Chapter 12 as it appeared
Part 2: In the Dark of the Night
Authors: Gabby, PCat
Acknowledgment: Based on an idea by Ian, Extra input from BD, Kulko and Tarrok
Malton +57
"Gone?" Gabby repeated.
"Yes, Gabe. Haven't got long, I'm not on a secure connection. There were security concerns, I told her she had to get out fast."
"Did I not deserve the same warning? I was almost next door to her!"
"You what? Fuck, dude, you can't do that! Especially not without warning me!"
"So am I safe?"
"Yeah, they think you're in Peru somewhere."
"Good. And where is she?"
"Dude, can't tell you that, insecure line."
"Gimme a hint."
"Fuck, you're going after her, aren't you?"
"Maybe," Gabby said, grinning at no-one in particular.
"Can I stop you?"
"No, and if you don't help, I'll probably fuck up all your security trying to find her, so you better just give me what I want, Hali."
"Fine. You know that city where Cat made a pass at you and you turned her down?"
"Cat made a pass at me?"
"Focus Gabby. That's what she told me."
"Oh er! K, think I know what you mean. That was a pass?"
"Gabby! I don't have time for this. She's on the opposite side of the lake in the... obvious place."
"Wait! How come Cat told you she made a pass at me?"
"I used to be her squad leader. I keep an eye on her. She tells me stuff. Now I need to go!"
"Wait! Wait! Are you saying Cat likes me?"
"I'm signing off, I'm unsafe."
"Thanks for nothing, man."
"Hey, bartender. That one's on me," Gabby said in his suave voice, nodding at the attractive young woman along the bar. They were the only occupants of the dingy bar, tucked into a side-street in the Swiss town of Montreux - it had somehow avoided Simon's morality crackdowns, along with health and safety checks. He was headed to Geneva, along the lake, but he had been travelling since dawn from Austria, and he had stopped off here. The bartender rolled his eyes and poured a drink, carrying it to the brunette and pointing at Gabby. She smiled, batting her eyelashes at him. Gabby mentally punched the air. It had been a while since he had scored, having been too busy looking for Cat. Now, things were looking up. He swung off his chair, straightening his worn leather jacket and putting on his "game" face. It generally worked for him.
"Bonsoir," he murmured, dragging a barstool over and placing it right next to hers, enabling him to slide half onto her stool.
"I speak English, do not worry," she answered, turning to him and smiling slightly. Gabby smirked.
"If you prefer, mademoiselle."
"Do I recognise you?"
Gabby thought for a moment. This was taking a big risk, just for some casual sex. But most people loved the opportunity to feel like they were undermining the government, especially when there was no actual danger involved. Making her feel like she was protecting a Most Wanted fugitive could actually work in his favour.
"You might. One Bad Apple, ring any bells?"
Gabby vaulted onto the motorbike, not even pausing to pull on the helmet. It hadn't been a good idea. It had been terrible. As he had leaned in to kiss her, she had tried to arrest him. Turned out she was one of Simon's spies, planted to catch unsuspecting criminals with raging hormones like him. In fact, there was a chance Simon had planted them just for him. Maybe that was just his ego talking. He gunned the engine and kicked away from the wall, sending a cascade of newspapers flying up into the air. The motorbike was probably illegal, but that was the least of his worries. Simon's rapid response team were probably already on their way - he had tossed the agent over the bar and into the wall of liquor bottles, and she was probably wearing a camera - the question was, had he been recognised?
"Gabriel Mallows! This is the Imperial Police - stop the vehicle, dismount, and put your hands on your head. You are under arrest!"
The voice came from above. Gabby revved the engine, the motorbike shooting forwards along the cobblestoned street. A spotlight illuminated the road ahead of him. Fuck. This was one of the police's new toys, some form of UAV - it was remotely controlled and heavily armed. They were calling them swoops, although most people didn't escape to talk about them. Gabby swerved onto the motorway, attracting angry beeps from the other drivers. A police car screamed up the on-ramp behind him, but he managed to slip through a gap in the traffic, leaving it stuck behind him. Gabby smirked.
Bullets ripped into the tarmac around him, sending sparks flying up at his face. Jim had been the one who had recommended bikes, before the botched raid on the Brankin Mansion. Of course, Gabby had gone one better and gotten himself a large and noisy Yamaha motorbike. But it was probably not very good at discretion. Especially not on a brightly-lit motorway packed with witnesses like this one. Gabby cut across three lanes of traffic, narrowly avoiding a bus going in the opposite direction, and roared off of the motorway, hoping the exit would lead him to a quieter street.
His wish was granted by the tree-lined avenue that he burst out onto. Gabby spared a glance upwards, and grinned - the trees formed a canopy above his head, so he was pretty much invisible to the swoops. A parked car exploded just as he passed it.
"We have been authorised to use lethal force. Dismount from the vehicle, or you will be terminated!"
Heat-vision, Gabby realised with a sigh. He wasn't going to escape that easily. He glanced at Lake Geneva, glittering in the moonlight to his left. It looked more like a sea, and it was probably horribly cold. He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a while, zig-zagging across the street to avoid the blasts from the swoop. A hail of machine-gun fire cut across the street ahead of him, and Gabby couldn't stop in time. The front tyre of the bike burst open, and Gabby skidded out of control. His decision was made. The bike slammed into a car, and Gabby threw himself off, landing roughly on the pavement. As he ran, he felt the grazes healing. Vicky had once told him something about the nanites and extreme temperatures. But he couldn't for the life of him remember if they protected him from the cold, or simply shut down. He shrugged and dived in. The logical route would have been to remove his jacket and jeans first, but he had had them for too long to just abandon them for the sake of ease.
Gabby emerged across the lake, shivering, and dripping wet. He was pretty sure his heart had stopped once or twice, and he had almost drowned on numerous occasions. But the heat-vision would have lost him, for sure. A glance across the lake confirmed this - he counted three swoops circling across the lake. The problem was, his comms devices had all fried, and he had no clue where he was. It definitely wasn't Geneva, he knew that was right on the end of the lake. Shaking water out of his eyes, he staggered up the beach and into the town.
"Bienvenue \u00e0 Lausanne"
The sign answered his question quickly. From what he remembered, Lausanne was about twenty minutes away from Geneva. Gabby sighed and started walking, trying to work out if it was twenty minutes by car, in which case, he would be walking for a long while yet.
The sun was rising when Gabby arrived in Geneva. He was dry. But he was cold, tired, and very hungry. Vicky would probably have told him off for not keeping his energy levels up. That was probably why they were no longer together. That and the whole `getting back together with Sam' thing. Gabby realised he probably was running dangerously low. His mind was drifting, he was having difficulty putting one foot in front of the other, and he kept lurching across the road. The Swiss business men on their way to work shot him filthy looks as he swayed past them - he probably looked like a drunken tramp, which was better than looking like an on-the-run rockstar. Sort of. A car pulled up near him and honked its horn. Gabby scowled at it and staggered over to the descending window. Cat popped her head out.
"What the hell are you doing here, Gabby?"
"Coming after you. How did you find me?" Gabby got into the passenger seat.
"There's some chocolate in the glove compartment. Get that in you and then we'll talk," said Cat and drove off.
A few minutes later, she answered his question. "The security channels are buzzing, you idiot. The Swiss divisions are on alert. Hali picked it up and told me. I figured you were heading for Geneva so I just drove back along the road. We have to move. Southern Italy I think. There's food in the back, and some clean clothes. I'll drive for now, you sleep - I'll wake you up later."
"How did you... I don't need clean clothes."
"Yes you bloody do. You smell of... lake. Did you swim here? Bloody hell, I'm not sitting through a 12-hour car drive with the monster of the lake. I'll pull over as soon as I can, you can change in a bathroom." Cat wrinkled her nose. "Actually you can get changed now."
"What? Here?" Gabby looked round the car.
"I've seen you naked and that smell is getting over-powering."
Malton +58
As soon as he'd heard the first news of a massive attack on an `Inuit Training Camp' Arthur had started moving East. The leadership and communication chains were in a mess. He strongly suspected someone had turned traitor. There had been a slew of arrests and then the attack. If any of the leadership were still around they weren't talking to him, nor to any of the small cells that he could contact. Without someone organising travel he was forced to hitch lifts and eventually he bought a dog team and sledge for the final stretch. At some point he stopped using the credentials the Inuit had given him and got Hali to provide some instead. He had a sense that the net was closing in on the local resistance.
There was no Inuit training camp, but there was Itterajivit, a small disregarded settlement that had been a ghost town for almost 50 years before the insurgency started to use it as a place to hide people. They had all known it was a risk, but a small community had grown up and it became hard to persuade people to move on. Resistance leaders had taken to staying there, lulled into complacency by its aura of safety. He'd tried to persuade Paj to move but she was stubborn and said her son needed stability. He wasn't the boy's father, so hadn't felt able to argue about that.
It was a foggy day so he was almost upon the settlement before he saw with his own eyes that his intuition had been correct. The place was in ruins, a bombed out shell. He pulled out a camera, journalistic instincts dying hard, and set about filming what he saw. The army hadn't even bothered to remove the bodies, though he didn't entirely blame them. The place was a snipers' haven. He couldn't imagine Tarrok ordering his men in to risk their lives simply in order to bury dead enemies. However it made it easy for him to demonstrate that there were children among the dead. If he got the footage to Hali... He was aware that his mind had reverted to professional reflexes.
When he got to Paj's house though he switched off the camera. Truth to tell, it had never been much of a house. It had been too small and makeshift and Paj was not one of nature's instinctive home-makers. But it had been the closest thing he'd had to a home in twenty years.
Where it had stood there was simply a crater. She might not have been there when the shells landed, but he'd not managed to contact her in three weeks of trying. He put the camera away, turned his back on the wreckage and walked out of town.
He had to get out of this shit hole of a country. He imagined Tarrok felt the same way.
"Gabby what are you doing here?"
"I'm bored, can we go somewhere?"
"I'm in the middle of something."
"I'll wait."
Cat raised her eyebrows at him and then shrugged. She closed the door in his face. After a minute he rang the bell again.
"I'll be another ten minutes Gabby, I'm sending a message."
"It's stupid me waiting out here though."
Gabby heard her sigh, then the door opened. "OK, you can come in."
"Great!"
"But there are ground rules. No hitting on me, no inappropriate physical contact, no innuendo, I can cope with it outside but not in here.
"I'll be good as gold," he promised. He sidled in, keeping as far away from her as possible in the narrow hallway, his hands held up. Cat rolled her eyes.
Cat's apartment was a shock once he got inside. The home she had shared with Simon had always had a show home neatness about it. Matching cushions had been carefully arranged on the sofa so that Gabby had felt intimidated about sitting down. Cat's flat wasn't untidy but it sort of overflowed. She appeared to have one main room with a small kitchen at one end and couches and a media centre at the other. Every inch of wallspace was covered in shelving that heaved under the weight of books and data sticks. At the far end double doors opened out onto a balcony and Gabby could see a profusion of greenery, tumbling from pots and baskets.
He flopped down on a couch and watched her as she typed. A pale orange glow was cast over her features by the low energy light sources. He sniffed and then peered into a bowl that stood on the counter-top, covered by a cloth.
"You baking bread?" he asked.
"I find it therapeutic and it's rising. It won't be ready for another half hour."
"We could have dinner here."
"I only let you in while I finished this message."
"Oh, but I love your fresh bread," Gabby whined. "I promise I'll behave."
"OK Gabby, but you have to help out. I'm not having you sitting there while I do all the chopping. Why are you here anyway? There must be something you can do at your place or have you upset the neighbours again?"
"This place is driving me insane - I'm fucking pushing eighty, and these dozy cunts are all acting like I'm some hyperactive little kid!"
"To be fair... you are."
"Fuck off," Gabby grinned. "Seriously, I'm going spare - my neighbours kept fucking whinging about my guitar! It wasn't even that loud!"
"Oh God, not that again - you don't operate on normal levels of noise, Gabby. And you really think that's a good idea? If anything gives you away, it'll be your bloody guitar."
"Babe - you try sitting about in a grotty little flat all day, counting off the hours until your only friend lets you back into her life for a precious few hours. It's really fucking sad, you know? I used to be ... fuck it. Anyway, what's for dinner?"
"Wish I could be there Vicky!"
"Wish you were here too. But it's only a token DHPD presence. Only the two of us required."
"Does it have to be you guys though?"
"Had to be someone. We're asking these people to march on the streets for Ian. Might as well be me and Sam with them. Someone else can march next time."
"Well, take care of yourselves. I'd hate something to happen to you two!"
"Don't worry Cat. We're immortal remember."
Vicky closed down the phone and stared anxiously out of the hotel window. Tomorrow was going to be dangerous.
Vicky and Sam stood, arm in arm, in the front rank of the protest march. Behind them stood a couple of teenagers with large banners that read `The DHPD is Innocent'. All around them were placards demanding the reinstatement of democracy and a pardon for Ian.
The streets of London seemed oddly quiet. The route for the march had been well-publicised in advance, so Vicky could understand why the doors were shut and the curtains closed but the turn-out from the Press was disappointing. Some small news feeds were represented, but none of the big ones had risked a camera crew. Next to her Sam's face was expressionless but she knew he was monitoring the text feeds on his data glasses.
"Anything?" she asked.
"There's some twitterers in the buildings we're passing. But all the big news feeds are describing us as a rabble. It's not good Vicky."
Vicky squeezed his arm. "We'll be fine!"
Sam nodded. "Just remember what Ian said about giving them no excuse to say you were resisting arrest."
"The news feeds are that bad huh?"
"Yes. They're itching to say its descended into a riot."
They marched on.
Vicky frantically dragged Sam's body towards the side of the street. People milled in panic all around her and she was constantly buffeted by the press of bodies. Sam was coughing up blood and she guessed the bullet had punctured a lung. Somewhere to one side the sounds of gunfire continued, amidst screams and a drifting haze of tear gas. The fight had rolled over and past them however.
She reached the edge of the crowd and propped Sam up in a doorway. He coughed up more blood. "I'm guessing I'll live," he wheezed.
"Should do. It was only one bullet."
"Bloody mess! I thought the intelligence said it was standard riot police. Where did the sodding army come from?"
Vicky shrugged. "Intelligence was wrong again. But opening fire on the crowd may have been a mistake." She had picked up Sam's glasses and was watching the feeds. There was an undercurrent of criticism in some of the big write-ups that hadn't been there earlier. They were even showing some of the video footage of the Inuit massacre. Automatic weapons in the streets of London were lending credence to Arthur's allegations.
There was a sudden whumping noise and more smoke and debris filled the air. "That's fucking artillery," said Sam. "In the centre of bloody London. What the hell does Simon think he's up to?"
A second explosion followed, nearer them. "We have to move!" said Vicky. "That's getting too close!"
She hauled Sam's arm over her shoulder and they staggered out into the madness once more and straight into an army patrol. Half a dozen automatic guns suddenly pointed their way.
"Stop!" said a voice. "It's two of the ring-leaders. We arrest them!"
"What the fuck?" said Sam.
Tarrok emerged out of the smoke in full combat gear. "I need paramedics," he was shouting into a radio. "One of them is hurt."
"Fuck! Tarrok!" Vicky cursed inwardly. Ian had noted Tarrok always got the crowd control jobs. A test of loyalty he said.
Tarrok hardly seemed to register them but signalled to two of his troops. "Get them out of here and into a secure van and see the man gets medical treatment."
Sam and Vicky allowed themselves to be guided through the army lines and away from the ongoing fight behind them.
Malton +59
"Are you sure you're going to be OK?" Cat repeated as she saw Gabby to the door.
"Yeah, it's been what... seven years? I've come to terms with it," he said bravely.
"Well, if you need anything, you call me, OK?"
Gabby nodded. Seven years ago today, he had led an enormous terrorist attack against the world government. Except the only victims had been from the survivors of the opposition - those Simon had deemed unworthy of assassination or imprisonment. They could have been useful in the long run. Especially now, when things were turning - a legitimate political opposition could have been yet another chip in Simon's armour.
But he had killed them. As much as Cat had attributed the blame across the resistance leaders in their late-night discussions, he knew she was just trying to keep him sane - maybe trying to make up for the `frying-pan' incident. He had led the attack. He had proposed it, planned it, taken responsibility for it, and taken the fall for it. His face was in the history books. And not in the good way he had hoped for. His Wikipedia page dedicated a whole section to it.
Today was the anniversary, if you could call it that, of the Beijing attacks. Gabby gave a bitter chuckle as he turned the key in the door. It was cold. But that was OK. While he never told Cat this, he deprived himself of comfort once a year. He generally didn't sleep, either. Just sat on the floor with his face pressed against the glass, thinking. Last year, he had finally managed to recite the names of the victims. It felt good. He had printed off biographies and obituaries this morning. He wanted to learn all about the people he had erased.
Gabby knew it would hurt and he knew it didn't make anything better for anyone. But, despite what people told him, he needed that pain. Without it, he was just another murderer. Gabby had to feel like a good guy. Even when he was a Delta, he only murdered murderers - and they would all be back up days later. He was an artist, not a soldier. A lover, not a killer. Gabby smirked, despite himself. There was a song in that. But not tonight. He had locked the guitar away with the alcohol. He couldn't bring the dead people back. He couldn't avenge their deaths. Everyone wanted him to just stay out of the way and keep his head down. It might not make a difference to anyone but himself but tonight, he did the one thing he could do. He atoned.
"No!" Sy realised his hands were shaking as he stared at Bryn's lifeless form on the operating table.
"What was that?"
"I said 'no'. Experimenting on the others was bad enough. But this is Bryn, she's family."
Simon Brankin appeared to be considering his fingernails. "Didn't you invoke family when we arrested your niece? That is why you're working for us isn't it? Or have you decided her children would be better off in one of the government run orphanages after all."
"I have done everything you asked, for over ten years now. There are other experts who can do this, if they must."
"That's a coward's way out Doctor and you know it. You are the only remaining survivor of the original development team who worked on the Necrotech virus. You have been working in the field for the last sixty years one way or another. Your knowledge and experience is unparalleled. Now either you conduct this experiment or your niece will be executed; her children will go into an orphanage; and I'll turn Ms Cleanslate here over to a different butcher. Your choice. You said the last experiment was almost successful. Let's say I'm incentivising you to make sure this finally works out as planned."
Gabby stared at the TV screen, the expression on his face a mix of horror and fascination. Simon was speaking, which contributed to the horror.
"The surrender of this last small group marks the final end of the Inuit insurgency. My thanks go to the many soldiers who have served in the war with these terrorists and I honour the many who have lost their lives since the uprising began twenty years ago."
Gabby thought briefly of Djamilla Murphy, shot down in the early stages of the fight and his mind briefly wandered to Danny. He'd been in jail for two years now. Gabby peered at the screen. No sign of Arthur among the detainees. He tried zooming in and switching to other camera angles but nothing. No doubt if Arthur was there, they would know soon enough.
"Today marks another triumph for decency, civilisation and peace!"
Scowling, Gabby switched off the media screen. "No it doesn't, you hypocritical little shit."
He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. There was a faint shadow on his chin. Time to shave. As Gabe wandered to the bathroom, he counted backwards in his head - it had been a week since he had shaved. He had consulted his stylist a couple of decades ago - most fifty-year olds shaved daily. But Gabby's body had apparently been frozen at the age of about nineteen. It helped him pull young women. Older ladies, not so much. Gabby paused on his way to the bathroom. Maybe if he looked older... He quickly dismissed the thought. Bathroom was third room on the left. Bedroom was second - he had been the only one in it for weeks. First room on the left was his living room. He had a guitar in there. Due to a slight oversight in terms of planning, he had blown all his savings on a beautiful electric guitar and a wall-high Marshall stack. He had strummed one chord and the neighbourhood watch had come running. The thousand-pound amplifier had been gathering dust ever since.
"Lost my music... my fans... my bitches... my family... and I can't even grow a beard," Gabby muttered, picking up his razor. As he drew it over his face, grinning as it sprayed foam out for him, he did some more reflecting.
A few months ago, Ian had denounced him in a live broadcast. He'd been warned about it before hand but it still hurt to see Ian describe him as the `Butcher of Beijing'. The resistance had stopped paying any attention to him whatsoever. New recruits weren't even told he'd ever been involved. The Musketeers had stood by him through thick and thin, like they always had, but they were now in jail. Kate had stood by him, with some caveats. But he had no-one. He was alone in this shitty little sun-baked town, working as a delivery boy for a pizza company. A delivery boy.
The razor sliced into his skin, all the modern technology not saving him from his own absent-mindedness. He swore loudly and dropped the razor, his hand jumping to his face to try to stop the flow of blood down his cheek. The stab of pain brought tears to his eyes. He glanced in the mirror. At some point, he had removed his shirt. It had been a habit of his recently - every now and then Kate dropped by, and Gabby had been doing his best to show off his assets whenever he saw her. He caught sight of his stomach in the mirror. The surfboard abs of his rockstar days were gone, replaced by a growing beer gut, brought on by too much of Kate's lovely cooking and a lot of rich Mediterranean cuisine. The blood was flowing over his fingers in rivulets. For some reason, the nanites were delaying. Gabby's stomach rumbled. He hadn't eaten for an hour or two.
"Fucking stupid greedy little pieces of shit," he groaned, slamming a fist down onto the Formica countertop and heading for the kitchen, swearing loudly. He opened the cupboards and found only packets of hot chocolate, tinned sardines and a massive bag of sugar. On the counter, he found a pot of honey, almost untouched. Cat had given it to him. Told him to eat it with fruit muesli and yoghurt. Gabby had smiled and nodded, and thrown the muesli out of a window when she had left. But honey was sugar, right? And sugar was simple carbohydrate or something. Scowling, he spooned the golden syrupy liquid into his mouth, and swallowed with some difficulty. The honey left a bitter, sharp taste that stuck in his throat.
"Fucking bastard," he spat, dropping the spoon to the ground and retching slightly. He glared at the pot of honey, his knuckles whitening around the sticky glass. He clenched his eyes tight shut, feeling an imminent headache coming on. There was a crack. Honey oozed out over his fingers. Gabby opened his eyes slightly, observing the progress of the golden liquid along his hands. Hands that had once killed the undead. Fingers that had once been deemed a `national treasure' by Rolling Stone magazine, and, from what he had heard, most of the single women in his social circle. Not Cat. She was too classy for that sort of gossip. And all of it was gone. Fucking Carlyle had distanced him from the resistance. The resistance that he had funded. He had poured all his money into overthrowing Simon, not even leaving him enough to rent a decent apartment. Gabby hated this fucking flat. As the honey reached his wrist, he flung it at a wall. He realised a shard of glass had ended up in his palm. As he watched, it was forced out of the cut, dropping onto the countertop. Judging by the stinging on his cheek, the cut had healed, but his face was still covered in blood. He remembered the time he had tried to take heroin - his skin had healed before he could actually inject the drug. Immortality had been a bust for him, he realised. It just meant he would outlive any woman who wanted him, and he would have to constantly adapt to keep up with modern times, which was a pain in the arse, since his musical style was stuck somewhere around 1970 anyway.
Of course, if he ever got the desire to settle down, there were plenty of immortal women. But Vicky had been a trainwreck relationship. A lot of the others had already paired off. In fact, the only DHPD woman who was still single, to his knowledge, was Kate. He had planned to take advantage of this quiet little Italian town to seduce her, knowing he was the only eligible bachelor in a five-mile radius. Yet it had all gone to pot. She had kept him at arm's length for months, and once she had let him in, it was not in the right way. On one occasion, she had spent the night crying into his shoulder about a failed attempt at getting back into dating. Incredibly, he had resisted the temptation to take advantage of her vulnerability, having already made that mistake once. And from that night onwards, Gabby had become used to the reality of his life. He was a disgraced rockstar who wasn't allowed to play guitar, a failed resistance figurehead who wasn't allowed to appear in public, a single playboy who had been pining after one woman for the best part of twenty years and was now the equivalent of her gay best friend. Gabby swore again, feeling the familiar rush of something or other to his hand as the wound closed up. He turned and left the kitchen, passing the shattered honey pot on his way out. The Gibson caught his eye. Gabby wiped the blood and honey on his jeans and picked his baby up, cranking the Marshall way beyond safe levels.
Gabby looked rather bedraggled when Cat opened the door. He was bloodied in various areas, and there were patches of what looked like honey all over him. He was dragging a suitcase which had scraps of clothing spilling out and a tall amplifier-type contraption. He had a guitar slung over his shoulder.
"Been evicted," he said miserably.
Cat considered refusing to let him in because she just knew that the moment he got into her spare room she'd never get him out of it again.
He looked too `stray puppy' though and she knew she didn't have the heart to leave him on the doorstep. Reluctantly she stepped back.
"You'd better come in."
She had a nasty feeling she was about to lose some of the hard-won control over her life. She eyed the sticky footprints on the carpet and reflected that at least no one else had a good grip on the situation.
"Don't do it BD. You saw what happened to Sam and Vicky."
"They're fine, Cat. Jesus, half the DHPD is in that fucking jail. They've got more than enough people to watch their backs."
"But why you two?"
"Because we need to keep a presence at these demos and we can't risk Ian yet."
"Couldn't Gabby do it?"
"Fucking hell, thanks Cat!" muttered Gabby from where he sat at the next table, ostensibly talking to Anton. "Throw me to the wolves, why don't you?"
"No Gabby couldn't do it. He's still political poison. I'll be fine Sis. The media fall out from the London march was a disaster for Simon. He'll be a lot more careful with this one."
"Is that your precious intelligence again?"
Anton rolled his eyes from where he sat. "It is intelligence yes, but from a much better source. Quit mothering Cat. You know we have to do this."
Cat sighed and beat her fists on the table. "Well be careful, OK! This sitting on the sidelines is so frustrating."
BD laughed. "You're only complaining really because you want to march too. Get over it Cat. Next to Ian, you're the next most important person to keep out of Simon's grasp. Now the march starts in three hours and you need to be out of here and headed back to wherever it is Hali has you holed up these days."
Tarrok sat in the makeshift command post watching feeds on half a dozen screens. BD and Ant were clearly visible at the front of the rally. Ant had been chain smoking with determination for the past hour.
"He'll get sued by someone for passive smoking, if he's not careful," joked a Lieutenant.
Tarrok just nodded. "If that's the worst of the trouble we get, I'll be pleased."
"Incoming message for General Tarrok!" called the comms officer. "Top priority!"
"Patch it through to my helmet."
Tarrok snapped down the visor and set the sound interference. Simon Brankin's face appeared on the screen. "The demonstration would appear to be becoming seditious." He stated, his voice clipped. "I think it's time you stepped in and closed it down."
Tarrok weighed his options and decided to go out on a limb. "Is that an order from the military council sir?"
"It's an order from me."
"I believe, under the emergency powers, that I answer to the council and not to you. Is that an order from the council sir?"
"This is insubordination."
"No sir. I'm following the chain of command as set out under the constitution and the provision of emergency powers. Is that an order from the military council?"
"You will regret this General."
Tarrok flipped up his helmet. "Lieutenant Sharp I want you to move all the troops onto a riot control footing. Liaise with the local police but get ready to move. Lieutenant Fleuriot do your liaison job. Get onto the organisers pronto and tell them to start wrapping things up. Say it's a polite request from General Tarrok and tell them to consult with Andrew Clark and Anton Weissenburg if they have any doubts about the message."
Tarrok turned back to the screens as his Lieutenants started to relay orders. He watched as one of the organisers approached BD and Ant and nodded with satisfaction as the two men quietly disappeared into the crowd. The organiser climbed up onto the platform and began speaking into the microphone.
"General Utumbe on the line for General Tarrok!" called out the comms officer.
Tarrok flipped his helmet visor back down. General Sheva Utumbe, head of the military council, appeared in front of him. "General I am ordering you to start breaking up the demonstration, as peacefully as possible."
"I've already set matters in motion, Ma'am. We'll move in in about ten minutes if it hasn't started to break up by then."
"Good work General." Sheva Utumbe smiled at him.
"Hey! My rationcard doesn't have enough credits on it!"
Cat looked up from the media screen. "That'll be the new legislation coming in."
"What new legislation?"
"Extending the demand-based rationing scheme from the US to the rest of the world." Cat sighed at Gabby's bemused expression. "Demand-based rationing? You know, what Kulko objected to."
"I thought he just objected to rationing."
"Well that too. But demand-based rationing only allocates a bare minimum ration to each person, rather than an equal share of the ration assigned to each area. The remaining ration is then auctioned off."
"Can we afford extra rations? We need more food than most."
Cat shook her head. "But there's various exchange schemes. I've swapped most of my meat and dairy ration for vegetables."
"Vegetables!!"
"Well potatoes specifically. We can live off the carbohydrate pretty effectively and don't have to worry about a balanced diet."
"We're going to be living off potatoes?"
"I've also bought a goat."
Gabby stared helplessly round the tiny flat. "Where are we going to keep a goat?"
"We're not, stupid. It's part of a communal scheme. Exploits various loop holes but means we'll get some goat's milk as an extra on top of our ration. That will let us make cheese to go with the potatoes. We'll survive and it won't be entirely unpalatable."
Gabby made a face. "Suddenly I want to hijack a grain shipment."
Malton +60
Cat sat in the corner of the Sarajevan pub and read one of the books that lay around on the shelves. Gabby had insisted tagging along and was now propped at the bar. Cat wasn't good at the subtle Bosnian ethnic distinctions, but she guessed the young lady was a Bosniak. She was just wondering whether she should slip over and point out the rather large and irritated looking young man who was watching the two of them when BD appeared and sat down at the table next to her.
"Hello little brother!" She leaned over and kissed him.
"Good to see you."
"So what's the news? Why the meeting?"
"I'm going to turn myself in"
"What!"
"You saw the news. They've cured Bryn. Simon's parading her around like a prize horse."
"BD you can't. You know what Ian's doing. You know all the plans. Simon's not going to hurt Bryn. She's too valuable as a sign of his altruism."
"I've talked it all through with Ian and Hali. By this time tomorrow nothing I know will be worth the telling. If I defect it'll be a massive PR coup for Simon, even if I can't tell him anything useful, but only if he's seen to treat me right. He's the one who's made the big song and dance about the cure. He's doing it for the publicity. He'll get me and Bryn standing beside him looking grateful and I'll wheel out some bullshit about how Gabby should hand you back."
"BD! No! Why?"
"Cat, I have to. I have to check she's OK and I have to be there with her. It's my fault he got his hands on her anyway. I should never have trusted those researchers to look after her."
Cat put a hand on his arm. "You had no choice BD. You couldn't keep carting her around and you know it."
"Whatever, I can't just leave her in Simon's hands now. But you're not to hand yourself in. You understand that don't you? However this plays out, you're not to hand yourself in."
Slowly Cat nodded. Then she gave BD a hug. "All the best little brother. Look after yourself!"
"Don't I always!"
There was a sudden crashing sound. Cat looked up to see Gabby's head being pounded against the bar. She winced.
"You didn't bring him along did you?" groaned BD in exasperation.
Cat shrugged. "He's impossible to get rid of."
BD sighed and rolled up his sleeves. "Well I suppose I had better go rescue him."
"There seem to be an awful lot of people about," murmured Gabby anxiously as they crossed the town square.
"There's been a surge in bread prices. Last two shipments got attacked by bandits."
"When's the shop due to open?" Almost without thinking Gabby placed a hand protectively round Cat's shoulder. The mood of the people around him, not a crowd, obviously, because that would be illegal, felt ugly.
Cat looked at her watch. "About an hour."
"Okay. But let's be gone when it does."
They had almost reached a side street when there was a sudden shout and the sound of breaking glass. Then a loud voice rang out. "There's food in the back."
The crowd surged. Gabby and Cat were swept back into the square.
"Fuck!" muttered Gabby. There was a sound of more glass breaking. "We need to get out of here before the security services arrive!"
"Tell me something I don't know!"
Sirens could already be heard warbling on the outskirts of town. Any minute now, the streets would be flooded with heavily armed police. Gabby and Cat broke free of the crowd with generous usage of elbows, and found themselves in an alley. Blue-and-red lights played on the walls ahead of them. Cat turned back.
A solid wall of bodies closed off the way they had come. Gabby heard an engine come to a halt. The sound of booted feet marching echoed somewhere nearby.
"Well talk about fucked," Gabby remarked, holding Cat close to him.