A People's War (The Oligarchy Book 2)

by Stewart Hotston

  Ping the house, she said.

  There are more than a dozen people hidden within, came the response.

  I know, and anyone not gathered into a knot of others is the one we’re looking for.

  A ping went out as Helena found her rifle, still hidden where it had been knocked from the seat by the north-eastern window. Her stomach sank as her ping was answered by someone on the stairs.

  She raised the rifle to her shoulder and trained it on the door. It wasn’t a great weapon but she hoped she’d be able to get enough rounds out of it to take the solider down before he had time to take her to pieces.

  The door flew open as an explosion lit up the dawn. From beyond the wall, a rising plume of fire raged against the rain and ascended into the heavens. Long shadows stretched out on the walls and floor, the cast of the orange illumination bringing high relief to the soldier as he sped through the door firing across the room at waist height. A stream of navy laser fire singed the air millimetres above Helena’s head as it scored a long, continuous gouge in the wall behind her before hitting, melting and then shattering the window on the far side of the room.

  Helena returned fire and was heartened to hear her rounds hit home. She pulled the trigger again and again, hoping to drive enough pulses through the soldier’s armour to kill him. She wouldn’t get a second chance against his laser.

  After four shots, her firing mechanism jammed. Cursing, she rolled under the dining table and curled up, trying to work out whether she could make the outer door.

  The soldier’s body hung against the wall, where he had come to a stop for a moment before sliding down it, dark stains left behind him indicating her shots had achieved more than she’d hoped they would. In disbelief, she unfolded herself from under the table and went out to examine the soldier.

  To her surprise, she found he was only lightly armoured and had most probably been trying to scout the grounds in the early stages of the attack in order to relay back the most effective battle targets.

  She pulled his laser rifle from him. She tutted in disgust: it was keyed to his genetic signature. With the aid of a long-handled carving knife from the work surface by the oven she set about flaying his hand. The lighthouse, having survived the tank’s onslaught, was now melting advancing soldiers at the edge of the tree line to the south and on the beach to the north. As she worked, Helena could still hear Jane’s rifle firing. Apart from David, they were all OK.

  ‘Helena?’ asked a tiny voice from the door to the hall. Helena looked around and, upon seeing Analise, she stopped working at the skin of the soldier’s severed hand.

  ‘Hide Analise, Hide,’ said Helena firmly.

  Analise’s eyes were lit like phantoms by the firing of the plasma weapon from the lighthouse; Helena thought she saw something there like steel. ‘Lysander is coming; God has told them to help us,’ she said it quietly, but her confidence was like a tidal wave striking a sandcastle. Helena felt her own sensibilities dissolve under Analise’s certainty. She forgot the blood smearing her clothes while she watched the girl’s ghostly expression.

  ‘Why is God waiting?’ she asked, unable to stop herself thinking of David, lying broken outside.

  ‘God doesn’t wait Helena; he works to his own ways. He works to the good,’ said Analise, flinching as another plasma round struck something quite close to the house.

  ‘Then his good encompasses my own idea of evil,’ said Helena. More shots splintered against the house from the east and Helena was jolted back into herself. She began working at the half-skinned hand again.

  ‘We must do what we can do,’ said Analise. ‘It is our very being to act.’

  ‘Hide, Analise,’ said Helena again, struggling as she pulled back the skin from the fingers.

  ‘I’m scared, Helena; I’m scared.’

  Helena bit off an acidic retort in her mouth, swallowing it along with the remains if her bile. ‘So am I,’ she said.

  ‘When Lysander comes, when this is done, can I live with you?’ asked Analise gently, hopefully, tears casting the smallest of shadows in the flashes of orange anger from outside.

  Helena finished with the hand and threw the brutal remains onto the body of the soldier. She gazed at Analise: young in a way that Helena could barely remember being, a Normal, a creature from a world so different she didn’t know where to begin trying to understand what the girl was. Her family was dead. Her father had died to ensure she could escape, knowing that she too would die but acting in spite of that to give her all the hours he could.

  If they lived, there would be hearings, debriefs, perhaps trials. There would be questions, probes, explanations to be given. The surviving Normals would be re-educated, refitted for new employment then passed on to another corporation. It seemed likely a number of them would even be reprogrammed, their traits for self-initiative suppressed. If she passed her inquisition, Helena would head for the Americas, for her father’s diary. There was nothing she could offer this girl.

  But she would live, said her AI.

  Yes, yes she would, thought Helena, the idea unfurling like a rose in her mind. She would live.

  ‘Yes Analise, you can, but only if you hide for me now,’ said Helena.

  Analise smiled and said, ‘I hope Lysander doesn’t wait too long.’

  Helena pulled the soldier’s skin onto her left hand like a glove. It stretched like soft wet plastic, but it didn’t tear. She hoisted the gun to her shoulder and then waited for the grip to test the skin. It was not much of a ploy, but it fooled the rifle. Analise was still in the doorway.

  ‘This is only going to work if you do as I say,’ said Helena.

  ‘Be careful,’ said Analise, stepping back into the hallway, out of sight.

  Helena watched her go then edged to the outer door of the kitchen. The gunfire had abated, with occasional shots coming in from over the wall. Helena saw the reason the Indexiv troops were being cautious. After their initial assault had been rebuffed, Edith was roasting any grunt too careless to fire a round without adequate cover. Having swept the compound clean of the few soldiers who’d made it over the wall at the beginning, the lighthouse was concentrating on troops still emerging from the surf. Jane was surrounded by four Normals with perhaps as many again lying in pools of water at their feet. They had moved a number of logs to form a temporary barricade behind which they were reasonably sheltered.

  Helena wondered how many shots her mother could squeeze out of the plasma rifle before it ran out of juice. That would be when the soldiers would renew their game. Until then, or until a second tank unit was within range, they had moments to regroup, rethink and prepare themselves again for death.

  Helena sighed; her cousin Mercer complained about these lulls in engagements over port after dinner whenever the family came together. He’d swill his drink around a leaden crystal glass while claiming such periods led soldiers to thinking they’d survive, that they could win, regardless of the odds they were facing. He had told her numerous stories of privates who, having survived the first wave of fire, recklessly climbed from their cover and began advancing, only to be mown down by an enemy that was simply taking a breath of its own.

  She understood now what he was talking about; she found it almost impossible to contemplate her own death, to remember that Indexiv hadn’t been expecting any resistance at all and so had been entirely unprepared for what they’d been greeted with over the last few minutes.

  A sneaking, hopeful, part of her kept insisting they had special forces troops on their side, something which must help their odds. In reply to this, Helena could only insist to herself that special forces troops were best deployed covertly; this was a full on, overt slaughter. They could at best delay the inevitable before they added their own bodies to the total count.

  A soft blue sheen, like monochromatic oil, glistened above her head as the outer compound’s shield held against the few shots speculatively fired in their direction. Helena took time to gaze at the lighthouse. The device tha
t had been deployed against the tank shell was invisible to her unaided eyes. Helena yearned to extend her senses, to listen for sounds of approaching soldiers from beyond the wall, to see the far-red hues of the shielding protecting her mother’s vantage point. She dared not.

  Jane saw her in the doorway and, cocking her head, shouted over, ‘How many?’

  Her question brought Helena’s mind back to David. ‘One,’ she shouted. She thought of the dead Normal on the kitchen floor as she stepped out from the house and skirted round its edge to where she had laid David.

  Without the hollow plunks or splintering of bullets on solid surfaces to distract her, she spent a few moments checking the damage to the house. The western side, from the ground up to the interstitial area between the first and second floor, had been ripped open. Raw, unburned wooden beams and plasteel were sheared across their lengths, protruding from the wound like bones from flesh. Debris and shattered materiel lay in a blast pattern which stretched some thirty metres from the wall.

  The house itself was listing, like a tree which has grown up under a prevailing wind, pointing westwards now, lintels showing gaping spaces between their supports and the weights they were supposed to shore up and hold firm. The manse was still standing, but Helena believed another hit would see it collapse under its own weight. The rain wept from its punctured intestines, pooling shallowly around the wreckage at its base.

  Helena wondered how many people were still huddled inside, hoping they might live out the night. David was lying where she had left him. He wasn’t in the same position; instead his arm was flung protectively over his eyes and he had turned his body onto its side.

  ‘David?’ whispered Helena.

  He turned his head in her direction, slowly bringing his arm down across his face as his eyes focussed on her. ‘Hi Helena,’ he croaked. She knelt down, placing the gun to one side and, with her ungloved hand, she touched his shoulder tenderly.

  ‘Can you sit up?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m not sure I want to find out,’ he said, spitting out a mouthful of rainwater.

  Helena pushed her hand under his side and lifted him slowly into a sitting position. ‘You can’t stay down there in the rainwater,’ she said. ‘It only takes a couple of centimetres to drown a man.’

  ‘Don’t be perverse,’ he said.

  Feeling foolish she said, ‘What would Jane say?’

  David frowned. ‘Jane?’

  ‘She’s fine,’ said Helena. ‘It looks like she’s even managed to keep most of her squad alive.’ David coughed, grasped his stomach in pain. ‘Don’t move from here,’ said Helena and stood up. David’s mouth moved but she didn’t catch his words. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sorry we didn’t come for you.’

  Helena wanted to hit him, to tell him he couldn’t have done anything even if he had come back, to shout at him for offering such a poor apology and for not at least trying. She turned away angrily but forgot about her ambivalence as the sound of large calibre weapons fire came from south of the wall.

  She ducked instinctively and watched streams of ballistic fire slice up and into the shield around the lighthouse. There was no return fire, as the shots would have been blinding Edith, obscuring the source of the attack.

  Facing the gate, Helena felt quite exposed. With a last glance at David, she made for the kitchen door once again. Jane had moved her squad into the trees along the southern wall. Helena could just make out the movements of a number of other Normals between the shadows of the trunks and lower branches. It took Helena a moment to see Jens and Daniel along the edge of the shore. They were flanked on either side by Normals and concubines, lying flat against the sand, pointing the majority of their weapons towards the spray of the breakers. She spun on her heel and entered the kitchen. She was greeted by the sight of four Normals, none of whom she remembered having spoken to. They looked frightened, even after they realised she wasn’t about to try to gut them.

  Sizing them up, she guessed that Jane, Jens and Daniel were almost alone in the defence they were preparing. ‘Follow me,’ she said and, checking to ensure they were behind her, led them back to David. He can look after them.

  ‘Find places amongst the debris, make yourselves inconspicuous, and don’t open fire until you know you can take down your target.’ The faces turned toward the gate. People lifted beams of wood, planks of filleted floor to hide under. As the fire intensified against the tower, Helena growled at them to move faster. They looked at her but were beyond responding. Even when they were done it was obvious they’d be spotted within moments when the soldiers arrived. Helena steeled herself against the futility that pounded against her as incessantly as the rain.

  Helena crouched down next to David.

  ‘Nice glove,’ he said pointing at her hand with difficulty.

  ‘Height of fashion,’ she said without smiling. Behind them, out of sight, Indexiv was testing the lighthouse’s nanoshield to its limit. Helena held her breath as she waited for the sound of impacts on stone and brickwork.

  The bombardment stopped. In its wake emptiness filled the air. The lighthouse must still stand. Edith remained unbowed. The firing stopped completely, for one moment, then another. Helena waited, tentatively scanning the top of the wall towards the gate, expecting at any moment the barrage to restart. Instead, the pattering of rain onto sodden ground was the only sound to accompany the light of a jagged dawn.

  A ragged cheer went up from amongst the trees.

  ‘Ran out of tanks,’ said David’s voice from where he was laid as Helena stood up to spot Jane. She couldn’t immediately see her, so she stepped away from the house and looked the lighthouse up and down. Still in one piece.

  Edith emerged from the base of the tower and sprinted along the path towards Helena.

  ‘Idiots,’ she said grimly.

  ‘Us or them?’ asked Helena, noting Jane coming out from underneath a branch and walking towards them.

  ‘Huh?’ said Edith, vaguely looking at the gate.

  ‘How long do you think?’ asked Helena.

  ‘Half an hour,’ said Edith with certainty. ‘It won’t take them any longer than that to return from Skagen.’

  ‘You know the first thing they’re going to do is demolish the lighthouse?’ said Jane as she drew alongside them. Edith gave her a withering stare and said nothing.

  ‘Helena?’ said Jane.

  ‘We know,’ said Helena.

  ‘Still, I’ll be waiting,’ said Edith.

  Helena felt a knot in her stomach and turned to face her mother. ‘You can’t go back up there.’

  ‘Of course I can,’ said Edith. ‘No one else is going to.’

  ‘Edith,’ began Helena.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, girl. We’re all going to die here. Goddamned Euros is losing this takeover struggle anyway. I’m not going to be killed at the hands of Normal soldiers. I know what they’ll do if they take me alive.’ Helena knew and suddenly understood Edith’s motives: her fear of rape, of torture and humiliation. Seeing that the lines of stress and focus etched on her mother’s expression stood as much against fear as against Indexiv, Helena could say nothing more.

  Jane looked from one to the other in disbelief, ‘We need that plasma rifle.’

  Edith stepped back from the small triumvirate they had formed. Normals watched them from their bastions and hiding places.

  ‘It is mine and I will use it until the end.’ She let her eyes rest on Helena for a moment. ‘Helena.’ Helena knew these were likely to be her last words and couldn’t stop herself from hoping for softness. ‘Your father was a fool. I can see now you’re going to follow in his footsteps rather than mine. I sometimes wonder whether I’d have enjoyed bringing up one of my children, just one of them, to be more like me. To see the world as I’ve seen it.’ She sighed softly. ‘Still, too late for that now. A fool.’ And she shook her head. Narrowing her eyes, as if seeing Helena anew, she said, ‘Don’t let them take you alive, my girl.
I wouldn’t want that for you.’ She pushed lank hair back from her face, her mouth set into a grim line, before turning to walk back to the lighthouse.

  Helena was grateful for small mercies when Jane backed away without saying anything. Helena went and sat next to David, regretting it instantly as cold water spread an uncomfortable chill upwards from her backside. Even soaked to the skin it was possible to get wetter.

  ‘How old are you Helena?’ said David.

  ‘Old enough to regret today,’ said Helena.

  ‘Even Analise is old enough to regret that,’ said David. ‘I’m two hundred and twenty-four. I suppose I’ve been twenty-eight for one hundred and ninety-six years.’

  Helena listened to him without saying anything. So, he’s first generation.

  ‘I’ve not kept track of my age meaningfully. I mean, we’re told we’ll live for an undetermined length of time. None of the first generation shows signs of giving up the ghost soon. Yet this is my last day.’

  Helena didn’t want to hear it; she wanted to be told they were going to live, to hear Analise’s dream again.

  Seeming to realise this, David said, ‘Sorry, I’m being awfully morbid. I just don’t think I’ve ever been in a position quite like this. Waiting for it, unable to do anything that might change the outcome I’m arcing towards.’

  ‘What will you do if we live through this?’ asked Helena, wanting to change the subject and determined to be her own comforter.

  ‘I will tell you the truth,’ said David.

  ‘You mean there’s more?’ said Helena incredulously.

  David shrugged. ‘What about you?’

  Helena thought for a moment, suddenly unable to decide what she would do given the chance. ‘I’m going to travel west, across the Atlantic. I’ve never visited the temperate rainforest of the north-western seaboard.’

  ‘That hardly seems like you,’ said David. ‘But, given our current situation, poetic license granted.’

  ‘Who said it was for its own sake?’ asked Helena.

  David smiled painfully. ‘That’s better.’ He paused. ‘I’ve been there, what was Seattle, before the quake that sank it into the Pacific. It’s quite beautiful — almost as lonely as here.’