Infiltrators

by Alison Ingleby

  I think for a minute. “I don’t think there’s an easy way. Either you give the captains a demand that overrides the orders they were given at the compound or you take out the captain …” I try to remember what the professor had said. “But then you’re stuck with the same problem they’ve got: how to reprogram the chips of a group of officers to respond to a different captain when they’re out in the field.”

  “What about if you physically had their captain’s implant?” Matthews walks over and points at the black box on the table. “Could you connect that chip to your device and control it that way?”

  Jameson’s face brightens. “That could work …” He purses his lips. “In fact, that would make things much simpler. The only issue then is to get our text command to work through the chip. But that should be doable.”

  “Will the chip work outside of the host? It won’t have some failsafe where it shuts down if it’s removed from the body?” Matthews asks.

  Jameson’s shakes his head. “I don’t think so. The last one we got seemed to work fine.” He waves toward the robot. “It’s just a communication chip at the end of the day.”

  “But isn’t it implanted in their brains? Wouldn’t it kill them if we try …” My voice trails off. They’re giving me that patient look the teachers used to give me at school when I’d asked a stupid question.

  “I imagine so. You were the one who was talking about taking out the captains.” Matthews cocks her head toward me, a faint expression of amusement on her face.

  “But I didn’t mean to kill them! I just thought—”

  “That you could make them go to sleep or something?” She shakes her head. “The Metz are too dangerous to mess with, Trey. If we take one out we need to be a hundred percent sure they’re out. Otherwise, someone will end up getting killed. It’s them or us.”

  I stare down at the table, chewing my lip. Them or us.

  “If we had a medic unit and surgeon here and knew exactly where the implant was in their head, then perhaps we could take it out without killing them, but we don’t have that luxury.” She squeezes my shoulder. “Just remember, they’re why you’re out here.”

  “And if we can get control of them, then we can turn them back against the government,” Jameson adds, his voice rising in excitement. “The machines will be under our control.”

  “They’re not machines,” I mutter under my breath. “They’re people.”

  Matthews shakes her head. “Not while they’re under the control of the government they’re not.”

  I stare at the black box. I’d not really thought about what the Chain would do once they had control of the Metz. The plan in my head had only got as far as stopping them hurting Outsiders. Not using them as an army.

  “We need to get hold of one to test,” Jameson murmurs to himself. “I can set up something that might work but we’ll never know until we test it.”

  A crash from downstairs makes me jump. Katya takes three quick steps over to the window and looks down onto the street. Footsteps pound on the staircase. Whoever it is, they’re taking the stairs two at a time.

  The door bursts open and Murdoch runs in, his face flushed and chest heaving.

  “Aleesha …” he pants, leaning forward and grabbing at his chest. “Down in Four … She’s got him …” He glances up and for a second our eyes meet and his face blanches. Then he looks away.

  “What? You’re not making sense.” Katya strides over to him, frowning. “What’s she done?”

  Bryn walks over to join them. Murdoch coughs and tries to catch his breath. He mutters something too quietly for me to hear, but I see Bryn’s face tighten.

  I push back my chair. “Is Aleesha in trouble?”

  “No,” Bryn says sharply, glancing over at me. “Sit down, Trey.” But I don’t like the look on his face.

  Something’s wrong. There’s something he’s not telling me.

  Katya pulls back from the huddle and begins to pace the room again. Neat, quick steps. One arm is folded across her chest and she taps her fingers on the opposite arm as she walks.

  “This could work. Yes, this could actually work better.”

  I’m not sure if she’s talking to herself or expecting an answer. It seems no one else does either, as the room falls silent.

  “If she does it, that may carry more weight. Her grief. Her revenge. Yes, it will bring people together. It will ready them for the fight.”

  A sick feeling develops in the pit of my stomach. I glance at Bryn. His face is taut and he’s refusing to meet my eye. “What’s happening, Bryn? T—”

  Katya turns suddenly. “Murdoch, is there a team ready to go?”

  He nods. “They’ll be waiting for us at the border to Four.”

  “I wasn’t anticipating moving this soon, but she’s forced our hand. It may work out better this way. Draw the Metz out.” She looks over at us. “Jameson, get that device working. Matthews, get him whatever he needs to make it work.”

  “Wait. This is too hasty.” Bryn grabs her arm. “Murdoch may be wrong. Aleesha may just be talking to him …”

  Katya stiffens and looks pointedly at her arm. Bryn takes a step back and releases his grip.

  “We have our orders, Bryn. We’ve already discussed this. We need to focus people’s attention. Stop all this stupid looting and remind them who the real enemy is.”

  Bryn looks unhappy. “But—”

  “No buts. That’s my order. That’s his order.” Her eyes flick to me. “Stay here. Look after Trey.”

  I don’t understand. Why would I need looking after?

  “What’s going on? What’s Aleesha done?” I push my chair away, but Matthews grabs my arm and gives a slight shake of her head.

  “This isn’t about the city, you know that.” Bryn gives Katya a cold look, but she just raises one eyebrow and stares back at him. They’re like two dogs facing off and waiting for the other to back down. Matthews shifts nervously beside me.

  “I don’t question our leader’s decisions.” Each word is like a pin prick in the silence. “And you can be certain that he’ll be hearing about your questioning once this is over.” Her words make me shiver.

  Bryn’s eyes narrow. “Don’t threaten me, Katya. I’ve been around a lot longer than you.”

  She leans forward until their faces are just inches apart. “Then I’d have thought you would know better than to rebel, Mr McNally. No one is irreplaceable. Remember that.”

  She pulls back and turns to leave. “Murdoch, come with me. The rest of you, stay here.”

  Bryn takes a step toward the door, but it slams in his face. He curses and slams his fist into the wood. “Dammit!”

  I look from Bryn to Matthews and back to Bryn again. “What’s going on? Why won’t anyone tell me?”

  But they won’t meet my eye. The only sound in the room is Jameson humming to himself and tinkering with his stupid box.

  Bryn leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. His face is lined with anguish. “I’m sorry, Trey. I can’t.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t?” I wrench my arm from Matthews’ grasp and stride over to him. “If Aleesha’s in trouble, I want to know.”

  “She’s not in trouble. At least, not yet,” Bryn says tightly.

  “Then why can’t you tell me?”

  Bryn leans forward and massages the top of his nose with finger and thumb. “Because you can’t do anything to stop it. Trust me, Trey, it’s better this way.”

  “Can’t do anything to stop w—” Then it hits me. The thought slamming into my brain like a hammer. And everything suddenly makes sense.

  Ice shoots through my veins and I step backward, reaching a hand out to the wall to steady myself. “My father,” I whisper. “She’s gone after him, hasn’t she?”

  Bryn stares down at the floor. The room spins around me.

  “Trey, why don’t you sit down?” Matthews sounds concerned. There’s a tug on my arm but I bat her away.

  “Tell me, d
ammit!” Anger flares in my belly. I push off the wall and go to stand in front of Bryn. “Look at me and tell me what the hell is going on.”

  But still he refuses to look me in the eye.

  I clench my fist. “What is she doing to him? What are they doing to him?”

  Silence.

  I slam my fist into the door to the side of Bryn’s head. It feels good, so I do it again. “Tell me!”

  “Trey, stop.” Rough hands grab my wrists, forcing me back. “Stop!”

  I stare up at him. Blue eyes, just like my own. I guess that’s where I get them from. “Just tell me what’s happening,” I whisper. “Please.”

  He looks away and drops my hands. “Sit down.”

  I move on autopilot and sit on the chair that Matthews pushes toward me.

  “We had an order come through yesterday. From the Leader. He feels things are getting out of control. That some event is needed to bring Outsiders together. A trial of a prominent government official.”

  “A trial?”

  I’m struggling to think clearly. My mind is fogged, each thought swimming through a thick soup, unable to find other thoughts to piece together what’s happening.

  Bryn grimaces. “A nominal trial. More of an execution.”

  “An execution?” Two pieces click into place and my stomach plummets. “Dad. They’re going to execute him?”

  I’m on my feet and have taken two paces before my brain catches up. But Bryn is quicker. He grabs me, throwing me back into the chair. “I said to sit!”

  I stare at him in shock, too paralysed to speak.

  “I’m sorry.” He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “This is all such a damn mess.”

  “We … we have to stop it.”

  Bryn looks at the floor and shakes his head. I look at Matthews. “Please, we have to stop it. He’s not done anything wrong!” I grab her hand and stand, tugging at it. “We can stop it, if we go now.”

  But she pulls her hand away. “I’m sorry, Trey, really I am.”

  I run to the window, but Katya and Murdoch are already out of sight.

  How long will it take them to get there? If it’s a trial, that will take some time to pull together, right? They’ll need to find him. Find Aleesha.

  My head snaps back to Bryn. “What’s Aleesha got to do with this?”

  Bryn continues staring at the floorboards and sighs. “Nothing. Except that she seems to have had the same idea.”

  “The same idea?”

  Bryn doesn’t answer.

  She wouldn’t … would she?

  I think back to the training room. The look on her face when Rogue had read out my father’s name. I’d been too stunned to take it in. There had been grief there. But also determination. And hate.

  She saw her mother die.

  “No,” I whisper into the silence.

  “Murdoch may be wrong.” Bryn lifts his head and takes a pace toward me. “Perhaps she just wanted to talk to him, ask him some questions.”

  “She could have done that Inside.” The fog in my head clears now. Too late, I finally understand. “We have to go.” I push past Bryn’s outstretched arm and pause with my hand on the door. “Will … will you help me? He’s not a bad man. You know that.”

  Bryn’s face is a mask of indecision. I pull open the door and run toward the stairs. Whether he’s coming or not, I don’t have time to wait.

  As I reach the front door, heavy footsteps pound the stairs behind me.

  “Trey, wait!”

  I wrench the door open and run down the steps. He catches me at the bottom and I turn to face him. “Do you know where they’ll take him?”

  Bryn nods grimly. “The same place Aleesha will. Rose Square.”

  23

  Aleesha

  Trey. My mother’s smiling face. Andrew Goldsmith. My mother’s terrified face. Her body juddering as the bullets hit. Trey.

  The images play through my mind like a spinning wheel that gets faster and faster until the faces blur into one.

  Trey. Mother. Trey. Mother.

  My hands are shaking. I need to get a grip. Why is it so hard to kill someone? All I need do is tighten my finger on the trigger. One small movement and it will all be over.

  Andrew Goldsmith stares up at me, his eyes silently pleading with me to put the gun down. He looks old – older than I remember from the screens when he stared down at us as the Minister of Education and Health and told us what he was doing to help us. He looks a different person now.

  He has lost too. Lost his job. His son.

  Dammit, I’ve already thought this through. Decided that he deserves to die.

  But I reached that conclusion when he was far away on the other side of the Wall. Now he’s a living, breathing person kneeling in front of me.

  You have to do it. She deserves justice.

  I steady the gun, aiming the barrel between Andrew Goldsmith’s eyes. For a moment, I think he’s going to beg for his life and I’ll have those words ringing in my head for the rest of my days, but he just swallows and looks down at the ground.

  I take a deep breath and slowly let it out as my finger closes on the trigger.

  No!

  I wrench the gun away as the shot fires, the bullet embedding itself in the brick wall. I stumble backward, my arm falling to my side.

  We stay there for a moment, our gazes locked, both of us wondering what happens next. My heart races so fast I feel as if I’ve sprinted two street lengths. A bitter taste lingers in my mouth.

  “Go,” I manage eventually, the word escaping in a hiss between my gritted teeth.

  But he doesn’t move, still frozen with his hands in the air.

  “Go!”

  What more does he want me to do?

  I march over to him and yank his arm. Finally, he seems to get the message. He staggers to his feet, blinking and looking around.

  “You’re letting me go?” he whispers.

  I shove him toward the narrow passageway that leads back out to the main street. “Down there. At the street, turn right. Follow it up to Area Five. You should be able to get to the East Gate from there.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” My body feels weak from adrenaline and I want to slump down right here, in this stinking courtyard, and close my eyes.

  “Why are you letting me go?”

  I scowl at him, wishing I knew the answer to that myself. “Just go. Before someone else catches you here.”

  “Thanks.” He offers me a weak smile then, to my relief, turns and stumbles down the passageway.

  I sag back against the wall, the gun falling from my hand.

  Dammit. I had him! The man who was responsible for her death. And I was too weak to do it.

  My eyes seek out the bullet hole in the far wall. People will have heard the shot. I should get out of here.

  I pick up the gun and flip the safety catch on before shoving it into my belt and wiping my hands down my legs. I’ll go back to my roof, chill out for a bit. Figure out what to do next.

  But I don’t get the chance. As I emerge from the alleyway, a commotion further up the street catches my attention. A crowd is gathering around a small group of people who are pushing their way toward me. There are shouts and jeers.

  I push myself against a boarded-up shop window to let them pass. A flash of blond hair catches my eye and panic surges through me as Katya looks directly at me. A smile of satisfaction crosses her face.

  A moment later, Murdoch’s pulling me through the crowd to a small group at the centre. My heart sinks when I see Andrew Goldsmith, blood streaming down his forehead, being held up by his arms by two of Katya’s heavies. He glances up and gives me a wry smile.

  “You know this man, Aleesha. Andrew Goldsmith. The man who authorized Operation Nightshade.” Katya sounds jubilant.

  I stare at Andrew Goldsmith. He shakes his head. Just a fraction.

  “We’re taking him to Rose Square. To be tried by the people.”
<
br />   I tear my eyes away to look at Katya. She is immaculate as always, not even a smear of dirt on her face.

  Finally, I find my voice. “What do you mean?”

  Katya waves a hand at the baying crowd. “They will decide his fate. As he decided theirs. But I think we can both guess what their judgment will be.”

  I stare up at her. “No,” I whisper.

  “Yes.” She smiles coldly. “He will be executed. And you will be the one to do it.”

  A crowd has already gathered in Rose Square by the time we arrive. I stumble along with my head bowed, being carried as much by the press of the crowd around me as by my own legs. Murdoch’s hand is heavy on my shoulder. He squeezes it occasionally, just to remind me that there’s no escape.

  I try to get my brain to work, but it’s fogged, and every thought is as hard won as a street fight. My muscles are heavy, the adrenaline in my system drained away to leave only acid.

  Think. There must be a way out of this.

  “Aleesha?”

  Rough hands pull me up the worn stone steps of the monument and push me unceremoniously against the stone pillar. The noise of the crowd is a dull hum, as if I’m listening to them from underwater. Their faces are angry. Fists pump the air. Was it only a few days ago the news was broadcast? Did that cause all this hatred and fury? Or was it buried in these people all along, just waiting for a release?

  Katya’s face appears in front of me. She brushes a tendril of hair off my sweaty forehead. The gesture is almost motherly. “Are you okay?”

  I see her lips form the words, but I can’t hear them. I close my eyes and shake my head, stretching my jaw to try to pop my ears and clear whatever it is that’s stopping me hearing.

  Get a grip. Breathe. Think.

  My heart rate slows. The noise of the crowd engulfs me. I open my eyes.

  “Are you hurt?” Katya looks concerned but this time her words sound in my ears.

  I shake my head.

  She looks relieved. “I know this must be a shock to you, seeing him here.”

  It takes me a moment to remember who she’s talking about. I glance over at the man kneeling on the edge of the stone steps. He’s not even struggling now.