Early next morning Nika's ajna woke her with a slew of messages. One was from Nazreen, who had been riding around with Robo when the revolution broke out. After taking shelter at a sympathetic church, they had been recruited by an organization called Christians for the Revolution. They were on their way to join her at Command HQ. She smiled. Her ajna buzzed again, and Phlox, her former student and fellow team member, gushed how she, Vish, Baz, and the other members of her team had joined the revolutionary army. Along with other ELU students and staff, they had rigged up a defense system to protect the Corkscrew from government forces. Another message was from Ahimsa, her platoon leader, who wanted to meet with her and Sasha after breakfast at zero-nine-hundred hours.

My friends haven't abandoned me. Yay.

Feeling itchy, she decided to take a shower. She started rummaging through her kit bag with its monster supply of clothes and knickknacks, yanked out a bag of toiletries and grabbed her loofah and shower gel.

Leaving Sasha and Zach asleep, she tiptoed out of the tiny room. She slipped into the shower, delighted the water spurting out was plentiful and stinging hot. After the dismal meal, it felt like a luxury. She scrubbed herself hard, carefully avoiding the bandaged rib cage, until her skin throbbed. Finally she turned off the spigot, feeling boiled and raw, and shook her hair free of droplets.

While pulling on a tee shirt and shorts, she thought about doing a couple laps around the mansion. Feeling less pain in her ribs, she wanted to stretch her aching legs before the breakfast call. She pattered downstairs and flitted out the front door. It was still early and the air was fresh, although the lifting sun was fiery. She figured her body would be toasted in the soon-to-be-sizzling heat, so she set out quickly, pounding the gravel path that twisted around the large manor house.

After two laps she slowed her pace to a jog and wiped the sweat from her brow. Another squaddy was out running. A tall, lean guy in khaki shorts, bare-chested and brown, with long silver hair. She squinted at him in the bright sunlight falling on his face.

"Hello," she called.

He slowed to a trot. "You're an early bird." He spoke with an Australian accent.

"You better believe it." She trotted alongside him, drawn to the creases at the edges of his eyes. "I'm Nika, by the way."

"Errol," he said. He grinned and stretched out his hand in a light, quick shake. She was touched by the old-fashioned gesture and began blushing.

"You musta got here last night," he said. He was puffing, as if he had been running for some time.

"Yeah, I came here with my sister and the last man of my squad."

"Last man?" He frowned and looked concerned, his grin nowhere to be seen. "Did you take any hits from the bots?"

"Did we ever. We were nearly wiped out. I'm lucky to be alive." She cocked her head. "How about you? Have you done any fighting?"

Errol shrugged. "Not yet. I flew into London yesterday morning and walked straight into a bloody revolution." He grinned again and the tanned creases at the corners of his eyes crinkled.

Her face still flushed, she gazed at his features and his half-naked, sun-baked body. She was starting to feel a world away from her misery at the brutality of the war.

"Long story short, I joined the revo army," Errol was saying, "and today I start basic training."

Noticing one of her shoelaces was undone, she stopped and bent down to tie it. She wobbled, and he put out a hand to steady her.

"Are you all right, Nika? You look a bit crook."

Feeling his steadying hand, she felt embarrassed and ever so slightly thrilled. "A bot kicked me in the ribs." She smiled. "I'm getting over it."

"Going in for brekkie?" he said as she straightened up. "Cuz I'm just about knackered."

They began walking across the courtyard. She was looking forward to being back in the cool of the house and felt sticky from her run. "Did you fly in from Australia?" 

He chuckled. "Nah, Indonesia. I live near Jakarta."

"What do you do there?"

"I'm working on a sculpture for a client."

"So, are you a sculptor?"

"I'm a bloody wood carver." He smiled. "I specialize in Aboriginal art restoration."

"You don't look Aboriginal," she said, hoping she wasn't being impolite.

"Nah, I said restoration. I'm Macedonian-Irish. Like most Aussies, I'm a mongrel. How about you?"

"I'm half-English, half-Pakistani. So I guess I'm a mongrel, too."

"And what did you do, before you became a squaddy?"  

Her face reddened. "I was a research scientist at East London University."

"Impressive." He had a devilish amusement in his expression. "What were you researching?"

She sighed. "My team and I were trying to interpret the energy patterns thoughts make in our minds." She felt she was remembering another life.

"So you're a mind reader."

She laughed. "Sort of...though my sister reads minds better than I can. She's clairvoyant."

They were climbing the steps to the house. Stepping inside, where it was cool, she noticed a long line of squaddies waiting to go into the breakfast hall. The corridor was directly ahead and Errol started to walk down it. "I better put a shirt and a pair of strides on." 

She turned to go upstairs. She was feeling sweaty and tingly. "You'll have to excuse me. I need to deodorize--I probably pong."

Errol laughed. "Everybody pongs round here, love. I smell like an abo's armpit."

"God, you're so racist," she blurted.

"I'm Australian." He grinned till his laughter lines crinkled.

All through breakfast she speculated about Errol. He looked to be in his early forties, lean and spare, and she couldn't get his crinkly eyes out of her mind. Sasha, on her left side, sat munching a corned beef sandwich with a scowl on her face, and Zach, on her other side, kept touching his chin while he ate, as if preoccupied with his pimples. 

Errol sat among the other raw recruits at a nearby table. Slurping warm tea and wolfing down corned beef sandwiches, they were discussing the political situation world-wide. She could only catch a few snatches, just enough to hear he thought politicians were "a bunch of spineless wankers," and in Australia the revos had "walked into Canberra without firing a shot." She learned from the chattering recruits that cities all over the world were in chaos. In France they were reliving the glories of le quatorze juillet and in the Pacific states a breakaway union had formed calling itself the People's Republic of America.

As she was leaving, she heard Errol declare: "Bonzer tucker. Those silverside sangers were ripper. I gave that Marmite a burl, but it was no Vegemite."

I don't understand a thing he just said.

Arriving with Sasha for their meeting with Ahimsa, she was mildly surprised. In an elegant, high-windowed room Ahimsa and his girlfriend, Cat, were sitting on cushioned armchairs, eating buttery croissants. "Hi, Cat," she said. "Nice to see you again."

"Likewise," Cat replied. She was wearing the uniform of a staff adjutant. "Ahimsa and I are moving in together. We're buying a lovely house in St John's Wood, with a paddock for the horses."

"Congratulations." She was somewhat taken aback. Lovely house? Horses? I thought this was meant to be a time of austerity. And croissants? I wish we'd had those for breakfast.

Ahimsa, in his platoon leader's fatigues, gestured to a nearby couch. "Why don't you both sit down."

Cat indicated the mugs she and Ahimsa were drinking from. "Would you both like chai lattes?"

She sat on the couch and moved over to make room for Sasha. "Sure, why not?"

Cat got up to fetch more drinks and Ahimsa leaned forward. "I heard about your exploits against the bot car and the spider tanks," he said. "Sasha, I'm particularly impressed by your use of Dean's rifle."

"Thanks."  

She noticed Sasha was fidgety and tense.

Ahimsa smiled. "In fact, I'm so impressed I'd like you to help us make more ULF weapons."

She shifted in her seat. "Doesn't the army have any other weapons for taking out the bots?"

"That's the rub. Right now, the only quick and effective way we have of destroying the bots is Dean's rifle. So if we could borrow it--"

"I'm not letting it go," Sasha said. "I owe it to Dean to keep it safe."

"We need that gun, Sasha," Ahimsa insisted. "If our gunnery experts can replicate it, we'll win this war in a year or maybe--" She jumped in before he finished. "A year? Does the High Command expect the fighting to go on for another year? What about the blessed negotiations with the government?"

"They broke down late last night," Cat said, returning with two steaming mugs. She placed them on a low wooden table.

"We don't have anything to fight the robots with, except Dean's gun," Ahimsa said. "Sasha, you'll have to hand it over."

"No deal."

She turned and looked at her sister. "Sasha, just do it. They'll only search our room..."

"It ain't there." Sasha sat with arms tightly folded. "They'll never find it."

After armed guards had been brought in and Sasha marched to a confinement cell, she stumbled into the corridor, shrugging off Ahimsa's pleas as he trailed after her. "I can't talk to her. She's her own woman. She marches to the beat of a different drum."

His face grim, Ahimsa strode back to the high-windowed room. She wandered down the hallway, deep in thought. How can I persuade her to give him the gun? Why is she making such a big deal about keeping it?

Drifting past a window with a view of the courtyard, she stopped and gazed at some off-duty squaddies playing a game of soccer. The squaddies looked like a gang of English chavs, white-, black-, and brown-skinned, kicking a football on a council estate. Skinny and raw-boned, they wore shorts and tees, their thin, muscular limbs flashing in the morning sun.

"Makes you wanna go out with a bag of lollies and a fizzy drink and watch the footy."

She gave a start. She hadn't noticed Errol standing beside her. "Where did you spring from?"

"Just finished basic training, so I thought I might check out the scenery."

"Finished already? My BT took longer than an hour."

"Flaming hell, they call  it training. I coulda done it in my sleep."

She gave him an irritated look. "You've got quite an attitude, haven't you?"

Unfazed, he stared back at her. "Doing anything tonight, Nika?"

"Um, no, actually I'm not."

"Ripper. Wanna sample the delights of downtown Hemel?"

Confused and a little exasperated, she wondered if she should accept his offer. "Well, my sister's..."

"In the nick? Yeah, I saw 'em march her away. She won't be coming with us, then."

She gave a frustrated sigh. "What time are we leaving?"

An hour later she presented herself at Staff HQ to debrief on the previous day's op. After leaving the debriefing room, she decided to visit Sasha in the underground hellhole where recalcitrant squaddies were confined. She made her way to the end of the long corridor and descended a flight of stone steps to the former wine cellar. Behind a locked door, which a surly guard opened for her, she stepped into a cavelike passage, followed by the guard. She was immediately aware of flickering eyes watching her as she and the guard walked past the barred doors of a row of cells.

"Ignore the jeepers-creepers," the guard said. "We can lock the scumbags up, but we can't stop 'em lookin'."

Careful. One of those 'scumbags' is my sister.

The walls were damp and irregular, as if carved out of rock, and a slightly sulphurous smell hung in the air. She suspected there were more tunnels under the building. Just ahead, she caught a glimpse of burnished metal. As they drew closer she saw a steel door, like that of a bank vault, with a wheel-lock in its center.

"Who's locked up behind that door--Hannibal Lector?" 

The guard gave her a withering look. "That's the one you're visitin'. She's in there cuz she's an enemy of the people."

He means Sasha. Oh Christ.

The guard turned the wheel-lock and tugged the door open. As it swung back, she glimpsed a harshly-lit, boxlike cave, with a bunk bed attached to one of the walls. Curled up on the bunk,  Sasha lay asleep under a grimy blanket. A table, small chair, toilet, and washbasin completed the dismal scene. On the wall facing the chair was a large blue LED screen, switched off. She tiptoed inside and sat on the hard, creaky chair.

"I'll give you ten minutes," the guard told her. A grating thud was followed by the scraping of boots as he locked the door and walked away.

Sasha opened her eyes and pushed back the blanket. She propped herself up on one arm, wearing a weepy scowl. She was startled by her sister's zombie look--her face streaked with dark lines, her red hair mussed up and tangled.

"Sasha, what the hell are you doing?" She glared at her sister's upturned face. "Why don't you just give Ahimsa the damn gun?"

"He ain't havin' it. Dean wouldn't want it to fall into the wrong hands."

"Wrong hands? Hey, Ahimsa's a friend of mine."

"Perhaps I can clarify, if I may." A high-pitched, fairy's voice issued from Sasha's lips, which glowed a fetching shade of crimson. "Like the rest of the High Command, Ahimsa--your friend--is being paid by Corrigan Holdings and the other big AI companies who control the government. If Sasha gives him the gun, it will be used against the people. Is that a good enough answer?"

She stared incredulously at Sasha, slowly putting together the pieces of the puzzle. "Tinker, are you saying the revolution's a scam, and the people are being played into thinking capitalism's over?"

"Not only that. The rich now have a way of cutting the number of pesky poor people who are no longer needed as producers of wealth--AI does that at much less cost--but are an irritating drain on the assets of the wealthy, with their whiny demands for a living allowance." Tinker emitted a tiny, tinkling chortle.

"So the rich can now decimate the poor in a long, drawn-out war of people against robotic killing machines." She gave a shudder.

"You've hit the nail on the head," Tinker trilled. "But then, you always had a brilliant, analytical mind." Sasha's crimson lips turned up in the flicker of a smile.

Her face streaked with tear stains from her eyes to the corners of her mouth, Sasha rested her sad eyes on her sister, while Nika continued to stare at her.

"Did Tinker give you good intel?" Sasha asked in a mopy voice. She yawned. "I bin cryin' and sleepin' ever since they threw me in here."

She nodded vigorously. "Yes, Sister Dear, she gave me the best intel--as always. Now we'll have to find a way to get you out of here."

Sasha looked at her warily. "Who's we? You and Zach?"

Her face flushed. "I--I...Let's just say I found someone."

Sasha rolled over on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "Well, good for you, Sis, I wish you the best with him."

Oh-oh, she's sussed me out. "Thanks, Sash."

She heard the thud of boots outside the cell door. The guard was slowly turning the wheel-lock. She braced herself for a difficult farewell. I hate to leave her to that bad-tempered guard. I wish I could say some comforting words.

"I have to go now, but I'll be back tomorrow." She noticed, as the door swung open, the guard was lifting a mess tin of hot food from an aluminum cart. "Looks like that guard's bringing you some chow, Sash."

"If it's anythin' like the slop we had last night, I don't want it," was Sasha's grumpy reply.

She opened the front door and was hit by an oven blast of stifling heat. At almost seven-thirty , she felt she was beginning to roast after the cool, fanned air of the building. She was wearing a thin, primrose satin top, skinny yellow pants, and gold sandals--having reverted to her chromer ways-- and she hoped Errol wouldn't mind.

She slowly descended the steps to the courtyard amid a profusion of shadows bristling with crickets. The sticky night air clung to her clammy skin.

Errol was bending over an army jeep, examining the motor. He wore an olive tee and his khaki shorts, which made her wonder if she could persuade him to become a chromer. He's almost in monochrome, although not in any chakra color. I think his color is orange. 

He straightened up as she sauntered toward him and smoothed back his silver hair. "The electrics are a bit buggered up from the ruts and potholes, so expect a rough ride."

She smelled the muskiness of his cologne. Sandalwood. He moved close to her, his body almost brushing her skimpy clothes. "You're looking nice tonight."

"Thank you. Can the jeep still take us into town and back?"

"I think so. We'll give it a try." He had a look of detached amusement.

"What if we get stranded?" She wanted to tease him. "If we don't get back before lights out, we'll be on a charge--especially if you borrowed the jeep without permission, as I suspect you did."

The corners of his mouth broke into a crinkly smile. "Then we'll be in the nick with your sister. I bet that's what you want, isn't it?"

She frowned at him. "It's no laughing matter, Errol. Sasha's being held on a serious charge."

"What did she do--screw the commander-in-chief with a strap-on?"

She lowered her voice. "Worse. She's not letting the High Command have a weapon that could win the war."

"Why the hell not?" He gave her a puzzled look.

She whispered close to his ear. "Because what she and I know could blast this revolution wide open."

"Now you're blowing smoke up my butt. I'm not a lame brain, you know."

"You don't know the half of it." She raked a hand through her curls. "Okay, never mind. Let's get rolling."

She waited for him to say something but he didn't. He climbed into the jeep and switched on the motor. She slid in beside him.

He turned on the headlights. "Look, I'm sorry if I didn't take you seriously. But what you just said was pretty major shit."

"You better believe it."

He shrugged. "Okay, I'm ready to listen. Tell me more."

She folded her arms as they rattled toward the perimeter fence. "Let's wait till we're outside this place." 

A green-helmeted squaddy came out of the blockhouse beside the main gates. She recognized his acne-cratered face and smiled. He snapped a salute at her. "Good evening, Commander. Have a pleasant evening."

"You, too." She watched him issue an order to someone inside the post and the gates creaked open. The jeep clattered out of the estate.

"So, where are we going when we get to Hemel?" She looked at Errol, staring straight ahead and driving steadily. Despite the cool breeze blowing through the gap in the window, droplets of sweat trickled down his face.

"There's a rubbity-dub in the old town where the booze isn't rotgut. I thought we'd hang out there."

"Wow, you know a good pub in Hemel. Have you been here before?"

He chuckled. "Nah, I get everything off my aj like everybody else."

She glanced across at him. An amber ajna glowed in the middle of his brow. Yes, I definitely think orange is his chakra color.

Jolted by the road's uneven paving, she bumped against him. "Sorry."

"When are you gonna spill the beans?" he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "How come you and Sasha know so much?"

"She's clairvoyant, and I'm just...clever." She waited for his reply.

"I know you're cluey, but what's this about the revolution?"

"It's a scam."

"Who's behind it?"

"The rich people who own everything. The wealthy are using it to kill off poor people they're no longer making money from, and whose welfare handouts are a drain on their dough."

He snorted and slowed the jeep as they approached a tangle of suburbs. "That's been the story of wars and revolutions since Cocky was an egg. Tell me something I don't know."

She had to stifle a giggle. His slang and easy manner were tickling her. "Okay, how about this. My sister has a rifle that doesn't fire bullets, yet it takes out bots, cars, and spider tanks."

She hugged her arms to her chest. Now I've really spilled the beans. I hope I didn't say too much.

He gave a snicker. "You've got me there, Nika. What does it fire--gamma rays?"

"Close. Actually, ultra-low frequency sound waves. It rearranges the target's molecules."

"I'll bet it does." In the distance, car horns were blaring. They were nearing downtown. "Anyway, right now I could eat a horse and chase the rider, so what about a nosh up when we hit the pub?"

"Suits me."

She let herself get wrapped up in her thoughts. I've told Errol about the High Command's double dealings--and he could care less. So who else should I tell, and what would they do?  If I offer it to the media, they'll suppress the intel because they're pro-government. If I try to tell the Revolutionary Council, they won't believe me--what proof do I have?

What about springing Sasha from the pokey--assuming Errol's willing to help? What are the chances, and where do we go afterwards?

Errol put an arm around her shoulder as they stepped over a mess of garbage and crossed the street to the pub. "Looks like some derros have been here." 

"Derros? Can you give me a translation, please."

"Derros--you know, derelicts, homeless people. They always leave messes." He flashed her a smile. "Anyway, I'm ready for a coldie."

"And I'm ready for a glass of chilled white wine."

Her stomach full, she plodded back from the pub with Errol. As they crossed an open parking lot, a chattering of voices from above jerked her head up.  Four teenage youths riding flyboards were drifting down. They landed squarely in front of the jeep.

One of them had close-set almond eyes and wore long, outsize shorts and a Man U  jersey. He stepped from his board and sauntered up to her.

"Wanna party, babe?"

She swallowed her anxiety. "Actually, no. And please get out of our way."

The youth gave his buddies a cocky grin and stood blocking her path.

Errol stepped between her and the youth. "You heard what the lady said. Get out of the way. Skeedaddle."

"Skeedaddle?" a second youth repeated. He had a face like a pointy-nosed ferret. "Where d'you come from, mate--Down Under?"

"None of your business," Errol replied. There was annoyance in his voice.

He squared up against ferret-face and the almond-eyed youth. She felt a bolt of fear. Mustering her courage, she aimed her venom at almond-eyes. "Go home to Momma. You're too young to be out this late."

Flushing, the youth spluttered. "You got a fuckin' attitude, bitch. I better teach you some manners." He pulled a knife from the waistband of his shorts and pointed it at her. "Drop your pants or I'll cut your tits off." "Ugh!" 

Errol made a quick chopping movement with the side of his hand against the youth's neck. The youth pitched forward, the knife dropping from his limp fingers, and fell to the ground.

"Get in the car." Errol shoved her toward the jeep. She bundled in beside him and he switched on the motor. Click.

"What's wrong?" she said.

"Battery's flat. The road charger musta stopped working." He gave her a weary look. "We'll just have to sit it out."

He locked the doors and called the police on his ajna. Almond-eyes picked himself up and wiped an arm across his face. She noticed his chest was heaving. Snatching up his knife, he motioned to ferret-face and the two others. They began pushing against the jeep, rocking it back and forth. Almond-eyes grabbed the door handle on her side and tried the lock.

She stared through the window. She could see four faces leering at her. An image came to her of the youths breaking into the jeep and attacking her and Errol. She gave him a worried look. "When are the cops coming?"

"No idea." He tuned out his ajna. "They said because there's a revolution on, their patrols are stretched. Guess we'll just have to wait...and pray."

Almond-eyes continued trying to open her door, helped by ferret-face. He grinned at her. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Trust me, bitch, you ain't gonna like the hard way."

The tap of a claw-tipped arm against her window made her jump. She heard Robo's grating voice. "Leave these clowns to me."

Ferret-face started laughing. "Look! It's a poxy little kitchen bot."

He pulled a jimmy from his waistband and began to force the lock.

She shook her head in fright. "Be careful, Robo."

Robo whirred around to confront the two youths working on the lock. A claw-tipped arm shot out and almond-eyes fell back, hitting the pavement. A second arm flew out and the claw snapped around ferret-face's neck. He screamed in agony and dropped to his knees, the jimmy slipping from his slack fingers.

Robo shoved his metal face close to the youth's panic-stricken eyes. "When I say 'Bye, Sweetie,' you tiptoe off. Got it?"

His features turning puce, the youth nodded. Robo released him, and he crawled away.

"The fuckin' munchkin's attackin' us!" a startled youth shouted. One of Robo's grasping claws scooped the jimmy from the ground and used it to jab at his face.

"Christ, it's a fuckin' maniac." Trying to shield his face, he staggered into his buddy.

The four youths were stumbling back, surprise and fear in their eyes. Through the windshield she watched them scramble onto their boards. They throttled up and were soon dwindling dots disappearing into the night sky.

She felt thrills running through her. Glancing at Errol, she smiled. "That's Robo, my knight in shining alloy."

Errol looked bemused. Robo spun around to face him through the windshield. "Nice to meet you. I'm pleased Nika's got a new friend."  Errol gave him his crinkly smile.

"How did you get here, Robo?" 

"Naz brought me. We stopped at a pub so Naz could use the loo." His eyelets blinked. "We're on our way to Camp Revo--your HQ." 

She saw a car parked nearby with its headlights on and Nazreen sitting inside. "By the way, you were superb. I didn't know you had ninja skills."

His eyelets fluttered. "That's the advantage of being a machine. It makes you fearless."

She grinned. "You're a hero. Also, can you ask Naz to lend us her charger? Our battery's flat."

After she had said a tender "good night" to Errol, she discovered the room she shared with Sasha and Zach had been ransacked. Even the floorboards had been pulled up. I hope Sasha hid the blessed gun in a really safe place. This room's an absolute mess.

From the night duty sergeant, she learned Zach had been reassigned to another squad. She was directed to a narrow room whose walls were grimy and stained, where she spent an uneasy night sleeping on an iron bed. She awoke smelling the rank, funky odor of the room. It was next to the kitchen and stank of rancid cooking fat. They put me in here because I'm Sasha's sister. Bastards.

After breakfast with Errol and Nazreen, she reported for duty to find she had a new squad, comprising Nazreen, Robo, and seven others, including Errol as her second-in-command. He's been promoted to sergeant already. The boy's doing well.  She was told her squad's first assignment would be sketched out by her platoon leader at a commanders' meeting

Sitting in the operations room and surrounded by fellow-officers, she watched and listened as Ahimsa, in his platoon leader's uniform, tapped his index finger against a spot on a large chart projected onto the wall. 

"Hertfordshire's a small county. Outside the main centers of population, it's chiefly farmland and open country. From intelligence reports we know a labor camp is located here, near Tring, close to the Chiltern hills. The camp is well-guarded and holds important revo leaders and other prisoners of the government. The perimeter is protected by sentry guns hidden underground around the camp. They pop up and kill anything that gets close to the perimeter fence. There are also armed bots patrolling the grounds. One of the captured revos is Tyrone Jacques. Our mission is to get him out of there."

He stopped speaking and looked at his audience. The roomful of commanders included several sappers, officers of the People's Engineers.

"You're going to take out the sentry guns with explosives planted by the sappers using tunneling bots. After the guns have been destroyed, the perimeter will be breached by a special ops team that will go into the camp, rescue Citizen Tyrone, and return him to base. That team will be the new squad led by Commander Talbot. Any questions?"

He wants me to lead a suicide squad into a bot-infested labor camp, in the hope we'll all be killed. The two-faced bastard.

After the meeting broke up, officers began filing out of the ops room and stamping down the hallway. She turned to one of the sappers. "Just so I can familiarize myself with it, where can I get hold of a tunneling bot?"