"Welcome back," said Suzanne.
Josh was standing inside the doorway.
"Interesting," he said. "What was that about copperlegs?"
Richard answered: "They're proof of either Armageddon or evolution and climate change, depending on who you talk to."
"Are you sure you're only fourteen?"
"I'm sure."
"Good. So, look." Josh pulled out a phone. "You're staying with Suzanne for as long as you want. You know that, right?"
"Er…" Richard looked at Suzanne.
"You're fine." She touched his shoulder. "See?"
"Yes."
"I talked to your father today," said Josh. "In person. He was-"
"Is he all right?"
Suzanne smiled at him. So did Josh.
"Yes," he said. "Now he knows you're safe, he's much better."
Richard looked down. The floor design seemed to swirl, matching the feeling inside his stomach. Finally, he raised his chin. "But he's worried about me?"
"Yes. Unfortunately, he doesn't know how to say it. Not to you."
"Oh." Richard looked down at the floor again. "Maybe…"
"What?"
The words just seemed to creep out by themselves. "Perhaps I should talk to Father."
Suzanne was smiling.
"Well, perhaps you should."
Josh found PB in his contacts list and made the call. As soon as Philip's image appeared, Josh said: "Someone to talk to you."
He handed the phone to Richard.
"Richard? Oh, my God, Richard. You're all right. You're really all-"
"I'm sorry, Father," said Richard, and began to cry.
Josh looked at Suzanne, who nodded. He assumed she meant leave them to it.
So this was what reconciliation looked like. But in his case it would never happen: Sophie was not coming back, and Maria had nailed down the coffin of the marriage that he had killed through neglect, and that was that. He left the room, knowing Suzanne would remain, in case she needed to intervene.
"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing," he said to the wall.
At the far end of the corridor, a nurse glanced at him, then walked through a doorway and was gone, used to visitors in odd states of mind.
I know what I want to do, but not how to do it.
Forget the flash storm outside. His nerves were dancing, electrified, like every op before the start, but there was no Regiment to back him up; and just because he needed to fight, that did not mean he could succeed.
He prowled until the waiting room door opened, and Suzanne waved. Inside, Richard was finishing up his conversation with a soft "Goodbye, Father."
"Well," said Suzanne. "You won't believe what Richard just did."
"What was that?"
"Er, I got Father to show me his knife. In the phone."
"Bloody hell," said Josh.
His own weapon was in the glove compartment. Wandering around a hospital armed was not the done thing.
"We can test your being confident again." Suzanne pulled out her phone. "What was that thing that Yukiko showed us the other night? Oh, yes…"
She tapped commands, calling up movie panes, then turned the phone towards Richard. Josh wondered if the smallness of the images helped him deal with seeing things he feared. Or had been afraid of, more like.
"Knifefighter Challenge," said Richard. "That thing."
In the panes, there were fighters in training armour, some in actual combat, and a garish webviral – 20TH JULY glowing across fight scenes – whose audio track sounded from the phone: "Live from the Barbican Centre, the ultimate clash of warriors begins…"
Establishing shots followed, showing the venue, and then from last year's final, the championship belt being handed over.
"… handed over by the Godfather of Violence, president of Bladefight Inc., Zak Tyndall, along with his-"
Richard's face whitened.
"What is it?" Suzanne muted the sound. "Richard? Richie?"
"That's them," he whispered.
"Who?"
"The ones in… in Africa. In the labs."
"Holy crap," said Josh.
Suzanne was holding Richard's shoulder, steadying him.
"Where were they, exactly?" she asked.
"In the… When I slipped away from Father."
"They were in the virapharm lab? Those two men?"
"Yes. Talking to the, the doctors. When the two of them walked away, the doctors turned and I slipped in behind their backs, you know?"
"And where did you go?"
Richard's chest heaved and tensed, as if in the throes of asthma. "The room with the… with the children on the slabs and the, the-"
"You're safe." Suzanne pressed on his arm, then tapped his collarbone and beneath his eye, some kind of acupressure thing. "You're safe and everything is fine."
Both Tyndalls were in the picture, Zebediah and Zak, father and son. Tyndall senior was the architect of the Blade Acts, while his son was the public face of Bladefight, owners of the Knife Edge reality show and the Knifefight Challenge circuit.
"Bastards," said Josh.
"Look, I'm not talking about the disciplinary thing," said Suzanne. "But you'll remember what I told you about confabulation, and the installation of false memories."
"I remember it." Richard was calmer now. "You know I do."
"Yes, Josh and I know it. What we don't want to do is try to prove it legally."
She meant in court, with her and Richard treated as hostile witnesses by lawyers intent on tearing their story apart.
"I'll get the evidence." Josh took the phone from Suzanne. "These bastards are recognisable. There'll be footage, and I'll find it."
"Don't do it. Leave them alone."
"Why would I do that?"
"They've got power, and you haven't." Suzanne touched his arm. "Please."
"Is this another of your emotional triggers? That point on my arm?"
"Josh?" She pulled her hand back. "I'm not trying to manipulate you."
"I… Shit. I know that."
Richard was watching them, holding very still.
"Look." Suzanne tapped the phone in Josh's hand. "Whatever you try to tell the world, they'll find a way to bury it. You should know that better than me. Government disinformation, burying the truth. You've probably participated, in your time."
Josh forced a breath out.
"We call it regime engineering, when we do it abroad."
He stared at the pictures of the Barbican, the montage of knives arcing through air and fighters training, and the webviral message once more: Live from the Barbican Centre, the ultimate clash of warriors begins.
Then he remembered what Yukiko had said about right people, right place, right time, the ones who found themselves massively connected in a complex system balanced on a tipping point, ready for phase transition. It worked for tracking diseases and managing economies; it should work for other things.
Like toppling a government.
Josh smiled at Richard and Suzanne.
"Time to change things, don't you think?"
[TWENTY-FIVE]
Josh drove carefully along a shallow-flooded street, foam washing from the wheel arches. He was intent on the road, checking for signs that the road dipped, leading into deeper water. Behind him, Richard pointed out swimming rats, making the journey from one island of refuse bags to another.
In its dashboard slot, his phone chimed. He popped the caller's image up on the windscreen at half brightness. It was Tony.
"Hey, Josh."
"How're you doing?"
"Well, I'm clean. I walked ten metres in the rain from my car to the apartment building, so I got well and truly washed. Shoulda took shower gel."
"That's nice. Listen, I'm just driving some friends home."
"In what, a submarine? Good luck, pal."