Provenance I - Flee The Bonds Read Online Free PDF

Water cascaded through the gaps in the lock gates, filling the lock with a boisterous froth. Carved in the top beam of each gate was the year 2108, Steve doubted they’d be replaced again.
    His gaze rose to a narrow boat moored fifty metres from the lock, its cream and maroon livery sparkled. Penny had spotted it too.
    ‘Are you going to paint Cool Breeze this year?’
    He sighed and shook his head. ‘Here we go.’
    ‘Well, I don’t understand it. You keep the inside spotless and yet outside it’s a pile of rust.’
    He couldn’t tell her that the flaking two-tone livery hid fifty millimetres of adaptive armour plating, or that he’d added the rust.
    ‘You know me; I’m not one for flashy things.’
    Her eyebrows rose. ‘Unless it has four wheels.’
    He put his arm around her shoulders, ‘You’re not jealous, are you?’
    ‘Should I be?’
    He lowered his head, ‘Never.’
    Their lips parted and he relaxed his hold, ‘Let’s forget the mill, we can have lunch at the Blue Boar.’ Whoever the woman in the red duffle coat was, he’d prefer to confront her alone.
    ‘Only if Digby can come.’
    ‘Sorry, not allowed in the restaurant.’
    A smile accompanied the light punch on his arm. ‘Or your precious car.’
    He smiled down at Digby. She was right. Those muddy paws weren’t going anywhere near the Aegis.
    Steve led the way back to Rose Cottage , the lock keepers house and Penny’s home. A picture postcard house of whitewashed walls and leaded windows under a thatched roof.
    Penny held out Digby’s lead. ‘Can you take him around the back while I change?’
    Steve followed the flagstone path around the side of the cottage to a white picket gate. Wood smoke tainted the air and out of sight, twigs snapped. He opened the creaking gate and stepped onto a square lawn enclosed by trimmed hedges. Penny’s father stood at the opposite corner of the cottage, the broad back of his short stocky frame stretched a navy boiler suit.
    ‘Hello, Terry.’
    Terry turned. A jovial smile formed in his round weathered face.
    ‘Hello, Steve. How are you?’
    ‘Fine thanks.’ As Steve closed the distance between them, he nodded in the direction of the smoke. ‘Your shed’s on fire.’
    Terry chuckled, ‘Just burning dead stock.’ He pointed his secateurs at the bare rose bushes climbing the snow-white wall. ‘Laura would never forgive me if I didn’t keep them tidy.’
    Laura, Penny’s mother, had died of cancer four years before; her ancestors weren’t Continuity and so not eligible for PURE. Cancer, and any other genetically inherited diseases, only killed Drones.
    While Steve listened to Terry explain how he intended to grow a fountain of roses, familiar doubts crept in; a nagging sentiment of injustice that he’d found increasingly difficult to suppress. Terry looked up. His enigmatic expression warranted a response, but Steve just smiled. He hoped the Resistance never gained tech weaponry, as much for their sake as Continuity’s.
    The gate creaked; Penny strolled towards them, ‘Hello, Dad.’
    ‘Hello, Pen, you look nice.’
    She twirled her pea-green and black striped sweater dress and charcoal leggings. Clear plastic over-boots covered bright green flats. Steve masked his pensive thoughts with a smile. He’d seen the dress many times before. He could afford anything she wanted, and yet he had to pretend otherwise. That was the price of deception.
    ‘Steve’s taking me out to lunch.’
    Steve stepped closer. ‘I was thinking more of a sandwich.’
    ‘I can make that myself.’
    He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, ‘Now there’s an idea.’
    She broke free and kissed Terry on the cheek. ‘See you later, Dad.’
    They returned to Cool Breeze and Steve changed into a pair of charcoal twill trousers, royal-blue shirt, and black wool jacket.
    Setting off in the opposite direction to Penny’s house, they followed the towpath for six hundred metres to the village. Lower Chilwyn