Identity X Page 4

  He swiped his card again in front of the screen and the same grey X appeared, but this time he noticed that underneath it in the place of the usual generic greeting another word was displayed:

  Unregistered.

  “What?” he said to himself. He swiped the card twice more, and each time he saw the same bewildering response. There was another gate to the left, and he walked over and held his card out in front of the screen, concealing it from the view of the people behind him. Same thing. He looked up to see a security guard standing in the main doorway, his interest pricked by the well-dressed individual struggling to get through the entrance gates. Ben was drawing attention to himself. He stood back, and let the woman who was waiting behind him pass. He thought about trying to sneak through behind her as the gate opened, but if he got too close to her and she caused a scene, that would be game over. The security guard would have him on the floor in seconds and that would be his day done. He would be hauled down to the Central Government Offices, and that was if he was lucky. If not, he’d get thrown in the cells of the central jail where all crime was dealt with now. There was no local police station anymore, and identity card crime was taken very seriously. Not dealing with an identity card fault could be enough to land you with a fine and a month in prison. They didn’t rush to get you processed. It was no issue for them to let you languish in there for a month or so whilst you waited in turn amongst the real criminals.

  Snatching at an idea, Ben took out his telephone and pretended to answer a call. He spoke in his loudest, most obnoxious voice, a tone which said whatever I have to say is more important than what you have to say. He made sure that everybody around him, including the security guard, heard him.

  “Yes, I told you already that I would be there in court for midday. I am your lawyer and I will be there.” Ben looked up and could see that the security guard had registered the telephone call. It was a good enough excuse not to carry on into the underground station where there would be questionable signal and a high chance of dropping the obviously important call. “I only stopped to answer your call.” Ben looked up briefly, and spotting that the security guard was turning away from him he took his chance. This was one of the few stations where the security entrance gates still had low level walls either side of them. They hadn’t been raised because Whitegate was considered a very desirable area in which to live. It was believed that high walls in such a station would have made the local passengers feel discriminated against, targeted.

  As soon as the guards eyes had spun around Ben placed both hands onto the wall, and with as much force as he could, propelled his body weight over the wall in one giant hurdle. Arriving on the other side he scurried away, turning back only once to check whether the guard had noticed him. If he had, or if somebody else pointed out his misdemeanour he would know about it in seconds. If it had been two or three hours earlier the guard would have been standing closer to the doors, controlling the crowd where necessary, rendering Ben’s top-of-the-head-plan useless. But the guard’s attention was focussed towards the outside of the building, distracted by a fortunate altercation, and Ben was within minutes of boarding his train.

  The lusty smell of pastry was ever present in the station. He rummaged in his pocket as he passed, and could feel a few stray coins. He thought about stopping, but he wanted to get on the train and get away as fast as he could. It would take only one person to mention that they had seen him skip over the wall. People who had problems with their identity cards made people nervous. It was the same for people who paid with money, if a shop would still permit it. If you weren’t using your identity card there was a reason, and that reason usually meant trouble.

  Ben could hear the train approaching and he could feel the gust of cold air as it filtered up through the tunnels. He quickened his pace, his footsteps resonating on the ground like a ticking clock counting down the last seconds before his escape. He risked a glance over his shoulder every now and again to ensure that he wasn’t being followed. Ducking his head as he boarded the platform, he jumped straight onto the waiting train and sat down in a quiet corner.

  What was wrong with his card? What the hell did unregistered mean?

  As the train pulled out of the station he looked back at the platform to see nothing but silence. Nobody had followed him. Nobody had reported him. Nobody had seen his illegal jump, or, they had chosen to ignore it.

  He slouched down in his seat, half trying to hide from the other people that were travelling in the same carriage, and half to continue his efforts to soothe his throbbing head. His brain felt like it had been on fire, charred and brittle, rubbing angrily against his skull. His stomach too felt like it had been pulled inside out. He was gripped in a hunger and thirst that he had never experienced before, and he needed something to counteract it fast. He was at least a twenty minute ride from the office. The effects of the earlier coffee hit had worn off, and he could feel the sensation of tiredness starting to wash over him again. He wanted desperately to close his eyes and take advantage of the next twenty minutes, but it was a stupid idea and he had to fight it.

  When he had hopped over the wall he hadn’t much contemplated what he was going to do at the other end of the line. You needed an identity card to get out of the station as well. There was no chance of hopping over the wall at a quiet moment at his next stop. That was Central City. There would be security guards on the gates, and the walls were high. The only way out of the station was through the gates, and the only way out through the gates was with an identity card. He had imprisoned himself on the train.

  Ben looked around at the people in his carriage: an old lady carrying too much shopping, and one other guy like him, dressed smartly, carrying a briefcase. It was too quiet in this carriage. He stood up and moved through to the next, where he found a woman with a child and a young girl of no more than twelve years old wearing plaits and a pinafore dress. Ben moved methodically through the carriages until he found what he was looking for. The difficult element of his search was that he didn’t know exactly what it was that he was searching for. Yet as he stumbled into the fourth carriage, busy and crowded, he saw it. A teenager, no more than eighteen. Alone. He was wearing headphones like the kid from the night before and remained oblivious to what was happening around him. He sat listening to his music, bopping and nodding his head in time with the electric beat. To Ben he looked like he might be a trouble maker. Yes, got to be. Might even be in a gang, he reasoned. He had him down as the type of teenager who would help a fallen pensioner only to snatch their purse. Little bastard, he said to himself, as if his thoughts had become reality. They passed Western Two, and then Western One. They rode through Central Four, Three, and Two. The boy with the headphones was still sitting there. He was young but he was big. This was important. Ben’s plan was useless if he was just another kid. The train pulled up into Central One. Ben waited. The kid looked up at the screen. He stood up. If he got off the plan was ruined.

  What should I do? Get off with him here? Walk the rest of the way?

  Ben knew that his plan was only going to work in a busy station, and nobody used Central One. It was so close to Central City that everybody waited and got off there. He braced himself, ready to follow if he stepped off at the last minute.

  Does he realise I have been watching him? Is he trying to lose me?

  Just as the kid looked like he was going to disembark, the bell sounded and the doors closed in front of him. Ben eased back in his chair. His plan was still on.

  Ben stood up as the train pulled into Central City station. The alarm sounded and the doors opened automatically. The kid slouched his way to the exit. There was a crowd; at least thirty people all getting off at the same time. Ben followed the kid, keeping back a few paces but staying close enough not to lose him as they negotiated the narrow corridors and neon theatrical advertisements. He could see the exit gates coming into view and there was already a small queue forming. Central City station was always mayhem, and if ever there
was a problem it was dealt with. Quickly. With that many people coming through the gates decisions were made fast, and action was swift. Ben was counting on that today.

  The kid was just in front of him, with only a few people between. They were about fifty meters or so away from the gate. It had to be perfectly timed so that any other variables were rendered void. As the crowd of people approached the gate, Ben darted his way through, stepping in front of other suited men and perfectly made up women.

  Thirty meters to the gate.

  Two people to pass. He darted in front of a particularly burly man, only just missing treading on his foot.

  Fifteen meters.

  A head of blond hair skipped along in front of Ben, her walk zigzagging in front of him, making it harder to get in front of her.

  Ten meters.

  He made one last push, almost knocking her down as his arms brushed past hers and suddenly the kid was in front of him, his hunched shoulders and headphone-covered ears oblivious to Ben’s presence. One last move. Just before the gate Ben pushed past him and got in front, ensuring that as he filtered into the single file queue, the kid was behind him.

  There were two people in front of Ben. A woman and a man. They didn’t look like they were together. The woman scanned her identity card and Ben saw the flash of green light. The man in front was reaching inside his pocket and pulling out his identity card too. He held it towards the screen and Ben waited for the second flash of green.

  Carpe diem, motherfucker.

  Ben shoved the man in front of him with all of his force, sending them both flying forward and through the gateway. They landed on the floor, Ben directly on top of the man in front of him.

  “What the!” the man yelled as he hit the floor.

  “I know!” Ben bellowed, feigning disbelief and immediately pointing at the kid behind him. The security guards were at their side already. Ben was quick on his feet and already helping up the other man. “What the hell did you do that for?” Ben shouted back at the unsuspecting kid. All eyes were on the youth, who was thanks to his headphones, still unaware of what was happening and of the mounting guilt heaped at his feet. The man who Ben had landed on was still straightening out his suit and tie. He hadn’t seen anything of what had happened but his instincts told him that the unfortunate and well dressed fellow who had landed on top of him couldn’t possibly be to blame. Not with a suit that looked that expensive. The security guards were also staring at the kid, making the very same assumptions.

  “What? What did I do?” the kid asked, pulling his headphones from his ears, realising that he was at the centre of the commotion. Ben had relied upon the fact that nobody behind them would have been able to see clearly enough to counter argue his claim.

  “You pushed me right through there,” Ben said as he pointed back at the plastic gate. Ben’s other victim was angrily shaking his head, his cheeks blood-red, beetroot with rage, never once doubting Ben’s story. “Right on top of this good man.”

  “Officers, did you not see what happened?” the burly chap asked as he inspected the knees of his trousers. Ben and his suited friend had formed an immediate alliance. The officers were standing either side of the plastic door, and the rest of the underground station remained perfectly quiet, save the shuffling of feet and the odd whisper, as it waited for the situation to resolve.

  “Place your identity card against the screen now and walk slowly through this gate,” the first officer ordered the kid.

  “But I....”

  “Do it!” The boy did so and walked through. The officers snatched his identity card from his shaky, sweat-drenched palm and held it against their card reader. This would tell them everything about him, and since the moment he hatched his plan Ben had been praying that they didn’t do the same with his.

  “Mr. James Priest. It seems that you have got quite the record for causing trouble.” Ben felt a twinge of guilt knot up inside of his stomach, temporarily rising over the hunger. His plan was working perfectly so far, but he hadn’t counted on feeling so awful about it. He swallowed down hard and tried to suppress the guilt. The officers turned to Ben and the other suited man who had no idea what had really happened. “Thank you, gentlemen. You can be on your way.” Behind him, Ben could already sense the other man leaving. He knew it would only arouse suspicion if he did not walk away with the same level of annoyance that he had so perfectly demonstrated as this situation began. Swiping a final, frustrated palm stroke down his sharp black suit he turned to walk away. He caught a final look at the eyes of the boy, whose age he had probably overestimated as he saw him now in daylight and without the hood or headphones. He felt the same guilt as only moments before rising up. The kid’s venial face pleaded with him for help, for him to tell the truth, but instead Ben bowed his head and turned to walk away.

  Ben walked towards the entrance and out into the daylight. He needed to breathe. He could hear the boy’s feeble protest as he left the station, and it wrenched at his otherwise empty gut. He absolved his responsibility by reminding himself of the utmost importance of his work today, and the impact it would have for all mankind. He wondered if his thoughts were self indulgent, but concluded them to be reasonable in the grand scheme of things. One day he might get to save the kids life. That would make up for any trouble he caused him today.

  The road was heaving with cars and buses and he couldn’t see the entrance to the lab. He dodged the oncoming traffic as it glided past him, working his way across the road. It would take days of early summer sunshine to dry out the roads after last night’s storm, and he skipped past the puddles, anxious not to ruin another pair of expensive leather-soled shoes.

  Bionics Laboratories was on the first floor above another shop that sold sandwiches and salads. The first of the lunchtime traffic rush was already appearing, and there was a queue forming outside the shop door. Ben had eaten from here hundreds of times over the last four years. It was the best pastrami-mustard combo he had ever tasted. He didn’t know if it was physical hunger putting thoughts in his brain, but he was certain that he could taste the peppered steak slices already.

  He pushed the door that sat to the side of the sandwich shop, the entrance to the laboratory. He was expecting it to glide open as usual, but was surprised to meet resistance. He pushed the door harder, and put his weight behind it. Still nothing. He dug around in his pockets and found the set of keys that had both his home and office keys attached. He found the correct one and slid it into the lock. It was unusual for the door to be locked at this time, and on any other day it would have given him reasonable cause for anger that he couldn’t get into his own laboratory with the ease he wanted. But he figured on a day when he was arriving four hours late, boss or not, any direction of his anger at those already at work would be unlikely to be well received. The door was heavy but he shoved it open with the weight of his body behind it. He took the steps one at a time, his head still pounding as he placed his feet, his eyes still dry and sleepy. He needed water, and coffee. Not necessarily in that order. Maybe Ami would offer to make it for him. That would make him feel better.

  At the top of the stairs there was a small clearing that functioned as a staff room. There was a small fridge and a kettle, and a selection of chairs where people could sit to enjoy a caffeine enriched break. As he neared this clearing he paused, suspended in the void somewhere between expectation and reality. He stopped to take a longer look, thinking that his cloudy mind was trying to play a trick on him, like the satisfying delusion of a mirage in a desert of emptiness and dehydration. Only this mirage was the opposite.

  In place of the chairs he saw nothing but floor space. In the corner where normally stood a fridge he saw a bare wall with a lighter imprint of clean, ice blue paint where the fridge had once been. There was no kettle. There was no.....anything. The room was empty.

  Gone was the life that had been here for the past four years and instead in its place was a vacuum of empty space. He walked up the last few steps, his e
yes wide and fixed in disbelief. He stood transfixed for a moment unable to comprehend the change in environment. He hesitated as he cleared the last couple of steps fearful of what he might see. He turned right to face the sliding door to the lab. Eyeing up the red button that would permit him entry, he gingerly pressed his finger against it. The door slid back as the pneumatics released a shot of air, and before him the extent of what he saw was almost impossible to register, so great was the horror of what lay before him.

  Where there should be workbenches, there was dust. Where he expected to see laminar flow cabinets and hear the hum of the fluorescent lights there was empty space. There were no reagent-filled cupboards, no laboratory stools, and where he expected to see Ami, Alan, or Phil, there was simply nobody. He walked towards the back of the office, and pushed open the door. No files. No desk. No picture of his father. Nothing. He rubbed his hands across his face, his fingers probing at his heavy eyes like an udder, hoping to milk out the truth. He backed out of the room, his body turning in circles looking desperately for something solid to cling to. After a moment of bewilderment his body made contact with the nearest wall, and as his legs buckled beneath him, he slid down onto the floor, dropping the keys beside him.

  When Ben was ten years old he got his first bike. It was June the second, nineteen eighty five. His birthday. He had woken up to the sound of his parents singing the happy birthday song as they danced along the crazy psychedelic swirls of the carpet of his bedroom, a remnant from the previous decade. They whisked him downstairs for a special pancake breakfast with extra sugar. It was a Wednesday, and he had been allowed an indulgent day of truancy from school. He played with the new Pac Man game for two hours solid, riding the sugar induced high until the shop installed batteries gave up. The disappointment was short lived as his father distracted him by wrapping a blindfold around his eyes, and led him outside. Without the benefit of sight, he held his parents hands as they guided him out towards the front garden. He could smell the overpowering bouquet of summer flowers filling the air, and the Honeysuckle that grew in an arch over the front door. He placed his feet carefully, treading with caution as he felt the movement of loose tarmac pebbles under his feet. They peeled back the blindfold and he saw the most wonderful red Spitfire bicycle, ribbons dangling from its curved handlebars. There were no words exchanged in that moment, and anything that his parents said to mark the occasion was lost in the haze of excitement. Ben walked towards the bicycle and sat down on the saddle, wrapping his hands around the hard rubber handles, getting a feel for them. They were perfect. He had learnt how to ride on his cousin’s bike, and he knew that he would know how. With only the briefest of wobbles he was through the gate, making headway towards the centre of the village. At that point in his life, he had never been happier.