Noble Conflict (31 page)

‘Is she  . . . is she dead?’ asked Mac.

‘Yes,’ Kaspar whispered. ‘She is now.’

‘Are the others dead too?’

‘Not yet. But they will be if I have anything to do with it.’

‘Can’t they be revived? At least some of them?’

‘No. The stuff they inject into them makes sure of that,’ said Kaspar.

Mac nodded slowly. ‘I’ll call you when I’ve finished.’ Her expression full of compassion, she looked down at his mum, reaching out her hand to stroke her hair.

With tears pricking at his eyes, Kaspar left the room. He paced outside, ready for anyone who tried to question his presence or turf him out of the building. But no one came along. The building was eerily silent. He glanced down at his hands. What would happen to him if he touched each and every living corpse in the North Wing? How many would he need to touch before the shared memories and the horrors they were constantly subjected to drove him insane? That’s what Rhea and the other Insurgents had probably had to live with for years. Kaspar couldn’t understand why she and the others like her hadn’t wanted to wipe out every single member of the Alliance in revenge for the North Wing alone. They had to have a strength of mind and depths of compassion that Kaspar could only just begin to imagine.

Finally Mac called him back. Her faint smile told him it was OK to look now. Kaspar viewed his mum and breathed a sigh of relief. She looked a bit more like herself, except for the lifeless, staring eyes. It was traditional to
close the eyes of the dead, but even that was denied to the victims of the North Wing. Kaspar took out his sunglasses and put those on her.

In a moment of awful black humour, Dillon’s voice played in his head: ‘
A corpse in shades? Your mum looks totally cool, man
.’

Kaspar smiled. He didn’t know if Dillon got an afterlife. He hoped so. He hoped that a lifetime of drinking chemically-laced water every day hadn’t robbed him of that. He bent and kissed his mum on the forehead.

‘Bye, Mum,’ he whispered. Then he closed the drawer that contained her body for what he knew would be the last time. He straightened up to find Mac watching him.

‘Commander Martinez came to see me this morning to tell me about my dad,’ said Mac.

Kaspar forced himself to look at her even though her eyes were once again giving him ice burns.

‘He saw that I’d been crying and wanted to know how I knew about Dad before the news had been officially released.’

‘What did you tell him?’ asked Kaspar quietly. He needed to know how long he had to finish what he’d started. Had Mac told the commander where he would be when he’d phoned her earlier to ask for her help? No. If that were the case, they would’ve already arrested him.

‘I told him I had a premonition that something had happened to my dad,’ said Mac.

Kaspar frowned. ‘And he believed that?’

‘He had no choice.’

‘Does that mean that maybe someday you’ll forgive me?’ asked Kaspar.

Mac regarded him. ‘I don’t know, Kas. I truly don’t know.’

‘Fair enough,’ Kaspar replied. At least it wasn’t a straight-out ‘no’. It wasn’t all that he wanted, but it would have to do.

They left the North Wing together, but apart.

There was only one further atrocity attributed to the Insurgency. It happened the night after the missile strikes. The blowing up of the North Wing of the Clinic was without doubt a job of skilled precision. North Wing was obliterated but the implosion was designed so that no other part of the Clinic was damaged apart from a few broken windows. As the North Wing of the Clinic only housed the morgue, and a skeleton staff who were evacuated due to a fire alarm sounding just before the implosion, losses were minimal. News reports were grateful that the Insurgency seemed to have missed their target, which must surely have been the entire Clinic and not just one wing.

CCTV cameras picked up the image of one lone, masked figure entering the North Wing with a rucksack on his or her back, only to leave about thirty minutes later minus the rucksack. The perpetrator’s face was obscured but new reports assured the populace that it was only a
matter of time before the person responsible for such a heinous act was brought to justice. Kaspar watched the news and hoped fervently that they’d never find the person responsible. He really didn’t fancy spending the next umpteen years of his life in prison.

He took charge of the disposal of Rhea’s body personally. Those supposedly in authority had far too much on their plates to give him any kind of static about it. He found the perfect place to bury her, on a hillside overlooking a lake. He wanted to do that much for her. She deserved more but he had nothing else.

A week after the missile strikes, Kaspar walked into Library Services. A man in his early forties sat behind Mac’s usual desk. That’s how Kaspar had come to think of it – as Mac’s desk. Kaspar took a quick look around but he couldn’t see her anywhere so he headed over to the reception desk. Glancing down at the man’s amber security pass, Kaspar said, ‘Hi, Edwin. I’m Guardian Wilding. Is Mac working today?

‘Hello, Guardian. Mac’s up in the reference section this evening. That’s up on the second floor,’ Edwin replied.

‘Thanks.’ Kaspar forced a polite smile, already heading for the escalator.

‘Er, Guardian? D’you mind if I ask you something?’

‘Go ahead.’ Kaspar turned round.

Edwin was nervous, almost uncomfortable, but he looked Kaspar in the eye and asked, ‘Is it true? About the High Councillors and most of the SSG? Are they really dead?’

Silence.

‘Yes, it’s true,’ Kaspar replied at last. ‘Most of the SSG
were protecting the High Council at the time of the strikes so  . . .’

Edwin gulped. ‘Oh God! So why haven’t the Crusaders aimed their missiles at us in Capital City? Surely we’re the next obvious target?’

Kaspar shrugged. ‘I don’t think they’ll do that.’

‘Why not? That’s what I’d do in their shoes.’

Kaspar studied the man before him. Just a few short weeks ago, it would’ve been like looking in a mirror. ‘Let’s hope, as the shoe is on the other foot, that the Crusaders find our Alliance shoes a bad fit,’ he said.

‘So what’s going to happen now?’ asked Edwin.

Kaspar shrugged. ‘No idea.’

‘Guardian, aren’t you scared?’

Kaspar smiled. ‘I’m terrified. I don’t have a clue what tomorrow may bring, but I’m hoping it’ll be something new and different.’

‘That’s a good thing?’ Edwin’s tone was highly sceptical.

‘Compared to the prospect of the old way of thinking and more of the same, it’s a very good thing.’

‘I disagree.’ Active belligerence was now present in Edwin’s voice.

Kaspar shrugged.

‘You’re wrong, Guardian,’ Edwin told him. ‘The past has a way of clinging on. Don’t be so eager to dismiss it.’

‘Life is about change. And change will arrive whether we want it to or not,’ said Kaspar. And with that he headed for the escalator.

It took him over five minutes to find Mac. She was
sitting cross-legged in an alcove, wearing gloves to examine an old book resting on the wooden floor before her. Kaspar hadn’t seen her in so long he took a moment to watch her as she pored over the pages of the book. Her purple, spiky haircut was gone, replaced by a jet-black, sleek-cut hairstyle. The army boots and outlandish clothes were also no more. She wore a white collarless shirt, black trousers and black trainers. As if she knew she was being watched, Mac froze momentarily before turning her head.

‘Hi, Mackenzie,’ said Kaspar.

Mac got to her feet without saying a word, her gaze never leaving Kaspar’s.

‘I  . . . I wondered if we could have a talk, in private?’

Mac indicated the alcove they were in with one hand. ‘You can’t get much more private than this.’

‘I needed to see you  . . . to tell you how sorry I am about your dad,’ said Kaspar quietly.

Mac frowned. ‘You’ve already done that. Why are you here, Kas? Seeking absolution? D’you want me to forgive you and tell you that what you did to my dad was OK, and then you can get on with your day, your year, your life?’

‘No. I know it doesn’t work that way.’

‘Then I don’t understand what you want from me.’

‘I-I need someone to talk to,’ Kaspar admitted.

Mac raised an eyebrow. ‘And I’m the best you could come up with?’

‘You’re the only one I came up with,’ said Kaspar. ‘You’re the only one who knows everything I’ve done. I guess I need someone to tell me that I’m not the devil.’

‘And you think I’m the one to do that?’ Mac said, incredulity lending a sharp note to her voice.

Kaspar regarded her for a moment. He sighed. ‘You’re right. This was a really bad idea.’

He turned to leave, calling himself all kinds of a fool. What the hell was he thinking? But a week of uncertainty, incapacitating guilt and a lack of sleep had obviously dissolved what little sense he had left.

‘Kas, wait,’ Mac called after him.

He turned round but didn’t attempt to move closer.

‘You’re not the devil, OK?’

Kaspar sighed again. He didn’t feel any better for hearing it, and he suspected Mac didn’t feel any better for saying it either. ‘I shouldn’t have come here. You’ve got things to do and I’ve already taken up too much of your time.’

‘I’m not that busy. I’m hunting down the truth but it can wait for another few minutes,’ said Mac. ‘After all, it’s not going anywhere.’

Hunting down the truth? What did that mean? Kaspar decided not to ask. He didn’t want to push his luck.

‘Kas, d’you ever regret becoming a Guardian?’ asked Mac.

Kaspar immediately shook his head. ‘No. It’s what I was born to be. And I’m sure it’s what my mum planned for me. I just didn’t fully appreciate that until I saw her lying in a drawer in the North Wing of the Clinic. I’ll never regret what I did there.’

‘But you do have some regrets?’

‘Oh yes. Loads of them.’

‘Like?’

‘You wouldn’t understand,’ sighed Kaspar. ‘I don’t mean to be patronizing, but you’re a civilian. You don’t have to make split-second decisions or even long-term choices that will affect the fates of countless others.’

‘Don’t give me that,’ Mac countered angrily. ‘You sound just like my dad.’

‘Your dad was a great soldier and he may have got some things wrong, but he got that one right,’ said Kaspar, warming to his theme. ‘Voss used to say the definition of a civilian is someone who lets others do their dirty work. Mac, with the best will in the world, you don’t know what it’s like to risk your health, your freedom and maybe even your life. How can you? You deal with books and knowledge. Your world is safe. Mine isn’t.’

‘Books and knowledge don’t make for a safe world. Just the opposite. Books and knowledge are facets of the truth and the truth can be very dangerous,’ Mac argued. ‘You of all people should know that.’

‘Yeah, the truth is dangerous and worth fighting for,’ said Kaspar. ‘But that’s where I and the other Guardians step in and take over. That way you get to sit in your alcove and carry on reading.’

At the look on Mac’s face, he clamped his lips together, but too late. Damn it! That wasn’t what he’d come here to say at all. Well, Mac wasn’t chucking books at him or launching herself across the alcove in his direction; at least not yet. Time to retreat.

‘I’m sorry, Mackenzie. Every time I open my mouth, I put my foot in it.’ He sighed.

‘What else did my dad get right?’ Mac asked.

Huh? Kaspar regarded Mac in surprise. The warmth that used to be in her eyes wasn’t there, but neither was the ice.

‘A lot of things actually,’ he said. ‘He was my mentor. I looked up to him.’ He could feel his face begin to burn. Nothing was coming out of his mouth the way he’d planned tonight.

‘Have you had dinner yet?’ Mac surprised him by asking.

Kaspar shook his head.

‘My break is about to start and I was thinking of heading over to the mess hall for a meal,’ said Mac. ‘If you’ve got nothing better to do  . . .’

‘You want me to come with you?’ Kaspar asked, astounded.

‘It’d be nice to talk about my dad with someone who knew the real man, but who hasn’t forgotten all the good things he did. But if you’re too busy or about to go on duty, then no worries,’ shrugged Mac.

‘No, I, er, I’d love to have dinner with you,’ said Kaspar. ‘I’d really love that.’

Mac frowned. ‘It’s just a meal, Kaspar. It doesn’t mean we’re engaged or anything.’

‘Yeah, I get that,’ said Kaspar, his face warming.

Mac smiled. Kaspar smiled back. She bent to pick up her book and put it back on the shelf before they headed
out of the alcove together. Kaspar kept stealing glances at her. She had a real knack for doing the unexpected, but he kind of liked it. And for the first time in too long, some of the guilt that had been sitting on his chest and slowly suffocating him began to ease – just a little.

But a little was good.

A little was a start.

I’m posting this on the datanet because I have something to say.

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, the truth has finally arisen in Capital City. We in the Alliance have been betrayed, not by the Crusaders but by our own High Council. For decades we have been taught their vision, their extracts, their version of history.

It was all lies.

Buckle up, because here comes the truth.

We in the Alliance were the ones who almost destroyed our planet. Capital City is built on the land, the blood, the bones, the tears of the Crusaders. This land was theirs long before it was ours. We took it by force and exiled them to the Badlands. Our High Councillors were corrupt. Our Special Support Group were the ruthless lackeys of the High Council.

Never underestimate the value of fear. It is a powerful weapon of control. The High Council instilled within all of us a fear of the different, the unknown, the truth. We were taught to fear the Crusaders. We were told they were out to destroy us. How many of us challenged that view? I know I never did. How many of us had the courage to question what we had been taught and told?

The SSG were the ones responsible for the Loring School outrage and countless other attacks that were then blamed on
the Insurgents. Such attacks focused our attention, our fear and our hatred away from the true perpetrators.