‘Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she doesn’t,’ said Voss.
Something in Voss’s tone reassured Kaspar that he was telling the truth. Mac was safe. That was something at least. ‘What happens if the analysts agree with me?’
‘If they agree – and it’s a big if – then my vote would be to kill Tilkian and all the traitors,’ Voss replied. ‘We’d have no other choice.’
Kaspar’s glare was back. This wasn’t what he’d signed up for, not even close.
‘What do you want? A trial? Get real, kid. If you’re right about Tilkian, those evil sods have been running around blowing up things, killing Guardians and gassing little kids. Personally I’d execute the scum just for Loring School, never mind anything else. What are we supposed to say to the civilians? Oh, sorry, I know we were meant to be protecting you but, oops, the worst terrorists are actually us.’
Kaspar could see the logic of that, but the idea of executing Tilkian and his group just didn’t sit well with him. At all. He’d signed up to protect and serve, for a noble cause. This cause was rancid. Kaspar felt unclean, like he was trying to defend the indefensible. And he still didn’t understand why he could share Rhea’s memories. She might be a touch-empath but he certainly wasn’t. Unless . . .
Of course! The well on Uncle Jeff’s farm.
For years, that had been the only water he’d ever consumed. Certainly none of the chemically treated water that the High Council had had doctored. Was that why Rhea’s memories had become his own? Touch-empathy as a two-way street? He’d only started drinking the same water as everyone else once he’d joined the Academy, by which time it was probably too late to suppress that ability within him. What was it Mac had said? It’s a latent tendency that only kicks in during puberty. On the farm, then. But Voss was right about one thing at least – it had severely messed with his head.
Voss sighed. ‘If you’re right, then the Insurgency aren’t the evil threat that we made them out to be. You think all the really bad stuff was done by the bloody SSG. And if you’re correct, it would serve them right if we stuck them all in refrigerated filing cabinets like we’ve been doing to the Insurgents for years. But all that is way above my pay-grade. We’ll leave major policy decisions to the High Council. In the meantime, you and me do what we signed up for. We round up terrorists, whoever they are – Insurgents, Crusaders, even Guardians if necessary – and we deliver them. The rest is philosophy.’
‘So what happens now, sir?’
‘For now, we do nothing. If you’re right, we wouldn’t want to tip our hand to Tilkian and his crew. There are a couple of guys in the Analysis Division that I can show your homework to before we do anything else.’
‘How do you know you can trust them?’
‘Because I’ve used them before. Chin and Akinyeme are absolute nerds. The kind of geeks that never go outdoors and get orgasmic about mathematics and computers. The kind of guys that Tilkian absolutely despises.’
‘And then? Assuming they agree with me?’
‘And then it’ll get really crappy. There’s a lot more to the Special Support Group than just table manners. They’re hard bastards and Tilkian has them well trained. And because they have to protect the High Council, their security clearances are higher than ours. If we kick this off, it’s going to get rough. If it gets down to it, are you ready to kill someone?’
‘I already have,’ replied Kaspar. Every detail of that day in the desert was burned into his mind.
‘I don’t mean self-defence against some thug who jumps you and tries to beat your brains to a pulp. And I don’t mean when you’re howling mad at seeing your best mate murdered. I mean, could you stick a knife in another Guardian’s ribs for the public good?’
There was a long silence.
‘Because if you can’t . . .’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes what?’
‘Yes, sir, I could kill traitorous Guardians. People who can pump nerve gas into a school? I can kill every last one of them.’
Voss looked carefully at Kaspar, gauging his resolve. Finally he seemed satisfied.
‘All right, kid. First we get someone to mark your homework. Then it’s us against the frickin’ world.’
40
The next few days were just weird.
‘I don’t want you doing anything different,’ Voss had said. ‘No clues that anything’s changed, so keep to the routine patrols and keep your mouth shut.’
So the next day, Kaspar attended roll call with the rest of his squad and then waited for the inevitable general alarm. They sat around, they patrolled, and Kaspar waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Nothing.
No alerts, no attacks, not even so much as a false alarm.
‘Maybe the Insurgency have all gone on holiday?’ said Mikey.
If so, then it wasn’t just a day trip. The next day was the same, and the next, and the day after that. There was an unnerving complete calm across the city. Kaspar stripped down and reassembled his rifle so often he knocked almost two seconds off the record he’d set in training.
After six days of absolutely nothing, Mariska’s birthday party promised to be a good opportunity to let off steam. Kaspar watched quietly from the sidelines as his friends got seriously out of order.
‘Penny for ’em,’ said Janna as she joined him in propping up the wall. She passed him a plastic beaker full of what tasted suspiciously like plum-flavoured rocket fuel.
‘They’re not worth that much,’ Kaspar replied.
‘Kas, are you still upset with me?’ asked Janna. At Kaspar’s blank look she continued, ‘Because I asked you to explain the Insurgents’ actions. I really wasn’t trying to imply anything. I’m sorry some of the others took it that way.’
Kaspar blinked in surprise. Janna really did look contrite. ‘Janna, forget it. I already have.’
‘So what’s the matter?’
‘Nothing,’ Kaspar denied. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Come on, hotshot. I know you better than that. Are you still brooding about Loring School?’
‘No, I’m . . . Well, yes, I suppose I am,’ he acknowledged. ‘Every time I close my eyes, I can see them. In fact, I don’t even have to close my eyes. I visited that school, Janna. I met them. I can’t forget any of their faces and a little girl called Gnea haunts me. Doesn’t what happened get to you at all?’
‘Course it does. You have to ask? But I’ve got someone to talk to about it.’ Her eyes drifted off across the pool to where Mariska was playing a drunken game of ‘king-of-the-castle’ on the diving board. ‘Why isn’t your girlfriend here? She’s obviously into you and you need someone. Especially after . . .’
Dillon. She didn’t actually say his name, but then she didn’t have to. Thinking about Dillon made something ache deep within Kaspar. The guy’s endless conspiracy theories used to be hilarious, but now shadowy plans and sinister plots seemed to be a reality rather than a diverting fiction.
‘She had to work tonight,’ he said. Kaspar had given up on denying a romantic link to Mac. Partly because it was a useful cover, and partly because deep down he kind of wished it was true. Actually, tonight Mac was locked in a basement with Akinyeme and Chin, Voss’s two tame geeks, no doubt describing her parasitic bot-searches and her theories of co-relational analysis, and cross-checking every shred of computer-based evidence against Tilkian and the Special Support Group. Kaspar had been there too, but the second time he’d nodded off, Voss had put his foot down.
‘You’re useless in this state, Wilding. Take the rest of the night off. That’s an order.’
‘I can’t, sir.’ Kaspar was determined to go on, to do his part, even though he was exhausted. The previous night, they had given him psych-hypnotic drugs and made him eat mellisse croissants to enhance his recall. Mikey had caught him sneaking back to barracks at four in the morning looking wrung out and with crumbs on his uniform. There was now an official rumour doing the rounds that Mac was a secret sex-mad p
astry chef and Kaspar was a lucky dog.
‘Which part of “that’s an order” don’t you understand?’ Voss had snapped. ‘You’re no good to anyone if you’re too shattered to stay awake. Or worse, too addle-brained to keep your mouth shut! Go to Mariska Toth’s birthday party and then get some sleep. Tilkian can wait one more night.’
Gina ran across and grabbed Janna’s arm. ‘C’mon, guys!’ she begged. ‘You gotta help us get the little psycho off the diving board. We’re getting owned. It’s embarrassing.’
‘I’ll be right there,’ replied Janna.
As Gina ran back to lend support to the others against Mariska, Janna turned again to Kas, concern turning down the corners of her mouth. ‘Seriously, Kas, are you OK?’
Kaspar took a deep breath. Everything had gone wrong – and it was going to get much, much worse. Society’s ‘Great Ideal’ was a sick lie that concealed institutionalized torture, and he and Voss were practically taking blood oaths to kill their fellow Guardians. Where Voss had spoken of one leak in the Guardian ranks, now there seemed to be several.
Was he OK? Suddenly one of Dillon’s ridiculous sayings came to him – ‘If you fall from the top of the Museum of Light, the last few centimetres are really gonna mess you up, but while you’re falling – you might as well enjoy the view.’
‘Yeah, I’m OK,’ he replied finally, forcing a rather less than convincing smile. ‘Let’s go chuck Mariska in the pool. You take your top off to distract her and I’ll go grab a stun rifle.’
41
The Insurgents’ vacation lasted exactly one week and then ended with a bang; a lot of bangs. Kaspar was just coming off another uneventful evening shift and heading to the mess hall when the general alarm sounded.
‘C’mon guys, let’s go,’ shouted Mikey from the Liaison desk. ‘The bastards are back big-time.’
‘What’s the target?’ asked Kaspar, a sense of dread enveloping him. He’d known about Tilkian for days and done nothing about him. If this was another Loring, then it would be his fault.
‘It’s the power grid. They’re hitting everything. Two generating stations have been scrammed. They’ve blown up three feeds from the geothermal fields in the Badlands, and we’re getting reports of minor explosions at distribution substations all over the place. I hope you lot can see in the dark?’
Right on cue, the lights went out, leaving only the battery-powered exit signs. The emergency generator kicked in almost immediately though, and the lights flickered back on.
‘Any casualties?’ Kas crossed his fingers.
‘No reports so far. Most of these power-grid nodes are automated.’
Kaspar felt an enormous sense of relief. So this was a ninja job, the genuine Insurgency. But then Tilkian would probably already have something in place, some contingency plan ready to go. Within a couple of hours, there would likely be some new atrocity as the Special Support Group Shadow Insurgency brought the terror.
Voss came into Ops. ‘Why is everyone still in here?’ he barked. ‘Get out there. You know what you’re meant to be doing. Hit your assigned sectors. I want everyone except the Duty Comm team on the streets five minutes ago. Move!’
The yelling wasn’t really necessary, as everyone was already deploying, but it didn’t seem advisable to mention that. Kaspar headed for the door.
‘Not you, Wilding.’
‘Sir?’ Kaspar turned and ran back to Voss.
‘You’re not going with them, kid. You’re coming with me. We have an appointment.’
‘With who, sir?’
But Voss was already heading out the other door. Kaspar had to jog after him.
‘Sir, where are we going?’
‘We’re going to piss on someone’s fireworks.’
42
Kaspar jumped into the hovercar and Voss slewed it out of the vehicle park and down Academy Approach.
‘Where are we actually going?’ Kaspar asked again.
‘We are going to 242 South Herdjis Lane.’
‘Which is . . . ?’
‘A delightful bungalow in the sleepy suburb of Hemms-on-the-River. It has a beautifully manicured lawn, a wonderful view of the lake . . .’
Kaspar wasn’t sure what was more scary – the Insurgency, rogue terrorist Guardians or Voss in this happy, whimsical mood.
‘ . . . and an en-suite auxiliary backup for the Power Grid Statistical Analysis department.’
Kaspar wasn’t really sure what that was and he wasn’t keen on displaying his ignorance. ‘It’s another camouflaged data node like the one on Wissant Avenue?’
‘Yep!’
‘Why are we going there?’
‘Because it turns out that you and Mackenzie are geniuses. I knew she was, but you’re a surprise!’
‘Sir?’
‘My two tame nerds finished their analysis of your analysis and their conclusion is that you and Mac were both spot on. They reckon that the chances of Senior Commander Tilkian being one of the good guys are about one in a billion. They expanded on your work and found so many anomalies in Tilkian’s deployments that their computer had a nervous breakdown from counting them.’
Kaspar was stunned. Part of him had hoped that he was wrong, that this was all just some huge misunderstanding, that the bots had been misprogrammed or that Tilkian was doing some undercover work for the Council. But to know his suspicions were accurate . . .
‘Turns out that Mac’s approach to information mining is real cutting-edge thinking. It could revolutionize data analysis. I should be proud as I recommended her for the job, but you and her have been gigantic pains in my battle-hardened buttocks. And it seems that you in particular have a real talent for working the bots. Must be all the practice you’ve had.’ Voss’s pointed look made Kaspar’s face grow warm. ‘When this is over, the geek squad want to work with both of you on a series of projects in all kinds of areas – history, physics, meteorology. Who’d have thought it, from melon farmer to data-mining superstar?’
Kaspar’s face grew warmer. ‘So why are we going to . . . wherever it is you said we were going?’
‘Because we got a tip-off.’
‘From who?’
‘From the lady in black who gave you such a kicking in the desert or, if you prefer, the lady in white who gave you such a kicking in the massage parlour.’
‘It was a gym.’ Kaspar was really starting to miss the Voss who screamed and shouted. This new jovial one was winding him right up. ‘You got a tip-off? From a ninja? No way.’
‘Well, not directly. Through you. It seems the problem with touch-empaths is that once they’ve established physical contact with you, their emotions can sort of leak out. You’ve been exceptionally receptive to the one who’s been handing you your butt.’
Kaspar chose to ignore that.
‘I did wonder, because of the dreams I’ve been having,’ he said. He decided to keep the well at his uncle’s farm to himself, not wanting to get his uncle into trouble. ‘But wouldn’t it be fairly stupid for a touch-empath to work as a masseuse then?’ he said.
‘Maybe not. Don’t forget we use chemicals in the water to suppress that ability, so none of the Alliance are supposed to be receptive to that kind of mental connection. Maybe the leaking only happens when the true empaths get emotional, lose control. You met her when you were both – let’s say – “excited”. First time, she’d just killed your buddy and you’d just killed hers. Emotions were definitely running high. Second time, you strolled into her place of business, blew her cover wide open and said, “Hello, I’m a Guardian!” Must’ve spooked the hell out of her.’
‘OK, but how did that turn into a tip-off?’
‘Because the nerds took all the images that they got out of you under the hypnotics and ran the world’s biggest bot-search on them. If you said you saw a tree they built a database of trees. If you said croissant . . .’
‘They built a database of croissants?’
‘Yep. Then they did something called Recursive Symbo
lic . . . Signifier Deconstruction-ism . . . or something equally obscure. Basically they cross-referenced everything. And I mean everything. One cohort of bots actually worked out the address of the massage parlour without being told.’
‘Gym.’
‘Whatever. Anyway, it turns out that your pal from the “gym” had something on her mind. Something to do with power, and blackouts and tunnels.’
‘I don’t understand. You think that they’re going to hit this Power Grid Statistical place tonight? Why is this particular one special? They’re blowing up power installations all over. Power plants, cable distribution nodes . . .’
‘Because according to the geeks she spent ages studying this place. And besides, it isn’t an active node. It doesn’t control anything. You can’t hurt the grid from there. So this isn’t just a quick bomb-and-run mission. No, she’s going to be there, doing that ninja computer shit. Only this time we’re going to be there too. Except that after we zap her, we’re not handing her over to Tilkian’s mob so that they can lobotomize her and stick her in a filing cabinet to cover their tracks. We are going to do some interrogating of our own.’
Kaspar’s thoughts swung all over the place on hearing that. Rhea captured and interrogated . . . How was he meant to feel about that? She’d saved his life. But it was thanks to her and her partner that his best mate Dillon was dead. He owed her nothing.
Except that she’d stayed with him through the night when he’d needed someone desperately. But she’d probably only visited him in the first place to mess with his head and to obtain intel from him. Right and wrong were never meant to be this confusing, this contradictory.
‘Sir, about Rhea . . .’
‘Yes?’ Already a frown had produced a line between Voss’s eyebrows as he regarded Kaspar.
‘Nothing, sir.’
Though Kaspar might not like it, Voss was right. Rhea could provide vital information about the Insurgents and their ultimate objective, and she’d also be able to shed light on Tilkian’s involvement with the Insurgency, if any. That was the top priority now. Lives were at stake. If Tilkian wasn’t involved with the real Insurgents – and Kaspar was now convinced that he wasn’t – then it would prove once and for all that he and the others in the SSG were the real phantoms. Every time an Insurgent got caught, the results of their interrogation were faked and they were silenced for ever and put in cold storage. Or maybe they weren’t even interrogated at all? Tonight might be the first time that anyone actually asked an Insurgent meaningful questions and was truly interested in getting meaningful answers.
Noble Conflict Page 20