Provenance I - Flee The Bonds by V J Kavanagh Page A

orders?’
    ‘Yes. The team meets at training facility sixteen tomorrow, so I must do this tonight. Is it a test?’
    ‘Not at all. I’ve read your file, we’re lucky to have you. It’s just that I need the recon data for PreOps and you know the area.’
    At the end of the two-hour lunch, they took a leisurely stroll to the central tram station.
    ‘You must go back now? Francois eyebrows rose. ‘You have not seen Bordeaux at night.’
    Steve compressed his lips. ‘Sorry, duty calls. I’ll be back, and next time I’m paying.’
    As the flight hub express accelerated away, Steve raised his hand. Francois appeared nervous; perhaps he really did believe it was a test.

20:22 SUN 22:10:2119
    Intra Zone, Wiltshire, England, Sector 2
    Cool Breeze’s sensors had logged the couriered delivery at 13:53. By a macabre twist of events, Jason had been recorded as the consignor. Steve sat on the settee, pressed his thumb on the container’s biofield lock and watched the lid retract.
    His face wrinkled at the sight of a gunmetal box stamped Spectral Analyser KV17 and a black rectangular pouch.
    The Spectral Analyser appeared to be a dismantled Cogent, although not a variant he’d seen before. As he assembled it, he noted the differences. A larger plasma pack, an extended barrel and a serrated wheel where the amplitude slider should have been. As the wheel rolled under his thumb, it changed colour: blue, yellow, red, white. His model didn’t have a white setting. Neither did anyone else’s.
    He placed the Cogent on the table, unzipped the black pouch and removed the IMK. Possession of an Identity Masking Kit carried the same punishment as identity masking itself. SIS removed your biofield implant, and then released you. Then they released the Prefect.
    Swiping the pin-chip over his MCD opened the instructions. The emboldened red heading was hard to miss, ‘ WARNING - PROTOTYPE. READ INSTRUCTIONS CAREFULLY .’ Steve skipped to the interesting parts. Black-market IMKs already existed, but they were unreliable, and painful. This one offered several identities, with both cyclical and random configurations. Whoever had manufactured it had access to Provenance’s research labs, and the authority to hide it.
    He sat back and clasped his hands behind his head. Jason had sent him an IMK, a modified Cogent and a riddle. There were many benign uses for an IMK, none for a Cogent that powerful. The inference seemed clear. It had been enhanced to kill something non-human. Something he had yet to meet.
    After removing his MPS, Steve fastened one of the IMK’s clear plastic strips, ensuring the metallic square covered the inductor on the underside of his wrist. He then swallowed a capsule, which according to the instructions contained a synthetic compound of UV11 polycyclic hydrocarbon, capable of altering his bio photon emissions for up to twelve hours. He replaced the MPS, selected an identity from the list displayed on the MCD and passed it over his wrist.
    Mr Wilkinson, who worked for the Environmental Standards Authority, was going out for the evening. He’d arranged to meet Paul Nicholson at 22:00.
     
    * * * *
 
    Mitzys resided in an impressive stone building on the corner of Edgware Road and Star Street. It covered two floors and was one of the most popular nightspots in the Black Zone.
    Steve moved to the front of the queue and nodded at the doorman who opened the opaque glass door. Noisy protests followed him into the pulsating interior.
    Fashion-conscious socialites flowed around circular metal tables that grew from the glassy floor like thin mushrooms. Ahead, behind the blue crystalline bar, shelves of unlabelled bottles radiated white, illuminating bright eyes and even brighter smiles. Steve turned left towards the glittering stairs and the pounding beat.
    The first floor was no less crowded; a swell of bodies gyrated to deafening music on kaleidoscopic glass tiles. Sweet perfume and heavy cologne swirled in the conditioned