“Where…?” muttered Helena, more to herself than to her guide. She let her senses float out; the sound of Denholme’s heart was the first thing she picked up. As she passed over him, her Primary AI highlighted a charged pulse weapon in his pocket; it seemed more worried than she did.
The rest of the building was empty, apart from their guide, whose smell reminded her of her father.
The energy she expended reaching out her senses was evanescent, interfering with her ability to hear and identify, even as it became more sensitive. There was a pack of dogs behind the building, some twenty metres in front of her, through a concrete wall. She could just about make out that they were feeding. She tried not to think about it.
A jackdaw sat over them, waiting its turn, calling to its colony that it had found a feast.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, narrowing her eyes over him, but letting her senses remain flooded with data.
He shrugged. She had an urge to slap him around the face, repeatedly.
Seeing her expression, he gave in. “I’m looking for the datastore.” He showed no sign of childlike pleasure in being straightforward. She suspected, but couldn’t put her finger on, some secret he was withholding.
She could hear the rippling of his muscles but they were not tensed for movement. He was nervous, but he was not afraid nor was he getting ready to run again.
Her Secondary AI warned her that she could not sustain her sensory pickup for much longer. She allowed her senses to be rolled in, feeling somewhat bereft as she always did after such extended periods, as if the world had lost its colour. The walls of the building pressed in, reminding her of the confinement of her own person within her body.
She tried to shake the sudden feeling of oppression the memories brought with them and focus on what was in front of her. Her own murmurings faded into the background as she concentrated on the Oligarch in front.
The dogs outside barked and snapped at each other.
She brought the datastore out and held it in her palm. Cocking her head to one side she extended her arm until it was almost straight. He eyed it with undisguised anticipation. She half expected him to lick his lips.
He shifted one foot forward, but Helena closed her fingers around the store and pulled it back, close to her body. He was no threat to her and they both knew it.
“I have the store here. You’ve got to help me if we’re to finish this the way you want.”
He looked at her, she could read the suspicion on his face; he believed she was trying to trick him. Then his face went blank, as if he knew that she knew.
She checked her own expression. Had she given anything away? She had chosen to show innocence, her pupils slightly dilated. She tried to combine her stance with that of a slightly maternal expression, letting her cheeks flush subtly and allowing the tone of her voice to become slightly less harmonic.
Her Primary AI suggested that he knew he was obvious, that he was trying to rectify his tells. She waited for him to respond. Denholme fidgeted behind her.
“Okay?” said the Oligarch.
“Okay,” said Helena, waiting for him to continue.
“Edward,” said the Oligarch.
“Helena.” She tried to give him room to say what he wanted to say.
He hesitated, and she knew she’d guessed right; he did think she was trying to trick him. She was careful not to slip the datastore back into her pocket, but ran her fingers over it, checking her grip.
“How did you escape them?” she asked.
“They were only Normals,” he said easily. They both knew what he would not be able to bring himself to say openly.
“Were they looking for you?” she asked.
He shook his head.
No, she supposed. They were more bothered with killing every person in the town: removing the pollution, safeguarding against contamination.
“What now?” he asked, his expression open for the first time.
Helena had no idea. “We need to leave here,” she said. “A war is being fought and my people want you back home.”
He frowned. “Your people? Are you from Euros?”
She nodded. “Where are those who were with you?” she asked.
“They either fled or were killed in the attack. Our home was south of here, by the river.”
The datastore did not seem ready to give away any more of its secrets and Helena had a hunch that it would only reveal more when its location matched that of the facility where Euros had been keeping Edward.
Her Primary AI flagged her attention. What? she asked it.
He’s unwell, came the response.
Explain, she demanded. It paused.
Systemic stress, but I can determine no cause.
She eyed Edward, as if looking at him hard might reveal what was wrong. It didn’t.
“How far is it?” she asked. The location of the base did not appear on the maps she’d downloaded in Australia. She’d tagged a broad search and couldn’t understand why it wasn’t shown.
Her primary AI sniggered, and said, On balance of probabilities, there are machinations and undercurrents in Euros of which you remain utterly unaware. There was a silence, and then it said, All families are hierarchies.
She had heard of strategies by which Oligarchs facing disintegrating AIs could build mental barriers, but she knew nothing of the details. The best she could do was to attempt to ignore it.
“Take us there,” she said to Edward.
A look of discomfort came over his face: unease and fear.
“It’s OK,” said Helena. “I’m more than capable of protecting you.” She wanted to know what was so important about him. She understood why he was called ‘the boy’. While he may have been in his twenties, he didn’t even have his full complement of nanotech; compared to her niece and nephews, none of whom was younger than fifty, he was ludicrously young.
He was the youngest Oligarch she knew. No one in her family had given birth for more than half a century and the fifth generation had not yet been greenlit by those who made such decisions. The right to reproduce was tightly regulated and living for hundreds of years tended to dull the urge to have children.
Edward was nervous, and not just because of the death all around them. They were all unnerved by the stench of real people whose lives had been ended with only the thought that they had no right to breath the air as their killers.
Helena was no romantic: her brother, Michael, had been part of the committee who evacuated the Armstrong Colony in the Sea of Tranquillity when Leonids caused multiple punctures in the geodesic dome. Hundreds had died, although none of them had been Oligarchs. She had seen the footage and talked with Michael about what had happened. She had watched as the spheres silently collapsed, as bodies floated lethargically in the vacuum before coming to rest as bloodied wreckage on the surface of the moon. The vital were rescued while there was time.
Helena had first killed another human eight decades before. She had been caught in a panic on a small station orbiting Io following a hull breach. The Normal, a woman by the name of Alice Carter, had been experiencing a panic-induced psychotic episode and had attacked Helena with a welding torch. Following protocol for an emergency depressurisation and imminent threat scenario, Helena had spaced her. So said the report. The truth was they’d grappled and Helena, in a panic of her own, acted without thinking to keep herself safe. She hadn’t slept for three days as the image of the dying woman flashed on the inside of her eyelids whenever she put her head down. She’d only stopped dreaming of her eight years later. In the aftermath she’d gotten herself combat trained, as a way of controlling the terror she’d felt but also to help keep a promise to herself that she’d never allow such a thing to happen again.
Now she faced Noenieput, thousands dead. She laughed at the possibility she’d need serious drugs, therapy and time to work itself out. Right then, watching Edward’s wide eyed vulnerability, she couldn’t see that any of them would live long enough for
such luxuries.
If they did, she wanted Edward out of her life before he hit the wall that the carnage around them would inevitably erect around his everyday life.
“Come on,” urged Helena, encouragingly.
“Fine,” said Edward, walking past her and back out onto the street.
They walked south, leaving the town through a dilapidated campus of holiday chalets. The echoes of landscaping gave way to untrammelled nature. Red dust puffed beneath their feet as they cautiously descended into a dried out riverbed.
Judging by the state of the vegetation, animal tracks and stink of kudu dung, it was many years since the river had flowed above ground. Coming up the other bank, all Helena could see were dunes rising along the seashore, limiting their horizon to a few hundred metres.
Edward led them straight up and over the nearest dune. There were no other visible tracks.
Is he leading us a merry dance, thought Helena.
If Edward is still worried about Indexiv’s cleansing squads, it is only natural for him to take a circumspect approach to the facility, said her AI.
As they crested the ridge of the first dune, Helena looked back. A slight movement against the edge of the campsite gave away the presence of the Hound.
Her AI suggested no reason as to why he was trailing them, but made the point that it was certain he knew who Edward was. It also suggested that, based on the Hound’s behaviour and its willingness to share its designation, it was having some sort of difficulty with its mission.
You’re its problem, said the AI. It made sense. The Hound had rescued her when all it needed was her hand or fingerprint, perhaps even just her DNA, in order to operate the datastore. It had also made some particularly unconvincing threats on her life. Their first encounter should have ended with her being butchered.
Her AI explained that it was unwilling to plot the Hound’s motives because there seemed no determining factor to its behaviour. She had no choice but to let him follow.
Turning back, she noticed that Edward had not moved. Denholme paced round her and stood at the top of the ridge, looking down the slope on the far side. Sand trickled beneath his feet like water.
Beneath them, at the bottom of the dune, lay the gutted facility that Edward had called home.
SHE FOCUSSED, letting her visual range extend into the infrared spectrum. There were plenty of heat signatures coming from the site but nothing suggested humans, either alive or dead.
“Come on,” she said, easing her way down the slope, taking great leaping steps as the sand fell away under her feet.
The other two came after her more clumsily. She let them fall behind. If there was anything to worry about it lay in front of them.
Reaching the edge of the compound, she slid through the remains of a chicken wire fence. The scattered droplets of aluminium were indicative of plasma cannons; the shots had been fired from ship-mounted weapons. There were no tracks to suggest heavy infantry had been used. Indexiv had come as a strike force and mopped up. Whether Indexiv had known what it was they were doing, besides wiping out anything that did not resemble Oligarchy, remained to be determined.
Helena stepped over the scattered rivulets of fence and looked around. Traces of blood could be seen against the sandy bricks of the outer buildings. This was yet another facility that existed substantially underground. It’s getting to be a bit too familiar, she thought to herself.
Her AI confirmed that Indexiv was not there.
All that remained of the attack were molecules of blood, vaporised metals, urine in the air and burn marks scattered around the compound.
Denholme paused, coming to a halt at the edge of the facility. Edward passed him to come level with Helena.
She tried to anticipate how the Hound would approach the base without risking being seen.
“Where’s the entrance?” she asked.
Edward moved ahead, slowly, cautiously, as if he expected to be ambushed. Helena followed a couple of metres behind but Denholme remained where he was. It made her uncomfortable that he had begun to lose his sense of discipline. Her sense of his fragmentation grew with every centimetre she put between them. Irritated, beyond reason for a moment, she caught herself thinking that perhaps Schmerl had had a point.
Careful now, said her primary AI. She realised her heartbeat had accelerated of its own accord. Bringing her body back under control, she thought, this is nothing more than an extended negotiation.
She realised the ludicrousness of portraying her current situation as nothing more than an office bound discussion, but it was all she could think of. She wished her brothers were with her, if only to lend some moral support.
To replace the comfort Denholme’s unwittingly withdrawn? asked her AI.
Wouldn’t you be better placed trying to create options for getting us home?
Edward led them into a reception area. Manicured plants were undisturbed in their pots. The lights came on as they entered; the temperature was still regulated. The only sign that something was wrong was the emptiness created by the absence of staff. Fear haunted the reception desk.
Helena found the hum of electricity reassuring, something of her world remained intact. Edward’s heart was racing, she could smell his fear, it burned in her sinuses.
“Where are we headed?” asked Helena.
Edward shrugged. All she’d done was ask him to get them there, not issue instructions on what she was looking for.
She looked at the datastore. It slept on.
Her primary AI suggested that she give it to the boy. She looked at Edward for a moment. It wasn’t as if he would be able to damage the store or escape.
Sighing, she held out her arm.
“As promised,” said Helena. Edward regarded her hand, holding the prize owed to him. He reached out and took the store.
As his fingers touched the device, it came alive.
Without a sound, her uncle appeared in the room with them. He was initially projected onto Helena herself but then, of its own accord, the device swung his image around until he was standing freely in the centre of the foyer.
Edward looked mystified.
“Helena, if you’re watching this, then well done.” Johannes’ smile was rueful. She was shocked to think he had anticipated even the slightest glimmer of recent events.
“I’ve suspected Oliver of scheming for some time.” He frowned. “He of course would have been quite safe, even if Indexiv win the coming war.” He paused. “Then again, if you’re listening to me now, then not only has war begun, but we’ve asked you to find the boy, despite the…debate about your loyalties.”
What the hell is he talking about?
Johannes turned to face Edward, “My boy, my niece has found you; your task is to bring the store safely to London. Since it is now keyed to your…. well to you, we thought it prudent to make sure you survived. Helena will make sure of that. Won’t you Hels?
“You haven’t got long.” He looked at Edward when he said this, but that couldn’t be guaranteed. “Now the two of you have been united, get back to town. Indexiv have a mole close to this situation, and I’m assuming they’re watching you right now.”
As if his revelation was a sign to act, Helena picked up the sounds of someone trying to make as little noise as they could. They were too noisy to be the Hound.
Grabbing Edward by the arm, she pulled him hard up against the blind side of the foyer. Whoever was approaching wouldn’t be able to see them from the entrance to reception. She put a finger to her mouth and pulled out one of her knives. A glint of light along its edge reminded her of what she was contemplating. With gritted jaw she set her mind to doing whatever she had to in order to survive.
She hoped it was just a couple of soldiers who could be silenced before they could shoot. She wanted to laugh at Johannes. Quite how he thought they were going to get from the southern tip of Africa to London mystified her.
A rocket propelled grenade powered through the plexiglas doors, skit
tered across the floor, bouncing off the far wall and spinning to rest a metre in front of the receptionist’s desk as smoke spewed from its guts. Helena looked at it dumbly.
Her Primary AI informed her it was a nerve agent, not explosive. Her Secondary AI advised her it was taking measures. She would be fine.
Edward was in a different proposition. Her AIs had no idea whether he had the same capability as she did. He was too young to have received anything more than a Tertiary AI.
Helena waved her hands in the direction of the doors leading into the rest of the facility; she hoped he had the access required to get through them. Edward looked at her, his eyes wide with fear. He stood quite still. She pushed him with her free hand and it was like pressing on putty, his body moved but he did not follow through. Gas continued to seep noisily from the grenade. Her Secondary AI reported it was Kleron IV. Edward would be knocked unconscious, nothing more.
Relieved, she decided she couldn’t wait for the enemy to come to her. Her Primary AI said it was probable that their attackers were expecting them to have passed out from the gas. The chance that the soldiers were related to those she had encountered in Southern Africa was negligible. She was safe if they didn’t know she was there.
Except they’ve been waiting for me, she thought.
She rolled out her senses, briefly luxuriating in the flood of extra data. The attackers were standing just outside, one either side of the main doors. There was probably another a few metres back, covering them. Her senses wouldn’t stretch that far. Running through the room, she picked up a steel framed chair and lobbed it towards the doors. The doors opened and the chair flew between them. Helena was one step behind it.
As she burst through the doors, she spun to her left. Both attackers were watching the chair arc through the air with wisps of gas frailly clinging to it. The first of them went down as she sliced her knife across his face. The second saw her and brought his rifle up. She grabbed the muzzle with her free arm, pushed it into the air.
She spun the knife in her hand and used the hilt to punch through his goggles, knocking him unconscious. As he crumpled to the floor, she scanned the grounds around the entrance, looking for the third man.
A Family War: The Oligarchy - Book 1 Page 18
