Edge. Part 39

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, "Live from the Barbican Centre, the ultimate clash of warriors begins..." the ultimate clash of warriors begins..."

Establis.h.i.+ng shots followed, showing the venue, and then from last year's final, the champions.h.i.+p belt being handed over.

"... handed over by the G.o.dfather of Violence, president of Bladefight Inc., Zak Tyndall, along with his" 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 c.r.a.p," 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 Knife Edge reality show and the Knifefight Challenge circuit. reality show and the Knifefight Challenge circuit.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.ds 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... s.h.i.+t. 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 partic.i.p.ated, 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 Live from the Barbican Centre, the ultimate clash of warriors begins. 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 ma.s.sively 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 was.h.i.+ng 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."

"Cheers. If we start floating, I'll send up flares. How's the training course going?"

"Really good. I was hoping you'd chat with a couple of the newer guys, give Vikram a heads-up on some of the security modules."

"Uh... well, so long as you weren't thinking of tonight."

"Vikram's c.r.a.pping himself on quantum triple entanglement, tell you the truth."

"Don't tell me, he's teaching it tomorrow. Afternoon or morning?"

"Morning."

"Jesus."

"So what time do we expect you?"

"Exactly when I get there."

"Fair enough. Out."

"Yeah."

He drove on.

"So who's Tony?" asked Suzanne. "Besides an old friend, clearly."

"Tone runs the outfit that gives me most of my work." He glanced back at Richard. "Not this kind. Corporate training."

"So where are they based?"

"Right now, the basha's in Docklands."

"Basher?"

"Basha. Base of operations. Military jargon, but it's just a corporate flat. Short-term hire, kind of thing."

"You're kidding."

"It's close to the investment bank where the programme"

"I mean, you're kidding about driving to Docklands tonight, through this. It's going to take long enough to reach Kilburn. a.s.suming you are are taking Richard and me home." taking Richard and me home."

Up ahead, a cla.s.sic internal combustion car, owned by someone rich, was stranded in water. Josh's car lacked the low exhaust that made old vehicles vulnerable; but the water looked deep, so he stopped and backed up anyway. Then he hooked a right, taking a detour.

"Your place first, then I am going to see Tony, because that message wasn't what it sounded like."

"Ah." Suzanne's tone was knowing. "I wondered why you tensed up. That's why I was curious about Tony."

"His phone and mine should be secure, but perhaps he was standing someplace where his voice could be heard. The thing is, he talked about Vikram as though he was one of the newbies, needing advice. But Vik wrote the book on quantum crypto, knows it better than me."

"What's the Barbican?" asked Richard from the back seat.

"A big jumble of buildings," said Josh. "There's a waterway, theatres, and really expensive apartment towers, all in one kind of estate. You've never walked through it?"

Richard shook his head.

"So that's where they film Knife Edge Knife Edge?"

Suzanne's eyebrows were raised, and she was smiling. Josh could understand that.

Phobia cure: job done.

She was amazing.

"Only the finals," he said over his shoulder. "They seal the place off and make it look like a bad urban landscape. There are running fights, some between rival teams, pairing off the fighters. Some are fighters that left the show in earlier rounds, brought back after online voting from the audience. If they've healed up, that is."

He thought about that, still driving.

"Can I take this out?" Suzanne reached for the phone. "Josh?"

"Sure.""All right." She extracted the handset from the dashboard, and handed it over the seat-back to Richard. "Look it up, if you like. The Barbican."

"Oh, thanks."

Josh continued to mull over the logistics. As a nexus point, it would be ideal. That was why security would be ma.s.sive.

"Are you OK?" asked Suzanne.

"Thinking things over."

But he kept most of his attention outside, as the car surfed across a dip, then ascended to wet but unflooded tarmac.

"It used to be owned by the City of London," said Richard. "Now the Barbican Centre is owned by... by Tyndall Industries."

Josh felt his mouth move.

Tyndall. Who'd have guessed?