Genesis Code, (Book 1, Genesis Series)

Chapter 23

Bill lingered in his ITF apartment for a few minutes longer. His brain, foggy and out of ideas, lamented his wasted chance to find Isla. He grabbed his suitcase and opened the door, looking back briefly at his life for the past year. At street level, an automated military vehicle waited. He climbed in and tossed his suitcase beside him. The driver commanded the vehicle to drive to the nearest docking station, located fifteen miles outside New London's border.

As the vehicle followed the only road out of New London, Bill looked out the window at the city he'd come to know. A group of people laughed as they left the nearest bar together. Afternoon strollers walked beneath a strong sun with rolled-up sleeves and smiles on their faces. City parks were packed with squealing children and chatty parents who carried picnic baskets. He rolled down the window and dangled out his left arm, relishing the feel of warmth on his skin. For the first time that day he felt calm, and it was in that moment he realised how good this city was for him, even though the Indigenes lived there too. The mystery of Isla's disappearance felt easier to handle on Exilon 5. And he also felt closer to her here. He dreaded his return to Earth, the place where his problems had started; a year was a long time to be away.

The vehicle pulled up close to the docking station. Bill stayed inside the cabin for a moment and looked out at the station set in the flatlands that was sparsely designed compared to the cutting-edge style of the ones on Earth. A large prefabricated cabin served as the main building to herd passengers to the spacecrafts docked on the other side. White tarpaulin hung outside the main doors, shielding the sun from sensitive eyes. The passenger ship waited in orbit for the travellers to arrive by craft.

The temporary look and feel of New London's docking station got him thinking about the World Government's transfer programme and the low numbers. The new lottery arrangement had increased the transfer numbers. But twenty billion people remained a wildly ambitious target given the slow pace of planning and developments on Exilon 5.

With his suitcase in one hand he climbed out of the vehicle. He was presented with three queue options not part of the layout the last time he'd been there.

One was marked "Detainees" where officers armed with deadly Buzz Guns hovered. The second line labelled, "Workers", appeared to be for labourers returning to Earth for work reassignment. The last line was called, "Other".

Irritation and lack of sleep replaced his temporary calm as he pushed his way to the top of the worker's line. He ignored the people shouting at him to go to the back of the queue.

A young officer in charge of the line blocked Bill's path.

'Where do you think you're going? Didn't you see the queue behind you?'

Bill stopped and reached inside his shirt pocket. He pulled out his credentials and held them within inches of the young man's face. 'I am a high-level employee of the World Government.' He nodded towards the waiting craft. 'I'm scheduled to travel today on the passenger ship.'

'There's still a queue, and these people were here first. They've been waiting for at least two hours.'

'Look, I don't really give a shit...' Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. 'What's your name, soldier?'

'Uh, Officer Ridge.'

'Well, Officer Ridge, I know there's a queue. But I have orders from Gilchrist and Deighton to return to Earth today. Would you prefer if I call one of them? Have them confirm this?'

The officer pressed his lips together and studied his DPad.

An eerie silence descended behind Bill and he pictured people straining to see and hear his conversation. He hated an audience more than he hated his life.

'No need to call Ms Gilchrist,' said the officer, fumbling with his DPad.

The crowd behind him sounded disappointed.

The officer ran a shaky finger down the passenger manifest. He turned the clipboard around to face Bill. 'You're on the list. Place both thumbs here.'

His name and clearance flashed up on the screen. 'Investigator William Taggart, International Task Force,' the officer read out loud. 'Ah yes. I'm afraid it seems you're in the wrong queue.' He looked relieved. 'You should be in the 'Other' queue, over there.' He pointed to a large white tent, where just ten people waited, and called the next person forward.

Bill left the officer behind and headed for the correct queue, dreading the two-week journey home to a place he despised.