Tooth and Nail

by Chris Bonnello

  There was only one person he knew who had experienced Nicholas Grant’s technology from the inside. And thankfully, she was sitting in comms at that moment. The sound of her voice would be welcome too. Ewan removed his phone from his pocket, lay it at the front of his desk and put it on speakerphone before dialling.

  ‘Wow, subtle,’ said Alex as it started to ring.

  ‘Should I put it next to my ear for the CCTV cameras?’ Ewan asked with matching sarcasm. ‘And tell them a mute soldier is talking on the phone?’

  ‘Hello?’ interrupted a voice on the desk.

  ‘Shannon! It’s Ewan. Don’t worry, everything’s fine. But… I need to ask you something.’

  Ewan’s voice began to waver. Discussing Shannon’s ex-boyfriend would have been tricky in the normal world too. But especially so now, since the guy was dead and the conversation was time-sensitive.

  ‘You know how you and Anthony Lambourne did all that tech work with the clone factory virus?’ he asked. ‘Does that mean Lambourne had access to important files?’

  ‘Yeah, why?’

  ‘Because I think I need clearance to delete—’

  ‘Really?’ said Alex. ‘You don’t think they might have deleted Lambourne’s account after slashing his throat?’

  Bloody hell, Alex, Shannon’s right here listening.

  ‘I don’t think he’d have been stupid enough to use his own account,’ Ewan answered. ‘I just need to know—’

  ‘You’re right,’ came Shannon’s voice – annoyed, hurt, but fiercely determined – a voice infused with her unmistakeable personality. ‘Whenever we did something that broke the rules, we used Richard Unsworth’s account.’

  ‘Who the hell’s Richard Unsworth?’

  ‘One of Pearce’s underlings. High enough to have access to loads of stuff, but not high enough for people to bother checking where he was logging in. Let me know when you have the login screen up.’

  Ewan clicked a box in the corner of the screen.

  ‘Yep, ready.’

  ‘Username is Richard, dot, Unsworth. Password, all in capitals, is K, R, B—’

  ‘One second. Let me process it.’

  ‘Oh yeah. Sorry.’

  Ewan’s mind was drawn back to Luton Retail Centre, and his outburst at Shannon after she had said the GPS coordinates too fast. It seemed so long ago now.

  At that moment, he found himself being much more patient with her. Being that far apart, he wanted every word between them to be pleasant.

  ‘Ready?’ she asked.

  ‘KRB?’

  ‘Yeah, K, R, B, 4, H, 9, 7, D, W, 1. After he found it out, Lambourne made me memorise it in case he ever got caught…’

  Ewan pressed the ‘OK’ button and the computer accepted the password.

  ‘OK, logged in as him. Thanks a lot. And I’m sorry I brought up your ex.’

  ‘He’d have wanted you to do this. Trust me.’

  ‘Fair enough. You doing alright?’

  ‘I’m fine. Lorraine is too. Stay safe, Ewan.’

  ‘Yeah, I will. Take care.’

  ‘Bye.’

  Ewan hung up the phone and took a long breath.

  ‘That wasn’t a moment, was it?’ Alex asked at his side. Ewan wasn’t sure whether it was a real observation or just general Alex mockery, so he didn’t bother with a response. He put his phone back in his pocket, as subtly as he could with the CCTV camera watching, and got to work as Richard Unsworth.

  The folders had odd labels, mostly named after dates, odd scientific terminology or staff members. They probably made sense to science-minded people, but not to Ewan. He performed a database search for the phrase ‘Atmospheric Metallurgic Excitation’, grateful to himself that he’d managed to memorise the words, and hoped for the best.

  The search yielded disappointing results. Ewan clicked the only file with a decipherable title, and found the central report into the development of AME. It was a ten-page summary of the entire project from beginning to end. Not useful in the scheme of things, but it was his best starting point.

  The entrance door swung open without warning. Ewan’s instincts told him to pounce forward and retrieve his assault rifle from the desk, but Alex remained quiet and kept working as if nothing was unusual. Ewan noticed his friend’s strategy just in time, and got back to work as the five clone soldiers marched inside. Ignorant to the humans in their lair, they occupied one computer terminal each and started clicking away.

  Ewan would never know what the group cared about so much that it took all five of them to work on it, but their work was not his priority. Just as long as none of them peeked over his shoulder.

  Ten minutes passed in the crowded room. Nine o’clock on May 19th.

  Ewan had been the worst student in his drama class – with the sole exception of Jack, who had never known how to act like anyone but himself (or perhaps a range of dinosaurs as a child) – but he and Alex were doing a good enough job of pretending to be clones. Good enough to still be alive, anyway.

  The ten-page report had been the first stepping stone in a digital paper trail, which had led him to the correct region of Grant’s information atlas. The summary report had contained the name of one particular human scientist – Richard Unsworth, curiously enough – who had been tasked with collecting and analysing the research. Nathaniel Pearce had been the primary researcher, and the man who had watched the explosions and blood fireworks, but Unsworth had dealt with the boring paperwork side of his abhorrent experiments.

  Unsworth’s personal section held enough files and subfolders to fill an average civilian’s computer, but Ewan felt he was close to the needle in his data haystack. He had narrowed his search down to three folders, all of which were labelled with nerdy sciencey names that sounded too clever for him.

  The clone two desks away moved and the back of his head twitched. Ewan almost leapt to his feet, but calmed himself when he discovered the clone had only stood up to stretch. Ewan was closer to Grant’s bedroom and the brain of New London than ever before, and his nerves were showing.

  He got another shock a moment later, when the printer behind him pierced the silence of the chamber. Zip-whirr, zip-whirr, zip-whirr. Alex stood up from his seat and walked to the back of the room.

  Ewan shook his head as discreetly as he could. While he was stuck in his seat, drawing as little attention to himself as possible, Alex had no problem walking across a roomful of clones towards the noisiest object in the chamber.

  But is that confidence or desperation? If I had gaps in my memory, I’d probably throw caution to the wind too.

  Whatever ‘caution to the wind’ is supposed to mean.

  Wait… did I just find what I’m looking for?

  Inside the penultimate folder of his search lay an average scientist’s lifetime of work, and the bulk of Pearce’s research over the last six months – from the opening preamble and theoretical principles, through a thousand spreadsheets of experimental data, to the final preparations for coordinate tracing and mapping. Ewan didn’t understand a word, but he knew it all needed deleting.

  Pearce and Unsworth had proved that even the world’s cleverest scientists were not always smart people. They had made the same mistake that the Oakenfold staff once had with their students’ behaviour records, and kept all of their files in one place to be found and destroyed by the first rogue teenager who had the chance.

  Two other clones rose to their feet. Ewan moved his eyes, and noticed that the stretching clone had not sat down again.

  He highlighted every file in the magic folder, and planted his forefinger on the delete button. His heart skipped a beat, then his actions were met with the most annoying safety net in human history: the double-checking dialog box.

  Are you sure you want to delete the selected item(s)?

  No, I’m joking. Numpty .

  Before he could press ‘enter’, Alex laid his papers down on the desk and pinched him on the arm.

  A pinch. It was an odd way of g
etting his attention. Ewan turned to find Alex pointing his eyes towards a neighbouring computer screen.

  As a fourth clone stood up, Ewan kept his head still but moved his eyes, and read the alert message that had caught Alex’s attention.

  RED ALERT - FOR URGENT ATTENTION OF SOLDIERS IN THE CENTRAL RESEARCH HEADQUARTERS The occupants of Stations 3 and 4 are highly dangerous armed insurgents and must be neutralised immediately. A discreet surround-and-shoot method is advised. Do not make them aware of an attack before you have shot them dead. Marshall

  The last clone rose to his feet. Ewan stopped breathing.

  Chapter 18

  We can’t defend ourselves with bullets. If a gun goes off, every clone within half a mile will head this way.

  There wasn’t even a split-second to hit the ‘enter’ key before Alex tore his knife from its sheath, spun around at the nearest body and ripped the blade across its throat. The stunned clone had not even touched his holstered weapon before the shock took over his body and sent him to the floor.

  Ewan was so quick to jump to his feet that his brain had not quite realised what was happening, and for the opening seconds of combat it felt like someone else was controlling him. He gripped his assault rifle in both hands and picked out his first opponent, as it raised its own rifle to fire.

  He leapt forwards to within whispering distance of his target, and killed with one blow for the first time in his life. He swung the butt of his rifle upwards into the clone’s nose, sending bone fragments into his brain, and the open-eyed dead soldier fell backwards into the arms of his ally behind him.

  The unexpected body was enough of a distraction to allow Ewan to leap again and attempt the same trick twice, but he was faced with the largest clone model in Grant’s army – and an enemy who saw what was coming. The clone’s dodge put Ewan off balance, and a knee thundered into the bony part of his thigh. Ewan staggered in pain, for a moment not even realising that his assault rifle had fallen from his hands. The large clone threw his dead ally’s body away from him, but could not aim his rifle before Ewan’s clawing hands snatched out for it.

  Ewan was losing the wrestle. The clone’s hands were stronger, and had a much more secure grip on the weapon. Desperate, Ewan looked to the other side of the room to call out to Alex, but his teammate had problems of his own.

  Alex was up against both the other surviving clones, keeping them in single file ahead of him like a hostile game of piggy-in-the-middle. The soldier in front of him had a chance to fire his handgun, but when Alex seized the barrel and twisted the muzzle towards the clone’s own chest, his enemy decided it wasn’t such a good idea. Alex released one of his hands from the gun – the hand which still held his knife – and plunged it into the centre of the clone’s chest.

  A punch to Ewan’s cheek knocked out his sense of direction, and he drew his gaze away from Alex. He kept both his hands in a tight grip on his rifle, but his huge enemy lifted it upwards. Unwilling to let go, Ewan’s feet were separated from the floor, and the clone charged across the chamber and rammed the base of his spine against the computer desk.

  Ewan let out a yelp, his back muscles screaming at him as the top half of his body was stretched across the desk. His own weapon lay half a room away, beyond the focus of his blurred vision. The clone’s rifle was the only firearm within reach, but he released one of his hands from it anyway.

  With two hands against one, the clone seized his chance and jumped backwards. The rifle was torn from Ewan’s one-handed grip, but the clone was too horrified to open fire. He had seen what Ewan had done with his spare hand: his forefinger had reached over the keyboard beneath it and smashed onto the enter key.

  He had just said ‘yes’ to the dialog box.

  Ewan did not see the screen as the entirety of Pearce’s AME research began to disappear into nothingness, but the look on the clone’s face told him everything. The distraction was all Ewan needed as he pounced forward, grabbed the giant’s shoulders in both hands and sent both knees into his stomach, the force of his body weight forcing the clone backwards until he tripped over the body of his partner. Ewan held on for dear life, as if to a falling tree, and the clone tumbled to the floor and landed on his back. The shock was enough for the clone to release his grip, and Ewan seized the assault rifle from his hands and smashed the butt repeatedly into his face. After the fifth strike, the clone stopped moving.

  Dizzy and in pain, Ewan hopped to his feet to see Alex and the final clone wrestling over a handgun. The clone’s sweaty fingers crept towards the trigger, his plan obvious. It would not matter where the bullet went. It would be a distress signal to every clone within half a mile of the chamber.

  Ewan staggered into position behind the clone, secured both hands around his victim’s head, and snapped his neck.

  The Central Research Headquarters fell back into silence as the fifth and final body collapsed to the floor. For the first time since his work had been interrupted, Ewan took a glance around. In what must have been under a minute, the scene had changed from seven uniformed men working at computer desks, to two men standing among a collection of dead bodies on the bloodied floor. Alex rested a hand against the nearest desk and gasped a sentence.

  ‘Five kills, no bullets, no scratches,’ he said.

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ Ewan grunted. ‘My leg and back are—’

  ‘Whatever. You win, mate. Three to two… lucky boy.’

  ‘It’s never luck.’

  Alex’s laugh came with a wheezy cough.

  ‘Never luck? Good job one of us saw the alert before they could open fire!’

  Ewan ignored Alex’s compliment-fishing, and ran back to his workstation. The progress bar had barely travelled across the screen. Perhaps a quarter of the files had been deleted, maybe fewer.

  To the left of the entrance, a telephone started to ring.

  Ewan’s eyes perked. The sight of a landline phone was rare enough, but the timing couldn’t possibly have been a coincidence.

  ‘So… are we answering it?’ asked Alex. ‘I mean, Marshall knows we’re here anyway.’

  ‘Well volunteered, Alex.’

  Alex rolled his eyes, stumbled over to the entrance and picked up the headset.

  ‘McCormick and Sons Family Butchers, good quality meat-carving since Year Zero. How can I help?’

  Alex fell silent for a couple of seconds, rolled his eyes again, and held out the phone towards Ewan.

  ‘He wants you, not me. Story of my life.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Iain Marshall.’

  Ewan gritted his teeth, and cast a frown towards the CCTV camera above him. He took the phone from Alex, and began to snarl.

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Ewan West, I believe?’ said the voice.

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Good. My name’s Iain Marshall, Head of Military Division. I’m guessing you’ve heard of me?’

  ‘Actually yeah,’ Ewan said with a grin towards the camera. ‘You used to be important before Nicholas Grant took your security company from you. But he decided to keep you instead of killing you. For a failed businessman you’ve done fairly well for yourself.’

  Alex sprinted to fetch his assault rifle, and stood guard against the door.

  More clones have been called , and all three of us know it. But we can’t leave before the files finish deleting. One push of a button c ould cancel all our work.

  ‘You’ve done fairly well too,’ answered Marshall. ‘Leading the charge against an innumerable army, in the face of autism, Pathological Demand Avoidance, intense behavioural issues, exclusion from six different schools, and just generally being a twat.’

  ‘So you’ve read up on me. Oh, I’m so scared.’

  ‘Yes, I have. You look a lot different from the passport photo I’ve been looking at.’

  ‘Yeah, I was a lot sexier back then. War does horrible things to people, doesn’t it?’

  Ewan glanced at the screen. Halfway don
e.

  ‘So,’ he continued, ‘did you call to talk about something, or are you just keeping us here long enough for reinforcements to arrive? In fact, if you knew we were up here, why didn’t you kill us ten minutes ago? You left two rats chewing at your computer wires for ages. I’ve had a great time rummaging through Unsworth’s things.’

  ‘Because of a little incident we just had at a checkpoint near Vehicle Port Three. Does the name Arnold Salter ring any bells?’

  Alex’s eyes widened too. Clearly, Marshall spoke so enthusiastically that his voice could be heard across the room.

  ‘Twenty minutes ago I received an alert that the vehicle port’s deployment director was seen trying to leave New London. He got as far as the security booth at the electric fence, but was unable to provide any reason for his departure, or even identification. One of the guards called his line manager and Salter tried to speed away. Of course, the armed guards didn’t let him get far.’

  Poor guy. The vomiting wonder barely lasted a minute outside New London. Good job he was on their side and not ours.

  ‘After a little research,’ Marshall finished, ‘it turned out he’d used his keycard to check himself into the Central Research Headquarters, at exactly the same time as he was abandoning his post. It didn’t take a genius.’

  Ewan let out a huff, which must have sounded down the phone.

  ‘Frustrated?’ asked Marshall. ‘Then you’re going to hate this next bit. Because I have to ask… how exactly are you planning on destroying everything related to Atmospheric Metallurgic Excitation in the whole Citadel, fight your way up to Floor B and destroy my computer, all in the space of half an hour?’

  Ewan checked his watch. Midnight was nearly three hours away. What the hell was Marshall talking about?

  ‘Half an hour?’ he asked.

  ‘Give or take,’ Marshall answered. ‘You thought we would launch at midnight, didn’t you?’

  Some heavy object froze inside Ewan, restricting his muscles and paralysing his chest.

  ‘It’s the kind of thing Grant would do,’ he whispered, unable to hide his nerves.

  ‘Wrong, Ewan. It’s the kind of thing he’d want you to believe he’d do. What his daughter would believe he’d do, and what she’d tell her allies. In reality, there’s a weapons cache in Beaconsfield that needs emptying, and a steady stream of transports are bringing the stock back here. Grant’s switching the shield on as soon as the last vehicle makes it past the border, and they’ve been given a deadline of nine thirty. He’s had countdowns to nine thirty on his office walls and everything, and once the countdown ended he was going to launch the shield, deliberately reduce security and watch you walk straight through… with your metal weapons, ammo, watches, belts and so on. You would have looked spectacular as you’d blown up like your other friend.’