by J. J. Green
“That look in your eye is worrying me, little chick. Don’t tell me you’re planning on doing something stupid.”
She stared at him. “I have to get Arthur—”
“No.”
“Off the ship.”
“No.”
“C’mon. I need your help.”
“No, Taylan. Shaving off the cook’s eyebrows, hiding a warrant officer’s helmet, and sneaking a cat aboard are completely different from stealing a shuttle. We’re at war. We could be executed.”
“But it could be the only chance we have to save the BA.”
“That’s not our job. Even if this guy is the one from the legend, he’s here now, right? It’s up to him to do whatever it is he’s supposed to do. Helping him isn’t our responsibility.”
“He can’t be expected to do it all single-handed. He’s illiterate in our language, for one thing, and he doesn’t even know what a gun is, let alone how to fire one.”
“There are plenty of people who can teach him that.”
“But not you, huh?” Taylan frowned at him.
“No, not me. And there’s no need to look at me like that. I’m only pointing out...Where are you going?”
She’d stood up. “I’m going to find out how Arthur’s doing with the learning program.” In fact, she mostly wanted to leave Abacha’s company. He’d shown her he wasn’t the person she’d thought he was. She was disappointed and angry with herself for not seeing it before.
“Let me know when you find out,” he called as she left.
She didn’t reply.
AS SHE APPROACHED ARTHUR’S cabin, the door opened and Boots walked out. The door closed, and he turned around, sat down, and miaowed, asking to be let in again. The cat’s ridiculous antics made her smile and lightened her mood somewhat. She pressed the button, and when Wright let her in, Boots trotted in alongside her.
Arthur was sitting on his bed, his hair about a centimeter longer than it had been when she’d last seen him. It was now down to his shoulders, thick and shining healthily, but his eyes were bloodshot with dark circles underscoring them. The learning program had certainly taken its toll. Wires ran from the interface in the table to a net shaped to fit a human skull that lay on the bed.
“How is he?” she asked Wright, who was doing something with the interface.
“I’m fine, Taylan,” Arthur replied.
She gave a gasp of joy. “You can understand me now?”
“I can. It’s still hard for me, but I can understand and speak your language, at a simple level.”
His voice was heavily accented, like when her grandpa spoke English, but he was perfectly intelligible.
“You should improve quickly,” said Wright, “now you know the basics.”
Taylan realized that, from the moment she’d entered the cabin, the major hadn’t looked at her.
Her heart sank a little. Did it mean that he’d already asked Arthur about his history and discovered she was wrong about him? Was Wright feeling embarrassed for her? The thought that it wasn’t King Arthur they’d rescued from a mountain in West BI made her sad, but she wasn’t devastated. If it had all been a crazy dream, it didn’t matter so much, knowing the man was better now, safe, and able to communicate with the people around him.
“You look tired,” said Taylan. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“A medic’s been in attendance throughout, Ellis,” said Wright crisply. “Arthur’s completed the program. There won’t be any need for further treatments, so there’s no need to worry.” He rested his back against the bulkhead and folded his arms, finally looking her in the eyes. “Don’t you want to ask him who he is and where he’s from?”
Was that triumph or bitterness in his tone? She couldn’t tell.
“I’ll save you the trouble,” said Arthur. “Please, sit down, Taylan.”
When she joined him on the bunk, he took one of her hands in his. “I have much to thank you for. You have been my champion.”
“Uh, no, not me. It’s Major Wright you should thank. He’s the one who rescued you from the mountain.”
“Is that so? I didn’t know that.” He turned to look at the major, but Wright only waved a hand, as if his act was of no consequence.
Arthur returned his attention to her. “But since I entered this new dream, you are the one who has cared for me. You brought me the cat to be my companion, you have taught me how to use all the wondrous machinery of this world. We even practiced with staves. If it were not for you, I would have been lost and alone.”
“You’re welcome, but...what was that you said about entering a new dream?”
“He thinks he’s dreaming,” explained Wright. “I’ve tried telling him he isn’t, several times.” He gave a heavy sigh.
“No, this is reality,” Taylan said. She couldn’t wait any longer. “Could you tell me who you are? Your title, I mean.”
She held her breath.
“I have many. Some call me Arthur the Usurper, Arthur the Interloper, or Arthur the Bastard. Others call me King of Britain.”
Her hand flew to cover her mouth. “You-you really are...?”
“Yes,” said Wright quietly. “That’s who he says he is, anyway.”
Suddenly, the major’s gaze became distant and his mouth fell open. He was listening to a comm. Whatever the message was, it was serious.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Hans wasn’t there to witness most of it. As soon as it all began to kick off, he’d removed himself from the situation, lest suspicion for engineering the coup fell on him, or, worse, he became a target.
That was the problem with leading from the shadows: Anonymity made you vulnerable.
He lived alone in his rented villa. The maid and cook went home at eight pm, and they’d already left by the time he arrived. The only other visitor he saw regularly was the private nurse who stopped by once a day, in the early morning, to administer the treatment for his injured lungs and to change his remaining wound dressing.
He’d entered the dark, quiet house on the hillside in a secluded, rural part of the country, and, after turning on the lights, he’d gone straight to the kitchen to make himself a pitcher of gin and tonic with ice and lemon. It was going to be a long night.
Settling himself in a comfortable, padded, rattan armchair on the veranda, he opened an interface and went directly to his usual vidnews channel. The reports were already coming in.
He grinned to himself, gleeful. It had all worked out so well, better than he could have hoped.
BREAKING NEWS, the headline shouted. ARMY STORMS TEMPORARY PARLIAMENT BUILDING IN KINGSTON
Behind the words was a frozen still of the plain, blocky edifice at night with soldiers mounting an assault on the entrance and rappelling down the walls to swing in at the windows. Pulse fire flashed in the darkness, from inside the building and outside, as government guards put up a defense.
Suddenly, the words disappeared and the picture became live. The scene had changed. The guards were gone from the entrance, except for one, who lay face down and not moving. Black scorch marks from pulse bolts covered the wall and shattered glass shards littered the sidewalk. Bursts of laser fire shone through the empty windows. Unseen ambulances were racing closer, the screams of their sirens echoing in the night.
Then the scene changed again. A news anchor was sitting behind a desk in a TV studio, talking to someone off screen. She realized she was live, and turned to the camera.
“Unbelievable news tonight, ladies and gentlemen. As I speak, the Britannic Government is under attack. MPs were holding a late debate in the new Parliament chambers when, approximately twenty minutes ago, soldiers stormed the building. According to witnesses, the fight on the steps was over quickly. At the moment we have reports of three dead, but these have yet to be confirmed. The fighting inside is still going on, and we’re trying to get in contact with someone in the building who can give us an update on the situation.
“Most worryingly, it seems that,
though the police were called, no officers were sent to the scene. That’s right, the police service has provided no response and appears unwilling to protect the Members of Parliament or government workers inside the building. This may be because the troops mounting the attack appear to be our own Britannic Alliance army. It’s hard to believe, but we are assured the soldiers are wearing BA uniforms. However, it’s possible they may be fake and a foreign force such as the Antarctic Project or the Earth Awareness Crusade could be masquerading as our own troops in order to sow confusion.
“And it certainly is a confusing situation, ladies and gentlemen, confusing and chaotic. We will bring you updates and clarification as soon as we have them, so please...” The anchor became distracted for a beat, then said, “I’m happy to say we have a reporter on the scene. Ben Mathers is outside the Parliament building. Can you hear me, Ben?”
The screen split and in one half the street view reappeared, but this time the camera was focused on a nervous reporter. Behind him onlookers huddled, gawking at something unseen. The reporter walked a few paces and the camera followed him. Now the compromised Parliament building could be seen in the background.
“Yes, I can hear you, Sandra. I can tell our viewers that the fighting isn’t over yet, and it’s probably wise to stay away from the downtown Kingston area tonight. As you can see—” He cringed and ducked as an explosion rang out. The camera operator must have also bobbed down because the view abruptly shifted to the onlookers’ legs and the crouching reporter.
Looking embarrassed and frightened, he straightened up and said, “As you can hear, it’s a determined, aggressive attack on our government, and—”
“Ben” said the anchor, “we’ve heard the soldiers are wearing BA uniforms. Can you deny or confirm that?”
“I’m sorry, could you say that again, Sandra?”
As she’d spoken, the glass frontage of the Parliament building had collapsed and spilled out into the street.
“I said, is it our own troops who are mounting this attack?”
“I’m no expert on uniforms,” the reporter replied, “but the couple that I’ve seen did appear to be dressed as BA military.”
“That’s deeply concerning. Would you say this looks like a military coup?”
“It’s too early to be sure, but...”
Hans looked up, distracted by headlights approaching along the road. Only a few people lived on the hillside, and his villa occupied the highest spot. There was no reason for anyone to drive over the hill when the faster freeway went around it, especially at night when there was no view.
He put down his drink and peered into the darkness, watching the car.
The twin headlights drew closer, meandering around the bends and curves of the road, until finally they reached the bottom of his drive, where they stopped. They winked out. A car door opened and was slammed shut.
Hans closed the interface and placed it screen-downward on the table before standing up. No streetlights illuminated the road in that part of the island, so he couldn’t see the car or who had been in it and was presumably now walking toward his house.
He had a sudden urge to turn off the house lights, but it was too late. Whoever was coming already knew someone was home. Should he go inside? Barricade the door? He had no guns in the house or anything else with which to defend himself. He wasn’t that kind of person. His conflicts and disputes were of the mind or personality.
If the BA military had thought to include him in their...
He nearly collapsed in relief.
A woman had walked into the pools of light that spilled from the lamps on his veranda. A woman in the bright clothes of the islands, her hair wrapped in a vivid pink cloth.
Mariya.
“What brings you out here at this time of night, Mariya. If I’d known you wanted to visit, I would have sent my—”
“Mr Jonte, I’m glad to see you’re safe and sound. May I come in?”
“But of course.” He opened the screen door, and she climbed the few wooden steps.
“Would you share a gin and tonic with me? Or I could make you something else.”
“A gin and tonic would be very welcome, thanks.”
Hans went to get another glass, and by the time he returned Mariya was sitting in the second armchair on the veranda. He poured her a drink from the pitcher and handed it to her before also sitting down.
Mariya took a sip and remained silent.
A sense of calm pleasantness hit him. How nice it was to be here with an intelligent, perceptive, affable woman, sharing a cocktail, on a star-filled, warm evening, surrounded by the songs of cicadas and croaking frogs. He was tempted to forget all about the scene playing out in Kingston, despite the years of work it had taken to bring it about. He had enough money to retire. If she were willing, they could live together somewhere off the beaten track and away from worldly troubles, in as much luxury as the place afforded, spending their days having interesting conversations and enjoying simple hobbies.
Then he blinked and returned to the present. He’d worked too hard and sacrificed too much to give it up now. He also knew himself too well—he was not that old man who could content himself in mundane things. He needed intrigue and artifice, or life would not be worth living.
“Have you heard what’s happening in town?” asked Mariya eventually.
“No? What...”
She’d shot him a knowing glance: I dare you to lie to me about this.
He laughed sheepishly. “You mean the disturbance at Parliament? I did pick up something on the vidnews in the car as I was coming home. Has the situation developed?”
“You could say that,” she replied, her gaze on her drink, where a slice of lemon floated. “The building’s been taken over and the Prime Minister has been thrown in jail.”
“He has?! By whom?”
Mariya’s dark brown eyes focused on him again, half-lidded. Her lips curved into a lazy smile. “Mr Jonte, I’ve been a good employee, haven’t I? You’ve been pleased with my work?”
“You’ve been exemplary. I have no complaints whatsoever.”
“Would you say I’ve earned your trust?”
“I would. Absolutely.”
“Then...I’d like to suggest we move our relationship to another level, a level where we can speak frankly and without fear of reprisal. A level of mutual respect.”
“I have a lot of respect for you, Mariya. I’m not sure what you mean.”
“That evening at the Ambassador’s Residence, when you asked me to pump up the military men’s sense of self-importance and encourage their dissatisfaction with the government, that was part of a larger plan you had, wasn’t it?”
Hans was silent.
“Sir, you wouldn’t have asked me to do that for no reason. Please don’t insult my intelligence.”
He put his hands behind his neck and laced his fingers, looking out into the darkness. “As I said, I have a lot of respect for you. That doesn’t mean you should be privy to everything that goes on at SIS.”
“But this isn’t SIS, this is you, isn’t it? Mr Jonte, Josie always used to tell me how much she admired you. She was in awe of you, and now that I know you well, I feel the same. So understand that I’m coming from the position of someone who supports you when I say I think tonight’s military coup is your doing. Hennessy and Montague might believe they dreamed up the idea themselves, but it was really you, wasn’t it?”
Hans took a drink, swished the bitter liquid around his mouth, and swallowed before answering. “I don’t blame you for your curiosity, but do you really think someone worthy of your admiration would ever admit to such a thing?”
She’d been leaning over her chair’s arm, her body turned toward him. When she heard his reply, she slumped against her seat back. “You and your clever answers. You’re too smart for me. But, let’s speak hypothetically. If the head of SIS did incite a military coup, what might be his reason? If the government is no longer in control of the Alliance
, he would lose power and influence too. What could his end goal possibly be?
Hans smiled and stood up. “All the ice in the pitcher has melted. I’ll make us another batch of G and T. Then, shall we watch the vidnews and see how the night unfolds?”
Chapter Thirty-Six
They had killed the queen, but the bees lived on, buzzing noisily and irritatingly.
Now it was time to set the hive on fire.
Kala arrived in Jamaica aboard one of the hindmost amphibious craft, a large vessel carrying military vehicles to expedite the invasion of the final BA stronghold and temporary seat of its Parliament.
AP ships at sea beyond the immediate conflict zone in the outer Caribbean Islands had begun the attack. Missiles erupted from launchers, first targeting BA military bases and airports across the islands, and then Kingston, Fort-de-France, Bridgetown, and St. George’s, devastating the capitals and sending the local populations into terror-stricken stampedes as they fought to escape to the countryside.
Then the EAC aircraft took the baton and mounted an air assault. The Royal Air Force was already in the air, but their defense was weak and poorly coordinated. The EAC planes avoided or shot down the defenders and commenced bombing the areas the AP ships had missed. The Royal Navy also responded, racing out to strike at the AP ships, but they were too few and too late. Their resources had been stretched beyond their limit for years as they’d fought to defend numerous BA territories and protectorates.
Finally, when the combined forces had pulled the sting from the BA’s tail, amphibious assault vessels smashed onto the beaches, enemy soldiers pouring from them like ants from a drowning nest. They ran up the dunes and rocky headlands, mowing down the thin opposing forces and taking no prisoners.
