Shattered (22 page)

‘It’s fine,’ I say, shrugging off his words, but it did feel
crazy
to be saying stuff Lorders wouldn’t like, and if that isn’t bad enough, to let somebody record it. ‘It might move me up on their most-wanted list, but does that really matter? I’m already on it.’

‘That’s the way.’

‘I want to thank you for finding Ben.’

He shrugs, uncomfortable. ‘It was the least I could do. I always felt that it was my fault, what he did.’

‘It wasn’t,’ I protest. ‘If it was anyone’s, it was mine.’
Or Nico’s
, I add silently, but Aiden doesn’t know about Nico. I sigh. There are so many things I haven’t told Aiden. Should I? The main thing that would be grist for MIA is Stella’s story: that her mother, a Lorder, was behind the assassinations. But despite that I promised not to tell, it is what Florence called hearsay, isn’t it? What value would it be for me to tell something somebody else said, if there is no way to back it up?

‘You look a million miles away.’

‘Sorry.’

‘There is one other thing we need to talk about.’

‘What is that?’

‘Be careful with Ben, Kyla. We don’t know what has been done to him. But no matter what that may mean, he isn’t the boy you used to know. Without his memories from when you knew him, he’s changed.’

‘He’s still Ben.’

‘Not as he was, but we’ll see what we can find out with some scans when we can sort it. It seems like they’ve used a Slating type procedure, but less drastic. His personal memories are gone, but general things like judgement remain, so independent thought and action are possible. Makes them more useful to Lorders as agents, but perhaps also more able to break free from their control, like Ben has.’

I don’t say anything. I got through to him, didn’t I? Somewhere inside is my Ben: I’ll reach him, somehow. I have to.

‘Enough for one day? We’ve organised a room for you, but you’ll have to share it with a student. I’ll show you,’ Aiden says. I follow him out the door, down a corridor.

‘What is this place?’

‘All Souls College. It is one of the Oxford Colleges.’

‘I thought Oxford University was Lorder-controlled?’

‘It is officially, but that is part of the reason we are here, hiding in plain sight: under their own noses, they don’t look so hard. And All Souls played a large part in convincing the Oxford Conference of Colleges to not take part in the protests decades ago. The Lorder government granted them special privileges of independence as a result: they didn’t seem to get that the motivation wasn’t pro-Lorder, but to preserve and protect the university. And we’ve had connections here for years; Florence’s grandfather was a research fellow here, and when they changed the rules to admit students as well as fellows, Florence was one of the first. They take alumni ties very seriously. When we needed help, their governing body voted to provide it.’

‘The college voted on it?’ I’m aghast. ‘That is a lot of people who know MIA is here.’

‘Every research fellow and student in the place.’

‘So much risk to them all.’ To us, if one of them can’t keep their mouth shut.

‘Yes. We need to get out of here as soon as we can. The only way is to get our evidence released as soon as possible: then we can scatter, go into hiding until things settle down.’

We reach another door: he knocks once. The girl who let me in when I first arrived opens it. ‘This is Wendy,’ he says. ‘Sleep well.’

She shuts the door behind us. It is an irregular room, with bookshelf-lined stone walls crammed with history books. Two narrow beds. A wardrobe and a long desk with two chairs.

‘That one is yours,’ she says, and points at the bed by the draughty window. She shows me the bathroom down the hall, lends me a towel and a change of clothes. Curiosity lurks behind her eyes, but she asks nothing.

Self-preservation had me fight against helping MIA for so long, until I could see it was the only way. What makes all these college students, like Wendy, risk their lives for us, when they don’t even know who we are?

Wendy studies while I shower, then pretend to sleep, curled up against the cold.

I wonder where Ben’s room is, if he sleeps, if he dreams. Despite the danger we’re in if the Lorders find us, his closeness is like a drug. Does someone watch his chest rise and fall, even through the night?

What was it Florence said: she doubts even Ben knows what makes him tick. He doesn’t know much about who he was, but how can he find out if they keep him under lock and key? I have to remind him.

I’ll find a way.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Next morning comes early with a tap at the door. I open my eyes; Wendy is gone, and Florence is at the door.

‘You can’t sleep all day; there are things to do. Ten minutes and I’ll be back.’

I rush down the hall for a quick wash and put on top and jeans borrowed from Wendy. Not a bad fit, but too long – I roll up the bottoms.

Florence returns, comes in and shuts the door. ‘Aiden tells me you’ve expressed a desire to join MIA.’ One eyebrow raised ever so slightly shows doubt.

‘I want to help,’ I say, a little nervous what that may entail with Florence involved.

‘Well, you’re going to get your chance. We’ve got a few witnesses I’m having trouble getting stories out of. Aiden suggested you might be some help. Apparently, my bedside manner sucks.’

I struggle not to smirk. ‘You can be a little confrontational.’

‘Well, so what; I’m not a nurse or a doctor!’ Then she half laughs. ‘I’ll show you where to get some breakfast, sort your ID. They are issued by the college; keep it on you at all times. Then Aiden will take you and Ben later this morning.’

‘Ben?’

‘Aiden thinks spending time with you might tap his hidden depths.’ She rolls her eyes. Then focuses on me closely. ‘There is a condition. You’re in charge. If Ben does or says anything that worries you, or would worry us, you have to tell Aiden or me. Okay?’

‘Agreed.’

‘What do you want me to do?’ Ben says, while I fiddle with my camera, set it to record mode.

‘Anything. I just want to make sure I know how to use it. Ready?’

‘Go for it.’

I hit the start button, look through the camera at Ben.

He’s leaning back on his end of the sofa, smiling, a little self-conscious, but there is still something about the
way
he is smiling that makes it hard to remember what I’m doing.
Check the sound
.

‘Say something.’

‘Something!’

‘Very funny. Tell me who you are, and what you are thinking.’

‘I’m Ben,’ he says, and leans forward. ‘And I’m thinking how gorgeous you are, and that even if I can’t remember before, I had great taste in girls.’

My stomach flutters, gentle butterfly wings inside.

He smirks. ‘Try to hold the camera steady.’

‘Sorry. I was blond back then, you know; I look really different now.’

Ben reaches out a hand, touches my hair and l give up and lower the camera. He moves closer and looks in my eyes; the butterfly from earlier has friends, is taking over, and I can’t breathe. I want to pull away from the stranger, and move closer to the Ben I knew and loved, at the same time.

The door opens and we bolt apart.

‘Ready to go?’ It’s Aiden.

We get up, walk to the door.

‘One hint I can suggest?’ Ben says in a low voice.

‘What’s that?’

‘When you’re finished, remember to stop the recording,’ he says, and I hurriedly hit the stop button.

I check the footage in the car on the way: it’s worked fine, the autofocus kept Ben in sharp focus and his voice is clear.

Aiden comes with us to the door of a house, introduces us, says he’ll be back in a while and leaves.

So Ben and I find ourselves in the front room of Edie’s house with her and her mother. Edie is five, and, according to Florence, saw Lorders shoot her brother in a park. He was nine. Her mother wants her to testify; she says Edie wants to, too, but whenever anyone has tried to record her or even just ask her questions, she has clammed up.

I feel in way over my head; Ben is also awkward, and making small talk with Edie’s mother while I try to work out what to say, how to even bring up the subject of why we’re here. Edie is small and silent, pulled into herself on a chair. It’s like there are too many eyes, and she is trying to hide.

‘How about you show me your room?’ I say to Edie.

She looks at her mum. ‘It’s okay, sweetie,’ she says, and Edie takes my hand, pulls me towards the stairs. I motion at Ben to stay with her mother.

‘It’s here,’ she says, and pushes the door open, but as I follow her in she turns and faces me.

‘Are you here to ask me stuff?’

‘I’m supposed to. But maybe I won’t. Because, you know, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.’

‘I don’t?’ she says, eyes wide in surprise.

‘No. Absolutely. It’s up to you, no matter what anybody else says. Because I’m in charge, and I’m very bossy.’

‘Murray’s like that,’ she nods very seriously.

‘Who is Murray?’

She walks over to her bed, picks up a floppy teddy bear.

‘He doesn’t look bossy; he looks sleepy.’

She giggles. ‘He’s bossy if anyone tries to wake him up. Jack was like that, too.’

‘Jack was your brother?’

‘Yeah.’ Her smile fades, and she pulls the bear in close against her.

I know why we’re here. A little girl with a sad tale: good for public sympathy, like Florence said. But making her go there if she doesn’t want to is just plain
wrong
.

‘We don’t have to talk about Jack.’

‘Nobody talks about him any more. They whisper. But Mummy wants me to tell you; she said it might help stop it from happening to somebody else’s brother. But I couldn’t say anything before.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Mummy was listening. It makes her too sad.’

‘Oh, I see. How about if just Murray listens?’

She tilts her head to one side. ‘That might be okay. I can tell Murray anything.’

‘Are you really, really sure you want to?’

She raises an eyebrow, gives me a look that is way over five. ‘You’re not very good at your job, are you?’

With that, we’re soon ready. Murray helps me hold the camera. She looks straight at him. Tells him that her brother kicked a ball that hit a Lorder. When he refused to give it back, Jack chased them. That the Lorder took out a gun. Pulled the trigger.

I’m not sure I held the camera steady enough.

Back at the college that afternoon we check the footage with Florence.

‘I don’t know how you managed to get her to open up like that,’ she says.

I shrug. ‘Partly I told her she didn’t have to unless she wanted to. Partly she couldn’t talk about it in front of her mother, but could in front of her teddy bear.’

‘You’ve got yourself a job,’ Florence says.

‘What will happen to Edie and her mother when this footage is released? Shouldn’t they be in hiding, not left in their home?’

‘We offered this. Edie’s mother wants to stay with her extended family for now. Some do. When we’re ready to release the evidence, we’ll warn them and take them in then.’

‘Can you hide everyone? Can everyone be safe?’ I persist, unable to get Edie’s serious face talking to her teddy bear out of my mind.

‘We’ll do what we can,’ Florence says shortly, with a glance at Ben. ‘See you at dinner?’

Dismissed.

Later, Ben and I wander around one of the internal quads of All Souls College: a grey expanse of dead grass on a cold, grey day. Ancient college buildings rise on all sides, windows like eyes, and I’m suddenly aware of both exposure, and confinement. Anyone could be looking down on us, trapped in this place.

‘Can we talk?’ Ben asks, and I realise how quiet he has been, before with Florence and since.

‘How about there?’ I say, gesturing to a bench tucked by a wall, and we head over, sit down. ‘What is it?’

Ben runs his hand through his hair. ‘How can you believe what that little girl said?’

‘What do you mean?’

He shakes his head. ‘That came out wrong. What I meant is that it is hard to believe anything like that could ever happen; that a Lorder would kill a child just for…’ And he shrugs.

‘Just for being a child?’ I snort. ‘They do that and much worse all the time.’

‘How do you know when people tell you stuff if it is real, or not?’ His eyes are intent, troubled; joking Ben is gone.

‘Why would a child lie?’

‘She could have been told to.’

‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I was looking into her eyes; she was telling the truth. Anyhow, I’ve seen as bad or worse myself, so I know.’

‘Even if you see things yourself, how can you
know
what is behind what you see?’ Ben’s eyes are sceptical.

‘Look, I’ll show you.’ And I tell him the story of the Cumbrian orphanage, the Slated children. Get him to look into the camera at a photo of three smiling young boys with unnatural still expressions, silver glinting at their wrists.

‘But how do you know those are Levos?’

‘It was obvious they were Slated, from the way they were acting. There was no other explanation.’

‘But couldn’t they have been coached to act like that?’

‘Four-year-olds aren’t great actors. And why would anyone bother?’

‘To make Lorders – the government – look bad.’

‘Well, how about this then?’ And I tell him about Phoebe, a girl we both knew from our school, taken and Slated without charge or trial just for making offhand comments about Slateds being spies. About my art teacher, Gianelli, hauled off in front of the whole school when all he did was draw Phoebe and have an impromptu minute of silence for her. About the termination centre, where Lorders killed Slated contract breakers by injection and dumped them in the ground. And about Emily, killed by her Levo just because she was in love, having a baby, and not quite 21 and out of her sentence. I shy away from telling the rest of the story: that I was there with the AGT, attacking the centre.

Ben is quiet, drawn in.

‘There is one more story: do you want to hear it, or have you had enough?’

‘Go ahead; tell me.’