Read Online Against Gravity by Gary Gibson - Free Book Online

him. “I am taking decisive action, which is a phrase President Wilber likes to use a lot. We both know men like him only get elected under the most
extreme circumstances, and this country is currently under some very extreme circumstances indeed.”
    The soldier stepped forward and placed a hand on Marco’s chest. Kendrick wouldn’t have put him at more than seventeen or eighteen. A thin fuzz coating his cheeks made him appear even
younger.
    “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to take your seat again.” The words were directed also at Kendrick.
    “Fuck you,” Marco replied loudly and decisively, the words reverberating in the confines of the shed. The uniformed boy faltered. “I’ve not been charged. I haven’t done anything. Neither has anyone else here. So, fuck you .”
    Another soldier stepped over, this one older, his uniform decorated with a sergeant’s stripes. He dismissed the first soldier with a nod of his head.
    “I’m going to ask both of you to return to your seats and wait for your interviews.” He pointed one meaty hand at the chairs they had just vacated. “You’re under
military jurisdiction as long as you’re here. That means now .”
    Something remarkable happened then. Marco raised his hands to shoulder height, putting a grin on his face, a parody of surrender. The sergeant’s face relaxed a little. Kendrick was looking
at the sergeant, which was why he didn’t see Marco suddenly pull one of his arms back and throw it forward, punching the sergeant hard in the face.
    The soldier reeled back, looking more surprised than hurt. Marco sprinted past them both with remarkable agility, clearly heading for the nearest exit. Kendrick started forward again, not sure
exactly what he intended to do but nonetheless feeling driven to do something , when he felt a hand grab him roughly.
    He spun round, just in time to see another soldier swing his hand around in an arc, his pistol held grip outwards in a motion that connected with the side of Kendrick’s head. Kendrick spun
round, crumpling to the ground, flecks of darkness dancing across his vision.
    He retched, staring through a forest of chair legs. Somewhere very close a woman screamed. As he pulled himself up onto his knees, he saw the sergeant whom Marco had punched standing with legs
planted firmly apart, his pistol gripped firmly between two fists and pointed directly at Kendrick’s head.
    This was how Kendrick remembered what happened next.
    Marco, framed by sunlight, visible beyond the island of chairs . . . the soldier who had pistol-whipped Kendrick yelling incoherently . . . Marco, far more agile than Kendrick might ever have
suspected, now just a few metres from the exit. And then a deafening explosion that, in Kendrick’s memory, went on and on for ever.
    He had stood up on trembling legs to see Marco lying in a crumpled silent heap, one arm stretched out so that the slanting light from beyond the exit was touching it. People around Kendrick
stared on in unbelieving horror, like lambs who were catching their first glimpse of the slaughterhouse.
    A few months later, Kendrick could only wish that he’d had as much sense and courage as Marco.
    14 October 2096
Edinburgh
    Kendrick woke to bright morning light. He mumbled a word to the windowscreen and a series of numerals appeared as grey shadows superimposed on the opaque glass.
    He should leave before Caroline woke, he thought. He hauled himself up from the thin sheets she’d given him and padded barefoot into the kitchen before he became aware that she’d
already left.
    The door to her bedroom lay open and he peeked inside. Very gone. One dream in particular had been astonishingly vivid and, strangely uncertain how much of it actually had been a dream,
he re-entered the living room.
    He’d dreamed that he had opened his eyes to see Caroline standing just beyond the couch he lay on. In the dream, the windowscreen was no longer opaque: pale moonlight outlined her naked