“You see, you did know what I wanted after all,” he said, offering her a thin smile.
“What do you want to know?” she asked, before trying to pre-empt him. “I knew him for just a few days. He flew me half way across the world granted, but it doesn’t take all that long.”
“I’ve never had the chance to find out.” said Chalmers.
He’s got a good line in sardonic, said her AI.
Helena did not reply, and the pause lengthened into silence. She looked up at the ceiling, noticed a darkened patch in one of the corners.
“It’s damp,” said Chalmers. “Sloppy workmanship. Old building. The landlord doesn’t care to expend the energy required getting it repaired. I’m certainly not going to do his job for him. I hardly credited it when I first spotted it. Still, it makes things more authentic.”
Helena didn’t really follow but accepted that the dark patch shouldn’t be there.
“Why don’t you move?” she asked.
Chalmers mulled the prospect over. “Never had the time to organise it. People keep committing crimes; I keep working at them. Sleeping here’s about all I do. Besides, twenty years ago this was supposed to be an up and coming area.” He smiled sheepishly.
Helena found it difficult to believe. It was too far from the centre for the richer families for anyone to consider investing in the area.
“James Denholme,” said Chalmers. “32 years of age, Normal. Decorated officer and not simply for ferrying you about the southern hemisphere. He was awarded the Charles Cross for bravery six years ago. He landed in a firefight in order to rescue civilians who were coming under fire, against the direct orders of his superior. Fortunately for him, one of the civilians just happened to be a Family member.”
“Model soldier then,” said Helena, thinking, his retraining couldn’t have gone as well as planned. Her AI laughed at the understatement.
“Well, until he met you.”
“What?” asked Helena, remembering Denholme’s outburst on the way home.
“He resisted debriefing before disappearing. Beyond that, I don’t know much. Euros doesn’t like to publicise its dirty washing, even to itself. The only rumours I could pick up on him indicated he’d formed some sort of connection with a Normal plot against the Families. They arranged for him to get loose and disappear.”
Helena laughed. “You cannot be serious. You’re a senior security officer for Euros, I don’t believe you can credit such conspiratorial nonsense.”
“Ms. Woolf, I know this might come as a surprise to you, but Normals don’t love us quite the way you think they do. They call us Oligarchs as a term of resentment. Many believe the technologies and longevity that is ours also belongs to them.”
Helena listened quietly. Once upon a time, she would have been shocked but Noenieput cast a long shadow. Eradicating poverty and meeting every need lost their lustre in the face of annihilation.
“I know the argument Detective. What I’m more interested in is why, if Henry Arken was lying dead on my porch, that you’re suddenly interested in the explosion?”
“Have you ever seen a lauded Normal artist?” asked Chalmers, ignoring her question.
Helena shook her head. “Of course not,” she said. “Whatever my misgivings, the facts remain that they simply don’t create the way we do. Whether it’s lack of education growing up, genetic inferiority or simply that they aren’t like us, I’ve never heard of a contemporary Normal artist of any worth.”
Chalmers said nothing.
“Trust me,” said Helena, surprised and horrified by the words coming out of her mouth. “Africa changed everything I believe about the way my society works. Our chalice is poison for them, but whatever our wrongs, they are still less than us.”
He raised his eyebrows and said, “I don’t necessarily disagree with you Ms. Woolf. However, I also don’t think things are quite as simple as some people believe.” He was careful not to dismiss her directly, but Helena got the idea. He casually glanced at the damp spot on the wall.
“Poverty is relative Ms Woolf. Not everyone has the privilege you’ve enjoyed.”
“I resent that Detective. I’ve worked as hard as anyone. My achievements are my own.”
“I didn’t say they weren’t. I said that things aren’t as simple as some people might believe,” replied Chalmers softly.
Helena forced herself to refocus. “So you’re saying that Denholme is now a member of this conspiracy to bring down our society? How does that relate to Arken?”
“I’m not sure, information on them is scarce and when I have located it, it has tended to be classified beyond my security clearance.” He paused, “Which you’ll have gathered by now is pretty extensive. I don’t think they want to bring down society, just gain wider access to our technologies and energy sources.” He shrugged. “Regardless, they won’t succeed, not if tonight is their best effort.”
“Ten of us dead; I’d hardly say that was a failure,” said Helena angrily. “And some bloody strategy to predispose us to disseminate whatever technology they’re after.”
“Ten people?” She thought he was going to spit. “Ten will actually be more than a hundred if you allow me to define Normals as people too.” He looked like he wanted to punch something. “It’s irrelevant. It may as well be a million. They’ve accomplished everything they ever will tonight.”
He saw that Helena didn’t follow. “It depends what they were trying to accomplish doesn’t it. What’s more important to me is to understand why Denholme would become a murderer. I won’t lie to you Ms Woolf: I want my family to be wealthier, to have more influence, to give those I love a leg up. Catching Denholme would provide the leverage I’m looking for.”
The man’s ambition tasted acrid in her mouth, but her AI warned her not to accept his statement at face value.
“Until he met you he was whiter than white. Since then he’s turned about as far away from legitimate society as one could imagine. The node is you.”
Helena thought that coming back with this detective hadn’t been her best idea.
You’re more than his match, said her AI reassuringly.
“Since we’ve got this night together and since you don’t seem to be able to sleep, why don’t we talk about Denholme?”
“You mentioned Indexiv,” said Helena, changing the subject.
He responded quickly, “Right now it’s probable Indexiv killed Arken, that they are perhaps targeting you too.” Chalmers looked at her, “You and I both know that in the present climate even Euros could be initiating this.”
“Much like Arken said,” recalled Helena.
“Indeed,” confirmed the detective. “Arken also points at you. Somehow you’re at the centre of this. I mean to find out how, even if you genuinely don’t know yourself.” Helena stared at him a moment then announced that she was going home.
“Oh that’s a sterling idea,” said Chalmers wearily. Helena ignored him and got up.
“I wasn’t lying about your visitor, and I’m not patched into your security system anymore, so I can’t give you the comfort of knowing whether they’ve left or not. Of course, it’s your choice.” He folded his hands across his lap.
Helena didn’t hesitate over leaving but decided to go to a hotel rather than return home. She didn’t trust Chalmers, was scared about how he knew so much, how he had pieced together a picture her entire unit had missed.
Chalmers made no move to stop her. She saw him sigh and slump his shoulders slightly in defeat. It almost made her stop; such resignation betrayed an honesty to his motives that was completely unexpected. Perhaps all he wanted was to ask her these few questions and let her be. She didn’t approve of his ambition, people were born where they should be, but it disarmed her.
She suddenly had the urge to travel further south, to the edge of the green belt, and stay somewhere there: lost in anonymity amongst Normals and the few Oligarchs who called it home.
In pausing, she noticed the door begin to o
pen by itself. Ever so slowly it cracked just a few millimetres. She watched in a bizarre sort of fascination as a patch of air just above waist height became blurred.
Fingers, said her AI in alarm.
Horror filled her as she realised what it was. She threw her weight against the door as hard as she could. A scream echoed in the corridor outside, and on the floor at her feet the ends of three fingers lay, oozing blood.
Chalmers leapt to his feet, but Helena was several heartbeats ahead of him, her AIs working in concert to provide her with the reaction times she needed. She extended her hearing out into the corridor and heard the pained breathing of just one person. With a curse of relief that it wasn’t a Hound, Helena placed her shoulder against the door.
If they were looking for you, it would have been routine to check the detective hadn’t taken you into custody, said her AI, with an embarrassed tone.
“What?” asked Chalmers, but stopped when her saw the finger tips on the floor.
“My friend has found us,” was all Helena said. The detective reached under the kitchen counter and brought out a handgun.
“Is there another way out?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“Then through the front door we go.” The door opened inwards, which represented a problem.
“You’re unarmed,” said Chalmers.
“There’s only one of them and you have a gun,” said Helena, forcing herself to be brave.
Standing up against the wall behind the door she flung it inwards, stopping it from smashing her face with her foot. The sound of running in the corridor. Helena ran out in time to see a blurred patch of space moving towards the lift.
“Stop,” she shouted. The space froze then turned around.
Helena felt an urge to lie flat on the ground. As her knees buckled under her, her primary AI said, what are you doing? It stopped her from moving, stood her back up again and, despite her protests, ran her towards the blur.
The urge stopped as suddenly as it had started. The blur ran for the lift. Helena switched to infrared and saw the outline of a man, holding one arm close to his body as he ran. Glancing back, she saw Chalmers lying face down on the floor.
What the hell is going on with you two? asked her AI.
Helena caught up with her attacker. He looked at her as she flew towards him and, once again, she felt the urge to lie down. Her AI took over as she tried to obey the command.
As her AI threw the first punch, the man’s expression passed through surprise to fear, right before her palm connected with the bottom of his nose and crunched it into his face in a spray of blood.
“Helena, freeze or I’ll shoot,” said Chalmers. She was holding her attacker by the throat, but he was looking over her shoulder even as he scrabbled against her grip.
“What?” she asked, catching her breath.
“Let him go and put your hands behind your head.”
“I don’t think so,” said Helena.
“I will shoot you,” said Chalmers, his voice straining as if he were wrestling with a heavy object.
Helena looked over her shoulder and saw his pistol aimed at her head. Tightening her grip on her assailant’s neck, she swung him round and towards Chalmers. His body flew through the air just as Chalmers shot. By the time the body hit Chalmers it was dead. The detective collapsed under the weight, shouting, “Helena, don’t run, wait!”
As Chalmers’ shot had hit home, the desire to lie face down had lifted. Her AI returned control of her body and rapidly retreated from her presence in silence.
For a moment during the assault, Helena had felt as if there had been three people in her head instead of the usual two. Now, with her primary AI hiding itself behind a closed door she was alone again, a feeling she had not had for months.
The sudden loneliness made her feel light-headed. Staggering under the weightlessness of being a solitary individual she saw Chalmers struggling out from under the body.
“Who are you working for?” she asked, kneeling to better hold him down.
“No one. Euros,” he said. “I couldn’t help myself. First of all I had to lie down.” At this, Helena loosened her grip, remembering the same sensation. He carried on explaining, “Then, when you’d got him, all I could think of was demanding you let him go. You have to believe me.” He tried pushing at the body on top of him, but she had him tight enough to stop him from struggling free.
Deciding he was telling the truth, Helena stood up.
Whatever had been creating the diffraction pattern around their attacker had stopped. She couldn’t see anything on him that was obviously used to create the blurring. That the dead man was an Oligarch was clear; she could hear the faint hum of his nanomachines repairing his broken nose.
Chalmers clambered to his feet, using the wall as support.
“If they found you here, I’ve nowhere I’d consider safe Ms Woolf.” She didn’t detect any emotion in his voice, just the flat tones of someone stating the facts.
Helena remembered a half-forgotten hotel at the south-western edge of the city, a small place called the Lion and Trumpet. She couldn’t recall where she had seen it or even if she had stayed there in the haze of distant history, but it was so random a recollection as to offer the safety she was looking for.
Having decided, she fought the urge to immediately flee.
Something about Chalmers distracted her: his honesty for a start. He was clever and cunning, but so far, at least, had shown himself guileless. Such a character was a strange flavour to Helena’s jaded palette.
“I think you should consider yourself in the same boat as me detective,” said Helena dryly as they pulled the body into his apartment.
“In that case you’d better call me David,” came his response.
“Is there anyone else on the floor?” she asked him. With all the noise she’d half expected to see someone come to investigate. But they’d been all alone.
“Most of this floor is mine as far as I’m aware. There’s an older couple on the other corridor but otherwise no one else ‘til the 23rd floor. I wouldn’t worry; they spend most of their time in Eastern Europe.” He stared in the direction of their flat.
Helena looked at him as if he were mad.
“We can’t stay here. I’m going south, there’s a place I used to go. I can barely remember it, it may not even be there anymore, but it’s worth a try. It’s utterly disconnected from my life so I think it will be safe. At least for the next twenty-four hours.”
“What do you plan to do?” asked David holding his hands up apologetically. “At this point I’m not sure whether or not it’s our own Company who’s trying to kill us.”
“Well,” she paused, feeling awkward about what she wanted to say, not even sure he would be an asset, but certain that leaving him behind would be his death, “I was hoping you’d come with me.”
“You still trust me?” he asked, the inane grin slapped across his face failing to hide the fear in his eyes.
“No, not really, but I do know you’ll be dead by this time tomorrow if you stay here.”
“I didn’t think you cared.” At first Helena thought he was joking again, but he was serious.
“I’m not saying I do.” Then, not wanting to sound quite so harsh, she said, “Then again, you alive means one more failure on the part of those who killed Arken. That’s something I’d pay a month’s energy for.”
THE JOURNEY south was easy. She remembered where the hotel was and how to get there as if recalling it from a dream she’d once had.
Surprised at how readily the memory came back to her, she tried engaging her Primary AI in conversation. It refused to emerge from its shell, and the best she could do was speak into the silence and hope it was listening.
After what you did you choose to abandon me now? How could you think it was OK to take me over? How can you even do that? Look, I know you probably saved my life. I am grateful but… But this is why people like me are sectioned. Exhausted, she g
ave up. We have to reach some agreement, some place from where we can move forward.
Her Secondary AI informed her that the Primary AI was processing huge amounts of data so that she would need to eat very soon in order for it to finish its task. She was exasperated that her attempt to reach out had not even registered. She tried asking it what task that might be, but in vain. Her Secondary AI was nothing more than it had ever been; an additional computing facility that gave her the ability to monitor and manipulate her physical condition.
They took one of the superconducting trains that ran throughout the day and night from Victoria. It travelled southwest at two hundred and fifty kilometres an hour, and in less than an hour and a half they had arrived. The skyline shrank while the horizon rolled out before them.
Outside the City, the architecture was more often than not purely functional, with only the oldest of buildings, built before nanotechnology became widely used and preserved through a desire to maintain links with the past, retaining some semblance of the hands that shaped them.
The edge of the countryside could be seen in the predawn light as a line of darkness where the lights of humanity simply stopped. Their station was the last before the superconducting route carried the train across it and out into the nature reserve of Somerset and Cornwall.
‘Salisbury’ said the Station board. Helena couldn’t remember ever going there but somehow knew it was the right stop.
They had not discussed her choice to travel out of the City, nor had they discussed the attack. The train was too public; at that time in the morning there were steady numbers of passengers coming out of London. The trains going into London were packed. Servants, maids, low level administrators, all on their way into work. An entire population moving about in the hour or so before the City’s rulers awoke and carried on their day.
Helena watched them idly. Their differences merged into one as artificial limbs, eyes and noses formed a patchwork of silver in among the wide hue of flesh. They shared the carriage with two female mechanics for a short while, both of who replaced their mechanical hands with tool sets as they stood to leave the train. Their necks were covered in gaping electronic wounds waiting to be plugged into whatever machines they used.
A Family War: The Oligarchy - Book 1 Page 26
