2089. Miles M Hudson
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nobody ever considered watching the camera feeds. This is the first security incident here since it was reconfigured for use by the sifters. I’ve never even been in the CCTV monitoring room in my whole life, until yesterday.’
There were more photos showing the bombs being placed in the basement. However, as they ran entirely separately from the main infonetwork, the servers for the camera system were in this upstairs office. He leant against the chest-high computer and said, ‘These beauties have been overwriting their own data on a seven-day rolling recording, unwatched, for fifty years.’
The footage showed Jack installing the bombs during a four-hour period after his last shift. The infotechs had watched the tapes over and over again, astounded that he had managed the task silently, and blindfolded. ‘So the audiopts didn’t pick up anything,’ the major mused out loud.
‘Thank Malthus he put the explosive materials in sections of the underground server rooms that were unmanned. Gotta be grateful for small mercies,’ the man concluded.
‘I’d say that was a pretty big mercy,’ Halthrop concluded in return. Frank held up the picture for all to commit to memory, and inwardly mulled over how bandits, historically, had often swathed the lower and upper parts of their faces so only the eyes were visible. This picture was the inverse — Smith’s full face showing, with only the eyes covered.
Although legs were tired, the ten-kilometre journey to Highnam took much less than an hour. As Frank had anticipated, the railway line was an easy and level route. If anything, it went slightly downhill. They went straight to the Kangaroo Spokesperson’s house. Some forty red bricks were piled randomly in a little heap at the gable end of the house. Other than the bricks, the place was very neatly kept, a tidy garden and the building in very good order.
Lloyd Lloyd opened the door to the visitors before they had all dismounted. He walked out into the bright afternoon sun and welcomed them with a booming, ‘So good to see you again, Major Halthrop. And posse.’
The major stepped forward and shook Lloyd Lloyd’s outstretched hand. The other three troops nodded a greeting in unison. The Spokesperson wore no sunglasses and held his other hand to shade his eyes. ‘Thanks again for your work with Derek Jones. I trust that all went off according to plan? Actually, sorry, more important matter.’ Highnam’s representative wrung his hands. ‘We’re all in a bit of a tizz as I’m sure you can imagine. I’ve already sent the Cirencester posse to Ellie Smith’s old farmhouse. The late Ellie Smith, that is — been dead more than a year. Place has been empty since then. Jack came back for the funeral but only stayed a couple of days. And he disappeared the next day. Without a word of goodbye. Been shut up since then.’
Major Halthrop held up a hand to halt Lloyd Lloyd. ‘Just tell us the way, and we’ll go and have a look for ourselves.’ He looked over his shoulder, but Jane already had the plan of the village open and resting across the top of the trailer behind Darren’s bike.
‘I remember this place,’ Darren almost shouted.
Halthrop’s hand of silence swung round to hush his charges.
Jane nodded at each instruction and, when he was finished, she looked up to the major and nodded several times quickly, without speaking. Halthrop’s reply nod was barely perceptible, but she caught it and folded the map away.
He proffered his hand to Lloyd Lloyd. The man shook it strongly but still sounded nervy. ‘Please catch him. The last thing we want is to go back to the dangers of the Times of Malthus.’
Major Halthrop nodded, and said, ‘I think the security of your village is beyond the catching of Jack Smith. It’s the infotechs at the Doughnut that we’re all relying on now.’
The bicycle convoy was a strange sight for the villagers in Highnam. Bikes were common; it was the uniforms that were unusual. The Fifth Covenant of Jerusalem disallowed mass influence. The upshot was that uniformed groupings of people had all but disappeared. The few militiamen across the country that remained ready for activation for posse purposes were all part-timers. Only about half the militias still used any sort of uniform at all.
Boots were highly coveted in 2089. The remainder stocks in warehouses around the country were being depleted. Common sizes were extinct and had to be handmade or repaired. Military boots were less popular than work boots, but one of Frank’s forward-thinking predecessors commanding the Bristol Brigade had taken a large collection into store at HQ for future use.
Ellie Smith’s farmhouse had been built halfway up a slope that descended from the centre of Highnam. The land met the River Leadon as it completed a large meander before turning east to join the Severn a little over a kilometre away. From her house, the grassy fields continued down a slope for about 200 metres before flattening out for another 200 metres to the river. She had only ever worked about half the land, and the property was not assiduously protected. The vegetation had not run wild, as the lack of fencing encouraged the animals of other Highnam residents to graze there freely.
The evening remained hot and humid. The Bristol Brigade parked up their bikes on the large patio, which was enclosed on two sides by the L-shaped farmhouse.
Darren sniffed the air and commented, ‘It’s gonna rain, Frank. I’d say a lot of rain.’ The party stood by their bicycles and, at Darren’s forecast, looked up at the moody clouds.
The house itself was old, more than a hundred years, of brick and wood construction, with red roof tiling.
Inside, the rooms were darkening quickly as the sun had just set. The main solar panel array had been disconnected — some of the panels had been removed. The posse all had rechargeable lantern torches, and the three younger members were eager to use some of the equipment they had brought along. Even just using the lanterns was exciting.
Again, another posse had been through the place already, although they had treated this house with rather more respect. Major Halthrop wondered if it was even the same team that had ransacked Jack’s house.
Jane pointed to a spot on a table at the end of the main living room where, amongst pictures and ornaments, there was a gap. ‘Look, Frank. I’d guess that the other posse took a photo of the fugitive.’
The boss nodded and they continued looking around. There was nothing of obvious interest; it all looked just as one might expect for an old house whose only occupant had died a year previously. A layer of dust covered most surfaces, albeit disturbed in places. If there had been any clues, they were no longer there.
Chapter Seven
Vicky glided across the lawn to the old farmhouse. The ranch-style architecture had been copied from the original family farm when Grandfather Truva settled near Highnam, after fleeing Turkey’s civil war. Bailey and Truvan stood together on the edge of the long veranda. Both brothers, thumbs hooked into their front pockets, looked at their approaching sister.
‘Who’s our guest?’ Bailey almost shouted to Vicky, although she was by then only three metres away. She just smiled and shook her head, eyeing up the matching floppy, brown haircuts.
Truvan stopped nodding and followed up with, ‘Have we finally discovered some husband material?’
Vicky stopped at the first veranda stair and looked up at the twenty-nine-year-old twins. She broadened her smile. This did not so much have the effect of lighting up her face as giving it a backlit glow. ‘I don’t think so,’ she replied. ‘It’s Jack Smith. Do you remember old Ellie Smith who died last year? He’s her grandson.’
‘Ah, you mean Beautiful Ellie,’ said Truvan, as Bailey looked at him and nodded with a smile.
Bailey continued, ‘Distant Beautiful Ellie. Even at over eighty, she had a… ’ He paused, choosing the right word.
‘Majesty,’ concluded Truvan, and they both stared at the line of poplars at the front end of their land.
Vicky strode up the stairs saying, ‘If I didn’t know you two were gay, I’d swear you’d