by K. C. Finn
I’m not. And neither are the people who put me here to speak to you.
Today, everything changes. Today we have the chance to live again as one. We hope you’ll listen, and change with us in the coming months. It won’t be an easy time, but there will be better times ahead.”
Reagan clicks off, the screen blank, then she appears again. Apryl holds out a palm towards Nema.
“Keep the connection and run the broadcast on a loop. I don’t want anyone intercepting this feed whilst we’ve got a hold of it. We might be able to block mass communication and buy that first train some more time when it arrives.”
In around five minutes, our convoy will arrive in Tania. As Andrew calls me back into the driver’s cab to take his place at the wheel, my steps are lighter than they’ve been in months. My heart is full, and not with rage or grief, but with purpose. All we can do now is take Prudell’s hand off the trigger, and give her beloved System a choice.
Twenty-Three
Andrew stays with me as long as he can, showing me how to slow the train down as we wait for the first one to depart from Tania’s station. As the one train pulls away, I see the hordes of black-clad figures ahead of me, spreading out into combat groups and running down the platforms. Pedestrians are running and taking cover, but nobody seems to be screaming. Maybe they saw or heard Reagan. Maybe they understand.
She’s in that crowd with the first trainload somewhere, amongst the converted legionnaires who elected to fight for us today. I have some faint hope left that the fact that they’re children might prevent Prudell’s private P Corps from mowing them down as they make for the centre of the city, but reality keeps trying to knock those ideas out of my head. What happens, happens today. This is our all or nothing, and the sooner I can take my part in it, the closer we get to ending the conflict for good.
We break at the station and I manage it well. That’s when Andrew abandons me, patting my shoulder and giving a brief salute as he runs to join the others. I see my crew unloading and getting straight into formation. Goddie moves with Kip, Apryl and Nema, guarding them closely with his gun as they slink off down a quieter exit from the station. I watch Goddie’s head until it vanishes down the staircase, and a second later Stirling is back in the cab with me.
“That’s everyone but us. Go ahead.”
I push the buttons, the sequence burned into my brain from Andrew’s teachings. We’re off with a bit of a lurch, but I soon get control of the throttle. With any luck, the driver of the train in front has cleared out of our path totally, spiralling back round to wait for any word on the radio of a call for rescue. This train, on the other hand, won’t be waiting for the wounded. It has its own purpose, that Stirling and I are ready to deliver. I wouldn’t have brought him with me, given the choice, but the words of the One at the Heart linger in my mind.
I need him.
It’s something to do with the Reborn. It has to be. Or maybe it’s just so the One can speak to me if he needs to. Either way, when Stirling holds my biceps as I drive, I’m glad of him being there. His grin reflected in the windshield brings me courage, as it always did when I was afraid at the Legion.
“Steady now, we’re coming up on it.”
Where the monorail snakes around the city to make its way down south, it passes by the building at the very centre of our map. The annotations made by Briggs’s left hand show a private platform attached to it, where trains only stop on request. With a little finagling of the throttle and the buttons, I pull us in nicely up to the narrow platform. It’s only meant for the length of the first carriage, so we get out of the cab’s up-sliding door. I take my rifle up at once and scan the wall ahead, plugging the security camera with a single shot.
“Damn. You’re getting good at that.”
“Cover that door, Stir. I need to set things up.”
When we brought Apryl’s big kit bag on board with all her computer trickery, there was another huge bag that we loaded. It’s been so secret that I’ve been trying not to think about it, let alone acknowledge it in my vision during the trip. But it’s been there, this huge bag, parked in a seat at the front of the train. Now, I have to face it, even if part of me thinks it’s making the likes of Yolanda sound right about me and the rebels. But this bag is part of the plan. My plan. And it’s meant for the building we’ve just arrived at.
“Jesus Raja… Is that a bomb?”
I carry the pack with care, ignoring Stirling as I uncover the flaps and place it against the wall of the building on the narrow platform. Wires and coils stick out from all angles, and the very last reserves of our explosives fill the spaces between them.
“This building sits right on top of the facility that the System’s Heart wants us to go to,” I explain. “When the topside blows, it sets off an evacuation, and nobody gives a damn that we’re sneaking in at the bottom. That’s the theory, anyway.”
Stirling stands with me as I prime the bomb, setting the timer just as Kip has showed me. I’ve learned so much in the last few days, so much that I’ve had to keep quiet about and store in my head. Letting everything out, bit by bit as the mission comes together, is freeing somehow.
“Where do you think he is?” Stirling asks.
I glance up to see him watching the horizon, and looking down over the edges of the platform. The city of Tania is built much like the others we’ve seen, with habitation blocks rising from the deserted, dirty ground level to the spires and perfect palaces of the top level, here alongside the trains. The central building is even taller than those, and we are still maybe twenty feet off its pointed tower roof. A queasiness strikes me, and I turn my head back to the bomb to prepare. I set the timer, giving us only ten minutes to get out of the blast radius. It ought to be enough.
“Malcolm doesn’t know we’re coming by train, Stir. He’ll be down on the ground waiting for a let in to the facility. I’m going to trip the switch. Then we bust in this door and leg it, as far down as we can go before this thing blows.”
Stirling moves to the door, nodding. “Copy that, boss.”
I flip the switch. The display flashes to 09:59 at once, the hairs on my arms standing on end. I leap up as Stirling aims his rifle at the lock on the door, ready to blow it off. But then he falters as the handle turns. The door opens, both of us guarding ourselves with our guns. But we don’t fire at the figure who steps through. He’s grinning. Looking around with excitement.
“I thought you two would never get here.”
My heart sinks.
“Boy, what are you doing here?” Stirling demands.
Boy doesn’t answer. He’s busy starting to chatter, and I have to grab him and shove him back through the door to get him to move.
“Not now you little moron, this place is getting its roof blown off in ten minutes.”
“Ah, so that’s what you meant by-”
“Move, dammit!”
The three of us plough down the nearest staircase, and as soon as I find an emergency alarm, I smash it in with a passing punch. We’re not here to kill, and if the tower’s upper staff are smart they’ll file out before the bomb hits them. All we want is an empty building to go deep into the bowels of, ready to find the court of the king. The shrill alarm pierces the building, bouncing off every wall we race past. Then the people come. Ordinary workers from ordinary offices, peering out as we run by.
“Fire!” Boy shouts. “Fire on the top level!”
He’s all in black like us, and despite the fact that we’re armed, no-one seems to challenge our right to be there with them. At least here, three children running and screaming for help seems to touch the right note. A crowd soon joins us, and then they’re ahead too on the central stairs, helping us find the exit by the way they swarm as one. The hive mind, racing for safety, just like Malcolm explained it. I guess it works for people whether they’re Reborn or not. My heart hammers with every step, eyes wide and watching for my general. He’ll burst in as the others file out.
But when
we reach the door, there is only the exodus. I yank Boy aside on the ground floor, shouting to guide everyone else out as though we’re there to help them. Nobody looks up, too concerned with their own lives to think about ours. Soon, we can slink back to the shadows. Still the people come. The building might have twenty floors to clear, judging by the crowds. The doorway is still just a doorway. An exit for them. No-one on the other side trying to get in.
The bomb hits right on time. The impact shakes us all down onto the ground, and above I hear the screams and cries of those who haven’t yet made it. People start falling over one another to get down the stairs, and the whole building continues to shake as the rubble above avalanches onto the floors below. Stirling squeezes my arm tight, and Boy’s whole body is shaking in the corner of my vision.
“We need to head for the basement.” Stirling speaks close to my ear. “There’s no telling how many floors will collapse under the weight of the upper tower.”
But I’m still watching the open doors. Still waiting for the familiar sight of a crop of silver hair, maybe a bandaged body or even one set in steel. Those frosty eyes that last looked upon me when their light was fading. I bite my lip as the last of the frantic people burst out onto the lower level. But nothing. The doorway is blank, still. Boy tugs hard on my elbow.
“What are we waiting for?”
“Malcolm,” I say. “Do you know where he is?”
Boy’s brow creases.
“I’m right here.”
I look down at him, and the base of my world falls away in that moment. It’s like the sky and ground no longer make sense, my body spinning with a total loss of place, time and everything in between.
“When I asked Hiro if Malcolm was there…” I begin.
“Shit.” Stirling clenches his fists. “No.”
“The Reaver took me to the resistance base, like you said it would,” Boy replies. “But General Stryker wasn’t there. The Eatons said he was dead on arrival. But when you asked, I answered. I wanted to help.”
His eyes brim with tears. The building gives another judder, and we have to run, whatever the maelstrom of feelings inside is doing to us all. Stirling leads the way, bounding ahead with his map tablet in hand. I watch the shine of his blades cutting into the carpet, until he turns a sharp corner and vanishes. We’re with him in seconds, me dragging Boy to try and keep up, and Stirling shoots the panel off a door to our left. Beyond it, dimly lit stairs will take us down, just as the map suggests.
“When you say the Eatons found him dead.” I pant the words out, and it’s hard to believe I have to say them. “Did you see him, Boy? Did you see Malcolm’s body?”
“No,” he says with a gasp. “It happened before I got there.”
“Did you see the Reaver he came in on?” I press, my feet thumping down the stairs.
“How would I know?” Boy answers. “They all look the same.”
“What are you getting at, Raja?” Stirling’s eyes are totally blurred with tears.
I blink mine away as we follow the stairs down, almost as many as we did in the building itself. Deep into the hot, dark recesses of Prudell’s underworld.
“Sheila said they might turn him away.” My fists clench around my gun at the thought of it. “They might have sent the Reaver away too. The Eatons might have killed him.”
On the bottom floor, we skid to turn another bend, and then everything comes to a halt. Before us, there’s no way forward. The basement opens into a large, square hallway, and on either side of it there are long, black shapes lining the walls.
“Speak of the Devil,” Stirling whispers, “and the Devil appears.”
Reavers. The System’s own, this time, lying in wait deep in the bowels of the capital. There must be fifty or more, gathered in this tiny space, and there are no doors anywhere. Stirling checks the tablet, his face lit up by its bright glow. He looks at me, gaunt and gasping for air.
“There are definitely other chambers beyond this, according to the map. But I don’t know how to get through. Can you see anything? Are the Reavers hiding the doorways?”
We start to look, but no sooner does Boy take a step forward than there’s a sudden whirring sound. A Reaver comes to life in front of him, making a beeline for our path. It takes no notice of us being in its way, barrelling through so that we have to leap to either side. Other Reavers, however, do move to let it pass. And when they do, I point suddenly.
“There!”
A tiny hatch, just the right height and width for the Reaver, is visible only by a subtle outline. As the Reaver approaches it, the hatch begins to slide open for it to pass through. We race for it, all at once, but the other machines are closing ranks to reform their positions. Clambering over the long, sleek coffins isn’t easy, and by the time we reach the doorway, it’s already closed again behind the Reaver which has left the room.
“Damn!” Stirling’s voice echoes in the hall.
We stand against the wall, where the trapdoor was open a moment ago, and I run my fingers along the very thin lip where it makes the join. There’s nowhere to push or get any purchase. A hard kick does nothing but reverberate back into my leg with rebounded pain. I rub my brow, Malcolm’s face pushing its unwelcome way into my mind. We still don’t know where he went. He’s probably dead, and we will be too, buried in a heap of Reavers whilst everyone on the surface perishes.
I fumble for my radio, bringing the common feed to life. On our frequency, the leaders of various squads are shouting out for help. It takes a moment to tune into their shouts and cries, but the gunfire and turmoil in the background is unmistakeable. The counter attack on the surface has begun.
“The Reavers are starting to go up there for the injured,” I say, nodding towards the noisy radio. “Keep your eyes open. We might have a chance to get through.”
“All units, we have Reborn at the Central Tower bombsite!”
Apryl’s announcement cuts through us all, overtaking the feed.
“Repeat, we need urgent help! Mari! Mari! Mari!”
Hearing my name as Apryl’s cry for help is the worst feeling I’ve ever had. Stirling’s looking at his tablet again, shaking his head. He feels the wall in front of us, then looks back to the stairs.
“This hatch is no good to us,” he says, his voice broken and harsh. “It would only take us back up. We need to get through there.”
He points to the opposite wall, where another crowd of Reavers might be hiding another hatch. We clamber as the machines start to whirr into life again, letting another two go, in the same way we just witnessed. As we reach the other side of the room, Boy starts punching his own side. I try to pull his arm away, but he keeps going.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I broke some ribs when I dropped and rolled off the wall,” the little maniac answers. “Maybe if I hurt myself again, they’ll grab me.”
He’s mad, but it makes total sense. We don’t want to go where the Reavers are headed, up onto the warzone’s surface, but to the place they bring the bodies back to. That must be where the other hatch leads, deep into the secret facility beyond this wall. I start to look around, wondering what I could hurt myself with that would pique a Reaver’s interest, but Stirling steps up and takes hold of me. He holds me at the waist, just under my ribs, his hands snaking around my back.
Even here, the sensation gives me a chill, but that fades when I see the broken, distant look in his eyes.
“Raja… The Heart. He’s here with me.”
The One at the centre of it all is once again inhabiting my brave Highlander. I search his eyes, waiting, but Stirling only grimaces. His eyes are wet again, his tearstained face turning red as he shakes with tension.
“I’m sorry.”
Searing pain rips into my gut. I look down at Stirling’s arm, where the scars of his hidden blade have popped as the long knife slides out of his forearm. The hidden knife we never had time to get removed. It’s in me. The blade is deep under my ribs, all bre
ath leaving my body at once. My eyes flash with wild, lost motions, my body spasming. The world is a blur of shock and white hot pain, and the only sound in my head is the whirring of the nearest Reaver.
Twenty-Four
Kip warned me that it might all be a trap.
When I open my eyes and find my nose an inch from the roof of a coffin-shaped box, I let out a deafening scream. I suppose I should be grateful that I have breath left in my lungs to do it, but all I can think of is getting out of the Reaver. When I try to move, I find that my midsection is being held down by mechanical arms. Their pressure is merciless. I look down, though it’s hard to see anything beyond my own chest with its terrified, heaving breaths.
I don’t feel any pain. It takes some more wriggling to find an IV tube plugged into one of my arms, and beyond that there’s the orange flash of a little laser doing something to the place where I was stabbed. The work of the Reaver is eerily quiet, the only sounds made by my own fearful whimpering. I tense my body, willing myself to get it together. I was put into a coffin once before, sneaking out of the System, but this invasion of my body with no escape is a very different thing. I breathe, in and out, waiting.
It’s healing me. I suppose the lack of pain, and the sight of the blood stemming where Stirling stabbed me should be a comfort. But all the while the war is raging out there, and I’m trapped in a cocoon of black plastic and silver chrome with no way to help the ones I love. I’m not supposed to be here, and if the Heart of the System is indeed trying to trap me rather than help me, I fully intend to find it. Find it and stab it, like it stabbed me.
“Are you voice activated?” I ask the shell around my head. “Open! Reaver, open. Open up and let me out!”
Lights flicker into life. It’s not listening to me, but reacting to my body. I watch the twinkling lights form over my face, trying to make out the strange symbols they’re displaying. It takes a moment to realise the symbols they are forming are indeed numbers and letters, but in reverse. The lights must be displayed on the outer part of the shell, where people walking past the Reavers could see the progress of the person inside. I follow the shapes, learning to read them backwards: