Point Apocalypse Read Free Page A

tried and sentenced by the military tribunal, then undergone an agonizing surgery as they'd removed my combat implants. They'd transferred me with the rest to the Kola Peninsula jumpgate - and there I was at the Pangean base, a.k.a. the Fort, that occupied a rocky island not far from the mainland, a.k.a. Pangea Anomalis - the only body of land amid the ocean that covers this world's entire surface.
    That was all fine and dandy, but what was the information software doing in my head in the first place? This wasn't an implant - this was a basic program that someone had bothered to neuron-zip and which had now unzipped in my brain all by itself. You would think I'd know, wouldn't you? How could you install a piece of software into a man's head without him knowing, anyway? After the tribunal, they hadn't had the opportunity: it required sedation, and I... wait a second... when those military surgeons...
    A voice put an end to my rationalizing. The old boy, the miner and a couple of bystanders stopped arguing.
    'Hey there, buddy," the miner headed for me.
    I stood up and, keeping an eye on him, walked towa rd the foreigners clustering nearby. Another man joined the miner: middle-aged with sunken cheeks and a sallow, unhealthy complexion.
    "Wait up," he said in a low voice and rubbed his pointy chin. "We need to talk."
    I backed off and cast a glance around. No one seemed to sneak up on me from behind. The sallow-faced man fixed his calm gaze on me while the miner stuck out his chin, menace in his glare. Behind them stood the old man and three more guys, fit and tall, all three younger than myself, square-shouldered like new recruits on parade. And their faces... but of course! They had to be clones! A custom-hatched brood: apparently, the mining foreman had donated his sample to sequester and force-grow apprentice triplets for himself. Force-grown clones looked at a lifespan of thirty years at best; wonder what the foreman and his brood had done to justify a Pangean exile? They must have protested by demanding better wages and working conditions. Dangerous thing to do in Russia these days. Ever since the new president had come to power after the Civil War, he'd been hunting down rioters and separatists. With Army support, he'd created the Federal Security Agency, banned trade unions and dissolved rival political parties. Any kind of protest could be qualified under the new Threat To The State law and the protester himself sentenced to life in exile, all thanks to Pangea whose discovery had solved the prison overcrowding problem.
    The only known portal to Pangea was on the Kola Peninsula which had prompted a commercial approach as Russia started accepting convicts from other countries. The rapidly depleting oil supplies together with a chain of world crises had triggered a wave of riots and civil wa rs in virtually every country on the globe, filling foreign prisons to the roofs with unhappy undesirables.
    I hesitated, unsure whether striking up a conversation with them was a healthy thing to do. I could wait for the line-up call or just blend in with the crowd.
    "I think I know who you are," the man said. "But I'm not a hundred percent sure."
    The day seemed to be rich in surprises.
    "If I could have a look at your back, that would eliminate many questions," he added.
    "Negative," I decided to bid for time until the line-up call. "Any more suggestions?"
    "None."             
    "Think well."
    The sallow-faced man gave me a vaguely guilty look. "Then you're toast."
    The miner and two of the clones were an easy job: they stood too close to each other leaving themselves little space to maneuver. The others could take a bit of time but overall, I should meet the combat training standards. But what would I gain - getting sent to the cooler?
    That was one place I shouldn't be in. If I picked the fight, I'd give FSA agents the perfect excuse to lock me up and take me out at their leisure.
    "Pointless dragging it out," the