The Power

by Naomi Alderman

  Roxy’s made that kind of calculation herself, more than once now.

  ‘You weren’t supposed to see it, love.’

  ‘Aren’t you ashamed, Dad?’ says Roxy.

  He sticks his chin out, puts his tongue between his teeth and his bottom lip. ‘I’m sorry it happened. I’m sorry that’s the way it went. I didn’t mean for you to see it, and I’ve always looked after you. You’re my girl.’ He pauses.

  ‘Your mum hurt me more than I could tell you.’ He breathes out through his nose again, heavy, like a bull. ‘It’s a bloody Greek tragedy, love. Even if I’d known all this was going to happen, I’d still have done it, I can’t deny it. And if you’re going to kill me … there’s some justice to it, love.’

  He sits there, waiting for it, calm as anything. He must have thought about this a hundred times, wondering who’d get him in the end, a friend or an enemy or a growing mass in the centre of the stomach, or if he’d make it all the way to a good old age. He must’ve thought before that it might be her, and that’s why he’s so calm with it now.

  She knows how this goes. If she kills him, it’ll never be over. That’s how it went with Primrose, how they ended up in a blood feud with him. If she keeps on killing anyone who pisses her off, someone will come for her in the end.

  ‘You know what’s justice, Dad?’ she says. ‘I want you to fuck off. And I want you to tell all of them that you’re handing the business over to me. We’re not having any bloody battles, no one else is coming up to take it from me, no one revenging you, no Greek tragedy. We’re doing it peaceful. You’re retiring. I’ll protect you, and you’ll fuck off. We’ll fix you up with a safe place. Go somewhere with a beach.’

  Bernie nods. ‘You always was a clever girl,’ he says.

  Jocelyn

  They’ve had death threats and bomb scares at the NorthStar camp before, but never a real attack, not till tonight.

  Jocelyn’s on night watch. There are five of them, scanning the perimeter with binoculars. If you do your extras and you sleep over and you agree that you’ll work for them for two years after you leave college, they’ll pay your tuition. Pretty sweet deal. Margot could have paid for Jocelyn’s college, but it looks good that she’s doing it the same way the other girls do. Maddy’s skein has come in sure and strong, with none of Jocelyn’s problems. She’s only fifteen and she’s already talking about joining the elite cadets. Two military daughters; that’s how you run for President.

  Jocelyn’s half dozing at her watch station when the alarm sounds in the booth. Alarms have sounded before; it’s been a fox or a coyote or, sometimes, a couple of drunk teenagers trying to climb over the fence on a dare. Jocelyn was once scared out of her wits by a shrieking in the trash at the back of the mess hall, only for two enormous raccoons to dive out of the metal bins, biting and running at each other.

  The others had laughed at her for her fright at that, as they laugh at her quite often. At first, there was Ryan, and that was exciting and fun and intense and, because his skein was just their secret, it made everything special. But then it got out somehow – photos on a long lens, reporters at the door again. And the other girls at camp read about it. And then there were little whispered giggly conversations that fell silent when she walked into the room. She’s read articles by women who wish they couldn’t do it and men who wish they could, and everything seems so confusing, and all she really wants is to be normal. She broke up with Ryan and he cried, and she found her face was dry like there was a stopper inside holding it all in. Her mom took her to a doctor privately and they gave her something to feel more normal. And she does, in a way.

  She and three of the other girls on watch take up their night-sticks – long batons with sharp, whippy metal strands at the end – and go out into the night, expecting to find some local wildlife biting at the fence. Except when they get there, there are three men, each carrying a baseball bat, their faces greased up with black. They’re at the generator. One of them has a huge pair of bolt-cutters. It’s a terrorist incursion.

  Things happen quickly. Dakota, the eldest of them, whispers to Hayden, one of the youngest, to run for the NorthStar guards. The others stay in a tight formation, bodies close together. There have been men at other camps with knives, guns, even grenades and home-made bombs.

  Dakota shouts out, ‘Put down your weapons!’

  The men’s eyes are narrow and unreadable. They’ve come here to do something bad.

  Dakota swings her flashlight. ‘All right, fellas,’ she says. ‘You’ve had your fun, but we caught you. Put them down.’

  One of them throws something – a gas grenade, smoke billowing out. The second uses his bolt-cutters on an exposed tube in the generator. There’s a bang. All the lights go out in the centre of the camp. There’s nothing now but the black sky, the stars, and these men who have come here to kill them.

  Jocelyn points her flashlight wildly around. One of the men is fighting with Dakota and Samara, swinging his baseball bat, shouting a tattered cry. The bat connects with Samara’s head. There’s blood. Fuck, there’s blood. They’ve been trained, the girls are all trained; this isn’t supposed to happen. Even with their power, can this still happen? Tegan’s on him like a wolf, the power in her hands taking out one of his knees, but he kicks her square in the face, and what’s that glinting under his jacket, what has he got, what the fuck has he got? Jocelyn runs for him, she’ll hold him down and get whatever it is away from him, but as she goes a hand grabs for her ankle and she topples forward, face into the sandy earth.

  She scrambles on to all fours, crawling towards the flashlight, but before she can get there it’s picked up, pointed at her. She waits for the blow. But it’s Dakota holding the light. Dakota with a bruise across her cheek, and Tegan next to her. And one of the men, kneeling on the ground at Tegan’s feet. She thinks it was the one she was fighting with. His balaclava’s off, and he’s young. Younger than she’d thought. Maybe only a year or two older than her. His lip is cut and there’s a fern-like scar unfurling across his jaw.

  ‘Got him,’ says Dakota.

  ‘Fuck you,’ says the man. ‘We stand for freedom!’

  Tegan lifts up his head by his hair and jolts him again, just under the ear, a painful place.

  ‘Who sent you here?’ says Dakota.

  But he doesn’t answer.

  ‘Jos,’ says Dakota, ‘show him we mean business.’

  Jocelyn doesn’t know where the other two women have gone. ‘Shouldn’t we wait,’ she says, ‘for back-up?’

  Dakota says, ‘Goddamn pzit. You can’t do it, can you?’

  The boy’s cowering on the floor. She doesn’t need to do it; no one needs to do it now.

  Tegan says, ‘Has he got a skein? She wants to fuck him.’

  The others laugh. Yeah, they mutter, that’s what she likes. Weird men, deformed men. Disgusting, strange, repulsive men. That’s what she likes.

  If she fucking cries in front of them, they’ll never forget it. Anyway, she’s not what they think. She didn’t even like it so much with Ryan, she didn’t; she’s thought about it since they broke up and she thinks the other girls are right. It’s better with a man who can’t do it; it’s more normal, anyway. She’s been with a couple of other guys since, guys who liked it when she gave them a jolt and even asked her for it in quiet voices close up to her ear, saying, ‘Please.’ It’s better like that, and she wishes they’d just forget that Ryan ever existed; she’s forgotten him, it was just a teenage thing, and the drugs have normalized her power more than ever. She’s normal now, completely normal.

  What would a normal girl do now?

  Dakota says, ‘Fuck off, Cleary, I’ll do it,’ and Jocelyn says, ‘No, you fuck off.’

  The boy on the floor whispers, ‘Please.’ Like they do.

  Jocelyn pushes Dakota out of the way and leans down and gives him a jolt in his head. Just to teach him what he’s got coming if he messes with them.

  She’s emotional, though. Her tr
ainer’s told her to watch out for that. There are surges going through her body. Hormones and electrolytes mess with everything.

  She can feel as it leaves her body that it’s too much. She tries to hold it back, but it’s too late.

  His scalp crisps under her hand.

  He screams.

  Inside his skull, liquid is cooking. Delicate parts are fusing and congealing. The lines of power are scarring him, faster than thought.

  She can’t hold it back. It’s not a good way to go. She didn’t mean to do it.

  There’s a smell of burned hair and flesh.

  Tegan says, ‘Fuck.’

  And there’s an arc light on them, suddenly. It’s two of the NorthStar people, a man and a woman; Jos has met them before: Esther and Johnny. At last. They must have rigged up a light from a back-up generator. Jocelyn’s mind is working very quickly, even though her body is slow. Her hand is still on the boy’s head. There’s a faint wisp of smoke at her fingertips.

  Johnny says, ‘Jesus.’

  Esther says, ‘Were there more? The girl said there were three.’

  Dakota’s still staring at the boy. Jocelyn peels her fingers off him one by one and she doesn’t think about it at all. She has the sense that if she starts to think about it she’ll tumble down into the deep, dark water; there’s a black ocean waiting for her now, it will always be waiting. She takes her fingers off, not thinking about it, and she pulls her sticky palm up, not thinking about it, and the body tumbles forward, face first into the dirt.

  Esther says, ‘Johnny, go and get a fucking medic. Now.’

  Johnny’s staring at the body, too. He makes a little laugh, and says, ‘Medic?’

  Esther says, ‘Now. Go and get the fucking medic, Johnny.’

  He swallows. His eyes flick to Jocelyn, Tegan, Esther. When he catches Esther’s eye, he nods swiftly. Backs up a few paces. Turns and runs, out of the circle of the arc light and into the dark.

  Esther looks round the circle.

  Dakota starts to say, ‘What happened was –’

  But Esther shakes her head. ‘Let’s see,’ she says.

  She kneels down by the body, flips it over with one hand, rummages in his coat. They can’t quite see what’s happening. She finds some gum, a handful of flyers for a men’s protest group. And then there’s a familiar heavy metallic chink.

  Esther reaches behind him and there, in her palm, is a gun; thick and snub-nosed, military issue. ‘He pulled his gun on you,’ says Esther.

  Jocelyn frowns. She understands, but she can’t stop herself from saying the words.

  ‘No, he didn’t. He was …’ She stops, as her mouth catches up to her brain.

  Esther speaks in a very calm and easy tone. There’s a smile in her voice. Like she’s talking Jos through an equipment maintenance drill. First turn off the power, then apply the lubricating fluid, then adjust the belt using the tightening screw. Simple. One thing, then the next. One, two, three. This is how it has to go.

  She says, ‘You saw that he had a gun in the side pocket of his coat, and he was reaching for it. He had already committed an act of violence against us. You perceived a clear and present danger. He reached for the gun and you used proportionate force to stop him.’

  Esther uncurls the boy’s fingers and wraps them around the holster of the pistol. ‘It’s simpler to understand this way. He was holding his gun,’ she says. ‘He was about to fire it.’ She looks around the circle of young women, meeting each of their eyes in turn.

  Tegan says, ‘Yes, that’s what happened. I saw him reach for his gun.’

  Jocelyn looks at the gun, clasped in the cooling fingers. Some of the NorthStar people carry their own unregistered side arms. Her mom had to get the New York Times to pull a piece about it, on the grounds that it would threaten homeland security. Maybe he had that gun in his back pocket. Maybe he was going to turn it on them. But if they had guns, why were they using bats?

  Esther clasps a hand on Jocelyn’s shoulder. ‘You’re a hero, soldier,’ she says.

  ‘Yes,’ says Jocelyn.

  It gets easier to tell the story the more she does it. She starts to see it very clearly in her mind’s eye so that, by the time she’s talking about it on national TV, she thinks she half remembers it anyway. Hadn’t she seen something metal in one of their pockets? Couldn’t it have been a gun? Maybe that’s why she let off her blast. Yes, she probably did know.

  She smiles on the television news. No, she says. I don’t feel like a hero. Anyone would have done the same.

  Oh, come on, says Kristen. I couldn’t have done it. Could you, Matt?

  Matt laughs and says, I couldn’t even have watched! He’s very attractive, a good ten years younger than Kristen. The network had found him. Just trying something out. While we’re at it, Kristen, why don’t you wear your glasses onscreen now, it’ll give you gravitas. We’re going to see how the numbers play out this way. We’re sending it for a run around the park, OK?

  Well, your mom must be very proud, Jocelyn.

  She is proud. She knows part of the story, but not the whole thing. It’s given her leverage with the Defence Department in rolling out the NorthStar training camp scheme for girls across all fifty states. It’s a well-run programme, with good links to colleges, and they’re able to charge the army a bounty for every girl they send their way who can bypass basic and go straight into active duty. The army is fond of Margot Cleary.

  And with all that’s going on in the news, says Matt, this war in Eastern Europe, what is that about? First the South Moldovans are winning, now it’s the North Moldovans, and the Saudis are involved somehow … He shrugs helplessly. It’s great to know that we have young women like you ready to defend the country.

  Oh yes, says Jocelyn, just like she practised. I would never have been able to do it at all without the training I received at NorthStar Camp.

  Kristen squeezes her knee. Will you stick around, Jocelyn? We’re going to be tasting some great cinnamon recipes for fall after the break.

  Of course!

  Matt smiles into the camera. I know I feel safer with you around. And now, the weather on the ones.

  Statue of the ‘Priestess Queen’ – found in a treasure trove in Lahore. The statue itself is substantially older than the base, which is made from repurposed Cataclysm Era technology.

  Though much eroded, analysis of the base has revealed that it was originally marked with the Bitten Fruit motif. Objects marked with this motif are found across the Cataclysm Era world and their use is much debated. The uniformity of the motif suggests that it is a religious symbol, but it may also have been a glyph indicating that the object should be used for serving food; the different sizes may have been used for different meals.

  This Bitten Fruit artefact is, as is common, constructed partially of metal and partially of glass. Unusually for objects of this type, the glass is unbroken, giving it high value in the post-Cataclysm years. It’s speculated that the Bitten Fruit artefact was given as a tribute to the cult of the Priestess Queen and used to increase the majesty of her statue. The two objects were welded together around 2,500 years ago.

  Statue of ‘Serving Boy’, found in the same hoard as the ‘Priestess Queen’. From the careful grooming and sensuous features, it has been speculated that this statue depicts a sex worker. The statue is decorated with Cataclysm Era glass whose composition is similar to that of the base of ‘Priestess Queen’; it almost certainly came from a broken Bitten Fruit artefact. The glass was probably added to this statue at the same time that the base was added to ‘Priestess Queen’.

  ONE YEAR

  * * *

  Margot

  ‘Can you comment on why you’re here, Senator Cleary?’

  ‘President Moskalev has been ousted in a military coup from the country of which she was the leader chosen by a democratic process, Tunde. This is the kind of thing which the government of the United States takes very seriously. And may I say how delighted I am that you’re enga
ging the younger generation in this sort of important geopolitical issue.’

  ‘It’s the younger generation who’ll have to live in the world you’re building, Senator.’

  ‘You’re right, and that’s why I’m so thrilled that my daughter Jocelyn is visiting the country with me as part of the United Nations delegation.’

  ‘Can you comment on the recent defeat of the forces of the Republic of Bessapara by the troops of North Moldova?’

  ‘It’s a party, son, not a defence strategy meeting.’

  ‘You’d know, Senator Cleary. You sit on … is it five strategic committees now?’ He counts them off on his fingers: ‘Defence, foreign relations, homeland security, budget and intelligence. You’re quite the powerhouse to be sent to a party.’

  ‘You’ve done your homework.’

  ‘I have, ma’am. The North Moldovans are funded by the House of Saud in exile, aren’t they? Is this war with Bessapara a proving ground for an attempt to retake Saudi Arabia?’

  ‘The Saudi Arabian government was democratically elected by their people. The United States government supports democracy around the world and peaceful regime change.’

  ‘Is the United States government here to secure the oil pipeline?’

  ‘There’s no oil in Moldova or Bessapara, Tunde.’

  ‘But another regime change in Saudi Arabia might affect your oil supply, don’t you think?’

  ‘That can’t be a concern when we’re talking about the freedom of a democracy.’

  He almost laughs. A little smirk peels across his face and disappears. ‘OK,’ says Tunde. ‘Fine. The United States would rather promote democracy than oil. OK. And what message does your attending this party tonight send about domestic terrorism back home?’

  ‘Let me be clear,’ says Margot, staring straight into Tunde’s camera, with a clear, level gaze. ‘The United States government is not afraid of domestic terrorists, or the people who fund them.’