Noble Conflict (13 page)

The clerk glared at Kaspar, his expression declaring that he’d like nothing better than to rebreak Kaspar’s ribs. ‘Thank you for your time, Guardian Wilding,’ he said at last.

‘You’re welcome,’ kaspar replied icily. ‘Shut the door on your way out.’

As soon as the door was shut, Kaspar collapsed back down onto his pillows. Minutes passed before he was able to calm down enough to think rationally. The thing that stunned him was the absolute hatred he felt at that moment for Brother Simon and the others in the High Council. It burned like acid eating its way through him. He had never,
ever
felt anything like it before. Their cause was his cause. Their aim was true. So why this sudden feeling of overwhelming loathing?

Dillon  . . .

Kaspar was still angry about Dillon’s death. It had to be that. Kaspar wouldn’t let himself even contemplate the idea that it might be something else.

And as for Kaspar’s vivid dreams, Dr Hondo put that down to a combination of concussion, reaction to stress and the effects of inhaling the fumes from burning insulation. His out-of-whack brain chemistry was ascribed to post-traumatic shock and grief for his friend.

And that was that. All neatly explained, wrapped up and filed away.

The day of Dillon’s memorial service was fast approaching. Kaspar was still in the Clinic so he had to put in a request to attend the service, something he considered just a formality.

The reply had been swift: W
E CANNOT AT THIS TIME SANCTION YOUR REQUEST TO LEAVE THE
C
LINIC
. P
ERMISSION DENIED
.

That was the last straw. Kaspar put in a call to Mac. Her smile was broad and instantaneous the moment she saw him on her data screen.

‘Hello, stranger. How’re you doing?’ Her smile faded. ‘I was sorry to hear about your friend Dillon.’

Kaspar shrugged, unsure how to respond. He got straight to the point. ‘Mac, could you do me a favour?’

‘Sure. Anything,’ Mac replied without hesitation.

Kaspar’s smile was weak but sincere. It was good to know that someone, somewhere had his back. ‘I need to know who I should speak to about attending Dillon’s memorial service.’

Mac frowned. ‘Surely your commander—’

‘Voss passed my request up the food chain and it’s been denied. I need to go to the top to argue my case – because I’m going, come hell, high water or Brother Simon himself.’

A moment’s pause, then Mac said, ‘I’ll get back to you.’ And with that she signed off.

Ten minutes later and she was as good as her word. Kaspar had a couple of names and their full contact details, plus Mac’s advice on how to get what he wanted. He put through a call to Julianna Jeffers, Chief Supervisor at the Guardian Academy’s Public Affairs office.

‘Guardian Wilding, a pleasure to speak to you.’ Ms Jeffers smiled politely at him over the datalink. ‘How may I help you?’

‘Ms Jeffers, my best friend Dillon Greenhill died recently,’ Kaspar began without preamble.

‘Yes, I have your file in front of me,’ said Ms Jeffers. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

‘I’d like to go to his memorial service.’

‘That’s not my decision to make, I’m afraid,’ frowned Ms Jeffers. ‘And I can see that permission has already been denied. I’m afraid I can’t help you—’

‘Maybe Vivian Sykes at the
Daily Report
would be very interested in a human interest story about a Guardian being denied permission to attend his best friend’s funeral,’ Kaspar interrupted.

‘I couldn’t sanction you speaking to any member of the press at this time,’ Ms Jeffers said, aghast.

‘You misunderstand me,’ said Kaspar. ‘I’m not asking
for permission – I’m telling you what will happen if I’m not cleared to attend Dillon’s memorial service.’

Silence.

‘I see.’

‘I hope you do,’ said Kaspar.

Ms Jeffers gave him a studied look. Kaspar met her gaze without even blinking. He was sick and tired of being jerked around like he was some kind of puppet. Kaspar knew he was probably shooting his military career full of holes but he didn’t care.

‘One moment.’ Ms Jeffers put him on hold.

Kaspar glared at the image of waves gently lapping at a beach shore in some place he knew he’d never be able to afford to go. He hated being put on hold at the best of times and this most certainly wasn’t one of those. Ms Jeffers returned less than a minute later. She studied him. If she thought her stare would cause him to back down, she was going to be disappointed. Kaspar regarded her, his expression stony.

‘I understand that you recently had an encounter with a clerk from MII,’ began Ms Jeffers.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Kaspar.

‘He filed a complaint against you, Guardian Wilding.’

‘Good for him,’ said Kaspar evenly.

‘For the sake of your long-term career as a Guardian, I recommend you keep complaints against you to a minimum,’ said Ms Jeffers.

‘I’ll bear that in mind. So, am I phoning Vivian Sykes or am I going to Dillon’s memorial service?’ asked Kaspar.

Ms Jeffers’ lips tightened slightly. ‘Permission has been granted for you to attend, Guardian.’

‘Thank you,’ said Kaspar, disconnecting the link.

The day of the service, Kaspar put on his military dress uniform and stepped out of his room at the Clinic, only to find himself confronted by a Guardian he’d never met before. This woman had to be at least twice his age, with short-cut blonde hair and piercing lime-green eyes.

‘Hello. I’m Guardian Thompson from the Special Support Group. I’ll be accompanying you to Guardian Greenhill’s memorial service.’

Kaspar’s frown was immediate. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘I’ve been told you’re not fit enough to travel unaccompanied yet,’ Guardian Thompson replied.

‘Listen, I don’t mean to be rude but I don’t need a babysitter. Air transport has been booked to take me to the Academy and to bring me back here afterwards, and all I want to do is say goodbye to my best friend. What’s the problem?’

‘I am not a babysitter,’ said Guardian Thompson, her lips a thin, bloodless line, her eyes sending volts of outrage through Kaspar’s body. ‘I have my orders, Guardian Wilding, just the same as you. Either I go with you or you don’t get to go at all – it’s your choice.’

‘I don’t need—’

‘Do you really want to waste time arguing about this?’ asked Guardian Thompson. ‘Because I’ve been assigned to
you for the entire morning. No skin off my nose if we spend it here debating the issue.’

Kaspar glared at her, but the point was taken. With time marching away from him, Kaspar couldn’t afford to delay any longer.

They arrived at the Memorial Hall of the Academy just as the ceremony was starting. Kaspar wasn’t surprised to see that the hall was practically full. He sat down in a tiny space in the back row, forcing the others in the row to move up. Guardian Thompson would just have to find her own space.

Dillon’s dad stood at the front of the hall, facing those in attendance. He was trying to tell an anecdote about the first time Dillon had told his family that he wanted to be a Guardian, but he had to keep coughing to clear his throat in an effort to retain his composure. Kaspar was getting choked up just watching him.

Dillon was a popular guy who would tease you mercilessly, but it was always done without malice and with a twinkle in his eye. Kaspar had never heard anyone say a bad word against him. He looked around again, gratified by the number of people present. He spotted Dillon’s mum and younger sister Rachel seated near the front. Sporadically, Dillon’s mum would sit up and straighten her shoulders. But almost immediately her head drooped as if it were too heavy for her body. Kaspar didn’t need to see her face to know that she was having trouble holding back the tears.

The seats to the right of the hall were occupied by
family and civilian friends. The Guardians and other military dignitaries filled the seats on the left. Kaspar spotted Voss a couple of rows in front, but to his surprise, Mac was seated next to him. How on earth did she get lumbered with that seat? Voss didn’t exactly hide his opinion of civilians, even those who worked at the Academy. Mind you, all the seats on the civilian side of the hall were occupied. Obviously Mac had had no choice.

Once the ceremony was over, Kaspar tried to head over to Janna, Mikey and the others from his unit. A hand on his arm held him back.

‘Guardian Wilding, I was given strict instructions to take you back to the Clinic the moment the ceremony was over,’ said Guardian Thompson, her hand still on his arm.

‘I can’t even say hello to my friends?’ Kaspar frowned.

‘No, Cadet.’ Guardian Thompson moved to stand in front of him. ‘I have my orders.’

Kaspar tried to walk round her but she stepped in front of him again. There was no way for him to proceed without making a scene, and this was neither the time nor the place. People were on their feet and milling about now. Voss had moved to talk to Janna and the others and Mac seemed to have disappeared. With a sigh, Kaspar gave in and left the hall. The air transport was waiting directly outside.

So much for escaping from the Clinic for a few hours to be with his friends.

The day after the service, he tried to discharge himself, but he found two of the Clinic’s security staff outside his door.

One of them was taller than him. The other was the same height and wore a gormless expression like it was the latest fashion. Both were stockier and outweighed him by several pounds.

‘Sorry, Guardian Wilding, but we can’t allow you to leave.’

‘Are you going to stop me?’ he asked pointedly.

‘If we have to,’ the stupid-looking one replied.

Kaspar was more than ready to work off some pent-up frustration with a bit of mindless arse-kicking when the more intelligent security guard intervened.

‘Guardian Wilding, there isn’t any point,’ he said. ‘By the time you got back to the Academy, Commander Voss would just have you carried back here bodily. He isn’t about to overrule the doctors if they haven’t passed you fit for duty, now, is he?’

Kaspar had just glared at both of them and gone back into his room.

At least they allowed him visitors, otherwise he would’ve been climbing the walls even higher and faster than he already was. Janna had come to see him a number of times, once with nine others from Kaspar’s graduating class, and they had smuggled in enough alcohol to give the medics a fit and give Dillon the kind of informal, raucous send-off he would have loved. On one of Janna’s solo visits, Kaspar had tentatively shared some of what he knew about the diversionary tactics of the Insurgents and their
use of an accompanying ninja to achieve their objectives. Yes, he’d discussed the pros and cons of the idea with Mac, but she wasn’t military: she was a civilian, a book-head. Kaspar wanted the opinion of another soldier, someone who would listen to his theories and not give him static about his extra-curricular activities. Janna had listened intently but she wasn’t convinced – to say the least.

Mainly, however, Kaspar took his medication, sat alone and thought. And read. The best times were when Mac came to see him. The first time she visited, Kaspar couldn’t stop grinning.

‘Hey, Mac. Thanks for coming to see me,’ he said.

‘No problem. What are friends for?’

OK, so they were officially friends. While Kaspar was very happy about that, another part of him which he didn’t like to analyse too deeply was disappointed. But he had no right to expect more. She was a brainbox and older than him, though not by much. He was a grunt, nothing less but certainly nothing more.

‘I thought I saw you at Dillon’s memorial service,’ he said after a moment.

‘Did you?’ Mac replied brightly.

‘Yeah, sitting next to Voss?’

‘He’s kind of cantankerous, isn’t he?’ smiled Mac.

‘That’s one word for him,’ Kaspar agreed.

Mac took a quick look around. ‘I blagged my way into your room at the Academy so I could bring your data-tablet, in case you wanted to do more research.’

‘Thanks.’ Kaspar grinned. Now at last he could focus his
attention on something besides the window and the four walls.

Mac had stayed for another thirty minutes and Kaspar was grateful for every second of them. She had a quirky sense of humour and her observations about the others in his unit, and about Voss himself, had him doubled over with laughter.

After her visit, Kaspar had taken the opportunity to learn how to properly control a net-search. On her third or fourth visit, he caught Mac regarding him speculatively.

‘What?’ He frowned.

‘Kaspar, what really happened out in the Badlands?’ asked Mac.

‘What d’you mean? We were attacked and my best friend died.’ Kaspar’s frown deepened.

‘How did you get from the gully floor to the plateau so far off the ground?’

‘Why d’you ask?’

Mac’s gaze fell away from his, but only momentarily. ‘I read your report. You said that when your hovercar went down you were thrown clear, then when the ground started to shake, you crawled to safety.’

Kaspar’s heart began to beat just that little bit faster. His mouth became just a little bit drier. ‘Yeah. So?’

‘You had three broken ribs, burns to your hands and arms and your legs were all cut and bloodied,’ said Mac.

‘What’s your point?’

‘I saw the film taken by the rescue team of the area. You had an SaR beacon and water beside you and your head
was bandaged. With your injuries, there’s no way you could’ve got up to that plateau carrying the beacon and water. And I closely examined the film and photos of the rocks leading up to the plateau. There was blood on the gully floor but there were only sporadic blood drops on the rocks. And they were
drops
, not smears. Your legs were bleeding copiously but you managed to avoid getting blood on all but a couple of rocks climbing up? And with the damage to your hands, there’s certainly no way you could’ve bandaged your own head so neatly. So the only conclusion is that someone else was there.’

Kaspar regarded Mac. He knew she was geeky smart but now he saw why she’d been trusted with so much responsibility at such a young age. She’d managed to piece together a whole lot more than anyone else.