Degrees of Freedom

27

When Petrovitch got back to the main gates, the workers were waiting. They’d heard the shots, and the subsequent silence, and hadn’t known what to think.

“Did you…?” someone called.

“They’re all dead, save one.” He stopped, and they started to gather round. Very soon, he’d lost sight of any but the first couple of rows, so he climbed up the back of a flat-bed truck and sat on the edge. “Sorry about your friends. I hadn’t expected Sonja to be so yebani stupid. You’ve lost people you know, and it’s now on my watch. I’m responsible.”

“What are you—we—going to do now?” shouted a woman from the back. When those around her turned to face her, she flushed scarlet and mumbled.

“No, you’re right. I wanted to just ignore Sonja, but it looks like she has other ideas. And Mother has told me, in words of one syllable, that we can’t just pretend she’s not there.” His left arm was almost out of power again. He’d had nowhere near enough time to recharge the batteries. He dragged it across his lap and growled at it, before addressing the crowd again. “The Oshicora Corporation has a couple of thousand people working for it. A lot of those are paper-pushers doing Freezone admin, but you’ve got her personal security detail that numbers a couple of hundred, and about twenty thousand nikkeijin, spread throughout the city.”

“Do you think they’re all going to fight us?”

“Good question. If they do, we’re going to end up burning down a large part of what we’ve spent a year building up.”

“I did ten years in the EDF,” said a man, and the woman behind him said, “I was in the Metrozone police for five.”

“Yeah, we’re probably going to need people like you. But I don’t want to have to build another army. They aren’t Outies: they’re our neighbors. We don’t do that to them.”

“Why are our mates dead, then?”

“Because Sonja Oshicora ordered Container Zero to be destroyed, and Takashi Iguro took those orders very seriously. Seriously enough to kill. Okay: so who have we got a complaint against?”

“It’s Oshicora.”

“And her alone. I’d like to try and keep the number of people who have to die over this to those who’ve already lost their lives. I can’t do anything for them; I’m not a miracle worker. But neither am I going to start a war in which hundreds, maybe thousands, of people die. Been there, done that. I still see it when I close my eyes.”

He drew his legs under him and stood up on the truck, gazing down at the solemn faces waiting on his next words. It was unavoidable—he’d actively sought a reputation when he’d fought the Outies, deliberately creating myths that would inspire and encourage.

They were very difficult to dispel, no matter how hard he tried.

“Everyone with military or police training wait here. The rest of you: we need stretchers, we need body bags, we need identities from the work roster and I’ll call the next of kin myself. There’s stuff to be done. Let’s be professional about it.” He jerked his head. “Go on. You’ve got things to do, and so have I.”

He was left with half a dozen, and Madeleine moved them away for an unhurried conversation.

Tabletop looked at them. “Unless you’re prepared to blow the tower up with Sonja in it, you’re going to need more.”

“Or I could get all Jihad on her zhopu, get enough flying things in the air to bring it down. That would work.”

“But you won’t do it, will you?”

“No. Two reasons. First, it’s going to make a hell of a mess and I’m not clearing it up. Second, I want to know why. I’m missing something here, something so enormous I can’t see it because I’m in it. So yeah, I want to walk into her office and demand some answers.” He looked in the direction of where Sonja was. He knew her phones. He could pinpoint her exactly. “She’s not going to tell me until she’s lost so completely she has nothing left to lose.”

“In that case we need personnel, guns, vehicles, explosives and a plan.”

“We’ve got enough earth-movers and construction equipment for an armored brigade. We have more cee-four than we can carry. Madeleine has the keys to the warehouse where all the firearms we’ve collected over the last eleven months are. The Freezone database tells me I have a couple of thousand ex-servicemen and women on the payroll.” Petrovitch shrugged. “It’s a start.”

Tabletop held up her hand, and he used it to steady himself while he jumped down. “All you need now is a plan that’ll mean you don’t have to use any of it.”

“Better give me a minute, then.” He started to walk away, and swerved back. “Find Tina, tell her to take Lucy back to the arts college and pick up Lucy’s stash. I feel some shock and awe coming on.”

“Lucy’s ‘stash’?” She didn’t question the request though, and used her suit comms to talk to Valentina, striding back toward the main gate.

He was alone, in what had been a semi-circle of formal park before the great entrance to the Regent’s Park domik pile had landed on it. The gardens had been concreted over, but the slab had cracked along the original lines of the paths and flower beds. Like everything in Armageddon, it had been done quickly, and not well.

Petrovitch walked, head down, following the cracks like a labyrinth.

He had to neutralize the Japanese work parties, convince them not to take sides, either his or Sonja’s. Then there were Sonja’s employees: they weren’t soldiers, but they probably thought of themselves as servants and felt they owed her their loyalty.

They owed him loyalty too. He could exploit that. Old Man Oshicora had lost most of his staff, killed by the New Machine Jihad. The more recent hirings wouldn’t have a residual fealty, transferring allegiance from father to daughter.

Her uniformed security guards—now that was going to be difficult, if not impossible. He had to find enough leverage to put himself between them and their boss, or he was going to have to do it the hard way.

They could hold out for as long as the ammunition did, and storming the tower was going to result in a bloodbath. He’d do pretty much anything to avoid that.

He walked, and when he reached a junction on the cracked concrete pad, he turned in an arbitrary direction. An idea slowly came to him, slower than it ought. It was hard to keep his thoughts in order when he was so very tired and kept being distracted by the fact of Sonja’s betrayal.

Then he went slowly back to the main gates. Valentina’s car had gone, along with Lucy. Madeleine had also vanished, along with a couple of trucks and all those he’d called out. The workers in Regent’s Park were busy. The first of a fleet of ambulances whispered along the road and onto the dirt track that led inside.

Tabletop was there, though. She was sitting in a truck cab, her eyes shut and her head resting on the upholstery. Petrovitch climbed up to the driver’s seat, by necessity using just his right hand to aid him, and slumped behind the wheel.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi.” She didn’t open her eyes. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Giving me a home.”

“That’s okay.”

“I think I’ll enjoy being Irish.”

“At least you’ll be able to remember it. No more mind-wipes. Promise.”

“That’s good. Thought of something?”

“Yeah. Doing it now.” He leaned back, wedging his knees against the steering wheel. “Divide and conquer. I’ve called everyone with relevant experience here, regardless of nationality. There are a whole bunch of nikkeijin who were cops, and the Japanese riot police were yebani nails. I’ve extended the call to everyone in Sonja’s security teams—it’s the only message they’ve had on them for a while, so they’ll notice. I’m also giving them the Al Jazeera interview, because they’ll have missed that the first time around.”

“And if they don’t come over?”

“We’ll seal the whole block off: it’s easily done, as there are major roads bounding the tower on each side. Then I’ll give them another call and appeal to their better natures.”

“Still sounds like we’re going to have to fight.”

“Maybe we will. There’s one thing I can try before that point though.” He closed his own eyes. It was tempting, so very tempting. Five minutes, that was all he’d need. “I’m just going to walk in and dare them to shoot me.”

Now she was awake. “What?”

“The one constant factor in all of this has been that Sonja will not let me be harmed. The arm thing, while that wasn’t going to kill me, I think she was genuinely angry with those who’d done that to me. It wasn’t meant to happen. Everything else—the bomb, Iguro—she could’ve had me finished in half a dozen different ways, but they’ve always held off. I bet you that if I’d announced my presence back at Container Zero just now, I could have walked out and no one would have fired. I didn’t have the yajtza to do it then, but I’m just going to have to man up and do it this time.”

“You really think Madeleine’s going to let you do that?”

“She’s not in charge,” said Petrovitch. “I am.”

“And you’re worried about Oshicora’s crew shooting you?” Tabletop pursed her lips and stared out of the windshield. “It’s your wife you need to be scared of.”

“Me and Michael have killed tens of thousands of people between us. If you think that’s inured me to killing a few hundred more, you’d be wrong. If anything, it’s persuaded me that victory doesn’t automatically go to the side with the lowest body count.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Sometimes there’s a better way of winning.”

“Good luck with that. I only know one way.”

“That’s because of the way you were made. Strange: there are a bunch of cardinals closeted in a room trying to work out if Michael’s alive, and yet none of them question our humanity, no matter how badly we’re put together.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching the activity outside. The ambulances that had arrived earlier, bounced and swayed their way back out, and a group of workers congregated to watch them go.

“There are days,” said Tabletop, “when I wonder who I was. Because I have no memories, all I have is how I react, and I don’t… I don’t like what I see. What was it that the Agency saw in me that made them think I’d make a good assassin? What did I do? Torture animals? Hurt people? Or did I just destroy them with a well-placed piece of gossip and watch while their lives imploded?”

Petrovitch shifted in his seat, counting the number of volunteers who’d responded to his call. He felt humbled. “Maddy says I’m wrong to call you Tabletop. Tina calls you Fiona, and I don’t think I’ve ever actually asked you which you’d prefer. I just assumed.”

“You’re not really Sam Petrovitch, are you? It’s not what your mother called you in the cradle, but you seem happy enough with what you have.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll pick a new name, one I’ve chosen myself. For now, I’ll stick with what I’ve got. It’s fine.”

“Okay.” He reached for the door handle. “Here they come.”

“Who?”

“The new republic.” He glanced in the wing mirror, and frowned. “Yobany stos.”

He kicked the door open and stepped out onto the footplate. There was a column of cars and trucks slowly rumbling down Marylebone. Valentina was at the head, and Lucy was sitting in the open window, holding a roof bar with one hand and a flag with the other.

The flag was red, and it wasn’t alone.

There were others, fluttering from aerials, wipers, radiator grilles, held by hand or tied to makeshift poles. A sea of red.

Petrovitch dropped to the ground, and Valentina pulled up next to him.

“What the huy have you done?”

“Hmm,” she said, not looking apologetic for a single moment. “We are having revolution, da?”

“Do you know what this looks like?”

“Looks like popular uprising of people against oppressors. Red is traditional color for such occasions. Is most visual, and does not show blood.” She turned the engine off and pointed to the back seat. There were boxes of black spheres, all chased with thin silver lines. “Since we have bombs, perhaps anarchist black would have been more appropriate.”

“But I like red,” said Lucy, scrambling out of the window. She headed for the back of the flatbed to raise the standard there.

“It’s as if a whole world of cultural meaning has cried out in terror and been suddenly silenced.” He tilted his face to the sky and groaned. “When this gets broadcast, I’m going to have some really difficult questions to answer.”

Valentina got out and looked back at the row of vehicles coming to a halt behind her. “When? They are already here.”

“Terrific.” Petrovitch watched people streaming onto the road and toward him. Mixed in with them was the glint of camera lenses and the parasol shadows of held-high satellite dishes.

He looked at the traffic patterns, the density of mobile phones, the bandwidth use across the Freezone. He turned around to greet another cavalcade coming down Euston Road.

They all had red flags too.

“Tina?”

“No. Is good. Shows we are united. Speak with one voice, act with one mind.” She took him by the arm and led him toward where Lucy stood, a modern-day Marianne. “Also, not shooting friends is good. Flag means we recognize our own.”

“At the risk of polarizing the rest of the planet.” Petrovitch accepted the bunk-up onto the truck. “This is not meant to be political.”

“Then you are deluding yourself,” said Valentina. “This has always been political. All this getting rid of old order, standing up to capitalist aggression, rights for artificial intelligence, starting own country…”

“My own country?”

“Of course. That is why we all have Irish passport, da? You will have freedom to do whatever you want.” She climbed up alongside him and reached back down into the pressing crowd for another hastily made flag. “This is revolution. Where is end? I do not know. All I know, this is beginning and we must be brave.”