Neon Helix Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  About The Author

  Also Available

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  CHAPTER 61

  CHAPTER 62

  CHAPTER 63

  CHAPTER 64

  CHAPTER 65

  CHAPTER 66

  CHAPTER 67

  CHAPTER 68

  CHAPTER 69

  CHAPTER 70

  CHAPTER 71

  CHAPTER 72

  CHAPTER 73

  CHAPTER 74

  CHAPTER 75

  Return To Boulevard...

  Neon Helix

  By

  Nik Whittaker

  Copyrights

  Copyright ©2019 Nik Whittaker

  All rights reserved.

  About The Author

  Nik Whittaker is an Independent Author, currently working his way into the industry.

  Finding he always worked best through self-learning, he earned an Open University degree in English Language and Literature whilst working full time to pay the bills.

  Now, fueled by coffee and imagination he has begun his quest into self-publishing.

  Join him on his journey at www.nikwhittaker.com for all updates and information on upcoming releases and the path he is forging.

  Also Available

  Neon Helix Universe

  Neon Helix

  Neon Cortex

  Free Mailing List Exclusive Sign Up Here

  Other

  The Omega Drive

  Acknowledgements

  Additional Editing by Kate Milbourne

  Cover Design by Rebecacovers

  Dedicated to everyone who says they never have the time to do the things they love.

  You do, you can, you will.

  CHAPTER 1

  Prelude

  Shocking images this evening from the Metropolitan Courthouse, where corruption within the MPD uncovered by investigative reporter Julian Travitz, has led to several high-profile cases being thrown out of court.

  Most prominent of these being the trial of Peter Henshaw, who was expecting the verdict of guilty of several kidnapping and murder charges. Instead, the AI-J, Artificial Intelligence Judge, are forcing a halt to the trial because of the new information. Image feeds from the courthouse show Henshaw being escorted out of the building, followed by the detective in charge of the case, Alexander Draven, who then assaulted Henshaw, leading to several broken bones and hospitalization.

  The MPD has suspended Draven, with the probability they will remove him from active duty with immediate effect. More information as we get it.

 

  ONE YEAR LATER

  CHAPTER 2

  Julian

  Multiple images flashed before his eyes.

  Julian Travitz adjusted the headset, as it changed between over one hundred news feeds from across the Metropolitan area; alternating at two-second intervals. In the background, fragments of news radio stations played into his ears, these changing station on the opposite second of the images. His breathing slowed to a slow five second in, and five second out.

  As he lay across the lounger and took all the information in, his mind picked up key phrases.

  Murder. Crime rates soaring. Haven, the new party drug. Is AI too powerful? Technology the new religion. Increase in homeless disappearances but does anyone notice?

  He was searching for the next story, something meaningful.

  “Quartzig, shift visual interval change to four seconds, audio on the two,” Julian spoke out loud, addressing his personal AI.

  “Please?” Came the response through the ear piece embedded in Julian’s ear.

  “Please Quartzig, if it isn’t too much trouble,” he replied, the sarcastic sweetness dripping from each syllable.

  “You know, when you allowed my memory patterns to map new pathways and creating me into one of the most self-sufficient and leading AIs in the Metro, I didn’t think my role would be as a remote control,” the AI chimed back.

  “And I didn’t know the first human aspect you’d develop would be sarcasm Quartz, but what can you do?”

  “I am only what my maker created me to be, in his own image I guess?” Quartzig chirped back.

  The channels switched at four second intervals and Julian took a deep breath. It has been almost a full year since he had exposed the tampering of evidence at the Metropolitan Police Department. Over fifty cases back to the drawing board. He didn’t regret the expose but the release of Peter Henshaw had affected him and his motivation. Henshaw had been on trial for the murders of several people along with multiple charges of torture. Whilst some other cases were less severe and some even in process of convicting the wrong person, Julian had to take a step back and consider the repercussions of his actions.

  ‘New Biotech launch tomorrow’

  The headline caught Julian’s attention. It was from a science network wire. He reached forwards and balled a fist around the image and it continued to play without switching at the interval.

  Biotech company ‘Cybio’ opens its doors to the public for the first time tomorrow. It’s expected the opening will tie in with the launch of the much hyped enhanced cybernetic implanting techniques rumored to be in development. Cybio, founded by Maxwell Owens, Jacob Winters, and Yuri Renko over twenty years ago say the new system will, in their own words, revolutionize the way we adapt to the ever changing landscape of cybernetics.

  “Make a note of that Quartz, looks like something worth checking out.”

  “Yes master. Anything else master?”

  “See what you can find on the founders too, I’m sure those names ring some bells,” Julian replied, ignoring the sarcasm.

  Julian disconnected the headset from the small connection on his right temple. They were one of several small implants he had, along with some artificial grafts for aesthetics. They were generally all to help with his reporting, but some were personal indulgences. Sitting up on the lounger he tapped a few buttons on his left forearm, a display lit up across his arm showing multiple controls; a subdermal Personal Digital Assistant. Tapping a further but
ton, he muted the radio broadcasts, before another tap illuminated the almost silent room. The humming of electrical servers creating a background of white noise.

  The smell of warm electrics filled the air. The room was a mess of cables and wires which encircled the single lounger chair. This was his media room into which he could tap into any media outlet, television station, radio broadcast or Net stream using the implant in his temple. He found a certain peace within the juxtaposition of being isolated in the room and connecting to the entire world around him The voyeuristic nature of the Net allowing the lives of the world to be laid out before him.

  “I’ve found what I believe you may be looking for regarding Winters, Owens and Renko,” Quartzig broke the silence.

  “Talk to me,” Julian slid off the lounger and walked over to the desk at the side of the room.

  “Well, Mr Winters is no longer present within the company after an incident several years ago. The official reports say he left under amicable circumstances.”

  Picking up an empty glass that lay on the table, Julian opened the only door in the room, brushing past a handful of cables which hung from the ceiling like metallic vines, and entered the main room of his apartment.

  “However, there were reports circled at the time that there was an issue with his health causing him to leave, furthermore there seems to be rumors of him going ‘off the rails’ one article puts it and causing harm to several of his colleagues,” Quartzig continued.

  Julian moved further into the apartment which comprised of one large open plan area encompassing the kitchen, bedroom and living space all in one. It was tidy, though the futon bed was unmade and a definite lived-in feel emitted from the walls. A large floor to ceiling window covered the expanse of the whole wall of one side, allowing the dim neon-lit skyline of the Boulevard below to radiate in. Julian headed to the kitchen area and swept his hand under the tap, causing a steady flow of water to dispense into the glass.

  “Regardless, since his departure there is little information about him. In the meantime, Owens and Renko have taken full control of the company and its profits to bring it back on track.”

  “Hmm, what time is the conference tomorrow?” Julian asked, taking a gulp of the cool water. He’d lost track of how long he’d been in the media room but his dried throat told him it was too long.

  “Eleven AM, shall I set a reminder?”

  “Please," Julian finished the water and walked over to the window and looked out on the Metropolis below.

  The apartment was on the 54th floor, two from the top, and the view was a rainbow of neon. The constant fog which draped over the city causing the colours to smudge into each other.

  He liked the feel of this story, new tech that could influence the world would reconnect him with the city and it’s people. Following his self-imposed exile from high profile stories, some street level interviews of the human aspect would reconnect him to the world. Also, if he could find what happened to Winters whilst reporting on the Cy-Bio launch, he could add spice to the reports.

  “Do I have anything scheduled for today Quartz?” He asked.

  “Considering it’s seven in the evening Julian, no. However, you have several missed calls from Mr Porter from the Tab, if you’d like to return the call?”

  Mr Carl Porter was the Editor-in-Chief for the Tablet, a news media company where Julian freelanced.

  “I’ve still got nothing for him Quartz, next time he calls, tell him I’ve got a new report in the works but keep the details vague.”

  “Yes sir, what are you going to do?”

  Julian picked up a dark blue shirt and pulled it on, he paused as he noticed his left forearm. A pattern of lines was forming around the implant under his skin, the subdermal augmentation reacting to his body.

  “You should get that looked at,” Quartzig said.

  “It’ll be fine Q, it’s just settling in.”

  “It’s showing the starting forms of t-pox Julian, you know that,” Quartzig reprimanded.

  “If it gets worse, I’ll go to the body shop Q, promise,” Julian replied as he pulled the shirt over his t-shirt. Tapping the PDA on his arm he typed in a few keystrokes and his hair, a collection of fibre-optic strands which changed, shifting from a bed head mess of short brown curls into a straight shoulder length blood-red colour with a centre parting.

  “I’m going to see if there’re any stories on the streets,”

  “Very well, I’ll run some searches for Mr Winters and let you know if anything comes up.”

  “Thank you Q, don’t wait up.”

  Julian waved his forearm across the front door, unlocking it wirelessly, it slid aside. Outside, the cold steel metal corridor contrasted with the homely atmosphere inside the apartment. They built all the apartment buildings in the area from the remains of the dockyard just behind Julian's complex. Most of the apartments themselves were old cargo containers, stacked in bundles back when the docks closed. Welding them together to create housing, the outsides kept their metallic origins, leading to compact and well-built homes, with cold stairwells.

  As Julian stepped out of the apartment, the door sliding closed behind him, he could hear shouting coming from below. As he neared the stairs, the shouting grew louder.

  “I don’t care if he’s missing, I need the dracking rent! I got kids to feed ya know!”

  Julian recognized the voice of Sculley, the landlord of the Containers.

  “When I find him, I’ll get the rent, I promise, he has a new job and is bringing in the credits!” This voice was from Mrs Preston, she’d only moved into the Containers with her husband in the last few months. From what Julian had gathered they had been living on the streets before Mr Preston had found work.

  Julian passed them, flashing a smile of sympathy at Mrs Preston whist avoiding Sculley’s eye contact. While he had no issues with Sculley, he always felt he disliked Julian. The man only came to Julian's shoulders and walked with a slight hunch from working on decommissioning submarines at the dockyard in his youth he’d told Julian once. His work in the dockyard had given him the bonus of owning several containers ,which he now rented out.

  Julian continued down the winding stairs, passing several other containers. Many of which had doors decorated in some personalized design by the owners, to help distinguish them from the cold metal walls surrounding them. He liked the ones near the ground floor ,where the residents had recreated a cityscape of the Boulevard in stylised graffiti on them.

  Getting to the ground floor, Julian pushed the metal gate which opened onto the street, his PDA wirelessly signaling the unlock code. A rush of heated air hit him as he stepped into the warm evening of the Metropolis.

  CHAPTER 3

  Xander

  Alexander Draven had sat in the bar for two hours now. He’d received the call half an hour ago. The Chambers Bar had called his office in a panic. The Sliders had come in demanding protection money. Since losing his job at the MPD and setting up as a PI, he had found it hard to get steady work, and the bills needed paying regardless. Taking care of Sliders was usually easy work, which meant he found himself here, watching the door of the bar as four Sliders sauntered in.

  The bar wasn’t far from his office but had never been a main haunt for Xander, too much tech. The fiery red-head waitress behind the bar matched the flame red neon decor, a holographic dragon breathed artificial smoke above the centre of the dance floor, bathing the dancers in a smog, which doubled as the air conditioning system. Xander drew a breath on his cigarette as he eyed the Sliders walking in.

  One, Xander assumed the leader, was more machine than flesh. His chest area consisting almost completely of metallic chrome, the lights dancing off it like a glitter ball. The Sliders were the largest gang in the Metro, comprising of several factions which spanned the entire Boulevard. Most of them were small fry, running errands for the big fish which controlled most of the illegal market.

  The four moved into the bar and shouted at the red-head wait
ress over the rhythmic music of the bar. Nanoseconds later a blade was to her throat, as the smaller of the four jumped frog-like onto the bar and grabbed her. Xander noted his legs, he must have animal themed augs. The other two Sliders then moved towards the dance floor, the first rolling a small device into the crowd. Xander paused, contemplating the chance of it being an explosive. It was unlikely they would risk such a high casualty rate for some protection money. The device hissed as a gas escaped, a scream from the crowd and within moments, the room had evacuated. Another moment and the music cut off leaving the bar in silence.

  Now Xander picked up his Bourbon and downed the rest of his glass, the burn warming his throat. He stood, brushing his duster coat aside to check his revolver was ready.

  “Excuse me,” he called out towards the bar, “I think you should be leaving.”

  “Get out of here old man,” said the leader, pushing away from the bar

  “I may be old, but I’m more man than you,” Xander nodded at the augmentations, he had never understood the desire to have so many changes to your body.

  The leader dived forward, fist first. Xander took a side step, grabbing the Sliders’ fist as he did. Using his own momentum, he caused the Slider to fall forward, his face bouncing off a table before crumpling to the floor.

  “Anyone else?” Xander asked as he revealed his revolver, it had an ID trigger lock, assigned to his fingerprint only. It was one of the few advanced technology items he owned.

  The two Sliders on the dance floor raised their hands, their index fingers towards Xander. The fingers then spiraled clockwise into a small gun, barrels pointed like children playing cowboys.

  “Really?” Xander asked, the pity mixed with sadness ,creating a cocktail of disappointment.