by Ben Horton
‘Come off it!’ snarled Cameron, thumping his chest. ‘Darren was under pressure from Fry’s people to sell me out. Darren helps me, and the next thing we know, his mum is dead. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. Besides, you all know this is the way Fry works.’ He pointed at the TV screen. ‘You all know exactly what he’s capable of. You know that even better than me.’
‘All right,’ retorted Slater, matching the heat of Cameron’s anger. ‘Say Fry is responsible. So what? We didn’t create Fry – he created us. He’s not our responsibility. It’s up to the people out there to wake up to the sort of man he is. And if we let him carry on the way he’s going, maybe they will. We don’t owe them anything. It’s up to us to make a life for ourselves. If we stick to the way we’ve been running things, we can survive and build on everything we’ve done so far. That will take time and hard work, and it means staying hidden. And maybe that’s not heroic’ – he gave a sneer towards Cameron – ‘but we’d still be doing something worthwhile. And that does not make us monsters.’
Several of the audience looked ready to break out into quarrelling again, but far more were holding back, as though they had heard their own thoughts expressed adequately now – either by Cameron or Slater. Troublingly for Cameron, there were quite a number of nods in the wake of Slater’s rousing speech.
Seeing her moment, Rora stepped up to slot herself in between Cameron and Slater. She wore a thunderous expression, and Cameron guessed she was either furiously thinking things through or – more likely – just plain furious that the situation was being taken out of her hands.
She raised her arms to quieten those who were still giving vent to their opinions. ‘All right. Cameron and Slater have both made their positions quite clear,’ she said, flashing them both hard glances. ‘But it’s not as clear-cut as they seem to think. There are other ways. If we did decide not to intervene now, we’d still carry on the fight, striking back at Fry whenever we can. That’s not a cowardly option. We’d still be facing risks every day.’ She shot a meaningful look at Cameron. ‘There’s no question of that.
‘But,’ Rora went on, ‘we did take a massive risk to bust Cameron out of the lab. And we did that for a reason – to help us with the fight against Fry. And maybe,’ she added with a careful measure of reserve, ‘we should consider taking that fight to him in a big way. Make a stand, like Cameron says. But whatever we decide, we have to act as one. We’re the Monster Republic.’ She allowed the name, with its deep significance for everyone in the room, to hang in the air for a moment. ‘We can’t let this divide us, with one side going off to war and another side staying at home. We all need to be in this together, whichever way we go. It’s a big decision, and we need time to think it over.’
‘But there is no time!’ exploded Cameron. ‘The memorial service is tomorrow! We have to decide now, or it will be too late. If Fry manages to kill the Prime Minister and bring him back as a puppet, it will be a hundred times harder to make a stand against them!’
‘Cameron—’ began Rora through gritted teeth, but he ignored her. The time for talking and thinking was over. It was time for action.
‘I think the Republic needs to do this democratically,’ he said loudly. ‘We need to put it to a vote.’
Nods swelled into a chorus of agreement. Even Slater agreed, looking confident that he would win. Rora glared at Cameron, but he avoided her furious gaze. He knew that with Slater on one side and him on the other, it almost looked like the Monster Republic was electing a new leader. Cameron had no desire to push Rora aside, but he knew she wouldn’t see it like that. Well, he’d just have to deal with that later. What mattered right now was the decision.
‘Fine,’ hissed Rora, turning her back on both Cameron and Slater. ‘Have it your way.’
She stepped forward. ‘Remember, we’re not choosing Cameron’s way or Slater’s,’ she said pointedly. ‘We are choosing the Republic’s future course. Do we go out there and take the fight to Fry? Or do we focus on making a life for ourselves? All those in favour of taking a stand, raise your hands.’
This was it. Cameron’s stomach knotted. Had he said enough? Was he right about these monsters he had only just met? Were they really ready to come out of the shadows? Raising his head high, he thrust his hand into the air.
For a moment the room was full of statues. Then, slowly, twitchily, Tinker raised his shaking hand to join Cameron’s.
It was like a dam breaking. Hands of all shapes, sizes and colours rose into the air. Slater’s jaw dropped as he saw the mood change. Rora put forward the other choice and asked the crowd to raise their hands for that, but Cameron’s HUD had already tallied the count anyway. There weren’t enough monsters left to outvote the others.
He had won.
The Republic was going to war.
chapter seventeen
plan of attack
Things moved fast once the vote was official.
First, Slater stormed out of the room with several of his supporters. Rora only waited long enough to ask Smarts to come up with some sort of plan before she too stalked off, without even looking in Cameron’s direction.
So much for the Republic sticking together.
‘Don’t worry too much,’ advised Smarts, appearing almost magically at Cameron’s elbow. ‘They’ll come round.’
‘Maybe,’ grunted Cameron doubtfully. ‘Do you have any ideas for what we should do tomorrow?’
‘Meet me back here at five a.m.,’ said Smarts. ‘I’m going to sleep. I need to think about this.’
‘You think in your sleep?’
‘Sure,’ smiled Smarts. ‘Doesn’t everyone?’
Cameron watched as Smarts walked slowly out of the room. The blind boy hadn’t had enough time to familiarize himself with the layout of the new base, but he refused to use a stick. He was still wearing a large plaster on his forehead from a close encounter with a wall.
The remaining monsters in the room were returning to their regular groups, but Cameron thought he could detect a change in the atmosphere. Several people flashed him a smile, albeit from a safe distance, and he realized that by arguing from within the Republic rather than walking out of it, he had finally won acceptance.
Cameron badly wanted to capitalize on this change. To walk over and join in a conversation and share the mood of quiet but excited optimism. But first things first. He had bridges to mend …
* * *
Rora was standing at the top of the mine shaft that led to the surface. She was under cover, but the swirling wind swept rain into her face, plastering auburn fur to her skin.
Cameron came to a stop beside her, with an almost imperceptible hiss of servos. For a long moment there was silence.
‘I’m Sorry,’ he said finally. ‘I didn’t mean to undermine you as leader.’
Rora didn’t move a muscle, her eyes fixed on some lost point in the rainy darkness.
Cameron shifted awkwardly. ‘I had to say something. I couldn’t pretend any more.’
The fox-girl turned to face him, tilting her head up to look him in the face. There was anger in her eyes, but not the resentful anger Cameron was expecting. Rora’s gaze was more frustrated.
‘You don’t have to explain,’ she said. ‘I understand why you did it. You might not believe me, but I even agree with you. But you don’t know how the Republic works. We’re not like a normal part of society – we don’t have just one identity. If you knew how much of a struggle it is to hold everyone together, you wouldn’t throw ultimatums about so casually.’
‘It wasn’t an ultimatum,’ objected Cameron.
‘It was,’ growled Rora. ‘You turned what should have been a debate into an either/or decision. You didn’t leave any room for compromise. What would have happened if you’d lost?’
Cameron was silent. He hadn’t really thought that far.
‘I’ll tell you,’ Rora continued. ‘You would have gone out on your own and maybe half the Republic would have gone with you. We�
��d have been divided in two, and both sides would have been easier for Fry to pick off. Brilliant.’
‘Do you think that’s what Slater’s going to do?’ asked Cameron.
Rora shrugged. ‘Slater loves the Republic. Too much sometimes. I don’t think he’ll leave.’
She didn’t sound very sure, though.
‘I’m Sorry,’ Cameron said again, uselessly.
‘Don’t be Sorry,’ replied Rora. ‘Just remember that not everyone can afford to be as idealistic as you.’
‘Some things are worth fighting for.’
Rora gave Cameron a tired smile. ‘I know. But everything has a price too. And we don’t know yet what your little speech has cost us.’
A rumble of thunder echoed off the mountainside.
‘Are you coming down?’ asked Cameron.
‘Not yet,’ replied Rora. ‘I think I need to cool off a bit more.’
‘See you tomorrow, then,’ said Cameron quietly. ‘Sleep well.’
Rora raised an eyebrow. He turned and trudged back down the tunnel. At the first turn, he looked back to see her small figure silhouetted by a bolt of lightning that cut across the sky. And with a flash of inspiration, Cameron realized that she hadn’t come up to the surface just to be alone. If Slater was going to leave, he would have to come out this way too. Past her. Rora wasn’t cooling off at all – she was on guard duty.
It didn’t look as if anyone would be getting much sleep that night.
After a few uneasy hours of dozing, Cameron returned to the meeting room a few minutes before five a.m. It was cold, but the lights were on and Smarts was already there, sitting in a chair while Tinker hooked up a computer to the TV.
‘Slide show,’ Smarts said to Cameron, by way of explanation. Cameron had assumed he’d been joking about thinking in his sleep, but the boy-genius certainly sounded perky. If he had been up all night plotting, he looked a lot fresher than Cameron felt. Tinker greeted Cameron with a lopsided grin, which considering he was busy fiddling with connections at the back of the computer, Cameron thought was pretty sociable of him.
Over the next few minutes, more monsters filed in, evidently invited by Smarts. As Rora settled into her usual chair, Cameron tried to catch her eye, wondering what had happened overnight; whether Slater and his supporters had left. But Rora’s face was an impassive mask that gave nothing away.
Tinker sat down at the computer. ‘We’re g-g-good to go.’
‘All right,’ Smarts began, with a quiet cough to clear his throat. ‘Are we sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.’
As he spoke, the TV screen flashed up a map of the waterfront district of Broad Harbour.
‘We’re short on time, so I’ll keep it brief,’ Smarts promised. ‘The memorial service is being held on the marina outside the power station – here.’
Tinker tapped the keyboard again and the TV picture switched to an enlarged section of the map. He drew a brisk circle on the computer screen with a stylus, and an area close to the water was suddenly ringed in red.
‘It’s due to begin in approximately six hours’ time. At ten fifty-five a.m. the Prime Minister will go to the podium and unveil the memorial. Some sort of stone obelisk, apparently. Then a two-minute silence will be observed, beginning at ten fifty-eight. Finally, at eleven o’clock, the Prime Minister will begin his speech.’
Smarts panned his dark glasses around the room. ‘Now, I calculate that for maximum impact, Fry will strike at the end of the two-minute silence. I reckon that his original plan was for Cameron to shoot the Prime Minister, but since Cameron escaped, that must have changed. Fry knows that this is a suicide mission, and I doubt he’s going to risk losing Carla too. We can’t be sure what he’s got up his sleeve, so Rora and Cameron – suitably disguised – will infiltrate the crowd and see what they can find out. If it turns out that Carla is the assassin, they will try to prevent her from killing the Prime Minister, either subduing her by force or attracting the attention of the police.’
Cameron winced inwardly at the thought of trying to subdue Carla by force. It was easier said than done. Smarts scratched at his cheek as though trying to figure out whether he’d forgotten anything.
‘Any questions?’
Everyone’s head shook slowly, but nobody spoke.
‘Good. Tinker has pulled together some info on the local area. We’ll upload it into Cameron and then you can access it whenever you need to.’
As Smarts spoke, Tinker appeared at Cameron’s elbow, cable in hand. He bit his lip shyly and nodded towards Cameron’s right hand. Cameron grinned, pleased that Tinker had remembered to ask permission this time. He held out his hand and Tinker quickly connected the cable to a port concealed under his thumbnail.
Images and words flashed across his vision at lightning speed as the files uploaded. Again, the new experience was disorientating for Cameron – like being spun around inside a tornado of data. But as the dizziness passed, he saw that dozens of files were now stored in a new folder at the bottom corner of his HUD, ready for access.
The contents looked pretty comprehensive – the whole area mapped out in blueprints, plans and wire-frame images of the power plant and other buildings close to the marina. But Cameron couldn’t help wondering how different he would feel when he was actually there, so close to the site of the ‘accident’ that had changed his life for ever.
There was no sense in guessing. The only thing to do now was find out.
As everyone rose to leave, Cameron was surprised to find Slater blocking the door. So he hadn’t decided to split off. Yet.
But then what was he doing here? Cameron couldn’t believe Slater would want anything to do with whatever Smarts was planning, but he’d clearly been lurking at the back of the room all the time.
‘I’m coming along,’ Slater declared, levelling a steely gaze at Rora. ‘You need someone to watch your back. You can’t trust him,’ he finished with a jerk of his head towards Cameron.
Cameron swore quietly to himself. Yeah, that made more sense.
‘All right,’ said Rora.
He stared at her, disbelieving. Then Slater gave him a look, both warning and triumphant – and that was the last straw. Without waiting for Slater or Rora to get out of his way, Cameron barged past and stormed out.
‘Hey!’ Rora shouted after him.
Cameron didn’t stop.
He was getting good at filtering out sounds he had no interest in hearing.
Rora caught up with Cameron while he was locked in a mortal struggle with a dark grey hoodie. Apparently this was the disguise the monsters used on the rare occasions they needed to venture out in the real world. Cameron had the weight advantage, but that didn’t make it any easier to get the thing on over his bulky shoulders and generally altered physique without ripping it apart at the seams.
‘I’m not in the mood,’ he told Rora before she could get a word out.
‘I was just going to ask if you wanted a hand with that?’
‘I can manage,’ growled Cameron, feeling more foolish than ever. He wrestled with the jumper some more and finally managed to yank it down all the way, stretching the material and poking his head up through the neck. He reached behind him to draw the hood up, conscious of Rora still watching him.
‘What? If you’re waiting for me to say something, then you can forget it.’
He reached for the heavy coat that had been dumped on a chair for him.
‘Hey,’ Rora said, leaning in front of him and sticking her face where he couldn’t avoid seeing her. ‘Slater’s not coming to protect me. No matter what he says.’
‘I know that. He’s coming to keep an eye on me. And—’
‘Didn’t you listen to a thing I said last night?’ Rora cut him off angrily. ‘There’s more at stake here than stopping Fry and saving the Prime Minister. We have to keep the Republic together too. Slater doesn’t trust you. Big deal, we all know that. But I trust you. And the reason I didn’t argue about Slater coming along is
that I’m hoping he gets the chance to see you in action. Because if he does, then he’ll come to trust you like I do.’
Cameron studied her expression. It was open and honest. Almost despite himself, he found that he believed her. But did that matter? Forget about Rora trusting him – did he trust Slater?
He guessed that the answer to that would only be revealed when they reached their destination.
Cameron checked the time on his HUD: 5.57 a.m.
Time to get going.
chapter eighteen
down the drain
At the marina, the memorial service had been organized with all the pomp and circumstance of a state visit. A huge platform had been erected by the waterside for all the civic dignitaries, fronted by a dark wooden podium for the Prime Minister’s speech. Facing that was a long spectator stand. Between the two, in the centre of the square, was the new memorial, a tall shape swathed in black silk, waiting to be unveiled. Only the sleek boats moored at the various piers and jetties provided any splashes of colour, but Cameron couldn’t imagine any of those wealthy boat owners painting their expensive yachts black just because the occasion was a sad one.
Slater, who had volunteered as getaway driver, steered the van into an available slot in the temporary car park. They were already late. The traffic had been a nightmare coming through Broad Harbour. Most of the town seemed to be on their way to the service. Cameron ground his teeth as precious minutes ticked away.
There wasn’t any time to waste.
‘Come on,’ hissed Rora.
Slater, Cameron and Tinker – all in their hoodies and heavy coats – followed her out of the van and joined the crowd of black suits and dresses making their way towards the spectator stand. Cameron had worried that Tinker’s jerky walk might attract unwanted attention, but no one paid much attention to a handful of youths in hoods. Cameron supposed everyone thought Tinker had some kind of unfortunate disability – and nobody looked very close at a kid like that. Or if they did, only out of the corner of their eye, so they could pretend not to be staring.