“Where’re you from Denholme?” she asked, feeling that if she could get to know him it would somehow redeem the half-forgotten shadows flitting through from her childhood.
“Europe Ma’am,” came the reply.
“You don’t sound European,” said Helena, who had been brought up on the southern edge of the continent.
“You ever been to England?” asked the pilot. She looked at him.
“I’ve spent the last fifty years at home in London. No one I know there sounds like you.” If asked, she would have described him as speaking through fine sandpaper. His accent was more American, a back of the throat emphasis, slightly nasal.
“Maybe you just don’t know everyone there is to know, Ma’am.” His tone was cautious.
“Probably,” she said finally. Denholme said nothing. They had about ten minutes left before descent. She did not want him to feel awkward so moved on.
“When we land in Jo’burg, I’ll need an hour or so to arrange for transport across the southern states. Southern Africa is beyond the reach of both Indexiv and Euros, so we’ll be on our own. It would be best if you waited in the base while I organise what I need.”
He did not say anything. After all, what does he have to contribute? Helena nodded to herself with satisfaction and reviewed the maps of the southern states.
Johannesburg was five hundred kilometres inland; the base twenty or so kilometres from the old town. New Jo’burg was situated on the other side of the ruins of the old colonial city, which had been decimated first by Aids and then by radiological contamination. From the Wemmer Pan, north across to Morningside, the radiation levels poisoning the heart of the old city would not be safe for another four hundred years. The older city was mostly intact; although a brisk trade existed trading in the relics of the former power.
The decay she could see on satellite imaging was that of neglect. The buildings still stood, in many places the ancient shops had their shop fronts intact, the dressings inviting in passers-by. New Jo’burg, called plain Jo’burg by its residents, had been built over the shanty towns that had once clustered around the outskirts of the old city.
Without access to even the inadequate medical care they had once enjoyed, few survived the epidemics sweeping Southern Africa at the time. Humanity hung its head in wistful regret, but the richer states had their own security problems to worry about. Johannesburg’s fate threatened them as well. Similarly, Windhoek and Capetown were ghost towns now, mere shadows of their previous glory.
Nature had gently stretched out her fingers and reclaimed the land for her own. At its peak nine million people had called Johannesburg home.
Scanning contemporary data, Helena saw that the city currently maintained less than a tenth of that peak, with only a few hundred Oligarchy calling it home and nearly all of those were expatriates from Asia and Europe.
Reviewing the continent as a whole, Helena figured that the Egyptian and North-Western zones would already be at war.
How do I get home once I’ve got this damned boy? she wondered. Africa’s three major zones covered a number of client states. Of the forty-eight countries that existed when she was born, only twenty-two remained.
None of them were as powerful as the European states, who still had their own parliament, but they administered the affairs of the people within their borders on behalf of the various corporate interests invested in their infrastructure.
It was a convenient arrangement for the corporations as it meant the inhabitants were governed without the involvement of the Oligarchy, except in matters of trade, infrastructure and technology proliferation.
Denholme interrupted her review. “Ma’am, news is Indexiv’s building up troops along the northern borders of the southern states. Ground control states there’s been no incursions as yet but they’re bracing themselves for hostile action.”
Helena sighed, none of this is going to be easy. She felt she could guarantee that an expeditionary force had already been sent into the north-western corner of the state to retrieve her target.
The futility of heading towards Swakupmund was obvious, but she had to go. It was her duty. She opened the files she’d downloaded on corrupt AIs but the first heading said ‘Onset of terminal dementia in the case where in situ Primary AI becomes self-reflective and she closed it down, unwilling to read on.’
“We’re cleared for landing,” said the pilot. The shuttle banked as he dipped its nose back towards the earth.
They had gained eight hours. It was noon for the second time that day.
Helena asked her Secondary AI to ensure her serotonin levels were adequate to stave off the need for sleep. It also pumped her system full of hormones to suppress the yearning for rest that had begun to tap her on the shoulder.
She and Schmerl had negotiated for seven hours, an unnecessarily lengthy session given the outcome. She had been awake for nearly twenty hours and was not relishing another twenty, even if her system could cope with the strain. Regardless of her limits, Helena knew her optimal effectiveness lasted little past twenty-four hours.
Never trust anything done by the sleep deprived, she would warn her team when working on intense projects. I’d rather trust the blind drunk.
She was grateful that the city beneath them looked intact. If Indexiv were thinking of invading the southern states, it would inevitably draw the American corporations into defending their investments. Indexiv could not fight on two fronts at once and hope to achieve its ends. That might not deter them except in the long term, but for now she was lucky enough to be landing in a peaceful zone.
The military base was a frenzy of profoundly ordered energy. Several times the size of Howard, it spread across the western side of the old city like an untreated fungal infection, its chimneys and pylons betraying the presence of a vast underground complex beneath the surface. As they came in, Helena idly watched two other atmospheric shuttles burst skywards.
Are they delivering military hardware as well?
The sinking of the Amazon still felt unreal, but all around her she could see real preparation and engagement. Those in charge of the southern states were preparing for all out, high intensity conflict.
The shuttle was buzzed by two jets as they came into land, the AI pilots ranged alongside them more in an effort to calibrate their flight systems than out of bravado. It brought it home to Helena that they were coming back down from the heavens to a world at war.
Perhaps not the whole world, she thought to herself. It’s too far-fetched, too reckless.
Before they had come to a standstill at their assigned landing gate, a crew was approaching the shuttle. They heard the cargo hatch opening, the sound of the team entering the bay even as they were unfastening from their restraints.
Emerging into the cargo bay she found that the crew were, in fact, military personnel, not the Normal civilians who were routinely employed flight-side to see to the logistics of running an airbase.
This brought her up short. The soldiers ignored her presence. It was only when Denholme’s foot nearly caught her on the shoulder as he climbed down out of the cockpit that she moved away from the ladder.
She zeroed in on the corporal in charge and called him over. He looked her up and down and then, shaking his head, came across.
Seeing his irritation, she decided to pull rank, believing it the quickest route to finding out what was going on.
“Eyes front man, who do you think you’re addressing? Do you think that answering my summons is too demeaning for you? Well?” She came right up to him and stooped to talk into the side of his face. She was easily ten centimetres taller than him. He stopped expressing his opinion and stood silently, looking straight ahead, while she informed him of his incompetence.
Helena calmed down and looked round the deck. The other soldiers continued to unload the shuttle, although she was aware of their sidelong glances in her direction. They were in such a hurry that even the presence of an Oligarch couldn’t distract them.
“Show me your manifest,” she demanded. The corporal handed it over in silence.
She was relieved to see that the hovertank was not included in what the base was expecting to receive, nor did the number of bio-suits tally with what they had brought. Two extras had been packed. Someone, somewhere, was helping them; she had not been completely hung out to dry.
All they needed now were small arms and someone who could pilot the tank.
“Pi-,” she corrected herself. “Denholme, can you pilot the RDK?”
Denholme shook his head.
“Time you learnt,” she decided on a whim. Normally she would have requisitioned such a skill set for herself, but she felt he would be best used to make life easier. Gaining an additional skill set would also increase his energy allowance and Helena felt good about giving him something in return for his company.
“Ma’am,” was all he said.
“Come on then,” she said. The warmth of the day hit her with an overwhelming crunch. It was somewhere in the early twenties centigrade, which was a shock after the cool comfort of the flight.
They found the base commander at the end of a trail of pointed fingers. The commander was directing a column of personnel vehicles as they formed up. Hundreds of armed soldiers milled about with a sense of order obvious only to themselves as they filed between the shuffling infantry carriers.
“Good afternoon ma’am. Welcome to Mbeki Airforce Base,” he said as she stopped in front of him. He was dressed down, open collared, with sweat-patches under his arms and rings beneath his eyes. He was greying slightly around the temples and surrounded by an air of fractured intensity. He was quite short, just over one metre seventy, which meant his eyes were roughly level with her breasts.
He’s straight out of central casting, she thought to herself.
“You know why I’m here?” she asked firmly.
He eyed her for long enough that she wondered if she’d made a mistake. “I was apprised of your arrival. I’m here to facilitate your egress towards the western coast.”
Several RAPs stood around with crews flitting between them, gearing them up for moving away from the base. The commander was accompanied by a cadre of junior officers who shouted clipped commands at anyone who made the mistake of dallying too long in their tasks. He seemed content to let their barking fill the air, gazing at the slowly emerging column with the patience of a giant tortoise.
“What can I do for you?” he said, turning to her taking his gaze from the confusion of men around him. Helena could hear his heart, steady and calm, he was exceptionally fit and completely at ease with the frenzy around him.
“I need small arms and access to the Cloud.”
“Corporal Harris, those are not toys,” shouted the commander suddenly, as a man about fifty metres away dropped a box onto the dusty tarmac. The corporal’s face was pale and Helena guessed that he was lucky to still be standing there wondering how he had slipped. She waited for the commander to answer her.
“Ma’am, take your pick, De Schwartz here will make sure you have what you need.”
Helena surveyed the troops loading up around her amidst the sounds of metallic crunches, voices calling out in the hubbub. There was a drawn feeling of tension that filled the base like an unhappy lover might fill an apartment.
“Commander, you seem to be gearing up for the worst,” she said.
“Ma’am,” said the commander blandly. De Schwartz was stood with his hands clasped behind his back, waiting for her attention. He was a tall thin major with a nose like a potato crushed onto his face.
“Anything else ma’am?” asked the commander.
“Are these men to defend the border?” she asked.
He squinted for a moment. “No ma’am, these men are to defend Johannesburg. They will join an armoured division in the northern suburbs of the city. Stand-off weapons are due to engage the enemy by this evening.” He nodded his head at De Schwartz, turned away from Helena. He started confirming information with his junior officers.
De Schwartz led them away from the staging post, back towards the central buildings. They walked in silence for more than a kilometre before they reached the entrance to which he was heading.
Allowing them to enter first, the major showed them into the commander’s office. He asked Denholme to wait outside.
“Ma’am, feel free to uplink from here. I’ll take your staff officer and get him armed.” Once they had gone, Helena logged into her account at the bureau, half expecting to find it blocked, expecting that her uncle would have moved to deny her access.
However, for the time being at least, she was able to enter and move about within the system as she wished.
It is highly probable that they’re watching you, said her AI cautiously.
Helena accepted the risk without comment. Her search for an RDK control program was interrupted when a face popped up on screen. It was her old friend, and sometime colleague, Maximillian Chandler.
“Hels, so good to see you’re back in the system!” he said, all smiles. “We were worried about you, news of your uncle’s antics are the talk of the office.” She returned his smile, wearily.
“Max, I’m glad to hear that.” It meant she wasn’t alone, that she could perhaps trust Euros again.
Max held up his hand. “Hels, don’t go getting your hopes up. The shit has hit the fan. I take it you know we lost the 2nd fleet, but things are worse than that and getting shittier by the minute. Euros is totally outclassed. Indexiv is moving into regions held by other corporations. So far no one has been able to do more than delay them a few hours before being rolled over.” The look on his face was one of shock. Helena watched him in disbelief.
“It’s not possible,” she managed.
“They’ve been preparing for months. Their resources were turned almost completely to becoming combat ready. No one, and I mean no one, anticipated it. Their share price is up eleven percent this morning.”
Helena had a dozen questions but knew she didn’t have time to ask any of them.
Max took her silence as opportunity to continue. “We’ve confirmed half of the Egyptian zone has fallen, south-east Asia is a mess and even the Americas are preparing for an all-out, old fashioned shooting war. From your lack of avatar, I guess you’ve not made it home yet.” He sighed, his optimism gone. “Your Uncle doesn’t sound so disloyal anymore.”
He’s imitating my speech patterns in order to be better understood, thought Helena.
He leant in close to the camera, “Hels, Johannes might not have that much influence in the diplomatic core, but he’s not alone in opposing Euros’s strategy. With each new move Indexiv bolster his position further.”
Helena’s stomach turned over. The war was being lost on equity analyst desks in London and she was trapped in the middle of nowhere with no route home.
“We’ve managed to keep your account open, but we’ve had to remove the encryption.” He winked theatrically. Someone was listening. Whatever help he could give her, not to mention the movements she made within the network, would be observed.
“Mine’s still okay of course…” he said.
Helena nodded. “Thanks Max, I look forward to getting your mail.”
“Excellent,” said Max and then he was gone. She delayed so he could see what programs she was looking for, then logged out of her account to wait for his message.
It arrived a few moments later, along with the RDK program she needed for her pilot.
Hels, we’re pretty sure a Hound has been sent after you. Take Care. Max.
Her primary AI gasped. Helena listened to it in disbelief. She’d been able to ignore its unsolicited contributions but unmistakable emotion was a very bad sign. She told herself to read the papers she’d downloaded.
Please don’t let it be Function Creep, thought Helena, her worries about the war eclipsed by concern for her own wellbeing. Before she had time to engage it, there was a knock at the door and De Schwartz poked his head round to
see if she had finished. She stood up and asked for Denholme.
He came through alone, leaving De Schwartz smartly standing to attention on the other side of the door.
“Denholme, I’ve arranged for you to receive the hovertank’s skill set. Do you think you can learn to get to grips with it?”
Helena was almost proud when Denholme nodded once, without hesitation. There was no need to plug into the system, all he had to do was allow the local network to lock onto the frequencies his implants operated at and to transfer the information across. The process took just a few seconds.
Helena waited for Denholme to finish then downloaded the software for her own benefit, just in case she needed to operate the tank herself.
She finished up by erasing the information she had been sent.
The possibility that Johannes had sent a Hound after her was terrifying.
Hounds were humans genetically engineered to track. They were designed to hunt, had no thoughts other than the prey they were given. Such focus came at the price of reduced empathy and social skills. Most were kept uneducated, were routinely sedated when not on a hunt. She knew Euros used them, especially on intellectual property thieves. It was not unheard of for Hounds to be licensed to kill, particularly in cases where Oligarchs had been attacked or harmed.
I can’t afford to worry about it, she thought. Just getting to the child without running into a battalion of Indexiv’s soldiers is going to be challenge enough. She knew it was evasion, but she had too many threats to try to contemplate them all.
“We’d better go,” she said, more to herself than Denholme. She felt stripped by her lack of preparedness. She wanted to rest for a moment, to work out some sort of plan, but there wasn’t time. It felt like she was on an amusement ride that kept spinning, the world whipping by, waiting for it all to come to an end.
A Family War: The Oligarchy - Book 1 Page 7
