by Kim Curran
There was also that word again. Shine. I’d seen it when we had been running through the streets. And here it was once more, sprayed in red paint over and over.
“What does that mean?” I said, nodding at the graffiti.
“Shine?” Zac said. “No idea. It’s been appearing more and more lately.” He shrugged and looked back to the road. And then groaned.
“What is it?”
“Roadblock.”
Zac pulled to a halt in front of a red-and-white barrier. An armed solider sauntered over to the car and knocked on the side window.
Zac sighed and rolled it down. “Good morning, Private,” he said with forced cheeriness.
The private leant forward and peered through the window. “It’s still curfew… Oh.” He stopped, seeing our uniforms for the first time. “S3, is it?” He didn’t sound too impressed.
“Yup,” Zac said, showing him a tattoo on his right arm – the same tattoo I had – as if it was ID enough.
The soldier sniffed and straightened up. “On you go then.” He waved us through the barrier.
“Well, he didn’t seem too friendly,” I said when we were clear.
“The army pretty much hate us.”
“But I thought we are the army?”
“We’re special forces,” Zac said with a grin. “We get all the cool toys and missions, while they get sent off to foreign countries to get their balls blown off. Poor bastards.”
We drove through another three roadblocks, the soldiers on duty looking less and less happy to see us each time, before Zac pulled up outside a block of modern, glass-fronted flats and killed the engine. The silence after the roar of the car was unsettling, emphasising the quietness of the streets.
“Where is everyone?” I said.
“There’s still half an hour till curfew ends.” He tapped at the watch on his wrist; it read 5.33am. “So they’re either inside, or sneaking about and hoping nobody catches them,” Zac said, opening his door.
I waited, assuming he was stopping to get something. But he walked around the front and opened my door, too.
“Well, are you getting out?”
“But… I don’t live here,” I said, stepping out of the car and looking up at the building. The pale, dirty skies reflected in the windows made it look a stone obelisk. It must have been one of the only buildings I’d seen that was still intact.
“Um, yeah you do,” Zac said, resting a hand on my shoulder. “Penthouse suite, buddy.”
I followed him towards an armed guard protecting the entrance. The man stiffened upon my approach, jerking his gun to his chest. I ignored him, sick of guns and men snapping to attention whenever they saw me, and pushed through the doors.
Inside were a large reception desk and a water fountain with a statue of a leaping fish in the middle. The fountain burbled in a way I guessed was supposed to be relaxing, but really just made me want to use the bathroom.
“Good morning, Mr Tyler,” the woman who appeared at reception said. She was unnaturally cheery for this time of the morning. “It’s been a while. I hope everything is well.”
“Yeah, sure,” I muttered.
“I took a few messages for you while you were away.” She reached into a small cubbyhole behind the desk and handed me a pile of envelopes. I tucked them under my arm without even looking at them.
“Thanks.”
“Well, then, have a great day.” She smiled a beaming plastic smile and walked back into the room from where she’d appeared.
“Come on,” Zac said, tugging at my arm.
He led me over to a set of golden lifts. The doors slid open automatically without having to be called, and we stepped inside. I stared at the numbers as they counted up. Zac watched me the whole time, the corner of his mouth curled.
“Cut it out, would you?” I said.
“What?”
“The mysterious smile. It’s annoying.”
“Hey, I’m sorry, but it’s kind of funny, you know?” he said, looking straight ahead.
“What is?”
“You. Not remembering, being all…” he looked up, trying to find the right word.
“All what?” I said, with a sigh. “All stupid?”
“No, being all shy and hating the attention. Like when it all first started. It’s sort of nice to have you back.”
The elevator pinged open on the top floor, and I stepped out before I could read too much into what Zac was saying.
On either end of the corridor, large windows looked out onto the city to the east and west.
“Wow, I really live here?” I said, walking towards the window and looking down at the river beneath us. In the dull grey light of morning, it was almost possible to pretend London was whole again from up here.
“Yep. All the top brass were moved here when the war first started. When they didn’t think London would ever come under attack. Now you’re the only one left.”
“Why?”
“They didn’t think it was safe.”
“And were they right?” I said, remembering the shattered glass buildings I’d seen yesterday.
“It’s palladium-based glass,” Zac said, knocking on the window with a bent knuckle. “It can withstand a force of up to two hundred thousand pounds per square inch. There are sentry guns on the roof with motion trackers that have a one hundred-meter-range sensitivity. And surface-to-air missiles positioned all around to take out any aerial attacks. But even then… probably not. I mean, where is safe these days? The brass keep asking you to move into the Hub with the rest of the S3. But you insisted. Said something about not running away and being a beacon for hope.”
“God, I’m a real dick, aren’t I?”
Zac didn’t answer. He smiled and walked me towards the only door on the floor, marked with a large, silver number one. I dug in my pockets for a key. But they were empty.
“It’s DNA-sensitive. Only you can open it,” Zac said, pointing at a small silver panel on the side of the door.
“Oh, right.”
I placed my hand on the panel. It was cold, sucking the warmth out of my hand. Something scratched across my palm and, after a second, the door swung open with a clunk. I looked down at my hand, where a thin red line cut across my palm.
“It takes a skin sample,” Zac said in explanation.
“Welcome home, Commandant Tyler,” a female, computerised voice said as I stepped through the door.
I groaned at my own arrogance. “Mum? Katie?” I called out.
“Scott,” Zac said, “you live alone.”
I turned around to face him. “What? Then where are they?”
All humour had left his expression. “Your parents were moved north when the attacks started.”
“And Katie?” I said, fear tightening my chest.
“Well, I guess she’s in training.”
“Training? You don’t mean… Katie is a Shifter?” I said, grabbing my head in my hands, not wanting to believe it.
There had been a moment a few days ago when I thought that maybe Katie might be a Shifter, too. But I’d hoped, prayed, it had been my imagination. All I wanted for my little sister was a normal, stable life, where the biggest things she had to worry about were her exam results and whether some boy liked her. Not this. I thought about what my life had become since the day I’d met Aubrey. How crazy it all was. How close to crazy I’d become because of it. This life was the last thing I wanted for Katie.
“Probably,” Zac said. “Every relative of a Shifter is tested, you know, to see. But don’t worry, Scotty. The Shifter academy is probably one of the safest places in the country after the Hub. She’ll be fine. Besides, you went into training a sorry shell of a kid, and” – he slapped me on the shoulder – “look at you now.”
I must have looked pretty pathetic, as he started to laugh.
“Thanks,” I said. “I guess.”
I walked farther into the room and looked around. Could this flat really be mine? It was too clean for a start, n
ot a thing out of place. And too big for one person alone. It had an open-plan living room and kitchen that was bigger that our whole ground floor at home. I’d dreamed of having a place of my own. Somewhere that Mum and Dad couldn’t bother me. Now that I did have it, all I wanted was for Katie to come jumping out from the built-in cupboard, shouting, “Surprise!”
“Can I go and see her?” I asked.
“Your sister? Sure, I guess. I mean, you’re the Commandant. You can do pretty much whatever you want.”
Me, the Commandant. In charge of all the Shifters. I couldn’t quite get over that. I put the letters the receptionist had given me down on a glass coffee table and picked up a notebook. I opened it to read a page filled with my scratchy handwriting, but I didn’t really understand any of it. There was a list of names. A request to form a new squadron dated a week ago.
I turned the page around to face Zac. “What’s this about?”
“Thirteen squadron? That’s your new S3 unit. Handpicked from the best of the S3, including myself, naturally.”
I ignored Zac’s bragging. “Tell me about the S3.”
“The Special Shifting Service. It’s kind of like the SAS but, you know, with Shifters. We’re divided into thirty squadrons of ten. Shifters, soldiers, all working together for the greater good. S3 is the only mixed unit of its kind in the country. It’s kinda an experiment to see if it can work.”
“And can it?”
“It’s only been operational for a few months, so I guess we’ll see. The Minister for Defence seems to think so. He moved his operations to the Hub last week.”
I put the pad down and looked for anything that struck me as familiar in the room. There was nothing. Not a picture. Not an ornament that was part of my old life. This other me was a complete mystery.
“I still can’t get over this,” Zac said. “You seriously can’t remember a thing?”
“Nope.”
“Well, I guess it’s been a tough few days. Hell, it’s been a tough few years. It will come back to you.”
“What if it doesn’t? What if I can’t ever remember?”
“Then you fake it till you make it, Scott. You’re still you, still the same powers, no matter what you can or can’t remember.”
I wasn’t convinced. I didn’t know who this Scott Tyler was. I wandered over to the bookshelves. They were filled with what looked like military strategy books. The Art of War by Sun Tzu. On War by Carl von Clausewitz. They all looked pretty well read. Where were my comic books and tatty SF novels?
“I think it’s best if I go. Leave you alone,” Zac said.
“No,” I said forcefully, surprising even myself. “I mean, stay a bit. Maybe you can help me remember.”
“If you’re sure,” Zac shrugged, and then vaulted over a low grey sofa, landing lying down. He reached for a remote control and fired up an enormous TV fixed to the wall.
It was tuned to a news channel, broadcasting a report about the British army’s latest victory in the Middle East. It showed footage of men and women wearing orange jumpsuits, bags over their heads and their arms tied behind their backs, being shepherded into waiting trucks by soldiers.
“Prop,” Zac said, flicking over to another news channel. “More prop. Do you have any games?”
“I have no idea. And what’s prop?”
“Propaganda. All the channels are pumping it out 24/7, keeping everyone believing that the good guys are winning the fight.”
“And are we?” I said, easing into an armchair.
He glanced up from the screen and sucked his teeth. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On who you think the good guys are.”
“Are you saying we’re not?”
“No!” Zac said, sitting up. “God, no.” He looked around, as if nervous that we were being listened to. “It’s only that it’s not as simple as all that.”
“So tell me. From the start. Who are we fighting and why?”
Zac sighed. And began.
CHAPTER FIVE
“No one really knows what started it. There wasn’t a single incident, like a duke getting shot or someone invading Poland. If there was, we probably could have done something about it. It sort of grew and grew. And before we realised we were actually fighting a war, it was too late. Some people think it began with 9/11 and the way the West reacted with the air strikes on the Middle East. The Arab states were pretty miffed, as you can guess, and stopped all the oil flow to the west. After that, we were scrabbling around looking for alternative fuels. Fracking everywhere we could, destroying landscapes to get at the liquid oil deep in the earth. Which was what made the Green lot crazy. At the same time, Scotland voted to become independent and planned on whacking their oil prices up.”
“That explains the flag,” I said, realising what was wrong with the flags I’d seen painted on the Rhino and the vehicles. “It’s missing the St Andrew’s Cross.”
“Yeah, they stripped it off after Scotland devolved. Only, the British government overruled the Scottish vote and kind of invaded. As you can imagine, that didn’t go down well with the Scots. Or the Irish or the Welsh. Or pretty much anyone, really. And by that point, we were being attacked on all sides.”
“What do you mean? We’re not only fighting one enemy?”
“Not at the start,” Zac said, kicking his shoes off and putting his feet up on the arm of the sofa. “In the early days, it was like everyone was after us. Anarchists, Islamist groups, even the Communists got back in the trying-to-kill-us game. There were air raids and bomb strikes. Two hundred thousand people died in the first year. We’ve lost count since.”
I shook my head. It was impossible to take this all in.
Zac sniffed and carried on. “They say there was a nuke strike on Britain back in 2010, only some Shifter managed to avert it. Not sure if I believe it; more prop, if you ask me. But it did make Shifters popular with the great British public.”
“They know about Shifters?”
“Know about us? They love us! Especially you. Come on, Scott, don’t tell me you don’t remember your ad campaign.”
“No. Way.”
Zac burst out laughing. “It was hysterical. You, standing in a field somewhere, with the British flag flapping behind your head, looking all heroic. So cheesy. Anyway, it worked. People started to see us as symbols of defiance. If a bunch of kids could stand up to the enemy, so could they. And slowly, we started winning. We had help, of course. The Americans, the French. And now it looks as if we’ve almost got the Emperor of China on our side.”
“Hang on, there’s an Emperor now? What happened to President Tsing?” I said, remembering the old man I’d met with his Shifting guard, the Banjai Gonsi.
“He died, and what with all the chaos, the people decided they needed an Emperor again. So his son, Tzen, was appointed. Or anointed. I don’t know how it works. Anyway, he’s due to sign a treaty making them our ally. And then, no one will mess with us.”
“So it could all be over soon?”
“Only, we’ll still have the Red Hand to deal with.” I didn’t like the look on Zac’s face. All the time he’d been talking about death, he’d hardly shown any emotion, as if he had become desensitised to it all. But one mention of these Red Hand and he looked genuinely afraid. “They’re a new religion that sprang up after the war. No one really knows where it started or what they believe in. It’s something about trusting completely in God. What we do know is that they hate us.”
“Us as in the British?”
“No, us as in Shifters. They say we’re an abomination and as such should be destroyed. They’re the ones who were behind the attack on Old Street.” His face scrunched in disgust. “We lost seventy-three Shifters in that attack.”
I listened to him, trying desperately to find some glimmer of something familiar in what he said. But it only left me feeling even more confused and sick.
So much death. And all because of me. Because I stopped Frankie controllin
g all those politicians. She’d said herself that if she hadn’t been manipulating and guiding them, they’d bring chaos down on the planet. And she was right.
I couldn’t wait for Aubrey any more. I had to make this right now. I covered my face with my hands and reached out for a decision I could change that would undo all of this. But I had to be so careful, so absolutely certain, that whatever reality I brought about next wasn’t worse than this one. I thought about my decision to confront Frankie at the party. When I led Aubrey and the rest to the Pyramid, I’d made them promise to focus so we could all get out of there if needed. I could wipe that decision away. Let Frankie get away with it all. I didn’t care, so long as I was back there with Aubrey.
I held that moment in my mind and pushed. But nothing.
My power wasn’t working. Panic bubbled in my stomach. What if it wasn’t fear stopping me after all? What if entropy was catching up with me? If I lost my power to Shift before I had a chance to fix this, I’d be stuck here, knowing that I was responsible for it all. It was unthinkable.
I risked testing it on something small, something that could have no effect. I reached into my pocket. My fingers found a small coin, a five-pence piece. I rested it on my thumb, focused on the two options and flicked.
“Tails.” I caught it and opened my hand. It lay heads up. I focused on Shifting my choice.
“What’s that?” Zac said.
“What did I just say?” I asked him.
“You said heads. What are you doing?”
I slipped the coin into my pocket. “Just testing something.”
That meant my power to Shift worked. So, why wasn’t I able to change the decision that led us to the Pyramid that night? Why wasn’t I able to Shift us out of all of this crap?
“I’m sorry, is all this talk of anarchy in the UK boring you?” Zac said.
“No,” I turned back to him. “It’s so much to take in, you know?”
“I guess,” he shrugged. “I’ve had a few years to get used to the idea. But now, for serious, you need to go get changed and get some more sleep. The war will still be here when you wake up.”
