Squirming on a Regency chair in Tyrone's library and surrounded by shelves of elegantly-bound volumes, Nika ran her fingers through the curls of her hair and frowned at the talking image of Nazreen cast by her ajna a short distance from her face.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you, but Robo's being quite obstreperous about going to live on a robot farm. He sees it as a betrayal on your part."

A rattle from behind her gave Nazreen a start. A claw-tipped arm shot out, pushing her aside. Robo's alloy head, bristling with ire, replaced her startled face. His eyelets blinked furiously and his rubber lips were crinkled in a sneer. Another claw-tipped arm appeared and pulled open a panel on his upper chest. It withdrew a small, square-shaped circuit board and held it up for her to see. "There--I've ripped out my heart. I hope you're happy."

She gasped. "Honestly, Robo, I don't want to do this."

"I suppose you're going to tell me it hurts you more than it hurts me. Boohoo!" The little alloy chef's voice crackled with contempt.

"Robo, I don't have any choice. The lease will be up soon, and when the property company comes to clear the place out they'll put you into storage like a washing machine. I can't go back to the flat to bring you here...for obvious reasons." She was almost in tears.

"Fine." His grasping claw delicately slid the circuit board back inside the panel, which he snapped shut. "Do with me as you will."

He spun around and trundled out of sight. Nazreen's face reappeared. "You see what I mean, Nika. I took him to a nice robot farm yesterday and they were willing to have him as the chef de cuisine of a bot kitchen display. He didn't like the place, claimed it was a glorified junk yard, and said they'd have him cannibalized within a week." Her eyes widened. "What can I do?"

She sighed. "Just keep trying, Naz. Thanks for riding around with him and searching for his next home."

Nazreen's head gave a little bobbing motion. "That's what friends are for. Talk to you later."

The image vanished and she slumped on her chair. In the silence, she smoothed back a ringlet of hair that had fallen across her face. The gesture caused her to glance at the long rows of shelves,  lining the walls with their leather-bound tomes. She began scrutinizing the spines of books, many of them cracked and faded. Her eyes settled on one with gold-and-red binding, resting on the topmost shelf: On War by Carl von Clausewitz. She wrinkled her brow. Oh my God, that reminds me--I said I'd meet Tyrone outside for basic training.

She jumped up from her chair and ran across the tiled floor, speeding past the room adorned with Chinese artifacts. She slipped out through a side door and sprinted along a narrow path to where the training fields were set up. Tyrone had offered to induct her into his squad of revo fighters. Now she was eager to learn the art of war. 

She pounded past the rose garden toward an archery shooting range. Tyrone and his squad were practicing in front of a row of targets. He aimed to take out the four-meter-high police bots by shooting at them with flaming arrows, rather than with bullets. The heat from carefully-aimed arrows would cause the delicate circuit boards to fuse inside their hard shell of skin. 

"You're a worse shot than I am," Tyrone said, after a lame-aim shooter let fly and missed. "You need to go to Lenscrafters." He glanced toward the sound of her hurrying feet.

Breathless and flustered, she skidded to a halt. She stood before him, panting and trying to compose herself. "Sorry I'm late. My robot houseboy's being obstreperous."

His face twitched. "Pick up a bow and a quiver of arrows, Nika. Let's see what you can do."

She wandered over to a table strewn with bows and loaded quivers. Flexing one of the bows, she gave Tyrone the flicker of a smile "I used to do archery at school. It's draw, shoot, hit...right? Hopefully, the bullseye."

In the first round of competition with Tyrone and the other new squaddies, she shot three hits out of four. Since she was out of practice, she felt pleased with herself.

During the next round she was interrupted by Maddy's sudden arrival. Her mother rushed up to her as she was nocking a fresh arrow, her fifth shot having landed wide of the target.

"Nika, I've just had a call from Sasha." A terror-stricken look distorted her face. "I think she's been arrested and Harley's in hospital." 

Oh shit, that's all we need. Wait. Harley in hospital..? How? "Calm down, Mum, and tell me what Sasha said in her call."

Maddy's terror turned to anger. "She took Harley flyboarding in my Tesla. He had an accident and I could hear the police talking to Sasha. I'll never see that car again."

She rolled her eyes. "Mum, losing your car is the least of our worries."

Overhearing the conversation, Tyrone made an effort to sound conciliatory. "I'll see if I can find out where Sasha and Harley are being held."

"Harl's at the Royal Free," Maddy said.

"Yes, but he'll be under guard. He's one of us and we've been branded as terrorists by the cops." She gave Tyrone a hopeful look. "Can you really find out where they're holding Sasha?"

"I'll speak to some people." He gestured toward the shooting range. "Meanwhile, shall we continue?"

He walked back to the shooting line and nocked his arrow for his next shot. She drew back her bow.

Maddy hovered near the shooting line. "Can I watch you? You used to be fairly good at--"

She glared at her to let her know she was at full draw. "Please be quiet, Mum."

"I was only going to say you were pretty good at archery when you were at school."

She gave her a blistering look. "Would you mind just shutting up? It's hard enough as it is, without you yapping at me while I'm trying to string my arrow." Why does she have to sabotage my slim chance of hitting the target?

She shot, and to her immense amazement landed a near-bullseye. It was as good as the best of the others' shots.

Tyrone whistled his approval. When it was his turn, his arrow landed well wide of the target.

An hour later, nibbling a croissant in the lightly-curtained drawing-room, she watched shafts of dazzling sunlight play on the Regency table. Sitting beside her, Tyrone lifted his cup of tea and sipped from it while mentally scanning messages on his ajna. "Keep this under your hat, but the big event is going to start on Friday."

"What will our squad's role be?" She started wiping crumbs from her mouth. "Will we be in the first wave?"

"Looks like it. I'm going to call a council of war in my study." He tinkled a little bell beside his cup. A waiter entered the room and began removing the plates and teacups. She continued to marvel at how aristocratic his lifestyle was, even on the brink of a revolution.

"Am I invited to attend?" she asked.

"Of course. You're an important part of the squad." He tuned into his ajna and began sending replies.

The war council convened soon afterward. Penny and Stella arrived from their room, Stella looking thoroughly disheveled, Penny merely sleepy. She slipped into a chair next to Chas, as the rest of the squad settled around the study table. They all wore combat fatigues and some had full kit bags at their feet, in readiness for immediate deployment.

"This meeting is called to order," Tyrone announced. "As commander of this squad, I intend to make a few appointments. Nika, I'm making you my second-in-command."

Her face turned a dusky shade of crimson. "Are you sure? I mean, I'm not a military person."

He paused and smiled. "Absolutely sure. You're an experienced team leader and you've proved yourself good under pressure."

She spent the next few minutes in a daze. Tyrone was making other appointments, but his words barely registered on her brain. Does he really think I know how to handle troops? I don't even know how to fire a gun.

Tyrone stopped speaking and looked around the room. "Is everybody clear about what we have to do?"

"A question, Commander," one of the combatants called out.

Tyrone nodded.

"What kind of opposition can we expect?"

"None from the riot police guarding the Houses of Parliament. They'll be eliminated in the first wave of attack. Coming down Whitehall with our special detonating equipment, we'll draw fire from government forces guarding the ministries. Be on the lookout for scuttle mines and other devices. Remember, they have machines as well as people. We only have people."

Special detonating equipment? What the hell are we doing with that?

He stopped again and looked anxiously at the group.

"It's important that we capture government offices and ministries, not just the House. When it's all over, the leaders of the revolution will be flying in by drone to negotiate with bigwigs from the government. They'll want the whole area to be ours."

The room hummed with agitation. Several voices were raised.

"So you see how important our mission is." Tyrone stared at the faces grouped around him. "The main thing to remember: Don't. Fuck. Up."

Turning to her, he said: "Congratulations, Sergeant. I'll give you details of the operation later." To the others, he added: "I call this meeting to a close. I trust you will all do your duty."

The meeting broke up and the troops in battle fatigues clomped out the room and into the long corridor. Chas gave her a sympathetic look and she smiled back. Don't fuck up, eh? Tyrone's turning into a four-star general.

Tyrone gave her a perfunctory nod. Then he strode through the open study door, leaving her to close it behind them.

Curious about the details of the operation Tyrone had said he would give her, she wandered outside to the paddock behind the ornamental gardens. Tyrone had told her he kept a chestnut-and-cream palomino gelding and a splotchy gray mare in stables beside the paddock, and he liked to take the gelding for a canter whenever he was under stress.

She peered over the creosote-board boundary fence and spied Tyrone riding his steed across the paddock. Gazing at his spare frame as he slowed his mount to a trot, she felt light-headed and wished she could analyze the amazing feelings tearing through her. The old Nika liked to curl up on her bed for the afternoon, absorbed in a science lecture on her ajna. The new one stood, feeling like she was in a dream, watching Tyrone pull up at the fence and let go of the reins. He sprang off his horse and the gelding gave a snort of delight. Tyrone responded by patting the muzzle and burying his face in the furry neck. The gelding whinnied and lifted his head, his jellied eyes gleaming. She felt her cheeks flush and played with the hair curling over her ears.

"Do you ride?" he asked. She pondered the question as they ambled into the stable, the gelding plodding along beside them. "My horse riding is on a par with my archery," she finally said.

He gave a dry laugh. "We'll have to go for a trot sometime."

"A trot can develop into a canter." 

"And a canter into a gallop." He pulled up the gelding and coaxed him into a barn-like building where sunlight filtered through cracks in the boarded walls and laid golden straws of light across the hay bales. The smothering air floated with an updraft of neighs and leathery squeaks. While he settled the high-strung gelding in his stall, she sauntered over to the splotchy gray mare, chomping hay in her stall and oblivious to the stranger looking at her. She raked her black curls and breathed in the dust-laden atmosphere. This was where Tyrone's horses lived and now they were sharing it with the new woman in his life.

"Do you want to go back to the house?" he said softly, patting the gelding's lowered head. "Or would you prefer a stroll in the grounds?"

She felt confused. "Actually, I came out to ask you what our squad will be doing when we go into action."

He reached up and pulled an old horse blanket down from the loft, laid it over a hay bale, and motioned for her to sit on it. Then he flopped down beside her. "We have to secure the government ministries along Whitehall, which means flush out government forces defending the buildings. The buildings are mainly occupied by civil servants. They're civilians and we don't expect any resistance, but in case some of them decide to barricade themselves inside their offices--"

"--We have explosives." She shuddered at the prospect of blasting office wonks out of their cubicles. "Is there any other way to get them out?"

He looked at her with hard blue eyes. "Look, Nika, there are bound to be casualties. When the shit goes down there's going to be a mess. However, if we don't win the fight, the people will continue to suffer under the capitalist oppressors--and we'll be sent to a labor camp."

She swallowed. "I see. Okay, I'm ready for that stroll in the grounds."

A gusty breeze flowed in her face and she gave a delighted shiver. She and Tyrone were strolling along a gravel path that led to the rose garden. I don't mind this windy weather. I've got the lord of the manor walking with me.

A gardener, bent over a prickly shrub of damasks, saw them approach and nodded to Tyrone. "Looks like the deadheading season has begun," Tyrone said to him.

"How long has this noble pile been in your family?" she asked.

Ambling with hands in pockets, he pondered. "Centuries. The Jacques family came over with Willy the Conqueror." He pronounced the family name Jakes.

She felt light-headed, almost spellbound. The fragrance of summer roses wafted across the lawns. She glanced at an aviary where iridescent birds skimmed to and fro. Paradise must be like this.

He stopped and shuffled his feet. "Um, you may not want to watch what's going on in that field."

She craned her neck. On a lawn just beyond the aviary uniformed recruits stood in a ragged line. Gusty blasts tugged at their camo fatigues and a corporal with a clipboard rattled out firing instructions. They were lined up five meters from their target, which consisted of life-sized mannequins with masks representing government ministers.

The recruits raised their rifles, waiting for the order to fire.

"Is that a firing squad?" she asked in alarm.

"Afraid so," he replied. "We've got to teach the new squaddies how to do that sort of thing, so they'll be ready when the time comes."

Her blood ran cold. Oh my God, what have I let myself in for?

She looked on, startled, as the corporal in charge stared at his watch. He slowly raised his arm, ready to drop it when the minute hand moved. Just before she heard the crack of bullets, she turned her head away.

"Do you know how to fire a rifle?" Tyrone said. She shook her head.

He strode over to the line of squaddies. Returning with an assault rifle, he handed it to her. 

She held it in her hands. "What do I do now?"

"Jam the magazine in here, then select fire mode." She loaded the rifle and raised it cautiously. "Always put it into safety when you're not shooting." She looked down the sights. "Keep your finger out of the trigger guard till it's time to fire." She did as she was told. "When you're ready to fire, you squeeze the trigger slowly." She looked into his hard blue eyes.

"I think I've got it," she whispered, handing him the rifle. "Let's continue our stroll."