Simon Morden - Theories of Flight

Perhaps he’d thought that he would have felt her passing, something akin to having his heart ripped out and stamped on. He hadn’t noticed after all. He’d been busy doing other things that now felt hollow and pointless. He thought she’d do what she always did—be strong, lead her troops, survive, and then come back home to him.

He sat down. He sat down and put his head in his hands.

[There is a discrepancy in the story you have just heard. Shall I explain?]

“Yeah.”

[Madeleine is reported to have left this location three hours ago. If I assign a margin of error half an hour either way… ]

“I don’t need to see your working. Just tell me.”

[The MEA security evacuated the City Airport at seventeen minutes past two, which would have given her more than sufficient time to reach them before they left. Your current location was denied microwave relay capability at twelve thirty-five, but further south, it was viable up until two thirty-one when the Outies destroyed the electricity substation.]

“Just tell me.”

[When Madeleine and Corporal Andersson left here, the surrounding area was mostly Outie controlled, but the North Circular Road was still clear. The Outies did not completely take Manor Park until after your wife would have passed through. There was nothing preventing her and Andersson either reaching their destination or transmitting messages once they were in range of a working relay. They did neither.]

“So… what? What are you saying?”

[That something else prevented her from completing her mission. That she might not be dead.]

“What the huy happened to her then?” His head came up. The MEA troopers were standing around him in a loose circle. They looked as ragged as he did.

“We’re very sorry,” said the woman. “But we’d like to get out of here before the Outies come back.”

“They are not coming back,” said Valentina, sitting on top of a car, kalash across her knees. “They are beaten. They are running like whipped dogs. Also, there is nowhere for you to go. All bridges across the river have gone, destroyed by EDF. You are deserted by your commanders.”

“So who’s in charge?”

Valentina jumped down and slung the rifle over her shoulder. “He is. He organized defense of Metrozone. He fought war. He won it. So if you answer to anyone now it is Samuil Petrovitch. He has rescued you, and you owe him your lives.”

“Enough, Valentina. Enough.”

“Is true.”

“She’s gone. No one knows where. She went with a man who thought she’d be better off with him than with me and they’ve both disappeared.” He looked at his hands. The state of them should be causing him debilitating pain, but he could block that out the way he could block the ruin that were his eyes. It turned out that nothing could quite prepare him for the way he felt now. There was no software hack in the world he could use. “Go. Just everyone go. The major will give you a ride back into the central zones. You can decide for yourselves what you’re going to do next.”

“And what will you do?” Valentina didn’t move.

“Look for her. Keep looking until I find her.”

[Lucy wants to speak to you.]

“Is it important?”

[Yes.]

Petrovitch gripped his forehead and squeezed his temples until he could feel it. “Lucy?”

“Sam? Sam…”

Petrovitch sat up sharply. “What’s wrong?”

There was a sound that could have been a slap, open-handed, skin on skin. What followed a moment later was definitely a gasp.

“What’s wrong?” said a voice. “I’m what’s wrong.”

“ Chyort. Sorenson.”

“I’m assuming this, this thing, means something to you.” Her voice was tight, barely controlled. “I will hurt her, very, very badly, and will keep hurting her until you stop me. You’re going to stop me, right? You know how. Like you did with my brother.”

He got slowly to his feet. He located the position of the phone she was using, and ordered an automatic car to come and get him.

Moments before, everything had been indistinct and uncertain. He knew now what he was going to do. He was almost grateful to her, for giving him this distraction. He had not been quite this angry for a very long time. Not since Chain’s death. Days, at least.

“Yeah. I know how to stop people like you.”

She must have hit Lucy again.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

And again.

“Tell her,” said Petrovitch, “tell her I’m coming.”

“Kind of counting on that. Don’t take too long.” Sorenson’s last sentence was punctuated with a crack at the end of each syllable.

Petrovitch terminated the call, and waited until he had finished shaking with rage. He focused on Valentina.

“Forget what I just said. Something else has come up.”

She simply nodded, and climbed back over the barricade. A car was weaving its way up the flyover toward them.

A squad of Oshicora security guards met them outside the entrance to the university, dressed in full armor and carrying carbines. They had more hardware dangling from their webbing straps. Sonja was in the middle of them, her normally immaculate hair awry.

“I told you I didn’t need them,” said Petrovitch. He climbed out of the car and stalked across the pavement.

“Sam,” said Sonja. She finally saw him as he’d become, not as he had pretended to be on all the video conversations they’d had. “What have you done?”

“Yeah. In Russia, the medical experiments have you.” He spread his arms wide and parted the guards. Valentina followed in his wake, cocking her rifle and sneering disdainfully at the unbloodied poseurs.

He pushed at the doors to the foyer: they were self-opening, and although they still had power, they weren’t opening to anyone. It was a moment’s work to hack them, and they flew aside. He marched across the tiled concourse. At the start of the week, that place had echoed to the ludicrous scrum that had accompanied his scientific discovery. Now, it rang only to tramping boots and the muted rattles of military equipment.

At the foot of the stairs, he turned. “Wait here.”

Sonja put her hands on her hips. “Sam, Sorenson’s going to kill you.”

“She’s going to try,” he corrected. He pulled out the tank major’s side-arm and pulled the slide. “Your crew will wait right here, and they will not interfere. I’m doing this on my own.”

“She’s going with you, isn’t she?” Sonja pointed at Valentina.

“She’s my right arm. Neither of us has a choice whether she comes with me.”

“Well, I’m coming too.”

Petrovitch turned his camera on her, and judged how much damage she could do to his fragile psyche in the time it took to get to his lab.

“Only up to the door, then.” He started up the stairs. “Tell me about the Americans.”

“Publicly, there’s not going to be a change in policy. You, me, everyone involved, is a member of the terrorist organization the New Machine Jihad, which is as stupid as it sounds but their foreign policy doesn’t do nuanced. Privately, the President will not sign any further Executive Orders against us. I think that means we can ignore the saber-rattling for now.”

“That promise is as meaningless as it sounds if we don’t know what Executive Orders he’s signed already.”

“It was the best I could do!”

“Then you have to do better. Yobany stos, Sonja. The art of leadership is delegation: your father understood that. If you don’t think playing hardball with the Yanks is your thing, find someone else who’ll go back for a third time and threaten to cut Mackensie’s yajtza off. I’ve handed you half a city; do not lose it. If you screw up, the AI has nowhere to go. Old man Oshicora’s work, pfft. Gone.”