Death's Twilight Read online

CHAPTER THREE

  Poltava, Ukraine, December 3, 2308 07:14:16 (T-Minus 01:04:48:56)

  For his flight to Poltava, Slade chose Back To The Future, Part II – a three hundred year old story about a boy and a doctor who travel to the future and accidentally cause some major changes in the past. It really showed what life was like in 2015. He would have liked to see an actual hover board, though. That tech was lost in The Great Fire.

  The flight was uneventful. He had his own row of seats in first class, the meal was better than most of the airline food, and his holo-film was as great this time as the other thirty or so times he'd watched it. That Michael Fox was sure a good actor. They don't act like that now, that's for darn sure, Slade thought to himself as the credits rolled.

  For the remaining time after his holo-film, Slade reviewed what he knew about Ukraine Territory, about Randy Emery Herman; Slade theorized that Herman would hide in the Carpathian Mountains, so he downloaded skiing and mountain climbing from the plane's SKill Access TErminal. Using his sub-dermal tattoo, Slade altered his face to look more Nordic – blue eyes instead of his green, and fuller lips. He couldn't do anything about his dark hair, but he hoped that wouldn't matter - that he'd just blend in.

  The plane landed at Poltava Air Base, (or what used to be Poltava Air Base) fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. There were no military installations anywhere now, only ruins.  Washington had disbanded all armies upon securing office, and now only the Principals and iCorps maintained order.

  The old Air Base was now a proper airport – albeit an airport only Emissaries and other dignitaries used. The flight had taken five and a half hours. That was extremely good news. Adding in the eight hours for the time zone difference, Slade had been travelling for thirteen and a half hours. He'd lost half a day travelling, but still had two days to get to Herman.

  Coming to the first newsstand in the airport, Slade quickly browsed the papers, headlines revealing nothing, but he cataloged every page into his memory. Perhaps something would be useful later. He approached the customs officials, who saluted him as if he was a Four Star General. His uniform indicated his involvement with the government, the iCorps logo over the left breast of his coat. His chronometer translated speech both ways, allowing for easy communications between different cultures

  "There is no need for a salute. Please stand down.”

  "But Colonel General, we are here to help. What do you seek?”

  Slade pulled the Tablet from the pocket of his leather coat.

  "I am an Emissary, not a General in your government. I am looking for this man, Randy Emery Herman. Has he come through this facility?”

  The guards quickly searched their computers, looking for the information Slade had given them.

  "Not through this terminal, Emissary, but the computer says his documents were scanned in Kiev two days ago.”

  “Excellent work, gentlemen. Can you direct me to someone to guide me who speaks English? I prefer it over using my chronometer.”

  "I do, Emissary," the taller of the two said. "My apologies for delaying you.”

  "No apology necessary. What is your name, officer?"

  "Dmytro Kozel, Emissary."

  "A pleasure to meet you, Officer Kozel. We must move. Please contact Kiev Airport and see if they have details on Herman's whereabouts."

  Kozel was just shy of six feet, and had dark hair and eyes that were so dark blue, Slade thought they were purple. His pale complexion spoke volumes about the amount of time he spent indoors. He was slender, and, judging from the way he held himself, well built and active.

  He instantly bent to the task, eyes scanning left and right as his fingers clacked keystrokes into the terminal. He paused for a moment, and then activated his chronometer, calling for assistance. As he did, Slade looked at his chronometer: two days, four hours, twenty-seven minutes, six seconds. If he could find his whereabouts today, Herman stood no chance. It took Dmytro less than two minutes to discover that Kiev had no information on Herman other than he passed through the terminal. This was going to be harder than he thought. But Slade had resources of his own.

  Slade lifted his chronometer to his mouth.

  "Voice activate, Emissary 0247893. Call Home."

  A computer voice chirped from the device, "Voice activation confirmed. Dialing. Please wait."

  The sound transferred from the chronometer to an implanted receiver in his left ear. When the voice came to the line, it was tinny, far away.

  "Emissary 0247893, this is Control. How can we be of assistance?"

  "I need to track a Target. Identity, Randy Emery Herman. Last seen at Kiev airport over twenty-four hours ago. Initiate retinal and fingerprint scanners in Ukraine Territory and report."

  Emissaries were able to commandeer any resources required of them in performing their tasks. Retinal scanners were installed in every traffic light, ABM, and washroom mirror round the world. If Herman were still in the Ukraine Territory, they'd find him.

  "That request will take some time, Emissary. We shall report back to you as soon as we have results."

  "Thank you, Control. 0247893 out." Slade turned to Kozel. "We had better get to Kiev. It's as good a starting point as any. How long till we can get there?"

  Kozel studied the terminal in front of him. A frown flitted across his worn face, but was quickly replaced by a smile.

  "Emissary, there is a plane from Poltava to Kiev leaving in fifteen minutes, and there are two seats left. We should be able to secure seats with relative ease, especially with your diplomatic status. Travel time is approximately fifty-five minutes."

  Slade took a quick look at his chronometer.

  "Make it happen, Kozel."

  Kozel punched a few keys on his terminal, and nodded in satisfaction.

  "We go." He said, indicating back toward the gate Slade had just come through a few minutes sooner. Slade smiled. In less than two hours, he'd have Herman in his grip.

  The flight to Kiev was completely uneventful, giving Slade and Kozel ample time to talk. Slade learned that Kozel had two kids, an eight-year old son and a twelve-year old daughter. He had been married for twenty-five years, and had been in the Customs department for twenty. Life was good for Kozel, and Slade felt that familiar pang – loss of something he'd never have.

  Kozel asked about his career with iCorps – how Slade liked it, and how long he'd been with them.  Slade told Kozel enough to be polite, but he certainly didn't give him the whole truth. Slade told him about delivering a Letter, how it was a thrill to find the person he had been sent to find, and the sense of pride at accomplishing his job.

  What Slade didn't tell him was that the person he had to deliver that letter to was his own mother, nor did Slade tell Kozel that he wasn't even in the same country to go to her funeral.

  Slade had received an email three days after his Mother's death stating that the cause of death was lung cancer. To say it was a shock to him was the understatement of the decade. His Mom had never once smoked, but the Coroner, after his autopsy and some research had pronounced it lung cancer, and proceeded to tell him in the email that it was a genetic trait in his family and to take precautions for himself.

  The fifty-five minute flight was mercifully short. Upon their arrival at Kiev, Slade stopped at a grocer to buy some materials for supper that night. One thing Emissaries are good at besides delivering Letters, is cooking. It keeps their minds off the job, and MKIII's are only in Colleges. The regular folk still cook.

  Slade procured a suite of rooms at a hotel close to the terminal and while cooking dinner, mentally reviewed the things he knew about Herman – his habits, travel possibilities, and skills he might need. Kozel was watching the news, and, by the sound of his jeering at the view screen, Slade guessed that Kozel's favorite sports team had lost. As Slade set the two plates of varenyky and pampushki on the small dining table, his chronometer rang.

  "Voice activate, Emissary 0247893. Receive call."

  His implant buzzed, and that ti
nny voice was there again.

  "Emissary, this is Control. We have the results of the retinal scan you asked for."

  "Yes, Control. And the results?"

  "We called as soon as we received the results.  Retinal scans picked up Randy Emery Herman in Crimea ten minutes ago. He checked into a hotel – The Hotel Agora. Suite 214, it looks like."

  "Kozel!" Slade called into the next room. Kozel popped his head around the short wall between them, eyebrows raised. "Dinner's ready, but then we must get to The Hotel Agora in Crimea. Herman checked in ten minutes ago. Let's eat and run."

  "Control, you still with me?" Slade asked, turning his attention back to the call.

  "Yes, Emissary. How can we be of service?"

  "If Herman moves anywhere besides that Hotel, I need to know immediately, understand?"

  "Yes, Emissary. We will notify you if there is a change. Control Out."

  The line went dead. Slade turned to Kozel. "Eat. We leave in thirty minutes."

  They crammed their supper into their mouths as fast as they could, cleaned up, and then checked out of the hotel.

  "How fast can we get to Crimea, Kozel?"

  "I'm..." he paused.”I'm not sure, Emissary.  There were fourteen airports in Crimea at the height of its air travel operations, but since The Great Fire, all fourteen have ceased operations. The only way I know into Crimea is by hover. There is not even rail service anymore. Their independence from the rest of the world government has placed travel strains on everyone – even the Emissaries."

  "Right, so we take a hover. How far?"

  "Even at top speed, we're still ten and a half hours from Crimea. I can probably get us to the Agora quickly once we're there, but I can't so anything about the travel to Crimea."

  Slade looked at his chronometer. It was 23:45. Even if they left in the next fifteen minutes, they'd make Crimea just before noon. That was a huge chunk of time. But a Letter was a Letter, and it had to be delivered.

  "Then we had better get moving. We don't have all week.