The Scioneer Read Online Free PDF

faint
stripes of black discolouration in her otherwise red hair. She
listened patiently as he explained his need to catch the next train
off the island before replying,
    ‘I’m
sorry sir, there’s
nothing available’
    ‘Nothing
available? How is that possible?’
    ‘All the seats
are taken, sir.’
    ‘All the
seats? All the seats?
Until when?
    The lady
behind the Eur opatrans
desk tapped away at her console, and replied cheerfully, ‘until
22.05 tonight.’
    ’Ten o clock
tonight!? That’s...just... not possible. There has to be something
before then?’
    ‘I’m
afraid not sir.’
    ‘Nothing this
afternoon?’
    ‘No
sir.’
    ‘How about
early evening?’
    ‘No sir.
Shall I book you a ticket for the 22:05 train?’
    ‘No. Yes.
No.... Go on then.’
    ‘Will that be a
single or return sir?’
    ‘Single.
Please’ Lek added, trying to be polite.
    ‘And will you
be travelling alone?’
    ‘Uh...
actually no,’ Lek was thinking on the spot. ‘I’ll take two singles.
Please.’
    ‘Very
good sir. Thumbprint here please.’
    ‘I’d rather pay
cash…’
    ‘Passport
security s ir. Thumbprint
please. And that will be 420 cred....’
    Lek
reluctantly pressed his thumb against the scanner, fished the money
out of the doctor’s holdall and paid.
    ‘Thank you sir.
Have a safe trip and thank you for choosing to travel with
Europatrans.’
    In truth,
there was no choice. The only way off the UK mainland was via
Europatrans train-tunnels under La Manche and The North Sea. All
aircraft had been grounded in 2034 when half of Iceland exploded
cataclysmically and sent immovable clouds of pyroclastic ash up
into the stratosphere above France, Spain and the British Isles.
The same clouds were responsible for the rapid climate change in
Northern Europa, concentrating the high density of fossil fuel
smog, low level ozone and ultra-violets into a permanent
quasi-tropical weather system of monsoon rains, raging
thunderstorms and intense heat. Lek wiped the sweat off his
forehead and considered his next move. He made his way hurriedly
through the crowds at the IKEA Victoria Station to the Smarte
Storage Lockers in the concourse. Surreptitiously, he took two
bundles of creds – C10,000 in total - and a handful of hypos,
grafts and bases and stuffed them into the pockets of his short
suit. Everything else he shoved inside a locker, his documents and
notepad, even the bag itself, slammed the door and fed ten one-cred
coins into the slot to cover his time left in England, reckoning
that if he wasn’t there to retrieve the goods in ten hours, he
would already be dead. With a bang, a locker to his right suddenly
clattered open - its pre-paid storage having expired – and a gang
of vagabonds scrabbled to grab the contents: a pair of women’s
shoes which were ripped apart in the ensuing struggle. Lek turned
his back on the tragic scene, and checked the time on the station
clock: 11.52. He had just over ten hours to kill before he could
escape, and just under ten minutes before Pechev’s bulldogs would
start the chase for him. He wouldn’t be able to face them alone.
Maybe Cesar could help.
    ***
    Across
the street from the South Bank Lion, a skinny black boy in an
oversized ‘Rabies Bites’ T-shirt, carrying an incongruous black
briefcase, was watching a skin-headed man nervously chewing on goji
berries. Ac cording to
Big Ben, it was 11:52. To pass the time, Wez leaned back against
the window of Credland store, closed his eyes and slipped his free
hand into his underwear. Anybody watching would have assumed he was
engaging in a midday moment of sexual gratification, completely
lawfully of course, since the Berlusconi Act of Public Free Love
was passed in 2015. In fact, Wez was still too young to have
experienced the joys of masturbation, but lightly fingering the ten
banknotes pressed against his scrotum was the closest thing to
ecstasy he had ever known.
    Big Ben
sang out , ‘Noon!’ and
Wez snapped back to reality.
    ‘Are