And he was confused.
Why had he had such a vivid dream about some elderly woman with silver-grey hair and twinkling green eyes whom he’d never met? And why call her ‘Grandma’? But most puzzling of all, why would a ruthless, fanatical terrorist pass up not one, but two chances to kill him, and instead carry him nearly one kilometre to safety?
Much was lost in the War to End All Wars. Perhaps the saddest loss of all was the destruction of our past. So much historical data was destroyed. The books, libraries and computer data we had for so long taken for granted were also casualties of the War. Our enemy realized that our dependence on our computer networks could be used to their advantage. Their tactics included the design and implementation of computer viruses to seek and wipe out any reference to the Alliance. Thus they sought to erase us, not just from the future by depriving us of our present, but from history itself.
The High Councillors were therefore given the task of reconstructing the historical texts from what little data remained, not just of the Alliance’s past but also of all the many and varied nations that used to exist on our planet. Even after a significant number of decades the task is not yet complete. Our responsibility may be daunting, but we cannot use that as an excuse for complacency.
The time for grieving about our past is over. It is incumbent upon all of us to learn and grow from the reproduced historical texts. Only by learning from the past can we move forward with confidence into our future.
And we cannot, we must not, allow the Crusaders to hold us back from that goal.
Extract taken from ‘The Origins of the Insurgency’ by Brother Telem
20
A fortnight later, Kaspar was still in the Clinic – and climbing the walls. He was undergoing his sixth operational fitness assessment and it wasn’t going any better than the first five.
‘Come on, Doc,’ he pleaded. ‘I’m fine. My ribs are healing, the pain is very nearly gone and I should be getting back to work. Just sign the release and I’ll be out of your way.’
‘Not so fast, Guardian Wilding,’ Dr Hondo replied. ‘There’s more to it than the broken bones. We’ve only just got the infected burns under control and your brain chemistry is still not back to the baseline set at your last pre-accident physical.’
‘It wasn’t an accident,’ said Kaspar quietly.
Everyone in the Clinic referred to what had happened in the Badlands as ‘the accident’, as if someone had slipped on a bar of soap. Nobody seemed to want to discuss the fact that a Guardian had died in a terrorist attack. Of course there had been a debrief. Some pencil-necked clerk from MII, the Ministry of Information and Intelligence – or, as those at the Academy called it, the Ministry of Insensitive Ignorance – had come round and spoken to him about ‘the accident’.
‘You have nothing to worry about, Guardian Wilding. The paperwork has all been taken care of,’ smiled the unctuous clerk. Kaspar had taken in his dark blue suit and his pristine collarless white shirt and taken an instant dislike to him, something he very rarely did.
‘So if you’d just like to sign here.’ The clerk waved a data-tablet and an electronic stylus under Kaspar’s nostrils. He was moving the tablet so quickly Kaspar could only make out the odd word or two.
Kaspar took hold of the stylus and tablet, much to the clerk’s annoyance, and settled down to read what he was signing.
‘There’s no need to read it,’ the clerk announced quickly. ‘It’s all perfectly in order.’
‘Nevertheless, I never sign anything without reading it first, otherwise I might end up agreeing to give you my liver and both of my kidneys while I still have need of them,’ said Kaspar.
The clerk wasn’t happy. And by the time Kaspar had read the short document on the tablet screen, neither was he. He reread the offending paragraph out loud just in case he’d read it wrong the first time round.
‘A near-miss with a rocket-propelled grenade induced a lateral stabilizer failure on the hovercar, resulting in an uncontrolled grounding and unfortunate injuries and a fatality. This accident may be put down to Insurgent activity and an inappropriate pilot response resulting in inadvertent pilot error.’
He hadn’t read it wrong at all. In fact, it was actually worse on a second reading.
‘You must be seriously bat-crap crazy if you think I’m signing this.’ Kaspar threw the tablet down on his bed in disgust.
‘Guardian Wilding, this text has been authorized by Brother Simon himself,’ said the clerk.
‘I don’t give a damn. First of all, there was no near-miss with an RPG – it was a direct hit. And second, third and fourth, there was no pilot error. It wasn’t Dillon’s fault, and I’ll see you and the whole High Council in hell before I sign anything that says otherwise.’
‘We have stated that it was inadvertent pilot error . . .’
‘ “Inadvertent” isn’t the word I’m having a problem with,’ Kaspar replied coldly. ‘What’s wrong with telling it like it was? A murdering, scumbag Insurgent shot us down and killed my partner.’
‘The High Council need to be careful how many . . . deaths are attributed to the Insurgents, and we have already reached this month’s quota,’ said the clerk.
Kaspar stared. Seriously? The truth was being bent to the point of breaking to make some statistics work?
‘I’m not signing that,’ he repeated quietly.
‘Guardian Wilding, let me remind you that you and your partner deviated from the prescribed route to get to your destination. If you’d followed the established travel protocols all of this might have been avoided.’
Kaspar sat on his hands to stop himself from punching the clerk’s face clear through his head. Did this guy think Kaspar didn’t already know that, hadn’t agonized over that day in, day out since he’d been rescued?
‘As I explained in my debrief,’ he said coldly, ‘we saw a flash of light east of our position and went to investigate.’
‘You should’ve called it in and waited for backup.’
‘Going in to investigate without calling it in first was my decision, not Dillon’s. The blame should be laid at my door. The hovercar’s data recorder would’ve told you that.’
‘Guardian Wilding, you survived. Dillon didn’t. You’re already in the public eye as a hero. How would it look if we were to suddenly say that you aren’t?’
‘I don’t care.’
‘Well, that kind of attitude is a luxury the High Council can’t afford,’ said the clerk.
Kaspar shrugged. Not his problem.
The clerk gave Kaspar a calculating look.
‘I’m not signing that,’ Kaspar stated once more. ‘If you think I’m bluffing, try me.’
‘Very well. I am authorized to omit the last sentence as that’s obviously the one you find so objectionable,’ said the clerk.
Kaspar watched as the clerk input a passcode onto the tablet and swiped his finger over the offending sentence to delete it. He handed the tablet back to Kaspar.
‘Brother Simon has instructed me not to leave this room without your signature on this document,’ said the clerk.
Kaspar read it carefully again to ensure that the line blaming Dillon for what had happened had indeed been deleted. But what was to stop the MII from putting back the sentence once they had his signature? He signed on the indicated line at the bottom of the document, then he signed his name right across the body of the text as well. He handed back the tablet and stylus. It wasn’t fool-proof by any means, but it was the best he could come up with in the circumstances.
The clerk frowned down at the tablet in his hand. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘If you add or delete anything else to that report, my signature won’t match up. I just want to make sure that what I sign is what gets delivered back to Brother Simon and the archives,’ said Kaspar.
The clerk glared at Kaspar, his expression declaring that he’d like nothing better than to rebreak Kaspar’s ribs. ‘Thank you for your time, Guardian Wilding,??
? he said at last.
‘You’re welcome,’ kaspar replied icily. ‘Shut the door on your way out.’
As soon as the door was shut, Kaspar collapsed back down onto his pillows. Minutes passed before he was able to calm down enough to think rationally. The thing that stunned him was the absolute hatred he felt at that moment for Brother Simon and the others in the High Council. It burned like acid eating its way through him. He had never, ever felt anything like it before. Their cause was his cause. Their aim was true. So why this sudden feeling of overwhelming loathing?
Dillon . . .
Kaspar was still angry about Dillon’s death. It had to be that. Kaspar wouldn’t let himself even contemplate the idea that it might be something else.
And as for Kaspar’s vivid dreams, Dr Hondo put that down to a combination of concussion, reaction to stress and the effects of inhaling the fumes from burning insulation. His out-of-whack brain chemistry was ascribed to post-traumatic shock and grief for his friend.
And that was that. All neatly explained, wrapped up and filed away.
The day of Dillon’s memorial service was fast approaching. Kaspar was still in the Clinic so he had to put in a request to attend the service, something he considered just a formality.
The reply had been swift: WE CANNOT AT THIS TIME SANCTION YOUR REQUEST TO LEAVE THE CLINIC. PERMISSION DENIED.
That was the last straw. Kaspar put in a call to Mac. Her smile was broad and instantaneous the moment she saw him on her data screen.
‘Hello, stranger. How’re you doing?’ Her smile faded. ‘I was sorry to hear about your friend Dillon.’
Kaspar shrugged, unsure how to respond. He got straight to the point. ‘Mac, could you do me a favour?’
‘Sure. Anything,’ Mac replied without hesitation.
Kaspar’s smile was weak but sincere. It was good to know that someone, somewhere had his back. ‘I need to know who I should speak to about attending Dillon’s memorial service.’
Mac frowned. ‘Surely your commander—’
‘Voss passed my request up the food chain and it’s been denied. I need to go to the top to argue my case – because I’m going, come hell, high water or Brother Simon himself.’
A moment’s pause, then Mac said, ‘I’ll get back to you.’ And with that she signed off.
Ten minutes later and she was as good as her word. Kaspar had a couple of names and their full contact details, plus Mac’s advice on how to get what he wanted. He put through a call to Julianna Jeffers, Chief Supervisor at the Guardian Academy’s Public Affairs office.
‘Guardian Wilding, a pleasure to speak to you.’ Ms Jeffers smiled politely at him over the datalink. ‘How may I help you?’
‘Ms Jeffers, my best friend Dillon Greenhill died recently,’ Kaspar began without preamble.
‘Yes, I have your file in front of me,’ said Ms Jeffers. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
‘I’d like to go to his memorial service.’
‘That’s not my decision to make, I’m afraid,’ frowned Ms Jeffers. ‘And I can see that permission has already been denied. I’m afraid I can’t help you—’
‘Maybe Vivian Sykes at the Daily Report would be very interested in a human interest story about a Guardian being denied permission to attend his best friend’s funeral,’ Kaspar interrupted.
‘I couldn’t sanction you speaking to any member of the press at this time,’ Ms Jeffers said, aghast.
‘You misunderstand me,’ said Kaspar. ‘I’m not asking for permission – I’m telling you what will happen if I’m not cleared to attend Dillon’s memorial service.’
Silence.
‘I see.’
‘I hope you do,’ said Kaspar.
Ms Jeffers gave him a studied look. Kaspar met her gaze without even blinking. He was sick and tired of being jerked around like he was some kind of puppet. Kaspar knew he was probably shooting his military career full of holes but he didn’t care.
‘One moment.’ Ms Jeffers put him on hold.
Kaspar glared at the image of waves gently lapping at a beach shore in some place he knew he’d never be able to afford to go. He hated being put on hold at the best of times and this most certainly wasn’t one of those. Ms Jeffers returned less than a minute later. She studied him. If she thought her stare would cause him to back down, she was going to be disappointed. Kaspar regarded her, his expression stony.
‘I understand that you recently had an encounter with a clerk from MII,’ began Ms Jeffers.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Kaspar.
‘He filed a complaint against you, Guardian Wilding.’
‘Good for him,’ said Kaspar evenly.
‘For the sake of your long-term career as a Guardian, I recommend you keep complaints against you to a minimum,’ said Ms Jeffers.
‘I’ll bear that in mind. So, am I phoning Vivian Sykes or am I going to Dillon’s memorial service?’ asked Kaspar.
Ms Jeffers’ lips tightened slightly. ‘Permission has been granted for you to attend, Guardian.’
‘Thank you,’ said Kaspar, disconnecting the link.
The day of the service, Kaspar put on his military dress uniform and stepped out of his room at the Clinic, only to find himself confronted by a Guardian he’d never met before. This woman had to be at least twice his age, with short-cut blonde hair and piercing lime-green eyes.
‘Hello. I’m Guardian Thompson from the Special Support Group. I’ll be accompanying you to Guardian Greenhill’s memorial service.’
Kaspar’s frown was immediate. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘I’ve been told you’re not fit enough to travel unaccompanied yet,’ Guardian Thompson replied.
‘Listen, I don’t mean to be rude but I don’t need a babysitter. Air transport has been booked to take me to the Academy and to bring me back here afterwards, and all I want to do is say goodbye to my best friend. What’s the problem?’
‘I am not a babysitter,’ said Guardian Thompson, her lips a thin, bloodless line, her eyes sending volts of outrage through Kaspar’s body. ‘I have my orders, Guardian Wilding, just the same as you. Either I go with you or you don’t get to go at all – it’s your choice.’
‘I don’t need—’
‘Do you really want to waste time arguing about this?’ asked Guardian Thompson. ‘Because I’ve been assigned to you for the entire morning. No skin off my nose if we spend it here debating the issue.’
Kaspar glared at her, but the point was taken. With time marching away from him, Kaspar couldn’t afford to delay any longer.
They arrived at the Memorial Hall of the Academy just as the ceremony was starting. Kaspar wasn’t surprised to see that the hall was practically full. He sat down in a tiny space in the back row, forcing the others in the row to move up. Guardian Thompson would just have to find her own space.
Dillon’s dad stood at the front of the hall, facing those in attendance. He was trying to tell an anecdote about the first time Dillon had told his family that he wanted to be a Guardian, but he had to keep coughing to clear his throat in an effort to retain his composure. Kaspar was getting choked up just watching him.
Dillon was a popular guy who would tease you mercilessly, but it was always done without malice and with a twinkle in his eye. Kaspar had never heard anyone say a bad word against him. He looked around again, gratified by the number of people present. He spotted Dillon’s mum and younger sister Rachel seated near the front. Sporadically, Dillon’s mum would sit up and straighten her shoulders. But almost immediately her head drooped as if it were too heavy for her body. Kaspar didn’t need to see her face to know that she was having trouble holding back the tears.
The seats to the right of the hall were occupied by family and civilian friends. The Guardians and other military dignitaries filled the seats on the left. Kaspar spotted Voss a couple of rows in front, but to his surprise, Mac was seated next to him. How on earth did she get lumbered with that seat? Voss didn’t exactly hide his opinio
n of civilians, even those who worked at the Academy. Mind you, all the seats on the civilian side of the hall were occupied. Obviously Mac had had no choice.
Once the ceremony was over, Kaspar tried to head over to Janna, Mikey and the others from his unit. A hand on his arm held him back.
‘Guardian Wilding, I was given strict instructions to take you back to the Clinic the moment the ceremony was over,’ said Guardian Thompson, her hand still on his arm.
‘I can’t even say hello to my friends?’ Kaspar frowned.
‘No, Cadet.’ Guardian Thompson moved to stand in front of him. ‘I have my orders.’
Kaspar tried to walk round her but she stepped in front of him again. There was no way for him to proceed without making a scene, and this was neither the time nor the place. People were on their feet and milling about now. Voss had moved to talk to Janna and the others and Mac seemed to have disappeared. With a sigh, Kaspar gave in and left the hall. The air transport was waiting directly outside.
So much for escaping from the Clinic for a few hours to be with his friends.
The day after the service, he tried to discharge himself, but he found two of the Clinic’s security staff outside his door.
One of them was taller than him. The other was the same height and wore a gormless expression like it was the latest fashion. Both were stockier and outweighed him by several pounds.
‘Sorry, Guardian Wilding, but we can’t allow you to leave.’
‘Are you going to stop me?’ he asked pointedly.
‘If we have to,’ the stupid-looking one replied.
Kaspar was more than ready to work off some pent-up frustration with a bit of mindless arse-kicking when the more intelligent security guard intervened.
‘Guardian Wilding, there isn’t any point,’ he said. ‘By the time you got back to the Academy, Commander Voss would just have you carried back here bodily. He isn’t about to overrule the doctors if they haven’t passed you fit for duty, now, is he?’
Kaspar had just glared at both of them and gone back into his room.