Near Future (SS) by Alastair Reynolds

Author:Alastair Reynolds
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2019-07-27T22:00:00+00:00

Viper

The man from the National Institute of Corrections reached the Bureau of Prisons checkpoint at sunset. His government-issue three-wheeler had been assembled from modular components that morning in Merced, for one journey only, plus the trip back to the disassembly center. Flashing his badge at the gate, Stockard mused that the car still smelled as if it had carried a thousand occupants—all with questionable hygiene.

Barrier up, he drove manually into the compound, parking next to a pair of railroad lines. Glancing into the mirror, he straightened his tie and tried to ignore the tide of perspiration licking around his collar.

He remembered the colonel.

He took the slip of paper from his pocket, glanced at the phone number one last time before chewing it to a pulp. Then got out of the car.

'This way, sir,' said a white-helmeted security guard, toting a machine-gun molded in lurid green polymer. 'Prison's due in about five minutes, so we'd better hurry.'

Near the horizon, a white line rippled in the haze. 'I knew I was late, but it looks miles away.'

'Be here sooner than you think.'

A single spotlessly white locomotive throbbed at a standst ill, coupled to a passenger car. Both items of stock were armored and emblazoned with eagle-and-shield seals, their windows fenced by grills. Stockard was helped aboard, the armored door closing immediately. Through one of the grilled windows, he saw the landscape start moving.

'First time out here, Mr Stockard?' Another correctional officer; buzz-cut hair the colour of ash. 'If so, there's a few things you need to know.'

'A prison's a prison,' Stockard said. The National Institute of Corrections was a smaller branch of government than the Bureau of Prisons, and Stockard was accustomed to condescension from the larger organisation, to which the NIC provided advisory and technical support. 'How different can it be?'

'One-hundred-and-thirty-miles-an-hour different.' The guard frisked him while he talked. Another went through Stockard's suit jacket and briefcase, handling the viper equipment with due caution, aware of the value it represented, if not its function. About twice as fast as we're moving now.'

'I wasn't planning on jumping.'

'Good thing, too. Wouldn't leave enough of you to top a pizza!'

Sparse prairie vegetation whisked past the tinted windows. Anyone try it?'

'Occasionally. If they can get to the outside of the train, which isn't easy. Then, of course, they're tempted—freedom's only a hop away.'

'So's Pizza Hut.'

'You got it!'

They handed him his briefcase, the viper equipment still inside.

'Move forward into the next compartment, please,' said the guard. 'The MIF'll be drawing alongside shortly, and we don't have much of a window to get you across.'

He was led through into a white-walled room. A guard itched a screen, fingers poised above a set of controls, day-glo rifle lc slung across his back. The screen showed the train Stock! d had seen in the distance, slowly pulling alongside. Three snorting locomotives hitched together at the front, armored like rhinoceros, hauling a string of wide, double-deck cars.

the room slid to one side; a mild bump signaling the meeting of the two trains.

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