Inkers

by Alex Rudall

  She pushed open the window, peered out. There was a trellis: climbable. She let herself down as far as she could and then dropped onto the grass and rolled.

  Amber ignored the pain, scrambled to her feet and ran. Her chest felt like it was tearing itself apart.

  She was halfway across the grass, sprinting towards a high fence, when the shout came. It had not taken them long to notice. She put on a burst of speed, not bothering to try to be quiet any more, half expecting a well–aimed bullet to enter the rear of her skull and bounce around in her cranial cavity at any moment.

  Amber ran.

  She smashed into the wire fence with her whole body and began to climb, footsteps hammering across the grass behind her. This was her only chance. They would not be so stupid ever again. She clawed and pulled with everything she had, trying to compensate for her injury–weakness and her hunger–weakness with a disregard to pain, willing suddenly to destroy any part of her body if it meant the world could continue to exist for at least a little while after her death.

  She rolled over the top and fell two metres clean to the ground, landing prone in a bush. When she was up there was already a man in black ITSA body–armour scrambling up the fence, another older man just catching him. The fence was buckling under the younger man’s weight but he kept coming.

  “Stop!” the older man shouted at her, panting. “You’ll die without the medbot!”

  Amber was already running, but she heard the thump as the younger man landed on the ground. He was younger, fitter, stronger, better fed, and in a heroic, violent mood.

  It didn’t matter. When he jumped on her, he was jumping on an injured, escaping woman. He forgot that he was jumping on a trained immune, an experienced ink–hunter with one goal. She knew exactly what was jumping on her. She did not want to hurt him but if she did not leave now she never would. She let him slide over the top of her to the ground, used all her remaining leg–strength to lift him up and ran with him upside–down, shoving him with all her might at a shard of wood sticking off a tree trunk. The sharp end went straight through his chest. His strong hands immediately stopped clawing at her, his legs stopped scrabbling for purchase. She leapt back and he stayed there for a second, legs hanging forward, hands brushing the ground, impaled on the branch. He slipped off to the ground with a thump. As he gasped, clutching at his chest, Amber bent, gently gripped his wrist and ripped the watch off. She scrabbled through his pockets, the noise of the older man trying to climb the chain fence rattling in her ears. She found a small plastic pack of grenades and took it and ran so she didn’t have to hurt the older man too.

  Amber ran through the trees and then across fields, orienting herself by the mountain to her right, heading south towards the smaller island. That was where the girl was, where she had always been. At any moment she expected the drones to swoop and eviscerate her, but none came. There were many in the sky, mainly ahead of her, a swarm of lights, sometimes flashing as they fought each other, as massed drones always did. Occasionally they exploded in blooms of spreading fire.

  The GSE was massive in the sky, the ring of light huge. Orion’s belt was blocked. She would never see it again now. Somehow the sadness of that threatened to overwhelm her, so she crushed the thought down and pushed on.

  There was a much larger flash of light and a faint crump of sound somewhere ahead of her across the weirdly lit landscape. An explosion. She guessed that was why they were not on her already: what was left of ITSA was focusing everything on the island.

  She ran until she couldn’t. She walked until she couldn’t. She collapsed. She remembered the watch. It was quite a simple one, with no AI, but it was tuned into the feeds. Without her implants she had to learn how to use the screen, but she figured it out and soon had a live feed of ITSA’s communications in the area.

  What she could see and hear confirmed it all. They had cornered a pregnant girl with apparent nanotechnological abilities. They were attempting to destroy her using anti–singularity weaponry. That blast had been the first serious attempt. The girl had apparently survived it. They were going to try nanites next. Then the nukes.

  Amber wrote a message.

  To every member of ITSA who was receiving in the area: Do not destroy the girl: the universe is inside her. Ask Robert Vicks in ITSA US. Protect the girl. Once the message had gone, she switched the watch off, snapped it back onto her wrist, and, grimacing, got back to her feet.

  Amber was crawling when she crested the final hill. Blood was pouring from her bandages and she was on the edge of passing out. The sky above the island was black with swarming drones. A large area on the hillside appeared to be on fire, and she could see flashes of gunfire, hear the cracks of weaponry firing and explosives going off.

  Was the girl fighting back?

  Amber crawled down the hill towards the wide channel of water between Arran and the island, leaving behind her a trail of blood.

  Hardwick

  The three men stood huddled together amongst the trees. The burning farmhouse was sending a pillar of smoke towards the swarming, writhing drones overhead. The massive pool of yellow ink was just visible on the courtyard, and Hardwick didn’t want to know how many bodies were down there with it.

  There was a crater filled with rubble where the barn had been. ITSA drones had hurled the stones on top after their anti–singularity weaponry had apparently failed to destroy the girl. The girl was in there somewhere, buried beneath it all. Watching on his watch via a soldier’s implants, Hardwick had seen a bubble form around her, black as death, just before the whole barn exploded.

  Hardwick, Lwazi and Ret had been brought across in the second wave of boats. They had watched the whole thing from amid the trees, a little way up the hill overlooking the farmhouse. Hardwick and Lwazi had crouched down behind a rock when the shooting started, but Ret had stood, peering down with a fierce grin on his face, flinching at the explosions but looking like he wished he was in there blowing up with them, his hangover apparently driven away. It was clearly back now, though. He was lying in the foetal position on a pile of leaves, moaning occasionally. Hardwick and Lwazi were both sat on stones, shivering despite their heavy coats, unused to the northern temperatures.

  Mary approached, clambering up steadily between the trunks, looking haggard, a long black rifle strapped to her back. She slipped a little but grabbed at a bunch of ferns and hauled herself onwards. She reached the three men and nodded at the two of them who were still conscious. She rested against a tree to catch her breath for a moment, adjusting her body armour and brushing mud off her thighs.

  “OK, gents,” she said, straightening, rubbing at her eyes a little. “We’ve got the girl. She’s under there somewhere. If she’s still alive, we’ll kill her. Whatever it takes. If we succeed, we hope to see the GSE turn away from Earth. If we don’t, we’re all dead.”

  “She – the singularity is inside her? She’s the source of the signal?” Hardwick said.

  “Almost certainly,” Mary said, her face hardly visible in the shadows. “There were – there have always been rumours that it was a human–ink hybrid that GCHQ were working on, when they accidentally created the GSE.”

  “A young girl,” Lwazi said, shaking his head, staring at the ground. “If I had known…”

  Hardwick stiffened, but Mary replied before he could say anything.

  “This is war, I’m afraid. It’s us or them.”

  Lwazi just looked away. There was a silence. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves around them. Everything was dappled in light from the GSE and the moon. Hardwick checked his watch – it was almost dawn. A wave of exhaustion washed over him. He struggled to control it.

  “What can we do?” he said. “We want to help, whatever you need. I can buy a lot drone time if you need more support. Lwazi, Ret, they’re both skilled.”

  Mary shook her head, looking down at the sleeping Ret. “No. If this stops the GSE you’ll have the thanks of the world. Now you need make your way back to whe
re we landed. One of the guys down there will take you back to Arran. There will be a drone that can take you back to South Africa, or wherever you need to go.”

  “No,” Hardwick said, anger rising within him, the cold forgotten, “No, there’s no need, we have to be here when it’s destroyed. That was the agreement. Let us help.”

  “It’s not negotiable,” said Mary, turning away.

  “And if we refuse?” Hardwick said, raising his voice. “We were here first, we found this place.”

  Ret sat up, woken by the raised voice, looked at them all blearily.

  “If you refuse I’ll have you removed,” Mary said, pausing. She sounded tired.

  “No way,” Ret said, clambering to his feet, “We don’t get ordered around like that by a woman. If we want to stay, we stay, alright?” He steadied himself on a tree–trunk.

  “Don’t you understand?” Mary said. “This is the most important ITSA operation in the history of the world. This island is under our jurisdiction now. I’ll have you removed by force if I have to.”

  “Yeah, we can use force too,” Ret said, tapping his sidearm.

  “Ret, please,” Hardwick said. Lwazi stood up too, shaking his head, starting to walk away down the hill between the trees.

  “I’ll have you shot if I have to,” Mary said. “Many people have already died tonight.”

  Without warning an ITSA grunt stepped out of the darkness and grabbed Lwazi by the arm. Two more appeared from the trees behind Ret and Hardwick. Mary drew her handgun, keeping it pointed it at the ground.

  “Do we need to cuff you?” Mary said.

  “The singularity is moving!” Lwazi said, peering at his watch, trying to hold his wrist steady in the back of the bouncing rib. “She is still alive!”

  “Jesus,” Hardwick said, staring back at the island. As if in reply, there was the sound of gunfire starting up yet again, and then a huge flash of light, followed by the sound of another explosion. Hardwick raised his arm to protect his face, but the cloud of flame rising into the air dissipated quickly.

  Lwazi ignored it, engrossed in the device. “She is away,” he said, “Away from the farm. Along the beach,” he said, pointing to the south of the farm. Hardwick peered across the waves, trying to see any movement through the darkness. He saw nothing.

  Hardwick glanced back at the ITSA grunt piloting the rib, his mind racing. Ret was sat near the grunt, his head in his hands, Hardwick wasn’t sure whether from seasickness or hangover.

  “Have you seen that thing in the sky?” Hardwick said softly.

  “Yes,” Lwazi said, looking away from his watch at last.

  “Did you hear what she said, back on the island? Well, it’s bullshit. We’re going to be forgotten. They’re trying to save the world, all they care about is doing that. Unless we’re there, unless we’re the ones who stop the girl, we’ll be forgotten. We’ll have nothing.”

  “We will have the detection technology.”

  “Yeah, but they’ll take the credit for saving the whole world. Imagine what we could do for your community with that. For the whole of South Africa. And what if they fuck it up?”

  They both looked up at the ITSA grunt, sitting at the outboard at the rear of the rib, watching them talk but unable to hear over the noise of the engine.

  “I have still got my gun under my jacket,” Lwazi said, just audibly.

  Hardwick grinned. “Well then. Shall we go and get our bounty?”

  They were in the middle of the channel, the lights of houses and streetlights visible on Arran. Back on the smaller island the lights of individuals and boats and jeeps could be seen. The remains of the farmhouse were aglow with fire. The boat was bouncing steadily along the surface, the ITSA man taking it gently. The sea was calm and there was little wind. Drone spotlights weaved in the sky overhead.

  “How?” Lwazi said.

  Hardwick glanced aft at the soldier, who was peering over their heads now, concentrating on steering the boat. Ret still had his head in his hands. He was lifting it occasionally to stare back towards the shore of the island, but then rapidly putting his head back down as the nausea overcame him.

  “Don’t reach for it,” Hardwick said, ‘don’t point, just tell me, OK? Where’s the gun?”

  “Inside my jacket,” Lwazi said, keeping his hands on his knees. “There is a pocket inside, I put it in there, they missed it.”

  “OK,” Hardwick said. “I’m going to go back there. I’ll distract him, and then you get the gun and point it at him and tell him not to move. I’ll make him sit in the middle and I’ll take his radio and take us back to the island.”

  “Can you drive this?” Lwazi said.

  “I think so. Make sure you shout really really loudly. Can you use the gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t shoot him, for god’s sake. But you’ve gotta look like you mean it.”

  “What if he runs at me?”

  “Then you might have to shoot him,” Hardwick said.

  Lwazi shook his head.

  “You might have to. If you tell him not to move loud enough and look like you mean it, he won’t, though. And for god’s sake don’t fall over, and for god’s sake don’t shoot me.”

  “Look,” Lwazi said, and Hardwick looked up – the soldier was looking at them both, frowning.

  “Now or never,” Hardwick said, getting to his feet. Hardwick clambered over the low crossbeams on the rib. He worked his way past Ret, who looked up briefly but then bent over the side of the boat and vomited. Hardwick gave the soldier his best friendly smile, keeping his body low and his hands on the beams of the boat so as not to fall over. The soldier waved at him to sit down, but Hardwick pretended not to notice and carried on climbing aft .

  “Sit down!” the man shouted, slowing the boat a little. “Sit down, please!” He was Scottish, not a South African. Hardwick slowed but bent forward to speak to him. He suddenly realised he hadn’t planned what he was going to say. It was too late to turn back.

  “Sorry,” he said, “I, uh, was just wondering if we’re going to be able to get back to South Africa tonight?”

  “I don’t know,” the soldier shouted over the noise of the engine. “We can sort it out when we get over there, just sit down!”

  “Sorry,” Hardwick said, “I just need to know if I can get back tonight, I’ve got a deal coming through and –”

  The man suddenly looked up into the middle of the boat, eyes wide.

  “Put your hands up!” Lwazi said, only just audibly. Hardwick looked back. Lwazi was holding the gun with one hand, but his jacket had long sleeves and you couldn’t really see the gun. He was balancing himself with his other hand against the side of the rib. Ret was staring up at him, wiping vomit from his cheek and trying to lean back out of the line of fire.

  “What?” the man said, who apparently had not heard him. “Sit down!”

  “Put your hands up!” Lwazi shouted, more loudly, and he waved his gun arm so his sleeve rolled up a bit.

  “What the–” the soldier said, reaching for his gun, and Hardwick said, “Do what he says! Lie down!” and pulled him forward onto the benches, grabbing at the gun in its holster. The boat spun hard, throwing them both down. Hardwick pulled the gun free, pushed himself away from the struggling man, grabbed the arm of the outboard to steady the boat and pointed the gun at the man’s face, breathing hard.

  “Do not move,” Hardwick said, as dangerously as he knew how.

  The man stayed still. Hardwick carefully reached down and pulled the watch off the soldier’s wrist. Ret came to help, taking the soldier by the shoulders and forcing him further down into the boat. The grunt seemed resigned to defeat and lay still. Lwazi backed away from him a couple of steps, almost falling over, but then sat down on a beam himself, keeping the gun pointed at the soldier.

  Hardwick hauled on the rudder and the rib swung back towards the island.

  *

  They left the man hand–cuffed to a sturdy tree. Lwazi k
ept apologising and promising that they’d come back for him. Ret just laughed at him. The soldier said nothing, just sat looking up at the GSE. They dragged the rib high up on the beach where it was safe from the tide and could be spotted from Arran in daylight, so that the man would eventually be found if they didn’t return. If the world was still there. They set off together into the thick trees, Lwazi leading the way, taking directions from his watch, pushing through the foliage. Ret took Lwazi’s gun and followed behind.

  “Wait,” Lwazi said.

  “The girl?” Hardwick said.

  “There is something in the water,” he said, turning back. “An immune. I think it is the one you killed,” he said to Ret.

  “Oh, Christ,” Ret said. “How close is she?”

  They all looked back over the beach, out into the choppy channel.

  “She is only a quarter of the way,” Lwazi said. “She is very slow.”

  “Swimming? She’ll drown,” Hardwick said. “Leave her.”

  “No,” Ret said. “We should wait and shoot her.”

  “You should have shot her better last time,” Hardwick said. “We haven’t got time.”

  “I’ll wait for her, then,” Ret said. “You go find the girl.”

  “No,” Hardwick said. “We need you. Lwazi, just, just keep an eye on the immune, alright? Just tell us if she makes it. We can always come back if she does. OK?”

  Ret nodded, but he looked unhappy.

  Lwazi was peering closely at his watch.

  “What?” Hardwick said.

  “There is another concentration of ink on the island,” he said. “Close to the girl.”

  “Oh Christ, another immune?” Hardwick said.

  “No,” Lwazi said, slowly. “An addict. He is almost on top of her. It is a white addict, only white inside.”

  “Then let’s hope she kills him before he kills her,” Hardwick said, finally.

  The three men set off together into the darkness, the first signs of Earth’s final dawn beginning to touch the clouds high above.