by Andy Graham
The door which Franklin and his ex-captain had tumbled through was still closed. The VP stared at the screen, fingers twitching, willing the door to open. The numbers on the clock in the corner slowed to a crawl.
He checked the schematics for the building one more time. There were no other doors or windows to that room. The room wasn’t even labelled. Why was there no camera in there? Why wasn’t Aalok’s helmet camera working?
The door opened. A Mennai trooper stumbled out, his visor pulled down over his face. He staggered down the corridor. A flash of light and a noise the VP couldn’t hear blew the door behind him off its hinges. The trooper staggered and lost his balance. As flames blazed through the corridor, the feed to the camera winked out.
The VP pulled a drawer open, fumbling for a bottle. He dropped it as soon as his fingers closed around the glass neck. “No. Not now. Too early.” He pulled a small tin out of his pocket instead. Popping two of the mints into his mouth, the VP rewound the feed and froze it, spreading his thumb and finger across the screen on his desk. The five images hanging around the room expanded outwards in an explosion of pixels. The face under the helmet was unmistakable.
“You’re trying to trick me now, are you?” The VP muttered. “What were you and Aalok doing in that little cubbyhole anyway?”
He pulled up the building plans once more, tapping through older, pre-Revolution versions of the maps. After a few minutes he sat back in his chair and reached for the bottom drawer.
“Enough. My game. My rules.”
Deep in the bowels of the substation, Ray watched a team of unmarked soldiers through a gap in the piping. They weren’t fake Mennai troopers and were unlikely to be Unsung. Ray had no idea who they were. More importantly, he had no idea whose side they were on.
The soldiers stood at a wall-sized control panel that flashed and beeped and hissed and steamed. It looked like it belonged in a toy museum. The men were spinning valves open and closed, reversing the positions of all the levers they could reach. The pattern was too random to be anything other than carefully planned and very well rehearsed. One of the soldiers, unarmed, scruffy and with a more generous figure than his colleagues, pulled out a small grey box. It was an earlier model of the one Hamid had died connecting.
The man in his ill-fitting fatigues plugged the box into the switchboard. He whipped his hand, swearing loudly. Ray’s eyes narrowed. He knew that accent. It was a strange mix of the two countries he’d heard a lot over the last six months. As for the voice? It could only be one person. Whatever was said next was lost in a jet of smoke and a metallic groan from the bank of dials and monitors.
The man checked the connections of the box, wedged a thigh-length lever closed and set off after his colleagues, his awkward gait slowing him down. Ray caught a flash of odd-coloured socks.
Waiting till the footsteps had faded into the steam, Ray walked over to the grunting panel in front of him. His eyes fixed on the blood smeared on one of the controls.
45
Reza
Ray ran through the underground labyrinth of old cars and trucks. Some of the vehicles were covered with dust sheets, others stood on bricks. One lorry held blackened pots, blankets, a lantern. An eyeless doll. As he worked his way towards the base of the dumb waiter, he slowed his pace. The pitted-concrete floor was dotted with puddles of oil that shone blackly. Ray’s luck had held on his way to the sub-basement but he had no desire to stretch it any further by slipping and twisting something.
Aalok was already waiting, spitting rust out of his mouth. Sinks and drains lined up around the hexagon of dumb waiter columns that stretched to the floors above. A stack of fuel drums stood to one side. The remains of the mangled carriage Aalok had used blocked the base of the shaft, a one-way trip for one, just like Aalok had predicted. He had a fresh cut on his face, the new blood mixing with the matted red in his goatee. As Ray pulled out a plaster from his belt-pouch, the captain said, “I need a little more than that.”
“It’s a needle plaster; gender specific analgesia and broad spectrum antibiotics in one little prickly package. Nascimento got them from a medi-sec he was seeing—”
“Seeing?” Aalok said, grinning. “Politely put for what Nasc was probably doing with her.”
Ray stuffed the plaster back. “Nasc left them in my locker before the last mission. Blue for us, pink for Brooke. Can you imagine her reaction?”
“That would have been worth watching.”
“From a distance, maybe.” He handed Aalok the Mennai helmet and they stripped for the switch back into their original clothing. A light flickered above them, illuminating the underground garage in the colours of the caves. Ray was sure that if he closed his eyes, he would hear the roar of that thing, the Monster-under-the-Mountain. “You sure you want to do this? Assuming you’re right, I mean.”
“Someone’s after you,” Aalok replied, “not me.”
“Why didn’t they just poison me in the hospital or leave me in the Donian tunnels?”
“Not sure. Maybe it didn’t seem necessary back then, maybe they didn’t know you’d survived, or maybe they didn’t have the opportunity. But I’m guessing whoever is behind this wants a more public death for you. Ray Franklin going out in a blaze of glory, protecting Ailan’s main energy plant.” Aalok’s face screwed up into a scowl. “I have a nasty feeling, though, that your final moments were going to be twisted beyond recognition. A slow death of a thousand slurs. As for the uniform change, you had more chance of getting down here in my uniform, and you have more chance of getting back into the capital in yours.”
“And the dumb waiter?”
“The riskier option, which is why I took it.” Aalok dumped the remains of his clothes and body armour in the back of a battered laundry van so he could pull on his trousers. The vehicle’s logo poked through the dust. The inside had been converted: soundproofing and handcuffs added to the walls, metal seats bolted to the floors. It still had the faint smell of washing powder and, Ray fancied, blood. For some reason, the vehicle gave him the chills.
“Someone clever’s watching us,” Aalok continued as he buckled his belt. “If I were them, I would’ve sent someone down here.” As one, they looked. Nothing but the shells of cars. Shadows. The distant plink of a leak. “We need to be quick.”
“Sir, with all due respect, I could have made the trip in that dumb waiter.”
Aalok forced the Mennai rifle into Ray’s hands. “Some rules never change—”
“My people come first,” Ray finished. “I get it.”
Aalok chuckled to himself. “I’m glad someone remembers what I say. I wish my spouse were so attentive.”
“Sir?” There was something that had been nipping at Ray’s sleep since the night Hamid had died. A question with no answer.
“Out with it, Legionnaire. We got to move.”
“You said that on the chimney in the Mennai power plant, that your people come first.”
“That’s not your question, Franklin.”
“No, it’s not. The old guy. The one who was dangling off that walkway with me. Said he had a granddaughter called Ally or Abi or something.” For a second the wind was tugging at his clothes again. His feet kicking at thin air. It seemed like a different life now. “What did you do with him?”
“You want to know if I killed the guard?”
“Yes.”
Aalok smiled slyly. “What do you think I did? I—”
A scuff of boots. A woman in a Mennai uniform emerged from between two cars. A muzzle flashed and Aalok crumpled. Ray threw himself forwards, shots exploding from his rifle as he landed. The woman thudded to the floor, her face a mess of flesh and bone. Ray checked the other cars, grabbed the woman’s pack and raced back to Aalok before the deafening echoes had faded.
Aalok was slumped in a heap against one of the laundry van’s wheels. Blood oozed between his fingertips, pooling under the body armour that lay by his side. “Should have tried that hero-roll of yours,” Aalok said, t
eeth clenched against the pain.
“I’ll go for help,” Ray said.
“No—” Aalok stopped him, his hand shaking. “No time. To bring help back.” He gestured weakly to his stomach. “Both know what this means. No sense you dying, too.”
An explosion shuddered the ceiling. Fine dust floated down like the first snows of winter coating the ground above. A muscle in Ray’s jaw twitched as the captains stared at each other.
Ray had never understood why people chased fame. Fortune was easy to understand, he figured power was similar. But the pitfalls of fame? The flippant nature of public opinion was a cruel rod; it could lift you up and point you out, then point you out and beat you down. The more friends and fans you had, the more your life and death mattered. And the more people under your command, the more your death resonated. The more dramatic and glorious your death, the longer you would be remembered. It was a way of living forever without a need for gods or Stella’s science. Aalok was prepared to die the same way he had lived: quiet and unassuming, an anonymous death that very few would notice. Ray would make sure he was never forgotten. “OK. What do you want me to do?”
“Drag me. There.” Aalok nodded. “Quick. Before I piss myself. Not having my dramatic death ruined.” His laugh choked off in a spray of bloody spittle.
Dull booms reverberated down the hexagonal column of dumb waiters. Ray rested his captain against the big fuel drums, talking all the time to keep Aalok alert. “Is it true you almost killed an officer over a card game? Is that why you were never promoted beyond captain?” He dropped his mobile on the floor next to Aalok, along with his dog-e-tag, swipe card and other wearables.
“Another bet? You and the squad again? Knew about Brooke’s tattoo. Didn’t know that one.” He gasped, wincing. “What was her tattoo?”
“I’m not sure I should say, sir.”
“Least I know she had one, now. Don’t worry. Won’t tell her. She’d skin the pair of us alive with her bare hands.” His voice was weaker now. His breath rattling in his chest. “Yes. Almost killed the fool. Not over cards, though. Love and lust do strange things to people’s brains.”
“Women.”
“What makes you think it was over a woman?” Aalok pulled a lighter from a belt pouch, blood-slick fingers slipping on the plastic. “Find the others. Tell Nascimento. Got a great future ahead of him. If he can avoid sleeping his way to the bottom. Tell Orr I’m waiting for him.”
“And your partner?”
“No need. Could never do justice to what we had with words. Not going to belittle the relationship now with a last-ditch attempt at drama. He knows how I feel.” Aalok clutched Ray’s hand. “Go. Don’t know what’s going on, but someone’s taken an unhealthy interest in you. Go, Franklin.”
Ray clasped Aalok’s forearm. “Sir.”
“Reza, not sir. I’ll buy you what time I can. Run, Ray. Raise all the hells. I’m going to make sure this watchfire burns for a long time.”
Ray watched the sprawling inferno from a hill overlooking Grid Substation Two. A series of smaller explosions across the site sent pylons crashing down. Transformers and control units crumpled, creating a daisy chain of chaos. Aalok’s own contribution had almost caught Ray in its wake. The clouds of flame billowing out of the sub-basement had left him coughing and scorched.
Off to his left, the mangled remains of a chopper smoked on the ground. He waited, tears freezing on his cheeks. Moments later another chopper took to the skies. It rose high above the trees. It, too, started rocking, tail rotor also stuttering and breaking off. The tailspin got faster as the machine lurched sideways. A figure leapt from the pilot’s door and was sent flying into the forest by the whirling tail. His screams were silenced by a splintering of wood. Seconds later, the helicopter crashed. It was the chopper Ray had flown here in, the one whose crew had switched the ammo. The machine he had been told he was going home in. Another lie that added to the rage burning inside him.
As he’d sprinted out of Substation Two, leaving Aalok behind just as he had Hamid all those months ago, he’d realised he’d spent most of his life running.
Why should he wait for his mother to come to him? He was a grown man now, long past the age when he was free of her nursing strings. He could track her and her secret group of friends down. He had the skills, the resources. Why didn’t he?
He could have done the same for his father and found out why Donarth Taille had deserted Rose Franklin when she was pregnant. Didn’t Ray owe his father that? Didn’t he owe himself?
He’d run from relationships, joking that he was an emotional sprinter, not built for endurance events. Every confused message from yet another ex-girlfriend had pushed him further. He’d run from friends, only letting them close the gap so far. Yes, he was reliable, the rock sheltering those around him. But responsibility for others was a far lighter burden than that for himself.
An explosion from the substation kissed the darkening sky. The moons, Lesau and Melesau, glowed red. They paused in their eternal chase of the sun, stopping to drink in the surrogate warmth of the flames from Aalok’s tomb.
Ray had spent his whole life running from himself; his whole life looking for himself.
He waited until the chopper fires guttered out and flicked the helmet cam off. Shouldering what little gear he had left, he turned right, towards Effrea.
No more.
46
Phoebus Donohue & Coincidence
Stella bucked and writhed, eyes wild. Her hips were nudged forwards, shoulders pulled backwards and, in the split second she lost her balance, she was on the ground.
“It’s me,” he hissed in her ear, “Ray Franklin.”
She stamped on his feet, desperate squeaks coming from between his fingers.
“Stella who wanted to be an astronomer, listen to me.” She stopped biting his finger. “I need help.”
“You OK?” A voice called from the hall. The door handle rattled. “There’s just been an announcement: the power’s going out early tonight. They didn’t say why.”
Ray released his grip, holding his hands where she could see them. She took a deep breath and spat the filth and blood out of her mouth. “I’m fine, Dan,” she called, voice steady. “I’m sure they’ll sort it soon.”
“Where did you put the candles?”
“There aren’t any. The shop had sold out again.”
The handle wiggled once more. “You don’t need to lock the door. If you don’t want me to watch this silly new up-down exercise of yours, just say.” The voice faded. “Don’t see what’s wrong with burpees, though. Can’t beat a burpee.”
They sat on the floor in silence, Ray acutely aware of their closeness. Stella spun round and slapped him across the cheek. He caught her other hand as it whistled towards him. “One free shot, no more.” Brooke would have been proud of her.
“How do you know where I live? What are you doing in my home? You should be in the hospital. What have you done to yourself? Are you OK?” She rattled the questions off in quick succession. “You stink!”
“It’s the latest thing in the Towns.”
She threatened to slap him again.
Quietly, methodically, he explained what had happened since she’d left the hospital. When he had finished, Stella disappeared for a few minutes and came back with food, drink and some soap. “I eat here when I’m working sometimes, so Dan can put the kids down.” She pointed Ray towards the small sink in the corner of her study. “Are you sure Aalok was right? Sounds like he was a target, too.”
Ray stripped to his waist and washed the blood off. Some of it had crusted over his tattoos. “I don’t know. Collateral damage, secondary objective, score settling, not-so-friendly fire? I’m not sure anymore but I don’t believe it’s a coincidence.”
Stella pulled a small box from her desk and unwrapped a needle. “You can’t stay.”
“It’s about Rhys, isn’t it?”
The needle hovered over the cut on his chest. “I don’t kno
w.”
“What do you know? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
“What did Rose tell you?” He winced as the needle pierced his skin.
“Nothing more than I told you.”
“Stella, please. I’ll leave you alone. Just tell me what you know.”
With a glance at the door, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “I didn’t make the connection until recently. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. But—”
“Mummy?” called a girl’s voice. The door handle jiggled. It was followed by Dan’s distant shout to get to bed before the Cracks between the floorboards ate the little girl up for dinner. There was a giggle and a thud of feet disappearing down the corridor.
“What didn’t you see before?” Ray asked.
The words tumbled out of her mouth as if she had no control over them. “Rhys was your twin brother.”
“My what?” He jerked away from her. The needle ripped a hole in his flesh.
“It’s the only answer that makes sense.”
“Twins are practically a myth.”
“Not a myth. Rare. No one will talk about them, though. I don’t know why I didn’t realise it about you and Rhys earlier. Guess I’ve been preoccupied.” Her voice faltered. “When I was a junior doctor, an ex of mine was stationed somewhere. He was older than me and already qualified.” She smiled fondly, eyes glazing over as she watched memories only she could see. “Phoebus Donohue, he was as wonderful as his name, a man who could make a monocle and a handlebar moustache look like fashion’s crowning achievement. The kind of man who thought serving beetroot salad and tomato soup at a white wedding was funny. He was also my one experiment in dating a father figure. Never again. It’s all a bit weird if you ask me.”