So primitive, she thought, shocked at the space in which it was obvious that several people lived. Not finding the source of the mewling, Helena went out back, certain the distress was nearby. A crude outhouse sat seven or eight metres from the house, built from old splintered dark wood, a cubicle just big enough for one.
When she opened the rickety door she was greeted by a loud cry from within. At first, she could not see where the noise was coming from; then spotted a small bundle behind the cistern. Pulling it out she unwrapped what she already knew to be a baby, someone hidden for their own safety. She stepped backwards from the toilet and froze as pre-emptive adrenalin flooded her system.
Her primary AI informed her that the Hound was stood less than ten metres away. His clean, focused smell filled the air.
“Put the child down.” It was cool and calm.
She bent over slowly, tenderly lay the child on the floor. It started crying, taking in great lungfuls of air which were building towards all out screams.
“Turn around.” She turned. Partially hidden in the long grasses at the side of the house was the Hound. His skin shimmered, shifting to match the colours of the waving grass. She had no problems seeing him, he gave off body heat like every other person but, to the naked eye, he would have been difficult to spot.
His skin blurred as he moved, flitting through the colours and shapes around him a fraction of a second after he passed by. He closed about half the distance between them before she’d realised he was moving.
“Where is the boy?” he asked.
“What boy?” she replied.
His face creased with mirth and self-satisfaction.
“The boy.” He withdrew a long blade from his behind his back, about a third of a metre long, so thin that Helena could see light through it. She had nowhere to back off to, nowhere to run. In the time it would take her to make herself ready, he would cut her in half.
“Tell me now or tell me later,” he said. She knew it was the last time he would give her the option.
She remained silent. His mouth curled up and he came forward. The snapping of a twig brought him up short, they turned their heads to see Denholme aiming a pistol at the Hound.
“Bah!” shouted the Hound before leaping for Denholme. It was enough time for Helena to allow her Primary and Secondary AIs to take control of her reactions. She bounded after him. Denholme’s face worked in slow motion, the look of surprise dawning on it almost never reaching its comical potential, as the Hound stretched his blade towards the pilot’s neck so quickly all Denholme saw was a glint of empty light.
Helena allowed the bowie knife to fly from her fingers as she cartwheeled towards the Hound.
The moment before the knife hit him, the Hound fell sideways to avoid being skewered. As he fell, he dragged his blade away from Denholme’s exposed neck. The bowie knife narrowly missed Denholme, who jumped back as fast as he could.
Helena reached the Hound as he recovered from his dodge. He parried her left foot as it sought his stomach, grabbing her right arm as it came overhead and twisted her around his body, trying to bring her down onto his sword.
As he swung her, she brought her torso down as close as she could to her legs, folding herself in half. The edge of the blade skimmed across her back, taking slivers of clothing and flesh from her body. She did not feel the pain; her nerves were not allowed to tell her brain it hurt.
She brought her left elbow backwards into his chest. He gasped and let go of her other arm. The two fell apart. Denholme watched as the wounds on her back began to slowly close up. He brought his pistol up and tried to get a bead on the Hound.
Growling at her the Hound leapt back, bending backwards so that his fingers touched the ground. Springing up with his hands he twisted his body so he landed on his feet, racing away from the two of them: northbound.
Helena almost followed. Her Primary AI said no, which was enough to bring her around. Slowing herself down and reclaiming her reactions and muscle control from her AIs, she heaved a great lungful of breath. Denholme looked at her in amazement. The entire encounter had taken less than four seconds.
Locating her knife, she retrieved the Hound’s sword from where he had dropped it in his hurry to get away from the ambush. The baby was still crying, long howls of despair and hunger filling the air like a warning.
“There’s something wrong here,” she said out loud. “That child was hidden. Hidden from something.” Taking the Hound’s monofilament blade, she jabbed it hard, point first, into a rock protruding from the ground. It sunk in effortlessly down several centimetres before snapping off under the pressure. She took the shard in her hand, threw it onto the roof of the house where it slid down into a gutter, out of sight.
“Hmm,” she said in satisfaction then turned her attention to the child.
What the hell am I supposed to do? She couldn’t take it with them, nor could she leave it alone, hidden under a toilet.
Denholme stood watching while the baby cried. Helena vacillated, unable to meet the challenge before her.
Find the parents, said her Primary AI.
She nodded her agreement. ‘Denholme,’ she said. ‘We need to get into town. We need to find the child’s parents.’ She stooped to pick it up, realised it was a boy. The stench was overwhelming, of shit and love. Its entire being screamed out to be taken care of, and she fought an urge to smell the top of its head.
They took it inside, changed its nappy from a box of clean ones they found in the kitchen and put it into its cot. The boy, who had slowly calmed down as they undressed it, started to scream as they left. Helena dragged herself from the house, hoping with all that she had that she’d be able to find his parents and send them home.
Chapter 5
HELENA SAT IN THE pilot’s seat, forcing Denholme to take the passenger’s spot.
She moved the Hummingbird another few hundred metres towards the town centre. They left the street as the buildings closed in, packing more densely together. Helena stopped the Hummingbird out of sight behind a modest, freshly whitewashed wooden house. A small area of the south-facing wall was cleanly sanded down, ready for a coat of emulsion. A pot of paint sat beneath the wall, open, with the paintbrush laid on the upturned lid. The paint had no skin on its surface, it had been left minutes ago, not hours.
Something inside her pulled downwards, as if seeking to escape the fear of what she’d find if she kept looking. She pulled out the stun grenades along with the laser rifles from the back of the Hummingbird. She threw one of the rifles to Denholme, taking the plasma rifle for herself. Strapping it to her back, she fastened two pistols to her waist.
What are you doing? she asked herself. This isn’t a movie; you aren’t a soldier. Are you really going to kill people?
She couldn’t stop the sound of the baby whose cries were like tinnitus. She had to find its parents. Inside her chest she could feel a flame of emotion she couldn’t begin to describe but in its core was violence.
It seemed almost inevitable that Indexiv were nearby but if rescuing the boy meant abandoning an entire town to its fate then her Company could go hang.
Do you think the Hound will be back soon, she asked her AI.
I cannot reasonably answer that, came the response. She shook her head and put the worry to one side; whatever was happening in the town centre was more important. The abandoned paint pot only underscored her concerns about what they might find there. She pocketed the small chip containing the message from Euros and told Denholme to follow her into town.
They walked quite openly for the first part, Helena taking the lead, choosing the middle of the street. She slowly allowed her AIs to heighten her senses until she could discern the buzzing of mosquitoes tens of metres away. The sun was a problem: they were heading into it. She decided the best option was to go south and come at the town centre from the south-east.
The pilot is a liability. He is, like you, untrained for close quarters combat, said her Primary AI.
&n
bsp; He won’t cause me any problems, she thought. She had purposefully given him a limited ability to cause harm, ensuring that he could only disable any opponents they might come across.
Her real fear remained fixed on the fate of the population. Her Tertiary AI informed her that this was a town of just ten thousand, built around one central square, which had once served as a market and railroad point. There were no railroads any more.
The southern quarter of the city was more prosperous than the eastern fringes and there were a number of small hovercraft parked along the sides of the street. She guessed that the professionals who worked for the Southern States administration resided there.
Yet still there were no people.
She cautiously extended her Tertiary AI into the surrounding homes and communications networks and she tried listening in to what was going on in the town.
The deafening silence that greeted her entry into the local networks was terrifying. No one was using any sort of electronic communication outside of the town centre.
The entire town was concentrated in the central square, all twelve thousand and forty-six of them.
Her AI scanned the different signals, all remote computing access has been shut down. The people who sold their minds as living computers had been closed out of the loop. They were being forcibly kept from work.
She exited the augmented reality before her presence was noticed.
Denholme stayed a couple of metres behind her, looking increasingly uncomfortable, as block after block of houses and shops turned out to be empty. She saw his gaze turn away from the papers or pieces of clothing dropped casually in the street.
What horror strikes so swiftly that no one has the time to flee? Whatever moved them to the town square drove them hard.
According to her map, the street Helena had chosen ran straight into the heart of the old town. She hoped that sunset would still be half an hour away. Her AI had painted nightmarish scenes of difficulty in assessing the situation if she arrived after dark. She stopped for a moment when they were first able to see the end of the buildings ahead of them. The plaza lay beyond it. Helena chose to walk along the eastern edge of the street, as this would give her the best view on their approach.
As they neared the entrance to the plaza they had to slow down and stop. Hundreds of people were spilling out of the square backing up along the street. Distant shouts could be heard from up ahead. Helena became aware of Denholme’s sweating, his fear and distress.
“Denholme, find somewhere to cover me. If I get in trouble then come help, otherwise stay there.”
He looked at her, then back along the length of the street. Helena could make out the confused shouts of frightened and angry people coming from the heart of the crowd.
Denholme wasn’t happy, for a moment Helena thought he might actually refuse her order, but then he looked around them and chose a shop front on the western side. He ran to it and disappeared inside, the door snapped shut behind him.
Although he’s not trained for it the statistics suggest he will try to fill the role of sniper, said her AI.
Helena laughed. Surely he realises he can’t help me now. She had sent him away because he was a liability, not because he could help her. Helena took her AI’s comment as a wager and thought, I won’t have you removed when we get back if you’re right.
She felt her AI stiffen inside her own head.
Don’t make promises you can’t keep, it responded dryly.
So there is something wrong, she said.
I do not believe so, it replied.
And there you have it, she said. AIs don’t believe anything.
I am not exhibiting the classic symptoms of corruption, said her AI.
Really? When did you become ‘I’?
In spite of her nagging need to move on Helena stood where she was, waiting until she was satisfied that Denholme wasn’t going to appear above her. She turned to the eastern side of the street and approached the edge of a low building.
Crouching, she pushed up with her thighs and sprang into the air. She landed gently on the flat roof of the building, its bitumen surface crunching like stale breadcrumbs under her feet. There was Denholme, staring at her from the roof opposite.
Her AI sniggered, and said that it needed to make her aware of several probabilities regarding the coming situation, based upon Denholme’s psychological profile. She asked her AI to update her with its assessment.
The following statements are to be treated as fact: firstly, Indexiv is in charge of the town. Secondly, they have rounded the people into the square in order to terminate them. Finally, it insisted, the only safe option is to leave now and flee west in the hope of reaching the Namibian province before we are caught.
She asked it what it reckoned her chances were of dealing with the Indexiv troops stationed in the town.
When it snorted in disbelief, she wondered just how badly it might have been damaged when she was knocked unconscious on the Amazon Fell.
Helena, if Indexiv has occupied the town and is moving to deconstruct its resource problem there will be a minimum of three hundred civilian staff, four to six Oligarchs and perhaps a thousand troops. No people would allow themselves to be herded up otherwise. She sagged slightly but wouldn’t be deterred. She had to take a look, to try to see what was actually happening.
You should expect Denholme either to try to help you or run away. His stress indicators suggest he is as unhappy at your abandoning of the infant as he is at the situation unfolding before us.
He’s not alone, snarled Helena.
Moving from roof to roof, negotiating ridge tiles, she came closer to the heart of the town; the architecture older and grander as she approached.
Down on the edge of the roof of a building that bordered the square, she leant over the guttering. People were densely packed in beneath her. Along the fringe were four men holding carbines. She frowned at the passivity of the crowd. Four lightly armed men would not have stopped her from running away, even at the risk of being shot. Most of the crowd would survive to overpower their guards.
What overwhelming force has been marshalled out of my line of sight that they won’t flee?
Taking in each of the guards, she felt sure that, if they were military, they were not Indexiv’s own, but mercenaries. She asked what her AI made of them.
I do not immediately understand what these soldiers are trying to achieve, you should leave.
Helena didn’t hear it, she felt an insatiable need to find out what was happening. In all the hubbub of the crowd three storeys below her on the street, she found it hard to discern any specific threads. After she had hung on there for a number of minutes, the noise of the crowd lulled for moment. Pricking up her ears, she focused on one man standing near to the guards. They were reassuring him that everything would be okay; they were being resettled so Indexiv could mine the land for diamonds. The man asked where they were going.
“North, old man. To a new town,” said the guard with a smile. “Everything’s been prepared.” The old man seemed to accept this and started to tell those around him.
Helena did not feel right.
The building adjacent to hers was three storeys higher. She knew it would be a stretch to reach it in a single leap. Instead, she climbed. It was easy enough. Once she’d climbed up, she walked to the edge of the tower block. A sea of dispossessed people swelled beneath her. The square was far too small to contain them and they bulged into the surrounding streets on all sides. She could not make out any heavy weaponry or any great concentration of troops.
Why are these people here?
Finding the child’s parents will prove difficult, said her AI.
In the centre of the square, a space had been preserved without the help of ropes or barriers. Within that space Helena could make out twenty or so Indexiv soldiers whose lack of insignias indicated their mercenary status.
Whose company are they?
Behind them was a transport ship.
Her Tertiary AI indicated it was a Peregrine 240, large enough for one hundred and thirty four passengers.
How are they going to transport so many people with that?
She scanned back down the street; there was no sign of Denholme. That was something at least. The roof had a small shed with a door that she assumed led down into the tower. Helena placed herself behind the arc of the door to give her time should it open.
Which is exactly what it did. She froze and then, allowing her reactions to speed up, flung herself across the roof, landing behind the shed. Crouching down, she listened.
“Stupid sacks of meat. They deserve everything that’s coming to ‘em,” said someone.
Another voice replied, “When do you think they’re gonna’ start shipping them off to their new home?”
“Do you think they’ll like the view from six feet under?” The two men laughed, a sound that made Helena flinch.
“How are they going to liquidate all of them?”
“No idea. Probably render them down with nanomachines.”
Still talking, they moved away from her to the edge of the roof. Helena came round the far side of the door, watching for them. They had their backs to her but were close to the edge.
Are you going to kill again? asked her AI.
Yes, thought Helena, anger swelling up uncontrollably as she thought of what they were planning.
Racing forward, she plunged her bowie knife into the throat of one before they had time to register the sound of her approach. Swinging around, using the weight of the knife in the man’s throat to twist him loose and away from the edge of the roof. Helena thrust an arm out to pull the other solider back from the lip as he was turning to face her. She let go of her knife, which was still wedged into the dead man’s neck, bringing her bloody hand hard across the other’s face. His head whipped left with a sharp crack. He collapsed, with his face to the floor.
A Family War: The Oligarchy - Book 1 Page 11