“Still no luck with Shiloh’s algorithm, but I’ve made progress on Markham’s vid-screen.”

  He handed me the cracked vid-screen, which displayed one page. I tried to swipe it, but it wouldn’t respond.

  “That’s as good as it gets for now,” Si said, nodding towards the barely functioning computer in my hand. “My guess, that’s what Lena read in Markham’s suite. What we really need to know is what comes next.”

  I scanned the article; a memo from the Chief Overseer’s Office directly to Overseer Jeffrey Markham. It was personalised, not office wide. And it was clear the Chief Overseer had a beef with Markham.

  “‘Your concerns have been noted,’” I said aloud. Si snorted, but kept his attention on various street-cam footage around Wánměi. “‘But lie outside of your purview.’ What an arrogant arse.”

  “Tell me about it,” Si offered.

  “‘Shiloh is operating well within parameters set by my father, and approved by you and the Overseers at the time. Meeting targets and surpassing expectations.’”

  “I’m guessing that last part was what Markham was concerned with,” Si offered.

  “Yeah. He saw the writing on the wall.”

  “A hell of a lot later than Carstairs did.”

  I sat down in a free chair beside him and ran a hand through my hair.

  “Wang Chao mentions a switch,” I said, placing the vid-screen on the table having read all I could of the memo and its thinly veiled threats for now. “Should have been flicked on Good Friday. I guess the question is, did we prevent this from happening when we killed Chew-wen Wang Chao, or not?”

  Si turned just his head to look at me, a WTF expression on his face.

  “What do you think?” he said, then swung back to view his vid-screens.

  “Yeah. That’s what I thought,” I offered, in way of reply. The switch had been flicked all right, but not by Wang Chao. By Kandiyar instead.

  “She controls everything,” I added. “She controls Harjeet.”

  “And she’ll kill him just like she killed Markham.”

  “Wang Chao did that,” I argued.

  “You really think he ordered the drone to fire in that suite? Or is it possible he just stood by and watched Shiloh do it?”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah, fuck,” Si agreed.

  I scrubbed my face in frustration. “We need that algorithm cracked.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We need to know where Shiloh’s mainframe is housed.”

  “Yeah.”

  I sighed. “Where’s that list of high security properties Jared worked on? Maybe it just needs to be enough security to keep her safe, but not enough to capture our attention. She has to know we’d look into potential locations via this route.”

  “A hell of a risk to take,” Si offered, as he pulled up the list Jared had compiled.

  “Agreed, but she wasn’t at the drone factory.”

  “And that was the highest guarded location we found. Parliament House?” Si asked.

  “I considered that, but from the tone of that memo the Overseers were starting to notice anomalies; they had concerns. Would she risk her mainframe being located right within their walls, close enough for them to investigate in person? Or would she want it somewhere removed? Somewhere only a select few had access to?”

  “Bearing in mind, that it would have been housed wherever it is by General Chew-wen.”

  “And possibly Calvin Carstairs,” I added, tasting bitterness on my tongue at that thought. “That algorithm…”

  “Makes sense he’d have input that at her creation.”

  “Which would mean he had access to her mainframe. Could it have been shifted after he’d done his part?” I was clutching at straws and I knew it.

  But fuck it. This was Lena’s father. This was the man who had given her the alias of Lena Carr. Who had given her the tools to survive while hidden.

  Of course, he’d had to do that, once he’d realised Shiloh was out of control.

  “Possibly,” Si said slowly. “But highly unlikely. Just as her mainframe would have been put in a place that was isolated and secure right from the start, because shifting her later would be damn near impossible.”

  “Rules out Parliament House,” I said. Too great a chance of the Overseers discovering her sentience in time.

  I looked back at the list that Jared had researched.

  “When was she actually created?” I asked.

  Si stood up and crossed to Lena’s Shiloh unit on the wall, tapping on the vid-screen to bring up her inception date.

  “Well, this unit was manufactured just over seventeen years ago.”

  “That would have made Lena, what? Eight years old?”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “Lena told me her father started buying up property for her in Wáikěiton when she was eight. The same age he started taking her to lunch in the suburb she would eventually call home.”

  “That’s when Carstairs realised Shiloh was evolving,” Si concluded.

  Yeah. “But when was Shiloh brought on-line. Right after we shut our borders, or later?”

  “That’s got to be in old news feeds,” Si said, hurriedly bringing up archived copies of Wánměi propaganda from back when General Chew-wen came to power.

  It took him five minutes to find the date.

  “Exactly one year after Wánměi shut its borders.”

  “So,” I said, looking toward the list of potential properties where Shiloh could be housed. “Which location fits the criteria for security and timing?”

  We both stared at the list, but nothing jumped out. The security level on all of them was good, but not Shiloh mainframe good.

  “Look at this,” Si said, pointing to the National Museum of Wánměi. A building that had been closed to the public since General Chew-wen came to power; our history telling too much of what we were missing. The day the borders closed it was announced our nation was considered born. Anything that came before was irrelevant.

  Or too controversial.

  “I thought everything inside was destroyed,” he added. “So why does it exist on Jared’s high security list at all?”

  “Maybe they held on to some more expensive artifacts, unable to part with them for nostalgia’s sake.”

  Si raised an incredulous eyebrow at me. “The Overseers who decreed we had no history before we became Wánměi?”

  I frowned. He was right. They wouldn’t feel nostalgia, only fear.

  “The security’s the lowest on the list,” I pointed out.

  “A list it shouldn’t be on at all,” Si pressed.

  “What are you getting at?” I just didn’t see where he was going with this.

  “Trent,” he said. My name voiced in a pertinent tone. “I think Jared has doctored the list.”

  Oh.

  “I think the museum, if it was just an abandoned building without any artifacts inside, shouldn’t even be on this list. But it is, because it was at the top, and Jared, the fucking idiotic arsehole, moved it down the list, thinking to hide its significance. Thinking we wouldn’t look at it, if it was at the bottom, under more notable locations.”

  Oh, fuck.

  “I think he’s our spy.

  Motherfucking cocksucker!

  “Where is he?” I demanded, my voice low and extremely dark. It reminded me of my father. I ignored the comparison.

  “Ah, shit,” Si said, turning from a newly opened vid-screen to look at me. Worry and concern etched on his pale face. “I sent Emir after him. And now I can’t find either.”

  Chapter 35

  Deep And Sweet And Heart-Wrenchingly Desperate

  Lena

  I walked in on chaos. Simon frantically talking over the headset, I think to Alan and Paul. Giving orders for them to come to the tech room immediately. While Trent kept dialling a number on his cellphone and then swearing profusely when it didn’t connect.

  Neither man looked up when I entered. Too busy giving off tense vibes to even notice I’d arrived.

  Something had happened. And it wasn’t good.

  I sat myself down on a seat, placing the coffees I’d brought with me to the side - I didn’t think either man needed a caffeine hit right now - and nibbled on my breakfast, which considering it was late in the afternoon, seemed out of whack. It took five minutes for Trent to realise I was even there.

  Mid-swipe of his cellphone, the latest curse just having been uttered, his eyes connected with mine, and then got caught at my returned hair colour. White with black stripes, ready to address the nation as Wánměi’s icon of hope.

  But I was thinking that might not be on the agenda anymore.

  “What’s happened?” I asked, as Trent’s mouth softened, the lines about his eyes smoothed out, and he took, what appeared to be, an involuntary step toward me.

  He brought himself up short, back straightening, head giving a quick shake to rouse him from his trance, and cleared his throat.

  “Emir’s gone missing. We think Jared’s the spy.”

  Huh. For a second that didn’t compute. Shy, quiet, ineffectual Jared the reason why we almost got killed. The reason why I almost got killed.

  I’d been so sure it was Wang Jie.

  “And we know where Shiloh might be,” Si added, nodding toward an image on a nearby vid-screen which displayed the old National Museum of Wánměi on it.

  I swallowed, looked nervously around the bunker room we were in, and then said, “You do realise that is just down the road, don’t you?”

  “It had crossed our minds,” Si said, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. “Just outside the Domain Park,” he added. “Close enough to feel the fine hairs on the back of your neck rise, but far enough away not to turn the park into a demilitarised zone.”

  Holy shit.

  “I can’t raise him!” Trent said, throwing his cellphone down on a table just as a knock sounded out on the door.

  “Alan and Paul,” Si supplied, as the door opened and revealed both men.

  “Any news?” Alan asked immediately.

  “Nothing. Can’t raise him or Jared. Tan’s on his way back now,” Trent offered, starting to pace.

  “This is not good,” Paul said with a shake of his head, taking a seat near me.

  “I’ll start a physical search of the bunker,” Alan offered, heading back to the door as if to leave.

  “All those areas wired with cameras are clear,” Si advised. “If he’s still here, he’s in one of the sleeping quarters or the bathrooms.”

  “On it,” Alan snapped, and was immediately gone again.

  “Where else can we try?” Paul asked, leaning forward eagerly for instruction.

  “The park itself,” Trent suggested. “Check in with the watches. But be careful not to be seen. And go armed. Jared is not who we thought he was.”

  “Gotcha,” Paul said and left as quickly as Alan had. I noticed Trent hadn’t given the same instructions to Alan. He hadn’t needed to. But Paul - and Emir - were fairly new recruits and didn’t have the experience Alan had.

  Which meant it wasn’t looking good for Emir.

  My stomach roiled, I felt sick at the thought of what could have happened to Emir. Anger fuelled the acidic burn in my belly. How had Jared fooled us? And he’d done it so well. I hadn’t even looked at him, focusing instead on Wang Jie. But Trent had. I’d seen him staring too hard at the younger man.

  Trent had suspected when the rest of us had been completely duped.

  And now Emir was missing.

  “What do you need me to do?” I asked, pushing up from my seat and walking over to Trent’s side.

  His deep blue eyes flicked over to me, concern a weary weight in his gaze.

  “We need you to sell us to the nation,” he said, his eyes taking in the colour of my hair again, as though drawn there and he just couldn’t help it.

  “You want to go ahead with that now?” I queried.

  “No time like the present.” The rebel leader in full force.

  But had he thought of everything?

  “Is it safe here?” I asked, looking between him and Si. “Jared…” I let the sentence hang.

  “That’s why you’ll be doing the broadcast from Broadway,” Trent advised, completely losing me.

  “Broadway?”

  “I can’t hack the news feeds,” Si explained. “The codes Harjeet had secured for us at the time of the celebration no longer work.” No surprises there. “And they’re as tightly controlled as the drone factory; it would take too long to crack.”

  Understandable. They were undoubtedly locked by Shiloh herself. The chosen propaganda medium for a self aware computer programme.

  “But I can hack into the oversized electronic billboards on Broadway, which are all tied into a loop. So, what we display there, will show up everywhere a billboard stands throughout the nation.”

  “We think the best time to do that is right on six this evening,” Trent added. “When most people are out shopping before curfew hits.”

  I glanced at my watch. That left us just over one hour.

  “Do you want to pre-record it?” I asked Simon.

  It was Trent who answered. “I want you both out of here.”

  So, it wasn’t safe.

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll wait until Alan and Paul finish their sweeps. And catch up with Tan and Navin as soon as they get back. Then we’ll rendezvous at a small pub in Muhgah Keekee.”

  He sighed. Ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair.

  “We’re homeless again.”

  “What about the refugees?” I asked, fear and frustration for our charges mixing with anger and resentment that we had to live like this at all.

  “They’ve been advised. Mr Li is organising their distribution through Xiu Ying’s basement hideaways.”

  “How safe are they?” I demanded.

  “Safer than here,” was the curt reply I received.

  I turned and looked at Simon, who was watching our exchange with interest. His eyes caught mine.

  “I guess it’s you and me,” I offered. Then stared at his inappropriate length hair. “But how are we going to hide that?”

  “I’m not the one being broadcast across huge as fuck vid-screens,” he argued.

  “And to get there? Wherever it is you need to set up to film?”

  He squirmed in his chair.

  “Lena’s right,” Trent said. “You can always grow it again.”

  “Ah, fuck it,” Si growled, crossing his arms over his chest and beginning to pout. Like some school boy having had his favourite ball confiscated. And speaking of school aged kids…

  “Xiu Ying can cut it. She did my hair,” I offered.

  Si’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t particularly want to be a zebra, Lena. But thanks anyway.”

  Trent huffed out a laugh. It wasn’t quite up to his usual standard. Too much worry weighed on him right now to really let loose.

  “Are she and Zhang Jun back in the bunker?” he asked, fully alert again, the laugh already forgotten.

  “Yes,” I said. “Taking a break from the watches.”

  “Good,” Trent said, making me smile at him for caring about my friends. “They can go with you as back-up.”

  The smile fell, but only a little. This was another side of Trent, one I was well aware of. One I loved as much as the man who made me laugh inside our room. Who loved me with a passion that stole all reason. Who made me feel like I was the most desirable woman on earth.

  He was no less impressive, but for a vastly different reason. This Trent was as much a force to be reckoned with as Bedroom Trent. Except this Trent would kill in an instant if required.

  “I’ve messaged Xiu Ying and Zhang Jun,” Si advised. “Still trying to get Jared. No luck,” he added, his voice subdued.

  I let a slow breath out, hating all of this. Hating Shiloh and General Chew-wen. Hating the Overseers and their lapdogs the Cardinals. Hating I was born Elite and helped fuel the rot that existed in Wánměi. Hating that Citizens had stood by and allowed this to happen without fighting back.

  Hating, in that instant, my country.

  I lifted my head and met Trent’s dark eyes; so much expressed in just one look. I felt myself falling down the deep well of emotion that swirled within the blue. I felt myself connecting with the rage and determination I saw in his gaze.

  Trent would fight. He wouldn’t stop.

  And neither would I.

  The door opened then and Xiu Ying and Zhang Jun walked in, a bright smile on the girl, solemn expression on the boy.

  “You wanted us, Simon?” she said, practically skipping over to look at his various vid-screens, excitement bubbling up off her.

  I looked back at Trent, my expression saying it all. Back-up?

  “You recruited them,” he said in response to my non-verbalised question. He was right. And I would die defending them.

  Defending them and anyone like them.

  I brushed my earlier anger and resentment aside, straightened my shoulders and approached Xiu Ying with a pair of scissors.

  “Can you give him a model haircut, please?”

  “Oh,” she said, stunned awe washing over her face. “Are you sure?”

  “No,” Si barked, as Trent said, “It needs to be done quickly. You’ll all be leaving within a quarter hour.”

  Fifteen minutes. So soon?

  “Xiu Ying’s father is still assigning apartment buildings to the refugees,” Zhang Jun pointed out. “He hasn’t decided where we’ll be going yet.” The unsaid in the boy’s words being, if Mr Li found them somewhere. There were only so many One Wánměi hideaways.

  “You’re not going with them,” Trent said, and Zhang Jun straightened to his full impressive height, not quite making Trent’s, but coming close. He held such potential this young man. Such potential. I would make sure he lived to realise it.

  “You’re coming with me,” I said softly. Determination and conviction settling into my frame.

  “Oh, how exciting!” Xiu Ying exclaimed as she lopped off a thick strand of Simon’s glorious long blond hair. I could have sworn the man was holding back tears.