Wiped

by Nicola Claire

  Another took its place, but someone else fired.

  “It will be impossible to get that far,” Zhang Yong yelled above the gunfire.

  We knew we were closing in on the u-Pol central building. The one in the middle of the city, closer than we’d been to the gate, but still a fair distance from where Alan and Simon would be waiting with Calvin and the Merrikan soldiers.

  “We need to destroy the u-Pol building,” Zhang Yong added. “They run everything from there. Destroy that…”

  And you brought down their means of control.

  “They’ll have a back-up,” Trent shouted in reply.

  “We’re dealing with that right now,” Zhang Yong yelled back.

  They had planned this. But had they planned it well enough? The jets roared overhead again, so low we could feel the vibrations of their engines right down to our soles. I hunched my shoulders automatically, the blast of their afterburners almost too hot to bear. I thought we might just all burn to death; they didn’t need to fire.

  “Can you stop them?” Trent shouted, looking up into the sky.

  Yeh Zhang Yong shook his head. His fingers dancing over the old vid-screen as he bumped along the uneven road. Laser light flew over his head, but he ignored it. Women screaming in the cart next to him didn’t even reach his ears. Infants bawling and crying were blocked from his mind.

  But I heard them. I heard them all.

  For a surreal moment, I thought this was it. This was how it would all end. Calvin on the outside, so close, but not close enough. Us in the middle, surrounded by Wiped, fighting for our lives… and failing.

  And then I saw them. And that fleeting thought became a drumbeat inside my mind.

  A horde of u-Pol officers marched in orderly fashion down the double wide main road towards us. Reinforcements. Their laser guns were twice the size of those we carried. Their helmets covered their eyes, but a hardness was obvious in their posture. A determination in each measured step. Their legs lifted in front of them in unison; a synchronicity that was almost hypnotic, if not for the chill sensation their militant manner evoked.

  They were as robotic as the drones. As numerous as them as well. So many. Too many. Even if we fought with every last ounce of strength we had, used up every last photon of laser light we possessed, resorted to our bare hands, it wouldn’t be enough.

  I saw when Zhang Yong realised this fact. I watched as the same realisation washed over the zealous features of the Wiped. I watched as hope and power was extinguished.

  I wanted to roar my frustration to the skies.

  I looked up in numbed defeat and observed a jet approaching. Low. Fast. Menacing. I didn’t think. I just fired. My laser gun wasn’t strong enough, but other Wiped took up the same stance, offered their own futile rage to mine. The sky lit up in a dazzling display of laser light, the screams of anger emitted from those who wielded them just as loud as the sizzle of fire.

  The jet swerved. Purely a human reaction. There was no way we would have made contact, but who doesn’t baulk when hundreds of laser lights blast into your path before your very eyes? It banked hard right. We kept on firing, but we saw it. The moment its wingman realised it was too close to avoid the panicking pilot.

  The jets collided. A sound I never want to hear again rent the sky. An explosion followed, the ball of flames expanding to engulf a nearby jet as it roared by. A concussive boom sounded out. We all ducked. And then a shower of broken jet parts started falling from the sky.

  The very orderly, until then, u-Pol officers scattered.

  A cry of triumph rose up from the Wiped.

  “We don’t have long,” Trent yelled at Zhang Yong. He held out his hand to my old friend. To someone who had known my father. Zhang Yong pulled the vid-screen closer to his chest, refusing to hand over his only weapon.

  “Citizen Yeh,” I called. “Did you trust my father?”

  His eyes widened, his mouth opened, and then he slowly shook his head.

  I hadn’t expected any different. Even I hadn’t trusted him in the end.

  I held the old man’s gaze, and said, “I am not my father.”

  His eyes darted between Trent and me, and then scanned the chaos all around. We’d bought ourselves minutes at best, seconds most likely. But Zhang Yong had been right. There was no way we’d make it to the gate. It was too far.

  In a cart.

  “Give me the vid-screen, Zhang Yong,” I said steadily. “Trust me, if not my father.”

  “He gave you something,” the old man guessed.

  I wasn’t sure if I should acknowledge that, considering his mistrust of my dad. But Zhang Yong seemed to come to some conclusion, and then he reached forward and placed the cracked device in my hands.

  “I wish you good luck, Lena Carr,” he said in Wáitaměi.

  “I wish you good luck also,” I replied, taking the vid-screen and slipping it away in my pocket.

  “Let’s do this,” Trent called out from my side. “Cover us, if you can,” he added for Zhang Yong.

  The old man nodded. I took one last look at him and his daughters. At the Wiped who raged all around. At the women and their infants on that cart. An image I would never forget for the rest of my life.

  We were fighting for a free world.

  We were fighting to save our Wiped.

  We were fighting for our lives.

  I nodded my head, and then we were running.

  And firing…

  And dodging…

  And diving…

  And missing being hit by millimetres as we made it out of the square we’d come to and into the early morning light.

  The streets were relatively empty farther away. The odd drone we managed to avoid, a u-Pol officer we shot down, citizens of Hammurg watching impotently from behind shuttered windows. But we knew the road. We knew the path leading out. It looked a little different, no longer covered in bars, no longer seen from the confines of a u-Pol van, but it was familiar. And open, if not welcoming.

  And we raced down them, heading toward the main gates and Simon. Heading toward Calvin.

  For a moment, I thought we’d make it.

  For a moment, I thought we were home free.

  But the gates appeared; tattered. The drawbridge over the moat raised and burned. And not a single rebel or Merrikan soldier to be seen.

  A u-Pol van lay on its side near the entrance to the city. Drones crawled over the damaged gate, securing it. Officers with laser guns watched vigilantly from towers attached to the barbed-wire topped wall. Trent and I hid behind a shop awning, that had at some stage come down in the fight. And caught our breaths.

  A pain started growing in my side, becoming more and more noticeable as my heart rate settled. At first I thought it was a stitch, but when I cupped it, I almost cried.

  I looked down and noted the burned edges of my freak-suit, the gash in my skin, cauterised. I frantically reached into my front pocket and pulled out the old vid-screen, my heart in my throat, my breaths panting. Trent reached out and cupped the back of my neck with a warm palm when dark spots started to dance before my eyes.

  The vid-screen was intact. Still scratched and beaten. But working.

  I think I did cry.

  “It’s OK,” he whispered, brushing his lips in amongst my hair. “But I think they’ve got Alan and the guys.”

  I looked up into his pale face, and then followed the trajectory of his gaze, to where a body lay discarded in the middle of the road. He was wearing a freak-suit, not unlike the u-Pols’, but exactly like ours. His flight-suit wings were extended.

  We hadn’t been sure who would need them when we’d designed the suits in Wánměi. We’d made certain everyone had them, though. Including Oja. Irdina’s fellow Masked. A D’awan who I’d never seen smile.

  Well, he wouldn’t smile anymore, would he? His head lay at an odd angle, his eyes sightlessly staring up into the brightening sky.

  “Fuck,” Trent muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. He
looked tired. Exhausted. Wrung out.

  Death surrounded us, and it was calling out our names as well.

  “Where would they take the rest?” I asked. “The u-Pol building is under attack, about to be raised to the ground.”

  “There’s a chance they took them there before the Wiped made it.”

  I shook my head. “The gate’s still smouldering. This happened in the past few minutes. No more.”

  “Then we’re not far behind.” He reached forward and took the vid-screen out of my frozen hands, and powered it up.

  It was all in Teiamanisch. A lack of foresight that would haunt us now.

  “Fuck!” Trent growled, almost a little too loudly.

  A sound made us spin on our heels, our lasers up, the whine of their electrics way too damn loud.

  If we hadn’t been seen before, we’d be spotted for sure now.

  A small tanned hand came out from the side of the building, and beckoned. I narrowed my eyes, shifted forward to see better, only to have Trent’s large palm land on my shoulder, holding me back.

  “Jungie?” I called. A dishevelled head poked around the corner, wearing a beautiful big gap-toothed smile.

  “Jungie!” Trent said, with way more enthusiasm than I would have liked. He was just a kid. He should have been with his father.

  On second thought, that probably wasn’t the best right now. We could hear something exploding in the distance. Something that sounded suspiciously like a building collapsing in the middle of Hammurg itself.

  I grimaced. Trent mirroring me. And then we were crawling towards the encouraging smile, while Jungie’s little hand frantically waved us onwards. Around the corner he sat on his haunches, dust coated, soot smeared, but thankfully not bloodied.

  “Did you get rid of the vid-screen?” Trent wisely asked.

  He nodded his head and looked at the one in Trent’s hand.

  “Jungie,” I whispered, suddenly realising why Trent had been so happy to see him. “You don’t happen to read Teiamanisch, do you?”

  Another gap-toothed smile and then a torrent of words that meant nothing.

  “Wáitaměi,” I said quickly, and the young lad switched to his native tongue.

  In Wánměi he’d spoken achingly correct Anglisc to me. But the time spent in Hammurg would have erased so much. There’s a limit to what a young man can assimilate. And Teiamanisch would have been vital.

  But Yeh Zhang Yong was a traditionalist. At home, regardless of rules, Wáitaměi would have been spoken.

  “I can read it,” he said in his father’s tongue. “What do you need?”

  “We have friends,” Trent said in the same language. “They’ve been taken. We need to find them.”

  “OK,” the little boy said, as if the task was simple. And as we watched him swipe the screen, tap in instructions, and delve deeper into Hammurg’s cyber-mind, it was obvious that Zhang Yong had taught his son more than just his old language. More than heritage. More than history.

  He’d taught him to survive the only way Zhang Yong could.

  “Here!” Jungie exclaimed, pointing to a flashing red dot on a map. “This is the Färi, where Hwei-ru works.”

  “Is it tall?” Trent asked sardonically.

  “Very,” the young boy replied, not noticing Trent’s drawl. “The tallest building in Hammurg.”

  Trent turned to look at me. I raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, Elite?” he said. “Let’s go crash the party.”

  Twenty-Five

  Well, That’s That

  Trent

  The Färi wasn’t as tall as we were used to in Wánměi. But it was tall for Hammurg. And well guarded. I rubbed a hand over my soot smeared face, and then scratched at my rat’s nest head of hair. Bits of plaster and dust floated down all around me. I scowled at it and then glanced up at Lena.

  She looked remarkably good, even if her suit was damaged and a streak of soot marred the pale skin on her cheek. Her hair was still in relatively good order, blonde strands hanging straight down her back. Bright blue eyes dancing with anticipation. Soft lips parted, which she licked quickly now.

  I reached forward without conscious thought and ran my thumb over the bottom one. Her eyes flicked to my face and she smiled.

  How could she look so stunning in the middle of a war zone? How was she really mine?

  I smiled back.

  “There is a servants’ entrance,” Jungie announced, indicating where on the vid-screen. “Sometimes I wait for Hwei-ru to finish work at this door. She sneaks home little mints for me to eat. When she can.”

  And risked getting an “X” inked into her skin. From the huge smile on the small lad’s face, the risk would no doubt have seemed worthwhile to his older sister. I wasn’t one to feel heartache easily, but I was sure that was what I was feeling now.

  “Where would they hold prisoners?” Lena asked the boy.

  He frowned, looked the blueprints over for the building, and then pointed to a section well away from the servants’ hall.

  “They’d keep them contained. Apart from the Füri themselves, but also isolated from staff,” I said. “You never know who might rebel.”

  “And the Elite wouldn’t want to see them at all,” Lena added.

  “This floor is a long way from the servants’ area,” I commented.

  “We’re not going in that way,” Lena announced.

  “We’re not?”

  She shook her head at me, and then learned forward to dust off my shoulder and flatten the creases in my suit.

  “We’ll be using the front door.”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered. “Have you seen the size of the guns on those drones?” I nodded towards the front entrance, which we could just make out from our hiding place.

  “Hard to miss,” she quipped. “But you’re missing the point.”

  “Which is?”

  “We look Elite. Or, at least, we’re dressed like the Füri. And those are drones.”

  “I know they’re drones, Lena. They’re fucking big and metallic.”

  She sighed. “They’re also unstable.”

  I glanced back at the drone manning the front door.

  “It’s got a helmet on, we can’t attack its Shiloh chip without removing it.”

  “That would defeat the purpose of waltzing in there as Elite.”

  I narrowed my eyes at the woman. She was enjoying this.

  “OK, I’ll bite,” I groused. “What’s your plan?”

  “We confuse it. Or at least, we make the u-Pol officer operating it believe it’s confused.”

  A slow smile started to spread my lips. It’d be risky. Not to mention difficult, considering we didn’t speak Teiamanisch. But it was classic Lena Carr. Walk in through the front door, holding your chin up high, and acting as if you belong there.

  The funny thing is, Lena could do it. She’d done something similar a hundred times before.

  But this was dangerous. More dangerous than the possibility of being wiped. This could mean our death.

  I let a long breath of air out and turned to look down at Jungie.

  “We need a quick lesson in Teiamanisch, kid. You up for it?”

  I was beginning to really like that gap-toothed smile.

  Jungie translated a couple of essential one-liners, and then we straightened our clothes, wiped off any tell-tale marks, and lifted our chins.

  We made it half a dozen steps across the open square in front of the Färi before the drone raised his laser gun at us and shouted a warning.

  It was a word we hadn’t asked Jungie to translate, but the tone said it all. Halt!

  Lena and I froze; an instant reaction. And then the Elite in her clicked in.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, in the haughty tones of upper class Teiamanisch. “How dare you? Do you not know who I am?”

  The drone’s laser gun didn’t lower, but the hesitation in reply said it all. Even Cardinals in Wánměi baulked at an
irate Elite. It was no different in Urip.

  “I have been shot at. Accosted. And now your drone is attempting to insult me.”

  Lena on a rant was a thing of beauty. Lena ranting in Teiamanisch was wicked sexy.

  “And look! Now the laser gun is powering up. Stop that! You cannot shoot me!”

  The drone jolted where it stood. The helmeted head shifting so the u-Pol officer operating it could look down at the laser gun on its arm.

  “Can you not control that thing?” Lena demanded, storming closer. She rapped stridently on the arm containing the laser gun, making sure the camera lens was focused on the barcode tattoo inside her forearm.

  The drone’s head slowly rose to look Lena in the eye. It was definitely creepy.

  “Stand aside!” Lena ordered. The last of her rehearsed Teiamanisch sentences.

  This was it. If the drone started asking questions, we’d be in trouble. I knew Jungie had hung around to see if we made it inside. And I also knew he’d attempt to be a hero and come to our aid should it all turn to custard. But I was certain neither Lena nor I could stomach that.

  My hand itched to draw my own laser gun, but getting in without raising an alarm was essential. Stealth was Lena’s forte. She might have become a rebel like me, but she’d always be better suited to the life of a cat-burglar.

  A sexy as fuck cat-burglar, but that was beside the point.

  The drone said something. It made absolutely no sense. But the laser gun had been lowered and the machine stepped aside, leaving a clear path through the front door of the Färi. Lena nodded her head regally, swept past the metallic monster, and strode inside.

  I relaxed my tight fist, stretched my fingers above my laser gun, and followed.

  The door closed behind us with a muted click. The drone didn’t follow.

  We immediately made our way to the emergency stairs, avoiding the lifts. The building was old, like most of Hammurg was. Stone floors, thick walls, and warped windows. Light filtered in through stained glass, casting the stairwell treads in reds and blues and yellows. We’d decided not to pull our laser guns, in case we met traffic. Acting Elite was the better course for now. But no one used the stairs and in short order we reached the floor where the captives were held.