Band of Gypsys (20 page)

Joss sighed, hard and long. ‘You know, Ax, over the years, while you’ve been snake-charming the assets out of anyone you could reach, I’ve had the feeling you were
saving
me for something. So, here it is. What do you need?’

‘I need you to be my Post Office. I want to give you my Internet Commission cypher, and for you to take over that connection until the debate is out of the way.’

Joss nodded, looking slightly piqued at the modesty of the request. ‘What taking charge of Open Gates?’

The Lennonist bed-in publicity had won a concession. There was to be a pilot scheme, from October of this year, whereby a few government-owned camps would be run as open shelters. If it was a success (whatever that turned out to mean) it would be rolled out, and there’d be a time limit for the private sector to get rid of the razor wire and watchtowers as well. Plenty of weasel words in there, but it was something, and public support was very strong. That’s non-violent direct action for you: maybe it looks embarrassing and stupid, but it works—

‘No, that’s best left to look after itself. The other thing I need is for you to dismantle the annexe. I need someone, as safe from reprisals as possible, so not Sage’s band, to pull the plug there if it seems advisable. Get rid of the scanners, destroy them, ship them out, whatever you can.’

The lines around Joss’s mouth deepened and tightened.

‘
When
?’

‘Whenever you think. Sage will talk you through it.’

‘The video was a low blow,’ said Joss, his helpless anger building again. ‘Temporarily, at least, all the hopes of the people who wanted you back—who worked hard for your return, Ax—have crashed to zero. We’ll have to start again. But I don’t blame you two for that. Or for failing to anticipate the CCTV, or for failing to warn us… That insane installation under Battersea Reach is
something else
. Don’t you realise the science-hating lobby would destroy you for the scanners alone, and there are others who’d call it
witchcraft
? They don’t mess around, Greg Mursal and his cronies. They’re not the clowns you take them for, Mr Preston—’

‘You keep thinking I own him,’ said Ax, answering the rage, not the words. ‘I don’t, anymore than you ever did: I didn’t set up that space-lab. But I wouldn’t have stopped him if I could. This is what we do, Joss. We keep the door open and the lights burning, in case modern civilisation comes wandering home—’

Joss made an impatient gesture, possibly of apology. ‘All right. Consider it done. My God, Ax.
Why the hell
did you two have to get into that situation? Couldn’t you have left it to the professionals, for once in your lives?’

No, because the professionals meant to kill Fiorinda, thought Ax.

Could he say that? Even to Joss, in here?

He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to keep it straight. He would forget what could be said and what could not. Answer the question, he told himself. Answer the question, volunteer nothing. But the words spilled out, despite himself—

‘We were in Mexico with Fee, and we were losing her, Joss. She was falling apart, after what her father did to her; and then helping to kill him. We couldn’t reach her, we daredn’t touch her. It was incredibly painful. Fred’s emissary arrived, with a new problem, and it brought her back to us. I don’t remember making a decision, then or later. I wanted Fiorinda, you see. That’s all what was on my mind.’

‘Is that the line you plan to take in the House? You went on your killing spree in the grip of a sexual obsession?’

Ax smiled warmly, and nodded. ‘That’s it, spot on, well done.’

‘I apologise,’ said Joss, after a moment. ‘That was completely uncalled for.’

‘It’s okay. I’m sure I’ll have to field worse.’

In Washington the scandal had become weirdly focused on funding issues. Fred Eiffrich, unable to clear his expensive unlimited-force operation through the proper channels, had turned to the illegal expedient of paying ‘foreign mercenaries’ in vouchers for Hollywood stardom… In London, Ax and Sage’s defence team believed, the actual raid would be downplayed. Since it involved extraordinary courage; since it had saved Fiorinda’s life. The focus would be on character assassination. It would get dirty, and it would get personal—

Joss changed tack. ‘You’ve heard nothing from Fred?’

‘No more than you. A figure on the screen, saying his lines.’

Ax had known, the moment he saw Alain’s
courriel,
that he no longer had privileged access to the US President. So it goes. You make friends, you part from them. Sometimes a powerful friend loses an election: sometimes he has to throw you to the wolves. It hadn’t occurred to him that Fred could be in personal danger. But the “Fred Eiffrich” on the screens, since Lavoisier broke, had a spooky, stilted look, if you knew the man—

‘D’you think he has other troubles, besides this affair?’

‘I’m sure he has: but I wouldn’t know the details.’

Joss’s anger and Ax’s resentment, slipped aside. In silence they faced the prospect of a Neurobomb arms race, led by a new regime in the US, sweeping up the paranoid, unaccountable post-A Team world. Ax stared at the glittering crystal in its clear matrix, fighting a Black Rose moment, limitless fear of the Fat Boy.

Bullshit, things like that never happen. We’ll turn this around—

‘The debate is punishment for what happened at Wallingham,’ said Joss at last. ‘The people know that, they’re not fools.
Fuck
Greg and Jack, self-important mediocrities, can’t take losing a trick. What you did at Lavoisier, the real thing, not the tampered version, was heroic. I haven’t said that, I want to say that, and I’m making sure my opinion goes on record. But you have to do more than win, Ax. You have to undo the damage. You have to make the people see you are Ax Preston again. Our hero, our saviour. Can you deliver?’

Would I say no? thought Ax, but he took his time before replying: reviewing the odds he’d been weighing up night and day. The Rebels, the elected Members, the Secret Rulers (I’m looking at one of those right now). The Fourth Estate, and the callous, wayward English people themselves. In the other corner, Greg Mursal, Jack Vries; and the Second Chamber. Not even all of whom were fond of Greg; or his attack dog. A home crowd, basically manageable, and how many genuine, personal, determined enemies? A handful. Perhaps only two—

‘I can do it.’

Maybe you’ll pull it off, thought Joss, feeling the young man’s resolute calm, and the ability nobody could doubt. Ax Preston never lost a battle yet. But he was shaken by the bone-deep moral exhaustion he detected. Joss had never been in a firefight (and resented the new, or resurrected, rules of manhood). But he’d seen enough blood on the boardroom carpet to recognise certain states of mind.

Death wish, ooh,
death wish
—

‘Fine. Changing the topic, what do you people think of China? Do you “Techno-Green Utopians” approve of what’s going on there?’

Ax shrugged. ‘I doubt if we know what’s going on. But I’m talking to netizens who say the Great Peace brings liberty, equality and workable solutions. They say you lose nothing when you join the Sphere, they hero-worship the person or persons behind it all—’

‘You can’t trust a chat-room.’

‘I have to say, the precedents are lousy.’

They spoke of Fiorinda’s glorious North Eastern tour. Sailing; North Cornwall, the hopes of better weather this summer. Joss accepted the Commissioners cypher, and they parted friends. Better friends, at least, than they’d been in a while.

The opening of the debate was set for the 14
^th
of June: after Whit Recess, and ensuring the show would be over before
Alban Heruin
, the Summer Solstice. The Insanitude Mail Room was swamped by messages of support, and forced off the air. Anyone who had access to the coverage became addicted to the incomprehensible things going on in Washington DC; while the people of England formed opinions based entirely on prejudice, or else had none. To London’s Reich Youth the Lavoisier affair was adult crap, none of their business: but there were exceptions. Silver came to Brixton Hill, and argued with Marlon out on the warm, dusty street. Passers-by noted the kids, isn’t that Marlon and Silver?, but this was SW2. No one stopped to stare.

‘We have to tell them,’ hissed the girl with the silver brown hair.

Marlon was like a hunted animal. ‘You don’t know my dad. You don’t know what he might do, he’ll do something horrible, disastrous and stupid.’

‘
Fuck you
. I know Sage fucking better than you
ever
could.’

The sex had been nothing personal, but there was a bond between them now all right. They might never escape from what they’d done together. ‘Okay, you win… Have your way, bitch,’ added Marlon, in Welsh. ‘And to hell with you.’

‘You too, bro,’ said Silver, viciously. ‘
All
of that.’

Ax was in his office, getting round to neglected trivia. He was reading a handwritten note from William the cleaner, a demarcation dispute with the security crew, when Doug Hutton put his head round the door.

‘Can Mar see you for a minute, Ax?’

‘Yeah?,’ said Ax. ‘Of course, he can see me anytime.’

He put the note aside, and tried to look inviting. A timid knock, then Marlon walked in, Silver Wing beside him. They got themselves chairs, without speaking, and sat close together. Oooh boy, thought Ax, immediately. She’s pregnant—

‘How’s it going, Ax?’ said Silver, ‘You know, the debate prep?’

‘It’s going to be okay, Silver.’

‘
Really
?’

‘Never in doubt.’

A slight exaggeration: the indicators were mixed.

‘That’s good,’ croaked Marlon.

‘Something else you wanted to know?’

‘N-no,’ whispered Silver, gripping the folds of her nutbrown homespun skirt in grubby, childish hands. ‘Something we have to tell you.’

She’s pregnant. Fuck. Silver Wing was nearly fourteen, a woman according to the customs of her people, the Counterculture. Not in English or Welsh law. Shit, what a moment, and Mary is going to be
livid
. Then Ax was disgusted with himself. Get your priorities right, for a minute or two. The child’s going to have a baby.

‘Okay,’ he said, gently. ‘C’mon, you’re not in trouble. Tell me.’

Marlon looked to Silver. Silver looked back, hard and long, and then at Ax.

‘He’s been questioned by the police.’

Chills ran down Ax’s spine. ‘When you were picked up in Hyde Park? You were all questioned, weren’t you? About what?’

‘It was different for me,’ whispered Marlon. ‘I thought it was the police.’

‘Wait a moment. I’d better get Fiorinda down here, and your dad, Mar. It sounds as if they should hear this.’

The day Marlon had disappeared for hours, he and Silver had been in Hyde Park. They’d been rounded up with others and taken to Southampton Row for a severe telling off. The kids claimed they’d been inside the Permanent Festival campground: the Metropolitan Police begged to differ, Ax had his doubts, but the incident was closed. So far, so minor, but Marlon had something new to tell—

‘They said they needed me to answer questions about another issue. I was driven somewhere, not far. It didn’t look like a police station, more like a private house. I didn’t notice much, I was too scared. They… I was alone in a room with a woman, not in uniform, she asked me a lot of questions. Then they took me back to Southampton Row. They said next time I was in trouble my dad would hear about it, and they let me go. I was just glad to escape. But Silver had waited for me, and when I talked to her, I realised something very weird had been going on.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us right away?’ asked Sage, who stood by Ax’s desk, his arms folded, calm expression; trying to remain impassive.

‘Because I knew why they’d done it,’ said Marlon, looking up. ‘They
wanted
me to tell you, so you’d g-go berserk. So you’d be out of control and you and Ax would get f-fucked over in the debate—’

Ouch.

‘You should have told us,’ said Ax. ‘But you’re doing fine now. What were the questions about, Marlon?’

The boy coloured, and stared at the floor. ‘About my dad, and what happens when I come on visits, and I don’t want to say any more.’

‘It’s because of what we did,’ whimpered Silver, twisting her skirt in agony. ‘
All
of this, it’s because of what we did. We slept together, we did it to make a s-spell against your enemies, because we knew you were in some kind of trouble. My mum says sex is the strongest of all magics, and she says
it comes back on you
, only I never thought about that part, and,
and one of us was a virgin.
That makes it a million times stronger
—
’

Marlon shrank in his chair, deep red to the hairline.

Fiorinda jumped up, dropped on her knees by Silver, siezed the girl’s hands and held them firmly. ‘Silver, look at me. You think it was wrong to fuck Marlon, and if you did it for any reason but love, fun or friendship you’re probably right, but it’s not the end of the world. You have not committed magic. Trust me, you haven’t hexed anyone in the slightest. I’d know.’ She waited, until some of the alarming, drained and white-lipped tension left Silver’s face. ‘All right?’

‘All right,’ whispered Silver.

‘You know what: I’m going to take you home. Doug will drive us to Reading, and I’ll talk to Anne-Marie. You’ll stay on the site, with your mother, until the debate is over, is that understood?’

‘Yes.’

Fiorinda left with Silver. Ax and Sage let Marlon go to his room: trying not to show how angry they were; cutting short their attempts at reassurance, as he’d clearly had enough. Marlon’s travel plans were made: Sage had told him he had to go back to Wales, before the debate kicked off. A decree Mar had accepted, they now realised, with suspicious docility. Sage went upstairs. A while later he returned to the office and sat staring into space.

‘You were right,’ said Ax. ‘We should have given him a 24/7 bodyguard.’

‘Never out of arm’s reach, yeah… I’ve spoken to Mary.’

‘What did she say?’

Sage looked at the strong, shapely artist’s hands that had been crippled paws. Crippled paws but handy fists, blunt instruments he’d used viciously on his former girlfriend, his son’s mother. Both of them drug-addled, locked in mutual lust and hatred, a really nasty, destructive lifestyle, but that’s no excuse—