TIME TO SERVE: CH 3 PREVIEW
CHAPTER THREE
1 hour, 8 minutes and 19 seconds earlier.
Yorkshire England, Wednesday August 13th 2262
10:58:50 hours
"Freeze!" came a command which made him nearly jump out of his skin. He looked up to find that he wasn't in his own home but was in a brightly lit white room devoid of any furniture. There were seven uniformed GPA officers before him; six of them were pointing paralysis pistols at him.
"Simon R..." the superior officer started officially.
"What the hell is going on?" Simon shouted, not daring to move; he had heard about the pain one of those paralysis pistols could deliver.
"Mr Kingsley please let me finish," the same officer said calmly. He was positioned in the centre of the room and was the only officer that was unarmed. His team flanked both his sides; poised for action.
Simon remained quiet.
"Your teleport has been intercepted and you have been redirected to the National Government Police Station in Yorkshire."
Simon's face fell; he couldn't for the life of him think why he had been brought here.
The superior officer continued. "I am placing you under an apprehension order for the alleged rape of Government Minister Hillary Jane Bartlett, and the alleged assault of Mr Norman Bradleigh. You will be held here until we decide otherwise. All your rights as a citizen of England have been rescinded, your Virtual Credit account is now frozen and all teleportation privileges have been suspended. Your possessions and property now belong to the government until such a time when you are released from custody. I am advising you to remain silent until we are ready to proceed with your case and you are under interview conditions."
The officer paused for a breath. "Do you understand?"
"Yes," Simon confirmed, feeling like his whole life was over. His stomach churned; he was so nauseous that he felt like vomiting. How was he going to get out of this?
The superior officer approached Simon. "Mr Kingsley, I must advise you that there is absolutely no means of escape from this station so you will not be restrained in any way. It's in your best interest to comply with all my commands. My men will shoot you if you cause any trouble or show any violence. The pain from one of our paralysis pistils is said to be quite severe and can last up to twenty seconds; the complete muscle paralysis normally lasts no more than five minutes. I wouldn't recommend that you present me with any reason to give the order to fire."
"I won't," Simon said nervously. He glanced down at the superior officer's breast pocket and the small flexible screen woven into the fabric. He wasn't surprised to see GPS Alan Collard was displayed as his identity. He had never met this man before so why did his name feel so familiar?
"Great," GPS Collard said with an enthusiastic smile. "Then we will get along just fine."
He turned to his team. "I think you can lower your weapons now, Mr Kingsley has promised to behave himself."
The six officers lowered their pistols and holstered them in their belts.
GPS Collard turned back to Simon. "Oh, one other thing, you may or may not know, paralysis pistols will only fire when in the hands of the person they are programmed for; there would be no point in you attempting to snatch and use one."
Simon nodded, his heart racing in his chest, his mind working overtime. He had never faced this much trouble before. His brush with the law a few months ago had been a worry; this was in a different league altogether. He thought back to their school friend Rakesh. Spencer had only informed them in the pub the previous week that he had been sentenced to ten years with no visitation rights for rape. His stomach continued to do somersaults; it took a concentrated effort not to vomit.
"Marvellous! I do like full compliance; it makes my job so much easier." He turned again to his team. "GPO's..." He stopped what he was about to say. Two of his officers had stepped forward.
He looked at the two men in disbelief. "I'm a little taken aback...I was about to ask you both to remain behind and assist me in escorting Mr Kingsley...and you have already stepped forward, before I even asked...what...how?"
"I just had an overwhelming feeling that you were going to call me forward; I can't explain it Sir."
"Oh. Thank you GPO Flynn...GPO Worthing, did you have the same urge?"
"This entire situation feels a little odd Sir," GPO Worthing confirmed, "it's as if I have been here before...in this situation before. I stepped forward as GPO Flynn did; before we arrived to intercept Kingsley I knew we would be using this room too."
"How peculiar..." GPS Collard pondered for a second or two and then shook off a shiver that ran up his spine. He addressed the other GPO's. "The rest of you can leave; we can handle Mr Kingsley from here on."
The four GPO's filed out of the room. GPO Flynn and Worthing came forward and stood on either side of their prisoner. Simon quickly eyed them up and down. Both were male officers and were considerably taller than he was. These were men he wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of.
GPS Collard checked his strap. "We are going to take Mr Kingsley to interrogation room one-zero-one," he informed his officers as he prepared to leave the room, "let's go."
"Excuse me," Simon said meekly, stopping the exit before it had started.
"Yes Mr Kingsley?" GPS Collard questioned before turning around and looking quizzically at him.
"I was on my way home when you intercepted my teleport...erm...my first stop was going to be the bathroom."
GPS Collard smiled. "I'm sure we can make a stop on the way."
Simon was led out of the room and into an equally white and brightly lit corridor. It had exactly the same feel as the room they had just left - overly lit and far too white. The door quickly slid shut with a hiss barely a second after passing through the doorway. Simon flinched with the suddenness of it. He glanced back at the door which now sealed the room; Apprehension room fifty-one was etched into the face of it in bold black letters. GPS Collard led the way, his men stood either side of Simon as they closely followed their superior.
The corridor's white rubberised flooring silenced any noise their shoes would have made as they progressed down it. The walls appeared to be of a rubber consistency too. Simon thought about putting his hand out to touch one, but was concerned that it would be seen as a hostile act somehow and he would be shot for it.
On his right-hand side he noted similar doors positioned about every three metres. The apprehension room numbers continued up to seventy-four. As they approached the next door he somehow knew that it would be number twelve, not seventy-five; he was right, Interrogation room twelve was etched in black on the face. How odd, he thought, he had never been down this corridor in his life before.
All of a sudden a high-pitched siren started up which made them all jump. Seconds later, right at the end of the corridor, a figure appeared from round the corner and started running straight at them. Moments later three GPO's rounded the corner giving chase to the figure that loomed nearer. From that distance all Simon could make out was that the figure was a man, and he was dressed in a grey suit; he must have been quite old as he appeared to have grey hair. Prompted into action by the siren the three men that accompanied Simon sprang into action.
"Get him down!" bellowed GPS Collard at his officers.
The two of them grabbed Simon by the arms and screamed "ON THE FLOOR!" in unison as they forced him to the ground. Simon didn't put up a struggle and let himself be forced face down on the rubberised flooring. The pain from his cracked ribs took his breath away. He tilted his face up slightly so that his chin rested on the floor instead of his mouth and nose. He could feel one officer holding his ankles apart on the floor, his feet pointing outwards at an uncomfortable angle. The other had his arms pinned up his back.
"Mr Kingsley, I've got my pistol pointed straight at your balls, blink too quickly and I'll fire," threatened GPS Collard.
Simon remained still. GPS Alan Collard was now showing what he was really like. From his worms eye view on the floor Simon heard the running footsteps getting closer. The resonance of them and the voices of the officers seem affected by the rubberised flooring and wall covering. It sounded clipped short, abruptly deadened as it was absorbed into the rubbery surfaces.
Simon strained his eyes upward, not daring to move his head at all, as the old man in the grey rushed past. He couldn't see any higher than the man's knees from this angle; his shoes, half a metre away from his head, were covered in dust as if he had just raced across rough sun-baked terrain rather than up a corridor.
The three officers giving chase sprinted past even closer than the old man had.
"Stay down Mr Kingsley," GPS Collard warned him.
The eerie siren continued for several more minutes. The three officers held their positions while it continued. When it finally died out Simon heard GPS Collard instruct his men to 'get him up'.
They let go of his arms and ankles and helped him up from the floor. Simon looked at GPS Collard with a questioning look, expecting an explanation.
"I'm sorry about that Mr Kingsley. When the siren goes off all prisoners have to be detained as a security measure, regardless of the nature of the incident. It looks like the old boy was foolishly making an attempt to escape. There is nowhere to run to so I guess he's been caught by now."
"Why didn't you try and stop him?" Simon asked. "He ran straight past you."
"You are our priority Mr Kingsley, no one else. If we intervene then who knows what could happen. You could have attempted to run yourself in all the commotion. We have strict rules that must be followed to the letter; they serve us well."
The group continued their route further down the corridor. After a couple of minutes GPS Collard stopped at a door.
"The toilet Mr Kingsley," he said, one of his smiles making a reappearance.
"Thank you," Simon replied as his two minders stepped aside.
The door had Prisoner toilet eighty-four etched into it. Was every room numbered, Simon thought as it slid open before him?
"Take as long as you wish Mr Kingsley, we will be right out here," GPS Collard announced.
WAs that some kind of warning Simon thought, as he entered the room.
He was not at all surprised that the same bright and white décor continued in the lavatories also. The door closed behind him giving him some privacy from the officers. The room contained a toilet and a basin which was set into a small counter-top opposite. Simon swiftly went over to the toilet. It detected his presence and whilst he unzipped himself the seat and lid lifted up, the pan determined that he was facing toward the toilet, and not away from it, and rose higher out of the floor in line with his upper thigh.
Simon relieved himself for what seemed like minutes. He looked around the small room as he did. There was no escaping from in here he thought. He wasn't too disappointed; it wasn't as if he had expected an open window and a low roof on the other side of it that would have led to freedom.
As he finished and zipped himself back up, the toilet flushed and sanitised itself. Simon approached the basin which had already started to run a mixture of warm water and antibacterial fluid from the tap.
He glanced at his reflection in the mirror behind the sink for only a second when he noticed something scrawled on it in what appeared to be orange lipstick.
Simon, you are going to be sent down. You must take your strap with you; it will have to be concealed inside you. I know it's in your left trouser pocket with a broken band. I also know that Katie Briggins is the reason you have that scar on your eyebrow.
Simon was dumbstruck. He re-read the note again. Who had left it for him? Which of the women that he knew wore orange lipstick? His mum did of course!
He recalled the numerous jibes over the years about the colour; him saying it was orange and her correcting him saying it was Autumnal Sunset. Was this lipstick here his mum's? If it was how could she have known he was going to visit this toilet? How could she have even got into the building for that matter? More importantly how the hell could she know about Katie Briggins!? It couldn't be his mum. Larry and Spencer were the only two people he had told 'exactly' what he was doing that hot summer's day aged fourteen when he had lost his balance and fell out of the wheel barrow, with his shorts around his knees. He had been balanced precariously in it on tiptoe to see over the bottom fence. His neighbour's eighteen-year-old daughter, Katie Briggins, had been sunbathing topless on the other side of it. Neither Larry nor Spencer would dream of sharing that information with his mum. She, like everyone else, knew the amended version. The one that involved him cutting and bruising his eye after a tumble down the garden path.
One of them must have blabbed at some point, but to whom and why?
Who knew he had broken his strap or that it was in his left pocket? The children he had left behind in Gallant Close along with the staff, probably Hillary Jane and her not so dead husband...but very precise actually stating which pocket it was in.
Simon had a sense of foreboding wash over him. If whoever knew these things was right, he was going to be found guilty of rape and sentenced. He put his hands down on the counter to steady himself. He was nauseous and light-headed. He felt compelled to believe the writer of the message, but couldn't explain why. There had been some strange unexplainable occurrences lately; if there was a bigger picture, there were just too many parts missing. Simon thought back to his childhood and the holographic puzzles he used to play with. If you didn't know what the finished holo-scene was it would have been nearly impossible to work out. Having twenty or thirty random shapes with fragmented imagery floating about in front of you, could be extremely confusing.
He had a very strange feeling that all these recent occurrences were somehow related - could they be?? He thought about why he would need to conceal his strap inside himself. If he couldn't wear it on his wrist then that probably meant it would be confiscated at some point. He put his hand into his trouser pocket and pulled it out. Should he do as instructed? Would he regret it later if he didn't? One look at the size of it and he knew he could never swallow it...that only left one other place. He looked at the note again. He had to do this. He rushed back to the toilet undoing his trousers as he went. He pulled them and his underwear down to his knees and looked at the strap again. He had better deactivate it.
"Deactivate dat-com strap; reactivate in..." he paused. How long should he set it for? How long would he have to conceal it? "One hundred and twenty hours," he finished in a hushed voice, concerned that he would be overheard and that the time wasn't long enough. The screen went blank.
He twisted back round to face the toilet. Thankfully the government believed in cleansing antibacterial gel as well as lavatory paper. He dispensed a large amount of gel into his hand and covered his strap with it. Here goes, he thought, as he squatted down.
There was a loud bang on the door. "Is everything alright in there?"
Simon jumped violently, nearly losing his balance. He answered without hesitation. "I have a bit of an upset stomach; I think I'm nearly done now."
"Fine," GPS Collard replied.
Simon inserted his strap, with much difficulty, discomfort and more antibacterial gel; pushing it up as far as he could. He grabbed a handful of lavatory paper and wiped off the excess gel before dropping it in the toilet, which automatically flushed and sanitised itself again. He quickly pulled up his underwear and trousers as he headed back to the sink. He re-read the message one last time and then, with a wet soapy hand, rubbed at the orange words until they had blurred into a big orange smudge. Further antibacterial fluid, water and lavatory paper erased all trace of the message.
He dried his hands in the basin and checked his appearance in the mirror; he looked flushed and felt flustered. He fingered his collar in an attempt to loosen his green and white tartan tie. His navy suit had dusty patches on it here and there where he had been forced to the floor. He brushed at the more noticeable of them with the palms of his hands, took a deep breath and stepped in front of the door. It opened to reveal the three officers.
"All done Mr Kingsley?" GPS Collard asked smiling again.
"Er, yes. Thank you," Simon answered, hoping they wouldn't pick up on his flushed and flustered state. GPS's Flynn and Worthing eyed him up and down silently. Had they been listening at the door? Was the prisoner toilet soundproof? He hadn't heard them.
The rest of the journey was uneventful. Simon was a little uncomfortable, he felt he'd cut himself pushing the strap up his backside. It felt sore and wet. Was he bleeding? Was he walking any differently because of it?
At the end of the corridor it branched off to the right. Before long they had reached interrogation room one hundred and one. The door slid aside and they filed in. The spacious room was empty apart from a large high-gloss black table positioned in the centre with two matching chairs neatly tucked under it, one on either side. The black was a complete contrast to the continuing bright white theme. An identical door on the other side of the room faced the one they had just passed through.
GPS Collard spoke in a hushed tone to his men who huddled in to listen. "I'll leave you here with Kingsley. I am going to get an updated report on the details of the case before I start the interrogation, I'll see what I can find out about the old boy we saw trying to escape too."
He turned to Simon. "Take a seat Mr Kingsley, I may be awhile."
Simon pulled out one of the chairs and sat down gingerly. He placed his head in his hands and recalled the words on the note that said he was going to be sent down. He was being held for the alleged rape of a Government Minister, so was all this just a formality now? Had it already been decided that he was to be charged. It must have. How would the writer of the message have known about it otherwise? Perhaps he had an ally here at the station, someone on his side. If all this was true there was no way he was going to be able to talk his way out of this predicament. He fought the urge to vomit again as he contemplated the potential consequences of what had happened in Somerset. He swallowed down the gnarled lump of grief that stuck in his throat and threatened to choke him. He lowered his trembling hands to the table in front of him and looked up. GPS Collard had gone leaving him with his two officers. They each stood silently by a door. Both were watching him.