“Some say Angland started it,” the old man said, voice soft. “Some say Merrika. Some say smaller nations in the middle east. Desert nations like D’awa. It is irrelevant. Because only one nation stopped it.”
“Urip,” I whispered.
“For a while, we kept on fighting,” he went on in a dream-like tone. “Fighting for our right to survive. But nature wasn’t on our side. We’d hurt her. We’d poisoned the groundwater with bombs. We’d polluted the ozone layer with bombs. We’d disrupted the tectonic plates with bombs. Earthquakes followed. The ocean rose. Drinkable water became an expensive commodity.
“D’awa died slowly. We didn’t see it coming, although we’d heard the bombs. First M’byh. Then M’duryh. Then later D’elhi. When nothing was left… we left. But the world outside our nation was already dead.
“We followed the beacon. If someone had set it, then there were survivors. We had not realised that those who survived would be the victors. The dead world their spoils. Scraping together their plunder wherever they could find it.
“The u-Pol we met in Lunnon are not the same u-Pol we face now. Their technology has advanced. Their ruthlessness along with it. They have taken for so many years now, they know no different. It is their right. Or so they say. We are mere goods stolen by the stronger fighter.”
He turned his attention back to the room, away from a history that still managed to inflict heartache. His eyes scanned out across the vast space the remaining D’awan had made their home. Their last chance at a place to call their own.
But it wasn’t. Not if the Uripeans kept stealing their strongest. Not if they stayed, waiting for a miracle that wouldn’t happen.
“They won’t return your Lost,” I said carefully. “You know this, yet you stay.”
His eyes found mine again; such depth of sorrow. Right there. For all to see. Wánměi may not remember, but one look in this man’s eyes and we’d never forget again.
My heart ached for him. For them. For the men we’d killed on arrival. I wanted to apologise again. But forgiveness, even if given, would not bring them back. Would not absolve our sins.
“We have been waiting,” the old man said. “The wait is over.”
I held his steady gaze, forcing myself to face that ancient knowledge. The memories that still held him fast with barbed wire. I knew their technology was limited; only what they could piece together out of a broken city. I knew their ability to see the wider world was non-existent. They had no Net that I could see. There was no way these people could have known we were coming.
And yet they’d stayed.
I didn’t understand that kind of faith in the face of such devastation. I didn’t understand that kind of blind hope, when all else was long lost but not forgotten.
I didn’t understand these people.
But then, I didn’t need to, in order to help. In order to seek forgiveness.
“Getting into Hammurg will prove difficult,” Trent said, leaning forward and meeting the old man’s gaze. “We have manpower and skills, but we lack knowledge. Our own databases have been wiped clean.” Like so much of our history. “The Global Net is severely lacking. We think the Uripeans have seen to that. Satellite imagery has provided an overall layout, but detail is lacking. They’re blocking that too. We’ve managed to gain some intel from container ships we’ve sent to their port in the past. But the view is limited. Just what the cameras on board recorded while docked.” Trent took a breath, ran a hand through messed up hair. “Past their harbour we’re basically blind,” he finally admitted.
“And yet you are here,” the old man said. Too astute by far.
“What can you tell us of the u-Pol who patrol Lunnon?” Cardinal Beck asked.
The old man sat back in his chair. “They are not always the same men, but from what we’ve observed three different squadrons. All are equally as unemotional. Equally as detached. They have no conscience. They cannot be pleaded with. If we fail them. We die. Or they deliver the head of one of our men.”
“Immediately?” Trent asked. “Upon discovering your failure?”
“Within a day, maybe two. The wait is excruciating.”
“Hammurg is close, then.”
“A day’s sail,” the old man agreed.
“Or their vessels are fast,” Beck offered.
The old man shook his head. “Their vessel would be no faster than the one you arrived on. Their technology lies in laser guns and code scanners. Satellite imagery and drones.” Our drones.
“Wait,” I said. “Code scanners?” Just as Cardinal Beck demanded, “Satellite imagery?”
“How else do they restrict our view of their city or keep an eye on the Lunnoners?” Alan directed at Beck. “I saw no street-cams here, did you?” Beck shook his head.
“Code scanners,” I repeated, drawing the old man’s attention again.
He nodded.
“Like eye scanners?” I queried.
“I am not familiar with eye scanners,” the D’awan replied, then pulled up the sleeve of his ragged shirt.
We all leaned forward, gazes focused, breaths held. And stared at a series of lines etched into the wrinkled, dark skin on his forearm. No, not etched, I decided, moving closer, reaching out a finger and then pausing with it hanging in the air.
I looked up into his face. He nodded for me to continue. Then my finger touched down on warm skin.
The marking was not raised. But appeared more like black ink drawn on his flesh instead. I rubbed at it. It didn’t smudge. Permanent, then.
Leaning back, I lifted stunned eyes to his old face.
“What is that?”
“This is my barcode,” he said, staring at the offending lines for a suspended second. “When the u-Pol come, they scan the barcode and identify us.”
“Why doesn’t it come off?” Alan asked.
“It is a tattoo,” the man explained, then raised his brow in surprise. “You do not have tattoos?”
We all shook our heads, mortified that someone would be permanently marked in this way. Marring the perfection of their skin.
“Until recently,” I said, still staring rudely at the markings, “we had to wear our hair a certain way. Having anything that marked us as individuals was not an accepted policy.”
“This is not unique,” the man said, covering the mark again. “Well, it is, but it isn’t. Mine identifies me personally. But we all have one. Even the u-Pol officers.”
Trent exhaled loudly. “Fuck,” he muttered. “I’m guessing you can’t get near Hammurg without one.”
Oh no. He was right. This changed things dramatically.
I stared at the Cardinals surrounding me. At Beck and Trent and Alan. None of us wore marks. And getting one would prove troublesome.
“What now?” Trent murmured, as if talking to himself.
Storming Urip had just got a whole lot harder.
And it had already been hard enough.
Thirteen
To Where?
Trent
The creepy crawlies came back at midnight. News of the u-Pols’ frustration lightening the mood of the Lunnoners underground. But the humour vanished within minutes, as Merrikan soldiers quietly spread themselves throughout the room, following the children like silent wraiths inside.
The Lunnoners hadn’t seen them enter, and if we hadn’t been expecting them, and therefore looking for them, we might have missed their arrival as well. Carstairs had trained them well. Or the Merrikans really were that good.
Several old women screamed, making the others join the furore. And then mayhem ensued until the old D’awan in the corner called for order. His eyes sought out mine; he did not look amused.
“What is this?” he demanded in D’maru.
“Our backup,” I replied honestly, but I wondered just how much of a backup they were, and how much of an invading force they might be.
Irdina stepped forward then, matched in dress to the soldiers. She’d blended in so well even Alan had m
issed her. But although her presence amongst the soldiers should have been a welcome sign that Carstairs was still in charge, it only raised the hackles along my back.
I dreaded to think what it did to Lena.
I glanced at Lena now, but her face was Elite impassive. No hint of discomfort or surprise. No hint of the heartache she’d felt at the false death of her father. I knew she felt it. I knew she was constantly reliving it. And there was not a thing I could do about that.
Save back her. Stand up for her. Defend her at all costs.
I forced myself to relax, giving the Lunnoners and the Merrikan soldiers the same message. Leaning back in my seat, I swung a leg over the arm, the picture of casual repose.
“The u-Pol officers were still at large,” I said in D’maru. I wasn’t sure if all the Lunnoners could understand it, but evidence had proven that many still recognised their old tongue. “You can’t expect us to remain sitting ducks forever.”
A creepy crawly shuffled forward just then, reaching out to the shining laser gun attached to the thigh of the nearest soldier. He bristled immediately, taking a step back and raising the gun. The barrel sighted on the kid’s forehead.
“Easy,” Lena murmured, her own hand on a gun at her side, out of sight of most, but not to me or the soldier. “He’s just a child.”
“Tell him to move back,” he ordered in Anglisc. Merrikans didn’t speak D’maru.
“Take a chill pill,” Alan countered, just as alert as the rest of us. Masking it just as well.
This was about to escalate, and already our welcome underground had not been a given. Most of the Lunnoners avoided us. But they couldn’t ignore our presence completely. Quiet whispers and hushed words, all of which were clearly resentful, had abounded. Accompanied by unhappy looks and angry glares.
We were here under suffrage. We knew it. They knew it. The soldiers didn’t care.
“We just killed their men,” Beck said softly in Anglisc. “Have a care, Sergeant.”
“They attacked us,” the Merrikan ground out between a clenched jaw, his narrowed eyes on the nearest child, but the quick dart of his gaze let you know he was watching everyone.
“They had no choice,” Lena offered. “Kill or be killed. But it’s worse than that,” she added.
“How can ‘kill or be killed’ not be the worst?” Irdina demanded.
Lena levelled a highly amused and extremely dismissive Elite look at the Mahiah, and said, “Kill or have one of those taken by the u-Pol killed, because you failed to carry through with your orders. Do you value your life more than your family’s, Masked?”
Irdina frowned at Lena’s name for her and for those who had been wiped and returned. She may not wear a mask now, but the caste moniker had stuck. Irdina, I was guessing, didn’t like being labelled. She had clearly been Elite in her former Wánměi life. What she had done to deserve wiping was anyone’s guess. But then, it could have been a family member who had condemned her to exile.
She wanted back in. That was obvious. But she wanted back in on her terms and no one else’s. Being classed as a Masked was not on her agenda. Irdina was a reformed Citizen. The epitome of New Wánměi. Lena had just thrown her back into the past.
“You trust them so easily, Elite?” Irdina threw back.
“They have paid with their lives,” Lena said steadily. “For a crime they did not commit. Would you condemn them to more?”
“I would keep my guard up,” Irdina said with a hiss. “And not be fooled by appearances.”
“If we took appearances for granted, Mahiah, we would not be the nation we are.” Wánměi did not discriminate on looks alone. Race was irrelevant. But caste? Anyone could be Elite or Cardinal or Citizen. Hell, at the end there, just about anyone could have been Chief Overseer.
We’d had a few of those. And they’d not all been Elite.
Irdina slowly relaxed her shoulders. She hadn’t drawn a laser gun, but the threat had been there. Quietly, she ordered the soldier to lower his own. He still stared the child down with a heated look. Daring him to come closer and see if he’d follow her command.
Tension was thick, but our presence had already set the tone. The Merrikans' arrival only added to the mix.
What now?
I turned toward the elder, offered a raised eyebrow in question. If he wanted us gone, we’d get gone. But we still had an invasion to plan, and I was guessing his knowledge would be vital.
He wanted Urip contained as much as we did. He wanted his Lost, his Wiped, as much as we wanted our own.
The old man slowly nodded his head. It was the best we could expect in invitation.
“Tattoos,” I said to Irdina as she approached our corner. The sergeant following her like a shadow-guard. “Do you know how to do one?”
“Or mimic one?” Alan offered. I glanced over my shoulder at him, brow arched. “What?” he said with a shoulder shrug. “I don’t want to wear one of those things for the rest of my life.”
Lena looked toward the elder; it was obvious what she thought. Heartache on their behalf. Rage and guilt followed. They were marked. They always would be. Should we have a choice when they never had?
“What sort of tattoo?” Irdina asked, taking the seat Alan had just vacated for her without question.
I had questions. I had a lot. Like why the hell my second in command was kowtowing to a Masked? I smothered the snort that wanted out, and focused on the Mahiah. She was beautiful; smooth dark skin, curling head of black hair framing high cheekbones and angled eyes layered in thick lashes. Just Alan’s type.
I threw him a warning look. He ignored me. Sometimes I wondered how I managed to lead the rebels at all.
“Do you mind showing our friend your tattoo?” Lena was saying to the elder.
He shuffled forward on his seat and pulled the ragged sleeve of his shirt up, displaying the telltale sign.
“Barcode,” Irdina said immediately. “Coded to your genetics?” she asked the old man in D’maru. Either Calvin had advised Carstairs, or the ex-Elite was extremely smart. Both were valid options. Both had me on a razor’s edge.
“I am unsure,” the elder said, “but the u-Pol can identify us by them.”
“This could prove a problem,” Irdina admitted, examining the tattoo more closely. “Do you have a scanner to read this?”
“No. They are attached to the u-Pol. Here,” he said, indicating his right arm. Indicating exactly where our iPol drones had placed their e-scanners.
Irdina sat back, contemplating the issue, as the old man covered up his arm again. I got the impression they kept them covered for a reason. To forget? Or to not be reminded?
“We need one of those scanners,” Irdina declared. “Without knowing what information the barcode contains, we cannot duplicate it successfully.”
“Why not copy the Lunnoners’ barcodes?” Alan asked.
Irdina flicked her attention to Alan and then just as swiftly let her gaze sweep away. A light flush marred her cheeks, as if looking at Alan affected her in some way.
I shot my best friend a cocky look of approval. You the man! He grunted something under his breath, but kept his eyes locked on Irdina. I was thinking it might take a lot to make him look elsewhere ever again.
“We could, but it would be a risk,” Irdina was saying in reply to Alan’s question. “What if their barcode says they should be contained in Lunnon and nowhere near Hammurg?”
“That’s more than likely,” Lena agreed. It didn’t sound reluctant. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say Lena was extending an olive branch to her father’s protégé.
“Then we get a code scanner,” I announced, backing Lena all the way.
If this was how she wanted to play it, then so be it. What Lena wanted, she’d get.
I was done being angry at her. I was done letting her slip away. It was time to show my Elite that I’d meant it. I would stand wherever she needed me, for however long she desired.
I would stand right beside her thro
ugh hellfire, if that’s what she asked of me.
“And how do we do that?” Alan demanded.
Irdina opened her mouth to reply, it looked like it might have been snarky. Alan had clearly bitten off more than he could chew with that one. But Lena beat her to it. Her eyes lit up, shining brightly, her back straight, her hair gleaming in the low light of the room.
So stunning. The picture of promise.
“Nirbhay,” she called out, and instantly her creepy crawly appeared at her side, eager and ready. Irdina and her soldier jumped at his sudden appearance. Alan smothered a snort. Lena just smiled.
I could have drowned in that smile. I was thinking perhaps Nirbhay already was.
“Yes, Lena?” he said in that pidgin Anglisc. Calvin translating in our ears, but we didn’t need it. I’d kinda got used to the weird language they spoke.
“Where are the u-Pol officers now?”
“The palace,” he said proudly.
“The palace?”
He nodded his head and pointed in a westerly direction. If my rudimentary mental map was telling me right, he was pointing back towards where we’d found them, not far from Victoria Station. Which meant…
“The palace remnants surrounded by a large expanse of open ground,” Calvin offered succinctly in our ears. “Open ground we’ll have to cross in order to reach them,” he added, merely to rub it in.
“You won’t be crossing anything,” I grumbled, just as the radio on Irdina’s side squawked.
She picked it up and said something indistinct into it, but we all heard Carstairs’ reply.
“You don’t need to cross anything,” he said, his distinctly deep voice steady, but his words making it obvious that he’d listened in on our channel right from the start. “They’ve already moved on from there.”
“Moved on?” Irdina repeated. “To where?”
I knew the answer before he gave it. I was already looking towards Lena and wanting to shield her from the oncoming pain.
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