Noble Conflict (28 page)

Kaspar’s mouth moved, but nothing came out.

‘Old Grigor here was getting sloppy, making too many mistakes. So now Commander Tilkian and you will both have died heroic deaths at the hands of the evil terrorist you’re currently grappling with. You will become a hero, posthumously of course, and I will get a promotion to head up the Special Support Group. Everybody wins.’

Kaspar’s voice returned, weakly. ‘You can’t get away with it. People know now. Your people at the Analysis Division, Mac, Brother Simon.’

Voss smiled. ‘Those two losers at the Analysis Division are already dead. They were killed earlier this evening in a tragic fire in their office. Probably terrorist arson. I take care of business.’

Kaspar’s blood ran cold. Mac  . . . would she be next? Or had Voss already taken care of her?

‘Have you gone after Mac too?’ he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Voss regarded him, before shaking his head pityingly, his eyes cold.

‘Don’t you touch her. Keep her out of this,’ Kaspar hissed. ‘If you harm one hair on her head, I will kill you, even if I have to come back from hell itself to do so.’

Voss roared with laughter. ‘Oh, how touching. You’re in love with her,’ he said with amused contempt. ‘Rest assured, Wilding, I wouldn’t dream of harming Mackenzie. She’ll do exactly as I tell her and keep her mouth shut.’

Kaspar disagreed, but he kept his opinion to himself. The last thing he wanted to do was persuade Voss that Mac was a potential threat. Glaring at Voss, he at least had the satisfaction of knowing that Mac wouldn’t keep quiet. She’d go to the authorities. Even if he failed, Mac would make sure that Voss paid.

‘Wilding, you still don’t get it, do you?’ said Voss. ‘Mackenzie is my daughter. D’you really think she’ll choose you over me?’

Kaspar stared at Voss. Mac was Voss’s
daughter
? She couldn’t be. Voss had to be lying. He searched Voss’s expression for any hint of deception but there was none. His boss was telling the truth. Mackenzie really was his daughter. No wonder she’d kept her job after the databot fiasco. Had she been reporting every conversation and every move he’d made back to her dad? If so, then Kaspar had never stood a chance.

‘So Mac has been telling you everything I’ve said and
done and I didn’t suspect a thing,’ Kaspar said bitterly. ‘God, I’m stupid.’

‘My daughter refused point-blank to tell me what you were up to. The two of us are going to have a full and frank discussion about that when I get back home tonight,’ said Voss, his words clipped with anger. ‘She’s been far more questioning and far less accepting of my role in the Alliance since she started hanging around with you. Something else I have to thank you for.’

‘Well, Brother Simon knows of my suspicions,’ Kaspar tried to bluff. ‘And in the event of my death or disappearance, a full report will be sent straight to him.’

Voss shook his head, looking at Kaspar with pity. ‘Wilding, who do you think Tilkian and I report to?’

‘Well, the other Council Members will—’

‘Do absolutely nothing. It’s amazing. All that talent, all these brains, and you know bugger all. The Council knows everything. The Council plans everything. Do you think I just decided to kill Tilkian on the spur of the moment? I killed Tilkian because there was a Council resolution to kill him. Passed unanimously, twenty-one votes to nil.’

‘But why? Why do the Council  . . . ?’ Kaspar couldn’t even frame the question.

‘Those in the Council have had their positions and status handed down to them, and they’ll be handing on their legacy to their children and their children’s children. What they have works for them, so what’s their incentive to change it? Not all of us are content to live in barracks and eat melons for the rest of our lives. The Council live
very well in their armoured mobile palaces and their underground retreats. They have servants, riches, power. And when I’m head of the Special Support Group, I’ll live very well too.’

Kaspar felt like he’d spent his life asleep and was only just waking up to a world he didn’t recognize and didn’t want any part of. The whole Alliance was rotten from top to bottom. A whole society of genocidal bastards, Kaspar included, living in a stolen country, led by a Council of amoral overlords, supported by a devoted army of torturers who murdered and terrorized their own people just so they could wear silk suits and drink expensive wine. The only decent people in the whole world were the Insurgents. At least they were fighting for a cause, not just fighting for themselves.

‘And the slaughter of innocent people, innocent children, means nothing to you?’ whispered Kaspar.

‘Why should it?’ frowned Voss. ‘The only one that matters to me is my daughter. And as for Loring School, most of the pupils there were the children of Crusaders who’ve chosen to live and work in Capital City. Why should I care about them?’

Kaspar just sat there, looking up at Voss and cradling the unconscious body of the only person he knew who was actually morally entitled to be on this entire damned continent. Voss walked back to the door and picked up Rhea’s dagger, and still Kaspar couldn’t move. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to, that he deserved to.

He realized something else too. The High Council were
terrified that anyone in the Alliance might develop the same skills as some of the Crusaders. Empathy meant shared fears and feelings, memories and emotions outside the scope and control of the Council. And they would never tolerate that.

Heartsick, Kaspar closed his eyes. He asked softly, ‘What’s wrong with peace? What’s wrong with no more war between the Alliance and the Crusaders?’

‘Kid, where’s the profit in that?’ Voss answered.

Kaspar stopped fighting to open his eyes, to rise. He had failed. Every truth he’d ever believed in was a lie. So what was the point of anything any more? He gave in to his pain and despair and allowed himself to fall into unconsciousness, knowing he’d never wake up again.

Kaspar was falling, falling into blackness. But it was good because he wasn’t afraid any more.

He didn’t hurt, not physically, but he knew intense, bitter regret. If he had just one wish  . . .

But he didn’t.

Wishes were for the living.

Kas saw his parents, and Grandma  . . . though it was kind of weird to see someone else’s life flash past your eyes, but in a good way it was fair. It was the least he could do, to give Rhea some kind of death. She wouldn’t be allowed one of her own. Instead, she was permanently paralysed, and her body would be abused by sadists before being trapped in a living hell at the Clinic. How many like Rhea had there been over the years? How many Crusaders had tried to get back their own land and failed? How many more would there have to be?

The sense of falling slowed. It was replaced by a softness, a warmth. He felt like he was being laid to rest on a bed. And the bread  . . . he could smell the bread again. Oh, it was so strong now. How could you be dying, or even dead, and still be hungry? And it wasn’t quite so dark
now. He could hear a voice getting louder, a little girl’s voice. Kaspar slowly opened his eyes. Above him, the sky had been painted with magenta and cyan and amber as well as pale blue. The air was so sweet, not just with the aroma of mellisse bread but with a ripe freshness Kaspar had never experienced, not even when he had visited this place before.

‘Hello, Kas.’ A little girl sat beside him, peering down into his face. She must have been about eight and she wore a blue dress decorated with tiny, vivid, blood-red poppies. Her bright green eyes were vaguely familiar. She sat with her legs tucked beneath her on the dry, springy grass. Kaspar tried to sit up, but found he couldn’t so he immediately stopped trying. He tried wriggling his fingers. His left thumb could move. None of his other fingers stirred. He tried to move his arms, his legs. Nothing doing.

‘Hi,’ he replied. It was so pleasant, so peaceful to be on this grassy hillside, watching the sun rise. ‘Where am I?’

‘You know where you are. On the hill above my grandma’s house. That’s her down there.’ The girl pointed.

Kaspar turned his head and saw the cottage at the foot of the hill, and at the door an elderly woman, with flour on her hands. OK, so his head was now working. He tried moving his arms again. The fingers of his left hand were beginning to work, albeit stiffly. The right hand didn’t even twitch.

Still, no rush.

‘What is this place?’ he asked. ‘I searched the datanet for
this location but got nowhere in a hurry. None of these landmarks were recognized.’

The girl sighed. ‘All this is gone now. You built your Capital City over it.’

Kaspar was stunned. ‘You’re joking.’

‘Why would I joke about it?’ the girl said seriously.

‘What’s your name?’ Kaspar asked, though he suspected he already had the answer.

‘Rhea.’ She frowned. ‘Are you having a silly day?’

‘A silly day?’

‘A day when your brain doesn’t work,’ said Rhea. ‘Grandma doesn’t like those. She tells me off if I have one of those.’

A silly day? Try a senseless life. A meaningless existence.

‘Rhea, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know  . . . I really didn’t. I thought your people were evil. I thought I was doing the right thing.’

‘I know that.’ Rhea shrugged. ‘I know you’re different.’

‘How d’you know?’ asked Kaspar.

‘Because I saw your mum.’

‘What? When?’

‘The first day we met, in the desert. While I was carrying you, I had a vision of you and your mum.’

‘What vision?’

‘Of the day you nearly died in the forest when the wolves were chasing you. Your mum saved you. My grandma used to tell me about your mum so it wasn’t hard to recognize her when I saw her.’ Rhea turned and pointed over his shoulder. There, about twenty metres
away by a tree, stood Kaspar’s mum, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking with sorrowful eyes towards the cottage. Kaspar immediately tried to sit up but his body still wasn’t his own.

‘She’s always here,’ shrugged Rhea.

‘I’ve never seen her here before,’ said Kaspar.

‘That’s because you haven’t been looking.’

‘Mum? It’s me, Kaspar,’ Kaspar tried shouting, but his mum never once turned her head.

‘She can’t hear you,’ said Rhea.

‘Why not?’

‘Because you’re sharing my memories, not the other way round. Your mum was a good person. She tried to help us. She was like you.’

‘Yes, she was a Guardian too.’

‘Much more than that.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘She was on our side.’

‘How d’you know?’

‘Because she’s here, still trying to reach my grandma’s cottage.’

So Tilkian was telling the truth about his mum. Waves of helplessness swept over Kaspar as he turned towards her again.

‘You and your mum can only be here because you share our abilities. We thought it was only us Insurgents who could share knowledge until your mum. She must have found out something. She must have made real contact with one of us and tried to help,’ said Rhea.

‘I was told my mum had died. Many years ago.’

‘But she didn’t. You know for a fact that she didn’t, otherwise she wouldn’t be stuck out here like me. She’d be inside talking to Grandma. I can’t talk to my grandma for real again until I die. Then I can give her this.’ Rhea held out her hand.

‘What is it?’

‘Something she really needs.’

Kaspar lifted his head for a closer look. ‘A necklace?’

Silver-, gold- and pearl-coloured over-sized beads adorned what looked like a long thin line of black rope.

‘That’s nice,’ said Kaspar faintly. ‘A bit long and heavy for you, though.’

‘It’s taken so long to make this. And it was really expensive.’ Rhea didn’t speak with pride or awe. Instead, her voice held a profound sadness. They regarded each other. What was Kaspar missing? With a frown, he turned his head to look down at the cottage, then across to the valley beyond.

‘Where has your grandma gone?’

Rhea didn’t even bother to turn round. ‘Back into her cottage. She knows there’s not much time left. I’ve never been inside Grandma’s cottage but I need to get in there to see her.’

‘Hang on, you told me all about the inside of your grandma’s cottage. How could you know about it if you’ve never been in it?’

‘Grandma used to tell me all about it when we were
living in the Badlands shelters among the lava lakes. She used to tell such beautiful stories, about streams, and lakes, hills and trees.’

‘So this was her home before you had to live in the Badlands?’

‘Oh no. Grandma was born in the Badlands. She just told beautiful stories gathered from handed-down memories.’

‘So this isn’t real?’

Rhea gave him a pitying look, the one reserved by children for when an adult has just been unbelievably stupid. ‘Of course it’s not real. You
know
it’s not real.’

‘OK, I mean, it’s not a real memory.’

‘It’s a memory but from a long, long time ago. Many decades ago. A memory of a place we once called home, but was taken from us,’ said Rhea. ‘This was the land we Crusaders owned before we were forced to live in the Badlands.’

‘So you share memories, then?’

‘When we die – yes,’ smiled Rhea. ‘Then all our memories and all the things we know are passed on as common knowledge to the ones still living who are able and willing to receive that knowledge.’

So much for séances, and emanating off a higher plane. All that had been nonsense. The Insurgents died and passed on their knowledge to the living who possessed the same gene; it was that simple. Kaspar took a moment to try and take in what he was being told.

‘I get that I’m here because you’re a touch-empath,
but  . . .’ He glanced over his shoulder and then back to Rhea. ‘Why is my mum here?’

‘She’s here because Grandma told me about her.’ Rhea smiled. ‘She’s knowledge passed down to me. If you were talking with your mother right now, you wouldn’t see a cottage and a stream.’

‘What would I see?’

‘I don’t know. Your dad, maybe? A happy memory from her childhood? The end of the rainbow? Wherever she needs to be.’

‘And you need to be down there with your grandma?’