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credit: Canva/Irena Szirtes |
Fitful sleep was pierced by shafts of light as the cell door swung open. Victor stood colossus-like on top of the steps. “Move it, Hood.”
I struggled to my feet. Extreme pain compressed my ribcage, and my collar bone was clearly fractured.
“Some bitch of a warder has done you over then, “ he observed as he motioned me into the corridor, then up some stairs to an interrogation room. Roland was waiting at the desk.
“Do you have the paperwork?” It was well known Benson Parry liked hard copies of everything: his archives were overflowing. Roland nodded and pushed a large printed sheet across the table, then motioned me to sit and put a pen in my hand.
“Digital papers first!” Victor banged a tablet down on the desk in front of me.
“Sign here. You’ll renounce all Hood philosophy and work for the Regime undercover, courtesy of your benefactor Benson Parry. Fortunately for you, Agent Pargeter has seen your potential. Damned if I can”
“I wouldn’t say... potential, “ Roland put in, “but the chance to make... history. The only Imiołczyk to ever... work for the Regime. The only Imiołczyk to ever... work under the guidance of Spymaster Mars. Now that’s a trophy to gladden Parry’s heart. A Regime... triumph.”
Victor leaned down, looked directly at me. “Ironic, isn’t it? Your name’s giving you the chance to live, when that same stupid name has brought nothing but empty ideals and certain death.”
It was there, beyond all hope, beyond precedent, the chance to live. All it took was to sign: I could find some way out later.
“Don’t be a fool, girl,” Victor went on, “Forget old traditions, create a new one: choose life.”
Life! A lifetime that might see Parry overthrown, that might continue through children and grandchildren. A lifetime that might see animals back in fields, the economy flourish, civil liberties restored. I can’t deny there was a moment I saw myself signing.
Yet through the cold, through searing pain, hunger, raging thirst and fear of death, something began to rumble inside, rising like a volcano. It was white-hot pure Imiołczyk, distilled with adrenaline, set ablaze by every last agony my forebears endured, stoked by my father’s dying cries. Part relief at feeling my heritage at last, part illogical, inappropriate reaction, I began to giggle.
“Shut the f*** up, what’s so funny?”
“You – you are! A dog is dog! Tell a dog it’s cat till you’re blue in the face, and it won’t make any difference! Dog is dog, bird is bird, and Imiołczyk is Imiołczyk! My forebears were awesome, my dad was a hero, and like it or not, I’m his daughter! And you – you’re nothing but a load of pompous strutting dick-heads!”
I was half-laughing, half crying now, as I added “So I won’t sign!”
“Well, that’s regrettable, but it’s your choice, Little Hood!” Victor pulled me off the chair and pushed me to my knees. My eyes closed when I sensed the silencer at the back of my head.
“Wait!” Roland hissed. “Let’s have a bit of fun... with her first.”
“You Bots keep the torture. I’m a soldier, not some goon of an ex-con - a warrior, not a sicko. Get the job done, that’s my way – a clean slash to the throat, a bullet in the back of the head, death in battle. I’ve neither the patience nor the stomach for teasing out innards and piercing eyes.”
“Not that kind of fun.”
Roland turned and locked the door from the inside. “I mean... this girl, well, thinks she’s a cut above... the rest. Won’t put it about... Doesn’t know what... she’s made for. You’d do well to show her what a real man can do, just like on those ... holo-novels of yours. Now that’s what would rile her. Don’t send her to the acid baths... without it.”
The barrel dropped, the gun placed on the desk. I felt Victor weaken; vice fired his eyes and gripped his imagination, and I understood where the mind goes, the man follows. Yet it was Roland I loathed more. Somehow voyeuristic pleasure seemed sicker than the deed itself. A groper? He was worse. How stupid I’d been! I knew, weakened by injuries and hunger, I had no chance of holding them off, but desperation finds strength to struggle.
“Sick!” I yelled in Victor’s face, “Is this because you don’t know what to do with a real woman? Will no one have you? A real man? A real pervert, more like. A weak, pathetic, addiction-addled pervert!”
Pain exploded through me as Victor slapped my mouth then forced me to the floor. Some unearthly glint settled in his eyes: he’d been sucked into his own holo-novel, past the point of no return. I began wrapping my legs together as Victor tried to prise them apart, and heard Roland whisper, “Let me help you... with that.”
From the corner of my eye I saw Roland was carrying the smart gun; my eyes shut tight.
A muffled explosion; Victor jolted; his full weight fell on me. I cried out as fresh pain tore through every cell. Then Roland was shoving at him, gasping for breath, and Victor fell face up beside me. Roland still had the gun in his hand, and I knew I was next. But he took my arm. “Get... get up.”
He helped me to the desk. My body had stopped responding; I had to plant each step as though I were learning to walk, and shook like blossom in the breeze. I kept glancing at Victor, invincible Victor, so beautifully formed, eyes staring, dark blood and grey brain pooling round the back of his head. Confusion overwhelmed me again.
“I need you to... help me,” Roland was saying. Can you... help me?” I nodded dumbly, with no idea what I was supposed to do, or why. He took Victor’s phone then handed it to me.
“I want you to take out his... mission identity, take out his... true identity, and give him mine - that is, my real... identity. I’ll find it for you, it’s in a file... here. Make him Agent Jason Pargeter... Transfer all records. Set the change... on permanent. Can you do it?”
I nodded again, then touched through the procedure on autopilot, fingers shaking. Roland opened a deep drawer in a filing cabinet, pulled out a folded a body bag. He tried to get Victor inside on his own, but there was no option but to help him, though every move and lift pierced my stricken ribs and broken collar bone.
“Just bear... with me,” he went on, “I’ll get you help... later.”
I was speechless, devoid of feeling inside, while anything and everything outside sought a bruise or graze to torment. Yet somehow, we got Victor in, and the bag zipped. Then Roland gave me Victor’s jacket from the chair, gave Victor’s identity to himself, and set the change as temporary.
“Right.” He said, “nearly there. What Benson Parry would give for... technology like this!”
I wondered why Parry’s Spymaster hadn’t given it him already. That was the only vague thought I remember from that time.
Roland logged on to the office computer and made further modifications to the data. “That’s the death of Spymaster Mars... officially recorded. Now you must... play along. You’re my prisoner.”
I was unsure whether ‘playing along’ was euphemism for what was real. He fetched handcuffs from the drawer and the last dregs of adrenaline finally drained away. I accepted them meekly as he had, all those months ago. Then he unlocked the door, and we left Victor staring up inside the body bag.
Roland rapped a door in the long corridor and, motioning me to stay where I was, stepped in.
“Good morning officers,” I heard him say. “ There’s been an... unfortunate accident in interrogation room 5. I do wish they wouldn’t... die under interrogation, so... inconsiderate!” I heard laughter, then Roland again. “See to it the body is taken to the acid baths... immediately. Priority. And find a cleaner for the room... We’ll be needing it again... soon.”
“Yes sir, right away sir,” and Roland exited.
We crossed through Reception on our way out.
“What’s happening here?” the young Bot at the desk was insufferably officious.
“How dare you question a... superior that way?” Mr Officious paled and stood to his feet immediately. “Beg pardon sir, my mistake sir.”
Roland scanned the man’s chip and he became obsequious. “I had no idea, sir, I would never have called out a superior, I mean, if you’d been in uniform - it’s the plain clothes, you see... ”
Roland fixed the young man with a cold and piercing stare.
“No, really, it was my fault entirely sir, mine alone. It will never happen again.”
It was chilling to see the Bot from Cafe Cameron back at work. He curdled the young Bot's blood, just as he’d curdled mine that day, and horrified all of Cameron’s customers. The Roland I hated had re-emerged: soft-spoken, brooding, Cruelty-in-Waiting.
“It certainly... won’t, officer Martin, I’ll make... sure of it. Make no mistake, you’ve narrowly escaped.. disciplinary procedure. But today I feel... magnanimous. You are excused this once.”
“Thank you, sir, oh, thank you! I knew you were magnanimous sir, I knew it, I said to myself the minute I saw you, now there’s a true son of our benefactor!”
“That’s enough, Martin... Sit down. I have an important message for... Central Command. I need you to take it, encrypt it and send it... immediately.”
“Central Command? Yes sir, right away, sir.”
“Here it is, are you... ready?
‘Agent Kellerman was correct, deserves all credit. Mars treacherous, now eliminated. Long live Benson Parry.”
Agent Martin had the message encrypted and sent within seconds. He was obviously flattered at being trusted with a message for Central Command, and was regaining his confidence. He glanced sideways, and it flashed through his mind to question Roland about the battered, handcuffed girl in a man’s jacket, but thought better of it. Roland saw it too. He leaned across the desk and assumed a confidential air. “I like you, Officer Martin, despite your... ignorance of protocol.” He looked around, though no one else was present, and lowered his voice even further. “So I’ll tell you what I’m doing. I’m taking the skirt to get... cleaned up and fed, ready for - let’s say – some rather... high-ranking officers.” He nodded, and Officer Martin risked a nervous smile, before Roland added, “But of course, you don’t... know that. You never knew it, just like you... never knew the contents of that... message.”
The smile faded and Officer Martin paled again. Then he stood and saluted. As we exited the building, Roland scanned himself at the exit door. That was how Victor Mann’s departure from Lakeland Enemy HQ was recorded.