At least they allowed him visitors, otherwise he would’ve been climbing the walls even higher and faster than he already was. Janna had come to see him a number of times, once with nine others from Kaspar’s graduating class, and they had smuggled in enough alcohol to give the medics a fit and give Dillon the kind of informal, raucous send-off he would have loved. On one of Janna’s solo visits, Kaspar had tentatively shared some of what he knew about the diversionary tactics of the Insurgents and their use of an accompanying ninja to achieve their objectives. Yes, he’d discussed the pros and cons of the idea with Mac, but she wasn’t military: she was a civilian, a book-head. Kaspar wanted the opinion of another soldier, someone who would listen to his theories and not give him static about his extra-curricular activities. Janna had listened intently but she wasn’t convinced – to say the least.
Mainly, however, Kaspar took his medication, sat alone and thought. And read. The best times were when Mac came to see him. The first time she visited, Kaspar couldn’t stop grinning.
‘Hey, Mac. Thanks for coming to see me,’ he said.
‘No problem. What are friends for?’
OK, so they were officially friends. While Kaspar was very happy about that, another part of him which he didn’t like to analyse too deeply was disappointed. But he had no right to expect more. She was a brainbox and older than him, though not by much. He was a grunt, nothing less but certainly nothing more.
‘I thought I saw you at Dillon’s memorial service,’ he said after a moment.
‘Did you?’ Mac replied brightly.
‘Yeah, sitting next to Voss?’
‘He’s kind of cantankerous, isn’t he?’ smiled Mac.
‘That’s one word for him,’ Kaspar agreed.
Mac took a quick look around. ‘I blagged my way into your room at the Academy so I could bring your data-tablet, in case you wanted to do more research.’
‘Thanks.’ Kaspar grinned. Now at last he could focus his attention on something besides the window and the four walls.
Mac had stayed for another thirty minutes and Kaspar was grateful for every second of them. She had a quirky sense of humour and her observations about the others in his unit, and about Voss himself, had him doubled over with laughter.
After her visit, Kaspar had taken the opportunity to learn how to properly control a net-search. On her third or fourth visit, he caught Mac regarding him speculatively.
‘What?’ He frowned.
‘Kaspar, what really happened out in the Badlands?’ asked Mac.
‘What d’you mean? We were attacked and my best friend died.’ Kaspar’s frown deepened.
‘How did you get from the gully floor to the plateau so far off the ground?’
‘Why d’you ask?’
Mac’s gaze fell away from his, but only momentarily. ‘I read your report. You said that when your hovercar went down you were thrown clear, then when the ground started to shake, you crawled to safety.’
Kaspar’s heart began to beat just that little bit faster. His mouth became just a little bit drier. ‘Yeah. So?’
‘You had three broken ribs, burns to your hands and arms and your legs were all cut and bloodied,’ said Mac.
‘What’s your point?’
‘I saw the film taken by the rescue team of the area. You had an SaR beacon and water beside you and your head was bandaged. With your injuries, there’s no way you could’ve got up to that plateau carrying the beacon and water. And I closely examined the film and photos of the rocks leading up to the plateau. There was blood on the gully floor but there were only sporadic blood drops on the rocks. And they were drops, not smears. Your legs were bleeding copiously but you managed to avoid getting blood on all but a couple of rocks climbing up? And with the damage to your hands, there’s certainly no way you could’ve bandaged your own head so neatly. So the only conclusion is that someone else was there.’
Kaspar regarded Mac. He knew she was geeky smart but now he saw why she’d been trusted with so much responsibility at such a young age. She’d managed to piece together a whole lot more than anyone else.
‘Her name is Rhea,’ admitted Kaspar.
Mac frowned.
‘She’s an Insurgent. I killed the guy who killed Dillon and then she got the jump on me. She could’ve killed me easily, but instead she carried me to safety and bandaged me up.’
‘And she told you her name?’ Mac asked, aghast.
‘Yeah, when I asked,’ Kaspar admitted.
‘Had you ever seen her before?’
‘Nope. Never. And I’m still trying to figure out why she did it.’
‘Did she plant some kind of device on you?’
‘No. That’s the first thing I checked when they put me in here,’ said Kaspar. ‘No tracking devices, no listening devices, no data-blocking or sabotage devices. Nothing.’
‘So not only did she spare your life but she saved your life?’
‘Yeah,’ Kaspar replied.
‘I see,’ said Mac.
‘Do you? Explain it to me then, ’cause I don’t,’ said Kaspar.
Mac contemplated Kaspar for a moment. ‘I take it back. I don’t see.’
‘Good. That makes me feel a little less stupid. I don’t want to talk about Rhea any more. I’ve had an idea and I need your help,’ said Kaspar.
‘All you have to do is ask,’ smiled Mac.
A couple of hours later, Kaspar felt like a proper cyber-troll as he scoured every source he could think of for information. He’d learned his lesson, though, and was now using his personal access code, not his Guardian one. Nothing significant popped up on the Insurgency that Kaspar didn’t already know. In fact, thanks to Brother Simon, he actually knew more. But he couldn’t escape the feeling in his gut that he was missing something; they all were. Since Dillon’s death it was almost as if there was something pushing at him, compelling him to discover more about the Insurgents and their motives. It was now close to becoming an obsession. Kaspar supposed it was because once he found their vulnerabilities, then they could be stopped for good.
After the umpteenth session of trawling fruitlessly through cyberspace for information, Mac came up with a new suggestion. ‘Maybe we’re concentrating too much on facts.’
‘You think we should try researching fiction? That doesn’t sound very scientific,’ said Kaspar.
‘No,’ she smiled. ‘Not fiction exactly. I was thinking about your dream, or whatever you call it. The images you saw when the girl was carrying you in the desert.’
‘That was just me hallucinating,’ Kaspar dismissed. He was beginning to wish he’d never told Mac about Rhea. ‘I’d been blown up, kicked in the head and breathed in a load of burning chemicals.’
‘Maybe not. Maybe the visions really are something? Maybe you saw something and your addled brain reinterpreted it?’
‘Reinterpreted?’
‘Yeah. Like what if she was wearing earrings that were hawk-shaped, and you remember that as being carried in the beak of a hawk.’
That actually sounded plausible. ‘So you think we should treat all my “visions” as possible facts?’
‘Well, yes!’
So now Kaspar input every detail he could remember: Rhea, her description, the cottage and the bridge, the hawk, the weather, the smell of mellisse berries, everything.
Once the bots were off and running, Mac stood up. ‘I need to get back to the Academy,’ she said with reluctance.
Kaspar couldn’t figure out why he suddenly felt strangely disappointed. Of course Mac had to get back home. It wasn’t like she could stay with him in the Clinic.
‘Thanks for coming to see me, Mac.’ He smiled. ‘And for all your help. I really appreciate it.’
‘Any time, soldier. And you don’t need to be quite so formal. We’re friends, OK?’
Kaspar nodded, though he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be more than Mac’s friend. In fact . . . ‘Mac, I don’t suppose—’ He ground to an abrupt halt, his face burning.
r />
‘You don’t suppose – what?’ Mac prompted.
‘Never mind. It doesn’t matter.’ Kaspar shook his head.
Mac opened her mouth to speak, only to close it again without saying a word, for which Kaspar was grateful. He was all kinds of a coward for not asking her out, but what was the point? She was older than him and smarter than him. She was bound to say no.
‘You’re not going to tell me what’s on your mind?’ Mac urged gently.
Kaspar shook his head.
‘You do know you can ask me anything, right? Any time, day or night. And you’ve got all my contact details.’
‘Yeah, thanks,’ said Kaspar.
The silence between them began to stretch into something uncomfortable.
‘I’d better get back to my library,’ said Mac.
‘OK. Thanks again.’
‘See you soon,’ smiled Mac.
Kaspar nodded, and then she was gone. He lay back to try and get some sleep, but he couldn’t relax. His thoughts kept jumping about like demented fleas. The more he thought about it, the more he thought Mac might be on to something. His visions made no sense as mere dreams. They were too vivid – and too ordinary. He didn’t buy the ‘inhaling fumes’ explanation any more. He knew five people back on the farm who had got a good lungful of burning poly-trimethyl-xanthine insulation. They had all hallucinated all right, but every one of them had had surreal, nightmarish hallucinations. Like Old Man Kyle, who saw an invading horde of thirty-metre-high chickens armed with laser cannons.
That was one hell of a lot different to seeing a sweet old granny who baked delicious bread.
Kaspar closed his eyes and he could almost taste it again. No, he could taste it. It was here, in the room with him, fresh-baked bread with mellisse berries. And he could hear the sounds of a family at dinner, laughing and chatting. The air was filled with the unmistakable odour of volcanic sulphur and the temperature in the room was much warmer than comfortable, but in spite of all that he felt warm and enveloped, a part of it.
He opened his eyes and sat up sharply. Now he didn’t even have to be asleep for his senses to take him to some place he’d never been before. He felt like his body was being hijacked. No way could he share what he was going through with anyone, not even Mac. If the doctors at the Clinic got the slightest hint of what was going on in his head, he’d never get back to the Academy.
21
The view was like nothing Kaspar had ever seen before – and yet it was strangely familiar. How was that even possible? As Kaspar stood on the crest of the hill drinking in the scene around him, he felt at peace, at home. Gorse and heather provided a soft, springy carpet beneath his feet. The recent rains had left the air smelling fresh and sweet enough to eat. He took breath after deep breath, trying to fill not just his lungs but his entire body with this good feeling. He looked around. Blue sky with top-lit clouds called him upwards. Distant valleys and hills pulled him onwards. The cottage at the foot of the hill in the valley behind him beckoned him home. How could there be anywhere else on the planet as perfect as this? After the concrete and steel and cold blue and yellow lights of Capital City, this place was like an oasis for his eyes, not to mention his soul. kaspar felt like he could stay there for ever. This scene, this peace, was something worth fighting for. Here was a place worth dying for.
Someone was calling him. Kaspar turned his head. Grandma stood at the bottom of the hill, one hand on her hip, the other waving frantically. She’d obviously been calling him for a while.
‘Coming, Grandma,’ Kaspar called down to her.
He started to race down the hill, loving that almost out-of-control feeling of acceleration he got every time he did this. He laughed excitedly every time he almost pitched forward, managing at the last moment to regain his balance – but only just.
‘Rhea, be careful,’ Grandma called out urgently.
Rhea?
My name is Kaspar, he thought.
And the thought made him lose his footing. Kaspar tried to lean back, to regain his centre of gravity, but it was too late. He pitched forwards and hit the ground with a thud. Then he began to tumble, tumble. The ground was no longer soft. Each part of his body made painful contact with the ground as he tumbled downwards. An elbow here, the side of his face, a knee, his back. Pain punched through his body till he must surely pass out.
Kaspar sat bolt upright, his breathing heavy.
What the hell . . . ?
Oh, great! Now he was dreaming about the terrorist. Maybe the Clinic really was the best place for him. He took a deep breath to try and steady his nerves, only to halt abruptly. He could still smell it, the aroma of grass and gorse and heather and the sweet, fresh smell of the air after the rains.
Since when were dreams so vivid that even the scent of them lingered when awake?
He buried his head in his hands. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why he kept having these dreams. Was he cracking up? Is that why they were keeping him in the Clinic? Was he losing it and the officials were just waiting for the right time to tell him?
Or was the explanation much simpler than that?
22
After three and a half weeks in the Clinic, Kaspar was finally allowed to return to the Academy. His wounds had all healed and he was pronounced fit for duty. His brain chemistry still wasn’t quite back to normal, but it was stable enough and none of the psych tests had indicated responses outside established parameters. Kaspar made sure to restrict his answers to what he felt they wanted to hear rather than the truth as he saw it – and he certainly kept his continued visions of ‘Grandma’ to himself. Now he was seated in the briefing room waiting for Voss to arrive with the day’s assignments.
‘What are you hoping for?’ Janna asked him.
‘After weeks of medical jail, I’ll take anything,’ he replied.
‘What? Even school visits toting a plastic gun?’
‘Even that.’
Voss walked in and strode briskly to the podium. ‘Good morning, everyone,’ he said. ‘And welcome back to Guardian Wilding, who has finally returned from his three-week vacation at a health spa. From what I hear – and I heard a lot – they were glad to see the back of you.’
Kaspar’s face burned. There was a good-natured chorus of insults and abuse before Voss restored order, but from the piercing look Voss gave him Kaspar knew his boss had been kept informed of all he’d said and done while at the Clinic.
‘OK, to business. As most of you are aware’ – Voss looked pointedly at Kaspar – ‘the Insurgents have stepped up their mass attacks lately, and quite frankly we aren’t handling them as efficiently as we should. We are taking too long to respond, we are taking too many casualties and the bastards are getting away with too much. So, today we are going on a little outing to the Garrom Forest exercise area where we will spend all day on section strength, live-fire training. And nobody gets to go home until you all get perfect scores. Let’s go.’
‘Oh, man,’ Janna grumbled. And she wasn’t the only one. ‘I thought this intensive training crap would be finished once we graduated.’
‘At least you lot are in shape,’ Kaspar pointed out. ‘After three weeks in the medical centre, I’m probably going to embarrass myself.’
Ten minutes later, the section was loaded into the transport and heading towards the Radial 14 interchange.
Kaspar studied the scenery out of the transport window as the others chatted around him, the buzz of their voices turning into so much background noise.
‘Hey, Kas, you looking forward to a day playing kiss-chase in the woods?’ asked Janna, nudging him.
‘That’s not going to happen,’ replied Kaspar.
‘Are you implying I won’t catch you?’ said Janna indignantly.
‘Well, unless the driver is lost and the satnav is malfunctioning, we’re going the wrong way.’
‘Give that boy a cookie,’ said Voss from the front of the transport. ‘He’s right – we’re not going to t
he range.’
Now Kaspar wasn’t the only one checking out the scenery. The Guardians exchanged puzzled looks.
‘We’ve had a good tip from Intelligence,’ continued Voss. ‘And we think the Insurgency are going to hit a network sub-node in the Thirteenth District, so we’re going to set a trap for them.’
‘Then why say we’re going to the range?’ asked Janna.
‘Because we think that there’s a leak somewhere at the Academy or in our Governmental Liaison department. We always seem to be one step behind, and we think that someone is playing for the wrong team, tipping off the Insurgents before we can really hurt them. So this time we’re not informing anyone of what we’re doing until after we’ve done it.’
‘Do we suspect who the spy might be?’ Kaspar asked, appalled. He could hardly believe it. Someone at their base was a traitor?
‘No.’ Voss’s expression was grim.
‘Are we sure the Insurgents are going to hit District Thirteen today?’ asked Mariska.
‘No, but apparently there’s a good chance. Look, there’s no point asking me a bunch of questions about stuff that’s way above my pay-grade. Just concentrate on your job. The transport is going to drop us one click south of the sub-node. Here.’ Voss activated the mission planner and a 3D image of the area appeared on all their HUDs. A small wood shielded the south and west of the building. To the north of the sub-node there was less shelter, a few trees but mostly just neat lawns and shaped shrubs. ‘We infiltrate on foot and take up positions around the station. Then we wait.’
The mood on the transport was sombre now. All the Guardians rechecked their equipment and then crosschecked each other. By the time they arrived at the drop-off point close to the sub-node, they were ready. The transport pulled off the road and parked under the branches of a large tree. The Guardians bailed out like it was on fire and stood tense and alert at the edge of the road, peering into the trees, trying to see something untoward. After a quick check, Voss led them into the undergrowth and they fanned out tactically through the trees. In just a few minutes, they had surrounded the sub-node and had blended into the terrain so skilfully as to be virtually invisible.