpected promotion. They agreed he'd wait till Monday to accept the job, the weekend giving them both plenty of time to change their minds. It was unlikely they would, their joint excitement growing with every passing minute.

The following morning Maurice awoke early, cheating his alarm by a good hour. It was the day of the test and try as he might he couldn't still his nerves. He treated himself to a fried breakfast, hoping that the food would go some way to settle his gurgling stomach. Failing miserably he spent the rest of the morning working out in his bedroom gym, followed by a cold shower. Thankfully the exercise and soaking relieved some of his pent up tension. Dressing casually in slacks and vest he called Rachel, letting her know he was ready. Ten minutes later she was sat outside, her face a tense reflection of his, visible through the hovercar's windshield. It didn't take long to reach the testing centre, the early morning skyways almost devoid of traffic. They arrived in good time but neither wanted to leave the car once they'd landed. This was the moment they'd both been looking forward to for so long that now it was here they were scared. There shouldn't be anything to worry about as they'd always been careful but that fact didn't stop their irrational fears.

Eventually they exited the vehicle and stood staring up at the imposing building. It was a modern structure, constructed only ten years ago, the design more suited to ancient Rome than New Leeds. Great Marble columns grew from the granite floor, supporting a large flat white stone roof. Far below was a deeply carved inscription, displayed prominently above the double stone arched entrance.

PURITY IS LIFE

LIFE IS PURITY

With a deep breath Maurice grasped Rachel's hand, striding forward toward their fate. The interior seemed at odds with the grandiose exterior; a professional aura of clinical coldness pervading the space. Walking through the automatic doors, they crossed the black and white tiled floor heading towards reception.

A hysterical cry caught there attention as they walked, the scream coming from a young oriental woman as she ran towards the entrance. Tears poured down her cheeks as she fled, moaning and screaming in anguish. In close pursuit a red haired man gave chase, sprinting desperately after her. He was shouting incoherently, his hands flailing as he tried to stop her. Their amber lights were clearly visible. Maurice instinctively pulled his arm around Rachel, drawing her close as they approached the desk. Glancing at her he was filled with confidence, there could be no doubt they were clean. Gaining strength from his belief he strode towards the desk, wanting to get it over with.

Testing room C was assigned to them, the waiting area sterile and cold. Shortly after entering the room their names were displayed on the Queue monitor, calling them both for the test. As a couple they had the right to take the test together, making the whole experience far more bearable. Sitting at their respective stations they waited for the on screen instructions to begin. Maurice glanced over at Rachel and immediately wished he hadn't; her tense worried face giving him no comfort. Any further thought was cut short by a static filled click.

"Welcome to Test Cubicle C," The computer generated voice droned devoid of any human emotion. "Please place both of your arms into the receptacles at either side of the screen." Maurice lifted his lead filled arms, placing them both into the dark holes. Rachel followed suit as the computer's voice sounded again. "Scanning.........blood sample A taken,.....scanning."

Maurice jumped slightly as needles pierced his skin, the samples sucked from his pulsing veins. He glanced over at Rachel with concerned eyes, noticing the perspiration beading on her pretty forehead. The waiting was the worst part of it, each click and whir of the insensitive booth seeming to take an age. Seconds slowly became minutes as they waited, until finally the computer spoke again. "Blood sample B taken.......scanning." Maurice heard a click, followed by a much longer prick in his arms then silence.

'Why is it taking so long?' The unspoken thought filled him with fear as he considered the possible implications. Sitting there Maurice had never felt more alone, even Rachel's presence beside him did nothing to alleviate it. Using all his will power he concentrated on their future, on all the things they could and would accomplish as a couple.

Finally the computer spoke again. "Scanning complete, analysis verified, processing results." Another slight pause then it continued, speaking solely through Maurice's speaker. "Subject Maurice Williams, I regretfully inform you that infection Aids Variant one was identified within your system, your wrist light status has been updated to Amber, you have 48hrs to prepare for transfer to resident camp Omega One. Good Day."

Maurice fell backwards from the scanner, his arms slipping loosely to his side. The cubicle's walls closed in on him as his eyes darted around listlessly. From a great distance he heard Rachel gasp, saw the devastating flash of disgust in her eyes as she stared at him. His world slowed to a crawl as Rachel's computer denounced her as unclean too. Yet even their joint suffering was stolen as Rachel's machine advised that the infection stemmed from subject Maurice Williams. The words crashed into Maurice like a physical blow, tearing him apart inside. Standing shakily he moved towards Rachel, her face bone white and eyes wet with tears. She stood motionless as Maurice approached her body stiff and wooden. Suddenly she screamed; a heart piercing cry of pure hatred.

Raising her hand she pointed at Maurice, "You, You infected me, you bastard, you fucking bastard," She sobbed. "How could you, I love, loved." She broke down as she spoke, her face crumpling beneath the weight of her emotions. Tears of shame and anger stained her cheeks as she wept, backing away from the man she thought she knew. Maurice's world was in turmoil, he knew he'd never broken the law so how could he be infected and for that matter how could he have infected Rachel. They'd never broken the rules; no transfer of fluids, not even kissing, nothing that could have passed on the infection. Yet there it was, the sickly amber light glowing from his diseased flesh.

"Rachel please," stammered Maurice, struggling to speak. "There must be some mistake I can't be infected, I'd never put you at risk, it's got to be wrong, believe me it's wrong!" He watched helplessly as she wrung her hands, pacing the small cubicle like a woman possessed. Crying himself he went to her, only to cower back as she turned on him. Her blue eyes blazed with fury as her face contorted with uncharacteristic hate.

"You stay away Maurice," she hissed, "I hate, no I detest you, you've destroyed my life." She turned and ran, fleeing the booth and the monster it contained. Her words were a death blow to Maurice, distraught and overwhelmed by her onslaught he called after her. Everything had gone wrong, where was their perfect life he'd planned? It couldn't end like this, he wouldn't let it. Bursting out of the booth he gave chase, running after her.

It was a mistake it must be, and he needed to catch her to explain. He tore through the waiting room recklessly, the seated couples staring at his amber light in disgust. Their Hostile uncaring eyes bored into his face; so this was what it meant to be amber. He was a modern day leper, shunned and reviled by humanity, transformed into the very thing he'd worked so hard to ignore. Shuddering he sprinted out of the waiting room, following her fleeing figure. Heads turned as he ran through reception, he had become the spectacle. A smiling couple were leaving as he chased; their hands clasped lovingly as their green lights announced their unsoiled purity. As he passed their expressions grew grim, staring as the reviled amber light chased his diseased girl.

He blocked everything out, plenty of time to dwell later but right now he needed to catch her. He managed to catch Rachel a few meters before the exit, reaching out and grabbing her shoulders with both hands. She screamed as his hands closed around her, attracting the attention of further passers-by and a heavyset security guard behind reception. Maurice spun her round to face him, still gripping her arms tightly.

Staring into her desolate eyes he begged, "please baby, I promise you, do you understand I promise you that this must be a mistake, I can't be infected and I'd never risk you." Sobbing as he spoke he tried to impress his sincerity upon her. Rachel didn't speak, she just looked at him. In fact she wasn't even looking at him, she was looking through him. "Please Rachel," he whispered, "I swear I'd never hurt you, I love you." His words were destined to fail, her ears forever closed to him. Gazing at her blank waxy face he realised she was in shock. This gave him hope. Not much hope but enough to stand the despair, if he could talk to her once she'd calmed and was rational; well there might be a chance.

His thoughts were interrupted as the end of a steel baton pressed against his back. Still holding Rachel he turned, staring straight into a bulldoggish face of the security guard.

"Now then lad," he said gruffly. "Seems to me that you're holding this young lady pretty tight, like she doesn't want to be held by you?" Anger built as the guard spoke; an unfamiliar feeling which suddenly burned strong and powerful.

"This young lady," he growled, "is my girlfriend, so please mind your own business and give me some privacy." The security guard grimaced, his dark slicked back hair and black handle bar moustache giving him the air of a trail weary cowboy. He jabbed Maurice lightly in the small of the back with his baton; not hard enough to hurt but a warning shot all the same. Leaning in real close, he studied Maurice's face.

"Listen closely boy and there's a small chance you might come out of this without getting hurt." He cracked his large knuckles menacingly. "A women screams in my building then it is my business pal, don't matter if she's your woman or not. Far as I'm concerned you're on my patch, and while you are you better show me some respect scumbag." He enunciated the word scumbag, subjecting Maurice's forehead to a shower of spittle.

Struggling to control himself Maurice glared at the man, why couldn't he just leave them alone? "Now, do we understand one another?" continued the security guard grim faced.

"Yes," Maurice answered, involuntarily tightening his grip. Rachel winced as his anger driven hands closed, her face cold and distant. Suddenly she spoke, her voice icy, unrecognisable.

"Please help me officer, this man," she looked at Maurice with disgust as she spoke. "This man has infected me with the Aids virus, please get him off me." Her voice reminded him of the computer in the testing booth, cold and emotionless. The guard's eyes glowered as he took in their amber wrist bands, his face darkening in rage.

"Let go of her now lad, or I'll make you let go of her." He advanced another step until his face was pressed in close to Maurice's. Maurice was broken. Rachel's words had sliced through him like a serrated blade, exposing his still beating heart for all to see. He felt betrayed and wronged but knew she felt the same. There was nothing he could do or say to break through, at that moment he was dead to her.

He let his clammy hands drop slowly from her arms. Ugly red finger marks remained, a testament to his frustration. Rachel turned slowly without looking at Maurice and without a backward glance walked away. Her body was stiff, robot like, each step taking her further from him. Would he ever see her again? Even as the thought occurred he tried to destroy it, pushing it down into the darkest recesses of his mind. He turned to face the guard, fighting the threatening tears. The guard's cool grey eyes surveyed him, spearing him like an insect.

Stroking his moustache he said, "well lad, it looks like the situation is over, so I'd say you best walk on out of here and make use of your last 48hrs as a free man." Maurice nodded feeling numb all over, waves of dizziness passing over him as he trudged unsteadily out of the door. The test had transformed his petty worldly worries into grey shades. His career, new house and future, meaningless shades of black and grey. He walked without knowing where, blindly traversing the city's roads and streets. His mind was in constant turmoil, his thoughts chasing round and round through his head. Even cold fingers of doubt had begun to creep in; he'd been drunk before, could it have happened then? He didn't believe it, surely he'd know if he'd slept with someone? The uncertainty wavered and then crumbled beneath his logic; he knew himself too well he would never have done that. The fear of the post war super aids virus was deterrent enough. Yet there it was, he glanced hatefully at his sub dermal implant the comforting blue glow replaced by the infected amber glare. He'd never get used to it; the shame and disgust it inspired abhorrent to him.

Eventually he found his way home, unable to remember how he'd got there. His eyes glued to the ground as he'd walked, not daring to meet the gaze of passers-by. The shame of the burden he carried was too much. His domicile felt alien and unwelcoming as he slumped on his sofa pondering his future, or lack of one. He'd always wondered what ambers did in their last 48hrs, the reality was depressing. Of course there was another option; he could run, but what good would it do. After the 48 hours he'd become a red lighter, fair pickings for the enforcers and anyone else willing to have a go. He'd never heard of anyone evading capture on a red light and was under no illusion that he'd fare any better.

So whether he liked it or not, these were his last few hours as a free man. It was a certainty; there was nothing he could do to change that. Walking to his bedroom he retrieved a small data crystal, suddenly needing to see Rachel more than life itself. Inserting it into his crysta-player he settled back, his holo-set humming into life. Rachel's shining image appeared before him, appearing more angel than human. The footage was from her last birthday, her face bright and happy as she eagerly opened her presents. As she turned her eyes seemed to hold his for a moment and then she smiled. Maurice sobbed before the mirage, the feeling of loss deepening. He'd never felt this way before, a combination of deep sorrow and confusion paralysing him.

The birthday scene was cruelly short, lasting a mere five minutes. He turned that five minutes into an hour, replaying it over and over. Every detail of her face he committed to memory. It was no good; her image was salt to his wounds, a self-inflicted torture he couldn't stop. Eventually he lost it; screaming as he smashed the 3d projector from its stand.

Head in hands he curled into a foetal position on the sofa, crying himself into a troubled sleep. Drifting away he made a silent promise; he'd find a way to put things right.

CHAPTER 3

He awoke disorientated on Sunday morning nearly falling off his sofa. After a moment of confusion memory hit like a ton of bricks, leaving nowhere to hide as his amber light shone up at him. He made the motions of a normal human being, showering, breakfast and even shaving but it was an act. Still he'd woke up feeling slightly better than the night before, the initial shock beginning to wear off, being replaced by a need to act. The beginnings of a plan had formed in his mind and with the clock against him he had to be decisive.

Leaving his domicile early he headed to the southbound speeder station. The Sunday morning streets were dead, a small mercy he was grateful for. What people he did see either completely ignored him, or stared in outright hostility. He wished there was some way to hide his light, but that was a capital crime in itself. The speeder arrived promptly at the station allowing Maurice to secure an empty cabin. He spent the journey alone a fact he was glad of. Since the test a horrible fear had grown inside him, an unrelenting terror that bubbled constantly just below the surface.

He was scared of other people. Eyes down, no longer able to meet anyone's gaze, fearful of reprisals or assault. The government guidelines on Ambers were clear, treat them as normal citizens until they were removed; unfortunately this invariably didn't happen. There were frequent newspaper reports of random acts of violence against ambers, some had even been murdered. Of course this was completely illegal but it didn't matter. The majority of people would rather risk their liberty, than share the city with the diseased. Even Maurice himself had been somewhat guilty, actively ignoring them whenever they passed by. Now he repented, wishing he could take back every look of disgust he'd ever given.

The 48hr grace period was still a public point of contention, the peoples lobbies campaigning to have it cut or completely withdrawn. As of yet the government had resisted, stating that the forty eight hour period was a necessary kindness for the infected; allowing them to say goodbye to their families and friends and put their affairs in order before leaving. Maurice was glad of this time as it gave him a chance, if he were to resolve anything then it wouldn't happen in the segregation camps.

Disembarking from the speeder Maurice made his way to the South Side hospital. He'd made this journey many times, but the familiarity did nothing to settle his growing nerves. There were certain laws that differed for hospital staff if they were found to be infected. One of the laws stated that once infected, the employee would be restricted from returning to their workplace. This law was unique to the medical profession; employees in other roles were allowed (although most didn't) to continue working in their last forty eight hours. Maurice had always agreed with this risk cutting rule, considering his patient's lives first and foremost. But now he hoped he could break it, attempting to salvage his own future.

The grey hospital steps seemed to stretch to the sky as Maurice began the climb. Staring straight ahead he ascended, noting the security camera tracking him as he walked. Who would be on the desk this morning? He hoped it was Bill; at least that would give him a small chance. Nearing the summit he steeled himself, prepared for the looks of disbelief and disgust that would come from people he'd once called colleagues. Walking through the entrance with mock confidence, he gave silent thanks as he caught Bills gaze. As their eyes met Bill glanced at his arm, his welcoming expression changing into something Maurice didn't recognise. Moving forward almost regretfully Bill navigated the desk and stood directly in front of him.

"Morning Mr Williams, I'm afraid you can't come in," he gestured apologetically at his amber implant. "Please don't make things worse by trying son." This was expected, but the actual refusal hurt. Fighting to control his emotions he turned away from Bill, composing his face. Turning back he fired his most disarming smile.

"Now Bill, I know you've got a job to do and you do a dam good one, but you have to understand that I wouldn't be here if there hadn't been some mistake." He paused still smiling. "Rachel and I both took the test as we wanted to take things further, get our own domicile and maybe even have children."

"Okay," he said, at least listening.

"Now Bill, I know I have never, and I mean never, put myself in any compromising position or exposed myself to the risk of infection." Halting he stared into his old eyes. "So you see Bill it must be a mistake, because they said I contracted the infection first and then infected Rachel." He struggled for composure as he relived the test, wincing at the still raw memories. He could see Bill wasn't really listening; he wore the face of a doctor dealing with a terminally ill patient.

"Please Bill," he tried again, "You know as a paramedic I have to take an infection screener every six months and the last one was only three months ago." Bill nodded. "It was negative; so there saying I contracted in the last three months, it's implausible." Maurice shouted, with such force and passion that Bill took a backwards step.

Leaning closer to Maurice, Bill glanced worriedly over his shoulder; the second desk was unmanned.

"Look Maurice," he whispered, "I've always liked you, you've got good manners and you can take a bit of banter which I appreciate."

"I like you too Bill, see that-"

"I'm sorry Maurice but I need to speak. I think I believe what you're saying, but you must understand I can't let you in or they'll fire me." Bill looked sincere as he spoke, his face a picture of understanding. Desperation clutched Maurice as he felt his chance slipping away.

"Please Bill, I know it's your job but it's my life, if I prove it's a mistake they can't sack you can they?" his voice sounded hollow and selfish, his situation forcing his hand.

"So I let you in the building, what then Maurice, how are you going to prove that you aren't infected?" He asked.

"Because if I make it inside then I'll be able to carry out my own blood test and prove that I haven't got it. That it's all a big mistake and I can get on with living my life again." He finished triumphantly, focussing on success. Bill seemed to ponder his proposal, glancing constantly behind to check the still clear rear desk. Scratching his balding head he put his arm around Maurice's shoulders.

"Now look Maurice I'm sorry, I truly am, but I can't let you in the building. Even if you're not infected I'd still be sacked for not doing my job." Maurice's face sagged as Bill's truth hit home, the realisation leaving him dejected and hopeless. Bill held up his hand imploring him to listen as he regarded him with genuine concern. "There's other options Maurice, don't give up yet son. How long have you got before you go red?" Bill's question hung in the air as a cold panic seized Maurice; he didn't know. At last his mind began to function again, slowly time fell into its correct order and he knew the answer.

"Just after 12 noon on Monday."

"Okay, okay son," Bill said, patting his back in a fatherly fashion. "So you've got some time, and time is the most important commodity you could have right now. Now listen, what you need to do is go home, look online, in a directory or where ever else you can and get a number of a private clinic, and book a blood test with them. Now it may be expensive Maurice, but if it proves you right then it's worth it eh?"

Bill was great. Maurice turned to him smiling, full of appreciation for this kind and intelligent man.

"Bill thanks, I don't know why I didn't think of that you're a life saver." Maurice impulsively pulled the older man towards him, giving him a warm embrace. Not wanting to delay a moment longer he left, running out of the hospital back towards the Speeder Station. Bill watched him go feeling a mixture of shame and anger at himself; the testing centres didn't make mistakes.

The journey back to his domicile was quick and thankfully uneventful. He almost sprinted the route back to his house so consumed with new hope that he didn't even feel the looks from the passers by. An abundance of electric energy animated him, filling the void that Bill's refusal had created. He tried ringing Rachel as he made his way home, but there was no answer from her mobile. Fleetingly he thought about taking a cab to her house but then decided against it.

She might not even be there and the most important thing he could do for both of them was to prove the mistake. Sitting down in his living room he booted up his pc, waiting impatiently as Windows Zenon loaded. The computer displayed the time as 11.30 Am painfully reminding him of his deadline. Fortunately it didn't take him long to locate a number of private clinics and he set about calling them.

The first few calls were a complete waste of time; his story was either greeted with the click of a dead line or the receptionists hardening voice telling him that they didn't have any slots free. With his list of options dwindling he felt his new found hope slipping away. There were only five numbers left in his list now, a realisation that filled him with fresh panic. Thankfully the second to last number was a success, the receptionist's revulsion was still present but she didn't hang up. Finally he would have his chance to fix this whole god-dam mess. The earliest appointment he could secure was for 9 am Monday morning which he took gratefully.

The cost of the test was astronomical and he knew he was being done over, but he didn't care; he would pay any price to have his old life back. Luckily Maurice in keeping with his cautious and meticulous nature was an avid saver. Without even checking his on line savings account he knew he'd be good for the 5k worth of credits. Even after the transfer he still had just shy of 21k worth of credits to fall back upon. Yet even though the necessity of payment was non-negotiable he couldn't but help feel cheated; this was supposed to be his marriage and new life fund.

For the second time in not so many hours Maurice could only wait. Moving around his domicile aimlessly he finally dropped on his sofa and turned on his Music System. His collection of well-worn electro synths did their best to soothe him but it was no use. Unbidden his tired mind returned to Rachel, was she alright? Of course she wasn't he chided, she was suffering the same living horror he was.

All of their shattered dreams flashed through his mind, It was almost inconceivable that only 24hrs ago everything had been fine. Their lives were going the way he'd planned and with the job offer it would have been plain sailing from there on in. He shook his head as he pondered the recent past, feeling the bitter bite of tears welling in his blood shot eyes. It was no use thinking like that, yet he crumpled powerless to stop the outpouring of frustrated grief. He pulled his mobile from his pocket and stared at the screen, willing there to be a missed call or a message but there was nothing. Grunting he called her again, the ringing tone beating a tired rhythm inside his skull. He let it ring, each passing second adding to his internal strife as his attempts to reconcile were ignored. At last there was a click as the line was answered, the unexpected break through sending a shiver through his overwrought body. His relief was short lived as her answer machine message played through the earpiece. He waited until the machine beeped and poured out his heart, the lack of contact with her beginning to break his spirit.

"Rachel, I know I'm probably the last person you want to speak to right now. But I want you to know that everything I said to you is true, I can't have infected you, because I couldn't have been infected in the first place. I've never put myself in a situation where I could have been so it must be a mistake. Do you understand? It's a mistake and I'm going to prove it." His voice took on a desperate edge as he continued.

"Listen to me Rachel, I know you're hurting, you're confused and frightened. I know these things because I feel the same, but believe me everything will be okay, just hang in there and you'll see, I promise I'll make things right." His voice trailed off as he spoke, wishing more than anything that he could see her beautiful face. "I love you." He whispered softly as he hung up.

After the call he laid thinking of how unfair life was, up until yesterday he'd spent his life living as a blue lighter. This was the light that the majority of the words population displayed, the light of the untested. There was no stigma attached to this state, some people would carry the blue light for the rest of their lives. There was nothing wrong with this; in fact the only legally required test occurred when you wanted to take an intimate relationship further, or to produce children.

As the world laws stated, due to the aggressive nature of Aids Variant one, it was a crime to kiss, capitulate or reside together as a couple until a green light status was achieved. The crime for flaunting the rules was clear and unforgiving; the immediate termination of the law breakers. The World Party had created these laws in response to the threat of the aids virus that sprang up after the "Final War". This new virus was able to be passed through minimal contact of bodily fluids, not just through the blood. The amount of saliva it took to peck someone on the lips was enough to transfer it and it struck fear into the hearts of the world.

The world's population already severely reduce following the war continued to be decimated by the spread of the insidious disease. These were dark times for the surviving humans, men, women and children were hunted down and killed by vigilantes desperate to eradicate the disease. Homosexuals and lesbians were ritually tortured, humiliated and killed as the blame for this new horror was laid at their feet. Even now it was considered a capital crime to participate in same sex relationships; although it was known these things still went on in secret.

It was at this turning point in humanity's history that drastic government measures were introduced to quell the pandemic. The future as always lay with the children, and too that end the government introduced the testing program. Any couples wishing to have children had to be certified as clean before they could legally try. Prior to this millions of still born babies had horrified the emerging world, their emancipated forms ravaged by the virus while still developing in their mothers womb.

The testing program was a resounding success and over the years it had evolved into the current world system, where a child was fitted with a wrist light at the age of 12 showing that he or she was untested; a blue lighter. The fitting of a child's wrist light had become a celebration within families, marking their passage towards adult hood. Originally the wrist lights had three different states, blue was untested, red was positive and green was clean.

It wasn't until a few years after the light system had been introduced that the segregation directive was put in place. Although testing was having a dramatic effect on the reduction of still borne children, there was still a fear from government scientists that the Variant 1 virus could mutate again and become airborne. This fear was what drove the government to create the new camps, where red lights were rounded up and kept together to further control the virus. It also gave government scientists a continuous supply of human subjects so that medical tests and trials might halt its proliferation.

At this point the amber light was added to the wrist indicators, this meant that you had been found positive but were within your grace period, a gesture of good will from the government before you were taken to the camps. Prior to that if you were found positive you were gone, whisked away without the slightest hesitation. Although many people protested the addition of the amber light, plenty of others hailed it as a return to a more compassionate way of thinking. After all just because someone was infected didn't mean they weren't still human, that they no longer felt or cared for any family that they might have. Forty Eight Hours to say goodbye wasn't long, but it was better than nothing.

'For thirty years I've waited,' he thought, anger beginning to pulse through his veins. 'Waited until I found the one person that I knew was my soul mate and then this.' Maurice slammed his clenched fists down on the sofa, shaking with barely controlled emotion. His mind was like a broken record, repeating the same things over and over again never reaching an answer. Of course he'd met other girls that he'd liked, but had never felt strongly enough about them to take that final step.

The test itself was viewed as a major commitment, more so than marriage had ever been; it was meant to be for life. He couldn't help but feel cheated, he'd stayed pure and resolute for thirty long years. Not so much as a kiss or a peck had he allowed himself, the closest thing to physical passion a hug or embrace. Yet now that he'd found the one his life was essentially over, destroyed before it had even begun. Round and round his restless thoughts ran through his confused head, sometimes he was angry and other times more upset.

His music had done little to settle him as frustration and anger continued to boil deep inside. Dragging himself from the sofa he trudged back into his bedroom. First he kicked the weights then slowly picked them up, his face fixed in a permanent scowl as he began to pump iron. With each heartfelt lift he felt his nervous tension beginning to drain, the clang of the weights and his steady breathing relaxing him. He worked the hardest he had for a long time, making full use of his nervous energy and disturbed state of mind. After a full hours workout he decided to give it a rest and took a hot shower. The water felt good, very good in fact as the warm soapy liquid frothed over his tired body.

He felt better than before as he dried off and threw on his dressing gown. At least his mind seemed to have eased up a bit, the merry-go-round of doubts and fear reduced to a much quieter murmur. With a much calmer state of mind he logged onto the net, researching as much as possible about the virus.

He didn't see this as an admission of infection, but his fastidious mind wouldn't let him continue blind. There was plenty of information on the government websites regarding the virus. The prognosis was bleak but he continued to read, believing that if he at least knew the symptoms then he would have a fighting chance. Generally within a year of contracting the virus, there was an almost complete break down of a humans anti body system, with the white blood cells becoming almost non existent. In this weakened state if a human lived for more than a year after this with no natural defences then they were considered an exception to the rule.

He read reams of information about the effects, and the symptoms but in regards to treatment there was very little information. The government was testing new strategies and drugs against Variant 1 but nothing had proved effective. He then searched for more information on the segregation camps, they actually didn't seem that bad; more like big hospitals with nice gardens, 3d sets, games and activities for the in-patients. Even so as he read the camps information site, he couldn't help but replace the word patients with inmates.

'Maurice get a grip, you know you haven't got the virus, stop panicking,' he snarled at himself. Holding his head in his hands for a moment as he furiously rubbed his face; wishing he could clear his mind. Fat chance of that he thought as he made a ham sandwich.

After he'd eaten he took a couple of sleeping tablets; one of the perks of working long shifts in the hospital services and fell into his single bed. He set his alarm for 8 Am although he didn't think he'd be able to sleep all the way through. Despite his worries sleep came quickly and he was soon lost to the world.

Many hours later he started awake to the shrill whistle of his alarm; he almost couldn't believe it as he stared at his clock. He'd slept for fifteen hours straight, 'geeze I must have needed that,' he thought. He felt decidedly better this morning the rest doing him good despite his situation. He dressed himself eagerly wanting more than anything to get to the appointment and prove that he was clean.

CHAPTER 4

At half past he called a hover cab, and began the journey through the busy morning rush. The cabby a youngish girl with bright green hair, regarded him with veiled eyelids as she saw his light. Her welcoming smile lost its gloss and her lips set into a hard straight line. For a moment Maurice thought she was going to drive off, but then she seemed to change her mind.

"Get in," she grunted and Maurice gladly complied, he could cope with rudeness as long as he made it too his appointment. He arrived at the clinic with ten minutes to spare and settled down in the quiet waiting room. There was a middle aged woman of thirty sitting in a chair opposite, with a young boy of about ten. The boy stared at Maurice's amber light with undisguised intrigue, until his mother scolded him softly telling him it was rude to stare. The other occupants of the waiting room pointedly ignored him effectively employing Maurice's old trick. Maurice resigned himself to being ignored, watching wall clock as it counted down the seconds till his appointment.

Finally there was a beep from reception and the wall's digital display displayed his name.

"Mr Williams, Appt with Dr Shelly Douglas, 2nd door on the left."

He stood up and made his way down towards the doctor's office, painfully conscious of the attention his passage attracted from the other patients. Walking with his chest pushed out he made his way down the corridor and knocked on the doctor's door.

"Come," he heard a women call and entered the room. The room was small and minimalistic, radiating a cold clinical detachment. The doctor was young, thin and extremely business like. Her tight black suite seemed to crush any essence of femininity out her, leaving her looking more like a stern head mistress. She looked Maurice up and down as he entered the room, her thin lips almost disappearing.

"So you must be Maurice," her voice was surprisingly soft in contrast to her business like demeanour and went some way to put him at ease as he sat opposite her.

"Thanks for seeing me at such short notice Doctor, as you can see I don't have much time left." Maurice gestured at his wrist light before looking back at her expectantly. There was a brief awkward silence and then she spoke.

"My secretary informed me that you've come for a blood test today, which I am more than capable of carrying out." Maurice couldn't help but smile as her soft lilting voice soothed him, "however," and her toned deepened slightly, "I must say that I think what you are doing is an exercise in futility." Maurice opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off as she raised her thin hand.

"Mr Williams do not misunderstand me, I do not doubt you fully believe there has been some kind of error or mistake, but in all my years as a qualified doctor I have never found this to be the case. The equipment within the Purity centres is calibrated and tested then retested on a daily basis."

"Doctor Douglas, I know that it's hard to believe, I couldn't believe it myself but I know there's been a mistake, there can't be any other reason. If I had any doubt then I wouldn't be here." He trailed off as he ran out of steam not knowing what else to say. Doctor Douglas smiled a wan smile at him, a look that spoke of many other failed tests she'd carried out in the past.

"Okay Mr Williams, I honestly do hope you're right and that it is a mistake, I really do." She spoke with a deep sincerity, and he instinctively knew she meant what she said. The matter of payment was completed as she took his card and authorised the 5k transfer from her desk side terminal. Handing the card back to her patient, she wished him luck and then initiated the test.

She drew off a small vial of blood from his arm and placed it into a testing machine at the end of the room. The machine itself was no bigger than a domestic fridge and hummed slightly as the door closed assessing the contents of his blood. Maurice sat in his chair, his thick fingers tapping on the leather arm rest.

The Doctor studied the man who sat before her with great interest, she had done many re-tests in her time at the clinic and had no doubt that the result of this one would be the same as all the others. Yet there was still a small hope that he could be different, that the system had made a mistake and that she would be the one to deliver him from whatever fate the red lighters had to endure. She doubted it though and kept a lid on her hope, smiling at him as kindly as she could. She'd never held the hatred most of earth's population seemed to share for the infected, her own brothers plight had seen to that. Even now the thought of him brought a great sadness to her, his test results had broken her heart.

After a while a small green light activated on the unit, and the door clicked as it automatically swung open. Doctor Douglas went to the machine, pressed a button on the control panel and tore off the print out. Maurice waited nervously as time once again took on the consistency of treacle. She slowly took her seat in front of him, and raised her emerald coloured eyes to his. He knew the result before she spoke, the compassion within her face betraying the information she held.

He hardly knew what words were spoken after that, his comprehension lost in the emotional storm that raged in his mind. Standing unsteadily from his chair, he moved woodenly towards the door. With out a single word he stumbled out, oblivious to his surroundings. The world had once again taken on a sense of unreality, as if the whole thing were one big nightmare. What hopes he'd held were dashed, empty, crushed, there was no fight left within. He knew that in a few hours he would have to leave everything behind, and take that final trip to the segregation camps.

He wasn't sure he could do it, the thought of leaving everyone he cared for behind was too much. How could he exist on earth without Rachel, the thought brought physical pain to him as he slumped against the clinic's outside wall. Yet there was nothing he could do, every logical path had been explored leaving only desolate acceptance of his fate. Unless, suicide, the word black and twisted entered his mind and left just as quickly. He couldn't, wouldn't do something like that, while he had life there was at least some hope.

Crushed as he was the survival instinct within Maurice was strong and his moment of weakness at least provided some clarity. No matter what happened he knew acceptance was the only thing that was going to bring him through it. There was no point questioning when it had happened, or how it happened, the only thing that mattered was that it had happened. He couldn't blame himself for Rachel, he didn't know he'd been infected and if he had would never have taken the test.

Indignation screamed within his brain as he considered accepting his fate. Questions that couldn't stay unanswered shouted within his soul. Even if he had somehow become infected, when had he ever done anything that could have put Rachel in danger? There had never been any moment of weakness in that sense; the only intimacy they'd ever shared was through contact of skin.

The thought of Rachel gave him purpose, a clarity that attached itself to one single need. He must see her again, no matter her reaction he knew he had to see her. There was just over two hours left before his light became red and he intended to use that time. Trying her mobile he was once again greeted with the frustrating mechanical sound of the voice mail. Grunting with frustration he hailed a hover cab and made the journey straight to her domicile.

He knew deep down she probably wouldn't be there; but he had to try. The Cabby a middle aged Asian fellow charged him double the normal fare, and when Maurice complained out of a sense of righteousness he received a tirade of Amber related abuse culminating in a finger as the man drove away. Shaking his head sadly Maurice made his way to her domicile, at last he stood in front of the smooth metallic door. He had no idea if she was in there, even if she was he didn't know what to say.

After a moments hesitation he rang the door bell, the buzzing sound echoing emptily inside the domicile. Nothing, no movement or sound of life answered him. Of course on some level he'd expected this, but the reality burned a bitter hole in his tortured heart. He tried again holding the buzzer down for a much longer time, silently willing the obstinate door to slide open. There was no change as the metallic exterior held steadfast, the shiny surface seeming to mock him as he waited.

Slowly and with heavy heart Maurice turned away, retracing his steps as he retreated from her door. On impulse he tried to call her again, his final attempt before he threw in the towel. The sound of her ring tone stopped him in his tracks, 'dam that girl,' he thought a smile beginning to touch his lips, 'she never goes anywhere without her phone.'

He sprinted back to the door and banged on the unyielding surface, until eventually an annoyed shout from the neighbours curbed him. He was sweating from the knocking and leaned out to support himself with the door, his motion accidentally touching the palm lock. Unexpectedly there was a click and whir as the door smoothly slid open. Maurice walked cautiously into her domicile, Rachel never left her door unlocked, where the hell was she.

He walked into her lounge filled with trepidation, maybe she'd been burgled or worse? There was no sign of a struggle though, everything as he'd remembered it, a chaotic symphony of ordered colour and light. The quiet domicile held no trace of her, maybe she was with her sister? The notion solidified as it formed, that would have been her next logical action. Moving further inside he became convinced that was the truth, she must have been so distraught when she'd gone that she'd left her phone and door unlocked. It wasn't a big jump considering her state when he'd last seen her.

He called Rachel's phone again and eventually located the source, following the robotic sound to her bathroom. As he opened the door the light went out of Maurice's world and he fell to his knees screaming. His eyes couldn't comprehend what he saw, it was beyond the limits of his already stressed brain. Grunting and babbling incoherently he forced his wary eyes back to the bath. She was still there looking back at him, dull lifeless eyes tearing into his tortured soul. Rachel was dead, of that there could be no mistake.

Whimpering he slowly stumbled forward to get a better look of his departed love. Her body was naked and limp, half submerged under the now cold water. Lying on the floor near the bath lay a Stanley blade and a half empty bottle of vodka. He stared in horror at the deep ugly slashes perverting her arms, her soft flesh ragged and raw. The bathwater was an ocean of gore, sharply contrasting against her ice white skin. He wretched as he stared at her, his stomach cramping painfully.

Overcoming his fear Maurice rushed toward her and grabbed her naked shoulders. They were cold so very cold to touch, her warmth had fled long ago along with her life. It was useless but he couldn't help himself, his experienced hands reaching instinctively to her neck as he felt for a pulse. For a brief moment he felt a flutter and frantically pulled her towards him, her corpse splashing rouge everywhere. 'Please be alive, please,' he whispered his mind refusing to accept the truth. With a great heft he pulled her from the water, cradling her body close as he carefully set her on the floor. Without a pause he began CPR, pounding her chest with grief driven fists.

He moved his lips to hers and breathed life into her lungs, then fell back scrambling away crying. Rachel's lips were ice; cold dead fleshy strips of meat. For longer than he could remember he'd dreamed about kissing those lips but now even that moment of joy had been stolen from him. With silent tears of frustration pouring down his cheeks he moved to her again, pulling her body into his so that they were one. Rocking slowly he stroked her hair, whispering words of unheard comfort to her. There was nothing now, nothing in the world except him and his grief.

How long he held her for he didn't know, time no longer had any conscious meaning to him. For all he cared the world could end and it wouldn't matter, nothing mattered anymore now she was gone. It was as he sat there consumed in pain that he noticed it, something glistening on the bottom of her bathroom shelf.

CHAPTER 5

He ignored it at first, refusing to move, not wanting anything to disturb him. It was no good though, his curiosity bested his resolve and he moved towards it. Gently laying her body to the floor, he walked to the shelf. There was a folded piece of paper and a memory crystal lying on top of it. With his heart thundering in his chest he took the items, dropping down stiffly next to Rachel.

With trembling fingers he opened the paper, reading the message from beyond the grave.

"I don't know who will read this, but please give it to my family. I am so sorry, that I had to leave you. You must understand that I had no choice. My boyfriend Maurice and soon to be light partner infected me with the V2 and I just can't face the camp. It's better this way I know you probably won't understand but I'd rather leave now well and healthy.

You must understand I love you all so much, but I have to go now. I can't fight this horrible disease I'm just not strong enough and the thought of suffering before I die scares me so much. I love you sis, mum and don't worry I'm going to be with dad now."

Maurice gasped in anguish as he felt her pain through the paper. He could see the tear stained ink, her soul laid bare before his watering eyes. Steeling himself he continued to read.

"Please don't mourn for me, its better this way at least I get to go in my own time with my dignity in tact. There is just one thing that I need to ask you, please do this favour for me if you can. If you get to read this letter before Maurice is taken to segregation then please pass on the memory crystal to him."

Here the letter trailed off, her normally neat handwriting rough and scrawled, punctuated by pen holes thrust through the blotted paper. Unable to read any more he stood up, helpless to stop the nervous excitement inside. Gripping the crystal hard within his hand he walked into the living room, the laser cut edges digging deep into his flesh. With a pounding heart he sat on her sofa, staring at the innocuous crystal perched on his palm.

An internal battle waged deep within his mind, on the one hand he needed to know what the message said, but on the other the fear of what she might have to say terrified him. There had been no reconciliation between them after the test, and he imagined the message she'd left wouldn't exactly be comforting. Already overwhelmed with so much pain and loss he knew that he couldn't cope with any more hurt.

It was no good, there could only ever be one outcome and he knew it. The chance to see her alive one more time was too tempting, throwing caution to the wind he placed the memory crystal into the 3d set. He sat down and took a deep shaky breath as he readied himself for the worse. There was the familiar hiss of static as the machine accessed the crystal, firing its exploratory lasers deep within its depths.

At first there was nothing then almost hesitantly threads of concentrated light grew into the air, spreading and reaching out until they formed a ghostly image of Rachel. She stood in front of her mantel piece glowingly angelically, her baleful eyes seeming to stare out at him across the abyss of death. As he watched sorrow filled him once again as he beheld her untidy hair, dirty hands and face. She moved slowly closer to the camera, her eyes startling clear and blue.

"Maurice, if you're hearing this then you've come to my domicile and found me, or my family have done as I asked and given you the crystal. If it's the latter then I'll save you wondering and tell you that I'm dead by now." Her voice was cold and cruel leaving no doubt of her hatred.

"If it's the former then you already know I'm dead. Maurice I want you to know that I have never in all my life felt the way I did about you. When I was with you everything was different, no matter if I was shattered, or down you could always cheer me up and I loved you so much for that." Her lip quivered as she spoke her heart felt words, followed by a single tear that rolled down her dirt stained cheek.

"I would have done anything for you Maurice Williams, anything at all, I want you to know that. I want you to know that I believe in soul mates, and that you were my soul mate." Her sweet face began to change as she continued, her eyes grew hard and her breath began to snort through flared nostrils.

"But, I was wrong, you betrayed me, you took my love for you and corrupted it. No one else but you Maurice caused my death. I hope that you live Mau, I hope you go to the camp and suffer horribly and I hope if there is a hell that you go there when you die." As she spoke these horrible words, she began to sob falling to her knees as the automatic image tracker followed her. She looked up once more from blood shot eyes, her grief stricken face white and consumed with hate. With a final look of pure revulsion she pressed the remote and her image winked out of existence.

It was worse than he'd feared, for one short moment at the beginning of her speech he'd dared believe that she might have forgiven him. That tiny piece of hope quickly shattered a short while after, the aggression and hatred he'd witnessed seared into his being. There was nothing left now, nothing left to hope for or aim for even the forgiveness he'd yearned beyond his reach. Once again the thought of suicide reared its blackened head, to climb into her bath and end his life using the same method felt almost symbolically right.

Yet it went against his very foundations, he'd never questioned his life before it wasn't and never would be part of his nature. His ordered mind reeled against the idea, even with nothing left he just couldn't bring himself to do it. After a while he gave up, falling backward into onto sofa he let his heavy eyes fall closed succumbing to his stress induced fatigue.

CHAPTER 6

He was rudely awakened a few hours later as the sounds of shouting and loud footsteps filled her domicile. His eyes flickered opened slowly focussing on the grave faces of two armed police peering down at him. A moment later a larger man came into Maurice's field of vision. He spoke with authority in a clipped commanding tone that discouraged disobedience.

"Stand up red lighter, you are in direct violation of government directive 105." Maurice's confusion increased as the man spoke, comprehension finally dawning as he noticed his brightly growing red wrist.

'I wonder how long I was out for,' thought Maurice, struggling up into a slouching position. He looked up at the commanding officer, trying to see his eyes but they were hidden by the shaded visor.

"Come on move it, you're committing a crime just being here, do you know that?" Maurice stood up waiting nervously, as the officers circled him like hungry sharks.

"I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep, everything has been so stressful and I."

"I don't want to hear your sob story boy," interrupted the sergeant, "all I care about is that." He pointed his gloved hand at Maurice's light, his face a picture of annoyance. "Have you any idea the amount of paper work your little escapade has caused me? No off course you don't," he continued shaking his head in disgust. "I'll be lucky if I get home before nightfall now due to your rampage through my neighbourhood and if that weren't enough there's another dead one in the bath."

Maurice hardly thought that a rampage was an accurate description of his behaviour, but pushed his indignation down as he tried to placate this man.

"I'm sorry sir, I shouldn't have fallen asleep."

"Dam right you shouldn't have, I've been tracking your wrist beacon for the last hour since it went red" growled the police sergeant, advancing towards Maurice. "Now listen to me boy, I know that girl in there killed herself. So don't you worry about that, I've dealt with enough amber related suicides in my time to see that. That's another reason we've got bloody paperwork coming out of are arses and can't concentrate on real people who need our help."

He stomped backwards and forwards as his tirade continued, a man who would have no doubt found his calling on the parade ground.

"What I need from you is a verbal statement, here and now so I can get this whole sordid mess sorted without having to haul your sorry ass down the station." Maurice nodded his assent, wanting the horrible man out of his face.

"Good boy," muttered the sergeant as if he was rewarding a clever dog. "Smith, take a verbal from him while me and Jones get some visuals of the bathroom." The Sergeant and Jones headed towards the bathroom, leaving Maurice alone with Officer Smith. He pressed a control on the side of his helmet and the dark visor slid up revealing a boyish faced man.

"If you'd please take a seat sir, I just need to ask you a few questions about what happened here." The demeanour of Smith was a lot pleasanter than the Sergeant and he readily complied. "Ok sir," said Smith sitting next to Maurice, "I'm going to ask you a series of questions, which will be recorded into this machine here." He held up a small palm sized black box. He then pressed a small button which activated a green light on the device.

"For the record please state your full name and age," requested Smith.

"Maurice Williams, 30."

"Thank you Maurice, now can you tell me what you were doing in this domicile?" Maurice explained how he had come to see Rachel, re-telling their purity test ordeal, and all that had occurred afterwards. Once he'd finished being questioned, Maurice was left to sit stewing on the sofa while Smith consulted with his commanding officer. After a while they all came back into the room, their faces once again covered by their protective visors.

"Right then boy," began the sergeant, "I just need to play this to confirm your story and then we should be done." He rubbed his hands expectantly, as he moved towards Rachel's holo-set the prospect of finishing visibly exciting him. Once again Maurice was put through a living hell, the words of his beloved ripping into him for a second time. The second time round it was no better, his distress made all the worse by his unwanted audience. Eventually it was over and the sergeant motioned for him to stand up.

"Well now Mr Williams," he said, giving his title the connotation of an insult, "looks like you were naughty boy eh?" His colleagues snickered at his jibe, as they all moved menacingly towards him. Maurice instinctively moved back as they approached, jumping as the sergeant's strong hand clamped on his shoulder.

"Now then boy there's nothing to fear from us, were going to take you to the segregation bound speeder line, that's all. What you did is between you and your conscience"

Maurice tried his best to ignore the implied guilt, hating them for it but unable to do anything. Instead he allowed himself to be led outside and placed into the back of the waiting hover car. After all what else could he have done? Along the way the sergeant informed him that he'd be going to camp Omega 1, one of the major segregation centres for the infected.

It was a short hop to the station, the driver making full use of the emergency lights as he whipped through the busy skyways. Arriving at the station Smith was assigned to be his keeper escorting him right up to the turn style gates. There he was greeted by two burly homeland security agents, the job hardened faces grim and mirthless. Without wasting any time they took finger prints, retina scans and a blood sample, recording everything into the turn style's terminal. Moments later and he had been ushered through, the whole whirlwind process taking less than five minutes.

The inside of the station was deceivingly normal, the only telling signs of its function were the militarised guard posts dotted around the waiting areas. The watching guards tracked the infected movements, their high powered guns eager and menacing. Looking around Maurice noticed the distinct lack of women; surely the camps didn't enforce some kind of draconian gender separation. Absurd as the idea was he instinctively knew that it was true; his already frayed nerves reaching a new level of wariness at the thought.

Most of the other detainees were either sobbing with their head clasped in their hands, or were staring desolately into the distance not seeming to see or hear their fellow men. Was this it? Had all the effort he'd put into his life led to this one point of damnation? He refused to believe it, no matter what happened he wouldn't give up hope as some of the people here clearly had. Choosing one of the many empty benches he sat down and waited, trying hard to marshal his already tested strength. He didn't have a long wait as an armoured speeder whooshed into the quiet station.

Dozens of homeland security men disembarked their black uniforms crisp and intimidating. They immediately shouted orders at the small crowd, cajoling and herding people into the carriages. It didn't take long for them to load up, the small number of detainees making the process quick and easy. Maurice even managed to secure a whole compartment to himself, settling back in the unaccustomed solitude. Looking out of the window he watched the steel grey skies and country side flash by as he sped towards an unknown future.

CHAPTER 7

The journey took about an hour which meant they'd come a fair distance considering their speed. The exact location of the segregation camps was classified from the general population, as much a measure to protect those who lived near by as the residents inside. He stared out of his window intently as they pulled into the station, an imposing grey sign displayed the words

" **CAMP OMEGA 1**

in bold black capitals.

As soon as they stopped more guards appeared, boarding the speeder in military formation. Maurice along with the other passengers was quickly unloaded, the security force moving swiftly and professionally among them. Moments after his feet had hit the station floor the speeder departed, heading back in the direction it had come from. As they were herded towards another turnstile Maurice saw another two speeders pull away on separate lines, the mammoth vehicles cycling up to full velocity within seconds of leaving the station.

The guards pushed and shoved the detainees as they were funnelled through the turnstile. Some of the ambers turned scowling at the guards and one even looked like he was going to protest but didn't. Maurice kept his head down watching his feet, he knew enough about aggression to not draw their attention to him. Deep down he still hoped these guards were the exception to the rule, transport operatives who operated outside of the main camps rules.

His hand print was taken again as he went through the gate, a green light on the guards terminal confirming that he was who they thought he was. Moving On from the gate they entered an open roofed walk way, surrounded on both sides by thick reinforced concrete walls. An uncomfortable feeling of dread grew in Maurice as he walked, the regularly spaced machine gun turrets dotting the walls only adding to his unease. Walking ten abreast they made their way down the wide walk way, the silent sentinels watching and tracking their movements.

After a while the path took a sharp right turn and two towering gates appeared in front of them. The gigantic steel gates were enormous, as if giants had once walked down this very same path. More machine gunners held position atop the mammoth structures, high powered laser sights locked on the unarmed prey below. The guard leading the party raised his hand bringing the procession to halt.

"Open the gate," he shouted. Two men peered out of control booths that perched at either side of the gates, closely scrutinising the men below. Satisfied that everything was in order they moved back inside and moments later a robotic voice began a count down.

"5....4.....3.....2...1...."

On the final number both men inserted their key cards simultaneously, the dual entry a built in security measure to protect the gates. From deep underground there came a heavy thud and then a loud clunk. At first nothing seemed to happen but then a multitude of heavy clanking echoed down the walkway, as huge gear wheels began to move the doors. They moved painfully slow and it took a good ten minutes before they came to a stop, their impossible thickness becoming visible for all to see.

Maurice almost gasped aloud as he examined the doors, they had to be nearly a meter thick and from what he could see constructed of solid steel. However as they'd opened he'd noticed a much smaller door set to in a recess to the right. He guessed that might be an entrance for the guards, surely they wouldn't have to go through the rigmarole of waiting for the main gate to open on a daily basis. His notion grew as they passed between the gates, walking beneath powerful and power hungry machinery. The idea that their entrance had been for show felt right, a display no doubt designed to reinforce their feelings of captivity.

Unfortunately it had the desired effect, the group becoming even more subdued than they already were. Upon crossing the gates threshold Maurice was treated to the first glimpse of his new home. It was breathtaking in all the wrong ways; the ten metre high wall that had penned them in as they approached extended beyond the gate and ended in a large half circle. Squatting within the half circle was a huge castle like building, dark old and brooding. The ridiculously high walls of the enclosure were topped with razor wire and more turrets as if the height alone wasn't enough to dissuade most budding escapees.

Maurice felt his heart quicken as he heard the rumble of the steel gates begin their slow journey to closure. This wasn't right, where were the gardens, the chalet like living quarters and the general atmosphere of well being that he'd seen on the internet. His eyes darted around the enclosure looking for some sign of what he'd seen; there was none.

Standing in front of that dirty grey building he'd never felt more alone. He knew he wasn't a patient here helping the government in their good fight against the virus; he was a prisoner. As the thought flickered in his mind a man strode out of the building, walking confidently to face the prisoners. The guards immediately lined them up, ensuring they were all in position before he arrived. He was dressed smartly in a blue business suit all spit and polish with ruler ironed creases. Coming to a halt in front of them he surveyed each of them before sharply clicking his fingers.

The guards immediately saluted and as one shouted, "Detainees you will now listen to Head Warden Davies." The guard's loud chorus made Maurice jump and his attention was immediately focussed upon the small stout man who stood in front of them. He couldn't have been over 5'5 but held himself rod straight, somehow managing to give the impression that he was much taller. His bushy black eyebrows wiggled as he examined them again, the humour of the motion lost in the bleak environment.

For a moment he turned away from them and then spun around theatrically, fixing them with a intense scowl. His stare made all the more intimidating by his military styled crew cut, greying now but still well cared for. Coughing with practised deliberateness he cleared his throat and then spoke.

"Firstly let me welcome you all to your new home, my name is Warden Davies and I'm in charge of these facilities. The compound you see behind me will be the last place you'll ever see before you leave this existence so it's your own interest to make your stay as pleasant as possible." He paused as he spoke, slowly letting his eyes drift over their faces.

Maurice instantly disliked the man there was something about him he couldn't stand. After he was satisfied he had their complete attention he continued.

"Now if you follow my rules then your stay will be that much more bearable. On the other hand if you choose to break my laws then" He trailed off again, an almost convincing look of sadness settling on his lined face. "Well let's just say break my laws and you too will be broken."

He turned back to the castle as he finished clicking his fingers once again. The snap sounded much too loud in the deathly quiet of courtyard and the noise set Maurice further on edge. The prisoners waited watching in confusion as an emancipated figure appeared at the entrance to the building. He was shadowed on either side by two hulking guards who physically dragging across the rough floor.

Moaning in pain the man's eyes rolled back in his head, his neck lolling unnaturally to the side. His gaunt body was malnourished and way too thin, covered by bruised tissue paper like skin. Plugging his mouth was a dirty gag, the rough material pulled tight against his split and cracked lips. The granite like guards held his manacled arms under his armpits, half dragging, half lifting him towards the group. Naked except for a pair of dirty white boxer shorts the pitiful figure was paraded in front of them. He struggled futilely against his captors as they held him, twisting and turning his small chest heaving with the effort.

As the guards reached Warden Davies they threw their prisoner onto his knees, his broken body collapsing on the unforgiving floor. The warden looked at the man as one might view a rat or something nasty on the sole of your shoe. He turned to the crowd again, an expression of crazed righteousness painted on his face.

"I often find an example gives more meaning to my words than my voice ever could, so please take a good look at what happens to people who break my laws." Maurice stared in horror at the poor shivering wreck of human life on the floor. It was beyond comprehension what they'd done to him, how could the government sanction anything like this? Barely contained anger grew in his breast as Maurice stood frozen unable to help, every fibre of his being crying out in indignation.

A wave of horror spread through the crowd as they watched the man's suffering, each prisoner deep in their own thoughts. Smiling Warden Davies eyed the group, satisfied the show had had the desired effect.

"Now you may believe I'm a cruel man, but that assumption couldn't be further away from the truth. In fact, discounting our honourable leader Lord Smyth, I am one of the fairest men you'll ever have the pleasure to meet. Why the very thought of mistreating someone out of callousness or spite well," he bowed his head his head at this point, his podgy face scrunched in emotional agony. "It really would be too much to bear. Know that I will never treat you unjustly or act through unwarranted anger."

He paused again at this point, his face suddenly growing solemn as he prepared to deliver his climatic line. "However if any of you dare to cross me, well I'll bring so much retribution on your sorry asses that you'll wish for the day the aids virus ends your life." His face transformed once again as he finished speaking, a smug smile plastered on his lips. "Oh and please enjoy your stay gentleman, and remember what you do here today may well help your country tomorrow!"

With that the man executed a military turn, stopping briefly to issue a cruel kick to the man on the floor before marching smartly away towards the castle. He snapped his fingers as he walked, the movement bringing immediate action from the attending man mountains as they grabbed the moaning man and followed.

CHAPTER 8

The crowd exploded into frantic conversation as the warden left, hysteria and fear beginning to take hold. Most of the detainees had never witnessed violence of that degree; it was a culture shock that had destroyed their quiet passivity. The din rose steadily as they continued to speak, each man hoping to find some comfort in their disgusted outrage. Just when it seemed like they might revolt the guards stepped in. Bellowing in no nonsense voices they quelled any resistance before it had chance to begin, their brutish size and night sticks discouraging the most ardent within the group.

Falling silent they sank to new lows as a cold blanket of depression fell over them. Whatever misconceptions they had prior to arriving at the camp had been destroyed, the reality of the grim place being so much worse. With no resistance the experienced guards herded them into a single file line, frog marching them across the wide courtyard to a small side entrance. The entrance led into a barren changing room lined with uniform hooks and benches. They were commanded to strip and to leave any personal artefacts on the benches along with their clothes. Everyone did as ordered; fear of retributions fuelling their compliant actions.

No one spoke as they undressed, a heavy uncomfortable silence filling the small room. Maurice removed his clothes slowly, each item he removed adding to his sense of injustice. By the time he'd finished he was surrounded by a group of naked men. It was uncomfortable to say the least, and the on-looking guards took every opportunity to throw homosexual related insults at them. Once they were satisfied that the men had all undressed, they commanded them to move through a door at the far end of the room.

The door opened on to an enclosed chamber. Set high into the right hand side of the chamber sat a large viewing double glazed window. Maurice followed the herd into the room, grimacing as the door slammed shut behind them and locked. They were trapped, the tubular room suddenly feeling much smaller as the stone walls closed in. Maurice could feel a hot panic rising inside, his fear reflected in the eyes of the other prisoners.

The guards were no where to be seen, having forced them into the confined room they had all vanished leaving the prisoners alone and trapped. Maurice began to sweat beads of cold perspiration rolling down his dark brow.

"Where are the guards?" Someone shouted, breaking the festering silence. The cry was immediately taken up by others, each and every man voicing their fears and anger in uncontrolled hysteria. Maurice had seen this before, the group mind raging out of control the individuals reserve lost in the storm of the whole. It reminded him of a riot he'd once attended by one of the Z section groups. He couldn't recall the cause now but no doubt it was to do with their housing conditions; it generally was where the Z's were concerned.

He'd stepped out of his ambulance that day and entered another world. Men, women and children gone crazy; with no concern for their own well being they were throwing themselves at the security forces, breaking and wearing down the police line through sheer numbers alone. It was like that now except this time he wasn't an observer, this time he was stuck at the heart of the storm, susceptible to every surge of fear and anger that pulsed through the hysterical crowd. Maurice stumbled as he was forced backwards, his footing slipping on the tiled floor. For one awful moment he thought he was going to fall but managed to steady himself against the wall.

A wet thud and muffled yelp to his left hand side told a different story as someone not so lucky fell to the floor. The pushing and shoving continued as fear ruled the room, peoples humanity lost in their terror. Without warning a loud burst of static blasted into the room, the sound closely followed by a man's voice.

"Stand where you are and do not move, you are about to be de loused by a chemical spray. You must hold your breath once the process has started, failure to do so may result in death." There was an unnerving whine of feedback and then the intercom clicked off again. The already precarious atmosphere in the chamber exploded, people rushed past each other scrambling at the closed door shouting and screaming to be let out.

Maurice stayed where he was, although he was scared, he couldn't see the point of trying to get out when it was clear they were trapped. He watched the desperation build at the entrance as people fought each other, pushing and shoving at the immovable door. Maurice felt he should intervene he seemed to be the only person not caught up in the mindless panic. Before he could act the speaker crackled back into life, a cold robotic voice filling the chamber.

"Decontamination in Progress," almost immediately there was a loud hiss and clouds of gas began to spew out from small jets in the roof. Maurice turned back to the entrance took a deep breath and shouted.

"Stop it all of you, you need to hold your breath now it's started!" His voice boomed within the small chamber, echoing off the stone walls. The prisoners reacted instantly, spreading out from the entrance and taking deep breaths, preparing for the rapidly falling mist. Satisfied that he had done all he could for them, Maurice took a large breath of his own, and turned to stare at the viewing window where he'd noticed a glowing count down clock. The room quickly filled with chemicals, the noxious gasses swirling and bubbling in front of his face. Maurice could barely see the glowing counter now, just managing to make out its dim display showing a sickly 25.

His eyes were burning in the smog and he had to close them against the chemical irritants. Counting down in his mind Maurice continued to hold his breath, his lungs burning painfully in his chest. He reached zero and risked a glance, nothing had changed the room was still full of gas. Panicking he wondered if there'd been a mistake but suddenly he heard the sound of powerful fans whirring to life. Relief filled Maurice as the gas began to vanish, the vacuum like fans making short work of it.

Everyone was still there, deeply gasping for air. Near by there was a man clutching his throat and rasping, his bloodshot eyes bulging in his head.

'He must have inhaled some of the chemicals' thought Maurice as he approached. As he came closer the man fell to his knee's coughing violently, a fine spray of blood flew from his mouth.

The intercom clicked again, "prisoners do not approach that man, he will be treated, now turn around and line up and face the exit." Maurice was torn; he was a trained paramedic and might be able to help the struggling man. Unfortunately his nerve gave out as one of the guards gestured angrily at him through the glass. Meekly Maurice joined the rest of the prisoners, trying his best to ignore the gasps and moans from behind him.

A moment later and the door in front of them opened, revealing two more armed guards.

"Come into this room and dress in the clothing that's been provided, you will be given a number as you pass through the door which corresponds to your peg. Do not forget this number as this is your new designation." Maurice was near the back of the queue, and as he made his way forward he heard the door behind open. Glancing back he saw two guards walk into the chamber and grab the semi conscious man, dragging him roughly out of sight.

Turning back again there was a commotion taking place at the door way. Most of the prisoners had already passed through; however just in front of him a very plump man was arguing with the guards. The man's flabby neck jiggled madly as he gesticulated, his chubby cheeks glowing red with anger.

"Now see here you two, my name is Arthur Bateman and I was a member of the Norwich city council before this calamity occurred," he pointed to his red wrist light. "Now I don't know whose orders you think your following here, or who that dam Davies fellow thinks he is but this is an outrage." The indignation in his voice rose steadily as he spoke, his portly belly jiggling up and down. "I refuse to be given a number to identify me by, as if we were no better than common crimwa...ommph."

The man's tirade was cut off mid breath, the metal butt of one guards guns slamming into his sizeable gut. He squeaked in shock and pain, swaying backwards before he fell heavily to the concrete floor. The two large guards moved over him, forcing Maurice backwards from the doorway. Arthur struggled to rise from the floor; winded and gasping for breath his arms and legs flailed like some giant overturned insect. The guards immediately moved in unison, their thick arms hooking underneath his armpits as they easily lifted the heavy man and slammed him against the wall.

"Listen to me maggot," said the senior guard, "whatever you had, or whatever you were in your previous life means nothing here. All you are is a number now, nothing more.

Do you understand?" Arthur began to snivel, his former bravado lost against the brutality of the guards.

"Yes, I er I understand, Yes I do." The guard leaned forward, his darkened visor pushing menacingly up against Arthur's head.

"Good lad, your number is 237 now get fuck out of my sight." Laughing they gave the man a hard push, almost causing him to fall over again. Without a backward glance he hurriedly located his numbered peg and pulled on the orange jump suite that was hanging there. Within seconds he was dressed and out of the door, desperate to rejoin the group before any further punishment could be visited upon him.

Maurice took his number silently and made his way towards the numbered pegs. It didn't take him long to locate 113 and he began to dress in the shiny jump suit. Humiliation burned inside as he dressed, his whole being reduced to nothing more than the number 113. Barely holding his emotions in check he finished changing, the thin synthetic material immediately growing clammy against his body. It was just one more thing to add to his list of growing discomforts as he pulled on the provided flip flops and followed the others.

Passing out of the changing room he was immediately struck by the size of the prison. In stark contrast to the changing room this area stretched out in all directions, the scale of the building dwarfing Maurice. It reminded him of a state prison documentary he'd once seen, the rows and rows of closed doors and steel walkways looking almost identical. They'd entered onto the ground level, but metal stairways ran up at regular intervals connecting to at least another five floors.

The floors were populated by uniform rows of steel grey doors, with nothing but a small glass porthole to connect the occupants to the outside world. Staring up Maurice caught a glimpse of a ghostlike visage, his face pressed up against the glass watching the newcomers intently. Maurice watched a moment and then looked away, the man's unwavering stare disquieting. The prisons design was well thought out, the mesh walkways and open staircases providing no cover to any would be escapist.

The main room was cut off by a thick wire mesh wall, its high tensile construction stretching from the high ceiling right down to the floor. Set into the wall was a heavy steel gate, manned on either side by two armour clad guards. This final security measure further served to constrict the prisoners; creating yet another barrier if one wanted to leave. As the last of the group reached this barrier, the guards inflicted their final humiliation upon them.

Methodically they began to body search each prisoner, commanding them to strip out of their newly acquired clothing. Mouths, ears, hair, and genitals were all scrutinized, then came gloved fingers roughly forced into rectums. They were thorough in their searches each guard taking their time to enjoy the power they wielded. Finally after the last man had gone through the ordeal, the guards allowed them to pass into the main prison. Herding and pushing them they forced the group through the wire mesh and into the prison proper.

Behind the mesh was worse. It hadn't seemed possible and yet it was so, the high walls and locked doors crushing inward on the waiting men. Maurice took in the incarceration with a feeling of dread, the hopelessness of his situation settling heavily upon his heart. The respite from the guards didn't last as they began to round the prisoners up. Wasting no time they quickly led them to their designated cells, opening and slamming the thick doors shut as they hurled them in.

Repeating the process over and over they made short work of them. Two guards would grab a prisoner, pushing and shoving until they reached the right door at which point they would throw him inside. Eventually Maurice was taken by the guards their strong hands gripping him. He let himself be led, cowering under their jabs and pushes knowing that resistance was futile. They marched him up the steps to the top floor, the height making him feel dizzy as he walked along the metal platform.

Reaching one of the end doors the guard pulled it open, pushing Maurice hard in the back as he did so. Off balance he slipped as he fell through the door, landing face down on the rough concrete floor to the sound of the guard's laughter. Seconds later the steel door boomed behind him as the guards slammed it shut.

CHAPTER 9

Maurice slowly rose to his knees rubbing his grazed hands, and looked around his new home. It was a sparse affair; a square concrete cell with metal bunk bed and dirty off white porcelain toilet being the main design points. It was at that moment he realised he wasn't alone, two long muscular legs hung down from the top bunk. Maurice regained his feet and approached the man offering his hand.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Maurice," he said, the man remained silent and unresponsive. His offered hand hanging there unacknowledged and after a few moments he dropped it.

'Oh great I get to share with the resident psycho,' thought Maurice as he watched the man. He was sitting immobile on the top bunk staring at Maurice intently, tracking his every movement with dark piercing eyes. Maurice felt his heart begin to pound as he stood there, his cellmate was huge and there was definitely an aura of insanity about him.

Sizing him up he guessed the man had quite a few pounds on him and was maybe slightly taller as well. The odds certainly seemed to be stacked against him and he resolved to do all he could to avoid conflict. Trying his best to smile he stood back from the man, leaning as casually as he could against the cell wall. He attempted to speak again, reaching out to his cell mate with a soft voice and carefully crafted words. It was no use; not once did he respond or drop his penetrating gaze. Time passed and with it went Maurice's strength, the stresses of the day suddenly overwhelming his flagging stamina.

Frustrated and tired Maurice decided to act; he couldn't bear to stand under the man's hostile eyes any longer. With more confidence than he felt Maurice moved towards the vacant bottom bunk, the thin mattress and grubby sheets appearing silk lined to his tired eyes. As soon as his fingertips touched the rough bedding the big man came to life. Dropping to the floor with surprising grace he grabbed Maurice's shoulders in a vice like grip.

Grunting in fury the man hoisted him off the floor, and slammed him hard against the cell door. Maurice struggled under the crushing grip, his ample muscles failing to break the man's powerful hold. Gasping for breath he fought against the bear like man, his body slowly crushed beneath his powerful arms. The pale skinned man easily controlled Maurice, his open mouth blasting him with a sour ungodly smell.

"Bunk bed's mine." His words sounded thick and slow, distorted by his thirst cracked lips. "You not touch bunk, my bunk," he screamed directly into Maurice's paling face. Maurice gave up struggling suffering the man's grip as best he could, realising he wasn't going to escape through fighting. It was at that point he noticed the man's head, it was covered with ugly scars and stitch marks running the length of his bald dome. Coupled with this his forehead seemed to be massively distended protruding over his eyes like a protective ridge.

Brain damage was the first thought that came to Maurice, the man's erratic behaviour suddenly more understandable. Suddenly the man growled and shook Maurice, his prone body rattling like a rag doll.

"Mine, you not have, you sleep there," the man said as he pointed at the floor. "You unnerstand, yes?" Maurice agreed immediately nodding his acquiescence frantically. The gigantic man held him for a moment longer, squeezing him one last time before he released his devastating grip. Gasping in relief and pain Maurice almost collapsed to the floor, watching warily as his attacker lumbered back to his former position.

Slowly and as non-threatening as possible Maurice made his way to the corner of the room, hunkering down he slumped against the wall trying to make the best of the cold floor. He knew he was in for the long haul and the thought frightened him; if he couldn't make peace with the juggernaut then he didn't know how he'd survive. Biting the bullet he attempted to make conversation, hoping that his persistence might break through to him.

"So how long have you been in here for?" The question hung unanswered in the cell, the big man giving no response that he had even heard. Maurice continued as if the man had responded. "Well I've only just got here and I've got to say I don't think much of the décor. In fact I reckon we should ask for a refund." He chuckled to himself as he spoke, trying to lift his flagging spirit. "Well I can see you're not much of a talker and that's just fine, we've all got our own ways of dealing with things and that's just yours."

He paused as he examined his cell mate; not a change in his granite like demeanour. Forging on regardless Maurice continued, it wasn't like there was anything else to do." It's an awful thing this whole business," he held up his right light as he spoke and pointed at the man's. "Yeah I can see yours there on your wrist, seems like were all in the same boat in this place. To be honest I don't even know how I ended up here, or how I caught the damned virus in the first place." His face darkened as he spoke, the still fresh feelings of injustice hovering just below the surface.

"I suppose I'm not unique though, I bet you and nearly everyone else in this place have a similar story. I guess I don't expect for you to believe me, but I honestly don't know when I could have caught it." Maurice felt himself relaxing as he continued to talk, it was almost like therapy as the man silently watched him neither encouraging nor discouraging his chatter. "I mean sure I'm, or at least I was a paramedic," he amended, "so I know what you're thinking, I probably caught it from a patient or such like, but you'd be surprised the precautions the hospitals take."

Maurice paused again examining the man for any change; there wasn't any. On the plus side the man's stare at least seemed attentive, yet Maurice imagined that was only to watch for any movement towards his bunk. Sighing inwardly he continued to speak, the act of telling his story proving restorative even if he was being ignored.

"Before every shift I'd get kitted out in protective clothing, body shields were what they called them. Now trust me you may think the police or fire services have good protection but ours was exceptional. The technology in those suits could be traced all the way back to the world space program, there's even astronauts wearing the same stuff we were. They were virtually indestructible and completely impermeable, so you'll forgive me if I find a work related infection unlikely."

The man grunted and for one moment Maurice braced for attack, relaxing again as realised it was just his way of coughing. "Any how," Maurice said continuing, "the service themselves make you have your own tests in house every six months. I never had a problem with them always came back completely clear. I even had one just three months before the purity test, can you believe that? So there saying that I somehow contracted the virus in the last three months, it just doesn't make sense to me." Maurice shook his head, the unfairness of it all continuing to haunt him. The idea that somehow it was a mistake just wouldn't quit circulating, although the chances that the private test had been wrong as well were infinitesimal.

He stopped for a moment to think on what he'd said. Although it was true he couldn't pin point the exact moment when the infection had taken place, it must have happened at some point so there was no use speculating. He had to move on, otherwise it would drive him to insanity. Forcing the unsettling thoughts to the back of his mind, Maurice tried to concentrate on the present. It certainly wasn't a nice place to be, but with no other options available to him he had to make do the best he could. If only he could get through to his aggressive cell mate then things wouldn't be so bad.

As Maurice eyed him again the possibility of any success in that area seemed remote at best. The man hadn't moved a muscle; instead he continued his silent vigil watching the intruder in his cell. "Did you know that you'd become infected? Or was your infection a shock like mine was?" asked Maurice meekly, his earlier enthusiasm waning against the man's immobile face. Not a sound, no movement or facial expression to even indicate that he'd heard.

Trying his best to hold himself together Maurice continued, fighting the urge to throw in the towel. "Well I guess this is it then, nothing left to do but to accept the situation and get on with it. In a way I wish I'd run now, I wouldn't have had much of a chance against the trackers, but hey it couldn't have been much worse than this." Maurice sighed again the man's ability to ignore completely insurmountable. He was quickly running out of things to say, as well as the energy needed to say them. "So I guess you must really like your bunk bed and I can see why. If I had a bunk bed like that I'd want to protect it too!"

Maurice tried a different tact, hoping that he could somehow get through to the dangerous man, the prospect of a night on the cold floor providing essential motivation. After numerous failed attempts he gave up, the man was a lost cause only ever responding to protect his bed.

Failure sat heavy on Maurice as he slumped in the corner of the cell, his eyes staring mournfully at the floor. It was his first few hours in the prison and already he could feel himself breaking. How on earth he was expected to endure the next few years was anyone's guess. Boredom began to bite as he sat there staring into nothingness, trying his best to avoid his cell mate's gaze. Eventually he stood up and moved towards the cell door, resting his forehead against the dirty glass he peered out of the porthole.

From his high vantage point Maurice could see everything, the whole prison floor spread out below. It wasn't long before movement caught his attention; a new group of prisoners were being marched up to the mesh gate. The guards subjected them to the same humiliating searches, clapping each other on the shoulder and laughing as if it were all some school yard prank. It was an awful sight to see but he couldn't look away, some unknown motivation compelling him to watch. They looked a darn sorry bunch, eyes firmly fixed on the floor the very embodiment of supplication.

Their captors seemed to take a perverse pleasure in their work, dishing out violence and humiliation with obscene frivolity. No effort was made to ease the prisoners discomfort or to provide reassurance. In fact the very opposite seemed to be true, each and every man going out of his way to be hostile. At last the torturous scene drew to a close, the prisoners roughly forced to their feet and out across the prison floor.

Maurice watched as they made their way through the ground level, passing beyond the stairwells and towards the end of the room. He struggled to follow all of their progress; the angle of the door constricting his view. However he managed to catch a glimpse of a door swinging open, the prisoners filing through and disappearing into nothingness. What lay beyond the door he could only guess but logic told him it was probably more cells like his.

Sighing heavily he sat down again in his corner, not even contemplating approaching the bunk bed. Possibly an hour to two hours later there was a sharp clunk as the lights were extinguished, an inky black darkness rushing in to fill the void. Maurice could only guess at the time, the windowless cell hiding the day's passage from his tired eyes. At least they did turn the lights off, so there was a chance he might be able to get some kind of respite.

Suddenly there was an ominous creak in the darkness as the man adjusted himself, his movement sending a cold shiver down Maurice's spine. Hidden in the dark he feared the man even more, if he charged now that would be it. Listening intently he attempted to build a mental picture, translating all the little creaks and sounds he could hear from the other side of the room. A loud scraping sound of metal on concrete made him jump, his whole body tensing in readiness.

His muscles bunched as he waited grim faced, over stressed nerves jangling as he imagined his cell mate approaching. Very slowly Maurice eased up from his crouching position, turning sideways his fists balled in tense readiness. A moment later a snarling snort issued from the suffocating darkness. Maurice immediately flung himself sideways like some kind of deranged bull fighter. The loud snort was followed by a much slower exhale of breath and then another noisy inhale followed. A fuzzy wave of relief washed over him as he identified the sounds true nature; his cell mate was asleep.

Letting the nervous tension flow out of him he relaxed, laughing manically at the dark humour of it all. Settling back down in his cold corner, he prepared for an uncomfortable night. It wasn't just the floor that prevented his slumber, the inky black darkness didn't help either. At first he'd welcomed the relief from the grey walled cell but now he yearned for its return. He'd never experienced darkness like it before, a total absence of light which his eyes didn't even scratch.

Truly alone for the first time in his life his remaining restraint collapsed. The emotions he'd held in check since arriving at the camp came flooding out. Curling up on the floor he began to cry, silently sobbing into his hands. Fear and loneliness were the only companions he had left, nothing to look forward to except despair and suffering. He cried for a long time, each heavy sob shaking through his aching body.

Craving comfort he tried to picture the people he cared about. His smiling mother, and gentle father flickered before his eyes, but their images were thin and fleeting. For a second he saw Rachel, his heart leaping as he looked into her sapphire blue eyes. She smiled warmly as he cried, her image so real he wondered if she were a ghost. Without warning the moment passed and she was gone, nothing left but Maurice and the unending night.

Random images swept through his mind now as sleep approached him, his disjointed thoughts fragmenting more and more until there was nothing. He sank thankfully into the familiar void, the velvety darkness washing clean his worldly suffering.

CHAPTER 10

The police were everywhere, their dark visored faces bearing down on him, hunting him relentlessly. Maurice ran like the wind, his piston like legs pushing forward but even the ground conspired to pull him down. Deafening sirens rang out as hover cars sped towards him, the sirens increasing to a crescendo of blinding noise. Maurice started awake, jumping to his feet he stared around his cell desperately.

He could still hear the sirens and he shook his head to clear the nightmare. Yet the noise refused to be quelled, it was then he realised that the sound was real. The siren continued for another minute and then thankfully stopped, an automated announcement booming over the prison floor.

"All prisoners must wake up, this is the morning call, all prisoners must wake up." Maurice sank back down into his corner, trying to piece back together his shattered nerves. His blood shot eyes wandered over to the bunk bed, watching as his cell mate slowly rose. His movements were almost robot like as he moved, there was something strange and inhuman about him. With eyes still closed he sat bolt upright, then in one rigid movement he twisted his whole body over the side of the bed. He finished in the same position he'd occupied when Maurice had entered the cell, his long legs dangling nonchalantly over the side.

The man's eyelids flickered, then with an unnerving slowness they opened. Moving his head in a predatory fashion he surveyed his domain until he found Maurice, recognition flashing in his dark orbs as he fixed his stare. 'Oh great the staring,' thought Maurice, immediately wishing he was somewhere else. The new day was the same as the last, the man's gaze perpetually centred upon his face.

Maurice couldn't muster the energy to speak, finally accepting his patter was useless against the frozen giant. With his legs hunched in against his body, he looked back at the man. He really didn't have many choices; he could either look away from the man or return his stare. Neither course of action seemed to achieve anything, so out of some childish sense of defiance he returned the man's stare. After a while the silent stand off was brought to an end by the clang of the cell door. A tall guard walked in accompanied by a smaller man dressed in a white doctor's coat.

The doctor approached his cell mates bed, both men pointedly ignoring Maurice as he sat there watching.

"Frank," the doctor said, "please follow me, we have further tests to carry out today." The doctor's voice held a strong trace of the old Germanic region of the world and his request was delivered as an order. Frank immediately turned to the doctor, all his attention focussed solely upon the old man. "Quickly, quickly Frank there is much work to be done today," the doctor commanded snapping his fingers. Frank scrambled to obey jumping off of the bunk and scurrying towards the waiting doctor.

The doctor was immaculate, his pristine white clothes and groomed appearance sharply contrasting to the wretch who ran toward him. "Good Frank, well done," crooned the doctor as his command was obeyed. Reaching up he patted Franks damaged skull and then turned to leave, the guard and his patient following behind. Maurice watched them intently not knowing what to make of it all.

As they left he tracked their progress through the porthole, watching as they led Frank all the way down to the bottom floor of the prison. Following like a faithful dog he crossed the room, eventually disappearing through the end door where the other group of prisoners were taken. Watching for a while longer Maurice made sure they were definitely gone, worried that Frank might catch him in the act.

Satisfied he wasn't coming back any time soon he walked over to the bunk and dropped heavily onto the bottom bed. The mattress felt hard and unyielding but after his night on the floor it was amazing. Lying back on the bunk he allowed himself a small smile, pulling the coarse blanket over his still clothed body. The feeling of comfort that this small luxury provided was indescribable, a true respite from the hard treatment he'd so far received.

He thought about what the doctor had said as he lay there, wondering what tests they were going to perform on Frank. Logically it must have something to do with the virus, so at least that part of the camp's function wasn't a fabrication. Maurice consoled himself with that single idea, clinging to it as a drowning man clings to a rope. So the facilities weren't as the government described, it wasn't the end of the world. At least they were fighting to stop the progress of the virus, that one fact made his situation almost bearable.

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense; he imagined at one time the camps were probably exactly as the internet described. Pleasant places of care designed to look after and assist red lighters as they succumbed to the awful affliction. Of course such places would be susceptible to the same problems inherent in any system designed to keep people enclosed. The massive influx of amber and red lights over the past few years had probably overwhelmed their capacity, no doubt resulting in the current build based upon prison architecture.

As the ideas continued to flow freely through Maurice's mind, he figured he must be right. The epiphany didn't offer much comfort but he at least gained some sense as to why the government would support this. The lie had to be perpetuated he concluded; if red lights were aware of the conditions in the camps then most would choose to run. Even Maurice had fleetingly considered this option but knowing his chances of evasion were slim to none had deterred him.

So instead of enjoying a clean bed in his own chalet, he was lying on a hard grubby mattress fearing his deranged cell mate might take his life. Well it could be worse he thought, struggling to see how but needing to believe the lie. Maurice's logical mind struggled against the insurmountable negatives his situation presented. He'd always been blessed in that sense, enjoying a healthy amount of optimism and a practical nature.

His attitudes and general world beliefs had always stood him in good stead in his previous life. Living under the one world government wasn't a bind unless you made it so, something which Maurice had never done. As long as you followed their laws and rules you were fine, discounting his current position of course. Even the Capital sentences that the government had reintroduced had seemed justified to Maurice; a punishment to fit the most atrocious crimes.

Even incarcerated he couldn't bring himself to blame the world party; they as always were only trying to protect the masses. He'd grown up with an unshakeable faith in the system, witnessed numerous changes as the unified government brought in better and more efficient ways of doing things. It was only because of their intervention that schools shared international curriculums, ensuring that every individual had the same opportunity to excel. Levelling the playing field they had called it at the time and Maurice whole heartedly agreed with the concept.

As a child he'd been one of the first sets of students to benefit from the new way of working. Of course such methods were common practice now but Maurice still felt a modicum of pride knowing that he'd paved the way as part of that group. As a youngster he'd flourished within an environment that some might have called constricting. He'd loved the rules and pedantic order his schooling had brought, something his parents had drilled into him from an early age.

They were committed pacifists, beliefs which were permanently imprinted on their psyche by the horror and violence of the final war. Holding such strong beliefs they'd felt it their sacred duty to pass on the message of peace and unity to their son. Maurice didn't hate them for it; in fact the opposite was true. Even though his parents were gone he'd always be thankful to them, his happy child hood an exception to the rule in those darker days.

So Maurice had been raised under strict rules but the fact had never depressed or hindered him. He'd accepted and developed within those restricting levels and become a productive member of the post war society. Now even though he tried to accept it, his current situation was an enigma going against everything he'd believed to be true.

As far as he could tell he'd never broke the rules and yet there he sat in the draconian cell. The events leading up to his distressing state were still a mystery to Maurice; where had he contracted the infection and from whom? This was a puzzle that had no readily available solution no matter how he studied it. At some point he'd caught the disease, that part was now an established fact. There was nothing to be gained from questioning the tests validity; instead Maurice turned his mind to the moment of infection.

It wasn't an easy task and certainly not one which he believed he would solve, yet the attempt kept boredom at bay. Somewhere along the line he must have come into contact with someone who carried the virus. Despite the excessive protective measures that paramedics enjoyed, it seemed highly likely that any infection would have occurred while at work. Possibly there had been a fault in his suit and fluid from a patient had infiltrated the barriers. It wasn't unheard of but the likelihood of such an event was on par with winning the world lottery, yet the fact of Maurice's imprisonment stubbornly remained.

The other point that didn't add up was the source of Rachel's infection. If the purity test was to be believed then he had infected her. This was something that just didn't ring true with him; they'd never even kissed let alone done anything else for the virus to be passed on. The impossible situation maddened him as he pondered it, trying to work and rework the problem from all available angles. Maybe that part of the test had been incorrect, he didn't know enough about the method used to prove that was the case but at least it was a possibility.

Still even that was improbable if the government information regarding the tests were to be believed. The accuracy rating was described as 100% in most cases, although in a very few cases there could be possible ghost readings depending on a person's physiology. However in such unusual cases the testing system itself should identify and inform the subject of this discrepancy. Nothing like that had occurred for them, suggesting that their tests had been an open and shut case of infection.

So the impossible puzzle remained, his stressed mind left still no closer to finding a viable solution. To top that off his mental investigation had refocused his memory to the loss of Rachel, the barely buried emotional pain suddenly fresh and tender. Coaching himself silently he tried to stop the destructive thoughts, but now the gates were open his grief flowed freely once more. With hot tears of regret once more stinging his cheeks, Maurice curled up on the bed shivering as he cried. He laid that way for a while, each grief filled breath burning inside his broken heart.

Eventually his outburst came to an end, his noisy sobs being replaced by much quieter sniffles until he stopped completely. Wiping stinging eyes dry he sat up on the bunk, resolutely vowing he wouldn't lose control again. Such promises offered temporary comfort but his future destiny would do its best to see them broken. Steeling himself he tried to examine the problem again, attempting to approach it from a completely objective view.

The approach certainly seemed to help and he managed to consider the issues without being too emotional. Unfortunately even with this technique a solution wasn't forthcoming, the attempt becoming more of an exercise to pass time. He pondered the problem for what seemed like hours; although probably wasn't half as long as he thought. There was just no getting around the facts; he'd never done anything with Rachel to allow her to become infected. So if he hadn't infected her then either the test was wrong, or there was something he was missing.

He strained mentally as he turned the problem over in his mind, then without warning a dangerous possibility began to emerge.

'What if,' he thought. 'What if the virus has mutated, what if these camps are all for nothing and the virus was already airborne?' A cold dark fear gripped him, cramping his stomach as the possibility entered his mind. The more he considered it, the more it seemed to fit his situation. The idea explained Rachel's infection and exonerated him from any rule breaking, making the whole thing an unfortunate accident. Swinging his legs off of the bunk he sat up straight, the whispers of a purpose once again touching his soul. He had to make the camp's doctors aware, if the virus had mutated to that level then the whole of mankind was at risk. Resolving to tell them upon Frank's return, Maurice sat and waited trying hard to quell his building fear.

CHAPTER 11

Time seemed to have frozen again as Maurice sat there, wishing he could escape the cell as the urge to warn worried inside. Just as he'd decided to try and get some sleep there was a noise outside his door. Quickly he scampered across the room not wishing to invoke his cell mate's unpredictable anger. With not a moment to spare he reached his corner, the door to the room swinging slowly open swinging. Frank's blank face appeared in the opening and then he fell forward staggering unsteadily into the cell. With a pain filled groan he gave up the battle against gravity and crashed heavily onto the unforgiving floor.

Emotionless the doctor watched the man fall, then turned with the guard to walk out of the room. Maurice was filled with disgust at the men, but pushing his concerns to the back of his mind he took his chance.

"Please doctor," he began, "I have some urgent information relating to the V2 virus that I must discuss wi." The Guard's baton felt cold and hard as it hit his midriff, the well placed shot winding Maurice. Fighting to keep his feet Maurice attempted to continue while the guard raised his baton to deliver another blow. Through tear filled eyes Maurice watched the doctor raise his hand, stopping the second blow as he turned to examine him.

"I must ask that you be patient young man, you will get your turn to do your bit against the Virus, but you must have some decorum hmm?" Still winded Maurice tried to compose himself, breathing deeply as he attempted to fill his painful lungs.

"Yes doctor, of course your right," said Maurice, "I apologise for my outburst, but I have information that I fear cannot wait a moment longer." The doctor smiled as he spoke, a mirthless dead grin more at home on corpse than a living breathing human.

"Come now patient 113, time is something you have in abundance here, I seriously doubt you hold any pertinent information that can't wait until it is your turn in the testing schedule, so please be patient hmmm." The Doctor turned to leave as panic filled Maurice, his chance seemed to be slipping away and there was nothing he could do.

"The virus might have become airborne." He blurted, desperate for the burden he carried to be passed from his shoulders. His words came out fast and clear as he backed away from the guard and his baton. The doctor turned one more time, motioning his minder to be still. He fixed Maurice with his pale blue eyes, wrinkling his head he frowned as he peered at him.

"113, I have been working within this facility for the last five years, and I can assure you if the virus had mutated this way then I would know about it." He paused as he spoke and Maurice tried to speak again, but was silenced by the doctors raised hand. "Now I understand you are scared and paranoid 113, you may not even realise how you contracted the virus or passed it on as your case file denotes. I concede that is the case but believe me I have looked at your notes 113, as I do with all new patients and yours is no different from the standard V2 virus, so sleep easy hmmm."

With that the doctor swung himself around again, executing a smart turn and marched away with the guard following closely behind. His door was slammed shut and then tightly locked as Maurice watched from his porthole. His mind was in turmoil from the doctor, the man's revelations meaning his earlier solution was wrong by default.

A groan pulled Maurice back to reality and he turned round to look at Frank who was still lying on the floor. Rushing over to him he placed him in the recovery position, looking in disgust at a new set of stitches running from the base of his neck to the top of his skull. His flesh looked red and inflamed, an angry swelling beginning to grow around the incision. Squatting down he gently shook him, attempting to rouse the man from his stupor. Eventually Frank's eyelids flickered and then opened, his sizeable hands gripping Maurice's arms tightly.

"Easy now Frank, your okay, just relax," soothed Maurice. Franks dazed eyes focussed on Maurice, pure unimaginable terror bubbling within their depths. His vice like hands continued to squeeze Maurice's biceps, iron fingers painfully tearing into his flesh. "It's okay Frank, nothing can hurt you here, it's just me and you, just breath deeply, inhale....exhale." Maurice looked deep into the man's eyes as he spoke, hoping to reassure him with all the kindness he could muster.

Suddenly Frank lunged forward grabbing Maurice's neck, his thick arms encircled him and pulled him to the floor. Maurice's heart froze in his chest as he tried and failed to disentangle himself from the man's bear like grip. Fearing the worst he prepared for his last moments of mortal existence, then almost fainted in shock; Frank was crying. Maurice did his best to comfort him as he sobbed on his shoulder, Frank's utter despair filling him with a deep compassion.

"Phpple please hu help me, escape, baaad place..Pulease," Maurice felt each heart wrenching gasp of fear and pain as he held him. Speaking soothingly into Frank's ear he offered soft words of comfort, hating his inability to really help the man. There was no respite he could provide him, no relief he could give, nothing more than his own sincere kindness. Frank clung to him like a new-born babe for almost half an hour, a needy grip from a man starved of human affection.

Eventually his strong arms relaxed once more, his softer grip allowing Maurice to hunker down into an easier crouching position. Maurice felt slightly uncomfortable as he looked down at Frank, the man who'd previously filled him with fear seemed so vulnerable and weak. The man's eyes were red and swollen and his cheeks tear stained and wet. Still sniffling periodically he peered up at Maurice with hurt filled eyes, as if there were something more he could do.

"Frank, do you think you can stand," asked Maurice breaking the awkwardness of the moment. Maurice moved back as the man tried, holding the back of his head to support him as he struggled to his feet. Maurice offered Frank his hand and with a great heave helped him unsteadily to his feet. Frank stumbled as he stood up almost falling, but at the last second found support against the bunk bed.

"Than thank you, I apol apologise for my behave behaviour previously, I'm aff afraid that the doctor's treatment has affected me mentally and tends to give me terrible mood swings." Maurice stood aghast at the difference in Frank, the man's voice sounding almost normal.

"Its okay Frank," said Maurice, "how are you feeling now?" Frank swayed again before falling heavily on the bottom bunk.

"Much better, sti still dizzy and a bi bit groph groggy, but my mind is the closest it gets to how it used to be." His face fell as he spoke fighting back tears, perhaps upset at the memory of how he was before. Horror didn't fully encapsulate the feelings filling Maurice as he looked at Frank. He didn't want to believe what the doctors had done to this man, the type of person willing to commit such an atrocity outside his view of the world. As a former paramedic he knew the oath that all doctors were supposed to hold sacred, how anyone could knowingly inflict this sort of damage was beyond him.

"What do they do to you when they take you away?" Maurice asked. Fear touched Frank's disfigured face as he answered, shuffling uncomfortably on the bunk.

"I know nnn not, what they do, except that they test my reactions, and command me to perform tasks such as lifting weights and other feats of strength. They inject me with various fluids, and operate alwa always on my br br brain. There are a lot of blank periods, where I cannot remember any anything but a blinding pain in my head." He moaned slightly as he spoke the act of remembering distressing him.

"Don't they say what there doing to you? Have you ever asked?"

"Of course I've asked, I'm not a fool," he said, raw anger filling his voice. It was gone as soon as it had appeared replaced by abject despair.

"I'm sor sorry, I shouldn't snap it's just thi this place, it's changed me, destroyed what I was before. I no longer question their actions as their only response is given through the baton, although I fear there moti motives are not to cure me." He paused as he spoke glancing despondently at the floor and then back at Maurice. "I forget myself, "Wha what's your name friend?"

"It's alright Frank, my names Maurice, nice to meet you." He extended his hand and shook the giant's hand. They conversed for some time and built up an immediate bond, Frank's stutter almost completely disappearing as they spoke. Maurice learned that before his incarceration Frank had been employed as an English teacher within a government school. Unlike Maurice Frank thought he knew the source of his infection; during a leaving do for one of his colleagues he had become inebriated and kissed a woman at a nightclub.

It had been almost two years after that drunken slip that he'd taken the Purity Test with his would be light partner. Both he and his girlfriend Sadie had been found to be infected, with the seed infection originating from Frank. This news had ripped him apart, sending him spiralling into depression before he was taken to the camps. Maurice swapped his own story with Frank, thankful to have someone to listen to his own tale of woe.

It seemed that Frank had been within the camp for just over a year, although it was hard to gauge an exact time-scale. During his time in the camp he'd experienced the company of two other prisoners. One of those was a man called David who'd died at the hands of the guards and the most recent was Louis who'd been transferred to a different cell. It seemed that prisoners were moved constantly within the confines of the camp, probably to prevent any strong allegiances forming between the inmates guessed Maurice.

Frank was in a much better mental condition than when they'd first met and they'd quickly struck up an easy rapport. The discovery of this intellectual man hidden beneath his animal instinct did Maurice the world of good. If Frank was able to maintain some kind of control then things wouldn't be so bad within the cell. Their conversation also brought further good news as he learnt that new prisoners generally weren't experimented on during their initial months, information that filled him with relief as he looked at Frank's misshapen head.

While they were talking there was a snap of a bolt and a small letter box sized hatch swung open in the door. Through this hatch two steel trays were pushed, filled to the brim with steaming liquid. A litre plastic bottle of water was thrown in after it as the hatch swung back to its former position.

"Ahhh, loo looks like our din dinner has arrived, if you can call it that." Maurice bent down to inspect the trays, lifting it up he examined the hot mess with disgust.

"What the hell is it? I can't even make out if its meat or just mashed up veg." He sniffed the sick like mess as he spoke, forcing back the bile that threatened to climb up his throat. His anger rose as he examined the food, so this was what it was like to be a red lighter.

"How an earth can they get away feeding us this muck, were not bloody animals!" He swore, his pent up resentment bubbling over. Frank looked mildly over at him, nodding his head in agreement.

"I kno know it's awful, the food it really is, not wo wor worth spitting on most of the time, but you must eat Maurice." Frank stood up, his balance was much better now and took his tray of food from Maurice. He ate quickly, chewing rarely and within minutes the whole meal was gone. He looked up almost guiltily once he'd finished, "you must understand, tha that I felt the exact the same way you do when I first came here, but not eating leads to weakness, and that's som something you can't show here."

Maurice contemplated his tray with contempt before taking a seat on the bottom bunk, the food held at arms length in front of him. Slowly he brought a mouthful of the brown stew up to his dry lips, letting the spoon brush against them. An instant bitter burnt taste filled his mouth, his eyes watering as an almost rotten smell assaulted his nostrils. Grimacing he forced a spoonful in his mouth, gulping down the sticky mixture as quickly as possible. His empty stomach rebelled and almost succeeded with the ejection, only Maurice's force of will keeping it down. He looked over at the bottle of water lying so innocent and so tempting on the cell floor. Placing the tray down on his bed, Maurice rose to retrieve the water, stopping as Frank laid a parental hand on his shoulder.

"No Mau Maurice, you mus must eat first, if you drink the water now, you won't be able to eat tha that muck afterwards the taste will be too bad." Maurice turned to look at Frank, feeling a small token of resentment at being told what to do. The feeling passed immediately as he recognised the complete sincerity in the man's eyes.

"Ok Frank, you know best, I'll try," whispered Maurice his concentration turning back to his meal. For the next few minutes he endured the worst culinary experience of his life. He'd always wondered what the beggars from his childhood had survived on, their refuse scavenged meals probably sourced from the same place as his own. He eventually finished the whole plate, his sweat covered face a testament to the great effort he'd made to eat it. Drawing on hidden courage he attempted to scrape the tin clean as Frank had, but the congealed mess clinging to his spoon sickened him and he threw the tin to the concrete. Frank placed a friendly arm around his shoulders, the warm weight comforting and reassuring.

"Well done Maurice, yo you did well, now we get to swi swill the taste away," he said with a slow wink. Frank fetched the bottle and quickly downed half the water then passed it to Maurice who gladly did the same. The water wasn't in any way cold but it tasted clean and refreshing to his dehydrated mouth, flushing away the food's bitter taste. After their meal they continued to talk until frank needed to use the toilet. Maurice averted his eyes as much as he could, privacy a lost word in the confines of the cell.

'If only the public knew what goes on in these camps, would they care?' he thought, 'would I have cared?' It was a hard task looking back now that he'd crossed over, he tried to think back to his pre amber light views. There were no clear memories that came to mind, everything vague and dreamlike as if the camp was his only true existence. Struggling against the strange amnesia he found a memory, standing on the speeder he watched as he shunned the seat next to the amber. Maurice blushed as he recalled the event, outraged by his previous behaviour.

He deeply regretted how he'd treated her; denying her the human contact she'd obviously craved in her last few hours of freedom. It wasn't that he was a wicked man or in any way consciously bad, it had just been his own way of dealing with the ambers. This was a defence he'd developed during childhood, a way of coping with the worlds less fortunate. Now as a red lighter he could see through the lie he'd created, a thousand averted looks staining his regret filled conscience. Still his recollection had certainly given him perspective and he honestly wasn't sure the general public would care if they knew the truth.

Maurice himself would have only probably given the story a cursory look in the papers, maybe noting with some slight consternation that the government had lied. However deep down inside the nationwide perpetuated hatred would have whispered to him, well they shouldn't have broken the rules. That was the problem he thought, until it happened to you it wasn't something most people gave two jots about. It took the individual experience of it to make it real then unfortunately it was too late.

Now Maurice's time had come and he was no longer safe on the other side of the screen; he was an actor in the film caught in the horrors that would have raised casual concern in his other life.

Frank Coughed, and shifted his weight uneasily, "Su sure have go gone quiet there Maurice, you ok?"

Maurice smiled hesitantly back at him, "yea I'm okay just thinking about stuff, nothing important just how things were before I guess." Frank smiled back at him, the mental effort of arranging his facial muscles culminating in a small tick above his left eye.

"That's the worst part of this place Maurice, when the conversation dr drys up all you've go got left are your memories, if your not careful it really ge gets to you. I tr try not to thi think too much if I can help it." Sadness crept into the man's face as he spoke and Maurice guessed that Frank was guilty of reminiscing too. They spoke for a while longer and then boredom as it sometimes does passed into fatigue, leaving them both asleep on their respective bunks. Some time later the clang of the cell door awoke them, silhouetted in the doorway stood the smiling doctor and an attending guard.

CHAPTER 12

"Wakey, wakey time Frank, zhe follow up tests are now ready for your participation, quickly, quickly hmm." Maurice sat up to stare at the intruders feeling his body tense in hatred as he calculated the distance between him and the guard. He almost plucked up the nerve to charge, when caution intervened; even if he succeeded in taking out the guard there was no where to run. Instead he watched sadly as without a word Frank dropped to the floor. Walking slowly he headed to the door, his head hung in shame as he stared at the floor..

"Come on Frank," shouted the doctor infuriatingly, "Ve don't have all day, I have other patients to see." He motioned to the guard who dished out a malicious jab to Frank's chest, yelping Frank picked up his pace and jogged out of the room. Maurice grunted in anger as they left, smashing his fist against the concrete wall in frustration.

'What are the bastards doing to him,' he thought, 'if only I could stop them somehow.' He swung his arm to hit the wall again but the sight of his own blood stopped him. 'What am I doing, got to keep control can't show weakness.' It was the injustice of it all that got to him the most, especially now that he'd witnessed the real Frank. The man he'd first met had been a product of their treatment, a perversion of humanity created completely by their abuse. Maurice didn't know if he could cope with that other Frank again, his spirits so recently lifted by his conversation with the real Frank.

Time passed slowly as he waited, trying his best to still his worrying mind, images of torture running riot through his head. Minutes turned into hours and still there was no sign of him, fear filled him as he considered the worse; was he dead? There was no way of knowing and as the length of time stretched longer and longer a feeling of dread grew inside of him. He'd seen the guard's contempt for the prisoners first hand and knew his supposition was more than mere fantasy. Frank's own tales had revealed the depravity of this place, the death of a prisoner seen as nothing more than a minor calamity by the staff.

Staring blankly into the middle distance he waited, willing Frank's wellbeing with every part of him. How long he sat there for he didn't know, but the sharp clunk as his cell lights were switched off told him it had been many hours. Cold panic gripped him now as he sat in the dark, almost sure that he'd never see his friend again. The waiting was harder in the darkness and eventually he gave into his body's natural instinct drifting into an uneasy slumber.

CHAPTER 13

The cell door slamming off the concrete wall brought him back to full awareness. Jumping out of bed he desperately squinted into the brooding darkness. Nothing at first, then he saw a hulking figure. Frank was struggling in the doorway, snarling and grunting furiously. There were three guards restraining him, holding him behind his head and arms. Attached to the guard's visors were small pencil torches shining dazzling beams of lights through the murk. As he peered at the doorway he caught a glimpse of the doctor's white coat; he stood behind his henchmen wearing an amused look as if Frank's struggle was all good fun.

Frank roared something incoherent as the two of the guards hit him in the chest and stomach with their hard batons, the rear guard jabbing the backs of his legs. Maurice couldn't stand by any more, his previously restrained anger exploding into action. A red mist descended upon him until all he could see was his friend and the weasels attacking him. Jumping up from the bunk he ran across the cell to Frank's aid.

"STOP IT, "he yelled with as much force as he could muster and without slowing slammed his forearm into the unprotected neck of the right hand guard. The guard didn't have time to respond as he heard Maurice's war cry, the unexpected attack catching him completely off guard. Stumbling backwards the guard's feet wavered, his breath catching in his throat. A strange mewling sound came from the man's lips as he crumpled to the floor with a pain filled moan.

The guard behind Frank reacted immediately; swinging his truncheon with expert accuracy as he landed a blow on Frank's skull knocking him to the floor. With Frank well and truly out of the picture the two remaining guards were free to concentrate on their new assailant. Shouting in anger they rained blows on Maurice, smashing their truncheons into his face and body. Maurice fought with all his might, throwing punch after punch at the two men. Unfortunately it was all for nought; the guards armour stopping the blows before damage was done.

A heavy shot caught Maurice to the side of his head, followed seconds later by a blow to his legs. For a moment the dark cell took on an electric blue colour as he stumbled forward, his ear's ringing loudly from the impact. Abruptly the floor of the cell seemed to rise and then he realised he was falling. White pain flashed in his mind as he hit the floor hard, still struggling to control his disloyal limbs.

"Please, stop I give in, please stop." He called out in fear, hoping that the guards might show mercy. None was forthcoming, the guard's vicious blows continued as he slumped forwards. The pain was unreal, a continuous agonizing wave that swept through his body destroying and raping his resolve. Just when he thought he might go mad he found sweet relief, his mind shutting down as blackness consumed him. The doctor finally called an end to the violence, "Zat's enough men, we don't want to kill him just yet, he'll make a strong subject, throw them both in the cell and we'll deal with his punishment tomorrow."

The guards reluctantly stopped and threw both of the unconscious men into the cell. Pausing to assist their colleague they left the cell, laughing and joking about who got the best shots. Alone again Maurice and Frank shared their dark slumber, protected for the moment from the pain of their battered bodies. Maurice came round first, awakening into a daze of red hot hurt, his whole body shaking in agony. How long had passed since the beating he didn't know, but the blackness of his cell confirmed it was still night. Turning his aching neck he grimaced as more pain lanced through his body.

"Frank," he mumbled from swollen lips, "Frank you there?" There was no answer. Struggling he forced his body to move, every limb crying out as he gained an unsteady crouch. Listening intently he gave silent praise as he heard the intake and exhale of breath within the cell. Frank was alive, at least that was something. Stupidly he attempted to stand, almost instantly falling back down again.

His legs seemed to have taken the worst of the beating. Touching them they felt misshapen and swollen, no doubt ugly bruises were already beginning to form. Reaching Frank he shook him, shouting loudly to rouse the man. No response, only his faint breath betraying his attachment to life. Futilely Maurice attempted to lift him, grunting and struggling against his immovable bulk. It was no use; even with his current spate of weight training he was in no shape to lift the larger man.

In the end he decided there was nothing more he could do, the absence of light preventing proper assessment of Frank's injuries. With a sigh he covered his prone body with a cover and crawled into his own bed. Alone and hurting he huddled under the thin cover, shivering as much from the cold as from the pain. He'd played high school rugby when he'd been younger and had taken some pretty serious knocks, but nothing could have prepared him for his current agony. Every time he turned or moved no matter how carefully, his nerves would scream out shocking him with a fresh onslaught of fire.

He laid on his back at first but the position soon brought a dull ache to his spine and he had to adjust himself. Tossing and turning on the hard mattress he attempted to find comfort, every bump and lump a knife against his tender body. After what seemed like hours he finally started to drift, his consciousness slipping and fading down into welcome nothingness. His sleep was a dark place, grey faces and visored demons swam in and out of his vision tormenting him. A while later he felt a dull vibration, the feeling growing in strength and urgency until it felt like the whole world was shaking

Jumping awake he clung to his bunk, fear rampaging through his dazed mind as his bed bounced up and down.

'What now!' he thought, his mind still muddled with sleep. Gaining full consciousness he sat bolt upright, his bed still rocking violently from side to side. Peering into the darkness he noticed a darker patch close by and reached out in confusion. Hard muscle met his questing fingers as his hands found Frank. The man was grunting gutturally as he smashed the bunk up and down over and over again.

"Frank calm down, what are you doing?" Maurice asked, trying his best to remain calm. There was no response from the big man as he began to scream incoherently, his voice filled with raw unchecked fury. "Please Frank, stop shaking the bed." Maurice called with more force, trying to marshal his wavering voice into a command. The pitch of Frank's scream increased in intensity as his assault continued and then suddenly he stopped.

"MY BED, OUT, MY BED, YOU STEAL!" Frank's speech was awash with grunts and growls, a shadow of the intelligence he'd shown earlier, nothing left but a raging beast. There was no comprehension within the man, only pure aggression which rolled through his body filling his every word. Maurice panicked, he knew the man could easily overpower him and a deep fear settled in the pit of his stomach as he looked for a way out.

"Look Frank," he whispered soothingly, "I'm going to get out of your bed now, I'm sorry I didn't know it was yours, okay?" Frank shouted again screaming and roaring, his hot evil spit showering ray as he sat petrified on the bed. Maurice made as if to move out of the bed, testing the water so to speak and was immediately forced back by Frank's rough hands. Unable to escape he had no choice but to endure the attack, huddling into himself he waited as the bunk smashed up and down.

After a while Maurice came to a life changing decision and with all his strength threw himself from the bed. His body twisted past Frank, awkwardly hitting the hard concrete floor with his shoulder and coming to stop behind the deranged man. White hot pain snaked through his already tender arm and he squealed in agony. Frank continued to shake the bed, seemingly unaware that his quarry had escaped.

Maurice lay where he'd landed, his body twisted and uncomfortable beneath him. He wasn't sure what to do; he needed to move but didn't want to risk attracting Frank's attention. Manoeuvring very slowly he began to inch sideways, not daring to make any quick movements. After an age he managed to gain some comfort, crouching into a squatting position. All the while he could hear Frank's continued attack against his bunk, like some deranged Duracell bunny that never stopped.

Shuffling backwards Maurice attempted to find his corner, wishing he could escape from the cell. He'd nearly made it when cramp struck his leg, sharp tendrils of pain wrapped around his battered calf and he shrieked. Cursing inwardly he stifled his cry, grasping and crushing his contracting calf with his hands. His rough grip paid dividends as his muscle began to relax, but not before the damage was done.

Frank was coming for him. The man mountain had left the bunk, his hulking figure barely visible in the pressing darkness. With ponderous footsteps he closed in on Maurice's position, grunting and growling as he advanced. Throwing caution to the wind Maurice stood up; better to face the man on his feet than hiding in a corner.

"YOUUUUU, YOUOUUUU STEAL, I TEACH LESSON." His slow approach turned into a full blown charge as he caught sight of Maurice. This was serious and he knew it, Frank had already proven his strength and Maurice wasn't about to go looking for a second bout. Maurice froze as Frank charged, waiting until the last possible before he dived to the side forgetting his pain. There was a sickening thud of flesh against stone as Frank's full weight crashed into the wall. A shout of fury like nothing Maurice had ever heard assaulted his ear drums. If anything the collision seemed only to have stoked the man's anger. Crouching by the toilet Maurice could just make out Frank, his body a whirlwind of frantic movement, his trunk like arms thrashing this way and that.

'God if one of those catches me,' he didn't finish his thought, as the erratic Frank suddenly ran straight towards him again. Acting on reflex Maurice dived past the big man, landing in almost the same position he'd occupied before. This couldn't go on and he knew it, his breath came in ragged gasps and his body sang in pain. Desperately he tried to think of a way out.

"Frank," he called. "It's me Maurice your friend, remember Frank liste." Frank charged again ignoring Maurice's pleas, intent on destroying the bunk bed thief.

"YOU NOT FRIEND, YOU STEAL." It was no use, whatever they'd done had rendered him senseless. Appearing more animal than human he chased Maurice unrelentingly around their small cell. Something had to give, eventually he was going to be caught and that would be it. With no other choices left he decided to take a chance. Standing still he called out to Frank, his heart thundering wildly in his chest.

The man responded as Maurice knew he would by charging full pelt at his position by the steel door. Virtually blind it was hard for Maurice to gauge distance or accuracy, but as Frank came at him he had no choice but to try. Frank lumbered toward him like a demon steam train intent on destroying him. When he could stand it no longer he made his last play; pushing hard off the door he launched himself at where he hoped the man's knee's were.

The impact took his breath away as his shoulder slammed into something hard and unyielding. Yet unbelievably he began to push through, feeling Frank's substantial bulk pass over his back as he landed the perfect rugby tackle. Time slowed as he flew through the air, his body momentarily suspended above the cell floor. Abruptly the edge of the toilet bowl loomed out of the darkness, his momentum carrying forward into its porcelain edge.

Behind him he heard a short yelp, followed by a sickening thud as Frank crashed to the floor. Then, there was silence, an unbroken silence which seemed to have no place in the room after all the commotion. Maurice carefully used the toilet to lever his aching body off the floor, his legs unsteady and head dripping blood. Cautiously he approached Frank, rubbing his own tender skull.

"Frank, Frank," he called softly. There was no response, no sound, nothing but Maurice's own hesitant shuffling footsteps as he crossed the room. Bracing himself he reached down and shook Frank's shoulder. Still no response, it was hard to see anything within his cell but he couldn't hear breathing. Hunkering down he bravely found his head, following it down to his neck, checking and finding no pulse.

Panic electrified his body; he'd killed him. Exploring Frank's head he found a gaping hole where no hole should have been. He'd caved his skull in, smashed it to pieces against the steel cell door. Shocked Maurice fell backward, he'd never wanted to kill the man, survival his only motive. Nausea took hold as he retched uncontrollably, his body overcome with shock and disgust as he scrambled toward the toilet. Kneeling before the throne he heaved violently bringing up all the food he'd struggled so hard to consume. After a while there was nothing left, the last painful contractions expelling only bile.

Finally in control he crawled across the concrete floor to the cell door and banged as loudly as he could. Screaming over and over again for a guard, for assistance, for anyone to come; but no one did. He was found that way in the morning, hunched over against the door while his head rested on the shoulder of Frank's corpse. Slow to come around he didn't even wake up until it was too late. There were six of them Maurice noticed as his eyes slowly focussed, he was horizontal looking up into the visors of the men that carried him. They were running with his body, not even looking at him.

CHAPTER 14

"Plea, please, "he mumbled, "where are you taking me?" The men neither slowed nor responded, ignoring him completely as they continued toward an undisclosed destination. Maurice did the only thing he could; absolutely nothing, allowing himself to be carried without resistance, feeling every sickening step as they roughly bundled him along. Coming to a door the guards slowed their pace, eventually stopping altogether as they released their grip allowing him to stand on his own. The lead guard rapped on the door and a familiar voice answered from within.

"Come in." The guard immediately opened the door and forcefully pushed Maurice into the room. He came to an unsteady halt examining his new surroundings in awe. He'd thought that Alan's office had been plush but in comparison it was nothing more than a shack. The contrast between this room and the rest of the prison was unbelievable; it was if he'd been transported to another world. Luxurious thick patterned carpet warmed his bare feet while colourful patterned wall paper dazzled his jaded eyes. In front of him sat a large antique oak desk, polished to a military sheen. Behind were shelves filled with multitudes of old printed books, a luxury in itself beyond most men's reach. Opposite the desk stood a cushioned red leather chair, the very embodiment of class and style, better suited to a mansion than a prison office. .

In the chair relaxed and perfectly at ease sat Warden Davies. The man was dressed in an expensive silk suit, coupled with a pristine white shirt that spoke of his obvious fastidiousness. He stared at the new arrival to his office, his thick eyebrows creating a perfect V on his round face. "Ahhh thank you guards, you may wait outside." Upon his order the guards immediately retreated, leaving Maurice alone with the Warden. Davies looked him up and down, clicking his tongue in a disapproving manner before he spoke. "So resident 113, you have only been in my facility for two days and you've managed to assault one of my guards, and to top that off you're now a murderer, have you anything to say?" Maurice shuffled closer to the Warden, not daring to take the empty seat opposite the man.

"Warden Davies," he said, "firstly what happened in my cell last night was in complete self defence and a complete accident." Davies watched him with cool eyes yet he gave the impression he was listening even if that wasn't the case. Taking heart from the absence of any rebuttal Maurice continued. "Frank went crazy because I was on the bunk bed. I've never seen anything like that before; I honestly believe if he'd of caught me then it would be him facing you now and my dead body in the cell." Maurice wrung his hands and shifted uneasily as he recalled the horror of it all. "All I did was tackle him, I just wanted to stop him but." His voice faltered, raw grief filling his face. "He cracked his skull against the door and you know the rest."

He finished in a whisper not knowing what else to say and awaited the warden's verdict. Davies stroked his chins thoughtfully and then leaned forward on the desk clasping his hands together.

"Although it goes against my better judgement I do rather believe that you may well be telling the truth 113, in fact there have been previous reports of Frank's violent tendencies, so that point I must concede to you sir." He spoke the word sir with a deep sarcasm, smiling a grim smile at Maurice. "And yet during this altercation it seems you never once considered calling for help? Attracting a guard's attention, instead you took it upon yourself to resolve the situation and look what happened." He tutted his disapproval as he spoke, shaking his head as one might to a disobedient child. "You must understand that is what they are there for?"

Maurice felt indignation rise within and before he knew it he'd responded. "I did call the guards no one came, and the noise that Frank was making was enough to wake th"

"ENOUGH," Davies screamed, jumping up from his desk and marching around to stand bristling in front of Maurice. "Now listen to me you fucking coon, this is my camp and it's run to the highest standards. If you called the guards then they would have come running." The warden's eyes burned brightly as he spoke, almost daring him to disagree. "Of course the cells are always full of idiots shouting and calling during the night, out of boredom or whatever else motivates their small brains. So the guards aren't always going to come because a prisoners screaming, but I guarantee if you'd have called for help then they would have been there." He paused for breath his eyebrows wiggling wildly, as if they were possessed with a life of their own.

Maurice was taken aback, he knew the man was talking utter nonsense but he had no come back, he was completely at the mercy of this obvious psychopath. Another thing that shocked him was the use of the word coon, a blatantly racist term which in the new world was almost completely unheard of. The only ingrained hatred most people held these days had everything to do with the colour of a person's wrist and nothing to do with the colour of their skin.

Moving closer to Maurice the warden stared furiously up at him, his eyes burning with sudden hatred. "You have assaulted my guard and now you're attempting to deceive me 113." His accusation cut through Maurice's like a hot knife but he managed to hold his tongue. "I have already conceded your actions were carried out in self defence, which even in the fairest court of the land some would question. Yet you still try to accuse my loyal guards of negligence in their duties." Fixing Maurice with a stare that could have soured milk he continued. "Prisoner 113 I sentence you to ten days in the hole, maybe some solitude will straighten you out."

Maurice's heart sank as he considered the warden's words. As far as he was concerned he'd been in a hole since the day he'd arrived, surely things couldn't get much worse? Wishing he dared say more Maurice resigned himself to his fate, knowing that any further discourse would only be an exercise in futility. The Warden watched him waiting, perhaps hoping his victim would break down upon hearing the sentence. Maurice didn't; he had nothing left to give, it felt as if his soul had been stolen leaving nothing but an empty husk. With unmasked disappointment the warden rubbed his chin and then pointed accusingly at Maurice.

"I feel the best way to teach you will be in the hole 113. Now don't misunderstand my leniency, for murder I would normally make you stay there for at least a month, but Frank's record is your saving grace." His eyes blazed as he spoke, his voice rising in volume until he was shouting. "So believe me 113, I am being more than fair when I say ten days, GUARDS!"

CHAPTER 15

At once the doors to his office burst open as the attending guards rushed inside. Without preamble they hoisted Maurice back onto their shoulders and marched out without speaking a single word. With no idea where he was going he was forced to wait, his view constricted to the over head lights as they held him horizontal to the ceiling. Descending many flights of steps they took him deeper and deeper into the bowels of the compound. Eventually they reached their destination and dropped him heavily to the floor.

"Stand up scum bag," shouted one of the guards, moving forward as if to beat him. Maurice immediately jumped to his feet, fear and adrenaline quickening his movements. Taking in his surroundings with a sinking feeling he stood waiting. The room was long and dimly lit, nearby he could hear the steady dripping of water and the damp cold air caused him to shiver.

'This must be the basement of the prison,' he thought with deepening fear. The room was very long, in the semi-darkness he couldn't even see where it ended. Set along the floor in a regular fashion were what looked like steel manhole covers, their centres containing small metal grills. As he looked a cold realisation hit him; they must be the holes the warden had referred to. Turning to his captors in a complete panic he began to back away, there was no way he was going into one of those without a fight.

The guards advanced unperturbed by his sudden return to life, their dark visors hiding any trace of humanity. Marching forward in well trained formation they bore down on him, his options for escape dwindling with every passing second. Twisting his body this way and that Maurice snarled like a cornered animal, his false bravado achieving nothing more than a sneering laugh from one of the guards.

"Leave me alone, I'm warning you," he shouted his voice sounding small and weak in the cavernous room. There was no where left to run; the guards horseshoe attack had succeeded in trapping him against the back wall. With a final attempt he threw himself at them, hoping he might catch them unawares. It was a wasted effort that saw him end up on the floor in a floundering heap. They immediately waded into to his prone figure, smashing his body with their heavy batons. Eventually the fiery rain ceased, the Guards satisfied they had made their point.

Subdued and literally beaten Maurice gave up. Whatever small hopes of escape he'd held vanished, the guards had won as deep down he'd always known they would. Roughly pulling him to his feet the guards shoved him back into the middle of the room.

"PRISONER 113, STRIP OFF YOUR CLOTHES NOW," ordered one of the guards. Maurice complied without resistance, broken by their vicious treatment. A feeling of dread settled upon him as he undressed, standing naked and vulnerable in-front of his hateful tormentors.

"That wasn't so hard was it 113, you could have saved yourself a lot of trouble if you'd have just complied in the first place." One of the guards moved closer as he undressed scrutinising Maurice's naked frame. "When will you dumb animals learn the order of things round here?" With a cruel swing the man whacked his baton between Maurice's legs, the cold metal biting deep into his manhood. Wildfire burned in his loins as the world swam in shades of grey, laughter chased him as he fought for clarity, swaying in front of his eager audience.

"Plea, please let me be," he murmured, hearing his voice as if from a great distance. More jeering laughter answered his pleas, the guards jostling around him as he stood hunched over cradling his throbbing testicles. Mocked and naked he fought against the tears that threatened to spill, thankfully managing to prevent that final humiliation. Growing tired of their entertainment two guards moved forward, hooking their armoured arms under his arms they dragged him across the floor. The rough concrete tore his soles, cutting and shredding them with unforgiving brutality. Coming to a halt they threw him down in front of a steel cover.

On his knees Maurice watched as another guard came forward and entered a key code into a numeric keypad on the metal cover. Seconds later there was a loud clunk as bolts were electronically withdrawn, the heavy lid automatically sliding open. As the hole was revealed Maurice wretched, a foul ungodly smell pouring from the dark pit. The guards paid no heed to his suffering as they forced him to the edge of the hole. The reality of his punishment was beyond his worst nightmares. It literally was a hole in the ground.

Only just slightly bigger than the width of his shoulders, and lower than Maurice's full height, the prospect of inhabitation was intolerable. From his vantage point he could see that the walls and floor of the prison were constructed completely of earth; like a grave for the living. The thought chilled him to the bone and what little resolve he'd held collapsed.

"You can't, I can't go in there. Please, I won't do anything wrong ever again." He trailed off piteously, his whole body shaking in terror.

"What do you say Shaun, do you think we should let him go?" said one of the guards.

"Well now I'm not sure Bri, if the warden found out he'd have our balls. You know how he is when it comes to following orders," answered his friend.

"Yeah I guess your right, looks like we'll have to put you in there I'm afraid 113."

"No, listen, listen to me," Maurice said frantically, "I won't tell, the warden never needs know, please I'll do anything you want just don't put me in there." The guard called Bri took a step back and scratched his head as if considering his proposal.

"Well I guess that could work, and I can see you are sorry." He paused turning his visored head to stare at Maurice, "I mean you are sorry aren't you?"

"Yes I am," cried Maurice, unable to stop the hot tears that filled his eyes. "I promise on everything that I am that I'll never do anything like tha." His vow was cut short as Bri's thick soled boot slammed into the back of his head, forcing him over and down into the waiting hole.

"I'm afraid you just didn't sound sorry enough 113, better luck next time." Chuckling Bri hit the closure combination on the keypad, relishing in the screams that drifted up to him. Maurice struggled against the waterlogged floor of his cell, cursing as he attempted to twist his body the right way around. Bri's kick had landed him head first in the pit and now the walls prevented his re-acquaintance with the floor. With a furious heave he pushed himself up and then around, the rough earth scraping painfully against his naked body.

Maurice screamed, a long baleful sound filled with despair and anger. He was trapped, his old friend darkness all around him but now a new evil smelling companion had joined the party in the form of stale urine and staler excrement. Wiping his wet face in disgust he attempted to regain control. Struggling to breathe the toxic air he attempted to move the steel cover above his head. As expected the lid was solid, even when he applied all his strength there wasn't any give. After a while he gave up, trying to drop back into a sitting position but the narrowness of the walls prevented him. With no other option he was forced to hold an uncomfortable hunch his legs aching from the effort. That was the sadistic genius of the place; it inflicted perpetual torture on its unfortunate inhabitants but was almost maintenance free.

* * *

Minutes, hours, days it was all the same to Maurice, a never ending slow march of time without meaning. He had no idea how long had passed, what little sanity he'd held upon entering the hole had long since fled. It could have been days or years for that matter, his perception of time as accurate as a broken watch. Sometimes he wasn't even there anymore, his fever addled brain transporting him to sweet visions of his past. Those were the better times, a reliving of everything he'd once loved, but it didn't last. For every true memory there came more and more distorted ones filled with Rachel's cruelly perverted image.

Her face was always marred by ugly cuts and boils, her face gaunt and pallid. She'd scream and shout, pointing angrily at him while he cowered back against the wet earth. Stray voices flashed in his mind as he waited, voices that weren't his own torturing him with their threatening words.

'What if they don't release you.'

'What if they leave you here, no one would know.'

'Your going to die here Maurice.'

On and on they called rattling around his head. Clinging to life Maurice ignored them as best he could. In rarer moments of clarity he concentrated on his release, a mantra repeated in his head to ward off the negative voices. 'I'm getting out of here soon, just got to hold on a bit longer.' At times he almost succeeded in making himself believe, a strange faith that filled him with an internal surety. It never lasted though; the horrors of his imprisonment were just too great to ward away.

Hallucinations tormented his peace while he crouched in the hole, sickening fear filled mirages that threatened his sanity. At one point he noticed the walls were moving. Staring at the undulating surface with confused incomprehension, he struggled to process what he was witnessing. Something was in the hole with him, he panicked as he inspected the phenomenon more closely. There were hundreds if not thousands of insects filling every inch of the wall, crawling and fighting for position on the soft earth. No not insects, he looked again and realised they were spiders. Spiders of the large black variety, scurrying madly up and down his wall. With so many it looked like the cell was alive, moving of its own accord in the dim light.

He tried to scream but his parched throat only managed a dry croak. Wild eyed he dropped into a protective ball, hunched on the floor with his hands over his head and face. He crouched that way for a long time, not moving, just listening. He waited for the tickle on his skin that must surely come; yet it never did. Slowly, very slowly he regained some composure, forcing his shaking fingers open a crack. Nothing, the wall was spider free.

Releasing his hands he peered nervously around the hole, his vision blurring and twisting. Everything looked disproportionate now, either too big or too small coupled with a queer feeling of unreality. What was going on? It was like his vision was being fed through fun house mirrors, twisted and contorted beyond recognition. A sudden buzzing sound filled his ears as blood rushed to his head. The sound of his own heart deafened him, pulsing heavily in his ears and then came the blackness.

CHAPTER 16

He was in a dark void. Alone he floated in the all encompassing darkness, there was nothing else in this world but Maurice; this was his world. As he floated free and happy in that carefree place he noticed a light. Like a moth drawn forward he drifted towards it, the light's soft glow growing in intensity. It grew larger and larger until suddenly it was the whole world, a harsh white penetrating spotlight.

The light flashed in his brain again, this time accompanied by a sting of pain on his cheek. Groggily he came out of his stupor, another rough slap bringing him round fully. He was still in the compound, sitting on the rough concrete floor at the side of his hole naked and covered in dirt. There were two guards near him, one of them holding his shoulders while his friend was doing the slapping.

"Welcome back to the land of the living 113, hope you enjoyed your stay." The guards burst into derisive laughter as they hoisted him to his feet. Maurice tried to respond, wanting to beg, wanting to say anything so they'd leave him alone, but only managed to grunt. "What's that 113, you enjoyed it so much that you'd like to stay longer?" said one of guards, chuckling to his colleague. "Well continue on like you are doing pal and I'm sure we'll be able to accommodate your request. Sadly for now orders are you're going back to the cells so move it scumbag."

He was dragged across the concrete, this time barely aware of the damage inflicted on his feet. They led him back to the ground floor of the prison and out through another door. Maurice didn't know where he was being taken, his muddled mind not able to take in the route or his surroundings. Eventually he was thrown into a tiled room, the walls and floor completely covered in dirty black and white tiles. Bouncing off the wet floor he skidded across the slick tiles, coming to a painful rest against the room's back wall. He'd lost weight in the hole and his naked emancipated body spoke of sickness and death.

Attached to the wall of the wash-room was a thick green hose which the guards unfurled and aimed at him. Opening a red valve the guard activated the supply, sending a torrent of high pressured freezing water exploding into him. The shock of the water cleared the remaining confusion from his brain and he struggled to stand against the icy onslaught. It was no good, the slippery floor conspired against him and he fell back down, choking water rushing up his nose and into his mouth. Shivering and gasping for breath he endured the hosing as best he could, crouching against the wall with his back against the icy stream. After a good five minutes it was finished, his skin and face left burning from the freezing water.

"Well at least you don't smell of shit any more 113, but then again that probably seems like home for you eh?" The comedian guard quipped, causing his friend to laugh hysterically. Maurice ignored them, sitting against the cold wet wall dejected and beaten, awaiting whatever punishment these cruel men would inflict upon him next. "Stand up 113, stand up right now or I will beat you." Maurice complied immediately, struggling to keep his balance on the wet tiles. "That's good 113, you never know maybe we will train you eh? Now then sunshine, come over here." Once Maurice was by the guards they frogmarched him into the main compound, taking him through the prison until he was almost back to his old cell. Still naked Maurice trudged silently past the nameless steel doors, feeling eyes watching him from the grubby port holes. They stopped before he reached his old cell, a few doors closer to the steps than he'd been before.

"Welcome to your new home 113. Your previous residence has some new tenants so it looks like you've got a new room mate to keep you company, try not to kill this one eh?" With that the guards unlocked the cell door and pushed him in. It was identical in almost every way to his old cell, the only difference being his new cell mate who was laid slightly upright on the bottom bunk. He turned as Maurice entered scrutinising his naked dripping body with an upraised eyebrow.

"Ye look like hell lad, come in and take a load off. Your clothes are on the top bunk and there's a towel up there as well, I canna say if its clean mind." The man's lilting Scottish accent was comforting and Maurice felt an instant like for him.

"Thanks," he managed to whisper, his throat still painfully dry. Moving forward with as much dignity as his nudeness would allow, Maurice climbed unsteadily onto the top bunk. His body was a mass of pain; the ordeal of the hole had taken its toll leaving him half starved and fragile. In the relative comfort of the cell all the little twinges and pains that had seemed unimportant in the hole made themselves known. Unable to stop shaking Maurice grabbed the towel, its' rough material promising an uncomfortable journey to dryness.

He sat on the bunk cautiously dabbing his cold body, the sandpaper like towel rasping his chapped skin. Once he felt dry enough Maurice dressed into the orange jump suit and then slowly climbed down to the cell floor. His new cell mate smiled as he clambered back down, the man still lying prone on his bed.

"Well now laddy, I bet ye can feel the benefit of those clothes, ye look a lot better than ye did. Did they put you in the hole?"

"Yeah," Maurice croaked, "ten days, don't think I could have taken much more, didn't think I was going to make it."

The man nodded in understanding, "aye tis not a nice place, that it isn't. Well now that you're all dressed," The man said, holding out his hand. "My name's Michael Mcconner, nice to meet you." Maurice shook his hand enthusiastically, giving his own name and feeling much better than he'd done for a long while. He guessed that Michael was probably in his late forties, the greying hair and deep laughter lines covering the man's face a dead give away. There was a wildness about him that contrasted with his soft voice, his wavy shoulder length hair making him look like he'd just sauntered down from the Scottish highlands. The man's chin and lips further fuelled the supposition, decorated with a wiry grey beard and moustache.

"So what did they put ye in the hole for lad?" Michael asked looking intently at him. Maurice shuffled uneasily on his feet, not sure how this man would take the news that he'd killed his last cell mate. Perhaps noticing Maurice's discomfort he smiled and bid him continue.

"Come now lad, there's no shame or judgement here, we're all a wee bit condemned after all." Sensing no hostility from his new room mate, Maurice decided that honesty was the best policy and proceeded to tell him about Frank. He didn't stop until he'd told everything, including his fight with the guards and his experience in the hole. Michael looked thoughtful when he'd finished, rubbing his wiry chin hair while still examining Maurice.

"Aye I'm afraid it's a common theme in this place Maurice, murder, death and punishment, all these things seem to make this miniature world go round." He coughed as he spoke a deep rasping cough that bubbled up from deep within his lungs. As Michael shifted in bed, Maurice couldn't help but notice the fresh spots of blood dotting his cover.

"Are you okay Michael," asked Maurice starting forward in concern. Michael waved him off still wheezing slightly.

"Ye can save yer concern lad, won't do me or you any good worrying." He spluttered as he spoke, his words punctuated by another uncontrolled fit of coughing. "I've been in this wee compound for neigh on three years now, one of the older residents so the guards keep reminding me. Most people with the V2 virus don't last much longer than six months, my ma and pa always said that I was a wee fighter though." He coughed again, the bed covers rising and falling violently. "So don't ye go and worry your head about me Maurice, I know I haven't got long left now." He paused as he spoke, turning to Maurice with eyes that glistened wetly. "Ye ken it's something of a relief to me now, maybe when I die I'll go to a better place, if ye believe in that sort of thing."

He sighed deeply and for a moment his eyes shone brightly in the cells artificial lights giving his face an almost unnatural glow. "Have they started with the tests yet lad?" Michael asked, regarding him with concern.

"No nothing like that yet, when I was with Frank he said they normally wait a few months, so hopefully it won't be for a while."

Michael nodded, "aye that does seem to be the case from my experience, although every once in a while they break the trend. They like to keep you guessing ye know, keep ye guessing and keep ye fearing that's their motto around here." Maurice nodded, knowing from his own experience how sadistic the guards were. Still listening to Michael he clambered up to his bunk, looking forward to giving his aching limbs a proper rest.

"So how did you end up here Maurice? Now I know what your going to say and of course your right, you're here like everyone else because you've contracted the V2, but how did it happen lad."

"Well I honestly don't remember when I became infected, all I know is that It must have been sometime in the last two months." He scratched his head as he thought about that old problem, trying and failing to pinpoint where and when he must have picked up the infection.

"Aye tis the way for a lot of people in here, most of the cell mates I've had the pleasure to share with didn't know where they'd contracted the disease either. When did you find out, was it during a purity test?" Maurice grimaced at the question, his mind immediately bringing forth images of Rachel.

"Yeah it was," he paused, as if building up the courage to continue. "I was there with my partner Rachel, we were going for green light status, and then." He faltered as a wave of regret took hold. "She er, well I was found to be infected and the test confirmed that I'd infected her as well, and then." He stopped again, fighting against the threatening tears.

"Tis okay Maurice," Michael said softly. "I know it's hard lad, we've all got our own tales of woe and I'm not here to force it out of ye. Just know you're amongst friends now and I'll never judge you. Okay Maurice, you've just got to be strong." Maurice cried silently, every wrong he'd suffered coming back to haunt him.

"Thanks Michael," he eventually managed, the man's kind words bringing him comfort.

"It's okay lad, don't worry about a thing. Now if you're willing to listen I'd like to tell my own story." Maurice assented, grateful to have something else to think about other than his own hurtful past. The bunk below creaked as Michael moved himself into a more comfortable position. "I too was in love once with a wee lass called Mia, she was a beautiful girl and I don't just mean looks wise. Just looking at her face used to set my heart on fire, she had a touch of the old India's in her, dark olive silky soft skin and the deepest pair of blue eyes I'd ever seen." Michael's voice took on a note of sadness as he described her, his voice sounding unsteady.

"That's unusual ye see lad, blue eyes weren't something you'd normally see on such a dark skinned girl. Every time I looked into those eyes I felt like I was drowning and ye know I never once wanted to come up for air." He chuckled, the sound somewhat forced but still managing to lift the atmosphere. "Hark at me Maurice, ye must think I'm nothing but a soppy romantic." Nothing could have been further from the truth, the man's heartfelt words bringing forth precious memories of his own lost love.

"Well anyhow back to what I was saying, it weren't just her looks that drew me to her. No, although she did have plenty of those. The thing that I loved most about Mia was her innocence. In all my years I'd never met anyone like her, she was free in a sense that most people only dream about. I guess ye might call it naivety these days, but I didn't see it like that, to me it was an unblemished lust for life and simple enjoyment. As ye can probably tell I fell for her hook line and sinker, there was never going to be anyone else for me."

Another coughing fit interrupted his narrative, his breath coming in short uneasy gasps as his throat croaked and spluttered loudly. This one lasted longer than the rest and Maurice couldn't help but feel concerned for him. Moving to the side of his bunk he prepared to climb down to assist him, but before he could Michael managed to bring himself under control.

"Sorry lad, twas a wee bit more violent than what I'm used to. I guess my release date may be here quicker than I thought." The man chuckled grimly as he spoke, completely comfortable with the idea of his own demise. The same couldn't be said of Maurice however, he wished more than anything that he could help the man. It was strange how values in the camp seemed so much out of kilter with what was considered proper and correct behaviour in the outside world. As Michael had said earlier, the laws here were violence, suffering and pain. No help was provided if someone became ill, they were left to suffer in their own discomfort. Michael's soft voice interrupted his thoughts, his breathing once again back under control.

"So as I was saying lad, I had fallen for Mia, at the time she was my whole world and I would have literally moved mountains for her. Ye have to bear in mind Maurice, I thought I'd never find anyone to settle with. I was forty four then and as ye well know that's old to find a light partner. I'm sure you've witnessed people's reaction to a single man of my years. You know what they think don't ye Maurice? I mean we've all been guilty of making assumptions because of someone's wrist light." He coughed again, but managed to stop after only a short burst.

"I mean I'm as guilty as the rest in that sense, we judge people by their lights. When they saw me most people would probably wonder firstly why I hadn't found someone, either assuming that I knew I had the virus or that I was one of the secret gays."

He laughed as he spoke, "O course I was none of those things, or at least that's what I thought. So I was more than grateful when I met Mia who was ten years my junior and completely devoted to me."

"Wow," said Maurice impressed. "I got to say that's one hell of an age gap, how did you manage that?"

"Well I guess it isn't that hard to puzzle out, I was quite well off by today's standards. I had a respected job based in London, working for Gov Com as head of their Network Security."

"So you think she was with you because of your money?" Maurice questioned.

"No, well maybe that was one of the factors but she certainly wasn't a credits catcher. Maybe I got lucky, or maybe she wasn't feeling well when she chose me but all I know is that she genuinely loved me."

"You'll have to tell me your secret Michael if I ever get out of here," Maurice joked, enjoying the easy banter.

"I will that lad, I doubt ye would have much use for it though being a young whipper snapper like yerself." Maurice laughed good naturedly at the well meant jibe, almost beginning to feel normal as they talked.

"By the way lad, GovCom if yer not familiar with the term is the Governments Communications Centre."

"I did wonder," said Maurice.

"Aye well it's not a place ye would hear much of unless ye worked there or lived near it. World government run, its purpose kept under wraps with very little disclosure to the general public. Now at the time I enjoyed the comfort of an E class Domicile and they certainly were comfortable." Michael smiled wistfully as he thought about his lost home, it had definitely more than fulfilled his needs. "Mia was a trainee nurse at the time and I have to admit my colleagues first comments were along the same line as yours. They thought she was a credits catcher, using my higher status and affluence to move herself along. They were wrong though Maurice, all those turn coats were wrong and I hate them for it. The one thing I've learnt from all of this is the fickleness of human nature, there were people there that I'd known for years. They weren't just colleagues anymore ye know, I thought they were true friends."

Maurice guessed what would come next, the customary shunning that seemed to follow all ambers. It didn't seem to matter how well you thought you knew someone, or how much you'd trust them, once you turned amber everything and everyone you thought you knew changed. Maurice knew that feeling only too well and the sense of betrayal that came with it.

"They turned though," he continued, "as sure as night follows day each and every one of them betrayed me. I guess ye know what I mean Maurice, and I suppose I'm in no position to judge. I often ask myself would I have done different if it had been someone else and not me." He sighed deeply, a sigh not dissimilar to Maurice's own when he'd considered his pre amber behaviour. "Ye know I can't honestly say that I would have, and that really hurts. So maybe my condemnation of them is unjust, yet I still can't bring myself to feel anything else."

He spluttered again as he spoke, his voice cracking as much from the cough as from the emotion it carried. There were many similar things between the two men and as his telling continued Maurice knew that he'd gladly fight every single guard for this man. Whether it was the situation or the great tiredness that hounded him Maurice didn't know, but the easy bond that had grown between them was forged in steel.

Michael continued his tale explaining how they'd planned to have children, a family home and all the normal things that most people desire. However their dreams as were his own were shattered when they took the purity test. It was such a similar situation, the synchronicity spooky yet somehow comforting. During Michael's test he was also identified as the source of the infection, a cruel twist of fate that Maurice knew only too well. From what he said though Mia seemed to have taken it better, allowing him to share their last precious hours of freedom together, a kindness that Maurice had been cruelly denied. Of course she'd been devastated by the news, but in contrast to Rachel had chosen to believe her man's claim of ignorance.

The last Michael had seen of her was when she'd been taken, the police homing in on their over due red wrist lights. As was the policy they'd been taken to the sex separated speeder stations, both whisked away to their respective camps. As Michael's tale came to an end a cold silence settled within the cell, both men lost in retrospection as they considered their lost lives and loves. After a while Michael broke the brooding silence, clearing his throat nervously.

"Er Maurice lad, would ye be pal and help me across to the toilet, I'm afraid I need to relieve myself."

"Yeah sure," Maurice answered, returning to the cell floor. As he climbed down, his cell mate manoeuvred his limp legs over the side of the bunk.

"Tis my legs I'm afraid, I'll need ye to lift me if ye can as I'm not able to walk." Maurice regarded his legs in unconcealed shock; they were desperately thin and lined with many ugly scars and old wounds.

"What happened to you?" He asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

CHAPTER 17

"It was a punishment from Davies." He spoke the man's name with venom, his normally pleasant cadence transformed into an angry hiss. "Ye see when I first came to this place all I thought of was escape. Ye may not think that it's possible, but I know of inmates that have done it."

Maurice shook his head, "It would have been on the news if that had happened Michael, nothing like that was ever reported on."

"Exactly," retorted Michael, "nothing was ever reported, but who do you think controls the media? The government and they'd make dam sure that nothing like that would ever become public knowledge if it could be helped." Maurice didn't know what to make of his claim, he could tell he believed what he said but that didn't make it true. Surely the government would inform people if any infected escaped. Of course they would, they wouldn't want the general population to be put at risk by virus carriers running rampant through the streets.

Feeling a sudden pity for Michael he regarded him in a different light. The man's years of mistreatment had obviously taken their toll. Despite his obvious intellectual capacity, Maurice could see that the three years in this hell hole had done more than just ruin legs.

"I guess that could be the case," answered Maurice carefully, not wishing to hurt Michael any more than was necessary.

"Well anyhow," said Michael, "I attempted to escape two weeks after I was bought here and was caught." He laughed ruefully as he spoke, "I was so close Maurice, nearly made it out but one of the guards noticed me and that was that. I spent a long time in the hole, truth be told I can't remember how long it was now. Only that it seemed like forever, trapped in that awful place. When I was finally released the Warden decided to make me an example of me."

Michael's face quivered as he spoke, betraying a deep sadness hiding just behind his mask of joviality. He stuttered his words, blinking his eyes furiously as he fought to compose himself. "He ordered one of his butchers to cut the base of my spine. He said I could keep the top half as a gesture of his good will towar." Michael faltered again, his face contorting as he remembered the warden's cold words after the operation.

Roughly held by the guards he'd looked into that man's face helpless and naked, his useless legs hanging limply beneath him. Davies had sneered as he spoke, "you must realise 55 that I take no joy in these proceedings." He paused imperiously, his dark eyes filled with a smug self righteousness. "But all my children must learn the value of rules, these boundaries are set for your own safety 55 not mine. Although it pains me to see you in this way I trust the lesson has now been learned." The warden's face grew grim as he stared at Michael, the sombre face of a self proclaimed judge. "Let none say that I cannot show mercy, even though you have committed the gravest of sin against me I have left you with the use of your upper body and for that you should be grateful."

Michael had moaned at this, a distressing sound of a man who'd lost everything. Continuing to stare at Michael the Warden took a theatrical step back, holding his head as if pained by the whole affair. "I trust you are grateful 55? That you appreciate the lesson I have taught?" Hanging, humiliated Michael made no effort to respond, instead he stared morosely at the thick carpeted floor. "Answer me," Davies roared with sudden fury, his podgy face growing red and angry. The attending guards were quick to act, their hands squeezing Michaels flesh until pain flared through his restrained arms.

"Yes warden," he cried, "I have learnt my lesson." Davies regarded his victim coldly, languishing back on his soft cushioned chair.

"Enough," called Davies, motioning for the guards to cease their torture. Grunting in relief Michael hung defeated, his useless body leaving him completely at the mercy of the warden. "Good 55, I always appreciate a student who can recognise the errors of their ways; you never know there may be a place for you in this institution after all." With that the warden let him leave, the guards carrying his dead weight back into the prison.

Maurice placed a concerned hand on his cell mates shoulder, "Michael, Michael," he called softly, "you okay?" Michael jumped slightly, Maurice's voice breaking through the bad memories.

"Aye lad I'm fine just sometimes gets to me still, ye know." Maurice nodded in understanding, wondering how a man could be so gracious after all he'd suffered. Taking great care he hoisted Michael over his shoulder, ignoring the pain it caused him and set him slowly down on the porcelain pot. Satisfied he wasn't going to fall, Maurice moved backwards looking away so as to offer him as much privacy as possible.

Once he'd finished Maurice helped him back to his bed, clambering gratefully back up to his own bunk. Not long after the lights of the cell were extinguished, plunging it into a now familiar blackness. Sleep came quickly for Maurice, the bunk's comfort a welcome relief after the hell of the pit.

* * *

The compounds morning siren brought him to consciousness with a sharp jump. No matter how many times he heard it, he couldn't imagine ever becoming used to that awful sound. Below he could hear Michael's first stirrings of movement and shouted morning down to his new companion.

"Aye that it tis lad, how are ye this morning." Michael purred, sounding surprisingly chirpy.

"Not too bad considering, still feeling sore from the hole and the guards but my fever seems to have completely gone."

"Good, good, doesn't do to be in a weakened state in this place, the guards pick up on it and tis a past time of theirs to try and make you feel worse." It wasn't long after first light that the hatch at the bottom of their door opened and what passed for break fast was thrown into their cell. There seemed to be no routine with the meals that Maurice could identify; some days they would receive up to three meals at varying times and other days just one meal would be appear. "Well looks like our breakfast has arrived lad, would ye mind seeing what culinary delights they've cooked up for us this morning?"

Maurice complied, clambering down from his bunk he went over to the door, picking up the waiting bowls and spoons.

"Looks like some kind of porridge," he paused, "least that's what I think it's meant to be."

Michael chuckled a mirthless laugh, "aye tis sometimes hard to identify what they serve here lad. I tend to not think about its true identity, makes for an easier meal that way."

Maurice had to agree as he carried the two bowls of grey, black sludge over to Michael's bed. At least the water bottles seemed to be clear, the refreshing drink was the only thing about the meals that Maurice looked forward to. Breakfast was a solemn affair with both men attempting to finish their meals as quickly as possible, gulping down the semi cold clay like lumps as fast as they could.

Once finished they downed the tepid water, their throats celebrating the relatively fresh taste. Michael stretched out on his bunk, groaning as his joints cracked.

"Well lad I'm going to warn ye, if the guards follow their normal routine then they'll soon be here to take me away for more testing." His voice took on a shade of anger as he delivered the news. "They've really increased the amount of injections they're giving me, not sure what it is but it don't half make me feel spaced out." Repositioning himself on his bunk, Michael coughed to clear his throat and then continued. "Now Maurice there's something that I need to discuss with you, it's a delicate matter and one which I'm loath to speak about, but tis one of great importance."

Maurice descended from his bunk coming to stand in front of Michael, sensing the urgency within his words. Michael waited until Maurice was in front of him, then with a deep breath began a story that would change the course of Maurice's life.

CHAPTER 18

"Maurice what I'm about to tell you won't be easy to take." He shifted again on his bunk, his eyes solemn and filled with discomfort.

"Don't worry, whatever it is you can tell me."

Drawing strength from Maurice's reply he continued. "You remember when we first met, I asked you when you'd become infected and you weren't able to pinpoint the exact point?" Maurice nodded, watching the man intently. "Well there's a reason behind that Maurice, a very good reason. Now before arguing with me please listen to everything I have to say." Michael paused again and stared at Maurice so intently that after a moment he dropped his eyes unable to stand the scrutiny.

"Okay Maurice I'm going to tell you the reason why you can't remember when you became infected. The reason that no matter how hard you cast your mind back you're unable to remember the event." He paused again, perhaps for dramatic effect or perhaps because he was scared of what Maurice's reaction was going to be.

"What is it?" Maurice blurted, unable to stand the building tension within the cell.

"The reason you don't remember is because." The clang of a bolt cut off Michael's words as two burly guards entered the cell. Dressed in their perpetually black uniforms they came to a halt in front of them. Their visored faces turned towards Michael, completely ignoring Maurice's presence. Without a word they grabbed his wrists and ankles, hoisting his skinny frame easily into the air. He didn't resist or fight in anyway, choosing instead to stare at Maurice with eyes that promised to tell the secrets he held. Too scared to intervene Maurice watched helpless as they took him, self loathing filling him for his lack of action.

They carried his friend with no care for his conditions, roughly wheeling him through the air and out of the cell. Maurice stood as they left, but the slammed cell door cut off any thoughts of bravery. Alone he stared at the closed door, hating the accusing silence now filling the room. It just wasn't fair but deep down he knew there was nothing he could have done. The guards would have easily crushed his opposition and another stint in the hole would have killed him.

Sighing he found solace in his logic, managing to gain some small relief from the guilt he felt. Slowly he began to pace around the square cell, trying to still his frantic mind. It was no use, whatever he tried did nothing to stop the question, pounding unceasingly inside his skull. What was Michael going to tell him? It just wouldn't quit, tormenting him with its need for an answer.

Maurice walked slowly to the bottom bunk of the bed, and dropped heavily upon the hard mattress. There was nothing else to do but wait, wait for his cell mate to come back, wait for his life to drip steadily away, nothing left but a seemingly endless supply of time. A while later and his prayers were answered as Michael was returned to the cell, dragged in by the uncaring guards and dropped in a pile by the door.

Once they'd departed Maurice ran to the motionless figure, carefully rolling over his limp body. Michael's face was blank, his eyes wide and unseeing, his pupils black marbles within his sunken eye sockets. He moaned softly under Maurice's touch, his hands moving upwards weakly as if to ward off an attacker.

"Easy Michael," he soothed, gently holding his hands. With as much care as possible he lifted and cradled the man to him, sickened by how light he was. His body had been ruined by malnourishment and ill treatment, things that seemed to be in great abundance within the camps. Michael gargled suddenly, shaking uneasily within his arms, mumbling indistinguishable words. Placing him carefully on his bunk Maurice stepped back, anger and frustration once again building within him. There was nothing more he could do for him, completely unable to give any decent aid. Many hours past before Michael made another sound and even then it was only a grunt.

Swiftly Maurice climbed down from his bunk, attending his friend with concern. "Michael, its okay, I'm here can you hear me?" Holding Michael softly Maurice examined his pallid face, noting with relief the reduction in the size of his pupils, he actually seemed to be focussing now. He called again and Michael coughed in response, shuddering as his head shook violently.

"Maurice, is that ye lad," he croaked, his voice strained and weak.

"It's me Michael," he confirmed, looking anxiously at the sick man. For a time there was no response and Maurice feared he'd dropped back into unconsciousness. However as he watched, Michaels' dazed look lifted slightly and a shadow of a smile passed over his tired face.

"Well now lad, ye is a sight for sore eyes, after that place tis nice to see someone friendly." Michael's body shook again as he spoke, as if the very effort of speaking itself took a monumental toll on him.

"Hush Michael," Maurice chided, his eyes filled with concern, "just lay quiet for now, I'm not going anywhere, I'll be right here." Michael breathed deeply and smiled once again, this time managing to transform more of his face. Perhaps realizing the wisdom in Maurice's words he finally lay silent, letting his eyes close as he fell into a restful natural sleep.

CHAPTER 19

Maurice kept silent vigil as his friend slept, wanting to keep his word and be there when he eventually awoke. He didn't have to wait long as not more than half an hour later Michael jumped awake, his hands flailing wildly in front of his face. Grunting and growling he found full consciousness, his gaunt face painted with a terrific fear.

"Its okay Michael your safe now, just relax and breathe." Maurice soothed, bringing Michael's attention back to him. Focussing on Maurice he gradually found stability, the black tendrils of fear retreating from his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Maurice asked, still concerned for the man.

"I'm fine lad so I am, don't ye worry. Like I said before it's those dammed testing sessions of theirs," he grumbled sullenly. Suddenly Michael's eyes grew in intensity staring at Maurice as sweat began to bead his forehead.

"Now lad before I was taken away I began to tell ye the truth of our present." Michael's words caused a bolt of adrenaline to fly through him; this was the moment he'd yearned for but now it was here he couldn't contain his building fear.

"You did," answered Maurice, "I'd appreciate it if you'd continue."

"Of course I will lad, I apologise for the interruption before but those dammed guards have absolutely no concept of etiquette." Maurice laughed dry mouthed, nervous anticipation paralysing his vocal chords. "Well now," began Michael, "as I said before what I tell ye now won't be easy to hear. So please do me the courtesy of hearing me out before ye pass judgement." Maurice nodded again, feeling a rising sense of déjà vu as he eyed the cell door suspiciously; half expecting it to burst open. It didn't and Michael continued. "Now whatever you may have been led to believe Maurice I'm afraid just isn't true. You and Rachel were not infected with the V2 before the purity test. It was only during the test that you were both injected with the artificially created aids V2 virus"

Maurice heard without comprehending at first and then an unstoppable rage grew inside as he understood Michael's implications. Fighting a growing urge to attack the crippled man he stared into his unblinking face. How dare he belittle the tragedy that had destroyed his life with his twisted delusions? Shaking with anger that pulsed deep from inside he faced Michael, his hands unconsciously clenching into fists. Before Maurice was able to form a response Michael had continued.

"Now lad I can see ye don't believe me and that's understandable, I sometimes canna believe it myself, but I swear to ye it's the truth." His voice booked no argument, a sincere rendition of the truth as he knew it. Struggling to make sense of it all Maurice turned away, wringing his hands as still raw emotions threatened to erupt. When he eventually turned back Maurice was shocked to see barely held back tears in the eyes that regarded him. The dark anger at Michael's revelation still smouldered within, but its fury had been somewhat tempered by the look of anguish on his cell mates face.

"Michael," Maurice began haltingly, "I'm sorry but I find it hard to believe what you've just told me." Michael sighed in response looking saddened, but his eyes still glowed with a burning intensity.

"Listen to me Maurice," he spoke in barely a whisper, "I understand your frustration but, you need to hear what I'm say." Maurice cut him off, turning away and hitting the concrete wall hard with his fist.

"Just be quiet Michael, do you understand me, just be quiet." His voice trailed off as he fell to his knees, facing the wall of the cell. Michael watched him, not speaking or moving, perhaps waiting for another moment in which to speak. The minutes slowly ticked by and Maurice didn't move, a motionless statue deep within his own thoughts. As he sat there he couldn't help but replay Michael's words, they were crazy insane words and yet deep within he could almost feel an essence of truth. All his own attempts to pin point the source of his infection had drawn a blank, but now this new possibility could provide much needed resolution.

'They wouldn't have infected me, how could they do that? Why would they do that?' Maurice wondered. There were just so many more questions than he had answers for, and the very idea that the government would do something so disgusting was implausible to him. Still as he sat there soul searching the possibility refused to be quieted. It would explain so much and solve the mystery of how Rachel herself had become infected. Even as he considered the possibility he winced inwardly.

If he went along with this madness and accepted it, then it meant they'd both thrown away their lives for nothing. Maurice just couldn't face that, how could he acknowledge that they'd both willingly signed their lives away. The idea that virus free citizens were taking the purity test and being purposely infected was abhorrent. No matter what Michael thought he knew he must be wrong. He'd seen green lighters with his own eyes, their very presence disproving his theory.

Still he could tell that Michael believed completely in what he'd said, the man's words filled with nothing but sincerity. But he'd been through so much, the failed purity test, his legs being taken from him, it was only natural to want to blame someone, for someone take responsibility for his own misfortune. Satisfied that Michael was wrong, but not intentionally misleading him he turned to regard his cell mate.

"Michael, I'm sorry I truly am. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that but the shock of it all."

"No lad don't mention it, ye don't have anything to be sorry for," he smiled, "I know more than most the shock of hearing the truth."

"Look," said Maurice, not wanting to mislead the man. "I know you believe what you've told me Michael and I do appreciate you sharing with me but I don't hold your views."

The smile dropped from his face as Maurice spoke, realising that despite his best efforts his revelation hadn't been heard.

"Maurice plea," he began, but another coughing fit took hold much worse than before. Great whooping coughs ripped through the man's frail body as tears of pain rolled down his face. Maurice moved towards him, unsure of what he could do to help. A spray of hot gore splashed his face as he approached, the man's breath filled with tiny droplets of blood.

Running to his side he tried to help his friend, slapping his back frantically in the small hope that it might do some good. After an awful frenzy of coughing and gasping he eventually gained some control, leaving only the ragged sound of his wheezing breath.

"Now lad," said Michael, his voice little more than a whisper, "what I have to tell you won't wait, coz I don't think I'm long for this world." With a grave seriousness he leaned forward, grasping and pulling Maurice closer to him. "I know ye don't believe what I've told you and I don't blame you." He coughed again, his frail body shaking. "I ken the reason why Maurice, I truly do, but believe me what I've told you is the truth and nothing more."

As he listened Maurice couldn't help but shake his head in negation. Michael grimaced in frustration his ragged breathing threatening to burst in to coughing again. "Well if you can't agree then just please listen to the full story." Nodding his assent Maurice agreed; no matter what his feelings on the subject he'd listen. Michael was failing fast and he'd do everything he could to ease his passage. Satisfied his story would at least be heard Michael began to speak, his voice croaky and unsteady.

CHAPTER 20

"Now lad, ye know what happened when I went to the testing centre. You also know how similar our stories are. Well Maurice I think you deserve to know the truth and how I came by that truth." Maurice listened intently, whether he believed or not was another matter but for now he allowed himself to listen. "When Mia and I took the test and it came back positive she ran. Much like Rachel I imagine, she blamed me for infecting her, an understandable position considering the information presented.

Maurice nodded grimacing; remember his own troubling experience at the centre. "O course I chased the wee lass," he continued, "caught her outside the door and wouldn't let her go. She was mad Maurice let me tell ye, she was like a woman possessed. Well I held on so I did, weathered the storm so to speak. Eventually she'd had enough, broke down and cried in my arms liked she'd never cried before" His breath hitched as he spoke, the dark memory haunting him.

"I just held her to me Maurice," his hands moved unconsciously in front of him as if he were reliving the moment. "At the time it felt like we were the only two people in the world you know? Something passed between us in that moment and her fight had gone. We left together that day Maurice, that's why I loved her. No matter what she thought I'd done she didn't leave me, I love her so much for that." Michaels face scrunched in emotion agony as he spoke, cradling his head as he cried.

Wordlessly Maurice moved to him, placing a comforting hand upon on his shoulder. He knew just how hard it was to remember, an exquisite pain that many of the camp's inhabitants must carry. Embracing Michael he allowed him to cry, letting his pain and suffering drain from him like a black puss. Eventually he stopped. Raising his head he regarded Maurice with thankful eyes.

"Thanks Maurice, I'm sorry for that. It's just these dammed walls and the bad memories they contain, it just gets, well it get too much sometimes."

"I know and don't apologise for it." Maurice said kindly. "There's no shame in it, not after all we've suffered." Nodding his agreement Michael breathed deeply, composing his thoughts as he attempted to continue.

"Now where was I," he scratched his head. "Oh yes, look I won't bore ye with too much detail but as I'm sure ye can ken there were lots of accusations and hateful things that Mia said." Maurice nodded solemnly, remembering Rachel's own cruel tirade of words.

"Eventually though lad she believed me. I don't know whether I broke her down, or if she said it as a kindness but in the end she told me she believed. I honestly think she did as well. The thing is she'd always had an uncanny ability to pick out if I weren't being completely honest with her."

He smiled wistfully, "I think she could just tell, I mean I'd never been as sincere about anything as I was that day. She forgave me bless her and we promised each other we'd spend our last free hours together." He shook his head sadly as he remembered, his recently dried eyes threatening to re-leak.

"Now the thing is I couldn't rest. I wasn't going to stand idly by like some fattened turkey and wait for them to take me away. No not I Maurice," he said angrily. "As I'm sure ye did I felt betrayed and wronged; how could my life and woman be taken from me in one fell swoop? So it must be a mistake I thought, a horrible mistake. So I took a second test, can you guess what the results of that wee test were lad?"

Maurice nodded slowly, intrigued that this man's life had mirrored his own so closely.

"That's right," Michael said not giving him chance to speak. "It was positive confirmed by the bloody private clinic as well as the governments. What little hope Mia held was completely dashed afterwards; all she wanted to do now was to go home and wait for her light to expire. I agreed at first and joined her in my domicile, but I couldn't stay there just waiting for the inevitable separation that would follow. So I left, because ye see Maurice I had questions, so many questions and no answers."

Maurice could feel himself being unwillingly drawn into the story. No matter how hard he tried to remain objective he couldn't stop the sense of anticipation building within him. Michael continued, his voice becoming more and more insistent as if he could sense Maurice's slipping resistance. "Once away from my home I walked, not knowing where I was going not really caring, I just wondered aimlessly through London's streets. I was like a ghost Maurice, nothing left inside me but a gnawing despair. People were staring at me as I went, I could feel their eyes and disapproving looks but nothing mattered. All I could think about was how it didn't fit; I just couldn't explain the situation." He shook his head, reliving the exasperation.

"So what did you do?" Maurice asked, beginning to feel impatient, needing to know what Michael meant to tell him.

"Well eventually I found myself in front of Gov Com headquarters. I hadn't the slightest idea how I came to be there but there I stood. It was a route I took daily to work so maybe my legs had just followed what was familiar, or maybe it was fate. Anyhow as I stood there staring up at the building, a glimmer of a plan began to form in my mind. Nothing concrete ye understand, but it was the first real positive step I'd taken since finding out." His eyes glimmered as he recalled the moment, his speech quickening.

"Ye see there's no written law that ambers are barred from returning to work."

"Unless you work for the medical services," Maurice interjected, remembering his own reception at the hospital.

"Correct," Michael agreed, "unless you work in a high risk area like the hospitals and such forth. Now of course lad most people don't take up their right to return to work. I mean who'd want their colleagues and friends to see them in that humiliating state?" Maurice nodded, seeing his point.

"So what dya think I did? Well I'll tell ye, I decided to use my law given right and marched straight into the Gov Com building. Straight through the revolving glass doors I went, past the security desk and into the lifts. Nobody stopped me or said anything; to be honest lad I don't think that the guards even noticed my amber light, they're not the sharpest bunch of security staff ye ken. So anyhow I'm travelling up in the lift when it hits me, the fear, by the time I reached the 11th floor I was almost too scared to move. "Michael hesitated, fighting to control another bout of coughing.

"The thought of walking onto that floor terrified me. I was scared of what my colleagues would say when they saw my wrist light, the snide comments and hostile looks I was sure to receive. Not only that but if I went through with my plan and I turned out to be right, well at the time I couldn't even think about the ramifications. "He shivered as he spoke, disturbing memories best forgotten. Maurice watched with goose pimples pricking his neck, whether the man was mad or sane was questionable but his skills as an orator made it very easy to begin to believe.

Closing his eyes Michael continued. "I remember it as plain as day Maurice, the ping of the lift as it hit my floor, the doors sliding smoothly open to reveal the corridor to my office. I moved without thinking, striding forward as purposefully as I could. All around I could hear people chattering and talking, the low buzz of voices hard at work. As soon as I walked into that room there was an abrupt silence. Every single man and woman turned around and stared at me. Some of these people I'd worked with for years, and yes I'd called a lot of them friends, but there was no quarter given to me that day." He shook his head sadly in recollection.

"But I was there and I'd be dammed if I was going to fall at the first hurdle. Ignoring them as best I could I forged onwards, not really looking or acknowledging anyone, just concentrating on making the long walk too my desk. Luckily my team was small and there was no one scheduled in that day, so I had the whole pod to myself. I hadn't been sat down for long, maybe a few minutes at most when Jordan the office manager comes over to me." Michael's face filled with anger as he spoke his name.

"Now ye understand I'd always considered Jordan to be a fair man, older than me and strict, but of a fair sort. Well he leaned in close and asked me what I was doing, saying that I shouldn't be here with an amber light, asking politely if I would go. O course I didn't, I explained it was my law given right to come to work if I chose and he had no choice but to concede the point. He wasn't happy though, far from it, he literally hissed at me saying that I wouldn't get any sympathy, calling me if I remember correctly an infected cretin. I'd have never of guessed he was such an enlightened man our Jordan."

Maurice laughed at this, glad to have some distraction from the growing tension. "So I stayed and I'm glad that I did, ye see working in the Gov Com offices meant I was in a privileged position for gaining information. My role as I've told ye, was head of network security. Now that meant I was an expert in securing the governments computer networks and systems; but the opposite was also true. During the course of my career I'd gained an in-depth knowledge of how to circumvent firewalls, hack computer systems and gain access to restricted areas and data. You see it was neigh on impossible to be a good security specialist without knowing how the hackers got in.

Now I'm guessing Maurice that you're like the majority of the population; in that you have no idea what the Gov Com offices real purpose is. Well I'm going to tell you because you need to know the scale of this thing." His face grew grave, the obvious importance of the information he carried weighing him down terribly.

"There are numerous Gov Com complexes scattered throughout the world; most are located in what used to be the capital cities of the old sovereign countries, with the London office being the biggest in Europe. Now imagine if ye will that any form of communication from any country is routed through the closest Gov Com office. It is nothing short of an engineering miracle ye ken, whether it's a phone call, email, mobile, video phone, or internet based communication all of it passes through and is assessed by the Gov Com offices."

Maurice shook his head incredulously, unable to hold his peace upon hearing such an outlandish statement.

"I'm sorry Michael but I can't believe that, there's just no way every form of communication could be monitored, it just couldn't be done and it wouldn't be right," he said indignantly. Holding his palms up Michael made calming gestures towards him, smiling in a patient manner.

"Sorry Maurice, I forget that the public aren't aware of the level of monitoring that goes on. Let me ask you a question Maurice, what do I have to gain from lying?" Maurice stared at him with searching eyes; there was no trace of deception.

"Nothing," Maurice finally whispered, feeling drained. Satisfied that he'd got through Michael continued solemn faced.

"Please do me the courtesy of just listening Maurice," Michael asked. "If ye don't believe anything or want to ask questions then wait till the end. What I have to tell you needs to be said, I've held it inside for so long but I can't wait any longer." Nodding slowly Maurice agreed, struggling internally against so many different emotions. "So where was I, "muttered Michael, "ahh yes, the Gov Com office monitors everything, that's their job ye see. In an effort to maintain stability and harmony a person's right to privacy is negated, by what the government sees as a necessary invasion of privacy to ensure continuing peace. That's the sort of sanctimonious bullshit that everyone working within Gov Com is fed on a daily basis, and let me tell you, until something changes your outlook it's taken as gospel truth." Michael's voice failed as another attack of coughing took him.

Leaning forward he began to choke sickeningly, his skinny frame heaving in and out. Maurice offered what help he could, patting his back morosely, feeling like a man using a water pistol to fight a forest fire. Regaining his breath somewhat Michael regarded him gratefully, the pain he suffered etched upon his face. "So ye see Maurice," he said, "I were no different to the rest. My pre infection days were happy days, working for the government, invading people's privacy and believing it was all for the greater good." He shook his head regretfully, the pain of his conscious cutting deeper than his cough.

"It wasn't your fault, you weren't to know any different," Maurice said. He couldn't bear to see his friend like this. It was one thing to bravely face his demise, but to do it with such guilt must be intolerable.

"Maybe you're right Maurice but I fear not. We live in a society that preaches tolerance, acceptance, trust and purity. Yet our own government watches us all as if we were already ambers. Where's the humanity in it all, even before this I should have realised the hypocrisy in the system."

"You're too hard on yourself Michael. I bet every man in here could say the same thing. You're not to blame here, believe me." Michael regarded him with sad eyes, eyes filled with regret and guilt that kept him awake at night.

"Thanks Maurice, if there's one good thing to come out of this place then that's you. I just wish we could have met under better circumstances." Sharing a mutual smile they shook hands, a true handshake of friendship. "Well anyhow as I stood in the office that day it was like I'd awakened. The pro-spying slogans and pictures daubing the office walls seemed fake and contrived. I guess on some level I'd always known what we did was wrong but now I could see it for exactly what it was." Whooping suddenly he managed to fend off a cough, waiting a few moments until his breathing slowly settled down again.

"So I was sitting there in the office mostly ignored, apart from a few of the more hostile employees who kept giving me nasty looks every now and then. I was hurt o course, who wouldn't be, but thankfully it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Being ignored as I was gave me the perfect opportunity to carry out my plan, if it weren't for their pig ignorance I'd of never been able to delve into the government based networks. I must admit by this point I was desperate, not really expecting to find anything, but the very act of doing something made me feel better. So I sat there and I hacked the very systems I'd been paid to protect."

He smiled wryly at the irony, allowing himself to feel that the small victory.

"Making use of all the skills I'd learnt in the art of defence I proceeded to rape Gov Com's security protocols. I must have been at if for a good few hours, exploring areas of the system that previously I'd never had reason to touch. There was certainly plenty of classified material there but none of it relevant or any way useful to me. It was all small stuff ye understand, directives and plans that weren't for the public's eyes but nothing majorly incriminating."

"What did you find?" Maurice asked, suddenly interested.

"Nothing of any worth lad it was all small stuff, not worth the screen it was printed on." Nodding, Maurice accepted the brush off, hoping the story's conclusion would provide more substance. "Now there wasn't a place on their server I didn't look," Michael said. "I searched and I searched the dammed thing again, but there was nothing to find. Eventually I gave up; there just wasn't anywhere else to look. Deleting all of the access logs and trigger points I became a ghost. "

"What did you do then?" Maurice asked.

"Well I was ready to leave. After all deep down I'd never really expected to find anything but the reality was hard to take. Depressed I started to get ready to leave, steeling myself for another walk through the lion's den. Then it hit me. There was another network, one that I couldn't access from my local console. Ye see within the Gov Com buildings they've constructed their own world wide network, a separate secure military network that runs completely independent of the internet. Now not many people had access to that network, not many, but I was one of them!"

His body shivered spasmodically as he spoke, his breath growing shorter until he coughed. Thankfully it was a short attack, letting him resume his story.

"One of my daily tasks was to check over the access console, searching for any unauthorised entry attempts. The console itself wasn't even on the main floor; it was secured in a locked room, a further preventative measure to restrict access. Now I was scared lad, there's no shame in admitting it. It was one thing to sit quietly at my desk not drawing any attention to myself, but to attempt to access Big Blue as it was called was lunacy." Michael coughed, forced to stop talking as another coughing fit consumed him, fresh mists of crimson flecking onto his already soiled sheets.

Maurice was worried, he seemed to be getting worse by the minute and there was nothing he could do. Feeling torn Maurice stared at him wishing he could help. The effort of talking was clearly doing him no good but Maurice needed resolution. Even if he didn't believe it he had to know, holding his tongue Maurice waited for him to recover, never uttering the words of caution his better nature wanted to say.

Eventually he continued, his voice sounding rougher and weaker. "The plan was there ye see Maurice, now all I had to do was execute it. That was the hard part but it had to be done, I couldn't go without at least making an attempt. Taking my Mil-net access card and the smallest 20 terabyte memory crystal I could find, I began to move across the office trying to look as officious and proper as I could. It was an awful walk Maurice; I could feel their harsh eyes burning into me, the barely audible whispers and muttered amber insults with every step. I made it through though, got right up to the reinforced Mill-net door. Within seconds I'd entered my keypad code, scanned my palm and I was in."

He smiled as he spoke, the memory of his daring still vivid even after so many years. "I was elated as I entered the room Maurice, the automatic door sealing me off safe and secure from the rest of the office. Ye see no matter what happened I would have at least fifteen minutes alone with the server. That was another of Gov Com's blessed security protocols; any access to Big Blue had to be carried out in fifteen minute slots, in which time the room was sealed to prevent any further access. However, any longer than fifteen minutes and the system would go into automatic shutdown, sealing the room from the other side, completely locked until building security came to open it. So I set about the server as quickly as I could but it wasn't easy, the external network had been child's play compared to big blue." Michael's colour suddenly drained as he spoke, his pallor turning bone white as he grabbed his stomach.

CHAPTER 21

"What's up? Are you okay?" Maurice asked, concerned by his friend's deteriorating condition. Shaking his head wildly he pointed to Maurice and then to the toilet.

"You want me to take you to the toilet?" Maurice wondered why he didn't speak. Michael nodded frantically his white face suddenly flushing a deep dark red. Moving quickly Maurice Lifted his sleight frame with no trouble, and carried him towards the toilet bowl. As he got there Michael managed to mumble a request; telling his friend to turn him so that his front faced the toilet. Finally comprehending Michael's intentions, Maurice held him so that his head was positioned over the bowl, turning away as the man spewed up his guts. Foul waves of liquid exploded from his mouth, expelling an almost continual stream of black sticky fluid.

'It must have been something they gave to him during testing,' thought Maurice. He knew they hadn't eaten or drunk anything comparable to that evil mess. Retching over and over he suffered, the amount of liquid growing less and less until there was nothing left. That didn't stop him though. Empty stomached the poor man continued to heave, little more than burning bile dripping from his lips. After an age his painful contractions grew less frequent, until eventually they ceased altogether.

"I'm ok now lad," Michael croaked tiredly. Maurice carefully helped him back to his bed, laying him down on the bunk with all the tenderness of a mother.

"Thanks," Michael said his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Hush now," chided Maurice softly, dabbing his wet face with a tissue. The need to hear his story had faded, the man's quick descent destroying the deluded fantasy he'd been drawn into. He should have stepped in earlier, to let him torment and exhaust himself while telling his delusions just wasn't right. Michael's eyes closed and he twisted his body so that he faced the cell wall. He remained that way for a while and Maurice wondered if he'd gone to sleep when he finally spoke.

"Flush the toilet will ye lad, sorry it isn't nice I know." Maurice gladly flushed the loo, washing away the black evil smelling sludge.

"What was that stuff? We haven't eaten anything like that," said Maurice, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Michael chuckled in response, the sound hollow and dead containing not one iota of humour.

"That's a special treat the doc mixes up for me, I don't know what it does or is meant to do but it tastes like shit and it's hell to keep down." He shuddered violently at the thought of it. "Right where was I?" he began, but not before Maurice jumped in.

"Are you sure you want to continue with this? Why don't you take a rest for a bit, I'm not going anywhere."

Michael shook his head insistently. "No Maurice, I need to tell you now. I'll be honest with ye lad I can feel maself fading." Spluttering as he spoke, the cough added gravity to his words. "I know I won't be around much longer and you're my last chance at redemption. I'm sure." The desperation in his voice was compelling and Maurice felt he had no choice but to listen.

"Go on then Michael, "he responded tiredly, "just try to take it steady."

"That I will lad," he said, turning to face him again. "So I was in the room with Big Blue and time was ticking. I'd begun to crack the system but it was hard mind, much harder than the normal secured network. Big Blue was a military grade system and certainly no push over. By the counter on the wall I could see that I'd been in the room five minutes and only just succeeded in breaking the main line security. I had maybe five minutes or less to get through the secondary line and nosy around the system before I'd be pushing the lock in."

"That's tough," murmured Maurice.

"It was that lad, well needless to say I did it. I broke through the second line in less than a minute and found what I was looking for." He smiled triumphantly, a proud smile that for a moment transformed his sickly features, making his face seem young and strong. "I'd located the mother lode, enough dirt to bring the whole sordid government to the ground."

He coughed again, this time more from excitement than affliction. "Ye understand I'd found information that destroyed my whole concept of how the world worked. It literally shattered my world," he gasped as he spoke. "It was a complete slap in the face against the reality I thought I knew. Now understand I'd only managed a glance, I didn't have time to examine it all in Big Blue with time ticking as it was. Still it were enough lad, I'd got um by the jaffas," he chuckled at the thought. "Well as soon as I'd found it I started copying; initiating a high speed transfer I attempted to download all the pertinent files and folders."

Maurice listened wide eyed in expectation; everything he'd told him sounded plausible and he was unable to control the hope that fluttered in his chest. "I couldn't get all of it ye ken Maurice, there was a mountain of data, maybe 200 or more terabytes. I managed to fill the full 20 T on the crystal though, taking what I thought were the most important parts. Once the transfer had completed I erased all trace of my access, I finished with probably thirty seconds to spare and exited the room."

"What was on there?" Maurice asked, the need to know burning inside him.

"Well now I'm getting to that lad," Michael answered. "I left the room and made a beeline for my desk. It were awful Maurice, every instinct in my body screamed at me to leave but not wanting to arouse more suspicion I forced myself to sit at my desk for a while longer. I noticed Jordan staring directly at me as I walked to my desk, his eyes accusing and hostile, like he somehow knew. With legs like lead I moved on, paranoia and fear eating up my insides. Fronting it out I flashed a smile at him, his response a hateful scowl but he turned back to his computer."

Michael stopped to cough, a short splutter of phlegm filled wheezing and he was good to go again. "Well anyway I made it out of the building, got all the way back to my domicile where Mia waited. We viewed the information together, spending our last few hours unravelling a conspiracy that had the potential to change everything" Michael stopped speaking at this point, regarding Maurice silently with needful eyes. The silence wore on for a few moments and Maurice began to grow uncomfortable.

"What's the matter?" he asked nervously.

"There's nothing the matter Maurice, its just I need ye to understand what I'm about to tell you will sound like a story," he sighed heavily. Maurice noticed the fear filling his weary eyes, his need to be believed the most important thing left to him.

"I'll listen Michael," he assured him softly, "I promise you, I'll listen and think about what you've told me before making any rash judgments." Michael nodded, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"I believe ye will lad, I just hope you've got enough sense on those broad shoulders of yours to know I'm not lying." Giving Maurice one final stare he smiled, then with a steadying breath he closed his eyes.

CHAPTER 22

For a moment he still didn't speak and then as if coming to an internal decision he nodded. "So as I was saying we looked through the data; the documents and files growing more and more disturbing. At first we couldn't believe it; the insipid plans exposed in black and white seemed so fantastical we refused to accept them as truth. But as we continued to read everything seemed to fit so perfectly that in the end we had no choice but to believe."

Michael shook his head, his hands clenching in frustration as he gripped his cover. "It's so hard to tell you this Maurice, at least we had the proof to back it up but you," he paused, "you've only my word." It was true, that was all Maurice had, there was going to be no magical revelation or unveiling, only the words of a tired old man to convince him. Yet it was enough, there was a sincerity in the man that Maurice felt all the way down to his soul.

"I've told you Michael," he said. "I'll listen and I won't pass rash judgement, trust me on that."

Regarding Maurice with hopeful eyes he continued, "I think the best way I can explain it too ye is too start in the past, the beginning of the plan that lay before me. The first thing ye should know is that the government as ye perceive is a lie. It's been a lie for hundreds if not thousands of years. The ruling authority throughout the ages whether they were Monarchs, emperors, prime ministers or presidents all have one thing in common. Can ye guess what that was Maurice?"

Maurice shook his head slowly, intrigued by Michael's words. "Betrayal," he spat the word with utter distaste. "They took the role of rulers and protectors to the people and then betrayed them. Their only aim has always been and always shall be the complete and utter subjugation of the human race. They wish to sit atop their pyramids ruling their new order with fists of iron, while the rest of us scurry around in the dirt little more than ants beneath them."

He coughed again his face contorting in pain as he grabbed Maurice's arm, pulling him close while his eyes burned with an inner fire. "Behind the leaders of history there has sat a secret group Maurice, a group whose name has been lost to the uninitiated. Even the information I'd liberated didn't reveal their name, so we called them the Controllers. An apt description for the actions they'd carried out throughout the world."

Maurice stared wide eyed at the frail man before him. The words he spouted were beginning to lose their effect upon him. The blossoming hope began to die heavy in his chest, had he really placed any real faith in this man's fairy tales?

"Michael," he interrupted. "Listen, maybe you should take a break, it's not doing you any good all this talking and well it's a lot to take in you know." Michael's eyes dropped as he regarded Maurice. He knew what was happening, perhaps he could feel Maurice's belief failing and it scared him.

"Maurice," he said with urgency, "you have to believe me. Do ye hear, you're the last chance I have do ye understand me?" Maurice pulled out of Michael's grip, his hands suddenly feeling uncomfortable and foreign against his skin.

"Listen," said Maurice. "It's not that I don't believe you Michael. I mean I want to believe, who wouldn't want to believe in a conspiracy considering where we are." Turning away from Michael's bunk he paused. "It's just well I was beginning to hope that you might actually know something and then you start to talk about controllers," he shook his head in exasperation. "It's just all starting to sound too absurd Michael."

"No Maurice," Michael said, with iron in his voice. "I won't have it, I tell ye now I won't have it. You may disbelieve and I accept that, but don't doubt me because of a name me and Mia chose. The world be dammed ye can call them what ye will, it make no odds to me, but do as ye promised and at least hear me out." There was no getting away from the man's passion or obvious belief in what he was saying. Feeling somewhat coerced but backed into a corner Maurice acquiesced. Turning around he faced his cell mate, on some level still daring to hope that he might be able to offer some form of salvation, however small that might be.

"This group of powerful families and blood lines can be traced back to earth's ancient times," Michael continued, in a voice that begged no argument. "They'd been setting up leaders and kings from almost the dawn of time and have continued to do so right up to the here and now. This group have instigated wars and conflicts, perpetrated acts of terrorism and so called natural disasters all in the name of the Great Work or Plan." Michael shook his head in disgust, while Maurice held his tongue.

"This is their holy grail ye ken, it's something that they refer to constantly throughout the documents I stole. Now if the information is genuine and I have no reason to believe it isn't, then they are very close to completing their work. Dya know what the major obstacle was in their plan? The one thing they'd struggled with throughout history?"

"No I don't," responded Maurice, perilously close to another outbreak.

"Well let me tell ye lad. Geography!" He spoke the word as if it revealed the meaning of the universe, but to Maurice it meant nothing more than a lesson he'd once disliked. Seeing the incomprehension in his student's eyes he continued. "For their plan to work they had to create something that so many attempts before had failed to achieve. A world unity between sovereign states and nations, destroying the boundaries of old to create a world governance that could rule absolutely."

"The world party," Maurice whispered, his mouth suddenly growing dry.

"Exactly lad," Michael said a semi triumphant smile on his lips. "Now ye may ask, what's so bad about that? We've got lasting peace very little suffering or strife within the world, so what's so bad?" Maurice considered the question carefully, unable to see any immediately obvious negatives.

"Well," he began hesitantly. "If the group's aim is worldwide peace, I honestly can't see that it's such a bad idea. In fact what could be more important to the world than that?"

Michael shook his head, a cold glint of anger filling his eyes. "Aye we have peace Maurice, but at what cost lad. Do ye think the controllers have given this gift to fulfil their natural need to do kindness? That they're a benevolent and productive part of the human race?"

"Well I guess, th"

"Don't even dare believe that lad," Michael's voice exploded, cutting off his words before they'd even had chance to fully form. "Do ye think they've patiently orchestrated their meticulous plan in absolute secrecy over an innumerable number for our benefit? Of course not, they view outsiders as less than human, a resource to be exploited and used until they've nothing left to give. We are nothing to them." He almost screamed his last words bringing on another fit of coughing. Maurice was taken aback, the passion and feeling in Michael's voice was immeasurable, he almost seemed to glow with a valiant self-righteousness as he spat forth his hate filled words.

"So let me reveal their reasons Maurice; let me explain why they've committed countless atrocities without a second thought. It's a simple motive really, nothing too complicated for the mere un-initiated to ken. Absolute power and total control, nothing more, nothing less. These people yearn for complete and unshakeable dominance over their fellow human beings. Once their plan reaches fulfilment which I have no doubt it will, there will be no escape. Every human will be controlled from the moment of birth right until till they escape into death's cold clutches."

His doom filled words crashed through Maurice's brain, the small hope of redemption he'd held crushed by the grim pronouncement. "There will be no revolutions; no uprising, nothing but dumb animal compliance under the heels of their soul destroying system. This is what they desire and will stop at nothing to achieve. Throughout history they have created fictitious world events, expertly weaving the world stage to bring their plan closer and closer to fruition. Their Great Work has been passed on from father to son down throughout time, a never ending chain of secret rites and rituals."

Michael's eyes burned like hot coals, his voice filled with an unshakeable belief in his words. "The one world government was a big step for them Maurice, and one that had evaded them for a long time. They finally achieved it though through world war III, nothing like a war to get things done ye see. Fear Maurice, fear is their tool, a weapon they wield indiscriminately. For when people fear they will give up their liberties without question, their need for protection laid at the feet of the very same men who falsely created their fear in the first place."

Maurice listened grim faced; he didn't know exactly how he felt but Michael's words filled him with a foreboding he just couldn't shake. At each unlikely revelation his mind cried out in protest, of course he hadn't always agreed with the government but had never hated or detested it. He'd always placed faith in the people at the top, believing in their honesty and desire to carry out their duties to the best of their abilities. Yet now this core belief was being challenged and he struggled to process it all. Could it be that everything he'd learned in his youth, everything that had been taught to him was a lie? He didn't know, he didn't have the answer only the words of a slowly dying man. Regarding Michael through fretting eyes he continued to listen, the man's voice rising in volume as he delivered his sermon.

"Fear of another war," said Michael, "fear of another constructed conflict, both opposing sides controlled by the same people." He laughed sarcastically, "you almost have to applaud their genius, how do you ensure you never lose a war? You control both sides, and that's what they've done throughout most of the conflicts in history. So after world war three they have a situation they've artificially created, an almost unanimous worldwide fear of further conflict. The horrors these men unleashed during the war made dam sure of that. So what dya think they do then lad?"

"The treaty," Maurice said quietly, lost in his own thoughts.

"That's right lad," Michael said appreciatively. "Out of the blue the idea of having a world government is suggested. It's a bold move and the people rejoice, not realising that their acceptance moves them a step closer to the controller's goal. The next things to go are the old religions, identified as another flash point for conflict by the united governments." Laughing uncontrollably Michael was forced to stop speaking, "sorry it's just too much. These were the same people who concocted the major religions in the first place, an early form of control they utilised to great effect throughout the ages. I could go on Maurice but there's too much, just know that most important events you've seen or read about were in one way or another overseen by this group for their own purposes."

Unable to keep quiet any longer Maurice argued, "Surely someone would know if this was going on. Especially if it's been happening for as long as you say."

Michael smiled knowingly before answering, "You'd think so eh lad? But when you really think about it what do we know about the people at the top? I mean all we see of his grandness Lord Smyth is through telecasts, rehearsed snapshots of a well groomed and eloquent leader. We're not part of their world you see, we're the little people below them ye ken."

"Even so," said Maurice. "Surely there must be some in the group who disagree with the rhetoric," argued Maurice. "Surely someone would have a conscious and speak out against it."

"Aye and some have but not without retribution, ye see an organisation that rules by fear canna risk people undermining them. Their punishments are swift and deadly, often times not only destroying the perpetrator but their family as well." He scratched his head, a puzzled look appearing on his face. "Now let me think, ahhh yes that was it. Back before the final war there was an American, one of their old school presidents, Ken, Kennedy that was it."

"JFK," Maurice said.

"What lad?" Michael asked the puzzled look on his face again.

"John F Kennedy, we learnt about him at school. He was an assassinated president of the United States of America, the last remaining super power of the old world."

"Oh aye lad, thank the government for their in-depth education eh? Well let me tell ye he was assassinated alright but not by some random gunman, he was taken out by the very organisation that had put him there in the first place."

Maurice shook his head stunned, "Well why put him there if they wanted to kill him?"

"Because their plan went south lad, everything was detailed in the data I'd uncovered. They originally placed him in power as a weak man, a young puppet who the group believed they could control. That wasn't the case though, he defied them and even insinuated of their existence in public speeches. Of course they couldn't let that stand, so they had him publically executed. The only difference between his death and any of their normal low key killings was his public status, a status that required a cover up to be orchestrated."

"People must have questioned it though," Maurice protested. "They must have wondered how such a powerful man could have been shot down in the middle of the street."

"Aye there were questions asked and answers given. Unfortunately until something directly affects them then people tend to believe what they're told. You must understand how powerful this group is Maurice. They control the media, schools, police, army, drug companies and even the medical services; they see these as key areas for keeping their plan on course and their people in power."

Footsteps approaching the cell door caused him to pause, both occupants listening in fear, waiting for the dreaded sound of the door opening. It didn't come however, and seconds later the footsteps continued on past their cell. "Now let me tell you how this group has directly affected you and me Maurice. Because," he took a deep breath, "I did at least find out the real reason behind these death camps. That's what they are ye know, camps of death. Ye don't think any of the research that goes on here is to combat V2 do you?"

"If not for the virus then for what?" he asked, unable to control the fear in his voice.

"I don't know exactly what they research, but I do know it has nothing to do with that evil virus, they created the dammed thing and already have a cure." Pausing again his face grew solemn, regarding Maurice with eyes of ice. "Maurice we're here because we don't feature in the Controllers plan ye ken, we're surplus to requirements if ye will, loose ends they're tidying up."

"What do you mean loose ends," Maurice shouted, his face betraying the fear and uncertainty coursing through his body. "I'm here because I caught the V2 virus, not because of some conspiracy."

"I'm sorry but you're not," Michael said, shaking his head gravely. "You're here because you're you." He shook his head sadly again, "at least I had a choice in my own imprisonment, but you never did.

CHAPTER 23

"What do you mean?" Maurice said angrily, "will you stop speaking in riddles, what do you mean because I'm me."

"Racism Maurice," he said softly. "The pure blood Aryan race, words you think have no meaning in modern society are still an integral part of the controllers plan. You're here because you don't fit their genetic profile, doomed from the day you were born into this brave new world of ours. Me, well I'm here because I wanted to spend my life with a girl who had Asian in her genes."

Maurice shook his head while his face contorted in rage. Michael's words were like petrol bombs, feeding the fire of indignation burning inside him. The world he lived in couldn't have been founded on such a repulsive ideal could it? Even considering the possibility made Maurice feel dirty, an ugly feeling of self contempt that bubbled inside. "I read a whole report," Michael continued hesitantly, as if sensing the fury that seethed within Maurice. "It was about their silent genetic cleansing, the extermination of millions if not billions of people all over the world. They consider people who aren't white skinned to be inferior and anyone who wants to be with that creed the same." Unable to keep silent any longer Maurice exploded in a fit of rage.

"No you're wrong, what sort of government would do that to its own people. It just wouldn't happen, it just couldn't." Even during his outburst there existed a note of doubt in his voice. Marching round the small cell he wrung his hands, mumbling incoherently to himself. Finally he turned to face Michael, his face still terrible with rage. "If what your saying is true, if what," his words faltered as he contemplated the implication of his friends words. "I killed her, she was right, if she'd have taken the test with a white man it would have come back negative."

"Maurice," shouted Michael, "Ye can't blame yourself lad, it's not your fault how were you to know? It's this insidious society we live in that caused it, not you." Maurice couldn't hear the words; they seemed to float to his ears as if from a great distance, their meaning muffled and lost. With a moan of agony he fell heavily to his knees. The pain of landing didn't even register as hot anguished tears began to pour down his cheeks.

If what Michael said was true then Rachel had died because of him. There was no getting around that immovable fact, nothing could ever change it if he accepted what he'd been told. Turning his head he stared at Michael, there was no malice in the others man's face. In fact he himself looked pained at the emotional turmoil he'd caused.

"Why Michael, why even bother to tell me this," he hissed, his words cold and charged with anger.

Michael answered wearily, "because we all deserve to know the truth, we all should know why we are where we are." Maurice grunted angrily in response, so many mixed emotions flowing through him.

"I don't want your truth Michael, I don't, I can't believe it, and even if I did what purpose would it serve me here. We're all waiting to die, what fucking purpose does your truth serve me," his voice hitched as he spoke. Turning his head away he tried to hide his hot tears, ashamed and hurting from the awful guilt.

"I'm sorry Maurice I truly am, I didn't want to hurt ye but I also have no cause to lie to ye. What I've told you is the truth and I haven't told it to torment ye." He spoke breathlessly, badly affected by Maurice's emotional descent. "I've told ye what I have so I can offer ye a chance; a chance that I'm no longer capable of taking myself." he looked sadly at the broken man before him, perhaps regretting speaking but under no illusion that he must now stay the course. "I know we have both lost our lives," he began softly, "they were stolen from us without a thought or a care. I know I shall never see Mia again and nor will ye Rachel, but if there was a chance to help others and bring down their system would ye take it lad?"

Maurice turned to stare incredulously at the prone figure, "What are you talking about, what chance do I have? We're locked up like cattle waiting to be slaughtered and you talk about bringing their system down. Has your diseased mind slipped so much that you dare to dream we can do anything from here?"

"Maurice please just listen. My question wasn't how, don't ye worry about that, but if there was a way would ye be willing? If ye could get even so to speak, maybe even bring down the whole rotten system would you do it? Even if it meant you'd die in the process?"

Maurice continued to stare at the man's solemn eyes and then whispered. "Yes I would, with all my heart I would."

"Good because you do have a chance, a slim one mind, but a chance all the same. Ye see lad the controllers aren't the only ones to make plans.

CHAPTER 24

"I won't lie to ye about the dangers," he sighed. "I tried to carry it out myself and failed. Well you've seen the punishment they inflicted upon me, there wasn't any way I could try again after that. But you, you're young and still healthy, the best opportunity to share my cell in all the years that I've been here," he smiled reassuringly as he spoke.

"What do you mean," Maurice asked, "have you told others about what you discovered."

Michael nodded in response, "aye lad there was one other who I spoke to, he wouldn't believe it though, downright refused what I'd told him. He became aggressive towards me after that, the mere mention of it would throw him into a blind rage. My other cell mates were all non starters, either they knew when they'd become infected through unsafe sex or were too addled in the head to be of much use."

Shaking his head sadly he regarded Maurice, "ye must understand it's been hell having this knowledge but not being able to use it. There's not been a day that passed without me wondering, imagining how things would have been different if only I'd of escaped." He sighed and hung his head, suddenly seeming frailer than ever. "I wouldn't have been a cripple for a start," he continued, "and you, well you might not even have had to come here." He raised his head and stared at Maurice with imploring eyes. "Now though I feel I could have that chance again through you, a chance to save so many other innocent lives."

Maurice opened his mouth to argue, unable to stand the pressure being put upon him. However before he could, Michael continued. "You're different to the rest of them Maurice, I can see a strength and determination in you that the others just didn't possess. Now I can tell conceptually you don't disbelieve what I've told you and that's enough for now. Ye don't have to commit to helping me straight away but I know you'll give it due consideration."

That was exactly what Maurice did; in fact he did nothing else as time slowly slipped away within their cell. He didn't rush the decision, unwilling to disregard what Michael had said in case there was an essence of truth there. The choice filled his every waking hour, an endless merry –go-round of unresolved arguments and counterarguments. Still as his days in the compound stretched into weeks he was no nearer a resolution. By now his incarceration had grown into a familiar routine; the bad meals and daily abusive visits from the guards a never ending depressing cycle.

There was no exercise or time out of the cells allowed; the only two exceptions being a weekly hosing down carried out in the tiled room and the second a regimented prison count.

This entailed the entire wing being marched from their cells and taken to stand back out in the courtyard, the one where he'd first heard Warden Davies give his welcoming speech. Surprisingly they even provided a hover-chair for Michael and other prisoners who'd lost the use of their legs. Whether their injuries were caused by the degenerative nerve condition associated with V2 or from Warden ordered punishments Maurice couldn't tell, but there were certainly a lot of crippled men within the camp. The monthly count was a morbid affair, although Maurice took some much needed solace from the fresh air. Seeing the sun and sky after being locked inside for almost a full month gave him much needed strength, almost making him feel human again.

It was after he'd been forced to listen to Warden Davies report that he finally made up his mind to question Michael further. Davies himself was the accelerant for Maurice's decision; his self-important speech about the progress they were making against the Virus had made his skin crawl. Even if he couldn't fully believe what Michael had told him, any fool could see that the purpose of the camps had nothing at all to do with finding a cure for the virus. In fact if Michael was to be believed then they already had the cure for the artificially created disease.

Heavy of heart he returned to his cell knowing his time of decision had arrived. Mike the man who'd grown to be his close friend was slipping away. He spoke less and less these days, spending most of his time sleeping or murmuring disjointed words and phrases with no meaning. Every time the guards took him away Maurice feared he wouldn't return. Each vile testing session they carried out, forcing him a step closer to his death.

He could also feel his own sands of time running out. Surely the doctor would come for him soon, his initial integration into the prison was now complete, from what he'd learnt they normally struck soon after the month mark, he shivered at the thought.

Taking advantage of one of Michael's more lucid moments he broached the subject. The two friends talked earnestly for hours, the importance of the discussion securing and holding Michael's slipping faculties. Michael spoke of his own attempt at escape, a somewhat unplanned and naïve attempt, but none the less brave. He'd made his move during one of the monthly counts; using his natural charm he'd managed to spread a rumour through the gathered prisoners. In a very short amount of time he succeeded in convincing most of the contingent that he'd heard the guards talking about a planned culling of prisoners.

By the time he'd finished most of them were convinced they were going to be shot. The ensuing mini riot had provided the quick witted and at the time quick footed Michael, all the distraction he'd needed to escape. Slipping through the running battles between prisoners and guards he'd holed himself up in the wash area, unfortunately this was where his plan came to an end. Alone and clueless as to how he was going to get out, he'd waited until the cover of darkness before attempting to escape. He'd been caught shortly afterwards, stuck behind one of the inner security gates.

After he'd been crippled he'd had nothing but an abundance of time on his hands. Now some people may have fallen into despair at this point, the loss of their legs and the camp's draconian regime reason enough, yet Michael stayed strong. He'd always had an inner strength of will and never before had he needed it as much. Instead of moping he spent his time thinking, planning and refining a new escape attempt. It was a plan he himself would never be able to follow, but he'd contemplated each and every detail in the hope that someone else would. Now it looked like that someone was going to be Maurice.

Yet one of the things that still bothered Maurice was how if he did manage to escape, was he meant to bring credence to Michael's tale. Maurice himself still struggled to accept it, but for the sake of sanity pushed those doubts to the back of his mind. To expect the world to listen to him, a red lighter and an escaped one at that was completely unrealistic.

Fortunately as he listened to the plan he realised he wouldn't have to. Michael really was an ingenious man; after he'd made his escape from Gov Com his first thoughts as was only natural had turned to self-preservation. The preservation of the life he shared with Mia and hopefully their futures, something which at the time he still believed could be saved. However he knew he couldn't go to the Media with the information he'd uncovered, their loyalties always had been and always would be with the controllers. He was left with very few options and with his time running out he'd done the only logical thing he could think of; securing the information in the hope that he'd be able to think of a way to share it with the public in the future. Not daring to be physically apart from it he'd decided that it must come with him into the camps, a monumental task in itself considering the security checks.

Luckily Michael had been in a unique position when he'd gone amber; his position within Gov Com allowing him to access accurate information regarding the camp's barren conditions, an opportunity most people never had. The information he'd stolen gave a much more enlightening picture than the government's propaganda, revealing the awful state of the camps. Of course he wasn't truly aware of just how horrific the camps were until he'd been incarcerated. Forewarned is forearmed though, a saying which was never more true than with Michael. He knew upon arrival at the camp that he'd be strip searched, a process which would leave very few places to hide the data crystal. Unwilling to leave his ticket to freedom behind, he decided no matter the risk, he must somehow conceal it on his person.

CHAPTER 25

Maurice was taken aback as he listened; Michael's words gave him new hope. If he was in possession of the data crystal when he escaped, then he might have a chance at completing what up until now had seemed an almost impossible task.

"So where is the crystal?" Maurice asked wonderingly.

Michael considered Maurice with hooded eyes, "I'll be trusting ye with a secret now lad, a secret I nay told another soul since I entered this place." He sighed, looking carefully at Maurice through his bloodshot eyes. "I consider ye a friend Maurice. The only friend I have left in the world and as such I need your solemn oath that if I tell ye, that even upon pain of death ye won't yield this information."

Maurice assented immediately, "I give my word Michael, I won't tell another living soul. I promise," he said gravely.

Michael looked at him for another moment, before nodding, "good then tis done lad." Smiling knowingly he looked just like a magician about to bring his show to an end with a grand finale. Raising a shaking right hand he tapped one of his back teeth, winking at the astonished look on his audience's face.

"It's in your tooth?" Maurice asked incredulously.

"Aye lad tis hidden inside ma tooth, a dentist friend of mine owed me a big favour and with the right amount of pressure he was willing to put it in there for me. Hollowed out most of ma tooth and then sealed it in place with a filling, and that's where it's been waiting ever since!" Maurice was flabbergasted there was no other word for it, he would never in a thousand years have guessed the hiding place.

"So how do you get the crystal out of your tooth, won't it hurt you?"

"Don't ye worry yourself about that lad, there aren't any nerves left in there to feel any pain when I pull the sucker out." He reached down the side of his mattress as he spoke, fiddling around with his hand, until he located a small metal screw. "This is all I'll need to get the filling out, o course I may need your help with that part, but don't worry lad it will be easy."

* * *

Michael ran over the plan again for the sixth time that night, every thing was fixed within Maurice's mind. There was no room for forgetfulness, everything must be remembered and acted out in the order it had been planned to achieve success. He was well aware of the risks, they'd been fully explained by Michael and he was under no illusion about their chances, but he still felt compelled to try. What was the alternative? To sit in his own filth and slowly rot inside the prison, his strength and humanity being eaten away bit by bit. So finally once all the details had been settled, discussed and picked apart until Maurice could recite the whole plan from beginning to end he was allowed to sleep.

The morning came quickly and with it began the first day of laying the groundwork for Maurice's escape. For Michael's idea to work they needed time to prepare; preparation was infinitely important if they were to succeed. Not long after the morning alarm the door to their concrete abode swung open, allowing two loud mouthed guards to saunter in. They had no real reason for being there, only the promise of easy victims bringing them to the cell.

Maurice sat on the floor with his back against the wall, watching the guards as they entered. He'd been instructed to study the guards closely, attempting to learn how to identify them individually. The two guards who entered the room were regulars; the bulkier of the two similar in size and build to Maurice, while his companion was much slimmer but still solid enough to enforce a sense of authority.

"On your feet 113, Move it!" bellowed the larger of the guards. Maurice rose slowly to his feet, stumbling slightly and rubbing his legs frantically.

"It's my legs," he mumbled, "they keep going numb and I keep getting pins and needles in them." For a moment the guards didn't move, but then they shook their heads in tandem as if pre-rehearsed before entering the room.

"Looks like you've got the degeneration boy," growled the skinnier of the guards. "Oh dear, oh dear," boomed the larger guard, "The doc isn't going to be pleased with that Kid, I hear they had big plans for a strapping lad like yourself." The derision and barely contained hatred in his voice was plain to hear.

"I'm sorry," muttered Maurice. Suddenly the big guard who was called Gazza sprang forward, grabbing Maurice and slammed him hard against the wall.

"Listen to me you little shit, I want you to know that I hate you," he hissed through bared teeth. "I hate all of you with your dirty infections, bringing society and hard working men and women like myself down." He pushed his visored head hard against Maurice's face, while the slimmer guard watched with a stupid smile.

"I've seen many prisoners who get the degen's from V2," he laughed," and it isn't a pretty death, give it a few months and I'll be surprised if you can raise your ugly black head. So don't complain to me about what you're feeling, because I really couldn't care less you waste of human life." Finishing his tirade he pushed Maurice hard to the side, off balancing him so he fell to the floor. Both guards laughed at his misfortune before turning their attentions to Michael. He'd been forced to watch helpless, hating the ugly viciousness the guards directed towards his friend.

"What's this crippled fuck looking at Matt?" Gazza asked, pointing at Michael's prone body. "I dunno Gaz, but if he continues to stare I'll have his fucking eyes out," Matt threatened. His voice was an octave higher than Gaz's, and held an awful keening edge that went right through the ears. Both men turned to stare at Michael menacingly, and he couldn't help but cower from their advance, bunching the dirty covers up to his face in fear. Thankfully his show of submission seemed to satisfy their twisted egos and mercifully they decided to leave.

"Ye alright Maurice lad?" Michael called in concern.

Maurice nodded coming to stand by the bunk bed, "I'm fine just hurt my shoulder a bit, when he shoved me over." Rubbing his bruised limb he regarded his friend; they had to be strong now, keep everything together until the time was right. No matter what abuse or persecution came their way they couldn't allow a reaction, they couldn't risk anything spoiling their plan. The days passed slowly, each visit by the guards dreaded as they continued their sadistic abuse of their captives. Most often the guards attended their cell coupled up with a partner, but sometimes; and it seemed to be happening more often now they would come alone.

Maurice spent most of his time in his bunk now, only venturing out of his refuge when he had to relieve himself or help Michael do the same. His portrayal of the dreaded nerve degeneration aspect of V2 served two purposes. Firstly as Michael hoped, their ruse had delayed the doctors performing any tests on him, as their main interest lay with the strongest specimens within the camp. Secondly it had decreased the guards caution when attending their cell. Even on their own the guards would enter with no fear or trepidation, moving straight over to their first victim without a second thought. This was a vital part of the plan and Maurice had played his part perfectly. Nerves grew within their cell as the time for action approached. They had meticulously laid the groundwork, and now it was only a matter of time before they would have to make their move.

Maurice's fear was somewhat greater than his companions, and he spent much of his time confiding and seeking comfort from his older friend. For Michael there wasn't really anything more left to fear, they'd already stolen a big chunk of his life from him, and he knew it wouldn't be long before death would make its final claim. However the reverse held true for Maurice; even though he knew that death was inevitable due to the infection he carried, he still couldn't feel any effects and felt completely strong and healthy. For all the dark prognosis's that went hand in hand with the virus, Maurice's current condition was currently unmarred, a dark twist of fate that bred another worry.

It was something he tried to deny to himself as he laid on his bunk, but with every passing hour the disharmonious voice grew stronger. If by some twist of fate he actually managed to escape and make it to freedom, well he couldn't deny that there would be a small part of him that would be tempted to run. Why take the risk of being caught again to warn others? These controllers seemed to have been around since the dawn of history, how could he, just one man be expected to make a difference? It was a part of his psyche he hated, but no matter how much he tried to crush it, the desire to run remained and even grew more appealing. Feeling helpless to resist the errant thoughts he fell into a fitful sleep, the morrow would herald action and the time for reflection would be at an end.

CHAPTER 26

The morning had arrived that much was clear, the blaring siren and the glaring artificial lights leaving no doubt of the fact. It wasn't long before hushed voices filled their cell, each man reciting and checking every detail of the parts they would play. Maurice spent the rest of the morning perched uncomfortably on the toilet seat, waiting for what they hoped would be just one guard. Time seemed to slow, Maurice wasn't sure if it was even passing. Had something happened? Where were the guards? They had normally arrived for their morning taunts by now.

A scrape of metal as a key turned in the lock stayed his worries, quickly he splayed his legs out in front of him, while pretending to struggle to pull up his pants. He risked a quick glance towards the door as it opened, feeling his heart leap nervously within his chest; just one pair of legs.

'So it was on,' thought Maurice, 'no going back now.' That had been a condition of the attempt; two guards and they'd have aborted but one guard meant all systems go. Gazz started laughing as soon as he entered, pointing at Maurice on the toilet.

"I thought your cell smelt worse than normal, shit house." He quipped, his run of the mill insult eliciting zero response from Maurice. He was deep in concentration, struggling to control the hot adrenaline pumping through his body; never before had he felt so much apprehension and taut nervous energy.

"Want a hand kid?" The guard asked as he marched over to Maurice, his steel toe capped boots clicking heavily on the concrete floor.

"No I'm fine," mumbled Maurice, playing the game.

"I wasn't asking you 113, I'm going to give you a hand. The least you can do is have the common decency to accept my courtesy." As he spoke he reached his burly hand down and gripped Maurice's thin pants, pulling him up roughly with such force that he was almost lifted off the seat. Yelping in real pain Maurice slumped forward, making a real show of collapsing to the ground on his useless legs.

"Oops sorry 113, I forgot you're a cripple now, how clumsy of me." He laughed again, his obnoxiously loud voice filling the cell.

"Twat," Maurice whispered, manoeuvring his body across the floor so that he came to rest with his back against the cell wall.

"Say what?" Gaz asked, his voice filled with puzzlement at this unexpected turn of events.

"I said you're a twat," answered Maurice, this time much louder. Gaz advanced until he towered above him, "I'm a fucking twat am I?" he roared shaking with anger, "I'll show you a twat, you little shit." Bending down he gripped Maurice's shoulders, moving his visored face to within an inch of his face. The moment was here, it was now or never. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Gaz's arm cock his baton, his face scrunched up with fury as he prepared to inflict a terrible blow.

Maurice struck first with all that he had, jumping to a squatting position he pushed up hard from the wall, grounding his punch with his firmly placed feet. His fist flew true and slammed straight into the guards exposed windpipe, the crunch of cartilage almost as gratifying as the look of shock on his face. Gaz's angry battle cry twisted into a gurgling choke, and then he was stumbling backwards his hands tearing at his throat. Leaping forwards Maurice grabbed his legs, tripping him so that he fell hard against the lower bunk bed.

It was a like a choreographed dance with the guard as the unknowingly party, but still he played his part to perfection. Michael grabbed Gaz as he fell, wrapping his arms around the man's neck with all the force he could muster. Even with the brutal injury Maurice had inflicted Gaz still put up an amazing struggle, twisting and turning like an enraged snake.

Maurice was left with no other choice. Fighting the nausea that filled him he moved towards the guard, his path clear in his mind's eye. On Maurice's signal Michael released his grip momentarily and reattached his hands tightly around the man's head. It was up to Maurice now. He knew what he had to do, yet the knowledge did nothing to lighten the heavy burden of the act. He'd spent most of his adult life trying to save human life, if he went through with this then he'd be a taker of life, it wasn't something he'd ever thought to face and it terrified him.

"Maurice," Michael grunted his face red and puffy, "I can't hold him lad, ye have to do it now." That was all the encouragement he needed, he couldn't let his misgivings place his friend in danger. With a guttural roar of his own he slammed his right fist once more into the man's windpipe. He followed this with a left then another heavy right, cringing as each blow hit its target. Gaz gurgled wetly, his bucking body slowing until it no longer moved, suddenly replaced by violent convulsive jerks as his life slipped away. Maurice turned away from the awful sight, taking deep breaths, seeking to compose his racing heart and shaking hands.

Michael coughed hoarsely, letting go of the guard who slid into a ruined heap on the floor.

"Quickly lad," Michael whispered. Urged on by Michael's words Maurice forced himself to act, the man was dead, the worst was over. Steeling himself he began the grim task of undressing the guard, a difficult job made worse by his nerve ridden fingers. There were so many intricate clips and straps that it seemed to take forever, each fastening a mini battle that he needed to win.

Finally Maurice finished, breathing heavily as fear and adrenaline drove him ever onward. He couldn't help but look at the naked guard now, filled with a horrid self-disgust he just couldn't contain. Without his helmet Gaz's eyes stared accusingly up at him, a stark reminder of the young life he'd stolen. He couldn't have been older than his mid twenties thought Maurice regretfully, the man's green wrist indicating he had a partner, possibly even children. It was tragic but he couldn't let himself dwell, there had been no other way.

Quickly he dressed in the dead guard's clothes, pulling everything on until he was completely clad in the armoured gear. The world looked different through the darkened visor, almost like he was looking through a monitor, the cell a hundred shades of grey. There was a strange remoteness, a sense of distance that the naked eye would never provide.

Michael smiled up at him, "It's a perfect fit lad you'll do fine. Just keep your wits about ye and I'm sure you'll make it."

"Thanks friend," Maurice mumbled sincerely, knowing they'd probably never meet again. With a struggle he dressed the limp guard in his discarded jump suit, sitting the corpse up so it rested against the bottom bunk. Marshalling all his strength he crouched down next to the body, then with a loud grunt he hoisted it over his shoulder. His muscles ached with the effort, but he managed to lift the deadweight up onto the top bunk. Turning the body on its side he covered it with his bed sheet; an inconspicuous sleeping lump! It would only fool a cursory inspection but hopefully it would give him time.

"You got the crystal," Maurice whispered, his voice filled with urgency.

"That I do lad," Michael answered. "Just bear with me a wee tick." He reached down the side of his mattress, stretching until he found the screw. Without a pause he inserted the sharp end into his mouth, there was a painful sounding crunch and then he was spitting out bits of filling and shattered tooth. Maurice's world rocked as his stomach tightened in cold panic; there was no crystal. Unable to contain the building panic he moved towards Michael, fear and revulsion filling him. A twinkle of light stopped him in his tracks, then as if by magic he saw it, still partly hidden by the broken filling but its identity unmistakable. Allowing himself to breathe again he smiled, at least that part of his story wasn't a lie.

"It's so wee ain't it lad?" Michael said as he twisted the crystal between his fingers, removing the residue that clung to its surface. "Hard to believe that this little thing holds the key to saving our world," he sighed as he stared up at Maurice. "Keep it safe won't ye lad, it means so much more than just mine or your life."

"I will Michael, believe me I will." He turned away for a moment, sorrowful anger filling him as he prepared to desert his friend. It was no use, he had to forget for the moment, turn his anger into action and seek direct retribution against the perpetrators. Turning back to Michael he grasped his hand tightly, reaching out and embracing the stranger he'd come to call friend. With watering eyes he said good bye and then strode out of the cell, walking into the main prison without a backward glance.

CHAPTER 27

The quietness was the first thing that hit him. There was no one else around, just row after row of blank cell doors. Turning back to his old abode he used Gaz's security card to lock the door, it wouldn't do for a stupid mistake to give the game away. The card holder strapped to his waist was designed in such a way, that once a card had been used it could be clipped back into a main compartment, leaving only the cards still to be used hanging lose. There were only three such cards left now, their printed numbers matching the last three doors on the highest level of the prison.

Every instinct inside him screamed out to run, to try and escape, but to listen now would have been grave folly. They'd discussed his guard act in great detail, and he had to do everything in his power to make it believable. If he couldn't convince the prisoners of his stolen identity then what chance did he have with the guards? With a heavy heart he moved towards the next cell on the platform, only too aware of the security cameras watching his every move. Unlocking the door with the appropriate key card he stepped into the room. There were two people inside; a plump bedraggled man standing by the cell wall and a skinny pale faced younger man sprawled on the bottom bunk. As he examined the occupants a spark fired in his memory; the fat man was Arthur Bateman, he'd been brought in with him. The change in the man's appearance was shocking; his haunted eyes stared desolately out of a face marred by cuts and nasty looking welts.

Both men cringed as Maurice strode into the cell, each trying in their own way to disappear or appear as inconspicuous as possible. Their suffering was awful to behold but he couldn't think about that now, he had to make use of his position to practice. In a harsh voice he called, "You two still stinking up this cell?" The endless practising had paid off, his voice an almost perfect copy of the late Gaz. Reacting immediately they begun to mumble fear filled apologies, wringing their hands and hanging their heads in shame. Maurice played his part perfectly, shouting a few more phrases of abuse, trying to become his character, knowing that very soon he would face the real test. Leaving the cell shortly afterwards he felt a little bit better, maybe he could pull this off after all.

The act repeated itself in the next two cells, playing the guard, causing terror where ever he walked. Watching the reactions of the prisoners was embarrassing; they were so downtrodden that his every utterance was feared. From this viewpoint Maurice almost understood how the guards came to be so heavy handed and unfeeling towards their wards. Seeing the wretched forms of human life from his new perspective, grovelling, moaning and devoid of pride almost filled him with contempt. The revelation was unexpected and unwanted, he couldn't allow himself to feel any sympathy for the guard's actions. Until he was far from this place he had to view them as the enemy, anything less and the guilt of his own killing would paralyse him.

However he decided then that the guard's weren't inherently evil, they were as much a victim of the system as any of the prisoners were. The whole concept had been designed so cleverly that it was almost impossible to treat the prisoners with any respect. They had been reduced to less than humans, exactly how the controllers wished them to be perceived. The visors, uniform and discipline the guards endured an ingenious ploy to distance them from their fellow men, a simple trick of the mind constructed to make them feel superior to the dirty infected prisoners.

Maurice walked away from the cells slowly, it was all guess work from here on in. He followed the walkway down from the cells until he reached the ground floor. Fortunately Michael had been able to describe where the control centre was located, having seen it when they'd taken him in for his testing sessions. Still every step was like a physical blow as he moved forward, the fear growing stronger and stronger as he approached the armoured door. Walking as casually as possible he tried to imitate Gaz's saunter, the gait feeling strange and unnatural.

Pulling out his key fob he located the card for the control room, passing the chip over the door's built in scanner. The click of the automatic locking mechanism sounded like a coffin lid closing, and with a shaking hand he grasped the handle and pulled the door open. Swinging slowly inward a dimly lit room was revealed within, a delicious odour of recently prepared food wafting through the opening. His mouth salivated as he entered, his jaded taste buds crying out in desire.

"Alright Gaz, what took ya? Me and the lads were about to send a team up for ya," Called a big fellow sitting at the room's far end. In front of him were large banks of monitors, each screen displaying a different image of the prison. Maurice thought fast, his mind working smoothly and without hesitation as adrenaline fuelled his speech.

"I'm fine pal, the coon 113 gave me some lip, so I thought I'd show him who was boss," he laughed, his cadence and pitch an almost perfect imitation of his murder victim. The men in the control centre broke out in laugher at his response, unknowingly joining in with their friend's murderer. The Fat man turned around from his screen, waiting for the laughter to die down.

" I've said it before and I'll say it again Gaz, I don't envy your job one bit. I mean its one thing to have to watch the diseased scum through these screens. But to actually deal with them face to face on a daily basis," he paused solemn faced, "I just don't think I could do that." Maurice listened intently to the man, he only knew so much of Gaz's character and didn't want to respond, but backed into a corner he had little choice.

"I can't argue with you there, it's a shitter having to speak and touch the scum, but someone's got to stand up and do it for the country." He almost lost Gaz's accent as he spoke, the unyielding pressure of the situation getting to him.

"Too right, I take my helmet off to you and the other lads that do it." There was a murmur of assent from within the room as the guards agreed. Seeing an empty seat Maurice made his move, sitting down next to three men playing cards. The key was to blend in as much as possible; he just couldn't afford to be the centre of attention. Maurice really was flying by the seat of his pants now, without so much as a clue of what duties he had left to perform or what he should be doing.

Gaz must have been well liked amongst the guards and as he sat a multitude of greetings were directed at him. Answering in the most general way he could, he uttered mates and pals hoping that no one would notice his lack of name usage. Thankfully no one seemed to, the vernacular of the guards standing him in good stead. Leaning back on his chair he tried to give the impression of familiarity, completely at ease in the company of his friends and work colleagues.

Of course nothing could have been further from the truth, beneath his helmet his face swam in a sea of stinging sweat. He wanted nothing more than to raise his visor and wipe his burning eyes but valued his life too much. Instead he tried to focus his panicking mind on the conversations in the room, committing as much to memory as possible.

He managed to gleam a few of the men's names, a vital part of the plan if he was going to have any real chance at escape. Time was running out, ten or maybe twenty minutes had passed since he first took his seat in the control room. He had to do something soon, to do nothing, to just sit there would be as disastrous as making a mistake. Breathing slowly he readied his mind for the gamble he surely must take.

Unfortunately Acting wasn't something Maurice had ever been interested in, but now no matter his doubts he had to give the performance of his life. With a final inhalation of breath he began; jumping up slightly and leaning forward he clutched his belly, grabbing his lower stomach with his gloved hands. The reaction was immediate as the card players stopped their game, turning their attention to their colleague.

"What's wrong Gaz?" asked one of the gamblers, concern and something else, something unexpected, almost like fear in his voice.

"It's my stomach," groaned Maurice playing his role perfectly. The ensuing reaction took him by surprise as his fellow guards immediately jumped away from him, donning helmets and protective gear as they moved back. For a moment Maurice froze in confusion, what was going on? It was too late to stop now though, groaning and holding his stomach he ignored the guard's weird reaction and soldiered on.

"Gaz," called Rudy the man at the monitor bank, "no blood or anything got past your gear did it?" His voice was leaden and only added to the palatable tension in the room.

"No, nothing like that," responded Maurice, doing his best to keep an element of pain in his reply. For a moment their reactions continued to bewilder him and then he understood. 'By god,' he thought 'they believe I've become infected somehow'.

Stretching out in his chair he stood up, deciding it might be best to lay it on less thickly. Making a show of moving around he continued to rub his belly, but gave a thumbs up to the watching men. "It's alright lads," he called, "I think it must be stomach cramps, probably something I ate." His words of explanation had the desired effect, and he could almost hear the exhalation of breath as people began to breathe normally again. Rudy rose first and walked over to Maurice, throwing an arm around him and guiding him towards a chair.

"Now Gaz, you should know better than scaring us all like that after you've been out on a cell walk." Maurice accepted the fatherly guidance the big man spouted in his ear, and allowed himself to be led to a chair.

"I know Rudy, just came on real fast did that cramp like, been suffering with indigestion and sickness quite bad at night but never at work." The other men in the room had resumed whatever tasks were occupying them previously, satisfied they weren't at imminent risk of infection.

"I've got some acid relief pills if you want some Gaz?" Rudy asked, motioning him over to his drawer by the monitors. Maurice thought fast, it wouldn't do to let this Rudy sweep away his fake sickness, but on the other hand it couldn't hurt to accept his offer.

"Yeah mate that would be good, cheers," he said, keeping his voice carefully hoarse as he spoke. As the pills were pressed into his hands he realised his mistake; there was no way he could take the tablets without raising his visor.

CHAPTER 28

"Oh sorry Rudy, what am I doing." He placed the pills back on the desk as he spoke. "The doc said to lay off the chemist remedies for a while, at least until they can have a proper look inside my gut." He stopped speaking, unable to think of any further words that could bring credence to his lie. If Rudy noticed the deception he gave no indication, returning the pills back to his drawer.

"Oh well Gaz not to worry, you just sit there until the gaffer gets back and let him know how you're feeling." Leaving Maurice to his own devices Rudy walked back to his station, resuming his watch over the prison with his all seeing eyes. The boss wasn't even here! That was a blow to Maurice, he'd hoped that it might have even been Rudy. The news that he wasn't even in the room meant he'd have to delay his plan. This prompted a further outbreak of sweat on his already flooded forehead, the pressure building with every second he spent in the room.

Slumping down in his chair he sat very still, then inspiration struck as he decided that the safest way to pass the time was by feigning sleep. As inconspicuously as possible he let his head slowly droop downward. Little by little until his chin rested on his breast, and then he let his breathing slow into a passable impression of sleep.

Around him he could hear the guards conversing, joking and generally passing their free time. Occasionally he heard people mention his name, mostly out of concern for his wellbeing and sometimes to whisper about the possibility of him being infected. It was strange he reflected as he sat there, how even these guards who faced the infected on a daily basis were filled with terror at the thought of infection. He imagined their inside knowledge of the infected fates had everything to do with that. He wondered momentarily if a guard found to be infected would be interned in the very camp they had once guarded. It was an intriguing thought and one he wasn't able to answer.

Their ingrained fear did however give him some hope; if he was discovered then he'd do whatever it took to use that fear to his advantage. Because if it really came down to it and he was in a desperate situation, the threat of infection might just be the key to his escape. Time passed slowly and a dull ache settled into the middle of his shoulders, slowly slipping down the middle of his spine as he sat there. He wondered if the gaffer would ever come, maybe some pressing business had interrupted his normal routine and he wouldn't be back.

Just as Maurice thought he'd have to shift his body he heard the door open, the atmosphere within the room changing almost instantly. The good humoured conversations and banter dried up immediately, replaced by a grim silence and the scrambling of feet, as people scurried purposely around the room. Stretching his arms above his head Maurice yawned, opening his eyes and twisting in his chair so he could better see the door. Standing just within the doorway was a man who Maurice assumed was the Gaffer. He was immediately distinguishable from the other guards; a small gold star shining brightly on his black helmet.

"ATTENTION!!" boomed the man, startling Maurice so much he almost fell out of his chair. A multitude of booted feet stamped the ground and he found himself copying the others. Swinging his right hand to his helmet he attempted a salute, feeling like a poor imitation compared to the others. The gaffer's uniform was impeccable, not a hair was out of place and his boots shone like glass. Moving forward purposefully he stood menacingly in front of his men.

"Now then squad what's all this?" he asked in a clipped tone. "I expect us to be the best do you understand?" Immediately a chorus of "Yes Sirs," filled the room. Maurice joined in hesitantly, glad for the cover his visor provided. The gaffer placed his hands behind his back and began to pace slowly across the entrance. "I have only been gone from control for exactly 1 hour 30 minutes, and I came back to this disorganised rabble." He shook head as he paced across the floor. "Now staff, you know I have nothing against you using this room to relax when you're off duty," he paused, his grey eyes regarding his underlings. "However those of you that are control staff should know better than to join in, especially when you're meant to be manning your posts."

Standing still for a moment he made a show of looking at each of his men in turn, lingering longer on those guards that had been caught away from their posts. "I need our section to be the best, do you under stand that?" His voice rose to tumultuous levels, filled with unending passion, "I strive for excellence every day and I require every one on my team to do the same." Once again his team responded with the obligatory "Yes sir!" Satisfied that his speech had had the desired effect, he strode up the room taking a chair next to Rudy at the monitor bank.

The man's speech had done nothing for Maurice's nerves. His attitude was ruthless and unyielding, the perfect embodiment of professionalism, qualities he could do without at the moment. Staying in his chair he wasn't sure of what to do, should he make his move now or wait? He wasn't sure but moments later the choice was made for him as the Gaffer spoke directly to him. "Gareth, shouldn't you be getting ready for your next cell walk?" The imperious voice of the man rang out clear and commanding within the control room, picking out Maurice as he sat languishing on his chair.

"Uh yes sir," answered Maurice his heart once again racing.

"Well get a move on then, time waits for no man," shouted the gaffer, beating his fist on his open palm to emphasise the jewel of wisdom he'd just imparted. The time had come for action; hesitation and indecision were enemies he had to overcome if he was going to pull this off. With a confidence he didn't feel Maurice stood up, and then clutched both hands to his lower stomach, grunting as he fell back heavily into his chair. The gaffer immediately jumped up and approached him, "What's all this Gareth, are you injured man? What ever is the matter with you?" His words were cold, flat and devoid of any compassion.

"It's my stomach sir," muttered Maurice still clutching desperately at his belly. The gaffer was stood directly over Maurice now, his body bent forward as he inspected his subordinate intensely.

"I can see it's your stomach Gareth, now what's the matter with it, speak up man?" Maurice shifted uncomfortably on the chair, it was almost as if he could see straight through his disguise.

"I've got painful cramps sir and I feel like I'm going to be sick." The gaffer leaned back from the chair one hand firmly held behind his back, while his other came to rest on the shoulder of his subordinate.

"Well now why didn't you say so man, I only want guards who can give me one hundred percent." Pacing up and down in front of Maurice he clasped his hands behind his back, still inspecting him critically.

"I've always leant towards the school of thought that advocates recuperation over forced fortitude. Of course Morris on B section thinks his staff should fight through it, nonsense if you ask me." He continued to discourse with himself, never faltering in his rhythmic stride. "I've read many articles on the subject Gareth and I'm of the opinion that if you don't allow staff a restorative period in the face of minor illness, well you're doing nothing more than encouraging a major illness in the long run. It's the same as a hover car," he said. "If you don't take care of the small faults then eventually it will cease to operate, you see?"

"Yes," Maurice answered, wishing that he'd get to the point and either allow him to go or tell him what his fate was to be. Suddenly he stopped pacing coming to a halt directly in front of Maurice.

"Do you wish to go home early on sick leave Gareth?" His question was loud and forceful, the way he delivered the words made it sound more like a threat than a question. Maurice wanted so much to blurt out the word yes, but he held back. Glancing furtively around he noticed there wasn't a sound to be heard in the whole control centre. Whatever work his colleagues has been tasked with, forgotten in favour of watching the slowly unfolding drama.

"Well sir," began Maurice hesitantly feeling the ice water prick his spine.

"Do speak up man, I can hardly hear you," the gaffer snapped in his no nonsense tone. Taking a deep breath Maurice began again louder, "Well sir I'd like to stay I really would, I feel I have a duty to carry out my shift," he grabbed his lower abdomen as he spoke. "But I really don't feel I can give my full one hundred percent today." Letting his head droop as if ashamed at his admission he waited, hoping his carefully worded response would elicit the reaction he wanted.

"That's alright man, there's no shame in that Gareth, lift up your head, no shame at all." The gaffer's voice was still commanding and authoritative, but some of the steeliness had melted. Maurice lifted his head slowly, returning his gaze to the gaffer once more.

"No Gareth, you're a good worker always on time and you do your work with a gusto I admire. Get yourself out of here and either call before your shift tomorrow or come in, no shame at all in it man." Maurice straightened his shoulders as he heard the words, an unstoppable feeling of excitement rushing through him.

"Yes sir I will, thank you sir." He tried extremely hard to keep the exuberance out of his voice, but was sure some of it still slipped through. Rising slowly from his seat he maintained a semi hunch, keeping up his pretence of pain. The gaffer slapped him on his shoulder once, as a master might pat an obedient dog and then swung on his heels and marched back to his seat. Walking stiff legged Maurice made his way towards the exit, counting each step and fighting the urge to run towards the door.

"GARETH," the sharp voice of the gaffer cut through the air lashing down upon him, "Aren't you forgetting something man?"

CHAPTER 29

Maurice froze, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness overcame him. Turning upon wooden legs he prepared to run.

"Sorry sir," he called, "what have I forgot." Directness was the only defence he had left, respond to the question nothing more, don't try to be clever just attempt to survive.

"Your civilian bag man," he shouted, "I know you're ill but there are some protocols you just shouldn't forget." He pointed an accusing finger toward a set of steel lockers, innocently sitting at the left hand side of the room. Automatically Maurice began to move toward them apologizing.

"Sorry sir, it's the pain just making me a bit muddled that's all."

The gaffer snorted in response, "that's all very well Gareth, but you know the warden has very strict rules on personal artefacts being left on camp and illness is no excuse." His voice booked no argument and Maurice offered none, instead he offered another feeble apology. Moving as quickly as he dared he approached the waiting lockers. Satisfied that his will was being done, the Gaffer once more turned his attention back to the bank of monitors. Panic blossomed within Maurice as he neared the lockers; they were numbered but nothing more, no indication to tell him which one was his own. Fortunately as he came closer he noticed that there were scanners attached to each locker, so hopefully he should have the key somewhere on his person. As discreetly as possible he began to search the numerous pockets that lined his uniform, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he went about his task.

He located various different key cards of unknown origin during his search, stealthily testing them against the corresponding numbers on the lockers but to no avail. He despaired of finding the correct key, all too aware of the length of time he was taking. Then, just when he thought it was over, he found it; an inconspicuous white card hidden in a small pocket on the back of his pants. The locker branding was marked clearly on the card "Rainbow Access", the rainbow logo matching perfectly with the front of the lockers. A number 13 was printed clearly across the card, the rest was easy.

Moving down the rows he found the corresponding locker and held his key card above the scanner, a moment later the lock clicked and the door swung open. Within the locker sat a medium sized rucksack which he took out and placed on his back. Turning away he once again began to move slowly towards the door, hoping this attempt would be incident free.

Just as he reached door he was stopped for the second time, "Gaz, don't forget you're on the afternoon shift tomorrow mate, not starting till 12," Rudy called. Maurice glanced back and gave a quick nod of acknowledgement, and then with no more drama he had made it. He was once again within the prison proper, the rows of cells rising high above his head. Staring across the floor he examined the mesh wall through which he'd made his original entrance. Both of the gates were locked now, but nearby he could see an unmanned scanner post.

Marching across the floor with a feeling of flushed excitement he neared the gate. A quick examination of his security key fob and he'd found the correct card, the exit card opening the gate without a problem. His luck held as he progressed; the security stations beyond unmanned and offering no obstacle to his escape. He passed through the changing rooms, the bare benches and empty hangers filling him with a sense of dread as he remembered his first experience within that place.

Reaching the end he went through the left hand door, scanning another one of the marked security cards. The door led into the guard's viewing room for the decontamination chamber. Empty, not a soul to be seen. It seemed his attempt couldn't have been better timed. Passing through the viewing chamber he entered the first changing room, once again deserted.

This run of luck was just what Maurice needed and he felt his optimism rise with each small step towards freedom.

Leaving the final changing room he felt a rush of exhilaration, the winter sun shining down upon him. Unfortunately his jubilation was cut short, a group of men stood in the middle of the courtyard barring his way. He recognised the scene almost immediately; they were the camp's new prisoners enduring the Warden's stock induction speech.' No wonder it's so deserted,' Maurice thought, 'most of the men must be out here.' The Warden's voice filled the courtyard, rising and falling as he unleashed his welcoming speech upon the gathered throng. They really were a sorry bunch enveloped in a blanket of fear, a sight that filled him with a great sadness. Unable to help he began to move forward, trying his best to look like he belonged.

Reaching the end of the path he attempted to make his way around the gathered crowd, marching forward with carefully measured steps, aiming straight toward the giant steel gates and freedom. He'd almost passed the last of the guards, the great gates within spitting distance when his luck ran out.

CHAPTER 30

"You there!" he heard the shout as if from a million miles away, continuing to walk forward.

"Guard halt, stand still." Maurice hesitated in response to the Warden's command, "that's right, come here." Turning slowly he faced the interested audience, his heart threatening to break in his chest. Every single prisoner and guard stared at him, watching his walk towards Davies. As he approached he made sure to keep his stoop, placing a hand on his lower belly.

"Quickly guard I don't have all day," shouted the little man, his caterpillar like eyebrows wiggling around in disapproval. Maurice increased his pace still maintaining the pretence of stomach cramps, until he was standing directly in front of the man.

"Now then what's your name?" Davies asked in an overly loud tone, obviously enjoying his show of power.

"Gareth Sir," answered Maurice shakily, fear almost closing his throat.

"Gareth hmmm," the wardens brow wrinkled as he pondered the name, "ahhh yes your a cell walker within A Section aren't you?" The warden's tone made the question a statement, but Maurice didn't dare ignore him.

"Yes sir, that's right."

The warden nodded enthusiastically, "of course that's right Gareth, I never forget a name. Now if I'm not mistaken, and I know I'm not, A section doesn't have any shift changes, not for another few hours at least, so where are you going Gareth?" Maurice's legs turned to mush and it took all his effort just to remain standing. The dizziness that had come over him before returned with a vengeance.

Stumbling ever so slightly he responded, "I'm not well sir and was given permission to go home on sick leave sir." The warden watched him carefully as he spoke, nodding and wiggling his thick eyebrows, "Ahhh yes, Lewis is your chief guard, good fellow if not a little too militarised for my liking. So what's wrong with you Gareth anything we should know about?" He extended his hand as he asked the question, as if taking into account all of the guards and the prisoners.

"Uh no sir, just an upset stomach that's all." Davie's eyes regarded him studiously, looking him up and down.

"I hope you're not attributing your sickness to the prison's food now are you Gareth?" the Warden said, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. Maurice couldn't stand much more; any moment now he was going to grab the warden and shake him. Fighting against the suicidal urge he answered.

"Of course not sir, I enjoy the food, it's always very nice." Davies nodded in approval, fixing Maurice with a well done smile.

"Very good, well before you go its always nice for new arrivals to hear the experiences of an active cell walker, you wouldn't mind indulging us with your experience would you Gareth?" With a sinking heart he gave the only answer he could.

"Uh yes sir," Maurice mumbled. Davies responded by reaching up and clapping his arm around his shoulder, before once more addressing the crowd.

"You see gentlemen here is a fine example of the calibre of men we employ to look after your wellbeing, a dedicated bunch that even when ill will give their precious time for the good of the camp. Go ahead Gareth tell them of your experiences as a cell walker." Davies stepped backwards slightly giving him the lime light. Maurice stared into the crowd filled with fear; he wasn't a public speaker at the best of times and now he had to do it while pretending to be someone else. Silent seconds passed as he faced the morose detainees, struggling frantically to think of something to say.

Clearing his desert dry throat he began, "well as Warden Davies said I'm a cell walker and I work within Section A of the camp." He coughed, his words sounding strained and shaky to his ears. "My job is something which is very important to me," continued Maurice desperately searching for the right words. "It is something that I take extreme pride in. Now for those of you who haven't gathered, my role as a cell walker means that I'm tasked with the responsibility of checking on each of you on a daily basis." Now that he'd started his words were coming easier but he still wasn't sure what to say. On the one hand there was the truth of camp life, and then there was what he thought the Warden wanted to hear.

"The checks I carry out are first and foremost for your own protection as residents of this camp," he began hesitantly, bolstered as he noticed the Warden nodding his head in approval. "To see how you're faring in your fight against the horrific infection which you all carry and to make sure you're following the Warden's rules." The warden nodded more enthusiastically as his name was mentioned, happy that his subordinate was acting appropriately.

Maurice searched his memory as he spoke, trying desperately to remember some of the wardens own words. It was hard a task; his own memory hazy and dim as if all of the horrors he'd suffered since that point had scoured away his recollection. Then something clicked and he remembered an important line, "remember all of you, this will be the last place you see before you pass away, so it's in your best interests to make your stay as pleasant as possible," he said solemnly. "By following the cell walker's orders and obeying the warden's rules at all times you'll have the best chance of achieving this." He said those words with the finality of a closing passage, and turned towards the warden hoping the man would take the hint.

Davies turned to him, his face a twisted imitation of a smile and began to clap. His actions were immediately parroted by the guards, and a moment later the prisoners joined in as well.

"Well Gareth," said the Warden, "I'd like to thank you for your insightful words and I hope you're feeling better soon, this compound needs men like you." With another congratulatory back pat he gestured with his hand, allowing Maurice to walk away from the still clapping crowd. He began to move on wooden legs, almost not believing he'd made it. The sound of applause followed him as he made his way slowly across the courtyard, until the shrill voice of the Warden cut across them and ordered his charges to silence.

Drawing closer to the great steel doors Maurice could see two guards manning the booths on either side. He could almost taste freedom now, just a short skip through the doors and he'd be on his way out. Whatever happened he'd decided he wouldn't be returning to the camp, he'd rather die than have to face the suffering contained within those tall walls again.

Stopping at the window of one of the booths he peered in; the guard was busy at work, his shiny boots resting on his desk while he lolled in his chair. Looking closer Maurice realised the man was actually asleep, and in a hesitant voice called, "Hello, excuse me." The man jumped awake, almost falling off of his chair in the process.

"Yes sir," he shouted his hand jumping up to pull off a smart salute as he found his bearings. "Oh," the guard said as he saw Maurice, "thought you were the commander, you heading out?"

"Yes, finished for the day, not feeling to well." The guard moved around his booth in a grumpy manner, perhaps annoyed at having his impromptu nap cut short.

"Ok well go to the side gate and I'll let you through, quickly as you like there's another load of prisoners on the way." Maurice complied, moving towards a small doorway cut into the side of the steel gates. The guard shouted to his counterpart manning the other booth and on the count of five they inserted their key cards. A loud warning buzzer sounded and then a clunk as the door unlocked. Maurice walked through and into a dark passage which led to the outer door. He was Reaching back to close the first door when a shout stopped in him in his tracks.

"Hold that door," a voice echoed down to him. Peering back out he saw that the crowd of new detainees were now entering the main compound to begin the dehumanisation process, and that two of the rear guards had peeled off and were jogging towards him. Maurice reached down to his baton, un-clipping the cover and readied himself to fight. He knew he wouldn't stand much of a chance, but no force on earth was going to take him back without a battle.

CHAPTER 31

With his heart in his mouth he waited, the two men drawing closer until they were in clubbing range.

"Thanks," said the lead one, "we've still got another three loads to escort, looks like it's going to be a busy day today." Maurice relaxed, subtly re-clipping his baton as he spoke. "Looks like it mate, I'll be glad to get home today, my stomachs been giving me some real gip." The three men walked through the short passage and opened the outer door, the mechanical locks snapping shut behind them. Nodding to the guards within the outer booths they began to walk towards the station, running the gauntlet between the many machine gun posts which tracked them. For once Maurice was glad of the company of guards as he walked, their very presence giving credibility to his own passage away from the prison.

"Well I saw the full show with Davies pal," said the taller guard while his shorter companion remained mute. "He can be a right bastard that one, I think he gets his kicks from putting us on the spot." Maurice nodded companionably, liking the man's friendly tone.

"I'm just glad it's over," Maurice confided, knowing the guard couldn't grasp the magnitude of his statement.

"We're lucky really," said the taller guard, "me and Mitch here don't really have much dealings with the warden, being escort guards an all. Of course the down side is we have to listen to his welcome speech every time there's a delivery, but other than that we don't really see him." At this point his silent friend found his tongue and added, "he's just too full of himself." All three of them laughed at that, as they turned the corner walking up towards the station's turn stiles.

"He doesn't say much our Mitch, but he's always got a pearl of wisdom up his sleeve when he does." Mitch chortled in response, enjoying the sarcastic praise from his friend. The Speeder station was drawing closer and closer as they walked and Maurice attempted to use the men to his advantage.

"So," he asked, attempting to appear as nonchalant as possible, "where are you two headed now lads? Where's your next pick up."

"We've got a large load in from Mansfield next, probably be a bit of trouble I'd of thought, they're a bloody rough lot," said the taller guard. A moment later the question that Maurice had been hoping for was asked.

"So where do you call home, is it far?" Maurice tensed slightly as he prepared to relay his answer, speaking in his most casual tone.

"I live in Nutley," before he could continue an excited Mitch spoke over him.

"Really, I used to live in Nutley with my ma, before I went green light and moved to Manchester with Sandra. That's why I love this station," he continued enthusiastically, "platform 1A and I'm back home with Sandra, platform 2B and I can see my Ma."

The taller guard shook his head as Mitch spoke, "geeze control yourself Mitch, so your mum lives in the same village, what do you want a medal." Maurice laughed as Mitch muttered, "Shut up Chris," beginning to sulk. The station turn stiles were fast approaching and their conversation dried up as they prepared to go through. However Maurice felt good; he'd got more information from Mitch than he could have ever hoped for. Soon he would be on the Speeder and completely free of the camp, of course there would be plenty of other things to worry about after but for now he basked in the success of his escape. For a nerve racking second he thought the turnstile guards were going to ask them to scan their hands, but instead all they had to do was scan an exit card.

Maurice frantically searched his pocket, located his main security key fob and found the relevant card before it was his turn. Nodding at the unresponsive guard he presented his card to the machine, and walked through to the sound of a satisfying click.

"Well Gareth," said Chris, "Hope your feeling better soon mate, me and Mitch got to dash now." Maurice thanked the men and waved as they ran off towards a speeder that was just pulling into the station. Maurice examined his surroundings, all too aware of the guards watching from the turnstiles. On his last visit he hadn't realised just how big the station actually was, but then again his mind had been pre occupied with other things.

There were numerous platforms within the station, each of them labelled with a number or a letter, but none displayed any identifying destination. Following the logical sequence of descending numbers and letters, he managed to locate platform 2B and set off towards it. The knowledge of how close he'd come to disaster haunted him as he passed through an under platform tunnel heading toward the far end of the station.

If it wasn't for Mitch he'd have been forced to choose a platform at random. But what then, if he was to have any chance at freedom he must make it to Nutley; and even then Michael's details had been sketchy at best. It was quite possible, even probable that his information was out of date now, yet it was the best chance he had.

He climbed the steps up to the platform with a heavier heart; the excitement of escape tempered by the reality of his situation. If he was to stay free, which was his intention then he must find the light dealers, without them all this would be for nothing. Finding a seat on a platform bench he waited for the next speeder, still contemplating his insecure future. That was the worst of it For Maurice; he'd always been a planner, needing to know every last detail and leaving nothing to chance in any of his undertakings.

His schooling, his career within the hospital services, they had all been part of his life plan which he'd pursued unceasingly. He'd almost achieved another level in that plan when everything he'd ever held dear was taken from him. Everything he'd ever wanted since being little, the job he'd trained for, a woman he loved and the chance at a new family; all gone. That wasn't in his plan and it had no business happening to him. Not this, a desperate life of survival, filled with intrigue and conspiracy. If Maurice could have asked for one thing as he sat there, it would have been knowledge of what was to come; instead he headed blind toward the unordered chaos of his future.

He had been waiting on the bench for maybe fifteen minutes now, and with each passing second his uneasiness grew. Maybe the guards had decided to check his cell twice today; maybe they had looked back at the security footage and suspected something was amiss. Doubt and fear rolled around his brain, biting and eroding his fragile calm.

"Stop it, just stop it," he muttered, there was no use wondering about what might happen, he had to keep his head in the present. The past held nothing but torment and shattered dreams for Maurice, while the future was so unsettlingly vague that the mere thought of it made him feel sick. Searching the bare station walls he hoped to find some kind of clock or display board to give him an idea of the Speeder's schedules. There was nothing, in fact the only signs within the whole station were made up of a combination of unrevealing numbers and letters. He guessed this was another security measure; it was all very well escaping from the compound but with no idea where you were going capture couldn't be far behind.

'It must have been at least half an hour now,' he thought, as stared nervously along the Speeder's channel. A few minutes later and he heard the whistle blast from an approaching vehicle, the sound filling him with a false hope. Maurice stood up expectantly and then dropped back dejectedly, cursing as he saw the speeder pull into the far station near the camp's turn stiles. As the speeder docked he could hear an uproarious commotion beginning behind the vehicle, the source of the noise hidden from his view.

He was unable to see from his position but he could hear screams of pain and shouts of anger from behind the stationary Speeder. Curiosity got the better of him and Maurice walked down the platform to get a better view. The violence and aggression of the scene filled him with disgust; he could see maybe fifty or so new prisoners fighting against ten armoured guards. The desperate men were charging and throwing wild punches, while suffering heavy blows from the guard's night sticks.

He watched as the guards wielded there batons in a frenzy of anger, supplementing this with Taser type guns which they fired indiscriminately into the jostling throngs. The wet thuds of steel against skull and screams of anguished pain filled the station as the men were brought to heel. This continued for no more than a few minutes, but the damage was done; not one of the prisoners remained standing. Free of opposition the largely unscathed guards began to take retribution, kicking and stamping on the prisoner's prone bodies.

It was too much for Maurice and he retreated sadly back to his seat. 'They didn't have a chance,' he thought desolately. Their attempt though valiant was futile, their blows bouncing harmlessly off the guards armour like water against oil. The sound of another whistle interrupted his brooding. Looking up he was greeted by the welcome sight of a Speeder coming towards him, the smaller landing jets shooting blue puffs of flame as it came into dock.

Filled with relief he watched the smaller speeder come to a halt on the platform before him, the automatic doors sliding open with a low hiss. Walking quickly towards the middle section he took a seat within an empty carriage. A moment later the Speeder whistled again as it began to reverse, its powerful engines cycling as it floated above the station floor. He'd done it, of course his ultimate success was anything but guaranteed, but wherever he ended up next had to be better than where he'd come from.

CHAPTER 32

Looking out of the window he watched the country side flash by, feeling safer and more secure than he had done in months. He had no idea how long the journey would take, but in his relative security his head began to nod as a deep tiredness gripped him. The cabin was too warm and the chairs too soft and comforting, he tried to fight against it but the urge to sleep was just too strong.

How long he'd been out for was anyone's guess, but he jumped awake as he felt a soft grip shaking his shoulder. Gathering his bearings as quickly as possible he looked up into the face of an old man, his red uniform identifying him as a speeder conductor.

"Tickets please," the man said, in the soft tone of someone used to dealing with the sometimes difficult public.

"I er," Maurice's sleep addled brain searched for the words, "I er, I'll just get you it." He was trapped; they'd incorrectly assumed the Speeder service to the camp was free for guards. Searching his pockets with a growing sense of despair, he attempted to ignore the man's disapproving looks.

"It's alright," said the man, "I'm in no rush, only another ten carriages to go." His gnarled hands found a position on his hips as he waited. Maurice felt the familiar fingers of panic grip him. There was no ticket within his uniform, nothing that even remotely resembled one. 'I'm going to have to knock him out,' thought Maurice, as a lucid image of the man collapsed on the floor came to him. He stopped searching his pockets resigned to his reckless idea, when his eyes alighted on his rucksack.

"Ahh sorry sir, I forgot it's in my rucksack."

The inspector clucked his tongue impatiently, "Okay son go ahead, but hurry up will you, I'd like to see your ticket before we arrive you know." With the man's voice ringing in his ears Maurice opened the main zip of his rucksack, revealing a bundle of civilian clothes but nothing else. Fearing the worst he opened the side pocket and almost jumped with excitement as Gaz's face stared out at him, a government marked speeder pass safely contained within a plastic wallet.

"Ahh here it is," said Maurice trying to keep his voice on an even level. He grabbed the card, and displayed it to the man who grunted in response.

"You going to take your helmet off son, so I can verify it's your card?" His words were like a bucketful of cold water.

"Of course," Maurice responded thinking fast, "Hang on a minute." He began to unfasten the helmet, struggling plainly with the three buckles that attached it to his head. After nearly five minutes he'd managed to undo one of the buckles, and had begun to apologise constantly, complaining at how finicky the buckles on the darn helmets were. The inspector's already thin patience finally wore out and in an angry tone he muttered.

"It doesn't matter lad, you're a guard I trust you." With that he turned around and shuffled onto the next carriage. Maurice sat back slowly, breathing deeply and willing his heart to return to its normal rate, he couldn't wait to get off of the speeder. He looked out of the window staring at the unidentifiable country side. 'I must be nearly there,' he thought hoping his assumption was true.

The plan ran through his head as he sat there waiting, there were so many random factors waiting to go wrong. His greatest worry lay with the tracking device fixed to his wrist light, yet Michael had been confident of its inactive state. His assumption was based on his knowledge of the camp's export of prisoners to other locations every once in a while. This meant that once a red lighter had been incarcerated they'd have to switch off their tracking devices, or else they'd have the local law chasing speeders every time they needed to move prisoners. Maurice could see the logic in his reasoning but the gamble still worried him. It didn't matter though, there was no other option but to take the risk.

They'd estimated he should have the rest of the day and at least some of the next day before their deception was uncovered. It was completely out of his control now and he tried his best not think about it. For all he knew his cell was at this very moment being torn apart, his crime and murder laid bare for the world to see. A contingent of guards could be hot on his tail, the docking speeder heralding the end of his escape and not the start. He shivered as the dark thoughts invaded his mind; there was absolutely nothing he could do but hope.

After what seemed an age Maurice felt the speeder cycle down, the carriages rumbling slightly as the machine began to slow. The air brakes kicked in and the speeder came to a smooth stop. Standing immediately Maurice exited the carriage walking purposefully away, following the signs to the exit.

Another worry that just wouldn't quit was his attire. Hoping for the moment that any passers-by would put his guard's uniform and visor down to the fact that he'd just finished his shift, he walked towards the village of Nutley. Unfortunately even just wearing the uniform carried an additional risk as it covered his wrist light. Still it was a risk they'd both discussed and accepted as being preferable to the hostile reaction that showing a red wrist line would incur.

The path away from the station was thankfully deserted and it didn't take him too long to reach his destination. Up ahead he could see the cottages, shops and farmhouses that made up the small community, and his spirits lifted as he walked forward feeling almost like a free man. Once within the main village he kept walking, looking around and searching for a communications box or an ATM.

He passed a few people as he carried out his search, mainly elderly but there were a few young couples with prams. As he moved onward another key piece to his puzzle fell into place; a slightly run down B & B called the crown was situated near the centre of the village. Maurice scanned the window of the building as he passed, noting the old painted sign displaying the word vacancies with unconcealed relief. At least the problem of accommodation was resolved, but the payment for that luxury still eluded him. He was nearing the end of the village now, and could see the open fields and country side which stretched onwards towards his goal.

His breathing grew more and more ragged as the buildings dwindled; if he didn't find it soon then he would be ruined. He rounded the last turn in the village's high street with stones in his heart and then smiled. He had found what he was looking for. A Branch of the World Bank, the sign stated proudly as Maurice silently celebrated. He almost skipped toward it as an overpowering sense of relief ran through him. Michael had predicted that there should be at least an ATM or communications box in the village, but they'd never dared dream for a full blown world bank.

Standing outside the bank Maurice undid the remaining two straps on his helmet with little trouble and secured it in his rucksack. Giving his reflection a cursory inspection he noted he didn't look too bad. A quick rub of his hair and cheeks to remove any dirt and he was ready to enter. With a specific purpose he strode across the bank floor and took a seat in front of their only communications terminal. This was where everything Michael had told him would be put to the test. The information he'd accepted as fact within his cell, seemed somehow less solid in the light of the free world.

'Well there's no other option,' thought Maurice, 'I've got to try.'

He silently thanked his father for instilling within him the importance of a good memory as he typed in his bank account number, sort code and password details. There remained an underlying fear within Maurice as he typed, an awful reluctance to press the enter key. He didn't know what to expect; Michael had assured him that the government's policy was to keep red light's accounts open and active while they were incarcerated but he still wasn't convinced.

As he pressed the return key he wondered how many other red light accounts were waiting for owners that would never come. There was a slight whirr as the machine processed his information and then a click as the screen displayed a 3d image of his bank. He almost jumped for joy as he read the figures, everything was there, not a single credit had been removed and his account was fully active. Navigating the air touch menus with both hands he searched until he found the section titled card services.

Selecting this option he located the words temporary card, selecting and moving forward to the confirmation screen. This was a standard facility request and would provide Maurice with everything he needed. The machine whirred eagerly as it fulfilled his request, spitting out an olive green plastic card into a slot at the bottom of the machine. Maurice picked up the warm card, examining the shiny embossed letters which stated his name and account details. That was stage one completed; he was once again a fully-fledged member of the monetary system, now all he needed to do was fund the card.

Placing it into the slot at the top of the machine he re-accessed his account. Moments later Maurice had officially become a pauper; transferring his worldly wealth onto the small card. Pocketing it carefully he made sure he knew exactly where it was. He left the bank secure in the knowledge that another of his major hurdles had been completed, bringing him one more step closer to the revenge he so desired.

Maurice's stomach commanded his next move as he searched for somewhere to eat. Heading back into the village centre, he found a small cafe he'd noticed on his first trip through. The painted wooden sign swinging slightly in the wind made him smile, Betty's old Fashioned English Cafe. As he walked in the delicious aroma of home cooked food wafted over him and his mouth watered uncontrollably.

An open gas hob was visible in the kitchen, an uncommon sight with the advent of micro stoves. His smile grew wider as an old robust woman popped her head up from behind the spotless white counter.

"Hello dear, what can I get you?"

"Well now let me see," said Maurice examining the menu board, "what would you recommend?" he asked. The lady smiled back at Maurice, happy for her expertise on the Cafe's produce to be called upon.

"Well it's all good dear, but if you're just finishing a hard shift at work and you fancy something totally indulgent then you can't go far wrong with that!" She pointed a chubby finger at the board. Maurice gaze followed her finger and read, "Bettys all day traditional English breakfast". His stomach rumbled noisily at the prospect, the images of the food already bright in his mind. The woman chuckled, "I think you'd better make up your mind, quick before you starve," she commented jovially.

Maurice couldn't help but be infected by her natural charm and friendliness, opting for the recommended meal with a chuckle of his own. He conversed with the lady while she cooked, finding out useful pieces of local information regarding the surrounding countryside and in particular routes that would bring him closer to the capital city. It was a pleasant conversation and it went a long way to restoring Maurice's faith in the human race. She prepared the food in no time and before long Maurice was seated in front of a sizzling plate of fried sausages, eggs, bacon and steaming beans.

The owner left him to eat in peace, continuing to potter around behind her counter, absent-mindedly wiping the already sparkling surfaces. As Maurice ate the food he was filled with a horrible sense of guilt; knowing that the man who'd helped him escape would never taste food of this quality ever again. As he methodically cleared his plate he couldn't but help feel guilty for the freedom he now possessed. The injustice of it all hurt, leaving him morose and deflated.

Still even that couldn't fully dampen his spirits; just sitting at ease in the cosy cafe while sunlight dappled the wooden floor was a wondrous experience. It was like Maurice's perception had been renewed with his escape, every taste, smell and sight within this new world jumped out at him filling him with pleasure. The guilt was still there, but with an effort he managed to counsel away the worst of it. He'd played his part as Michael had wished; there was nothing he could have done differently.

He was acutely aware of the passage of time within the cafe and with some reluctance dragged himself out of his seat. Maurice thanked the proprietor and paid for the dinner with his card. Walking away from the cafe he forced his mind to concentrate on the next crucial part of his task. This was something he almost feared facing, the fear of failure was the main aspect of his self denial. If he never attempted it, then he couldn't fail although his reluctance would ultimately lead to his capture or worse. So with a heavy heart Maurice once again began to scout around the village.

This time he didn't keep to the main road, but instead let his course meander, exploring all the narrow side streets. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, only hoping he would know it once it was found. Michael had been hazy about this key part of the plan. He'd even explained that there was no guarantee the operation would even exist any more. The alternative he'd said was to run, a weak back up plan at best.

It was hard to know if he had located his destination or not as he wandered the villages' streets. There were a few buildings that looked possible candidates; run down and probably deserted, but whatever he did next was a huge risk. He knew there was no way to be sure, that could only be accomplished by knocking on the door, and even then they were bound to be cautious of strangers. The complexity of the problem gnawed at Maurice's resolve as he passed the same building for the second time. He'd fully covered the village now, there was nothing else left but to opt for one of the more likely locations. Walking through the quiet village once more, he put to memory the location of all the potential domiciles, dreading the attempt he would be forced to make.

CHAPTER 33

With his choices committed to memory he made his way back towards the only B & B he'd found. He knocked on the wooden door, his knuckles dislodging some of the old blue paint in a flurry of flakes. A few more knocks and his persistence was rewarded as the door opened, a musty slightly damp odour drifting through the open door way. A stern looking woman appeared, looking up at Maurice with cold inquisitive eyes. She was dressed in a black blouse, her raven black hair pulled back into a severe bob giving her face a gaunt look. As she stared at Maurice her thin lips pursed slightly.

"Yeaaas, may I help you?" The contrast between this woman and café owner was like the difference between night and day. Her tone was haughty and rather rude, her whole demeanour suggesting that Maurice shouldn't be standing on her doorstep. He coughed clearing his throat, not liking or understanding the women's hostility.

"I noticed you have rooms available, I wondered if I could pay for board." The women's lips pursed even tighter as she continued to inspect him.

"Well," she began almost spitting the words, "We do have a room available, but I'm not sure if it would suit...someone like you." The accusation and hatred within her face was plain to see now, and Maurice wasn't sure how to proceed.

"How do you mean someone like me?" He asked cautiously. She grunted and muttered something unintelligible beneath her breath before she responded, "a guard, I don't like your sort." Maurice, although worried felt a certain amount of relief at her response and looked at her wondering the best way to attack this new problem.

"I'm sorry madam," he said, "I hadn't realised you felt that way about guards, if it's not too much of an intrusion may I ask why?" The women's face contorted again perhaps disbelieving the impudence of the man, but she answered anyway her voice taking on an edge of pain.

"You took my son, he's dead now, they told me," she paused as her breath hitched in her throat, "of all things in a letter." The effort of speaking had taken a visible toll on her, and her hatred had been replaced by weariness.

"I'm sorry," Maurice whispered trying to reach out a comforting hand. The woman drew back as if his hands were afire, her eyes once again burning with hatred.

"How dare you, "she hissed, "don't you dare touch me, I've heard the stories you killer." Her words slipped from her throat likes bullets, smashing into Maurice's ears. He watched as if in slow motion as she moved backwards her eyes still ablaze, the door of the cottage slamming shut. He couldn't allow it, a place to stay was vital, without that there was almost no chance of success.

Taking a chance he thrust himself forward, forcing the door open and grabbed the woman. She twisted in his grip like a captured shrew, twisting and shrieking loudly. Maurice desperately kicked backwards with his leg, closing the door to the B & B. He pushed her forward roughly; moving her backwards into the whitewashed hallway until he hit the back wall. With a desperate intensity he whispered into her ear,

"Please I beg you, listen to me, just for one moment listen to me." His words had the desired effect as she began to struggle less, eventually ceasing completely; he wasn't sure if this was the right thing but he had to trust her. In his most solemn tone Maurice proceeded to tell the woman everything, his whole story condensed into a few minute confession. "If I let you go will you scream or attack me?" he asked upon finishing.

"Mnnu no," she mumbled through his glove. Slowly and ever so cautiously he pulled away his hand, releasing his grip on the woman's arm and stepping back. Her distrustful eyes never left his face but she didn't scream.

"Show me your wrist light," she asked, her body shaking. Maurice complied; removing his glove strap he revealed the blood red light. Her eyes filled with tears as she stared grey faced. "I knew it," she murmured, "I knew Carl wouldn't have broken the rules, not my son, not my son." Her face crumpled, hot mournful tears spilling down her cheeks. Maurice reached out and this time she didn't flinch, as he drew her into a comforting embrace. After a while her heartfelt sobs began subside and he felt he could let her go. Her face was still filled with a deep unhappiness but underneath there was a flash of resolve. "You can stay here," she said, "It's the least I can do for you Maurice, and by the way my names Miranda," she proffered a hand which he shook gratefully.

She guided Maurice into a lounge area, sitting down in one of the room's arm chairs. Maurice did the same, thankful for the relief from the chase. She questioned him further about the camp, searching for answers and clues to her son's fate in his words. He didn't want to hurt her, but felt he owed her the whole truth for her son's sake. Her face grew paler and more drawn as she listened, his tale of the hole and the guard's sadism overwhelming her. She whimpered but didn't cry, her thin fingers gripping the chair's arm. Eventually the telling was done, the dark experience he'd held passed onto his new ally.

"Thank you Maurice," she whispered, her eyes watering. "I wish there was something we could..."

"Miranda do you own a computer with a crystal reader?" Maurice interrupted his eyes suddenly glistening with an inner intensity.

"Yes, yes I do," she answered hesitantly, then she realised his intention. Taking Maurice through to a back room, she booted up an old computer. Maurice waited impatiently, while hot sweat beaded his forehead. This was the moment of truth, for better or worse in a few minutes he would hold the same knowledge that Michael had carried for all those years. Eventually the old machine came to an unsteady life and he inserted the data crystal, his gloved hands shaking as the machine clicked and creaked. The drive whirred and hummed as it strove to read the encrypted data, a window eventually appeared displaying an eta of ten minutes. Miranda and Maurice waited in silence.

The progress line seemed to hardly move, like an employee's desk clock stuck in a perpetual loop. In a burst of frustration Maurice stood up, beginning to pace backwards and forth in the small room. 'Dam these old machines,' he thought. If it had been a modern PC the data would have been accessed immediately.

Still even the lack of technology couldn't withhold the truth forever, and eventually the line had all but made it across the box, the eta flickering down to less than ten seconds. The count froze at 2 and the computer screen went blank, there was a furious clicking sound from within and Maurice felt his already frayed nerves reach breaking point. Just when it seemed that the computer must have crashed, there was a beep and a new window displayed the words "Data unencrypted". They spent the next few hours lost in a web of intrigue that stretched back into distant history.

It was unbelievable, almost inconceivable the nature of the information they'd uncovered. They were gifted an unflinching insight into an insidious enemy, an enemy that had destroyed both of their lives with less thought than a butcher gives a pig. A deep silence fell upon the pair as they explored the reams of documentation and plans for the coming years. The words they read were sickening and abhorrent to their souls, unimaginable horrors and atrocities all carried out in the name of the great work.

"It's awful," said Miranda, breaking the long silence. Her words were small and somehow insubstantial.

"I know," whispered Maurice. He suddenly felt more alone than he'd ever done before. At least in the hole he'd known there would be a release, but now faced with the true horror of his enemy, he knew there could be no escape from his destiny. He wanted to play his part, to strike against the establishment and bring down the hidden tyranny that had held the Earth in its grip for all these years. All of these noble things were hypothetically his for the taking, but now he understood the true power and far reaching influence of this group his resolve had weakened. Eventually Maurice could stand no more and asked about his room.

"Of course," Miranda answered, her tone a reflection of his mood. "You can stay in the first guest room on the second floor. It's the cleanest and best kept of them all." Maurice muttered his thanks and followed her out of the room. Taking the proffered key in silence he nodded at Miranda and wearily climbed the steps.

It was a simple affair but the clean bed covers were extremely inviting after his stay in the camp. There was a small shower in the bathroom, which he made use of before retiring. As the warm water and soap washed over his body, he began to feel clean for the first time in months. The bed was as comfortable as it looked and minutes after setting the bedside alarm for 11pm he was under.

Down below Miranda sat in front of the computer, her mind working furiously as she trawled through the endless information. Her anguish at discovering the conditions her son had suffered drove her. She wanted to learn as much as she could about the group, hoping the knowledge might forearm her against any further wrongs. There was so much data to trawl through, their planned actions and the results of their actions but nothing she could find to explain their reasons. This was the question burning the brightest in her soul, what possible reason could this group have to justify their crimes?

She was near quitting when a document caught her eye. The words slipped through her eyes and were given meaning as she realised what she'd found. The controllers whole world view, their plans and ultimate goals, condensed inside a single manifesto. Her elation at finding what she sought didn't last. The document was a descent in the deepest depravity she'd ever witnessed, surely the produce of disturbed and twisted minds? Insanity was the only explanation she could understand, surely nothing compos mentis and human could have written the words she read?

Men women and children who weren't part of their plan were referred to in the same manner as a farmer's livestock. They were the underclass, the untermensch destined for brutal work camps and eventual execution. No quarter was to be given to these people, for the good of the human race they had to be eliminated from the general gene pool. The controllers united in their belief that their very existence was a threat to the purity of the human race.

Miranda Gasped, almost falling from her chair. The evil that flowed from their words filled her heart with dread. There wasn't one shred of compassion or decency to be found, they were the stuff of nightmares with hearts as black as pitch. A deep tiredness overcame Miranda as she shut down the computer and dropped heavily onto her lounge chair. Never before had she felt so low.

* * *

11 pm came around all too quickly for Maurice. He cleared his head and dressed back into the black guard's uniform; he'd decided the risk of hiding his light under the uniform was preferable to exposing it. Also it would give him the perfect cover in the darkness outside. He left his room and walked down stairs, heading towards the sound of the 3d set in the lounge.

"Hi Miranda," he said as he walked in.

"Hello Maurice, you feeling better now?"

"Yes thanks," he sighed, "It's just...well..." he trailed off, frowning as he struggled to speak.

"What is it?" She asked, already guessing the answer.

"I'm scared Miranda," he said softly, "I honestly don't know if I have the strength to go back out there."

"I understand Maurice, I really do." She regarded him kindly, her eyes glistening with barely held back tears. "But if you stop now then it will all be for nothing, you know that don't you. Soon they'll realise that you've escaped and they'll track you down." Maurice nodded woodenly unable to deny her logic.

"I know you're right, I just..."

"Listen Maurice," she said with sudden intensity, "I know you're scared, but you have a chance to strike back at them, do it for Rachel and do it for my son." Her breath hitched in her chest. "You have a chance to make a difference, please don't throw it away." He took much needed strength from her words, his face filling with a grim determination.

"I will Miranda," he promised. He spent the next half an hour quizzing her, asking if she'd noticed anything out of the ordinary. The information she gave helped him and he became almost certain there was still an active operation within the village. Now it was just a matter of locating it.

Heeding her warning about a daily local police patrol, Maurice prepared himself mentally for what lay ahead. The fear was there again; a creeping cold hand that gripped his pounding heart. Ignoring it as best he could he mentally ran through his plan one final time and then left the bed and breakfast.

CHAPTER 34

The stillness of the night hit him as he stepped out of the door. The village by moon light looked quainter than ever, a pocket of history standing strong against the march of modernisation. He moved slowly away from the B & B, cautiously making his way through the village towards his first target.

The streets were deserted, that was good he thought as he moved onward. Breathing steadily he moved forward, unable to shake the feeling that failure was hiding just around the corner. He could see the domicile now; it looked as dilapidated and deserted as it had done in the day. Walking by the garden wall he tried to get a better look at the building that lay within; all seemed quiet. Gathering his courage he vaulted the low wall and plunged into the overgrown garden, approaching the front of the house.

The domicile was in a bad way, the hewn stone walls bulging outward, struggling beneath the weight of the rickshaw roof. Most of the windows were broken and boarded up. Reaching the door he pushed the handle, the rickety door rattling loudly but not opening. Pausing to calm his nerves he knocked softly, the rotting wood muffling his shaking hands; there was no answer.

Refusing to give up hope he walked around the building, hoping to find another entrance to make use of. The gravel path crunched loudly as he picked his way around the ruin. The back door held nothing but more disappointment; the windows boarded and the door locked. Consoling himself with his remaining prospects he began to move away, when he noticed a small grimy window that still held glass at the side of the building. Approaching cautiously he looked inside, his small success filling him with hope. It was a struggle to see, the pane turned almost opaque by years of dirt. Pushing his head against the cold glass, he managed to make out an empty room. There wasn't much within except a dirt floor and an old stone fire, the occupants long gone. Maybe they only use the upstairs he thought, refusing to give up.

Taking a deep breath he gripped the bottom of the old wooden sill and pushed, the squeak as the window slid open filling him with satisfaction. A blast of musty damp air assaulted his senses as he peered inside. Feeling rather stupid Maurice squeezed through the open window. Just as he'd made it into the room footsteps echoed on the pavement outside, and he quickly hunkered down beneath the window. Waiting crouched in silence he willed the person to move on. Whether his prayers were heard he didn't know, but seconds later Maurice heard the footsteps slowly retreat from his hiding place. Breathing a sigh of relief he stood and moved further into the room, seeking the staircase that surely must be within.

He was almost completely convinced that the domicile was empty, but couldn't leave without exploring the upstairs. He wasn't about to leave anything to luck now; if he did and missed something then he might never get another chance. The upstairs was much the same as the lower floor, filled with the same pervading rottenness that had spread throughout the old building. Satisfied there really wasn't anyone there he made his way back outside, listening carefully before exiting.

Maurice moved quickly away from the domicile and back onto the stone pavement, quietly heading towards his second target. The shadows were his friends as he moved, the silky black patches giving him much needed cover. He silently gave thanks to the old fashioned amber street lights, the dim rays failing dismally to adequately light the way. The village was still deserted, all trace of the mystery walker gone from the streets. The distance to his next target was short and he reached it without any problems. Standing in front of the second cottage he attempted and failed to calm his racing heart. Similar to the other building it too was run down, but there were definite signs of life within. Nerves filled him as he considered the building; there was no guarantee this would work, one mistake and it could all be over.

He came at the cottage from the side, making full use of the stone garden wall. Peering over he could see the shuttered windows, effectively hiding the inside from prying eyes. Hidden behind the wall he examined the flaking whitewashed wood, it was no good there was nothing else for it. Springing up suddenly he vaulted the low wall, dropping straight into a crouching position, hidden from the road.

In one small aspect he was lucky; all the potential prospects were either detached cottages or located in near deserted areas of the village. This was something Michael had been absolutely insistent about; due to the nature of their business the domiciles were bound to be isolated and probably disguised as abandoned. Maurice moved carefully towards the house, hunching down as he crossed the damp grass. His heart stepped up a gear as he noticed a small window toward the rear side of the cottage; the shutter hadn't been fully closed. Moving as quickly as he dared he drew closer, eventually reaching the cottage's main wall.

Hunkering down under the window he attempted to calm his ragged breathing. This cloak and dagger stuff just wasn't in his nature, the fear and constant adrenaline tore and frayed his already raw nerves. Forcing himself up he slowly rose, attempting to build up the courage required to peek inside. With a final push he stood, forcing his body and head flat against the wall to reduce the risk of discovery. Then almost imperceptibly he began to slide, inching his head out bit by bit until his eyes could see between the small gaps in the shutter.

The room was similar in size to the deserted cottage but that was where the similarities ended. Within he could see definite signs of life; a small paraffin heater burned brightly within the room and an old fashioned 2d TV flashed in the corner of the room. Opposite there was an old sofa where two men sat talking; thankfully their eyes and attention were firmly fixed on each other. It was impossible to gage what they were saying but they seemed to be deeply engrossed in their conversation.

Maurice scrutinized the room intensely looking for a clue, anything at all that would give away the men's business. There was nothing to be found. The semi bare room was almost empty except for a large book shelf and ramshackle dinning table and chairs.

'Dam,' thought Maurice, as a burning frustration began to build. The cottage was certainly the most promising prospect since he'd started his search, but on the other hand it was only the second domicile he'd inspected. An internal battle ensued as he watched the men; they seemed to fit the profile, they were unshaven and bedraggled in appearance which all in all proved nothing. Yet it was how he'd picture a pair of lawbreakers to look, his pre-conceptions mingled with his desperate need for success, confusing and clouding his judgement.

As he continued to watch he came to a reluctant decision; he'd check out the other locations before making any sort of move. That was the safe thing to do. However distasteful the idea of resuming his exploration of the village was, he knew that tactically it was his best course of action. Sighing he began to turn away from the window when a flash of light caught his eye. Turning back he peered inside again, gasping in a rush of excitement at what he saw.

CHAPTER 35

One of the men on the sofa gestured towards his friend's hand, his arms animated in frantic motion. Maurice didn't see, he only had eyes for what one of the men held. Clutched within his hands sat an amber sub dermal wrist implant, completely free of the wrist it had once inhabited. Maurice's breathing quickened, Michael had been right. It felt strange to even form the thought. Even after agreeing to be a pawn in his plan Maurice hadn't allowed himself to truly believe he'd succeed. It had been so much easier to live in the moment, slowly scraping through one trial to the next without considering his immediate future.

Now all that had changed. If he could actually remove himself from the grid then he had a chance; the biggest chance he'd held since escaping that hell hole. With an unfamiliar feeling of hope he prepared to take a leap of faith. The walk from the window to the front door seemed to take forever, but all too soon he stood in front of the door's flaking paint. He lifted a shaking hand and knocked hesitantly, trying to be loud enough to be heard but quiet enough to avoid unwanted attention.

There was no response. Maurice waited unsure of what to do next, fearful that the men had heard and purposefully ignored him. Unwilling to give up Maurice felt compelled to try again, this time knocking with as much force as he dared. His knock echoed within and he was sure that he'd been heard. This time there was definite movement from behind the door and the snap of bolts as the door was unlocked. Creaking slightly the door swung open, stopping half way on the end of a security chain. The weathered face of the man who'd held the wrist light peered out at him, his eyes glistening with unconcealed suspicion.

"Wha ya want?" His accent was harsh and gruff, a no nonsense down to business kind of voice. The man's eyes danced over Maurice as he waited for a response, taking in his attire and hidden wrist light.

"I need help," whispered Maurice softly. The man's eyes levelled with his once more as he spoke, "We all want help o some kind or another, now I aren't a psychologist, so tell me exactly what you want or piss off." The man spat his words in a low growl, his voice a menacing blade of words.

"Okay, okay," Maurice answered placatingly, "I'm here because I need help with my wrist light," he paused, his lips suddenly dry. "I hear you might be able to help me with that," he croaked. The man's eyes narrowed as Maurice mentioned his light and he looked at him with a renewed suspicion.

"Well then, you best come in," The man muttered. He closed the door and Maurice heard muffled shouting from within, then there was silence. With his hopes fading Maurice waited, willing with every essence of his being for the door to re-open. Just as he was about to knock again the handle twitched and the door opened. Beyond the doorway Maurice could see a dimly lit hallway and he nervously walked inside. As soon as he crossed the threshold the door was slammed shut and his host began to bolt the numerous locks. As he waited a door to the end of the hallway opened and the man's friend walked towards Maurice, a grim menacing look etched on his face.

"So what do we have here Morris eh?" boomed the approaching figure, his dimly lit face framed by a shock of silvery blonde hair. Morris had finished securing the door, and turned towards his companion.

"Don't know Cal, he says that he needs help with his wrist light, and that he'd heard we can help him." Maurice felt a cold shiver as he listened to the men speak, maybe he shouldn't have rushed in so soon. Cal the larger of the two men came to a halt directly in front of him and Maurice sensed Morris standing close behind.

"So you've got a problem with your wrist light do you?" Cal said his voice loud and effortlessly intimidating. Neither of the men were particularly large, but this did nothing to put Maurice at ease. There was something very dangerous about their demeanour, like predatory sharks circling their prey. Cal watched him closely as he waited for an answer, his grim leer showing his yellowed teeth.

"Yes, I need help with my wrist light, I ne," his answer was cut short by Cal's thundering voice.

"So why on earth did you come to this domicile eh? You told my colleague," he gestured at Morris as he spoke. "You told him you'd heard we could help. Hmmmmm" He scratched his head theatrically as he spoke. "Now what could you possible mean by that eh? Now let me see, well we all know the law with wrist lights, you're not allowed to tamper with them because that's a capital crime am I correct?" Maurice felt heat flow through his body, his forehead prickling uncomfortably as a fresh batch of sweat peppered his skin. 'Why could nothing ever be simple,' he thought as a fresh feeling of desperation gripped him.

"Your correct," he answered not knowing what else to say.

Cal stared at him his eyes flashing with malice and ill intent. "So what are you doing here," he shook his head, "At this hour of night you have the nerve to stand in our domicile and accuse two law abiding citizens such as me and Morris of a crime of this magnitude." He paused again his eyes boring deeply into Maurice's. Panic flashed in Maurice as Morris's rough hand gripped his shoulder from behind. He tried to turn, but Cal's booming voice froze him in place, "Now then lad what are we going to do with you eh?" Maurice could literally feel his precious hope crumbling, the barely checked aggression of the men threatening to explode at any moment. Desperately he stared at Cal, the man's face a mask of malice holding no trace of human compassion.

"Look," Maurice said, holding his hands up, "I've obviously made a mistake, I'm sorry about that, but if you'll just let me leave." He tried to move backwards, but Morris's grip immediately tightened, warning him not to move any further than he already had.

"Steady on there, Cal hasn't finished speaking," Morris drawled.

Maurice stopped struggling as his options quickly dwindled. Cal stared at him stone faced not acknowledging his request or responding. Eventually he seemed to come to a decision, dropping his gaze for a moment as he moved closer.

"You're not going anywhere son, now let me see," Cal said stroking his chin. "What's your name?

"Maurice," he muttered dejectedly. Cal barked a command and Morris forced him out of the hallway, pushing him into their living room. Without so much as a word he was forced down onto a grotty arm chair, the two men standing grim faced above him. They closed in on him then, their faces granite masks engraved with violence. The moment for escape had gone, he was under no illusions as to that. If he was going to come out of this unscathed then he needed to exert some form of verbal control.

"Cal, Morris," he began slowly, trying to buy some time, "can't we just talk about this."

Both men laughed at his plea, a harsh laughter of two men used to using there laughter as a weapon. Maurice's feeling of panic grew deeper; was there no reasoning with these men? Frustration built within Maurice like a threatening storm, how could he come so far to fail because of these two reprobates. In a sudden flash of indignant rage he pulled off his gloves and showed the two men his red wrist light.

"Look," he bellowed his trepidation turning to anger, "look at my wrist, I need help and I can pay." His voice trailed off as he watched their reaction, their hostility turning to fear and a completely different kind of wariness. They both took a back wards step glancing at each other nervously until Morris spoke up.

"Ee's a fucking red light Cal what we gonna do?" Morris's whining voice filled the room. Cal whirled and faced him wide eyed and white faced.

"I don't know Morris, now just pipe down and give me a chance to think will ya." He turned again to look at Maurice, his gaze and dark and terrible as his criminal mind worked overtime, trying desperately to find an answer to this new problem. Maurice sat unmoving, not knowing whether he'd done the right thing but thankful for the respite from their threats. His reprieve was short lived as Cal who was clearly the leader reasserted his dominance.

"Right then Maurice," he said. His voice had taken on a dry timbre, less threatening and more business like "You know what we do and who we are, which although concerns me is no longer of any importance."

He pointed his grubby finger at Maurice as he continued, "You have put me and my partner Morris at a great risk by coming here." He shook his head as he spoke, "at such a great risk that we're going to have to scarper and set up shop somewhere else because of you, do you understand son?"

Maurice nodded not wishing to loose the ground he seemed to have gained towards the fruition of his plans. Morris stood silent watching his friend with pleading eyes, willing him to make everything better.

"Now then, if me and Morris have to move which seems to be the only logical course of action you've left me with then we will." He paused and stared at Maurice with his dark eyes, "but as for helping you and I ain't saying we will, but if we were to then we're going to need substantial recompense of a much larger sum than we would normally charge." He stopped speaking and looked at Maurice expectantly, his heavy chin jutted out as he waited for a response.

"I can pay Cal, I can pay you very well and I'm truly sorry for putting your operation at risk." He delivered the words sincerely enough, yet he was filled with an almost palatable sense of disgust as he bowed down to this vile man. Cal stroked his chin again as he regarded him, "Okay Maurice I'll help you, but let me tell you this is against my better judgement." Turning away he paced the thread bare carpet, tutting furiously as he moved. "First I need more information and believe me it would be in everyone's best interests if you're completely honest with me, understand?"

Maurice nodded again, his overused heart beginning to hammer in his chest as the prospect of getting rid of his wrist light became real. Cal drew closer to Maurice leaning forward, keeping his blood shot eyes locked onto his.

"Now when did you become a red light?" he asked. Maurice gave him a much shortened version of the truth, telling them what had happened to him over the last few months of his life. As he told his tale the countenance of both men grew more and more shocked. When he'd finished a deep silence replaced his words, both men's faces filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief. Cal eventually broke the silence clearing his throat and coughing, "Well now Maurice, that there is one heck of a story, and if it's true then you're one lucky man. Now me and my partner Morris ain't one's to get involved in no political or righteous struggle against the wrongs done to humanity, but I for one applaud you."

Maurice couldn't tell if Cal was humouring him, but his sentiments certainly seemed real enough and it fed his dwindling strength that even the dregs of society had some sense of right and wrong.

"So from what you've told me Maurice," said Cal resuming the interrogation, "We should have at least until midday tomorrow before anyone realises that you've gone, which gives us a chance." He moved away from Maurice his expression unreadable, as he continued to regard him. "Now Maurice," he began in a much softer tone. "Though you may not believe it, what you've told me does strike a truth within, and if I could I'd like to help you for free." His face took on a pained expression, "Yet my desires unfortunately have no bearing on the reality of my business. To continue our work we must have premises and equipment which your very presence has placed in jeopardy."

Maurice watched him cautiously, unable to read the man. It certainly seemed that the aggression and menace had gone, but he'd seen what lay beneath the surface of these men and had no wish to rouse their wrath. "You spoke of payment," Cal continued. "I'm going to need that upfront and it ain't going to non too cheap I'm afraid, what can you give me?"

Maurice's overwrought brain went into overtime as he considered his options. Even in his tired and stressed state he knew that it would be stupid to offer all his credits, so he tried to play it cool.

"6000 credits," he said hesitantly. Cal moved like a shadow slipping across the carpet soundlessly. Leaning over Maurice he drew in air sharply through pursed lips, any sympathy for Maurice's mission suddenly undetectable.

"Now Maurice," Cal purred as he placed his rough hands on his shoulders. "Don't play with us lad, I'll be truthful with you now, we wouldn't normally touch a redlight. What's that old saying Morris?" He asked stroking his chin again.

"Uhh" responded Morris woken out of whatever day dream he'd been enjoying. "Ahh yes," exclaimed Cal, "Don't play with fire or you'll get burned and I'm afraid that's exactly what you are lad. That red light on your wrist is the hottest most dangerous of all the fires in the world and I for one don't want to get burned. So give me another realistic figure or leave."

"Okay, I can give 20,000 credits that's everything I've got." His voice took on a pleading edge as he delivered the offer. Cal didn't respond straight away, choosing instead to watch Maurice with his dark eyes. After a moment he nodded, an almost imperceptible up and down movement while he gestured for Morris to follow him. Both men retreated from the room, giving Maurice a moment of solitude.

His mind raced as he waited. Could it be that things were going to work out all right? It was a question he almost didn't dare ask, yet he had to. He'd known from the start that Michael's plan was a long shot but he'd taken it, anything to be away from that place, he shivered at the prison's remembered horrors. There was no going back, he knew that then. He'd do anything to ensure his continued freedom, a promise to himself he meant to keep.

His bleak thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the door as cal returned. Morris held a large canvas bag and both men wore surgical gloves.

"You'll be glad to know that I've accepted your offer," said Cal. His words were like a pardon to a condemned man and it took Maurice all his effort not to jump up and hug the man. Instead he smiled and thanked both of the them sincerely, as they gestured for him to follow.

He walked back into the dingy hall and towards the bottom of the steps that led to the upper floor of the domicile. Cal reached forward and opened a small door set in the side of the steps, the outward appearance giving it the resemblance of a cupboard. Reaching inside he twisted something beyond Maurice's view. Nothing happened at first and then a few moments later there was a loud clang followed by a heavy scraping sound. Three men went into the cupboard under the stairs; but where the back wall should have been there were now steps, steps that led down into an ominous blackness where no steps had the business of being.

CHAPTER 36

The hidden tunnel was constructed of old stone and Maurice feared for his safety as he descended. Bits of shale and small pebbles fell from the low roof as they walked, their way lit by a string of old fashioned light bulbs. A slightly musty dank smell filtered up to Maurice as he followed his new found allies down into the earth. The steps ended after a short descent, opening out into a dimly lit tunnel. All three men had to crouch slightly as they made their way through the narrow tunnel, until suddenly it opened up into a roughly hewn circular room.

The walls and ceiling of the concealed room seemed to have been hewed out of pure stone, a feat of engineering that Maurice didn't want to consider while trapped beneath it. Sitting within the centre of the room there was a hospital bed, equipped with leg and arm clamps fitted along its metal frame. The sight sent a cold shiver through Maurice; soon he would be lying on that very same bed, trusting his life and future to these two strangers.

"Ok Maurice," said Cal, "first things first, I need to take payment before I can do anything further, take a seat." Maurice gladly sat, as his legs turned jelly. The thought of handing over everything he'd scrimped and saved for made him feel sick. For one moment he hesitated, looking first at Cal and then Morris, mixed feelings of anger and indignation running through his mind. It just wasn't fair, none of this was and yet he had no choice, if he didn't do this then it would be over and then what? His whole body shook as a crystal clear image of his recently escaped cell flashed before him.

That was enough, without so much as a second thought he located the newly embossed credits card. Quick as a bullet Cal's hand whipped out and took it, placing it into a pocket reader before Maurice could change his mind. The small machine hummed and beeped as it read the card, a green led flashing as it completed its analysis. Cal tapped in the agreed price and watched with greed filled eyes as the wireless device carried out the sizeable transaction without a hitch. A satisfied grin covered Cal's face as he handed back the slightly warm card, smirking to himself. Maurice nearly punched him, another surge of disgust and righteous anger rushing through him. Instead he nodded stiffly at the criminal who'd stolen his life savings and listened to what he had to say.

"Now that the fee has been paid, we must get down to the meat of this consultation." He chuckled grimly, glancing at Morris who laughed in return. Maurice stared stony faced at both of them, hating how their spirits seemed to have been lifted by his money. Cal suddenly raised both hands in front of him seeming to sense his building hostility. "Okay, okay Maurice I see you're in no mood to jest son, and who could blame you eh?" he chuckled.

"So before we begin there are some important things you must know upfront. Firstly as a red lighter the procedure we perform is one of a much more shall we say invasive nature than that of the more common amber lighter." He paused as he spoke looking at Maurice through expectant eyes.

"Go on," responded Maurice not knowing what else to say.

"Well," began Cal, "with the amber light it's just a simple matter of burning out the resonance crystal and replacing it with a green or blue crystal. Quite a simple process really and one we've performed successfully many times before." Placing his hand on Maurice's shoulder he peered at him solemnly, "now the red light is a completely different animal." He pointed down at Maurice's wrist shaking his head regretfully. "The state of the implant differs significantly once the crystal turns red. The colour is achieved by releasing a permanent red dye throughout the whole of your device. This completely and irreversibly contaminates the crystal giving it a permanent red hue. This means that the only possible way to change your light state now is through a replacement implant."

Maurice gasped as Cal finished speaking, the prospect of full implant removal had never even crossed his mind. "Now the second reason," Cal continued, "is that once your wrist light reaches red status, a tracking beacon is activated which sends a constant signal to the government's security stations. So the removal of your implant is the best way to ensure your safety."

Maurice nodded slowly, "I guess that," he began hesitantly, wringing his hands, "well I don't have much of a choice Cal, so yeah you'll have to do it." Cal turned away from Maurice as he spoke. "Now there is something else which I deeply regret Maurice," he spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What," asked Maurice, fearful of what his answer might bring.

"Well when I remove your implant Maurice I'm going to have to operate obviously." He paused scratching his chin, his forehead furrowed in thought. "I'll have to cut it away from your flesh, but don't worry this is something I've done maybe three times before and everything went fine." He shuffled on his feet as he spoke and suddenly the temperature in the room seemed unbearable to Maurice.

"Please," Maurice interrupted. "Stop skirting around the problem and just tell me what it is?" Cal turned back to face him and Maurice was shocked to see genuine regret etched on his face.

"I don't have any pain relief, I'm sorry."

For a moment the room became a shade darker as a wave dizziness passed over Maurice. He stood up shakily pointing an accusatory finger at the man who'd taken his credits.

"You bastard," he hissed, "Why didn't you tell me this before I paid you?"

The men's demeanour changed almost instantly upon hearing Maurice's verbal onslaught. Any rapport Maurice thought he'd gained disappeared as they came at him.

"Now listen fucker," growled Cal, his eyes dark and unflinching, "You don't have a choice do you? You can either take our help and give yerself a chance, or wait for the screws to catch ya and make you their bitch again, ain't that right Morris?"

Morris nodded, "of course its right Cal, you're doing him a favour, he brought an active homing beacon right to our house we still ought to teach him."

Cal whirled to face Morris," We don't need to punish him Morris, the pain he's going to feel in the operation will more than pay his debts"

Morris grunted noncommittally, grudgingly accepting his partner's reprimand. The men's outburst had had a sobering effect on Maurice's anger, and he stood still waiting for them to finish. Cal finally turned back to him, his face still grim and dark.

"Well now you know the situation Maurice, it's not ideal but it will have to do. You see normally I only operate through a network of trusted colleagues throughout the country. They feed me the people we work on, reds are uncommon but if there is one coming then I'll have at least a day to get the necessary supplies together. Also we never take reds at our main base for obvious reasons." He shook his head at this point, "Unfortunately your impromptu visit has made this impossible for me, so we've all got to make the best of a bad situation."

"I guess there's no other way," Maurice muttered, "please just try to be as quick as you can."

"I'll do my best, now if you'll walk over to the operating table and remove your upper clothes." Maurice took off his jacket, and under the direction of Cal clambered up onto the operating table. Almost immediately he began to sweat while his body shook in fear of what was to come.

"Here take this," the gruff voice of Cal filtered through to him as if from a great distance away. He blinked the incessant sweat from his eyes, focussing on the glass which was being proffered to him.

"Wha, what is it," he asked, his voice shaky and thin as the glass was pressed into his palm.

"Drink Maurice, its vodka, take some of the edge off."

He threw the thick liquid down his throat, gipping slightly as he finished the whole glass. The alcohol took hold almost immediately, a tingly feeling passing through his legs followed by a warm rush of blood to his head. For one small moment everything seemed to be alright, a rosy warmth blossoming inside. It didn't last long however as the leather restraints were fixed firmly in place. The passing peace he'd found vanished as Maurice stiffened, pressing his body back he stared blank faced at the ceiling, attempting to ready himself for the coming pain.

Every instinct within him screamed escape, willing him to twist and fight against the restraints. It was too late; he knew there could be no other way if he wanted a chance of success. Cal's rubber encased fingertips probed the edge of his wrist light, feeling the depth and width, looking for the best point of entry. Waves of sickness and fear washed over Maurice, the anticipation of the pain was a terrible thing. He couldn't take this awful waiting, why weren't they starting?

CHAPTER 37

Maurice jolted and then spasmed violently, his body jumping as if he was being electrocuted. He screamed as a burning fire consumed his wrist, white hot blinding pain that left him gasping for air. They are burning you, the illogical thought sang out in his mind. He turned his head unable to resist looking and screamed louder as he saw the metal scalpel slicing neatly through his flesh around the implant. The pain was unbearable, a constant searing fire that devoured his arm.

Eventually Cal's efforts were rewarded and with a satisfied grunt he prised the sub-dermal implant from his arm with a wet sucking sound. Maurice roared in agony again as he beheld the hole in his forearm, the torn and twisted flesh red and dripping gore. It was nothing like he'd expected; being a Para-medic he was used to seeing the human body in various states of degeneration but this was different. His vision swam as he stared at his torn flesh, unable to turn away from his ruined arm. A strange dizziness overcame him as he watched, the flesh on his arm blurring and then vanishing as he fainted.

"He's gone boss," Morris said. "Thank god for that," Cal responded, wiping his brow with his sleeve. "I don't think I could have stood much more of his screaming." They both breathed deeply enjoying their new found peace.

"Right," commanded Cal, "We need to move quickly, if we do that there's a chance we can get the new wrist light in place before he wakes." Morris handed him the new green light, and then restrained Maurice's still limp hand just in case. Cal moved with the speed and precision of a professional boxer, managing to set the green light in place before Maurice stirred. Without pausing Cal sewed in the dissolvable stitches with a speed and skill that would have made any seamstress proud. Over the stitches he placed strips of artificially grown skin; fixing them firmly in place with medical glue.

"Well that does it," exclaimed Cal thankfully, "he's now a full green lighter." The two men shook hands as was their custom after every successful operation and Morris congratulated him on his work.

"Look Morris, it's already beginning to take effect," he pointed at the skin strips he'd bedded onto Maurice's arm. The strips pre-implant grey colour was transforming, taking on a deeper darker hue which within a few minutes time would completely match the surrounding skin.

"I take it back Cal, you were right the more expensive skin cultures are well worth it." They had argued some months back whilst on a resource gathering mission about which quality to purchase.

"Of course I'm right Morris, I don't say these things casually, if you want a professional set up then you've got to have the right equipment. I mean look at this now." He jabbed his finger into the skin strips.

"They've almost achieved complete colour integration and I can tell they've already fused and healed into my incision and it's been what? Five minutes, absolutely amazing!"

At that point Maurice groaned and his head began to shake, "uh, let no, no no" he mumbled unintelligibly.

"He's coming round," Cal said. "Right we need to move as quickly as possible I don't want to stay in this location any longer than I have to now his red lights out."

Upon Cal's command they began to remove the arm and leg restraints, focussing on getting out as quickly as possible. As they worked Maurice slowly returned to his senses, his eyes immediately dropping to his still aching arm. The image of the blood gored wrist was still there in his mind; however an unbelievable transformation had occurred whilst he slept. Growing from his wrist was a perfect formed green light, the pleasant glow shining warmly upon his face. The professionalism of the criminals job was unexpected and filled Maurice with a surge of uncontrollable happiness.

"It's great Cal," his words sounded hollow and unworthy in his ears. "I mean I didn't expect anything of this quality, it's perfect." His words were interrupted by Cal's rough hand grabbing his shoulder.

"Look Maurice thanks for your praise, but we don't have time for this. I'm sure you can understand that if we want to get away with this that we need to move now." The two men hoisted him to his feet supporting him as Maurice attempted to stand. His legs however had different ideas and if it weren't for the two men he would have fallen back to the floor. Cal left his partner holding Maurice and proceeded to pack two medium sized holdalls with various pieces of equipment and supplies from the underground room.

Finishing his hurried packing Cal returned to Maurice and together they helped him climb out of the room. Maurice fought with great fortitude to regain control, he couldn't allow the weakness that threatened to overwhelm him win. Finally he reached the entrance to the underground hideaway and the two criminals released their grip. He stumbled slightly eventually finding his balance by leaning against the wall.

"Well Maurice thanks for the business but now we have to part ways, help yourself to anything you need from the house and good luck." With that both of the men grabbed their jackets from the door way, hoisted their bags over their shoulders and darted out of the domicile. He watched them go with a growing feeling of trepidation, events seemed have taken on an almost unreal quality of late. Glancing down at his wrist he stared at the unfamiliar green light in disbelief, still unable to fully comprehend the importance of his accomplishment. He allowed himself a moment to gather himself and not a single second more.

He'd been away from the camp for too long, to delay now would be foolish. Drawing on strength he didn't know he possessed he forced his tired body to move. Running upstairs he searched through the bedroom cupboards, hoping he could find something suitable. His search was rewarded as he located a black v neck jumper and a pair of Cal's jeans that fitted quite well.

As he changed he heard the rough humming of a hover car starting up. Moving cautiously he peered out of the dusty bedroom window, relief flooding him as he saw Cal in the driving seat. He watched grim faced as they flew away, leaving him alone with his responsibility. Unfortunately there was no time for reflection and once clothed he raced downstairs. Unbelievably he could fee Michael's plan coming together, a mismatch of stale leads and tactical gambles that had actually paid off. He was going to make it. Even as the thoughts surfaced Maurice forced them back under, he had to concentrate on the here and now, nothing else.

Maurice had entered the domicile as a red lighter but now left as a respectable green lighter, a fully functional and respectable part of society. Breathing heavily he strode out into the cool night air, his wrist still throbbing uncomfortably. Fortunately the pain seemed to be dwindling with every passing second, the high grade nano-mite packed skin performing its task of reparation admirably.

He patted his back pocket as he left, the reassuring lump of the data crystal he'd secreted on himself safe in his jeans. Losing the crystal at this stage would be the end, it was the one piece of leverage he held against the might of the government. The journey back to the relative safety of Miranda's went smoothly and after a quick report of his success he returned to his room.

Leaning back on the bed he grimaced as a bolt of fresh pain shot through his forearm, it seemed that even the new skin couldn't fully repress his body's nervous system. Tiredness struck him as he sat, a heavy weariness that threatened to pull him under. Fighting valiantly he stretched and attempted to rouse himself. The struggle ended swiftly in defeat, losing consciousness he dropped into an exhausted sleep. Perhaps he'd have slept all night if not for his prior forethought. At exactly midnight his slumber was interrupted, the digital alarm clock beeping its incessant alarm. 'Midnight, already?' He thought, as he struggled to slow consciousness.

For a moment he still didn't move, unsure of the best course of action to take. The speeder system operated 24hrs a day, but should he go now or wait until light. The question remained unanswered as he pondered his options. In the daytime he'd have more living cover, the opportunity to hide in any passing human traffic. Yet the lure of the darkness couldn't be denied either; if he went now there would be less watching eyes and every chance that he could slip away completely unnoticed. He just couldn't seem to come to a decision and in exasperation he rubbed his aching temples.

No matter how much he tried to deny it there was something else amiss. Deep inside there was an errant thought, a rebellious voice that grew in volume as he sat there. Right now he had everything he'd ever wanted since his incarceration. He was a green lighter and he had his freedom; sure it wasn't a real green light but he had no doubts that the impeccable counterfeit would stand up to close examination. He might not have many credits after his forced withdrawal but he'd survive, anything had to better than the camp.

"I could just disappear," he whispered to himself, the idea equally as attractive as it was repulsive. Objectively he tried to weigh the negatives against the positives, attempting to block any emotions that threatened to interfere with his thought processes. There was no guarantee of freedom if he did make a break for it. Of course they wouldn't be able to track him now but they could release his details to the world's media machine. Yet would they risk breaking a story that a diseased red light had escaped from one of their quarantine zones? The publicity would be so bad that they just might not.

His mind became an almost endless circle of arguments and counter arguments as he played out each and every outcome. It wasn't that Maurice was a bad person, but neither was he a natural hero and therein was the problem. If he went through with Michaels idea; which deep down he knew was the right thing to do then he'd have to become just that.

He let his body fall backwards onto the bed, the frame creaking in protest at the sudden change in weight. Why couldn't there be a simple answer to anything he wondered, if only he could go back in time. For a moment he tried to recall what it had been like before, before his life had been ripped apart, but couldn't. He grunted in frustration as he lay on the bed, staring at the cobweb covered ceiling, furiously concentrating and planning.

An impossible debate ran through his head, honour on the one side and his instinct for self-preservation on the other. Neither argument gained enough ground to win, or lost enough to be dismissed, a complex conundrum of decisions yet to be made. With a sigh he knuckled his head and decided to sleep on it, maybe his course would be clearer in the morning.

CHAPTER 38

Maurice groaned as a bright light penetrated his dreams, rubbing his sleep dazed eyes he looked around. Morning had arrived and the dimly lit room was now ablaze with bright warm sunlight. 'What time is it?' he thought glancing at the digital clock. Panic gripped him as he saw that it was almost midday, he'd slept for nearly a full 12 hours. He immediately jumped to his feet, checking to make sure he had his cash card and crystal and then dashed down stairs.

He left the house in a mad rush, running out through the streets of the village and back towards the speeder station. His heart pounded a death march in his chest as he retraced his steps. Unfortunately daytime had transformed the quiet village, the streets now rather busy and filled with curious eyes that turned to watch his passage. Maurice didn't care, the time for caution had past. If he didn't leave soon then he'd probably be caught, it was a simple as that. He reached the speeder station in less than five minutes, panting and breathing heavily as he came to a stop in front one of the station's vid-screens.

As he examined it a southbound speeder pulled into the station, its destination plate stating London. One of the passenger doors slowly swished open, as a guard dressed all in black walked off of the train. Maurice's veins filled with ice water as the lone figure walked towards him. The man was young; his face still yet unmarred by wrinkles or worries and for one second his bright green eyes locked with Maurice's. 'He'll recognize you,' his brain called out, but nothing changed, the man's gaze moved past him and he walked by.

It took a moment for full control of his shaking body to return, the shock at seeing the guard still pulsing through him. Suddenly he knew what he was going to do, the guard's presence had destroyed any doubts he'd held. He must run, any thoughts of revenge or completion of Michael's plan fled before the very real possibility of his capture. He just couldn't face that place again. With a new sense of purpose he walked toward the station underpass. The speeders on that side would be heading north and back into familiar territory.

He wasn't entirely sure where he'd make for but he knew he didn't want to go south, the further away from their London based powerbase the better. His fear had won out in the end, the debt of loyalty he felt to Michael, Miranda and even Rachel completely overruled by his own need to survive. He was just one person after all, what real difference could he have made against the complete power of this ancient order.

As he walked towards the northbound platform his mind kept being inextricably drawn back to the face of the passing guard. He'd seemed so young and innocent, yet the man must be involved or at least have knowledge of the daily atrocities that occurred within the camp's walls. 'How can he just walk away from that,' thought Maurice 'and not feel any guilt.' Of course he couldn't truly know the thoughts within the man's mind, but if the eyes were truly the gateway to the soul then his soul had been carefree and happy.

The northbound platform was thankfully empty, giving him a clear view of the whole station. Scrutinising the nearest vidi-board he saw that the next northbound speeder was Manchester bound, as good a choice as any. Taking a platform seat he settled down to wait, trying his best to ignore the guilt and shame that bubbled inside. It was no good, the awful feeling in the pit of his stomach just wouldn't quit. Hitting his palm in frustration he stared grim faced down the speeder track way, willing the speeder to arrive. At least once he'd boarded all thoughts of turning back would be pointless.

As he sat there he became aware of a low droning sound in the distance. Relieved he stood up and moved to the edge of the platform; it looked like the speeder was early. As the droning noise grew in volume Maurice allowed himself to consider the future. This was a precious luxury which until now he'd denied himself, never sure if he'd be recaptured or worse. Now however he could see a future where once there was nothing, a real chance to enjoy the time he had left. Of course it would be hard there was no disputing that, but without the tracker on his wrist at least he'd have a fighting chance. The first thing he'd have to attend to was his appearance; the need to minimise the risk of being recognised was crucial. He hoped they'd delay circulating his image on the networks for fear of public backlash, but knew that eventually they'd be left with no choice.

'Where is that damn speeder,' thought Maurice walking towards the end of the platform so he could get a better look down the tunnel. The sound quickly grew in volume, transforming from a dull drone into a tremendous roar much louder than any speeder. That wasn't right; he stared puzzled into the impenetrable darkness and then gasped in terror as his eyes were drawn skyward. Framed in the clear sky were five large armoured hover cars heading straight towards the village. His brain leapt into overdrive, it didn't take a genius to realise they were coming for him. Adrenaline shot through his body as he began to run, charging head long through the empty station.

His vision tunnelled as he fled, careering through the underpass and onto the southbound platform. Struggling for breath he punished his underused body, powering towards the exit. As he flew out of the station he almost bowled over an old couple who were walking the other way.

"Bloody hooligan," growled the grizzled old man, shaking his walking stick at him. Maurice didn't hear, all his attention flowed into a single point of intense concentration driven only by survival. As the roar grew louder his body strained to keep pace, every fibre and sinew crying out in lactic induced pain. His heart pounded heavily in his ears, and blood roared through his veins as he sprinted through the village. Passerby's stopped to stare at him as he went, fleeing like an animal. Within minutes he'd come to the end of the village, passing the World Bank and straight out into the open country side. Without a pause he turned off the road and plunged through a hedge.

The hedge opened onto a landscape of open fields and woodland, a sharp contrast to the dimly visible city of New London in the far distance. He risked a backwards glance as the droning reached a tumultuous roar, the very earth seeming to shake as the craft approached. The Hover transports were fully visible now, their thick armour daubed with the camp's insignia. Running furiously he fought against the fear that threatened to overwhelm him. There was nothing left now only the damned mission, his best chance at freedom unceremoniously stolen from him.

Sprinting across the field he glanced periodically over his shoulder, expecting troops to fill the field at any moment. No one came; maybe the prison ships were searching the village in which case he had a chance. The thought spurred him onwards, his legs pumping up and down for all they were worth. Struggling to draw breath he headed for the distant line of trees, if he could make it then at least he would have some decent cover.

Behind him a higher pitched humming sound started up, the source of the new noise unmistakable; it was a spotter. He'd witnessed the sleek death machines before flying low over his city, but to actually have one chasing him was a completely different matter. With sweat pouring from him he tore onward, the grove of cover remaining stubbornly distant. The deadly wasp like buzz increased over his shoulder, an angry whining that filled the air. His glances became more frequent as he ran, the fear of being recaptured keeping his exhausted body moving.

The leaf covered floor of the wood was visible now, the shady ground urging him onwards. Grunting with effort he vaulted a low fence, scrambling through the leaf covered floor towards safety. Glancing back he gasped, the insipid wasp had transformed into a flying attack craft. The black nose was just visible now above the field's hedge, with a high pitched whine it began to move forward. Almost crying with effort Maurice moved further into the forest, the overhanging trees providing much needed cover. He didn't dare look back now, instead he placed all his concentration into each step, each one hopefully taking him further away from danger.

His chances were slim to nothing but he had to try. The spotters were ex-military craft filled with bags of high tech surveillance equipment and heat sensing technology. He knew if they came his way he'd be seen, unfortunately there wasn't anything he could do to prevent them, his only option left was to run.

Yet even knowing what he did Maurice felt a sense of comfort as he passed deeper into the ancient woodland. The wasp still hunted him, but beneath the old boughs it sounded muffled and somehow less powerful. As he stumbled forward he became aware of the sound of running water; there was definitely a river or stream ahead. A few steps later and he caught his first glimpse of it; a wide fast moving river spreading out before him. He squinted up and down the mud banks, looking for a bridge that never materialised. It was no good, if he wanted to cross then he was going to have to get wet.

He stared into the water unhappily; it looked cold and unforgiving, the river bed hidden beneath layers of murky water. The background drone of the spotter had been growing constantly as he ran and now the sound seemed to come from directly above. Peering up into the patchy sky he searched for it; nothing yet, but the noise continued to increase. Moving quickly he scrambled down the wet riverbank, a flash of inspiration forming as he slipped down the bank. Tentatively he stepped out into the water, freezing cold immediately gnawing at his body.

Moving quickly he waded out into the current, fighting against the swirling water that threatened to carry him away. Within seconds he was up to his neck in the cold black water, holding onto the weeds and shoots that grew thick from the river bed. It was hard to even think now as the spotter closed in, his whole world shaking beneath the wall of noise. Then he saw it, only a fleeting glimpse but there was no mistaking the sleek black nose. Dropping swiftly he submerged his head, leaving only his nose protruding a fraction above the water. Staying as still as possible he crouched in the icy liquid, the spotter's engines weirdly distorted beneath the swirling water.

CHAPTER 39

For what seemed an age he hid in his watery prison, his body undergoing varying degrees of hypothermia as he struggled to hold on. His hands and feet lost feeling as he waited, the cold water numbing his flesh with its icy fingers. He gripped the dense river foliage desperately, fighting the current as he attempted to anchor his body to the stony floor. Maurice knew he couldn't last much longer as the cold water and lack of air conspired to force him out into the open.

Every breath had become a struggle as waves of water washed over his barely exposed nose, his need for stealth overriding his need for air. He willed the spotter away, wishing and waiting as his body slowly began to shutdown. After an eternity there was a reduction in the sound, the deathly din gradually reducing little by little until it was no more than a muffled rumble.

With a victorious gasp Maurice exploded out of the water, fighting his natural instinct to exit the river. Mentally steeling himself he forced himself to wait, listening intently for any sound that the spotter was returning. Thankfully there was none and after a while he could stand it no longer. Gritting his teeth he began to wade across the river, heading doggedly towards the distant bank. As he made his way across the water seemed to grow colder, the depth increasing until he had to swim instead of walk. Fighting against the current Maurice swam across, his course a jagged diagonal line through the water.

There was no room in his head for anything else now, only the riverbank mattered. With every stroke the far bank grew nearer and his body grew more tired. His numb arms and legs splashed uncoordinated as he swam, his course growing less and less straight. In fact he no longer seemed to be making headway, the river's current pulling him further and further downstream. Gasping for breath Maurice pushed onward but it was no use; he just didn't have the strength to fight the current anymore. Realising the futility of his attempt he stopped swimming, turning all his attention to just staying afloat in the cold water. Even that became a struggle as he was swept further along, his head dipping under the dark water again and again.

An awful weariness descended on Maurice as he floated like an autumn leaf, filling him with a deadly desire to sleep. His head nodded as the water took him, his eyelids suddenly hung with invisible weights. Nothing mattered anymore, not even his freedom only the inevitable rest. With a final jerk he succumbed, his body growing limp as he let him self slip under the grim water.

CHAPTER 40

Maurice was happy. The feeling flowed through him as strong as any feelings of fear he'd once felt. Enclosed in a bubble of silky night he floated secure in his own little world. Here no one could hurt him, his worldly worries lost and no longer important. Smiling he moved gracefully in the warm dark, enjoying the strange freedom he'd discovered. He didn't know how he'd go there but neither did he care, the importance of his journey irrelevant and unimportant. Sighing in content satisfaction he floated backwards, happy just to languish in the pleasant night.

Moments later his peace was shattered as the dark began to shake. Struggling to stay still he fought against the convulsions, blunt shock waves of pain firing through his hidden limbs. A strange sensation took hold and then the dark vanished. Spluttering and gasping like a landlocked fish he attempted to breathe, his eyes flickering dazedly as he remembered where he was. His body had caught in a fallen tree, its sharp branches buffeting and poking his face.

Dumbly he grabbed hold of it, the possible salvation restoring some of his wits. Maurice Swung tiredly from branch to branch, slowly pulling himself towards the shore. After what seemed an age his tiptoes found what they sought; the welcome feeling of gritty ground beneath his feet. The final few steps were lost to Maurice, hidden by an impenetrable fog of pain. All he knew was that he'd made it, his shaking bedraggled body a testament to the fact.

Coming to his senses slowly he moaned in agony, a false fire burning through his frozen limbs as feeling began to return. Shivering uncontrollably he removed his clothes, following a half remembered survival video. Naked except for his boxers and boots he stumbled into the wood, limply carrying his wet bundle of clothes. The dropping temperature and fear of discovery prevented any rest, forcing him to press on as best he could.

His Feet squelched uncomfortably in his boots as he walked, each step a mini Everest he had to scale. He could still hear the spotter but it was distant, the deadly roar reduced to no more than a low hum. With faltering strength he moved forward, needing to put as much distance as he could between him and them. As he walked the sound of his hunter abruptly changed, growing in volume as it swung around for another sweep.

There was no other choice but to run, the forest's plants and trees paying no heed to his bare skin. Charging forward he ignored the vines and branches that tore at him, the pain unimportant as blind panic ceased him. Nothing the forest threw at him could compare to the horror of the camp. The fear was like his own personal army sergeant constantly screaming in his ear, driving him ever onward through the pain and discomfort. Yet even as he stumbled forward the sound of the spotter grew deafening, its arrival and his discovery imminent.

This was the end, Maurice could feel it in his bones, a sinking feeling of dread that settled heavy inside him. With wild eyes he searched the forest for a hiding place, feeling the sharp talons of failure biting into his soul. Just when he thought it was useless he saw something. Semi hidden beneath a pile of leaves and twigs was a hole, dark and narrow but a hole all the same. Scrabbling towards it he swept the debris away revealing a dark burrow barely as wide as his shoulders.

With the craft approaching he had no choice, throwing caution to the wind he hurled his body head first into the hole. It was dark and tight but somehow he managed to wiggle inside, the damp earth cold and uncomfortable against his bare skin. With a last great effort his boots followed leaving no visible trace to the outside world. Despite the damp earth the air within the burrow immediately began to grow hot and stale as he breathed. Still the discomfort was preferable to being caught and he steeled himself mentally to wait it out.

He could hear the predatory call of the spotter high above him and although muffled the buzzing sound remained stubbornly loud. Maurice listened intently as sweat beaded on his nose, at least I won't freeze to death he thought wryly. Claustrophobia began to set in as he waited, every second pulling him back in time to the camp's hole. He couldn't help but remember the earthen cells where he'd been held, the burrow a convincing replica of the earthy hell.

Centuries seemed to trickle by before his patience was rewarded, the unceasing droning slowly fading until eventually it stopped altogether. Filled with relief he attempted to retreat, struggling to slide back against the mud walls. It was no use, he was trapped. Grunting with effort he tried again, hot acidic perspiration pouring from his body as he strained against the earth. He gained an inch or maybe two but nothing more, his hips stuck fast against the immovable walls. He was trapped, his sanctuary turning Judas against him.

As he paused for breath he heard a faint noise from deeper within the hole, a soft scratching sound. Puzzled he listened as the sound came again, a rapid scratching noise from the darkness in front of him, there was something down there. His skin crawled as he renewed his efforts for freedom, biting his tongue to stop the cry that formed on his lips. Abruptly the scratching sound stopped, replaced by a wet snuffling sound directly in front of him. Terror gripped Maurice as his eyes struggled to penetrate the gloom, the sound growing in volume as something came toward him. Using all of his strength he pushed his elbows into the constricting soil, attempting to create some space for his body to slip through. Pain ravaged his arms as he pushed, his tendons stretching and aching beneath his skin.

The snuffling was on top of him now and suddenly something warm and furry brushed against his outstretched hands. A cacophony of ear-splitting growls and snarls exploded in front of him as he attempted to draw back his restricted arms as much as possible. He could only guess at their source, but knew that he wanted to be anywhere but where he was.

Another intimidating snarl issued from the hidden animal as a sharp pain lanced through his right hand, an agony that increased as unseen teeth clamped down on his flesh. Using his free hand he fought against it, hitting its head wildly. Shouting and screaming he waved his free hand, hoping to scare if off or at least make it release its death grip. For a moment he thought he'd succeeded as his right hand was released but his success was short lived. Fresh hot pain assaulted him as it attacked his left, the things teeth opening and smashing shut without regard.

It was then that events took a turn for the worse as the creature began to move forward. Maurice screamed as he felt the animal advance toward him, fear and panic sending his body into horrified spasms. His hands flailed as he shouted, hot blood splashing and dripping from his damaged fingers. His efforts were rewarded as the creature retreated momentarily, his show of bravado giving it pause for thought. Desperately he tried to free himself again, pushing back with all his strength. This time there was more movement, an almost slide backwards but he still wasn't free.

Encouraged he pushed his sweat drenched body further, his body a rigid mass of tensed muscles. He was nearly there he could feel it, a few more attempts and he was sure he'd be out. The beast however seemed to have other ideas, growling viciously it jabbing his clenched fists with needle sharp teeth, mauling and tearing his flesh. The pain further bolstered his efforts as he pushed backwards. Perhaps sensing Maurice's escape the animal moved forward again, this time paying no heed to his screams and shouts. It was so close now that he could smell its rancid breath, the putrid hot air moist and evil smelling. Screeching in fear Maurice pushed backward, there was movement; and then he burst free. Exploding outward he collapsed into a shocked heap upon the leaf covered floor.

Hissing and grumbling loudly a large badger followed him, its wide snout stained rouge from his blood. It advanced towards him menacingly, growling and grunting. Maurice didn't even attempt to face it, instead he quickly grabbed his clothes and stumbled away. Luckily the badger's pursuit didn't last long, slowing and then stopping completely once he was clear of its territory. Once he was sure the badger had gone he doubled back on himself, making the short journey back to the river.

He used the cold water to bathe his hands, washing away the blood so he could better assess the damage. The badger had done a real number on them, biting and tearing them into a bloody pulp. His right hand had come off worse; three separate incisions spreading out from the middle of his palm like red tributaries. With limited options available he was forced to use his clothing, tearing strips off his jumper to wrap around his dripping wounds. There was a real possibility of infection or worse still the badger might have had rabies or TB.

Shuddering at the thought Maurice assessed his options; he was wet, cold and decidedly hungry. How could he survive the coming night? The way things were he wasn't sure he'd even survive the rest of the day; as he shivered under the winter's sun. The greying pallor of his skin decided him; he needed to take action now or perish where he stood. Locating a large flat rock he spread out his clothes, hoping that the weak sun would have some small drying power. Then selecting his soaked top, he began the laborious task of air drying it. Holding it by the edges he swung it briskly up and down, the passage of air through the material aiding the waters evaporation. Eventually he repeated the process on all his clothing, his efforts paying him hard earned dividends. As night began to fall Maurice was able to dress into the cold but dry clothes.

CHAPTER 41

Once he was clothed Maurice pondered his options, the rapidly encroaching darkness quickly deciding him. He needed a place to sleep, but the surrounding woods seemed all the more hostile in the failing light. Shivering he trudged into the trees, it wouldn't do to linger in the open by the river. His eyes struggled under the foliage, what little light there was left dim and unhelpful. Walking almost blind through the foliage he searched for a place to camp, settling for safety's sake on the first half decent spot he found.

His chosen spot was far from comfortable but the fallen trunk of an old oak provided some natural shelter and he had an idea how to use it. Finding a sturdy stick he began to dig in the soft earth at the side of the tree, his ruined hands throbbing painfully beneath his cloth bandages. Despite the pain he managed to fashion a shallow refuge, taking heart in the warmth that the work generated. Eventually the den began to take shape, a dirt scooped hole protected on one side by the thick trunk.

Once satisfied he began his next task, methodically finding and breaking as many leaf covered branches as he could locate. After a while he'd gathered enough for his purpose and slowly attempted to bind them together, using bark and thin branches as his rope. It was a laborious and difficult task in the dark but at least it distracted from his pain. Eventually he finished, succeeding in creating a loosely weaved cover of leaves and branches. Satisfied he carefully carried the bundle of branches back to his hole, laying them over it to form a crude roof. With a final flash of inspiration he lined the soil inside with handfuls of leaves, hoping to provide some softer comfort than the earth would yield.

Exhausted he crawled into the den, his efforts providing an unexpected relief from the cold air. Oblivious to the bumpy ground he collapsed into an unmoving heap, life's recent events taking a heavy toll. Despite his discomfort slumber took him swiftly, swirling him under and away from the world. It was a much needed relief he welcomed with open arms, happy to hide in the void of sleep, free of his worldly worries.

If only he could sleep forever, safe within an unassailable fortress deep inside his mind. Here he at least he felt free of his self-imposed responsibility, the destiny of the world someone else's burden to bear. Yet even as he slept the deception began to fall apart, the cold horror of reality refusing to be denied. The dreamless void began to transform, the comforting darkness morphing and changing into something else.

Standing alone he faced the imposing Govcom building, inextricably pulled forward by some malevolent force. One way or another his journey would end there, even in sleep his path wouldn't be denied. Moving slowly he walked towards the entrance, screaming in fear as the doors burst open, squads of heavily armed security forces pouring out. Their visored faces were blank and merciless as they began to advance. Hundreds of guns sighted him as they moved, their deadly weapons trained upon him and then they fired.

Maurice gasped loudly as he found consciousness, looking wildly around his ram shackle lodgings. It was morning; the thin light of day seeping through his den heralding the dawn. Feeling more dead than alive he clambered to his feet, the expanse of the woods stretching before him. The first of the day's problems presented itself as he rose; his empty stomach rumbling noisily as an aching pain spread across his gut. He needed food and quick if he was going to survive. However his knowledge of survival began and ended with a half remembered survival documentary, his normal method of sustenance more likely to come from a packet than mother earth.

Fleeting ideas of traps and makeshift weapons passed through his mind, until he settled upon the idea of foraging. Scouring the surrounding area carefully he almost immediately came upon a blueberry bush, congratulating himself on his uncharacteristic turn of luck. The berries were good; their flesh exploding with juicy goodness that immediately made him feel more alive. He gorged as many of the berries as he could find, stuffing his pockets with some for later. With starvation temporally held at bay he considered the second of the day's problems, he wasn't at all sure he was going in the right direction.

He had an inkling of the way, but as he'd progressed it had became harder. With no real distinguishing features, the landscape was a confusing maze of trees and patches of open meadows. After nearly an hour of walking he stumbled back upon his den, the sight filling him with angry despair. He couldn't afford to loose any more ground, for all he knew the prison forces were pursuing him on foot. Sitting down on the fallen log he pondered the problem, without a compass or map how was he to make his way. After a while the beginnings of an idea formed. It wasn't the best but with no better options he decided to give it a try; what did he have to lose?

Choosing the nearest well branched tree he set about climbing. The tree seemed to grow as he ascended, becoming taller and taller with each hard earned foothold. Perhaps half an hour passed before he was high enough, but the view was definitely worth it. From his vantage point he could see over the surrounding forest and all the way toward his distant destination. Mentally fixing his target he began to descend the tree. Going down was harder than going up, every cautious step feeling like a fall's precursor. With protesting hands he descended, the badger wounds flaring and stinging with each step.

After a while he began to relax, falling into an easy pattern of careful steps which saw him gain the reassurance of terraferma soon after. Pausing to catch his breath he mentally set his direction, fixing the position of the partly obscured sun in his head. It took Maurice the best part of the morning and another three climbs, but his idea paid off as the thick undergrowth began to thin. The towering trees gave way to their more stunted brothers. Until magically the way spread open before him; he had reached the distant lowlands.

After the claustrophobia of the forest the open plains were beautiful, and it lifted his floundering spirit somewhat. There was still a considerable hike ahead of him, roughly 25 or so miles if his estimates were true but it seemed possible.

Deep down Maurice hoped to catch a speeder if possible, anticipating that his rural path must intercept a line at some point. As he set off walking a general uneasiness still gnawed at him; the sounds of pursuit had completely vanished since the badger hole. Would the camp really give up that quickly? Maurice doubted that very much, from what he'd seen they'd brought enough equipment to fight a small war.

His misgivings continued as he trudged through the afternoon, hunger and thirst biting uncomfortably at his gut. Despite his wretched condition he made good time, by the days failing light he could see a distant settlement. He wasn't sure of the town's identity, but any colony along this route would likely have a speeder station. He sped up as the town came into sight, then thinking better of it wisely resumed his regular pace. It was a fool's dream to think he'd make the town tonight; instead he set to the task of finding shelter and food closer to home.

Selecting a thick tuft of wild grass he allowed his aching body a rest, settling back on his haunches. The blueberries were all but crushed within his back pocket; still their pulped juices quelled some of his fierce hunger. It was only a temporary reprieve however and his aggressive thirst stubbornly remained. Surveying the surrounding area there really didn't seem to be many options for shelter, the land was barren of trees and any natural cover. Choosing instead to conserve his energy Maurice gave up, making the thick grass as comfortable as he was able.

The night was cold and Maurice doubly so, open to the weathers mercy he tried to sleep. At least the threatening rain held off, the overcast sky providing some much needed insulation from the cold night. He must have dozed; awakening suddenly as an icy wetness poured on him. Blinking sleepily he felt the rain, an endless torrent of droplets falling from the night sky. Giving up thoughts of sleep he opened his mouth, the life giving liquid falling straight down his gullet. The refreshment was instant, the cool liquid pooling inside his dry mouth. Cupping his bound hands he attempted to catch more, the ferocity of the downpour assisting him. Before the storm had blown out he'd completely quenched himself, the maddening thirst need no longer so urgent.

He was soaked, but to be honest he didn't really care, the rain couldn't have come at a better time for him. Abandoning his attempts at sleep he decided to get an early start, with the sky in the East greying slightly he knew dawn wouldn't be far behind. Anyway it wouldn't be prudent to risk slumber in his wet clothes, the air around him already seeming many degrees colder. Setting off at a brisk walk he focussed his thoughts on the settlement, if he could just make the town then he'd have a much better chance. However he didn't allow his guard to slip, understanding that the probability of discovery increased with every forward step. It was only logical that there would be guards there; hoping to catch him with his pants down.

The more he travelled the more his thoughts were drawn into speculation, why were there no signs of pursuit? Perhaps after the spotter had failed to find him, they'd assumed he'd taken a different route? The idea that he'd evaded them probably wouldn't even have occurred, such was their technological advantage over him. So when the spotter failed to find him, he reasoned, they would have turned their attentions to other alternatives. The first and foremost had to be the speeders, for all they knew he could have fled as soon as he escaped and be holed up in London or a dozen other places along the network. Also he guessed they would have spent time searching Nutley, exploring the possibility of his concealment; they'd probably torn the village apart.

His rationalisation gave him some comfort as he walked, his uneasy apprehension beginning to wane in the breaking dawn. As long as they weren't here, that was the main thing. Moments later a pale autumn sun rose on the distant horizon, the faint heat of the re-born globe subtle but still comforting. With the day's slowly rising temperature and his continuous motion his wet clothes began to dry; chafing and rubbing uncomfortably as the moisture evaporated. His discomfort was twofold as he walked, the dull throbbing pain in his hands growing progressively worse.

Maurice was loath to remove the makeshift bandages now, but the growing ache decided him. Unable to stand the pain any more he carefully began to peel the soiled material away from his right hand. It was a mess; the cuts had grown red and weepy, pus filled pockets dotting his festering flesh. His second hand was the same, gripped by a deep infection. Even with his medical training there wasn't much Maurice could do, the lack of supplies and inhospitable surroundings offering no help. Gritting his teeth he concentrated on his destination; it really wasn't that far now. If he could just get there maybe he could find a pharmacy within the town. A while later and his efforts were rewarded as he came upon the first signs of civilization; a small carved stone announced the township of East Grinstead. It meant nothing to him, but the fact that he'd reached some kind of civilization again was a celebration in itself.

CHAPTER 42

Caution was the key here; he knew how he must look, bedraggled and dressed in torn and dirt covered clothes. On the plus side he still carried nearly a thousand credits, any distrust could probably be allayed with such resources. Passing through a number of outlying farmer's fields, he made his way towards the town. His first impressions of the town proper were mixed, the crowded streets seeming too busy and dangerous after the solitude of the countryside.

Walking as inconspicuously as possible he joined the throng; keeping his eyes low, avoiding peoples gaze. Still he could feel eyes upon him as he walked, quick glances of curiosity and suspicion. Traveling through the town's centre he searched for a refuge. The type of refuge was unimportant but it had to be somewhere near, with every passing moment he could feel the number of watchers increasing. Thankfully it didn't take too long; with a quick change in direction he headed purposely towards the pub.

The White Swan was an old Tudor building; no doubt protected by countless preservation orders. It was thankfully quiet within, just one young barman serving behind the bar.

"Hello there," said Maurice as confidently as possible.

"Hi," the barman answered his voice carefully neutral.

"I see you offer rooms, would you happen to have one available."

"We do, payment up front of course," he responded a little too sharply.

"Of course," Maurice said, compliantly flashing his card. The man hesitated for a second, scrutinising his face with more than passing interest but then he turned away.

"That will be 30 credits per night with breakfast, how many nights sir?" The sir was like a bad piece of meat on his tongue, spat out in contradiction with the word's meaning.

"Just one please," Maurice answered politely, pretending not to notice the young man's hostility.

"Very good sir, place your card in the machine."

The device hummed, clicked and then flashed green as it processed the nominal transaction. Allowing himself a small smile Maurice followed the man's directions to his room. It was a sparse affair but for the price he'd expected nothing less, what furniture there was antiquated and unsteady. At least there was an en-suite, the bathrooms mirror revealing his true countenance. It was much worse than he'd feared; his face and neck heavily streaked with engrained dirt and blood. Even his hair had collected various bits of grit and dirt, giving him the look of some historical chimney sweeper. The bathroom's white bath called him insistently as he stood staring at his reflection, examining the wrinkles and stress lines that he was sure hadn't existed a few months earlier. It was no use, with a heavy sigh he gave up his examination.

Running the tepid bath water he prepared for the coming pain, the task he faced unpleasant but necessary. Very slowly he peeled off his stained bandages, staring in disgust at his discoloured swollen flesh. The skin was literally festering, turning his hands around he inspected the angry sores. He'd have another go tomorrow once he'd visited a chemist, but for now he had to make do. Boiling the room's customary kettle he submerged the coffee tray's teaspoon, the scalding water immediately heating the metal. Using a hand towel to hold the wrong end, he proceeded to prod the hot handle sharply into his palms scabby mess.

The agony was instant and unforgiving, raw waves of hot white pain annihilating his senses. Whimpering through tightly pressed lips he persisted, each bone shaking jab eliciting spurts of infected pus. By the time he'd finished he felt weak, almost swooning he made his way to the waiting bath. The water felt good on his body until it touched his hands; another barrage of pain assaulting his senses. As is the tendency with such things the throbbing eventually faded, replaced instead by a bearable ache. Maurice lounged in the bath, enjoying a relaxed contentment he'd forgotten in recent times. To just lay there and forget the world, it was the first indulgence he'd allowed himself in a long while.

However the tepid water quickly grew cold encouraging his exit. He left behind a murky scum as he climbed from the bath. Staring disbelief at the volume of dirt he dried himself, taking special care over his damaged palms. The water and the makeshift lancing of his wounds had helped somewhat, the flesh less puffy although just as sore. Examining himself critically in the mirror, he was glad to see he'd made a small step toward his lost humanity. His homeless look had all but gone, the complimentary soap and shampoo doing a sterling job.

His clothes on the other hand were another matter, the boots could be cleaned; but the jumper and jeans were ruined. Large mud and grass stains were worked into the torn material; the repeated soakings hadn't even touched the stains. Without any alternatives Maurice dressed, scrubbing some of the worst stains fruitlessly. Mustering as much poise as possible he vacated the pub, grateful for the late afternoon's quieter streets. A short walk into the town and he'd found a suitable shop; 'Moss Brothers Professional Attire' the sign proudly stated.

Walking inside he was immediately examined, assessed and disregarded by the jaded shop attendant. Pointedly ignoring the sleight Maurice examined the wares, he was certain he'd find an appropriate suit here. After a while the attendant could no longer contain his annoyance.

"Yes may I help you?" His voice was shrill and effeminate.

"Quite possibly," Maurice answered, "I'm looking for a smart work suit."

"Something of a bargain suit is it?" He said, while pointedly looking him up and down. Maurice couldn't help but smile at this, the attendant making absolutely no attempt to hide his contempt.

"Well actually," countered Maurice, "I'm looking to spend up to, hmmm let's say 300 credits."

The transformation was immediate and highly amusing. His odious sneer blossomed into an attentive smile as he moved closer to his unexpected client, placing a friendly hand upon his shoulder he began a perfectly delivered sales pitch.

"Well sir you'll find a great many tailored pieces here, but for your muscular build I'd recommend some of the classic French connection pieces."

Maurice allowed himself to be directed to the suits, actually taking some pleasure in the attentions the man bestowed. After his spell in the camp, being treated like a respected human being was refreshing. The attendants taste was much to Maurice's liking, and after a few tries he settled on a charcoal black number with a complementary sky blue shirt and dark tie. He left the shop wearing the suit, the new clothes immediately building his confidence. It almost seemed possible now that he'd accomplish the mission; maybe he could play the saviour after all.

Moments later his shop bought bravado was shattered; walking directly toward him were three compound guards. Their batons hung deadly and casual at their sides, their visor covered faces scanning passers-by. Maurice kept walking, slowing down almost imperceptibly as he approached. His confidence in his disguise dropped as he neared them, urgently searching for a way out. The delicious aroma of freshly cooked bread saved him, turning casually he entered the bakery. Once inside his empty stomach growled in real hunger, his pretence temporally forgotten as he examined the mouth-watering goodies.

Buying a cheese and onion pasty with a scone for afters, he sat down in the small restaurant area. Thirstily he took a swig of his cola before he indulged his hunger. The taste was astonishing after his forced abstinence and he immediately began to devour the meal. Stopping in mid bit he warily watched as the guards passed the bakery's door, their heads turning for one heart stopping minute. Muscles bunched as adrenaline flowed through him; then they were gone, leaving Maurice nauseous and shaking.

He'd passed; they hadn't even looked twice at him, a crazy elation pulsed through him as he ate. The food and his success making him feel almost high, he could do it, he knew now that he would. Yet even now so close to victory there was the thought. He'd buried it before out of a necessity to survive, but now sat in relative safety it once again reared its ugly head. Why carry on, he had his freedom and he had a green light. Of course his time would be limited due to the illness, but why shouldn't he enjoy what little time he had left. Was it fair to expect him to sacrifice his own life for the good of the country? Michael had thought so, but Michael wasn't here risking his neck.

He immediately regretted the thought as it spewed forth, Michael had given everything to the cause. More than likely he'd already forfeited his life or worse when their rouse was discovered. There was no cause to criticise the man and he knew it, silently berating himself he shook his head. So this was it, the damned crossroads staring him firmly in the face yet again. It wasn't even a lack of courage that gave him doubt; it was more the strength of his conviction. Of course he wanted justice against them, justice for the destruction they'd inflicted so callously upon his life. But to risk everything he had left terrified him, to fail meant they'd won. That they'd taken everything he'd ever held dear, at least if he turned away now he might salvage some small happiness. His thoughts span around and around his brain, sitting in the small bakery lost in his own world.

"Excuse me, but were closing up now," the old woman's voice brought him back to reality.

"Oh I'm sorry, I was lost in thought," he smiled back at her.

"It's alright dear, new job it is?" She gestured at his suit.

"What? Oh this, yeah I guess it is."

"Aww I love to see a man who's doing well, looks like a lot of responsibility."

"Yeah," he paused, "yeah it is."

"Thanks for the food," he rose waving bye as he left.

A new conviction filled his face as he walked away from the bakery, he had to try. If not for his own sake, then for every other innocent he might save. Tomorrow he'd make the attempt, a short speeder ride to London and he'd be there. That however would be the easy part, what occurred after was anyone's guess. If things went badly then he'd probably lose his life; or worse. Shuddering he tried to banish thoughts of failure.

With evening fast approaching he cursed his laxness, instead of sitting in the bakery contemplating his future he should have been searching for a chemist. He searched now but feared it was futile, the closing shutters and locked doors a common theme throughout the town centre. Eventually he headed back toward the pub, resigned to the fact that there was no longer anywhere open.

His reception at the white swan was a complete turnaround; the same barman now full of smiles and more than happy to serve him. What a difference a smart set of threads makes, he'd gone from shit to a hit in an instant. Revelling in the attentiveness he ordered a pint, he wasn't about to miss the chance, who knew if he'd have the opportunity again. The pint was good, blessed with a decent head and a liveliness that made a humming bird look slow. Finding an empty booth he sat down, taking time to saviour every long and cool sip. For the twenty or so minutes it took Maurice to finish it he was free. Free of all the doubts, all the worries, nothing remained but an absolute clarity. He knew what he had to do, he'd come too far and there could be no other choice.

Regretfully with the last gulp of beer the feeling passed, his doubts returning to haunt him once more. Dropping his glass on the bar he resisted the temptation for another; he could ill afford a cloudy head in the morning. Returning to his room he endured another make shift lancing, thankful for the clean bandages he'd managed to procure from the bar's first aid kit. Still for the price he'd paid they should have been made of gold. He passed a few more hours alone in his room, just sitting on the end of his bed mentally rehearsing the coming day's events. He'd always been a great believer in the power of the mind, and he now put all his belief toward his success. Mentally coaching himself he chanted internally almost mantra like.

'I will not fail, I will not fail, I will not fail.' Eventually he drifted into sleep on an emotional high, his repeated words going someway to assure his subconscious of victory. His slumber was restful, nightmare free and restorative. For that he was grateful, waking up with a clear and well rested head. For what lay ahead he would need all his wits, anything less would mean certain failure. Taking advantage of the cooked breakfast, he filled up on the average food.

The sausages were over cooked, the bacon close to cremated and the scrambled egg powdery. Nonetheless for all its faults the breakfast satisfied him, his dietary standards much reduced since camp Omega. Thanking the bar man he left just as the bar clock turned nine. He'd been told the next speeder to London was due at quarter past, giving him plenty of time to reach the station. The streets were rather busy this morning, the towns people headed to their respective workplaces. Cutting through the milling crowds, he made good time arriving just after ten past.

The station was quiet; a few commuters waiting patiently on the gathered benches, but all was calm compared to the bustle outside. Selecting an empty bench he settled down to wait, hoping that the speeder would keep to its schedule. He looked like everyone else; nothing to see here just another day in the office. If only they knew how lucky they were, he examined the passers-by with a critical eye. No matter how far he came a stubborn streak remained; he just couldn't get over the injustice of it all.

Raised voices interrupted his thoughts, looking around he saw a woman pursued by angry black man.

"How could you bitch," he shoved her aggressively. She shrieked as she fell, the despair and hopelessness in the woman's voice tearing into him. Their amber lights flashed strong and accusingly in the dimly lit station. Should he go over to them? The silly notion passed as quickly as it occurred, he'd come too far to risk everything on a whim. The argument reached new heights as the woman turned on the man, beating his chest with clenched fists.

"Leave me alone," she yelled.

"You fucking betraying bitch."

He grabbed her again, this time throwing her heavily to the floor. The onlookers stared, no one moved or intervened. It was an awful expose of the world he lived in, turning away Maurice fought against his Samaritan instincts. His caution was justified as moments later the security forces arrived; wading in with heavy batons they restrained the couple. Maurice watched with a rising pulse, the very sight of the authorities intimidating and unsettling. They were dragged kicking and screaming out of sight, their terrible fates already known to Maurice.

The Speeder arrived moments later; on time. Climbing onto the crowded vehicle he unsuccessfully searched for a seat. Unfortunately it was rush hour and that meant space was at a premium. So his legs would get tired but on the plus side it made any impromptu searches of the cabins almost impossible. With a push and a shove he squeezed into a gap between a small oriental woman and a large sweating gentleman, a sense of deja vu gripping him as he remembered a similar journey in a previous life. Holding onto the hand rail he prepared for an uncomfortable journey; at least it shouldn't last too long. The nervousness was there again, steadily building with every passing second. He attempted to ignore it, but it was incessant, constantly eating his insides. Examining the many passengers he tried and failed to distract himself from his gnawing nerves.

The first few stops flew by, the speeder only stopping for a few minutes at each station. It seemed that most people were commuters to the big smoke, the capital of the conspiracy held country. As he scanned the cabin his gaze alighted upon a young man; he was hunched up in a far corner with his head down. The reason for his despair became apparent as he moved his arm, a sickly amber light growing from his wrist. Maurice watched as a passenger sitting to his left noticed the light, immediately she began to move away from him, struggling against the pressing crowd the woman squeezed into the crowded aisle. Obviously the discomfort of standing was more appealing than being soiled by the amber's presence. Her actions appalled Maurice, yet it wasn't a million years ago when he himself had done the same. Now armed with the truth it disgusted him, the quick judgment and condemnation that each and every human was guilty of.

Maurice came to a decision as the Speeder slowed, pushing purposefully through the carriage. People begrudgingly moved aside, his progress slow and steady until he eventually drew level with the man. Moving sideways he settled into the empty seat, ignoring the disapproving looks some of his fellow passengers felt justified in giving. The man didn't seem to notice or if he did he didn't care, his eyes only holding interest for his shoes. However that didn't matter to Maurice, what really mattered was the statement he was making. Proudly folding his arms he displayed his green light, his proximity to the amber brash and noticeable.

It wasn't long before the whispers started, colleagues and friends travelling together gossiping about the social faux-pa. As the disapproving looks increased Maurice's smile grew in response. He felt good, he felt justified and for a moment he even felt happy. It was a temporary distraction from his worries, and provided a more than welcome reprieve. His one man protest was cut short as a conductor entered the cabin, his ticket machine flashing hungrily at the passengers. Maurice paid for a one way ticket, the 40 credit fare a small drain on his remaining funds.

Shortly afterward the train arrived in London Station and so began the mass exodus. The crowds of people pushing and shoving rudely, each one convinced that they had the right of way. Maurice was content to wait, remaining in his seat while the speeder rapidly emptied. Within minutes the carriages were empty, the only remaining occupants Maurice and the condemned man. On impulse Maurice turned to the distraught fellow, "Excuse me."

"Yes," he answered as he slowly raised his head.

"I couldn't help but notice your light, and wanted to offer you some advice."

The man peered incredulously up at him, obviously well versed in amber and green light relations.

"Go on then, stick the boot in."

"No please listen," he said. "I want to help you because I know where you're going."

The young man regarded him cautiously, still undecided as to Maurice's motives.

"Don't turn yourself in, run and keep on running."

"What right do you have to advise me," the man growled, his face twisted with sudden anger. "You've got it all," he said, roughly grasping Maurice's wrist. "You don't know nothing about this." Staring with hatred filled eyes he pushed past him, leaving Maurice alone and dismayed. It seemed there was nothing he could do; there was no easy way back. The situation had gone so very far, the walls of distrust and hatred insurmountable and many feet thick. Even when a genuine kindness was offered it was rejected, the amber reacting like an injured animal, biting and defending itself viciously. It was then that Maurice realised the full scale of the deception, when the sheep police themselves there was no longer any need for the shepherd.

Leaving the carriage with heavy regret, he made his way through the station. The Gov com building was within walking distance, but if Michael's estimates were correct then it would take a good hour by foot. Maurice intended to use that time wisely, stopping off on the way to buy a briefcase, the final touch to the pantomime he must perform. The Streets of London were busy, but he'd expected no less. The old capital was always a hive of activity, the mindless workers going about the business in jovial ignorance. The hustle and bustle had an unexpected effect as he walked, his own thoughts darkening as he remembered New Leeds and the life he'd lost.

With thoughts of home came memories of Rachel, cold and unsettling. It was the first time he'd thought of her in a while, yet the pain was still there, brooding like a shark just below the surface of his conscious mind. She was all he could think about as he walked, her heavenly face forever engraved within his mind. Fighting the tears he silently gave promise, he'd bring the system down for her memory if nothing else. Suddenly a loud siren cut through his inner dialogue. Looking around bewildered his eyes were drawn to the many wall based advertisement screens; their displays all flashing the words "Emergency Broadcast".

CHAPTER 43

In almost complete synchronicity the morning crowds stopped moving. There was an almost collective drawing of breath as the gathered public stared at the gigantic vid screens, their faces filled with excitement and anticipation at the unexpected interruption to their normal routines. The screens flickered as white static crawled across their surfaces, accompanied by another blaring siren echoing across the city. As he watched the screen transformed at the face of Lord Smyth appeared, staring down at his gathered subjects.

"Citizens," the amplified voice boomed, "I come to you today in a state of emergency." A pin drop silence descended upon the masses, their eyes fixated upon their exalted leader. "I do not wish to panic any of you, but be warned what I have to say is not easy to digest. For the first time in our great history, there has been a complete disregard for the world government's prime law." The crowd's attention was rapt upon his face, excitement and apprehension shining in their cow like eyes.

"One person," he spat contemptuously, "has selfishly decided to risk the general population's health. One person has decided to leave the safety and comfort of the red light camps." He let the statement sink in, pausing expertly in his delivery. The inevitable indignant reaction was immediate, shouts of anger and hatred rippling through the gathered crowd. Maurice felt numb; he'd held the mistaken belief that the embarrassment over his escape would have bought him some time. This announcement proved him wrong and revealed the drastic lengths they were willing to take to ensure his recapture.

"Good hard working people of London," he continued. "Our intelligence community has good reason to believe that he is here." Eyes swivelled distrustfully throughout the crowd, each and every one performing their patriotic duty admirably. "Not only do we believe he is within the City, but also that he has undergone illegal surgery to falsely implant a green wrist light." The outrage was unanimous, surging through the crowd in a righteous wave.

Panic stricken Maurice began to move, inching his way sideways towards a nearby clothes store. Walking as casually as his nerves allowed, he entered the large department store. It was empty; every single member of the public and staff were huddled by the doorway staring at the screens. The unfolding event was so exciting and unique that no one wanted to miss it. Maurice walked through the store slowly, trying to seem casual and natural as he ignored the announcement. Luckily near the front tills were the items he sought, moving quickly he selected a smart black peaked cap.

"Excuse me," he called across to the doorway.

"Oh, sorry," answered a till girl. Seeming anything but she reluctantly left her post, trudging down to the till.

"Sorry I didn't mean to interrupt you, it's just that I have a light joining ceremony to get to and I've just found out that hats are compulsory."

He smiled in what he hoped was a convincing manner. The girl looked at him strangely for a moment, her face giving the impression of incomprehension.

"Yeah, don't worry about it, ten credits."

He paid quickly and left. Sporting his new hat he began to meander down the sidewalk, attempting to move unobtrusively through the stationary crowd. Every so often he would mutter apologies and mention the joining ceremony, his improvisation growing as he walked. Thankfully Lord Smyth liked the sound of his own voice, choosing to build the hatred and anticipation within his audience before full disclosure. The air was thick with tension, the gathered clouds black and deadly, threatening to break at any moment. Maurice willed him to continue, daring to hope that his speech would give him adequate time to escape. Alas it was not to be, as the world's leader brought his verbal symphony to an almighty crescendo.

"Behold citizens, the image of the enemy within."

Inescapably his eyes were drawn to the screen; an awful depiction of his face displayed before him. His face was blown up to impossible proportion, laid bare for the governments children to commit to memory. Standing still Maurice attempted to look angry, his eyes narrowing as he scrunched his brow. He glanced quickly left and right scrutinising his neighbours, examining each one with a suspicious stare. There was a chance; an unfortunately small chance, but still a chance. The picture they'd used was from his work file, he'd lost a lot of weight since then and his hat hid his hair.

Holding his nerve, he defiantly met every accusing stare. Maurice hoped that the slight changes were enough, that he could somehow play it out. Thankfully Smyth chose that point to continue, a temporary reprieve as attentions were once again drawn to the screens. Winding down his masterful speech he reminded everyone of their duty, and implored them to keep their eyes open. Closing by once again showing the awful picture of Maurice before the screens resumed their normal transmission.

One by one the screens flickered as normal service resumed, the regular adverts beginning to roll. The crowds slowly began to move too, as people returned to whatever business they were about. Maurice joined in as he began to walk, uncomfortably aware of the increased number of glances in his direction. The colour of his skin immediately made him and the thousands of other black Londoners prime suspects. There was nothing racist about that, it was just an inescapable result of his photo. He tried to stroll, walking along the streets with an almost skipping motion. It was no good; whether it was paranoia or due caution he didn't know but he had to change his plan. Deviating from his original route he decided to take another option. Heading toward the busier streets he quickly located and entered a black taxi.

"Where you off to guv'nor," the man was old and his accent thick.

"Take me to the Gov Com building please," he responded.

"Right you are pal," he pulled the hover car upward, the dated vehicle lurching disconcertingly. Maurice sank back into the passenger seat, feeling an immense relief as he escaped the streets.

"It's a thing, ain't it pal?"

"Pardon," Maurice answered unsurely.

"The swine that's escaped, infecting the whole dam country he will."

"Oh, yes it's terrible, it really is."

"One of your lot as well, mind not that there's anything wrong with you."

"No, of course not," Maurice answered, happy to let the man babble.

"It's a shame though it really is, the government goes out of the way to help um and they throw it back in our faces." He shook his head angrily.

"It really is awful," agreed Maurice. He couldn't think of anything more to add, his brain was fried. The stress of it all and the unceasing worry, slowing his thought processes to a treacle like crawl.

"Now just look at you, why can't they be more like you, hardworking and presentable."

"Thanks," Maurice murmured.

"No don't mention it pal, I can tell a productive man when I see one, not like this criminal."

His tirade continued as they travelled, every now and then he would intersperse his cursing with a smattering of compliments aimed at Maurice. As if he was afraid that his denouncement of the black escapee, would somehow offend his black customer. Maurice listened inattentively, watching the city fly past as they drew nearer.

"Er excuse me," he interjected into the taxi driver's speech.

"Yes pal what is it?"

"You don't happen to know if there's a shop where I could purchase a briefcase in the area do you?" The driver chuckled, looking at his passenger in amusement.

"Now pal it's not something I really carry, don't really need owt like that for this job." He chuckled again but then looked thoughtful, "actually pal, there is a Marks and Spencer's just down the road. I'm pretty sure they sell um in there."

"Great, will be able to drop me there?"

"Sure pal, no trouble, no trouble at all."

The driver chose to pass the rest of the journey in silence; a fact gratefully received by Maurice. The fifty credit fare was steep, but then again it was London. Paying the bill he walked assuredly towards the shop, heading straight towards the business wear section. Sure enough the man's memory proved correct; the selection of case's varied and completely suitable. Selecting a black one to match his suit, he paid for his purchase. The cashiers hazel eyes alighting on his face, pausing momentarily as she examined him. A confused look flashed over her face, almost as if she were trying to remember something.

"I think it's 35 credits," Maurice said.

"Oh yes, sorry a million miles away, for a moment I thought I recognised you."

"Really," Maurice pretended to examine her, "no I don't think so, I'm sure we've never met."

"No, it must be me," she didn't sound convinced.

Still she took his payment card, swiping it through her machine distractedly. Maurice quickly took the briefcase and left. He was certain she'd recognised him; her slow doe eyes would no doubt eventually make the connection. Briskly walking away from the shop he located a pay phone, an antiquated utility still common place on the City's streets. Searching the electronic directory he found the Gov Com's number, drawing a steadying breath he dialled in. This was the moment everything had led up to, he either sank or swum.

"Government Communication HeadQuarters, Sandra speaking how may I help?"

"There's a bomb in the building,"

"What, who is this?"

"Listen bitch, there's three bombs in the building and there set to go off in the next half an hour, this is the only warning." With a pounding heart Maurice slammed the receiver, leaning heavily against the booth's cool glass. Dropping his hat to the floor, he stared toward the Gov Com building expectantly. Exiting the booth he forced himself closer, watching the main doors intently. Minutes slipped by with no movement as a cold dread settled upon him; then it happened. A steady stream of unsettled people began to emerge, rushing from the door into the large car park. That was his cue, without hesitation he strode towards the door. He had a right to be there, no one could question him because he worked there. The mental drills repeated in his head as he advanced, the outward flow of people increasing.

Reaching the fringes of the throng he began to jog, gently apologising and moving people out of his way. It didn't take long before he'd reached the entrance ploughing his way through the revolving doors. It wasn't the easiest of tasks but eventually he made it, feeling more salmon than human. As he approached the reception turnstiles he faced his first challenge, the hard faced security officers scrutinising the escaping employees. Fortunately Michael's assurance had been correct and the security turnstiles stood wide open; standard evacuation procedures. He headed resolutely towards the gates.

"Hey, where are you going?" Unable to ignore the shout he turned.

"Sorry but I've got to get back up to 11th, I was working on a security upgrade for Big Blue when the evacuation sounded. The networks sitting open." Maurice jumped impatiently from one leg to the other as he spoke, hoping his demeanour and reference to Millnet would work. The guard turned to his colleague, whispering in hushed tones while Maurice did his best to look insulted.

"You got your security pass," said the bigger guard, his face distrustful.

"Yeah sure I have." Maurice made a show of patting himself down then looked back to the guards with panic stricken eyes. "Oh geeze I've lost it in the rush, god I had it somewhere." He wrung his hands as he spoke, hoping his distraught portrayal was believed by the on looking guards. "I've got to close that network or I'm for the can, please you've got to let me in." The smaller rat faced guard scrutinised him suspiciously.

"You know the drill you can't get in without a card."

"No your right, I'm sorry I thought I had it." He turned around with hunched shoulders, but then swung to face them again, his face filled with desperate hope. "Look I know you can't let me in but, please will you tell Mr Milner that I tried if he asks okay, will you at least do that?"

"Dave Milner?" Asked the big guard, "You work under Dave?"

"Yeah," Maurice answered. "It's a major upgrade to Millnet so authority has to come from on high, you know how it is. Anyhow please just let him know when he asks, it might just save my balls" Turning again he began to slowly trudge away from the desk, counting the steps in his mind. He got to ten before the rat faced guard shouted him back.

"Right you've got ten minutes, get in, secure the network and get out, right?"

"Yes of course," Maurice said, giving silent thanks to Michael's suggested name drop.

CHAPTER 44

Resuming his former course he attempted to navigate the turnstile, but the flow of opposing traffic was just too high. Seeing his struggle the guards ordered people aside, eventually their shouted commands had the desired effect. Quickly he slipped through the gap, heading straight toward the lifts at the end of the room.

"You'll have to use the steps," shouted one of the guards, "lifts are down while in evacuation."

"Oh yes of course," Maurice answered, silently cursing his own stupidity. Hoping his slip hadn't rung too many alarm bells he darted toward the busy stairwells. There were two sets of stairs, each located at opposite sides of the room. Unfortunately both options were still busy, filled with a non-stop flow of escapees. Biting the bullet he made a choice, heading to the right he pushed headlong into the traffic. Apologising profusely he roughed and tumbled his way up the stairs, muttering excuses and made up emergency protocol directives. Fortunately as he climbed the swarms of people grew less, eventually giving way to space and a clear assent.

Reaching the fifth floor the opposing traffic ceased completely; that was when he began to run. He knew the guard's timescale hadn't been a threat, if he overran then he had no doubt they'd come for him. The floors flashed past as he scaled the building, his breath coming in shorter and shorter bursts. Finally he reached the eleventh floor, the steps continuing upwards to the lofty heights of the grand sky scraper. Leaving the stairwell behind he walked down the thickly carpeted corridor, approaching the end office; which according to Michael contained the best prospect of success. The office was empty; the automatic security doors standing wide open in accordance with the evacuation policy.

Walking through the rows of uniform desks he couldn't believe he was there, within minutes he might bring the government to its knees. There was one stumbling block however, just one thing he'd had no choice but to leave to chance; access. Quickly he scanned the computer screens, faced with row after row of mocking screen savers. Even in their state of panic the fastidious government workers had remembered their security policy, locking and securing their screens before making their escapes. Despair hounded him as he searched the room, every single computer was locked. The discovery was like a gust of wind to his house of cards, without access it was over.

Not willing to believe it he circled again, a miserable despair growing in his breast. As he walked he thought he could hear footsteps behind him. Turning in fright he stared at the entrance, his heart hammering in his chest as he prepared to fight. No one came. Sweat poured from his brow as he resumed his walk, checking and re-checking each machine to no avail. Eventually he was done. With nothing left inside he collapsed onto a chair and waited. Everything he had gone through was all for naught, soon his deception would be uncovered and then they would come for him. His head fell heavily into his hands, the injustice and unfairness too much to take.

Then as the first tear began to fall he saw it; tucked away in a separate enclave, perhaps where a manager sat there was one unlocked screen. Darting towards the machine he hit the enter key on the keyboard, wanting to ensure that no automatic inactivity timer would start the screensaver. That done he sat down and examined the PC's tower, renewed hope burning within his chest. There were all the modern readers built into the machine including several data crystal ports. Selecting the correct one he inserted Michael's crystal, a soft whirring coming from the machine. Seconds later the uncovered files were once again displayed on the screen, information that had the power to change the world. With a shaking hand Maurice accessed the global email network, a network that shouldn't even exist.

Rapidly he composed an email stating the following:

'Dear citizen,

Enclosed within this email you will find the truth about our great nation. I implore you as citizens to rise up and fight against this terrible tyranny and mass murder that the government sanctions. Everything you are about to read is the truth, nothing more and nothing less; this is your one chance to see the system for what it is. Please take it.

From a friend and former Camp Member

Maurice Williams'

Within seconds the modern pc had attached and compressed the data to the email, ready to be dispatched with the touch of a button. Maurice examined the Email Networks address list in awe; Michael hadn't lied, from this computer he had access to every single registered email in the whole world. With just one click of his finger he could expose a group that had pulled the strings of mankind for millennia. His finger hovered above the mouse button, one press and it would be done. With a heartfelt grunt he hit send, a wave of ecstatic victory washing through him. The progress bar flashed on the screen, quickly proceeding from zero to one hundred per cent.

Standing, Maurice walked away, he was done. The journey back down to reception went much easier, bounding down the now empty stairwell; he still managed to make the guard's imposed time limit.

"Just in time," one grunted, "was just about to come and get you, did you get finished up."

Maurice smiled at the man sincerely, "yes, it's all finished now."

"Good, well you best get out there with the rest of them."

Maurice gladly did as he was bid, wanting nothing more than to leave. Everything felt somehow better as he made his exit, the world's colours more vivid, the air that much sweeter. There was nothing left but his own plan now; no guilt or judgement only precious freedom. He'd find a cheap hotel and then change his appearance. He was sure a shaven head and some facial hair would help; coupling that with his skinnier frame would probably be sufficient. It wasn't like he had an eternity to live he thought wryly, but he was definitely going to try and enjoy the time he had left.

Walking down the GovCom steps he mingled into the crowded car park, luckily the organisation was so large he shouldn't be noticed. He wondered as he walked what the immediate aftermath would be, sure the information was out there, but how would the people react. It was an impossible prediction but he still hoped; hoped that the masses would be able to find the strength inside to wake up. If they were brought together under one common purpose, standing firm in their solidarity then maybe, just maybe there was a chance. It was going to be a troubling time, of that he had no doubt; but in this instance ignorance certainly wasn't bliss.

The crowd began to thin as he reached the edge, for a moment the sun sparkled brightly off a woman's earing, projecting a rainbow of light onto the tarmacked floor in front of him. Then he was through, walking over the grass verge towards the pavement. He needed to escape the city that was the first thing to do, travel north where the governments grip squeezed less tightly. Without warning his musings were interrupted, as a loud noise up ahead startled him. Careering down the road, five armoured wheeled transports hurtled toward Gov Com. With technical proficiency the drivers expertly slid their vehicles, the estimated arcs turning them to form a tight ring around the building. Maurice was trapped within; turning without pause he tried to head back towards the car park, and the safety of the other employees.

"Maurice Williams, stop where you are and get on your knees." The amplified voice was hostile and cold.

CHAPTER 45

Ice water prickled his spine as he froze, a wave of frustrated injustice running through him. To succeed and then fail was too much, letting his head fall back he screamed. In that one breath he voiced every pent up emotion, every vile act against his person and then turned to face them.

"Maurice Williams, this is your last warning get on your knees now or we will have no choice but to use deadly force." The faceless government agent shouted down the megaphone, his face dark beneath his standard issue visor.

"Fuck you," Maurice shouted, reaching with sudden speed into his jean's pocket. The reaction was instant and deadly, as numerous energy weapons discharged into his chest. Maurice landed on the grass verge, blown back by the combined blasts from their guns. With pain filled eyes he gazed up at the clear sky, a trail of thick black smoke curling out from his ruined chest.

"I'm, coming, Rachel," he managed to murmur, a weak smile playing on his bloodied lips. The enforcers rushed in, but his eyes were clouded over before they reached him. Checking his corpse they found no weapon, Maurice's draw a calculated suicide. Without a word they carried his body to the rear vehicle, his corpse quickly strapped down to a medical bed as the camp's doctor began to examine him. With another screech of their tracks they were gone, nothing to mark Maurice's passage except a patch of sticky crimson on the floor.

Maurice's sacrifice had struck a deadly blow, a blow that sent shock waves through the previously unassailable establishment. His email provided the common people with a starting point, a place to begin to examine their so called trusted rulers. The effects were far reaching and immediate with resistance movements springing forth and civil unrest beginning in cities where previously only dumb compliance had existed.

Around the world people logged on and read the truth, of course some disregarded the email as a hoax but more and more believed what they read. Whether the revolution will occur remains to be seen, but one thing is for sure; for the first time in recent history the world's people are finally beginning to wake up.

The End

