3 SUM (10 page)

We followed the signs to the ‘Shooting Range.'

“Don't talk too loud,” said Cygnus. “I have a confession to make.”

“Let me guess, I'm not the first.”

“Of course, Dorian had your file,” he said.

“You mean Burdizzo,” I said.

I got the impression it had all been a game to keep an un-young man entertained.

“MAD, Tilda's, was a test of your cunning. Dorian was an examination in courage. You passed with flying colours,” he said.

“And the others?” I asked.

“I either removed them from the program, or Burdizzo did. Vespertina would only accept the very best. It took longer than I expected. Colonel Swayne Eve was an unforeseen casualty.”

There was no sense of regret, no guilt.

“Danny 55, my college friend?” I used the term friend loosely.

“He's a natural, isn't he? Rebellious enough to convince others, smart enough to hand them in. He's on the Council's payroll.”

“Did you know Dorian 3309 was watching you?”

At last the smug smile disappeared. He'd been my saviour, but he wasn't a god, more like a devil.

“How can you be certain?” he asked, mopping his brow.

Two trannies saluted at the entrance to the range. Cygnus pointed at one of their chests, “Button up.”

The tranny quickly fastened his bright orange tunic.

“Dorian had a transcript of you, General Rolliet, and the coup.”

“Oh dear, then I really haven't got long left. Look, you're here for the day, I need to go.”

“I'll see you again?”

“Unless Vespertina has shot me.”

“You and me.”

He feigned surprise, before a half smile of acknowledgement.

“She does want me to fail and die?” I asked.

He nodded before turning and leaving.

Vespertina was my main thought as the instructor gave me a crash course in firing a handgun and rifle.

There were two more days of training, and 48 hours of Prof looking over his shoulder. After hand to hand combat, bayonet training, and grenade throwing, I was no longer feeling the rookie. Everyone told me the front was different, that some men froze. What I couldn't tell them was that I was a real man, and that real men had fire in their bellies, not ice.

Chapter Eighteen

I hadn't burnt the toast this morning, and there was an envelope pushed under my door.

‘Dear Valiant 01,

After delivering this letter I have taken poison. I'm not one for torture. General Rolliet will be hanged in secret later today, and then posthumously declared a war hero. Vespertina will have you and Anais arrested for her murder, and then shot as traitors.

It's your life, but may I make a suggestion? Head for the front, there will be a bombing raid tonight; use it to escape to the other side.

Queensy Sevastopol has evidence of Vespertina's intent to go nuclear. If you want to save the planet and Anais, take it to the Council. Queensy is expecting you.'

Cygnus.'

It wasn't in the morning papers but it was headlines, for all the wrong reasons. If I could trust the prof, and make that a big if after his previous tests, I was getting seriously pissed with people wanting to kill me.

I'd been waiting for nearly an hour, pacing the floor, when someone knocked on my door. If it was the firing squad, they were awfully polite. It was Anais, wearing camouflage fatigues. She had a pistol at her belt, and looked like one of the regulars apart from the pips on her shoulders.

“Morning soldier,” she said, and I saluted. “Follow me.”

Some guy hanging out of a jeep gave a banned wolf whistle.

“You're popular,” I said to Anais, hoping for an opportunity to discuss her beauty.

“He's in the Gay Brigade; he likes you.”

“Aren't most of the soldiers gay?” I asked.

“Most are medicated. He's genuinely gay. Think of him as less competition, soldier.”

“Soldier? I haven't finished training and passed out.”

“No, but you're more loaded than an entire Brigade. The prof, Mother Nature rest his soul, had no doubts in your abilities.”

“Rest his soul?”

“Sorry, I thought you'd heard. He died of a heart attack last night, in his sleep.”

I bit my lip.

We came out in a cave, and I was surprised to see a train.

“A maglev,” said Anais. “It's a four hour ride to the front line, one hell of a tunnel.”

“Was this your idea or the prof's?”

“The tunnel?”

“The front line.”

“He sent me an email last night; thought it would help if you saw a little action, before we throw you in the deep end.”

Too late, I was already swimming with sharks. It was 9 a.m. and the Military Police, wearing red caps and trousers, were making me nervous. I grabbed Anais' hand and we jumped on the train before anyone could check our papers. The corridors were crammed with soldiers and I pushed our way through. I locked us in the toilet.

As we pushed down the window, I could see the MPs quarrelling on the platform. It was something or nothing, but it could be a warning that time was short, our time. Anais was still doing up her hair.

“You took me by surprise,” she said, and I had.

Her rank got us two seats in a carriage full of schizophrenics. Good choice; they were too busy hearing their own voices to pay any attention to ours.

“I have another surprise,” I said handing her the letter. “It was pushed under my door this morning.”

Her face became ashen.

“Who's Queensy?” I asked.

“There was a rumour Vespertina's chef, Queensy Sevastopol, had defected from an international cooking convention in Switzerland. Maybe she took some insurance with her.”

Another train whizzed by, heading in the opposite direction, back home to safety and medals for the fallen. The only time a male was honoured was when he was safely underground. Dead heroes were honoured with their names on a plaque in the rose garden at Rinse Gardens.

There was one hour left to the front; we put on our helmets.

“I'd never had guessed the battle was so close,” I said. “No supply lines.”

“A lot of the war effort is secret,” said Anais. “You should know; it's all need to know.”

It was a world away from my warm scented bath, fluffy dressing gown, and hot chocolate.

We stood in the corridor sandwiched between two hypochondriacs. They were popping pills, spilling syrups, and taking each other's blood pressure.

The platform at the end of the line was chaos. The MPs were blowing whistles constantly, and the soldiers were running around attaching themselves to various units before marching off.

“Follow me,” said Anais.

I could see the top of the prof's letter sticking out of her breast pocket.

“Colonel Rea, how are you?” she asked.

“Ready for action.”

“Let's give them hell,” I said.

The Colonel stared me down; I'd been too cocky.

“Forgive him,” said Anais on my behalf. “And how is General Rolliet these days?”

“Mother Nature! Anais you haven't heard, she's in surgery.”

“A heart attack?” asked Anais.

“Worse, a bomb, sabotage.”

“But who?”

“The Military Police have a list of suspects. I hope you're not on it, Colonel,” joked Rea.

Anais gulped, and I tugged her sleeve.

Colonel Rea was making prolonged eye contact. Did she want to hit me, or was she hitting on me?

“This one looks a little different, Colonel,” she said.

“A prototype, don't worry he's under my control.”

“So this is the new man we keep hearing about. Well let's not forget why we're fighting this war: for women's freedom everywhere, and liberation from apes like him.”

She turned her back on us, and calmly went on her way.

“You believe it now?” I asked Anais as tenderly as I could, but just how much could you soften the blow? We were being hunted by our own side.

“I won't believe it, Valiant, I just won't,” she said.

Had I just heard the first note of vulnerability in her voice? I wanted to hold her in my arms, if she'd let me, but we were in the wrong place, wrong time.

A gang of eight men shuffled by in leg-irons. Each had his hands on the shoulders of the man in front of him.

“Prisoners?” I asked Anais.

“Self-harmers, but don't worry; they'll have no need for DIY where they're going.”

“And where am I going?”

“With me, to the Grandiose Ideas Brigade.”

“Isn't that risky? I mean for you.”

“Their ideas don't run to women, but they do think they're invincible; destined to annihilate the enemy, covered in glory and citations.”

They'd never make it back on the street. Like all the grunts, this was a one-way ticket to the compost heap, sooner or later. There would be no male parades nor ticker-tape in a Femocracy, even with the women taking all the salutes.

“Risk takers,” I suggested.

“Sure, but I could have sent you to the Depressed Brigade. Now, those guys are dying to die. Besides have you never heard that fortune favours the brave?”

“OK, I'm in,” I pretended as if I had a choice. “I guess we can always fall back if we get outgunned or outnumbered.”

Anais smiled and shook her head.

“Withdrawal is not an option this time,” she said.

“The blockers.”

“We only use the bipolar; they have no problem firing on their own men. Guess they're either too depressed to care, or too elated to bother.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“I've seconded a couple of my best machine gunners to your unit. You're a valuable asset Valiant, or soon will be.”

“So you don't believe the prof's goodbye letter?”

“A test, another hoax,” she said. “If it was him.”

“And General Rolliet?”

“Coincidence.”

Now where was women's intuition when you needed it most?

“How long are you hanging around?” I asked her, and instantly regretted using the word ‘hanging'.

“Until I've seen enough. Don't worry, I'll be safe. I'm under orders. Can't risk a colonel falling into the hands of the Undiagnosed. Although, I do have this.”

She removed a small pill box from her pocket, and I instantly knew what it was. If she took it, it would probably kill me too.

A soldier in a stretcher was carried between us, bandages soaked in blood. Behind him another hobbled on crutches, his face twisted in agony. The reality of war was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.

“Come on soldier,” said Anais.

I followed her lead, and we jumped into the back of a truck, soldiers either side. They weren't battle weary yet, and were singing.

“Take the green pill when you want fight,

The red to keep him up all night,

And if they shoot you in the balls,

With your back against the wall,

There's no need to wail,

You're gonna be a shemale.”

We disembarked onto a rain soaked field, and I stepped down a ladder into a mud lined trench just after Anais had said her goodbye. I hoped it wasn't the last.

I followed the wooden posts marked HQ. The non-commissioned officers, men, had no time for me, and scribbled a map on the back of a chocolate bar wrapper.

“You going to win us the war?” asked the guy with the scarred face. They were shrapnel injuries, unless he was a self-harmer; it was hard to tell the difference amidst the mayhem.

I sensed any optimism on my part would be shot down.

“Are there ever any winners?” I asked.

“An intellectual,” said the NCO with the leather gloves.

I wasn't certain if they were an affectation or his hands were truly cold. Considering his monocle, I went for the former.

“The only good thing here is the rules are relaxed,” said Scarface, “A kind gesture to the condemned.”

I felt sorry for the truly enthusiastic: the fresh faced who believed in the war. They didn't stand a chance with these two.

“You need to go that way,” said the gloves, pointing.

His words were slurred, and I noticed a bottle of vodka on the table with two glasses.

“We've earned it,” he said, presumably discussing the alcohol.

I had no doubt, and was glad to leave them and the booze. Like a lot of the troops, these guys were fighting their own battle.

“You must be Alfie 90,” I said, my boots sinking into the mud.

He was standing on a short plank, reluctant to give me any room.

“Welcome to paradise,” he said.

There was a stuffed parrot sewn onto the shoulder of his jacket. Its beak was wrapped tight with string. I wasn't sure if this was a political gesture.

Alfie pointed to the bright feathers amongst the darkness.

“Helps with the diagnosis,” he said, “delusional.”

“But this is the Grandiose Brigade,” I said.

“I think I'm a swashbuckling, seafaring pirate.”

“That still sounds delusional.”

“So sue my psychiatrist.”

This was one war were being mentally ill didn't get you a ride back home, it actually got you drafted.

He offered me a mint from a rather grubby packet. I was reluctant to accept but took it in the manner it was offered, as a token of friendship.

Alfie removed his helmet, and scratched his head.

“Two more days and I got me some R and R,” he said, smiling. “Maybe I should tell the folks back home we're losing this bloody war.”

“Should you be doing that?” I asked.

“What?”

“Putting your head above the parapet.”

His nose was in the air.

“More rain due,” he said.

Still, Alfie had no need to worry; a bullet sailed clean through his head, hitting the wall of the trench hard. I crouched down as quickly as I could, careful not to sink into the quagmire.