Helena waved her hand dismissively and lay there, eyes closed, wishing he would stop demanding that she focus her mind anywhere. The pain was a throb when her thoughts were diffused, but sharp when she was made to think specific thoughts.
I have been thinking,said her AI and, to her relief, she found listening to it did not result in the feeling of pins being jammed into her eyes.There are three possible parties behind the commandeering of the orbital satellites: Saul and the twins, Euros or intelligences of the same order as Lysander.
Helena listened, slowly building a picture of the possibilities and implications should any of the parties listed by her AI be responsible for the destruction of Indexiv’s entire expeditionary force.
What else? she asked.
Nothing substantial, said her AI, and they left it there.
It turned out that Adrian was speaking the truth; Helena was stretchered off the plane, through Euros’ terminal in the Spires and towards the media briefing room. Helena was too wrecked to take in the looks on people’s faces as she was wheeled into the green room. Her nanotech was instructed to make her photogenic; it rouged her cheeks and the worst of the tiredness was exfoliated from her face. Adrian finally, mercifully, instructed her AIs to flood her system with targeted neuropathic pain suppressors.
The presentation crew felt it was more dramatic for her to remain in the clothes in which she had fled Jutland, even if they refreshed her skin. There were one or two slight bruises showing on her face, which they delightedly informed her were priceless. Helena, coming round from the pain, stopped them from enhancing the look of her injuries.
Edith was made up, looking stunning, barely a day over twenty-three. In contrast, Helena resembled an energy-starved refugee. Edith had even managed to find new clothes and enough energy reserves to have her hair washed, styled and set. Brushing away two Normals attempting to add ‘finishing touches’, her mother checked herself out in one of the mirrors in the green room. She was wearing a conservative, navy, one-piece suit that nevertheless held all the right places just so. Helena hoped the organisers weren’t cynical enough to sit the two of them together. Chairing the media briefing was a vaguely familiar face and, looking at him hard, recognition dawned that Euros had seconded one of its serious news feed anchors to the conference. She didn’t care to remember his name but was impressed with the gravity they were applying to the situation. A senior director for acquisitions and mergers was present, wearing holographic medals showing the successful takeovers he had completed as if he were some tacky and very expensive piece of decorative tat from another decade. Leland seriously underplayed the significance of the events in Skagen.
After an interminable length of time they were shown into the conference room. The dull throb in Helena’s skull slowly spread down her neck and back until her shoulder blades felt as if someone was relentlessly pulling them apart.
She was immediately reminded of the conference that had awaited her upon her return from Southern Africa, of the sixty or so people who had ignored her revelations about Indexiv.
Helena had attended, and even led, briefings for the media and the market in her role as a negotiator for the Company. The one she remembered with most fondness had been on Mars. On the back of a victory-fuelled high, she had bedded one of the local news feeds after the conference. As she limped into the room, she couldn’t stop herself from gasping as she saw just about every journalist and market analyst in the City lining the auditorium.
Someone was already at the podium, speaking loudly and clearly as they were transmitted across the solar system. Helena recognised her as Amelie Greenhart, one of Euros’ holding company board members. ‘The move in our share price is simply a reflection of our outstanding performance in Northern Europe and our success in locating the Normals responsible for the attack on the transport station. Indexiv believed our management was weak. Indexiv believed that they could engage in business practices which threaten the very stability of the markets. They believed no one would oppose their crass robber-baron behaviour. Not only do we oppose their corporate strategy, we are willing to engage them in takeover talks to do so. As we have shown, both in Northern Europe and within the virtual territories where we are engaged, Euros has the technology to defend not only its own assets but also those of Corporations Indexiv would prey upon while the World Trade Organisation does nothing.’
A few months ago, the content of the speech would have enthralled Helena. Amelie was a skilled orator, and the room was silent apart from her voice, crisp and clear, cutting through the air.
What interested her now was the message behind Euros’ positioning. Is their resistance so weak they are being forced to claim this action as their own? Questions from the floor focussed on a number of other theatres of conflict and, from the tone of the comments, it was clear Euros was, without exception, faring badly in every one of them. Amelie deflected most of the questions and handed over to the Director from M&A, who spoke with a detailed logistical complexity that obfuscated the entire situation.
‘You have to applaud them really,’ said Edith quietly.
Helena sighed and hoped none of those present was listening carefully to what was being said. It was considered rude, and ineffective, to analyse the stress patterns of a Family member’s voice on occasions like these, not only because it betrayed a level of distrust deemed publicly unacceptable but also because, over the last two hundred years, nanotechnology and genetic therapy had made it virtually impossible for a skilled Family member to give themselves away without choosing to. To attempt it on those holding the floor now would offer the same insight as listening to someone’s answering message tritely announcing they were unavailable.
‘If anyone has any doubts, they’re polite enough not to call this narrative into question,’ continued Edith. ‘It is rather a situation handed to them on a plate. One can’t be too impressed.’
‘I’m trying to listen,’ said Helena.
‘There’s no need to be snappy,’ said Edith. For a moment, Helena regretted closing down the conversation - it wasn’t often that Edith engaged her as an equal.
When Helena’s turn to speak came, she found clear instructions being transmitted to her. The media team had prepared her a script to read out, sentence by sentence, together with stage directions and suggested emotions she should portray at certain points. Helena left out the scripted emotions and let her own feelings bubble to the surface as they emerged. Euros were focussing on her heroism in the face of great oppression and poor corporate governance.
‘…I do not blame Indexiv for the appalling behaviour of their staff members in the Jutland peninsula, but one must pose the question: how did they come to perceive Family members as valid targets?’ Indexiv were sure to be counter briefing elsewhere in the city, although she didn’t think there were enough reporters to go around right now, so she wasn’t surprised when seemingly unconnected counterclaims were presented to her for comment. Many of the people in the room would be watching Indexiv’s brief as they listened to her here.
‘Of course they deny such actions could occur, but I stand before you as a witness and a target of their expansion policy. You have already heard from Insel and its surviving Director, Jens Dalgaard, how his friends and colleagues were murdered by Indexiv’s troops in the unprecedented plasma bombardment that presaged the attack on Insel’s headquarters in the region.’
Another change.
‘It is entirely within Insel’s rights to conduct an investigation into their staff’s actions; I am sure they will abide by transparency rules in reporting. That is not what is at stake here.’
It is possible they will not release Analise to you, said her AI.
Helena had stopped listening to her account of her own heroism and how she had been defending, in grand altruistic style, the honour not only of Euros, to whom she owed an obvious duty of care, but also of Insel. I’m so much white noise.
‘You will know, as Director Hodges has highlighted, that
there continues to be a significant engagement within the Cloud. This is primarily for control of Indexiv’s assets, which have already caused so much damage to the people of Northern Europe. Although their fleet there was smoothly neutralised in our counterattack yesterday, Indexiv are continuing to make attempts at reclaiming their orbital assets. There is no basis to the rumours that unidentified third parties are engaged in takeover actions and certainly no credence should be given to the ideas being touted by LST regarding who those third parties would be if they existed.’
So they didn’t have complete control of the situation, thought Helena. She couldn’t see any link between LST, a corporate services provider and information gatekeeper, and Indexiv, so she could only speculate on their involvement. Between every word spoken, there was a silence regarding what had actually happened, both from Euros and from Indexiv. Helena supposed that, either way, Indexiv had no incentive to reveal the truth. It would be more damaging to market sentiment than accepting the fiction that Euros had been responsible for the events which led to Indexiv’s loss of control of the orbital weapons platforms.
Abruptly, Helena’s part in the proceedings came to an end and she sat down. Amelie took over and Helena asked her AI to record the session while she sank into introspection.
INDEXIV had halted their operations and there was no coverage of what they might be doing within their own territory, or in the territory they had recently acquired. Helena thought often about those trapped inside Indexiv’s borders, how long before it was too long, before any action taken by anyone would be too late for them.
Her AI had burrowed into the Cloud three days ago. Since it had immersed itself, they had barely spoken. She wasn’t clear what it was seeking but its sense of purpose felt so weighty she left it alone. Aside from that, she was happy to be alone again in her own head.
DAVID was recovering well, but Helena had not yet been to see him. After the press briefing was over, she had been admitted to Euros’ medical facilities in the Spire. The medics had put her to sleep for sixty hours as they tried to rehabilitate her splintered nervous system.
The growing of her spleen had been completed, a gently fading scar all there was to show where a surgeon had inserted the new organ along with a small contingent of nanomachines and stem cells to affix it, attune it to her genetic ribbon and pacify any white cells mistaking it for a malicious invader.
On one occasion when they spoke, her AI, with an expression of fascinated curiosity, offered to take her through the process in some detail, as it had been quite conscious through the entire time. Helena declined; she had no desire to live through something others had thought traumatic enough for her to pass by on a sea of oblivion.
The consultant physicians, actual Family members, explained how she had managed to degrade and injure more than ten percent of her nervous system. They had, as was standard when treating Family members, taken samples of the damage from her while she was unconscious. They had not seen a living example of such extensive nerve damage for three decades.
Visitors had been limited: the logs showed Jane, two calls from Michael, who was still in low-earth orbit, her uncle Johannes and her current boss Andreas. She awoke the morning of her discharge to find flowers in her room: freesias, lilies and roses — birth, death and love. That’s a portentous selection, she thought, wondering if they had been chosen with those symbols in mind. One of the leaves had a message attached to it. When she pressed her thumb on a pad that erupted from the leaf as she reached for the stem, a small hologram appearing of a man who stood on the leaf and looked out into the space in front of him. The energy required to generate a two-inch high holographic message implanted into the stem of a flower actually grown, rather than matured in a hydroponic pod, carried as much meaning as any symbolic status the flowers might have.
The man, dressed in a pale sand-coloured linen suit, was a typical Family member: he was young looking, with strong bones and clear skin. His dark hair and blue eyes came together on a face composed with complete confidence. Helena looked at him, not wishing to make the gesture to start the recording before working out who he was. The hologram had no time or location stamp, which would typically scroll across the bottom of the image, implying it had been made especially for this purpose and was not one of a larger batch where the message had been added to a pre-rendered image. The figure on the leaf was the actual sender.
Helena was in a large room on the hundred and fifty eighth floor. Enough natural light was available to give the room an open feel and, together with the pale whites and blues of the décor itself, helped her environment achieve a gentle brightness which partially obscured the hologram.
Is there any way to play with the brightness of the image, or the contrast for that matter? asked Helena. Her AI responded by dimming the windows of the room.
Do you know who it is? She asked her AI.
I believe it is Iain Griffin, executive without brief within Indexiv, came the reply.
Really? Thought Helena, surprised that he had been able to reach her so easily.
Perhaps watching the message will be the best place to begin answering the most obvious of questions.
Helena waved her palm in front of the Hologram. The image activated a second later. At first the figure did not say anything but thrust his hands into his pockets and pulled a succession of faces, all centred around his mouth and suggesting he was unsure of where to begin.
One hand emerged from a pocket and, cupping his chin, the figure said, ‘Lady Woolf. I am Iain Griffin. I must say you look like your uncle, at least from the footage we have of you in Skagen. My honest impression is of someone who is personally lost even as you appear to be a double heroine. Twice now you have rescued your Company from public humiliation.’ He clapped both hands together. ‘Indeed, this time, if I may be so bold and you promise not to take it personally, you have managed to pull victory from the jaws of defeat in such a way as to save your powerfully average Board from complete, unconditional, surrender. Reading about your capture and subsequent transmogrification into saviour of your captors, as well as that you somehow engineered the downfall of the entire sixth expeditionary fleet and the thirty-first and fifty-third armoured infantry brigades, is not something I could let pass by without at least trying to understand how you could achieve such a feat.’ The image flickered for a moment and then he was wearing a different suit.
‘Apologies, I was called away. Where was I?’ He smiled briefly as he replayed the monologue in his head. ‘Yes, I wonder why you act as you do. I was at the last of the talks about the Normal Problem.’
Sitting in Schmerl’s head, announcing the end of the world, she thought.
‘You know Euros did not really resist us. There were any number of ways the situation could have been resolved. We must have seemed particularly dull-witted to you at the time. Perhaps you should think on that Lady Woolf, as I’m sure you’d be the first to acknowledge the fact that none of us are actually fools.’
Griffin’s face lost the smile which had been playing around the edges of his mouth. ‘The expense of this extravagance was not meant for a discourse on collusion and the politics of the fate of Coventry. We know who acted against us in Jutland. Neither party is willing to admit to knowledge of the true culprits. Of more concern to you Lady Woolf, is that we – and that range includes both ourselves and your own House – know who instigated the event.’ He left this hanging in the air for long enough for Helena to realise he meant her. ‘You have enough profile to stay our hand and enough friends for us to wait for them to speak with you about your persistence in seeking out the least optimal conclusion for Euros. Lady Woolf, it may be a cliché, but they only arise because they are truthful; you’ve confused the plans of two of the biggest Companies in the top five. There is more going on here than you understand. Your own friends will now encourage you to stand back, perhaps rest a while, let the war conclude naturally. I advise you to recognise sage counsel when it’s given.’
&nbs
p; The hologram winked out of existence. The rose was withered; its life had powered the message. One by one, the petals fell to the floor. Helena moved away cautiously and wasn’t disappointed when what was left of the stem consumed itself, soundlessly turning to dust.
The Hound had warned of two people; Griffin was one of them. Her father had gone as far as saying these were people to be feared. That a man approaching his three hundredth birthday invoked the concept of fear so baldly meant much to Helena.
I suppose all I can do now is wait and see who tries to dissuade me from pursuing the goals I’ve set my mind to.
The prophesied dissuasion did not come from the expected quarter, nor did it come immediately on the heels of the disintegrating blossoms. Helena recovered and was discharged, taking only a sense of deflation with her.
Her flat was empty and undisturbed. London stood tall, nestled in its sense of self-importance. Life carried on. There was precious little sign of the conflict engulfing the world; Family members and Normals continued with their lives. She had expected more, some tangible sign of the uncertainty gripping the market and, more physically, millions of people’s lives. She had experienced numerous takeover struggles in the past and had witnessed, eight decades previously, another colossal engagement between two multinationals. She’d had nothing at stake that time. Reflecting on other conflicts she had experienced, this was the first time the risk had been so close to home. It was meaningless to try and determine the probability of being so close to death so frequently over the last few months, especially when the nearest she had ever come to mortality in the past was seeing old servants grow old and disappear discreetly from service. She knew they had died but had never presumed to wonder where they went or what happened to them. They were little more than functionaries, a caste of people who worked without ever making themselves known. If Helena had mourned anyone, it was her minders from when she was young, nearly two hundred years ago. From before she’d been granted her AI and nanomachines. The consequence of this was a sense that her origin was shrouded in an impenetrable mist. She had no recollection, nothing distinct which she could locate, of being younger than thirty. Feelings and occasional flashes of visual memory, often triggered by smells and locations, came and went, but Helena had nothing to hold onto, no reference point to look back on.
A People's War (The Oligarchy Book 2) Page 29