Noble Conflict

by Malorie Blackman

  Voss laughed even harder. ‘You are reaching new heights in the pursuit of non-lethal law enforcement,’ he cackled. ‘They may well offer you a seat on the High Council.’

  Kaspar closed his eyes and visualized giving Voss a stun-rifle suppository.

  ‘Listen, Wilding,’ said Voss, finally getting his laughter under control. ‘It’s temporary – and it is useful. Keep flying the flag for a few more days and I’ll make sure that we keep you in the loop. I’ve already arranged to have a summary of the Intel and Tactical briefings sent to you each evening. Don’t worry, the media circus will tire of you soon enough and there will still be plenty of lunatics with grenade launchers when you get back.’ And with that he disconnected the call.

  Kaspar closed the CommLink and plastered on a smile when he saw Sara, his press nanny, approaching. Another school visit coming up.

  ‘Are we all set for Loring Primary?’ she asked brightly.

  ‘You bet!’ he replied with as much simulated enthusiasm as he could manage. It was all right for Sara – public relations was her job. But for Kaspar, another two hours talking to kids and answering their questions was going to be torture. PR was worse than watching melons grow.

  Initially, Loring Primary School wasn’t as bad as Kaspar had expected. It was worse. The school didn’t seem to have as many resources as some of the others he’d visited and the building was shabby and definitely showing its age. Plus, instead of talking to the older kids as he’d been promised, Miss Ackles, the Head, asked him to lead an assembly for the infants.

  ‘I’m a Guardian,’ Kaspar protested, aghast. ‘I carry a gun and shoot at people – that’s the beginning, middle and end of it. I don’t have the first clue how to lead a school assembly.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you can beef it up and tone it down for our students,’ said Miss Ackles.

  Kaspar’s eyebrows shot up to practically touch his hairline. How on earth was he supposed to do that?

  ‘You can beef up the goodwill and protection messages and what you Guardians do for us,’ explained Miss Ackles. ‘But tone down the gung-ho violent aspects.’

  Kaspar was insulted. ‘We Guardians take our job seriously and we are never gung-ho.’

  ‘Then there should be no difficulty,’ said Miss Ackles. Her tone indicated that the subject was closed as far as she was concerned. As the Head led the way into the hall, where wall-to-wall ankle biters were already seated cross-legged on the floor, Kaspar looked to Sara for backup. No luck there. Sara just shrugged and leaned against the wall by the door. Kaspar swallowed hard. He’d never spoken to an audience this young before. He could barely remember even being that young, for heaven’s sake. The kids were four-, five- and six-year-olds. As he stood on the raised platform, with at least one hundred pairs of eyes trained on him, he swallowed hard. Help!

  ‘Hi, everyone. My name is Kaspar Wilding and I’m a Guardian. I . . . er . . . I . . . erm . . . my job is to help keep you and your families and friends safe from the Insurgents.’

  Hell! Now what should he say?

  Beads of sweat prickled Kaspar’s forehead. A hand in the front row shot up.

  ‘Yes?’ Kaspar indicated the girl whose hand was now raised. Her black hair was a riot of curls and her green-brown eyes were strikingly huge.

  ‘What does detergents mean?’ asked the girl.

  ‘Huh?’ said Kaspar.

  ‘Insurgents,’ Miss Ackles provided from behind him.

  ‘Oh!’ Kaspar smiled. ‘It means the bad people who want to harm us to get what they want.’

  ‘Oh, you mean terrorists,’ said the girl. ‘At home that’s what we call them.’

  ‘Yes, that is another word for them,’ said Kaspar.

  ‘What do they want?’ asked the girl. ‘I asked my mum that but she didn’t know.’

  ‘Er . . . to disrupt . . . to mess up the way we live.’

  ‘Why do they want to do that?’

  That made Kaspar blink. ‘Because . . . they don’t like the way we live and they want to change it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Gnea, that’s enough,’ Miss Ackles thankfully interrupted.

  Another hand shot up. ‘How many people have you killed?’ asked a boy with a small head and big eyes.

  ‘None,’ Kaspar replied vehemently. ‘We don’t do that. We only stun Insurgents. It’s the code each Guardian lives by, our first rule. We will not take a life, any life.’

  ‘Why is your gun so big then?’ The question was called out.

  ‘Is it heavy?’

  ‘Can I hold it?’

  ‘Why’re you so tall?’

  ‘What’s your favourite colour?’

  Kaspar was rapidly losing control. Miss Ackles stepped forward and the noise in the hall immediately died away. Kaspar glanced at her, and her thunderous expression had him taking half a step back himself.

  A familiar hand went up. It was the girl with the unusual name. What was it again? Ny-ah? It was something like that.

  ‘Yes?’ said Kaspar, desperation setting in.

  ‘Do you like your job?’ she asked.

  Kaspar breathed a sigh of relief. Safer ground. ‘I love my job,’ he said. ‘I get to do something worthwhile, something useful. I get to protect special people – like you.’

  Gnea smiled at Kaspar. He smiled back. ‘Can I give you a hug?’ the little girl asked.

  ‘Of course you can,’ Kaspar replied, surprised and unexpectedly moved.

  ‘Now, Gnea . . .’ began Miss Ackles.

  But Gnea ignored the Head and was already making her way to Kaspar. Kaspar slung his gun over his back so it would be out of the way and squatted down. Gnea’s arms were immediately around his neck.

  ‘Thank you for protecting me,’ she whispered.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Kaspar whispered back.

  ‘My name is Gnea – with a G. G-N-E-A,’ she spelled it out. ‘It’s pronounced Ni–ah! Everybody always gets that wrong.’ Gnea spoke to Kaspar as if they were the only two in the hall. ‘May I hold your gun?’

  ‘It’s a bit too big and heavy for you,’ said Kaspar with a smile as he straightened up.

  ‘I’m five and three quarters. I’m sure I can hold it. Can I try, please? Please?’

  Kaspar glanced at Sara, who was nodding vigorously at him. She was not one for letting a public relations moment or a photo opportunity slip past her. Reaching behind his back, Kaspar pulled his gun forward and slipped it off his shoulder. And still he hesitated. Giving a kid a gun just didn’t sit well with him, even if it was only a replica. He glanced at Sara again, who was glowering at him. Impatient, she nodded even more forcefully this time.

  Oh well. Kaspar had been told to do whatever the PR woman said. Besides, where was the harm? After all, it wasn’t as if Gnea could do any inadvertent damage with it.

  ‘Be careful, Gnea,’ he warned. He reluctantly held it out towards her. ‘Don’t hurt yourself.’

  Somehow it just didn’t seem right to see a stun rifle in the hands of someone so small. But Gnea loved it. Once he said she could touch it, she took a couple of steps back, bunny-rolled over to him before grabbing the gun, targeting imaginary terrorists and making zapping noises as she took them out. The girl reduced the whole hall to peals of laughter, including Kaspar.

  ‘I’m going to be a Guardian when I grow up,’ she announced, handing back the replica.

  ‘Like me?’ smiled Kaspar.

  ‘Oh, no. Way better than you!’ Gnea replied.

  ‘Good for you, Gnea,’ laughed Kaspar. ‘Aim high!’

  ‘Gnea, that’s quite enough,’ said Miss Ackles.

  With another smile at Kaspar, Gnea made her way back to where she’d previously been sitting. Kaspar looked around the hall. A forest of arms had now sprung up. And just like that, Kaspar relaxed. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  Later, as they drove through leafy suburbs on their way back from a very successful school visit, Kaspar tried to read some of the intel that Voss
had sent him while Sara wittered on about stuff he really didn’t give a damn about. As the driver waited at an intersection to merge into traffic, Kaspar realized from the expectant silence in the car that Sara was waiting for a response from him. He replayed in his mind the last couple of things she’d said.

  ‘Of course, Sara,’ he replied. ‘We are all fully committed to this PR mission. My boss was just explaining the crucial importance of a tight law enforcement media cohesion. But I do have concerns – it didn’t seem appropriate for a little girl like that to be handling weaponry.’

  Jeez! He was even starting to talk like her.

  ‘You let me worry about that,’ Sara told him. ‘It was an amazing Guardian recruitment photo opportunity and you almost blew it.’

  And a hearty sod off to you too, Kaspar thought sourly.

  Just as the driver found a gap in the traffic and pulled away, Kaspar spied something out of the corner of his eye. He turned and craned his neck to see, but Sara was in the way. He leaned across her, squashing her back into the seat in his effort to get a better look.

  ‘Sorry,’ he offered quickly as he tried to confirm what he had seen out the window.

  ‘That’s OK,’ replied Sara brightly, taking his body leaning across hers in her stride. ‘I don’t—’

  But Kaspar wasn’t listening.

  ‘Hey, Alun, isn’t it? I need you to do something. Could you turn us round, take us back the way we just came and park at the intersection?’

  ‘Kaspar, we really don’t have time,’ Sara countered. ‘We’re a bit behind schedule and we should—’

  ‘Alun. Do it. Now. And make it smooth. No drama.’ Kaspar’s PR voice had vanished. This was his imitation Voss ‘voice of authority’ and – surprise, surprise – it worked. The driver did as he was asked and turned.

  Sara’s brow furrowed. ‘What’s the problem?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m not sure yet,’ replied Kaspar. ‘That’s what we’re going to find out.’

  Alun slowed to a chauffeur’s stop about fifteen metres back from the intersection.

  ‘OK, that’s good. Now could you get out and ask a passer-by for directions to somewhere complicated.’

  ‘Sorry?’ said the driver.

  ‘We have a functioning satnav,’ added Sara helpfully.

  ‘We need an excuse to sit here for a minute. Go on, Alun, act like a lost tourist.’

  ‘It’s not . . . dangerous, is it?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Kaspar replied, in what he hoped was his most reassuring tone.

  Alun nodded and climbed out. Moments later he had button-holed some pedestrian and was pointing in a number of different directions. Kaspar’s attention was on the Old Bob’s produce delivery truck just in front of them. Shielded by the tinted windows, Kaspar watched the two men in farm coveralls who stood chatting next to it. One was really tall, over two metres high, with light brown wavy hair. The other man was black, slightly shorter and much stockier.

  ‘Why are you suddenly so interested in fruit deliveries?’ asked Sara. ‘Are you looking for a taste of home?’

  Great! Obviously another one who’d read his file.

  ‘No, I’m not scoping fruit,’ he replied.

  ‘Then why . . . ?’

  ‘I’m looking at two guys who aren’t farmers standing next to a truck they don’t own,’ he replied to her unfinished question as he activated his CommLink. ‘4518 Wilding to Central, requesting a V-check on truck index Sierra – Charlie – Two – Niner – Oscar – Delta – Six.’

  ‘Stand by, 4518,’ crackled the reply.

  Kaspar waited while Guardian Central entered the truck’s ID into their computer. He had his reply within a few seconds.

  ‘Central to 4518. No hits on that one. It hasn’t been reported lost or stolen.’

  ‘OK, Central. Thanks.’ Kaspar was puzzled. Something was wrong, but . . . ‘4518 to Central. Give me a threat assessment for’ – he looked for the street sign – ‘targets in the vicinity of the corner of Radial Fourteen and Wissant Avenue.’ Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alun coming back.

  ‘Stand by, 4518.’

  Impatience gripped Kaspar, even though mere moments had passed.

  ‘Central to 4518. Be advised that 864 Wissant Avenue is a level three comms node.’

  ‘Crap!’ spat Kaspar.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ asked Sara.

  ‘Just a big one. That truck is stolen and it’s parked right outside a fibre-optic data switching hub.’

  Alun got into the car, turning to blatantly listen.

  ‘But it isn’t stolen,’ said Sara. ‘Your people just said so.’

  ‘No, they said there were no reports. If it was hijacked this morning, then it probably won’t be missed until tonight.’

  ‘But wouldn’t the driver report . . .’ Her voice trailed off as Kaspar grimaced. ‘Oh, you mean the driver is . . .’ Sara blinked rapidly as she realized the full impact of what Kaspar was implying.

  ‘Is it a bomb?’ asked Alun.

  ‘I doubt it. They wouldn’t be standing around like that if it was. More likely they’re waiting for someone.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Sara.

  Kaspar frowned. How the bloody hell would he know? Voss was always disparaging in his opinion of civilians, and now Kaspar was beginning to understand why. ‘At the first sign of trouble, they always want someone else to do their thinking for them.’ That was one of Commander Voss’s favourite sayings.

  ‘I don’t know who they’re waiting for,’ Kaspar said. ‘But I wouldn’t mind a few friends on my side too.’ He activated his CommLink. ‘4518 Wilding to Central. Requesting urgent backup at 864 Wissant Avenue. We may have an attack in progress.’

  ‘Roger that, 4518. Your request has gone up to Tactical, but be advised we are swamped right now. It could be a while.’

  Damn it! He couldn’t sit around doing nothing. ‘Alun, could you take off your clothes?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ said the chauffeur.

  ‘I need your clothes,’ said Kaspar.

  Alun opened his mouth to argue, then changed his mind, thank goodness. Kaspar really wasn’t up to a lengthy explanation.

  Sara looked scared. Alun just looked irritated about losing his suit.

  Kaspar put on Alun’s trousers, shoes and jacket. He grabbed Sara’s datapad, stepped out of the car and walked slowly towards the two men by the truck.

  ‘Hi, guys.’ He kept his voice light and friendly. ‘I was wondering if you had any fruit you could sell me? I would kill for one of Old Bob’s peaches. I remember having them as a treat when I was younger. Just thinking of them is making me slobber.’

  ‘No, sorry, mate. We just offloaded everything we had,’ said the taller man.

  ‘Just my luck,’ Kaspar sighed. ‘I haven’t had one for years. I suppose Old Bob is still running everything personally?’

  ‘Oh yes, he sure is,’ replied the black man with a smile. ‘He’s still very hands-on.’

  Kaspar whirled so fast he was a blur. He chopped the edge of his right hand hard into the man’s groin and raised his other hand to deliver a follow-up blow, but it wasn’t necessary. The guy dropped like a brick from a height and stayed down, unconscious. Part of Kaspar’s Guardian training had included human anatomy, just so he and the other cadets could learn the vulnerable parts of the body. Much to the amusement of some of the female cadets, they’d learned that a properly executed blow to a man’s groin could knock him out or even kill him.

  The taller man charged at him. Kaspar took a half-step to his right in order to get the range correct and thrust his right leg straight into the man’s midriff. The guy left the ground, flew backwards before he dropped like a rock and hit his head on the pavement. Neither man moved. Kaspar quickly pressed his fingers against their throats to feel for a pulse. Both men were alive. Out for the count, but alive. Kaspar frisked them for weapons before he flipped them face down into the recovery position and plasti-cuffed them to the wheel of the truck. He r
an back to the car.

  ‘Call the Guardians and the medics,’ he shouted to Sara. ‘I’m going in.’

  He stripped off Alun’s jacket, grabbed his rifle, thumbed off the safety and headed up the driveway of 864 Wissant Avenue.

  From the outside it looked like thousands of other suburban homes, but the permanently closed net curtains concealed a hi-tech secret. This house was part of the Guardians’ distributed data network. Instead of concentrating all the data, and all the vulnerability, in one place, the data processing and archival facilities were spread out – a practice the High Councillors themselves followed when it came to their separate locations. Some hubs were in data centres, some in little bungalows like this one. It made it all but impossible to kill the entire network.

  The door was open. Kaspar stopped and listened just outside the door. Sounds were coming from somewhere on the left. His grip on his weapon tightened. A deep breath later he entered the house, turning to his left, his stance immediately poised and ready.

  For the second time in a week he came face to face with a man in a black costume. A ninja, as he had now begun to think of them, though this guy didn’t wear a mask. He was in his early twenties, with short-cut dark hair and dark-brown eyes. Kaspar instinctively shouldered his rifle and squeezed the trigger.

  Nothing. No bang, no blue flash, no smell of ozone and, worst of all, no neural paralysis of the target.

  ‘Oh, well done!’ said a mocking voice inside Kaspar’s head. ‘You just took on a terrorist armed with nothing more than a child-friendly replica gun.’

  Now he was going to die. And he deserved it for his complete stupidity. The ninja was equally surprised by what had happened, but recovered quickly to whisk a familiar-looking black-bladed dagger out of his boot. Kaspar dropped into a combat stance, ready to go hand-to-hand. The sweetish taste of adrenalin filled his mouth. This was it – kill or be killed. His first real experience of up-close-and-personal combat outside of the Academy. Kaspar forced himself to slow his breathing, never for a moment taking his eyes off his adversary. Their eyes locked.

  But then the man smiled.

  A simple, satisfied smile before he angled his knife and plunged the dagger into his own stomach. One shocked moment later, Kaspar ran over, but there was nothing to be done. The knife was hilt-deep in the man’s solar plexus. It must have transected his descending aorta. He was already dying and there was nothing Kaspar could do about it.