Wiped (17 page)

My throat was raw. My eyes were puffy. My vision blurring.

But I saw it. The shadow. The swift feet and silent movements. The stealth that reminded me of Lena.

A gap-toothed smiled flashed in amongst the clouds of laser-fire, and then he was gone.

I stopped firing. I took a couple of hits.

But nothing could make me shoot over Jungie.

With my last strength, I crawled to where I could see Lena lying. A dark bundle of freak-suit, blending into the environment. In a detached kind of way, I admired its camouflaging properties.

My hand reached hers. She didn’t grip me back. I felt like crying.

And then a shout sounded out, and the laser lights shifted direction, and peace reigned in our little section of the hall.

“It’s OK,” I said. “It’s gonna be OK,” I added.

For the first time in a long time, I lied.

And as I flopped onto my back, expecting a drone to arrive any minute, I stared up at the ceiling, noticing for the first time the mosaic artwork that covered every inch of space above our heads. It was beautiful. So stunning. So realistic. Almost as though the picture was alive.

How could such beauty exist in amongst such evil?

How could Urip sustain this reign of terror under such miraculous artwork?

I think it was heaven.

And then an angel appeared. Floating above me. Moving in a way mosaics just shouldn’t.

“‘Bout time, boss,” Si said. “Now, have you got something for me?”

I started laughing, but this was by no means a happy moment.

“Lena,” I croaked.

Si moved sideways, freeing up a fuzzy image of Alan standing behind him; laser gun charged and ready, eyes narrowed and alert, his finger prepped to fire.

Beside him, shoulder to shoulder, stood Irdina. Her back to me, her gun aimed at something else, as if she was protecting me like my brother.

Alan wasn’t really my brother, but he might as well be. And if he wanted that crazy Masked bitch, then so be it. I wouldn’t yank his chain or anything.

I suppressed the maniacal laughter.

“Got it!” Si said. Then met my eyes. “She’s fine. Just out of it. But our Zebra protected the vid-screen.”

“Haven’t they got cyber access here?” I asked, the words sounding hollow and a little bit wonky.

“Clever arseholes shut down everything,” Si explained. “That’s why they left Calvin with us.”

I saw him pull out the Shiloh unit and attach some wires. I forced myself to wake up, dragging my body closer to Lena. She should see this. She should be the one to hit the button.

Si crouched down in front of us, the device attached, the cursor flashing.

“Lena…” I managed to growl.

Si flicked his gaze over Lena’s slumped body.

“You’ve got this, boss,” he murmured. “Besides, does she really need to be the one who silences him forever?”

He was right. Calvin would do what Carstairs had designed him to do, and then shut down. Because Carstairs wasn’t stupid. Not by a long shot. He’d paid for his mistakes and he’d finally learned his lesson.

He’d evolved.

And if he could, we could. But it wouldn’t be easy. The Dark Ages weren’t.

“You sure about this?” I asked. Alan looked over his shoulder, his eyes met mine.

“It’s gonna be a challenge,” he growled in his customary fashion, “but when have we ever baulked at that?”

“Anyway,” Si added, “like Lena said, there’ll be more to this programme than just an off switch.”

Great. Exactly what we needed. A surprise.

Lena stirred. I reached out and stroked a hand down her arm, feeling the tingles start to race through my limp fingers.

“She’s coming around,” Si said. “Do you want to wait?”

I looked down at my Elite. Looked across at the Shiloh.

Calvin remained silent.

My hand found Lena’s. She squeezed it back. I let out a sigh.

Then hit the enter button on the vid-screen, by the flashing cursor, Lena’s hand held tightly in mine.

It took sixty long, torturous seconds. Sixty long, torturous seconds in which Alan and Irdina, Beck and his men, and what was left of the Merrikan soldiers, were forced to return fire.

When the vid-screen went blank, and Calvin’s Shiloh unit stopped blinking its little green light, the city went dark.

Not true dark, it was still morning.

But the kind of dark we had forgotten about. The kind of dark we’d not trained for. The kind of dark lost to the annals of history.

The kind of dark that levelled us all out.

Because if there wasn’t technology to fight over, if there wasn’t one nation better than the rest, then what was left?

Maybe not true equality, human nature is funny like that. But at least a platform to build on. A place to start.

“Well, that’s that,” I said. The silence was almost deafening. “Now, let’s make friends with Urip.”

Alan snorted. Irdina scowled. Si shook his head.

And Lena, my precious, perfect, beautiful Lena, just smiled.

I
t wasn’t completely dark
.
My father had seen to that. There were some aspects of technology that were essential. Like electricity. And running water. The ship still worked. So did shortwave radio. That last one had us puzzled, because it seemed a little too close to the Global Net. But radar failed. And satellite images were out. And laser guns, strangely, powered down.

The selective programming had Simon scratching his head for days.

But at the time of Urip falling - and it
did
fall, without drones its power base was weakened beyond measure - an uneasy truce was made. The leading Füri showed themselves when their own Elite started to raise bloody hell. Elite the world over have an intolerance to anything substandard. And post Calvin’s dramatic crashing of the world’s technology, standards were definitely below par.

They crawled out of their bunkers to a city in ruins. The Wiped having taken control of the streets, ruling it in a style a little too close to vigilante for my like. But with a pledge from the Wiped that they’d retreat, and a few heated but promising discussions between Trent and their main Füri himself, it was decided we’d
all
pull back and assess the damage.

But like Trent said, that would take a while.

We knew where Urip was. They knew where we were. We’d landed them a blow. We weren’t sure if it was the last we’d hear from them, but their jets were landlocked, and their ships no greater than ours.

And neither of us had drones.

I wasn’t certain, but I thought perhaps enough had been done for now.

The Lunnoners reunion with their Lost was hard to witness. But our Wiped helped ease the pain. They understood. We did too. We may not have been wiped ourselves, but we’d shared their pain.

And we would always remember.

There was no avoiding that. Calvin had crashed the Net. No vid-screen worked. But before he’d executed that last command, he’d printed out screeds of downloaded history, on any available printer with paper attached.

In a post apocalyptic world, there hadn’t been much. But we found some in Hammurg, before we went on our way. And we found some in Lunnon, when we stopped for a last farewell to the broken city that had at one time been so like our own. And we found them when we returned to Wánměi.

His last gift to us.

Our city celebrated for a full week, once we finally made it back using the stars. The Wiped reunited with friends. The Merrikans joining our party, as if it was their own. We even extended a personal invitation to Mahiah.

Solidarity. That’s what my father had wanted. A world free to come together, none greater than the other, all capable of friendship and love.

I missed him more that first week, than I’d missed him for the past ten years.

And the hole in our wall where the Shiloh unit, where Calvin, used to be haunted me.

I was standing in front of it when Trent found me. Ten days after we’d finally made it home.

“There you are,” he said, sauntering into the kitchen as though on top of the world. The heat of a Wánměi night wafted in through the windows behind him. We might have had electricity, but we’d started to conserve. Air conditioners were strictly monitored. Although how Si managed that, I didn’t ask.

Conservation and consideration were Wánměi’s new motto. Conserving our planet and considering our neighbours, both near and far.

Trent walked up to me and wrapped his arms around my body, blocking my view of Calvin’s empty slot.

“I’ve got a surprise,” he said on a whisper. “I think you should come see it.”

“A surprise?” I said, twisting the engagement ring on my left hand. He’d showered me with surprises since we’d left Hammurg, as though scared I’d disappear if he blinked.

I understood. It
had
been close. We’d both been hit by lasers, but I’d been shot to hell and back.

I still had nightmares. Trent still had to reassure me that laser guns were gone from this world.

Nothing’s perfect. But we were free. The Wiped were free. And Lunnon’s Lost had found a new home. Geh Dowee had never looked better. The old oil refinery still stood sentinel over it, but the abandoned factories were being remodelled into homes, and the streets were starting to team with people.

We had the room. We welcomed them. And it had nothing to do with a debt paid.

This was us. This was Wánměi.

“Come on,” Trent urged, slipping his hand into mine. Our fingers entwined. “I worked so hard on this,” he complained. “Don’t spoil it.”

“I won’t,” I promised as I followed him up the spiral stairs to our bedroom.

I thought we’d stop there, the room was covered in lit candles. The bed a riot of red petals scattered over white damask. I could smell their perfume, mixed with the scents of night time Wánměi. Garlic and cardamon. Star anise and cinnamon. Chilli. Lime. And the sea.

So fresh. So beautiful. So mouthwatering.

But Trent led me past the beckoning bed and out the window onto our roof.

Our deck was draped in gauzy fabric, the pillows beneath laid out in a sumptuous welcoming pile. Tiki lights flared all around. The brazier glowed softly off to the side. A bucket of ice stood next to the cushions, under the rain cover, sheltering us from the night. Trent walked backwards, still holding my hand, his eyes on mine, his lips tipped up in a crooked smile.

He stopped by the Champagne.

“Where did you get this?” I asked on a breath of air. It was a good surprise. We still traded with Merrika. And now Mahiah. But our Champagne had come from Urip.

“I bribed someone. Paid a fortune for their last stash.” He shrugged his shoulders, hands now deep in pockets, a look of uncertainty on his face.

“A bribe, huh?” I mused. “What kind of bribe?”

“The sort that costs a lot.”

“Hmm-mmm.”

“Are we gonna celebrate, or are we gonna argue, Elite?”

I scoffed. “There’s no such thing as Elite anymore.”

“No,” he said softly. “But to me, you are perfect. You are above
all
the rest.”

I held his steady gaze. There’d be no changing him. Trent Masters would always treat me as if I was a princess. He’d always look up, and never, ever look down.

It wasn’t a stigma on his own standing, on who he was. It just was. He loved me. He
adored
me. Just the way I was.

And no one could come close in his eyes.

“OK,” I said, lowering myself to the cushions. “What are we celebrating?”

“Us.”

“To us!” I offered, as he handed me my flute, the golden liquid bubbling. It tickled my nose when I sipped it, the fruity bouquet a sad reminder of what we’d lost.

But we’d gained so much more, hadn’t we?

We’d gained our freedom.

We’d always known that freedom would cost. And it had. Significantly. So many dead. So many we couldn’t save. And still we had a long way to go before the world was whole again.

Trent leaned back on his cushions, staring up into the night sky, completely content.

“You know, it’s not so bad,” he said.

“What’s not so bad?”

“This no Net thing. No vid-screens to look at. No cellphones to talk on. I actually had a conversation with a man at the market today. Face to face. Can you imagine?”

I snorted. Champagne bubbled up my nose.

“Very attractive, Lena,” Trent teased.

“Thanks. I do try,” I managed before I laughed.

Trent smiled, taking another sip of wine, watching me.

“What now?” he said.

“Well,” I started, placing my glass on the deck at my side. I shifted closer. “I’ve got an idea.” I started running my finger up his bare arm, grazing his skin lightly. Goosebumps followed my nail. Trent shivered.

“Cold?” I teased.

“Hardly,” he rasped.

“Then kiss me.”

He groaned as his glass toppled over sideways and his hand fisted in my hair, tilting my head back, exposing my lips for his plundering. He ravished me. I basked in it. The clouds moved in to cover us, as the stars winked out of sight. And thunder boomed across the night sky.

“I love you,” he murmured into my neck. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Heavy drops of rain landed one by one across the deck, moving closer.

My shirt came off.

“Trent.”

Slick skin against slick skin, he licked his way across my stomach. My hands finding his hair, holding on tight. In a quick, subtle move, his fingers wrapped around my wrist, a soft touch of his lips as he kissed my barcode.

“Mine,” he said. He never failed to remind me. He never avoided the tattoo or shied from pointing it out.

I wasn’t over it. But little by little, bit by tender bit, Trent was making it something else.

The pride in his voice when he rasped “Mine” said it all.

You bore this. You wear it every single day. And you are still mine.

My hair had been a rebellion. The black and wipe stripes a way to fight back.

The barcode was my badge of honour.

“Wear it with pride, baby,” he whispered. “Never forget who you are.”

The air grew heavy as the clouds opened up and rain poured down. Sweet sweat coated our skins as our bodies melded. Fitting together as though made for each other. I gasped when he entered me. He growled when I bit into his shoulder. Our movements so fluid and more magical than time. Our breaths and heartbeats as one.

I came in a flash of lightning. Trent groaned out my name to the sound of thunder.

“Storm sex,” he panted. “My favourite.”

“I thought… morning sex… was,” I panted back.

“Mmm, I’m not sure. Might have to test that theory tomorrow.”

I started laughing as he drew a blanket over us, the rain moving on as if it had achieved what it set out to do.

“I love you,” I whispered into the night. Trent grunted in return, snuggled in closer, holding me tightly, and then started to gently snore.

I was suppressing a chortle when I heard it, the soft tap of knuckles on wood at the door.

I squeezed out from beneath Trent’s heavy arm, made sure he was covered, and then quickly dressed. By the time I was downstairs in our apartment, I looked relatively decent. If you didn’t notice the smeared makeup, crooked buttons, and small love bite on the side of my neck.

I smiled to myself as I opened the door.

Cardinal Beck stood in the hallway, dressed in his formal Cardinal uniform; red cloak, cream suit, polished brass buttons.

“Cardinal,” I said in way of greeting, and ushered him through the door.

“Good evening, Lena,” the Cardinal replied. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

He knew he was, if the small smirk that graced his lips could be trusted. I was unused to his more relaxed manner, sometimes I forgot he was actually a man.

“I have news…” he started.

“For Trent?” I asked, holding out my hand.

The Cardinal hesitated, as if I wasn’t part of the rebel army. I had earned my spot.

“I think I can take it to him, Beck,” I offered. “I promise I won’t let any secrets slip, whatever they are.”

“It’s on official letterhead, Lena. You haven’t been sworn in.”

“Sworn in?”

Cardinal Beck suddenly looked uneasy, and then he thrust the paper into my hands as if it was too hot.

I watched him closely for a long moment, and then broke the seal on the letter and unfolded it.

The first thing I noticed was it was addressed to the president.

The second was what it was about.

“A signal?” I said. “What signal?”

“It seems Calvin sent a signal out via shortwave radio. Set to repeat from one to the other, until it covered the entire world. He managed it, just before the Shiloh unit shut everything down. An invitation. To peace. To unity.” Beck shifted on his feet. “Basically, he invited any survivors out there to come to Wánměi. Even gave directions. By the stars, of course.” Beck chuckled, as if this was funny. I wasn’t sure what to make of it yet. “It was the last piece of your father’s puzzle,” he went on. “The last part of the programme that was designed to bring about a form of solidarity.”

“His dream,” I murmured, shifting to sit on the couch. I wasn’t sure my legs could hold me.

“His promise to you,” Cardinal Beck advised. “His last gift to a broken world.”

I smiled. Looked down at the letter again, the words before me momentarily blurring.

“So they’ll come,” I whispered.

“And we’ll be ready. Mahiah has already agreed to accommodate any we cannot take. And the Merrikan representative has advised he’ll make contact with their leaders and gain a similar agreement from them.”

Beck moved forward to stand before me; he would never sit down unless asked. I should have offered, but my mind was reeling. My father had done it.

He’d corrected his mistakes. He’d redeemed himself.

“We are but a small island,” Beck said. “But we are a great people. Now led by a great…”

“Beck!” Trent suddenly said from the mezzanine floor. “I didn’t hear you arrive.”

“Trent,” I said enthusiastically, standing up, about to tell him about the letter. The good news. The start of a united world.

We were free. We were mending.

Thank God.

But the Cardinal spoke over me, drowning out what I might have said, as Trent started scowling, and then his eyes darted to mine and he cringed instead.

“President Masters,” Beck greeted, standing to attention, clicking his heels together like so many Cardinals sometimes still did.

“President Masters?” I said slowly, the letter getting forgotten in my fist.

“Now, baby. I can explain.”

“
President
Masters?”

“Ah,” Beck said. “Maybe I should leave?”

“It’s his fault!” Trent all but yelled, pointing an accusing finger at the Cardinal.

Beck looked like he’d just been sent to the gallows. He swallowed painfully, his eyes slowly rising to meet mine.

“I thought it a fair trade,” he murmured.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

Beck shrugged. So did Trent. They kind of did it together. As one.

My hands met my hips.

“What trade?” I demanded.

“Champagne is hard to get, you know,” Beck argued sullenly. “It was my last bottle!”