The Good, the Bad and the Undecided

Gerge

GERGE

LOCATION: Classified

Gerge ran. His chest ached with every inhalation of contaminated air, and his muscles screamed, unused to such physical exertion. Still, he ran, as if the demons from the Xendia-damned fire-pits were at his heels.

The treasure gripped in his left hand felt heavier than it actually was. Perhaps it was the weight of the many lives relying on him to get the truth out.

Fear drove him forward when exhaustion should have broken him. It was not a pretty run by any means, more of a hobbling, galumphing jog. Still, he kept moving. He had to complete his mission.

The dirt road lay ahead, lifeless and silent; the dark, absolute. Two moons and the distant stars were obscured by heavy cloud cover. The heat was oppressive. A storm was coming. Gerge could smell it in the air. There was also a bitter taste of ozone along with the tang of rusted iron and burnt timber in the back of his throat. A glance over his shoulder failed to expose anyone behind him, but they were there. He could feel them gaining ground, and it was only a matter of time before they caught up with him. He’d never find a live terminal. Not out here. Not in the time he had left, the seconds slipping away even as he thought about it.

Desk monkey. Keyboard troll. His kind had many names. Zaambuka had not called him any of those. He’d seen something in Gerge that Gerge had never suspected was there. A good man.

Gerge had denied it until he’d turned blue. He destroyed lives, not saved them. Exposed dirty little secrets and laid bare grubby lies. It mattered not if his victims were angels or demons, he spilled it all. Then Zaambuka found him in his bunker and forced him into the light.

He had regrets. He had changed, become a different man, a better man. He still hunted for secrets to expose but now he did it for the lives he could save. Zaambuka had told him there would be salvation. Gerge had not believed him, but the choice had been to join or be imprisoned for life. The fear of a life without the holonet did what words could not. He’d joined. He’d trained. And then he’d gone to work.

And he had seen the light. The first life he saved filled him with a warmth that burned away the darkness in his soul. Pleasure was a drug he couldn’t get enough of. Happiness expanded as a gas inside him, leaving him walking on air. The anger was gone. The hatred he’d thought sustained him seeped away. He needed more of the light. To get it, he went to the darkest of places. Border world skirmishes became his hunting ground, where he searched for the ones who gave the orders. The thugs, the guards, the soldiers of fortune, the pirates. The undercover roles consumed his soul. The truth destroyed him. All that was left was for him to die. But not yet.

He had to find a terminal—he had to get the truth to someone who could do something about it. He had to find the light—but where would he find a terminal out here?

Ahead, a shadow appeared, shaping into a ground vehicle as he ran toward it. Then another. Rundown, burnt-out husks lay scattered along the deserted road. Had they been used for target practice? He hoped they had not been shot up while occupied. The heat of the data disk in his palm told him they probably had.

This shooting practice had not been conducted for fun or as a drunken escapade by teenagers too young and stupid to understand what they were doing. The training had a terrible purpose, as Gerge had discovered.

He stumbled down a shadow-filled street of barely standing buildings, the outline of what had once been a vibrant shopping precinct. Was that … a playground? He’d reached the outskirts of a broken city. Maybe he could find a power source somewhere amongst the ruins of this once-thriving metropolis.

A break in the fast-moving cloud cover turned the landscape into motionless monsters. The real monsters were behind him, closing fast. The slaps of his ancient shoes as they hit the road were slowing. Tiredness and his untrained body were giving up on him, denying his mind control over his limbs. The ache in his chest grew sharper and he prayed a heart attack would not take him before he could save his friends.

Friends? Who would have thought he’d find those out here? His team—his contacts—had become his family. Flashes of faces popped up inside his mind. A smile, a laugh, drinking, eating, loving. It was a time of joy and purpose. And then Gerge had found those files, the ones that detailed an attack by an impossible enemy. Delving deeper, he’d discovered altered orders, government patrols redeployed, delivery routes changed that opened gaps in the surveillance. It let something through. Something that needed to silence Gerge before he could report what he’d discovered.

All Gerge needed was time. For that, he had to be out of sight when his hunters drew near. An avian cry, sharp and high-pitched—a laugh of evil—sent shivers over Gerge’s skin. He chose the third abandoned home he found and ran inside, sidestepping broken furniture and ransacked belongings. He flipped the closest switch.

No power. Shenghi! Keep moving. Don’t stop. He tripped over something in the dark. It sent him sprawling to the dust-laden carpet. Plumes of death rose up into the air and up his nose, tickling his brain. A sneeze built. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow as the explosive sound threatened to betray his location. He had to be more careful. To break a bone now or twist an ankle would be the end. He pictured the children, giant eyes and large heads, their pleading voices begging for help. Ollie’s look of horror, Vuffa’s tears, Mads’s anger.

Gerge picked himself up. His pale green hands stained grey with ash and dust. He hobbled through the rear door, shoving between the slats of a broken back fence to reach the next house. It took three more buildings before he hit the prize, the globe above his head sputtering to life, exposing blood-stained blue walls.

Forcing what that meant from his mind, Gerge searched for a working terminal through the shell of what had once likely been a happy home. Broken glass, shattered dolls and torn clothing were all that remained. In the office, he found more broken screens and devices. His dirty fingers scrambled on each one—the slightest spark was all he needed—but it was no use. He’d have to try another house. Gerge was so close to success, he could practically taste it in the pungent air.

A sharp whistle in the distance sent him to his knees. He glimpsed bobbing lights through the broken windows, growing larger as they drew closer.

Too late. You have failed.

Still, he forced his weary body up and bolted down the stairs. The stairs led to a basement. No way out. But there, on the wall … a terminal. The glass display was somehow undisturbed after all this time. It powered up beneath shaking fingers which flew over the detachable keyboard. He thrust the data disk into the terminal dock, grabbed the keyboard and hobbled across the room to scoot under a desk. He could do this next part blindfolded—or crammed into a desk footwell.

His fingers danced, entering command codes he’d long since memorized, before hitting the send sequence with a flourish. Done.

He felt it. The warmth filled his blood. Zaambuka had been right. Gerge had changed. He saw the light and it was wonderful.

A sharp confirmation beep brought his head up, cracking his skull sharply on the underside of the desk. Too loud. Then he heard a different sound, one that flared his nostrils with fear. Boots on the stairs heralding his death.

Gerge made out the whine of a charging weapon, closed his eyes and let himself fall into the light.