Chapter ten

Ten years later

Rose crept through the forest thicket, bare feet tentatively stepping over fallen branches, eyes vigilant for sharp rocks or stones to be negotiated. She did have some boots, but they were three sizes to big and clumped loudly as she walked. Given this was a mission of stealth she'd taken them up and bundled them with the rest of her supplies in a crude sling made out of an old blanket and carried over her shoulder. She wore a tattered grey boiler suit, the faded logo of some log forgotten engineering company embroidered across he back. She'd cut off much of the legs and sleeves, as despite the growth of her teenage years, it was still designed for a larger man. A piece of fabric, perhaps on old curtain tie, was the only splash of colour, pulling the boiler suit in at the waist.

In her right hand she carried a long pole, almost as tall as she was and sharpened to a point at one end. What was in effect a pointy stick was about as far as technology had got after the events of a decade ago. However, today could signal a change as she paused at a small spiky bush. Just on the other side was the trap she had devised, her own design coupled with what she had learnt from the few torn pages of an old book, "Fifty things for a boy to build". Those few scuffed up pages from a book dating back to the 1950's were the most valuable thing she possessed. After the Event the vast majority of human knowledge, stored electronically, had been lost. Suddenly the remnants of the old paper books her grampa had spoken of became almost priceless.

Almost.

In fact, they had become a means of currency in an age where trillions of virtual dollars, yuan or new deutsche marks had disappeared in an instant. It depended on the book of course; pages from some romantic piece of fiction were worth little, maybe a few potatoes if they described some old piece of machinery. However, the more practical literature could feed a family for a year. Books on plants or wildlife were fought over, some killed over, as starving populations quickly had to adapt to a pastoral life. Of course the few books that had made it to the virtual generations were never going to be enough to support the global population.  Billions perished. Those left behind were hardened, adapted to the new world, but everyday was still a battle for survival.

Rose dropped to all fours as she slowly moved around the bush. Nervous anticipation built in her, painfully empty, stomach. They'd been down to scavenged rations for a few weeks now, the long hot summer having seen many of the planted crops fail. Ferrying water up from the river five miles distant to the gardens and fields took up the days of most of the able bodied; the old stream that had previously irrigated the crops having dried up. Even aside from the ropey vegetables that currently fed them, no one had had meat for months. Animal husbandry wasn't something they had taught at schools in the modern age; the calf they had traded with some travellers that had past through last year for a couple of books and some trinkets had died in mysterious circumstances. Maybe it had been ill to start with, or maybe they hadn't fed it right, no-one really knew, but it's passing yielded little of the meat or milk that a full size cow would have done.

Around the other side of the bush was a small clearing. Rose had studied the area for a few days now, a family of foxes could normally be found scurrying around, their burrow was presumably near by. In the evening they would head toward the village for some scavenging and in the time that let the clearing free, Rose made her move. Her trap was a jumble of bits of wood that made a frame about half a metre cubed. It was interlinked by a web of wire and springs, most of which came from the vehicles that littered the now impassable road network. The Event had rendered them undrivable, the virus frying vital central systems, leaving behind hundreds of thousands of slowly rusting monuments to a bygone age.  With some food scraps placed inside it she hoped to tempt one of the adult foxes, but given her current hunger she'd happily settle for one of the cubs.

What had she become?

Rose could remember her bedroom back then, back before, littered with cuddly toys, including Freddie the Friendly Fox, a companion to one of the virtual early learning courses her parents had downloaded onto her first pair of IR glasses. Freddie had taught her about friendship, sharing and caring, all with some jolly songs with catchy lyrics. Where as now, all she could think about was how Freddie's kin would taste done medium well.

Thoughts of cuddly toys were abandoned as she looked across the clearing. The trap was still there, but more importantly, its spring loaded door had snapped shut. She moved forward a little, almost daring not to hope. But it had worked. Inside the trap was one of the adult foxes. It was lying down, but the scuff marks and bent wire of the surrounding trap implied it had been frantic in trying to escape. And there was a bonus. On the other side of the walls of the trap, and with its back to Rose, was the ensnared fox's mate. Almost without thinking, Rose gripped her pole tighter, shifting it above her shoulder, ready to throw. She dropped her blanket sling to the floor in order to allow freer movement and edged forward. She wasn't great with the pole, never once having managed to hit the rabbits that she had frantically chased in the past. However, this time she was closer to her prey; she silently commended herself for approaching the trap from downwind. Slowly, one bare foot in front of the other, she moved towards her prey.

The foxes weren't the only things being hunted that day

Rose was so fixated on the trap that she had know idea that she was being watched from across the clearing. From around the side of a gnarled old oak a pair of green eyes stared at her, while a mouth sneered, spittle collecting at the edges. It edged forward, shaggy hair stirring in the breeze.

The fox by the trap still hadn't noticed Rose. It was busy scrapping at the dirt floor, trying to find a way in to its mate that remained lying down within the construction. She held the pole over her shoulder, ready to throw, as she continued to close the distance.

The foxes looked up in unison. Rose stopped dead. But they weren't looking at her. She was trying to follow their gaze when the fox on the outside shot off into the undergrowth at the side of the clearing. Cursing, Rose internally debated going after it versus settling for the one in the trap.

Movement at the opposite edge of the clearing.

Rose looked up as it charged from behind the tree. Coming straight at her it leapt over the trap, catching the top corner and knocking it over. The fox within didn't need a second opportunity and fled for freedom. But Rose had no time to curse again as this new threat was almost on top of her in a blur of matted hair and slavering teeth. She moved the pole from the throwing position above her shoulder to one under arm ready to fend off the attack.

But the attack didn't come.

The creature shot past her, grabbing the sling she had left on the floor near the bush and disappearing into the forest.

"OI!" yelled Rose, turning on her heals and shooting off in pursuit. Around the other side of the bush, she could see its small form a few metres ahead. When it had charged at her it had moved quickly and Rose doubted she could have caught up with it if it was moving that fast now. However, the weight of the sling was slowing it down, and the awkward bulk created by her boots inside it made it awkward for the creature to carry comfortably.

She was catching up and the blur of movement from the creature was beginning to resolve itself. But before Rose could puzzle over how it seemed to be running on two legs, it darted to the left and into a small dell densely surrounded by thick foliage. Here the creature had an advantage in that it was smaller than Rose, so could slip between much of the undergrowth. She, meanwhile, got snagged on various prickly branches, tearing her boiler-suit in the process. 

Breaking through the final barrage of thorns Rose emerged into a hollow, dimly lit by the dappled sunlight through the foliage above. It must have been some sort of den for the creature, various detritus littered the small space. She readied her pole, the creature was in the centre of the hollow, with its back to her, somehow oblivious to the cursing and branch snapping that had accompanied Rose's entrance. She edged forward, ready to strike, but also attempting to work out what she had stumbled across. Matted greasy hair spilled down from a small head, but there was no matching fur on it's body, instead a general covering of grime, broken by the occasional graze or weeping wound.

It was a boy

Rose gasped, lowering the pole. She edged around the child, who remained absorbed by the contents of her sling that he had spilled onto the floor of the hollow. From the side she see the distended belly that hinted at the malnutrition he was obviously suffering from. He was frantically chomping down there meagre lunch she had brought with her; two small apples went down, core and all, with a half rotten carrot not far behind. She half wondered if he was going to start on her boots next, but after the carrot was choked down he paused.

"Hello" said Rose tentatively

It was as if he only then became aware of her presence, wide eyes fearful as swung around to looks at her, before edging back across the hollow.

"I'm not going to hurt you" she attempted to move towards him, to maybe brush aside some of the greasy matted hair that had fallen across his face. But, the boy whimpered, trying to edge further back, snagging himself on some of the branches behind him. Rose backed off.

"Sorry. Please don't be scared" she wasn't sure what to do. The boy was young, maybe 6 or 7, although the layers of grime made it hard to estimate. Regardless he was certainly born after the Event. Even though Rose had only distant memories of life before it, those born after were almost a different species, with no common point of reference. If this boy was completely feral, he might not even speak English. Rose pondered, crouching down as she did so, her hand brushing against something on the floor. She looked down; the contents of her sling were scattered around the hollow, the items that weren't edible hurriedly discarded in the search for food. Rose picked up the item that her hand had come to rest upon.

Her robin.

Not _The_ robin, the clockwork one had been left behind in her old life. This one didn't move, carved out of wood as it was, traded for a few items of food that would gladly feed her well now, but she wouldn't reverse that trade. It was just a silly piece of wood, but it reminded her of life as it had been before. Her friends. Her family.

"Birdie"

Rose looked up, puzzled for a second, but then followed the boy's gaze to the robin she now had in her hand. "Er, yes, birdie" she uncertainly replied, then added "tweet tweet". The boy giggled. "Do you like birdies?" she asked, pretending to hop the robin along the floor of the hollow.

"They sing nice" he replied, eyes transfixed on her robin "tweet tweet" he imitated her, giggling again.

"They do sing nice. Do you sing?"

A shake of the head

"Does your mummy sing?" she risked the question, curious of his background

His bottom lip quivered, "Sometimes. Not any more" his gaze dropped. Crap, she was losing him.

"Well my birdie sings a lot" she quickly said "tweety tweet tweet" she added, dancing the robin around

"That's you doing it" the boy was no fool, but his gaze had returned to the wooden robin.

"Maybe. But there are singing birds outside my house. Do you have a house?"

The boy looked around the hollow and shrugged as if to indicate this was it.

"Would you like to come and see the birdies near my house?"

A nervous shake of the head

"Really. That's a shame, because robin was hoping you'd come" she danced the wooden robin around some more

"Are there lots of birdies?"

"Yes, all different sorts" although all with a similar taste for the seeds she'd attempted to grow in the garden Rose inwardly mused

"I like birdies"

"Well, my friend has a book all about birds. She would show it to you if you came to visit" that book, belonging to Doctor Barker, was beautifully illustrated, but not worth that much given its focus on African birds - little use in northern England.

"What's _a book_" he looked puzzled

"It's like magic. The whole world, but in a little box. I'd love to show you, will you come with me?"

A tentative nod

Chapter nine

 The three trudged back towards the Chinese embassy, Ling and Mike labouring under the weight of the ordinance they hadn't in the end needed, and Claus labouring under after effects of his previous exertions. A light breeze stirred the German's torn shirt, which fluttered around his pale chest. He had managed to replace the shoe he'd lost with one of the display items from the shop he'd fought the Dragon in that was close enough to his size, although it was a completely different style to his other shoe and gave his trouserless ensemble and extra hint of the bizarre.

They walked back in silence, each lost in their own thoughts; Claus trying to piece together just what the hell what was going on; Mike running through possible military scenarios; and Ling worriedly extrapolating the implications of the Dragon infiltration. With the main entrance to the embassy a shattered wreck, Ling led them through a nondescript side door and up a flight of stairs into a small lobby. Two confused looking embassy staff were waiting for them, the looks of confusion turning close to alarm when they saw Claus. Ling barked something in Chinese, snapping the workers out of their confused contemplation as she and Mike passed over the shoulder mounted weaponry. The taller of the embassy staff gave a small "oomph" as he took the weight of Mike's weapon, but then collected himself and quickly muttered something back to Ling as he attempted to readjust the weight into a more comfortable position.

"Follow me" she instructed Mike and Claus

"Where we going?" Mike had too jog a few paces to catch up with the Chinese lady as she took off to quickly stride down a corridor to their left

"Communications suite, apparently we've got a line to your people"

"My people? What, back home?"

"uh-huh" she made a quick turn down another corridor as she responded in the affirmative, almost catching Mike out who had to quickly readjust to follow her.

"Good, but, er, how?" he managed to catch up and fall into step aside Ling again

"Old tech"

"Eh?"

"Don't you read your history books?" she cast him a sceptical glance

They came to a lift, Ling hammering on the call button. Nothing seemed to happen.

"Centrally controlled?" enquired Claus

"Yeah. Hope you two have got your comfortable shoes on as it's 15 flights up" Ling went over and pushed a door open, revealing a gloomy stair case. Mike grunted, already panting from the walk this far and followed.

Claus looked down at his shoes nervously "Well I hope at least one of them is comfortable" he muttered before starting off after them.

Two flights up and Mike was already struggling. Almost as an attempt to distract himself he probed Ling for more detail, "No, er, I guess history was never a..." he took another hurried breath "...a strong point. What sort of....old tech?"

"First cold war. You guys and the Russians came so close to nuking each other on various occasions through nothing more than insecurity and misunderstanding that some bright spark had the idea of installing a direct line between Washington and Moscow" she turned, to see if Mike was keeping up, both literally and figuratively. He was only a few steps behind and managed something approximating a nod between the gasps for breath. Ling continued, "So when ever the Russians got a spurious radar reading, or the Americans got spooked by some dodgy intel someone could just just call up and say 'Are you guys really about to nuke us?' Beautifully simple"

"And...you....have that?"

"Something like it. When things got hot between our nations back in '22 it was decided that a hotline was needed. They put in a direct 4g link between Washington and Beijing, via Berlin as a symbolic half way point"

"4g? Fuck, you weren't....kidding about the....old tech"

"Indeed. But enough to carry a video link and running on an entirely different protocol to the ultranet"

They continued in silence for a couple more floors, even Ling starting to flag a little. Mike eventually broke the silence, "You said you'd established...a link....with America....but what about with you guys....what about the link  with Beijing?"

Ling stopped. They'd reached their floor and she paused at a door exiting the stairwell. She looked down, then back up and across to Mike "I've been asking myself the same question. They can't get that part of the link to work" The two shared a worried look that Claus didn't quite understand. Instead he scurried after them as Ling swung the door open and entered the communications suite.

It was a large room at the top of the embassy, views across the Berlin skyline that Claus was immediately drawn to. He'd never considered it a beautiful city, but it was home and it was also made considerable less beautiful by the various trails of thick smoke emanating from various parts.

Mike was more concerned with the view inside the room. Banks of computer and communications equipments lined the walls, all with black screens, the occasional red light flashing which he took to mean them being offline. Instead, most of the activity was concentrated around a large meeting table at one end, which faced a screen on the wall. Moving closer Mike saw the screen flicker and judder, while various technicians shouted at each other in frantic Chinese. Ling had taken station behind the table, stood next to a fragile looking old man that Mike recognised as the Chinese ambassador. Ling was a head taller than the ambassador, so had stooped to whisper in his ear. Mike was neither close enough to be able to hear, or understand anything above the smattering of Chinese that Ling had tried to teach him when they occasionally dined together at her favourite Chinese restaurant in down-town Berlin.

Mike worked his way through the press of bodies near the screen and approached the table, standing a little way down from Ling. She didn't see him, but the ambassador did, beckoning him closer, "Ah, Michael, how nice to see you. A shame it is under such unfortunate circumstances". His English, as ever, was impeccable, with a precision that had always slightly unsettled Mike.

"Ambassador Ts'ao, an honour as always" Mike bowed his head "Ling said you had managed to talk to my superiors?"

"Hmmm, not quite. But our technicians are confident that contact will soon be initiated" the old man gave a little chuckle "it seems that the technology involved is a little before the time of the youngsters here" he nodded towards a scurrying technician "I think it would perhaps work best if I tried to find one of my old mobile phones" another chuckle "Do you remember them, Michael?"

"Er, maybe when I was a boy" emphasis on boy, although this wasn't enough to prevent a snigger from Ling; drawing attention to Mike's age was one of the few chinks she had found in his armour

The screen flickered again, but this time behind the haze the form of a head and shoulders could just about be made out. Another flicker and the shape resolved further into focus, this time accompanied by a burst of static from some hidden speakers above the screen. Mike squinted; the shape on the screen was beginning to look familiar. With another pop of static and shudder of the picture it became even more familiar "Shit" muttered Mike.

"Goddammit. This thing working yet?" the American on the other end of the line was looking off to one side. Neat grey hair was tied in a bun at the back of her head, four stars on the insignia at her shoulder. After a muffled reply from off camera, she turned to face them, frown etched onto a stern face. "Ah, yes, finally" eyes flicked back and fourth, presumably as she looked at her own screen, "Ambassador Ts'ao" a curt nod "And what is this, Captain Glover? Why am I not surprised to see you enjoying the hospitality of our Chinese friends?"

Mike stood to attention and gave a quick salute, "General Pierson, the 63rd MOP company is secure, sir"

"Yes, thanks to the kill switch rather than any action of yours"

"Sir" Mike cursed inwardly. He and Pierson had a long shared history, very little of it pleasant. Of a similar age, their early progress in the American army had tracked one another. However, while Pierson adapted to the changing battlefield under the automated era and continued her rise through the ranks, Mike had fallen behind. Pierson had ended up being his commanding officer on a number of occasions, with distinctly mixed results amid an obvious personality clash. It was also Pierson, in her current position of Chairmen of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, that had given him the orders to pass the MOP data to the Chinese. While unable to find Mike directly culpable for the failure of that plan, Pierson had always been suspicious of Mike's relationship with the Chinese, with Ling especially. Thankfully the General's position was busy enough to keep her from spending too much time making Mike's life a complete misery, but he suspected that a combination of Pierson and his ex-husband had blocked his various applications for transfer or early retirement.

"Ambassador Ts'ao, it appears we are facing an unprecedented attack on an unimaginable scale. I urge you to share any intelligence you may have so that we can better combat the threat"

Mike turned to look at the Ambassador, who for the first time in Mike's experience was looking flustered. He could easily emphasise. The very fact that Pierson - renowned for being no friend of the Chinese - was asking for intelligence showed how desperate the Americans must be. Mike swallowed nervously, he knew the situation was serious, but this was beyond all his fears.

"We, er, have been unable to communicate with Beijing so far in order to establish the exact circumstances of the attack" the Ambassador nervously scratched his head

This time it was Pierson's turn to look nervous, she looked off screen "They don't know?" the General enquired of someone next to the camera

"Don't know what" Ling spoke

Pierson turned back to look at them, paused briefly, before addressing them, "At the start of the attack we received  credible evidence that Chinese long range ballistic missiles had been used against a domestic target" another pause

"Domestic target?" the Ambassador croaked, the English accent slipping slightly

"Beijing" replied the General

Silence. Ling had covered her mouth with her hands, the Ambassador just stood still, glazed look on his face. One of the technicians had started to cry. To Mike, it made a grim kind of sense. To a Hawk such as Pierson the Chinese would have been an immediate suspect when the attack began, it would take something major to convince him that the Chinese were facing the same aggressor as the Americans. Something very big.

"Permission to speak, sir?"

"Go ahead Captain"

"The remaining missiles in China sir, are they a threat?"

"As we understand, no. When the initial unauthorised launches took place, Chinese command and control took appropriate steps"

"_Appropriate steps_?" spat Ling "Why do you keep talking in riddles?" Mike looked across, tears were tracing lines down her cheeks. Her brother was in charge of security at one of the Chinese missile bases and her parents lived nearby.

The rebuke had stunned Pierson momentarily, but she continued "The last communication we had from China was a self destruct order, followed by our geoscience department taking seismic readings indicative of multiple high impact explosions from the Chinese interior". Another pause, before the General continued, "So you must understand the imperative for us to share any intelligence that we might have on this"

"Er, yes, yes we do" the Ambassador dabbed a handkerchief at his eyes, but continued to speak "Our technicians here detected multiple intrusions at 16:48 followed by a viral attack at 16:54. The intrusions were initially quarantined before the viral attack force overloaded all systems"

Mike was impressed; without access to IR the ambassador was recounting this from memory, although he spoke as if almost on autopilot, the shock of the recent news obviously distracting attention.

"At 16:57 kill switches kicked in as quarantine broke down. At 16:58 the kill switches were themselves overridden" Pierson frowned at this revelation from the Ambassador

"What happened to your local armaments" she cast her glance down at a piece of paper, even older tech than the 4g "You have three Dragon mobile deterrence units"

"One was already shut-down for maintenance, one was undergoing recharge which was successfully reversed to power it down"

"And the other?"

"Was neutralised" Ling answered, a glance at Mike more of a stare at Claus who hovered nervously to one side of the table, out of shot of the camera Pierson was using.

"Were you able to trace the infiltration?" asked Pierson

"Not entirely, it came from multiple ultranet nodes. Best we can ascertain is north Europe, Scandinavia maybe. But the subsequent viral attack wiped our systems before we could go deeper. That was nothing we've seen before, not even from your people" the ambassador arched an enquiring eyebrow

"We are still investigating the virus" replied Pierson "But it is highly volatile, constantly changing, mutating -almost organic. It seems that the mass infiltration was used as a distraction, a way to force the virus past our firewalls, two separate attacks, two differing sources.

"But co-ordinated? Who has the ability to do that?" Ling was frowning

"As yet undetermined" Pierson looked irritated, having to admit such a large hole in the American intelligence obviously rankled "The infiltration originating from North Europe is the only clue. It would tally with the main cell of techno-anarchists we've been keeping tabs on in Sweden"

"Not very effective tabs" Ling chided

"Also not their M.O." added Mike "The infiltration, ok they've tried similar in the past, but never on this scale. Also the virus has taken the ultranet down. Those idiots spend their whole lives on the ultranet, why attack something you rely on?"

"There's got to be another player, using the anarchists" Ling replied "I guess we'll be able to run a more effective trace when the ultranet comes back online. We got an ETA on that?" this directed at Pierson

The American General looked uncomfortable. Mike's stomach sank, for Pierson to look that flustered something very bad was going on.

"It is, er, not coming back online for the foreseeable future"

"I don't understand" said Ling

"It is overloading every system it comes into contact with, causing physical damage to vital systems"

"What? How can something electronic do physical damage? Can't you just turn your computers off and on again? Or run an anti virus programme to clear it up?" Claus spoke for the first time, his confusion finally reaching critical mass.

Pierson just frowned at the intrusion, so Mike explained "We've been doing it for decades Claus. Tailored viruses designed to cause physical damage to enemy interests. It was how we took down the Iranian nuclear programme way back, viruses gave erroneous commands causing critical machines to overheat and break down. Worked so well we've been refining it ever since. Bit of a cheat if you ask me, but certainly effective"

"But they've always had to be tailored to the infrastructure they're trying to take down" the Ambassador pointed out "This virus is destroying everything it comes into contact with - ultranet nodes, water supply, transport. How can it do that"

"Someone has found the holy grail" Mike rubbed his forehead "And if it isn't out lot, and it isn't yours, who the fuck is it?"






In an opulent office six thousand miles away a man laughed.

A man prepared his invasion.

Chapter eight

 The clanking sound receded into the distance on the other side of the warehouse. Mike stepped cautiously off the staircase and onto the concrete floor of the main building. He crept forward, Ling and Claus close behind.

"What's the plan?" Ling had moved next the Mike behind a steel pillar.

"We head to the diagnostic console over there" Mike nodded in front of them, where a light swayed slightly above a table covered in various MOP parts and complicated looking tools "That is where Jack would have been when this all kicked off"

"Then what?"

"Depends what state Jack is in. Chances are he'll need medical attention"

"Or scraping up" Claus had now joined them, but was greeted by an icy stare from Mike. "Sorry Mike, I was blunt, but you know what those MOPs can do, even unarmed"

"We won't know till we find him. For now we need to move before it comes back" He strained to hear, but the clanking wasn't within ear range. For now, at least.

The three of them crept forward, down a side aisle of the warehouse, passing lifeless MOPs on both sides, their hulking frames blocking out much of the light from the few overhead spotlights. At the end of the aisle, Mike paused. The diagnostic console was just 10 or 12 metres away now, but over open ground. And the clanking could be heard again.

"Can't see him" Ling was peering round Mike

"Could be on the far side of the console. Stay here and I'll check" before Ling could complain Mike had dashed out across the warehouse floor. Ducking down behind the console.

"Anything?" Ling hissed

"No sign" Mike replied, heading popping up above the console.

The clanking was getting louder, echoing around the warehouse making it hard to work out exactly where it was coming from.

"We need to get out of here" Claus urged

"Stay put and stay down" Mike urged from across the way. A shadow passed across the console as he ducked back down. Ling readied her gun. It might not make much difference, but it may be able to buy Mike some time if they needed a distraction. The clanking now sounded really close and judging by the light and shadows Ling calculated that the MOP must be on the aisle next to where she and Claus stood. She braced herself as the shape emerged from the next aisle, directly between them and Mike at the console.

But it wasn't an MOP.

Mike realised this at the same time, but reacted quicker, rushing out from behind the console and sprinting forward. For a big man he had a burst of speed, muscles with a distant memory of college football pumping hard as he covered the distance to the shape, slamming into it with a crunch and an ooomf. They skidded to a halt at Ling's feet.

"Help me turn him over" Mike said, amid panted breathes.

Jack's legs kicked and spasmed in the air, as if trying to run on the spot as Mike attempted to turn him over. Ling holstered and gun and kneeled down to help. Between them they managed to flip Jack onto his front, before Mike managed to grasp something on the technician's belt. Ripping it away with a spark and a flash, the legs stopped flailing.

"Is he alive?" Claus looked down on them as Mike flipped the unconscious body back over, putting his ear to Jack's mouth.

"Yeah, he's breathing"

"I've got a pulse" Ling was holding a wrist

"So what happened?" Claus was looking puzzled once again

"Must be like the ARD - got taken over somehow" Mike surveyed Jack's legs, both of which were surrounded by what looked like a fine scaffolding of metal struts, hinged at the ankle, knee and hips. About every 10cm up the scaffolding a connector ran between the metal casing and the leg inside, directly fused to the bone in Jack's paralysed limbs.

Jack had lost the use of his legs when he was a teenager. Growing up in a rural American community the young Jack fancied himself as something of a showman in an otherwise dull part of Iowa. When the automation of the car transport network made its way from the big cities and highways to his small town, Jack had thought it a good idea to arrive at his high school on the roof of his now citynet controlled car. He certainly made a entrance, as the car swerved in front of the school to avoid one of the younger children running out in front of it, throwing Jack off the roof to the curb, where he broke three vertebrae in his back. Four months later new legislation was passed to ensure that all cars were fitted with sensors in the roof to detect "unauthorised passengers"; the so called "Jack-switch". For some reason he appeared to look on this as a source of pride, rather than shame, but that was Jack for you.

The automation of his legs was state of the art at the time, directly fused to the severed nerves in his back in order to allow him practically the same range of movement as any healthy person. In fact, they were capable of giving an even greater range of movement if not limited by the controlling software. Jack had long attempted to persuade Mike to help him hack them in order for him to "leap over the odd building", but as much as he annoyed Mike, the elder American had no desire to see the younger killed in some new ridiculous stunt or other.

With a moan, Jack started to come round. Claus had gone to get a glass of water for him, but the taps weren't working, forcing him to bring one of the few soft drinks in the beer fridge which he passed to Mike who was cradling Jacks head and shoulders. Ling, meanwhile, attempted to patch up an ugly looking gash on his forehead.

"You ok buddy?" Mike held the can against Jack's lips "Drink a little of this"

"Ugh, there no beer left?" Jack's voice was quiet, but he sounded like himself

"Not for now, maybe later. What happened down here?"

"I'm, er, not sure. Was trying to identify the MOP infiltration, when my legs started bugging out"

"Bugging out?" Mike put the can down

"Yeah, I was getting some weird tech data from them, then I lost all ultranet access. Before I knew it I was sprinting down the warehouse. Must have smacked my head on one of the shelves"

"Sounds like an infiltration"

"That's not the weirdest part" Jack attempted to sit up, but Ling held him down before applying some more surgical tape to the head wound

"Then what is?" Mike was frowning, half listening to Jack and half considering some of the nagging implications from the infiltrations of the ARD and the technician's legs.

"The speakers on the control unit" Jack pointed to the small device that Mike had ripped off his belt and thrown to the side "You know, the ones that sound that fucking alarm if I try to run too fast around town"

"uh-huh" that alarm had saved many a pedestrian from stepping out in front of Jack in full flight on the busy Berlin side-walks.

"Someone was laughing as I was being dragged round the warehouse, sounded like a kid"

"So what do we think is happening?" Ling had finished with the first aid and turned to look at Mike "Those techno-anarchists again? Slippery little fuckers"

"Could be, but this feels bigger than that. They've never really had the balls, or organisation, to try anything as like this before" Mike scratched his head "We won't know until the networks get back up. You got anything yet?"

"No. I'll have to check in to the embassy in person"

The embassy. The mention of it made one last nagging doubt fall into place in Mike's head "Fuck", the others all turned to look at him. "Ling, what sort of protection does your embassy have?"

"You know that Mike, your agents are sniffing round it enough, a Dragon XKF"

Mike shuddered. The Dragon series of mechanised infantry were the Chinese take on the MOP. But like much of their activity in the second cold war, the competition with the American's had brought about the attitude of copying what they do, but bigger and with more weaponry. The Dragons were in effect bipedal tanks. Almost three metres tall, they bristled with chain guns, missile pods and grenade launchers.

They were also practically useless on the modern battlefield

Their bulk cost them manoeuvrability. While an MOP could move within a building, or across rugged terrain at high speed, the Dragons were pretty much limited to flat ground, outside of all but the grandest buildings. While outside in open space a Dragon was more than a match for even the heaviest armed MOP, it was vulnerable to flying drones as well as more traditional track based tanks and mobile guns.

These vulnerabilities had seen the Dragon quickly retired from front line service. They were now more commonly assigned to defensive duties, or maybe crowd control - it took a particularly determined angry mob to face down a Dragon. Most large embassies had at least one Dragon to protect them and in Berlin it was no different.

"And does the Dragon have a kill-switch override like your gun?"

"Of course. We won't be caught undefended"

"But it is an electronic override, that's the point"

"What's the point?" she was becoming exasperated

"If you can easily override it, then so can whoever is infiltrating our hardware"

"I, er. Shit" Ling stood, eyes glazed as she again attempted to contact the embassy "I need to get over there"

"For sure. I'll come with you. Jack, you ok to try and open up a line with the folks back home?"

"On it, just give me a hand to the command centre, maybe the e-table will have a more stable connection than our IR"

"Good plan. Claus, you coming with us?"

"I, er, suppose I'm meant to stay with you" Claus was beginning to hate his job monitoring the American.

A door at the rear of the warehouse led into a small parking lot, the early evening sunshine causing the three of them to squint on emerging from the gloom. Ling ran to her car, Mike to his, accompanied by Claus. However, the American couldn't even get the door open; with the networks down he had no means of communicating with the vehicle. He had previously had an official car with a manual override, but it was confiscated by his superiors after numerous complaints by his German hosts for various traffic offences. Mike suspected that Claus might be involved as the German always looked slightly terrified when Mike switched to manual.

Ling, however, was having a little more success, she had actually managed to enter it, but was busy punching the steering wheel when Mike got across to join her.

"Not working?"

"I can't get an interface up. Could only get in the damn thing cos I forgot to lock it"

"You have an override on it?"

"Hmmm, not sure, never really has cause to use it before" she began prodding and prying at the dashboard. After a few seconds she had managed to dislodge a small plastic panel, revealing a control pad and small screen. "Ah-ha" but she stopped after pressing a few buttons "But what is to stop them taking control of my car once I get it going?"

"Probably nothing, but if that happens you can just shoot into the engine block or tyres. Even if we only make it half way to the embassy, it beats walking it all"

Ling surveyed the American who had been leaning over her to look at the control panel. Maybe if he walked a bit more, then he wouldn't be so fat. But he had a point, losing control of the car was less of a concern than losing control of the Dragon. She continued her efforts with the override.

It took a couple of minutes, but the hybrid electro-gas engine flared into life with more of a pop than a roar. "Excellent, let's go" Mike jogged round to the passenger door and slumped in, Claus clambering in to the rear seats. But the car didn't move. Ling just starred at the manual controls that had emerged from the dashboard. "What's the matter Ling?" Mike questioned

"I, er, can't drive, er manual" she looked uncomfortable. Ling hated revealing weakness, but she had just never had cause to learn to drive a car manually. It was no longer necessary to have a license to drive in the age of the centrally controlled transport networks; sophisticated artificial intelligence controlled the vehicles, ensuring safety and streamlining journeys to ensure maximum efficiency. Traffic jams were practically a thing of the past with the human element removed. Most cars didn't even have manual controls, although it was more common in diplomatic vehicles. Distrust between nations ensured a desire to exert control if needed be; Ling's gun was one example, the car another.

Mike couldn't help the snigger that emerged, but he quickly choked it down, "Shift then" and she complied. The gates to the compound had been left open, and so Mike took them onto to road that led down from the highway and through the industrial estate the warehouse was on. They saw the smoke before they got to the highway, but it wasn't until they got to the on ramp that they were able to make sense of it. It was as if a giant had been playing skittles. Cars, lorries, coaches and everything in between lay strewn across the eight lanes of the highway. One or two dazed looking passengers stumbled around the wreckage, or attempted to free those still trapped inside.

"I don't get it" puzzled Claus from the back seat "Even if the citynet went down, the traffics' safety systems should have brought everything to a halt safely. Not like this"

"Must be like back at the warehouse, someone took it over" Ling surmised, although still looked confused

"But why do _this_? People are hurt"

"I have no idea" Ling shook her head

"Should we stop to help" Claus was now pressed up against one of the windows

"More people are going to be hurt if that Dragon gets loose" Mike's gaze was fixed straight ahead, as he attempted to pick a way through the chaos.

As they made their way into the centre of Berlin they started to see other traffic moving within the wreckage. Claus gave another of his curious yelps as the autobus smashed through an overturned delivery van to their right. Mike gave a curse, and pressed hard on the accelerator. The diplomatic car was not really designed for performance, but gave enough of a surge to avoid the bus, which careered past them and into a shop front with a crash. Claus starred back at the ensuing fireball as the gas tank of the bus ruptured. But Mike was still focussed on the road ahead as the moving traffic was getting more frequent. However, most of it appeared to be unmanned; presumably hacked from the drives and garages of the populous as they stayed in to watch the shuttle landing.

"Maybe we should stop?" Claus turned forward to talk to the big American "This doesn't look good"

"You kidding me? This is where we have a little fun" Mike said through gritted teeth, leaning forward, gripping the wheel tight "Reminds me of back in the day, when men raced rather than the 'bots"

Ling shook her head but kept silent, not wanting to provoke another tirade about how things were better when the American was a boy. But equally she didn't disagree with him; they needed to get to the embassy. Fast. Instead she unholstered her gun. The window control was offline, but gave little resistance to the gun butt, glass sparkling in the sunlight as it fragmented behind them. "Did your real racing men have this?" her gun barked into life, the front tyre of the car that was starting to draw level with them disintegrating, the vehicle thrown into a wild spin which Mike swerved round.

"No, but I kinda think it should have" Mike flashed her a grin, but quickly turned back to the road as two other cars clashed in front of them with a metal rendering screech. The one on the right lost control, rear ending swinging out as the car span 180 degrees, before sliding off the road and crashing into a bus shelter, glass and steel exploding around it. The remaining car swerved from one side of the road to the other in front of them. Ling's first shot did little but put a small hole in its boot, but the second took out a rear wheel, causing the car to lurch into the central reservation and grind to a halt, sparks flying. Mike laughed, this was almost fun. But they were also almost there; entering the central business district. Mike rounding a jack-knifed lorry to turn down the bridge that led across to the embassy on the opposite bank.

The embassy surrounded in smoke and fire, that was.

"Woah" Claus had lent forward between the two front seats "Are we too late?"

Ling strained to see through the smoke "Not sure, we need to get closer" and with this she turned to look at Mike in exasperation who was bringing the car to a halt about 100 metres short of the embassy.

"We're sitting ducks in this if the Dragon is still around. Best to move up on foot, hope whoever is controlling it doesn't see us" the American explained, cautiously opening his door and stepping onto the road. Ling uttered a curse under her breath, but followed his lead all the same. Claus seriously considered just sitting tight in the car, but with a gulp and another shudder, he followed the other two.

Despite the smoke and fire, it thankfully wasn't too difficult to work out where the Dragon was; the flashing lights and sirens helped a lot. Whoever was operating it obviously wasn't going for stealth. The three from the American warehouse carefully picked their way down the buildings opposite the embassy, pausing to duck behind abandoned cars or newspaper stands when suitable cover presented itself. Eventually they worked their way to a position facing the main entrance of the embassy, the Dragon stomping a fiery path a little way further down the street. The entrance vestibule had collapsed under the assault from the Dragon, fires burning around the wreckage, shards of glass still falling from the windows close by. The whole front of the building creaked, jagged holes ripped in much of the structure. Mike felt for the people that had been inside the building at the time of the attack, but at the same time was hoping that the Dragon had used up its entire missile complement.

"Ok, so Mike, you back me up" Ling instructed; her patch, her plan. "We go straight in and head down to the armoury. I trust a military man such as your self knows his way around a shoulder mounted pulse canon"

"You guys have a heavy weapons armoury?" while the embassy looked much like any other office building, the fact that it had a fully equipped armoury actually didn't surprise Mike that much when he thought about it

"Of course. We get some of the shoulder mounted equipment and head back up. Take out the Dragon, then we look for survivors. You with me?"

"Makes sense. Just how well armed are you guys?" American intelligence knew that the Chinese had some weaponry within Europe, but not as much as Ling was hinting at.

"We have a moderate stockpile in order to be able to properly protect the interests of our homeland"

"You sound like a promotional e-cast"

"So you want me to talk more in your style? Well how about this _get big gun, make stuff go boom_" this said with a sneer

"Hi, er, guys, what should I, er do. Stay here?" Claus interrupted. He was actually shivering now

Ling turned to look the German in the eye "I need more than that Claus. We need the Dragon to still be around when we get back from the armoury, no telling the damage it will cause if it moves downtown"

"I'm not sure I quite follow" Although the German kind of did. The central business district where they were now wouldn't have had that many people in it when the shuttle crashed, but further downtown people had congregated together in the bars and restaurants in the spirit of #standtogether. With the transport and communication networks down those people would be stranded right in the path of the Dragon.

"Put simply, you're bait" Mike butted in, but he was looking more at Ling than Claus "You're gonna get him killed" this said to the Chinese agent

"I suspect his instinct for self preservation will win out. Maybe he'll find another table to hide under" Claus shrank at the slight, but Ling continued "We can't have the Dragon loose any longer. More people than Claus will suffer otherwise"

"You're sending him to his...." Mike was getting angry

"I'll do it"

"....death, what?" Mike turned to look at Claus

"I said I'll be bait. Ling is right, more people will suffer if I don't. Just, well, please be quick" It wasn't quite that a steely determination had entered the German's eye, more a wobbly self loathing, but it was enough to make him stand.

To make him run towards the Dragon.

Ling watched the German disappeared into the wafting smoke, before she turned back to Mike and shrugged.

"Crazy son of a bitch" Mike was shaking his head "Let's go get something to go _boom_ then"

Ling smiled a little, "Follow me" and they set off towards the embassy

Claus thought he should probably have a plan as he cautiously edged his way through the eddying smoke. He was sure the Chinese agent would have a plan in his position, likewise the American soldier. But he was a civil servant and this was so far out of his comfort zone it was practically on another planet. The siren from the Dragon was definitely closer, and the light from the flashing lights cast eerie shadows through the smoke, but he couldn't see it yet. There was a crash to his left as another building collapsed, sending a fresh wave of smoke and dust over the German. His eyes watered as dust and grit swirled around and he stumbled forward, tripping on a piece of masonry spilled into the street he fell onto his hands and knees.

Clambering back to his feet, Claus ineffectively patted at his suit, trying to get some of the dust out. Looking down at himself and his shoulders slumped. The jacket ripped by the ARD and now dirty scuff marks on the knees. Wondering whether he could file the repair bill in his expenses claim he looked back up.

The Dragon was right in front of him.

The shock of the smoke parting and the Dragon looming overhead caused Claus to take a step back in surprise, again tripping on the masonry, this time falling onto his backside. The machine had its back to him, holding a car aloft in a crab like robotic pincer. It reminded Claus a little of the Godzilla films he'd seen as a boy, before he realised that was Japanese and started vaguely wondering if he was being racist in some way. He shook his head, now really wasn't the time for pointless introspection. He needed a plan. What would Ling and Mike do? What did he know? Well, the Dragon hadn't noticed him yet. Part of this could be down to it facing away from him, but surely such sophisticated hardware would have rear facing cameras or sensors? It was also moving kind of erratically, as if slightly drunk. So what did this mean? That maybe whoever was controlling it didn't quite know what they were doing. That gave Claus a little hope, that just maybe he might get out of this alive. But then he looked at the Dragon again; even with erratic movement and a lack of awareness, he was still about to pit himself against a five tonne killing machine. Shit.

The Dragon was starting to move away from Claus, the car it had been carrying idly tossed into a small shop on the corner of the road. Claus got to his feet, picking up the masonry chunk that had tripped him twice already. Jogging up behind the Dragon he started yelling, "HEY! HEY YOU, YOU METAL, er, MONSTER". He inwardly cursed at his lack of imagination in the name calling stakes. The Dragon, perhaps similarly unimpressed, continued down the road. Claus hurled the masonry chunk, but it was too heavy and he too weak, it landed on the ground with a thunk about five metres in front of him and another 20 away from the Dragon. Shit.

Claus was loath to get much closer, especially within swiping distance from the robotic arm or stomping distance of the heavy looking legs. So how could he get the damn thing's attention? His eye fell upon the shop that the Dragon had thrown the car into. The car was on its back, bonnet poking out from the shop front, left wheel still spinning slowly. But that wasn't the interesting part; the shop was, a fireworks shop. Finally a plan starting forming in Claus' mind and he sprinted towards the shop, before carefully clambering round the car and broken glass that separated him from the main body of the shop. It didn't take him long to find some impressive looking rockets, grabbing them and stuffing them in a plastic bag he'd found. The shop next door was a tobacconist, where Claus found a cigarette lighter and a bottle of fizzy drink.

Back on the street and the Dragon had moved further away. Emptying the drink onto the floor as he ran, Claus chased after the hulking machine. Closing the distance between them back down to about 20 metres, Claus set the plastic bag of rockets down. Pulling one of them out he propped it into the now empty bottle, lighting the touch paper. Trying as best he could to hold his face away, he aimed the bottle rocket vaguely in the direction of the Dragon. With a whoosh and burst of smoke it took off. Claus coughed through the smoke while trying to follow the path of the rocket, before a flash and a bang off to the right of the Dragon showed him that his aim was pretty poor. Another rocket placed in the bottle and another whoosh. This one was too high, twinkling in the dusk as it exploded. But the Dragon carried on. Two more rockets and Claus was losing hope, the Dragon frustratingly myopic. The next rocket was the worst aimed yet, shooting off at completely the wrong angle and hitting a bin further down the pavement. But it ricocheted, pinging back off the bin, looping up and over the Dragon, before Claus heard the pop of it exploding.

The Dragon stopped.

Claus' breath caught in his throat, as the Dragon appeared to contemplate the smoke trail left by the firework. The machine then slowly turned at its articulated waist to follow the trail, which was starting to dissipate in the breeze. It turned to face the, now dented, bin, before turning fully to look at Claus. It was at this point the German civil servant then realised he didn't have a plan for what to do now. So, in a fit of surprising bravado, he flicked two fingers at the Dragon. And ran.

Ling was right that his instinct for self preservation would kick in. He realised that running back down the open road in plain view was asking for trouble. Well, more like asking for a guided missile up the backside. He jinked to the side of the road, around an van lying on its side, just as the first crash of the Dragon's footfall echoed off the buildings. He was no athlete, more a blur of arms and legs which didn't seem to result in the burst of supersonic speed he had kind of wished for. The shops and offices on this side of the street all seemed to have been shut up for the shuttle landing, and if Claus had any spare breath he'd have sworn. Across the road was the entrance to a shopping centre. It too had been closed for the celebrations, but the metal grille across the door way had been caved in at one corner, black scorch marks indicating it as the recipient of some Dragon attention. It seemed desperately far away to the panting German, but looked like his best shot. Back across the road he turned, the thump of the Dragon's footsteps turning into a crash of disintegrating concrete as it skidded to change direction after him.

The tiny corner of Claus' brain not concerned with telling him his lungs were about to collapse gave a little thanks for small mercies that the Dragon hadn't yet started to shoot at him. Hopefully it had expended its ammunition on attacking the embassy and surrounding buildings. Not that it couldn't rip him into pieces without ammunition, the thought of which spurring Claus on across the road.

The hole in the gate to the shopping centre was going to he a tight fit for the slightly rotund German but Claus didn't want to risk slowing down. He instead attempted to duck down through it, and would have made it it his already ripped  jacket hadn't snagged on one of the sharp  metal edges. It jerked him back as it caught, forcing him to try and shrug it off rather than mess around trying to unhook it as the Dragon bore down. The jacket was left hanging as he continued into the gloomy shopping centre, the Dragon hardly breaking stride  as it crashed through the gate in pursuit.

It was one of those typical shrines  to consumerism that the designers had thought sensible to build like a maze, presumably working on the basis that lost shoppers are more likely to buy plastic tat. Claus started to slow down as he got deeper into the mall, partly as it was getting harder to see with only the emergency lighting on and little natural light, partly as the Dragon sounded a little further back and partly as he was fairly sure his lungs were about to exit his body via his ears.

Ducking down behind an ornamental potted plant, Claus attempted to take stock of his predicament. The plus point was that he was alive. If the Dragon had any ammunition he'd be dead. Staying low, Claus moved through what had been the shopping centre's food court. He slumped down against the inert body of one of the automated service modules, a wheeled device that would shuffle through the seating area clearing tables and serving drinks. He needed to try and figure a way back outside so Mike and Long could find/rescue him. The Dragon had lost him somewhere in the menswear quadrant and the occasional rumblings from that direction indicated that it was still in that general area. Maybe looking for a nice hat to set off its outfit? This didn't quite seem right to Claus. Not the stupid thoughts about what the Dragon would look like in a hat, no, rather why it hadn't tracked him back down yet.

He cast his mind back to those heady days when battle machines weren't trying to kill him, back when he'd spend many an evening sat drinking with Mike and Ling - anything to avoid going back he to mother - as they vied to impress each other  with tales about  how great their nation's respective military hardware was. It had always amused Claus to listen to them joust,  how in their early days they had been at pain of military tribunal for discussing tech with the enemy, but as they each became more disillusioned with their  respective lots (and more trusting of each other Claus surmised) they became more liberated in their conversations. This meant that Claus knew a little about the Dragon, enough to be puzzled why it wasn't using its full sensor suite to track him down. Not that he was complaining, of course. Coupled with its erratic movement on the street, and the episodes with the ARD and Jack, it seemed obvious that whoever was in control of the Dragon wasn't, well, totally in control. Some kind of hacking, he figured, and while right now he didn't really have time to worry about who might he responsible, it did this him renewed hope of escaping. Although there was one other slight area of nagging concern. Even if the hacker only had limited control and couldn't use the sensors to, in effect, see through walls to find Claus, why didn't they just.....

The wall opposite him exploded into a jumble of  concrete, metal and  dust as the Dragon ran through it. The sprinkler system spluttered into life, causing Claus to slip as he took off from behind the service bot.  He banged painfully into the side of a table, although the pain was quickly forgotten as a glance back saw  the Dragon headed straight for him. Where the fuck is the exit? Even the native German speaker found the signs confusing, not helped by the gloom and water mist that filled the food court. He'd maybe had 50 meters head start on the Dragon when the machine smashed its way through the far wall, but that distance was reducing fast as Claus struggled to make his way around the plastic furniture while the Dragon barrelled its way straight through, a tidal wave  of chairs and tables building around its legs clattering and smashing against each other as they were kicked along. Claus attempted to keep changing direction to try and lose the machine like he had done previously, but it seemed like the operator was getting more comfortable piloting his or her charge; understanding that in this metallic beast they didn't have to play by the traditional rules of hide and seek, that rules - and more importantly, walls - didn't apply to them.

The corridor Claus was running down was definitely sloping upwards. Bad news for his again protesting legs and lungs, but it also meant that he was heading back to street level and escape. Almost the entire area of the corridor behind him was taken up by the hulking form of the Dragon and the multitude of detritus it had collected in its pursuit, none of which appeared to be slowing it down at all. The machine was also making an odd noise. To start with Claus had struggled to make of out over the din made over the machine's movement and his own breathing, but in the closer confines of this corridor the noise was clearer to hear above the other sounds.

Laughter

It was coming from the Dragon's crowd control tanoy and while interrupted by occasional bouts of static was still unmistakable. Just like Jack had said back at the warehouse, it sounded like kids, teenagers maybe. What the hell was going on? Whatever it was, they seemed to be enjoying tormenting Claus. And that annoyed the usually mild mannered German. Gritting his teeth in exertion he turned sharply into a large shoe shop, the Dragon a little slower to make the same turn, entering the shop via the wall rather than door. Claus knew the shop, it had a large window onto the street through which he had occasionally paused at to look at fancy shoes that he'd never be able to afford. Now in the shop he had no time to look at footwear, his concentration absorbed by the window on the far side.

The window with the metal security blind firmly closed.

Fuck

He turned sharply once again, this time the Dragon smashing through a pillar as it turned behind him, triggering a fountain of foul smelling lumpy liquid to erupt from the waste pipe contained within. Claus was headed back towards the shop entrance, but was fast beginning to realise that he didn't have the energy to keep his frantic dash up. While each change of direction just about kept him ahead of the less manoeuvrable Dragon, it was at a further cost to his already sub standard stamina. Time to try something different.

He stopped dead

The Dragon's momentum took it straight past him, its grabber claw snapping at him as the machine flashed past, close enough to grab a corner of his shirt, buttons pinging off like popcorn as it tore. Something else for the expense claim Claus muttered as he began one last sprint into the shoe shop. Straight for the stream of sewage still pouring through the broken pipe from the ceiling. With that familiar clanking noise at his rear of the Dragon's loping stride telling him that it was back in the chase he half jumped half stumbled through the slurry. While his desire to breathe fought with his desire to gag, he dived to his right, shoulder flaring in pain as he landed in a sprawl. Rolling onto his back he watched the Dragon try to turn, but its feet slipped in the spreading pool of sewage while its front facing camera was obscured by the brown fountain. Inexpertly controlled,  the Dragon's legs looked like they were trying to run in different directions and it crashed to its knees, then onto its back as it careered into the outside wall. The machine had lost some speed in its tumble, but had enough momentum to bring the wall down. Right on top of it. Claus lept to his feet, burning lungs and painful shoulder temporarily forgotten. He scrambled over the pile of rubble that now encased the still twitching Dragon, scraping his hands as pulled his way up and over. He was almost back down onto the street when the grabber claw suddenly snapped up from within the masonry, like some horrid metal zombie trying to escape from its grave. It startled Claus enough to send him toppling backwards, winding himself as he landed with an oomph on the asphalt of the street. Snapping wildly the claw clanged into the floor next to him, then flashed up and back down, this this grabbing his leg as he frantically attempted to scramble out of its range. Claus yelped as the claw bit down, then jerked up, lifting him clear into the air, dangling like some sort of horrific shit stained doll. Yelling abuse, including a wide selection of the 413 swear words taught to him by Mike at cards, Claus kicked and struggled.

It is very rare that anyone is ever glad that their trousers fall to pieces in public. Claus became the newest member of that exclusive club as he dropped back to the ground with yet another oomph, the claw still swinging the tattered remains of his trousers like a crude flag of surrender. He slowly got to his feet, one shoe lost somewhere in the rumble, no trousers, shirt ripped open. Something unpleasantly slimey oozed down his back. He smelt so bad that he would have wretched, but he didn't even have the energy to do that. Feeling that standing was overrated, he slumped  back down, hugging his knees as a wave of nausea swept over him. Only the approach of footsteps kept him from curling up and going to sleep in the street. He squinted in the low sun, two figures, one large, one small, both lugging bulky objects on their shoulders. They both slowed to a stop as they got close to him, the larger one dropping his payload to the floor as he surveyed the scene.

"Well I'll be damned. Dragon slaying not a big enough challenge with your pants on?!" Mike moved to Claus and slapped him on the back. The resulting squelch caused the American to look down at his hand, "What the....EWWWW"

Claus tossed his head back and laughed

Chapter seven

 Which tie? Hmmm. He held up one, then the other in front of the ornate gold gilt edge mirror. The deep red tie with the faint grey lines went best with his charcoal suit, and so he set about fastening it about his neck. Folding the collar back down, he looked himself over in the mirror. Dark brown hair cut short, a tinge of silver at the temples, but not enough to worry about; coupled with the lines on his forehead and around his eyes he felt that it gave a hint of authority. His light blue eyes looked a little bloodshot, but that was to be expected after the recent late nights. The deep square jaw was closely shaved at the barbers yesterday, just a little stubble was showing now which he ran a hand over. Not too bad, but he'd have to get the barber back round before the soiree he had planned for tonight.

He was still missing something. Pulling out a small draw from the wardrobe he surveyed the collection of tie clips neatly arranged in two rows. The silver clip with the three small diamonds matched his cuff-links and so he selected it and attached it to his shirt and tie. Back to the mirror, very nice. He closed the wardrobe doors and strode back across the dressing room and back into his bedroom. The mechanism of the carriage clock on his bedside table continued its lazy whirl of cogs and gears. It was coming up to five o'clock. Having been up most of the night, he'd finally get to bed around seven am this morning. Waking a little after two pm he'd spent much of the mid afternoon attempting to relax, after all, there was little more for him to do until the evening. But it had been difficult to let go. He'd paced around his living quarters, irritably snapping at any of the members of staff unfortunate enough to come across him. The bath he'd taken had helped a little, but he only really felt like himself again now that he was back in one of his expensively tailored suits and ready to get back to work. To finally enjoy the fruits of his labour.

A short passage from the living quarters led back into his office via a concealed door in a large oak bookcase. The door closed behind him with a small click and he was alone in his favourite room of the house. One whole side of it was taken up by the floor to ceiling bookcases. His literature collection was his pride and joy, some particularly rare collections. He didn't read fiction - after all he thought of himself as a practical man - no, these books were written by some of the greatest thinkers of the last 500 years. From agriculture to architecture, cooking to clockwork, woodwork to weaponry.

The rest of the room was panelled in a dark oak, on which hung some choice pieces from his extensive art collection. Some of these were portraits of his ancestors, but most were of the British countryside, including an original Constable. At the rear of the office, standing in the light streaming in from the big bay window was his desk. A deep mahogany topped with a dark green leather, itself edged in gold leaf. Before sitting down he stood at the window looking to the sky. It was a clear day, a gentle breeze unsettling the foliage of the large oak tree at the bottom of south side of his grounds. High ahead a movement caught his eye. It was a scramjet, in a tight turn, before sharply pulling up, as if to attempt a loop. But it was a passenger jet, not designed for aerobatics. The stresses placed by the sharp turns proved to much, a wing cracking, then sheering off.

The jet fell from the sky.

The man smiled, turned and sat at his desk.

In front of him was a small silver tray, a delicate filigree at the edges. A bone china pot stood on it, along with a matching cup and saucer. On pouring the pot his nostrils involuntary flared at the aroma released by the hand ground coffee. He smiled again as he added a dash of milk, silver spoon lightly clinking on the edges of the cup while he stirred. The first sip was a delight, warmth flowing through him along with a new found alertness that only the first coffee of the day can really bring.

Moving the coffee service to one side he turned his attention to the wooden tray that contained the incoming telegrams that he'd missed while asleep earlier. Thankfully nothing too troublesome; he jotted down a couple of replies in his fountain pen before moving them to another tray that his secretary would later collect. At the bottom of the first tray was the newspaper he had had custom printed a few days ago. He licked a finger then started to flick back through it, trying to remember where he had got to. Oh, yes, that was it. The profile of Ho Cheng ahead of the shuttle return. In many ways he had a lot in common with Ho Cheng. Both were successful and both had excelled in bringing together disparate disciplines to serve a common goal. Except Ho Cheng was a dreamer, chasing the stars when he should have been concentrating on problems closer to home. The man smiled to himself for a third time. He had seen those problems and he had done something about them.

After all, he was a practical man.

A knock at the door interrupted his musing, "Enter". On the side of the office facing his desk two double doors opened and his man-servant entered, in his black suit and crisp white shirt. A big white moustache threatened to overwhelm his mouth, while a small pair of (tech-free) silver spectacles sat on top of a large broad nose.

"Young man here to see you, sir"

"Thank you Hislop, let him wait for 10 minutes then show him in"

"Certainly, sir"

While Hislop hadn't been specific in his clarification of the young man, the man knew who was being referred to. After all, he didn't have too much need, or desire, to mix with the youth of today, flawed as they were in the current society. But one or two of them had their uses, skills that he was in need of. And so he had drawn them in to his wider plans, used them as the tools he needed.

He returned to his newspaper, pouring another cup of coffee. Ten minutes later there was another knock at the door. He folded the newspaper, returning it to the wooden tray. Folding his hands in front of him on the desk, he lent forward slightly, face setting into a slight frown.

"Come"

The doors entered again, Hislop entered then stood to the side to let in the young man who had been following him into the office.

"The young man, sir"

"Thank you Hislop. Please take the tray with you on your way out" he nodded at the coffee pot and empty cup

"Certainly sir" the man-servant strode past the younger man, nervously stood in the centre of the office, picked up the silver tray and turned on his heal to head out of the room.

"C-could I get a coffee, maybe?" the aroma must have caught the young man's attention

"I won't keep you that long. Shut the doors on your way out please Hislop" the frown deepened at the presumptuousness of the young man, who had now slumped, uninvited, in the chair across the desk from him

"Uh, ok" the younger man was fidgeting, squirming in his chair, frequently running a hand through greasy dirty blonde hair that lankly hung around dark rimmed eyes. A small diamond shaped tattoo glinted at the corner of his right eye.

"Did everything go to plan?"

More fidgeting, "Mostly"

"Mostly?" his tone signalling displeasure

"We couldn't get the Yank military, kill switch kicked in. But he civilian architecture is under our control. Roads are gridlocked and ARDs causing mayhem" he sniggered "it's a good laugh"

The man rubbed again at his light stubble. Not getting the American's hardware wasn't the end of the world, there'd be enough of a distraction elsewhere. He had hoped to cause the military men at least a bit of a headache though. "What about the Chinese?"

"Yeah, we got their embassy defence in Europe. Missiles also launched on their home turf. Gonna be quite the fireworks display" another snigger

"Very good"

"But, there is, er, something else"

"What?" he snapped, everything sounded within permitted plan boundaries at the moment, what could have gone wrong?

"The civilian tech we've over run..." more fidgeting

"Yes" more annoyance at the fidgeting

"It included the transport networks..."

"As, planned, yes"

"Some guys have got hold of the trains, others scram-jets. They don't know how to manually control those sort of things"

"That was envisioned. Part of the process"

"But, well, er, aren't their, you know, real people on those things?"

"You were aware of the collateral damage necessary to meet our goals"

"I, er guess. Just didn't feel so real before. More virtual"

The man grunted, the disconnect between the real and the virtual was one of the things that horrified himself most in today's world. The thing that needed remedying. Permanently. But this depressing specimen in front of him was never going to understand what was best for him and his peers.

"Is that all?"

"Well, er, my ultranet connection went down earlier. That, er, part of the process too?"

"That is _the point_ of the process"

"Really? Wow. It coming back soon?"

He shook his head. The boy was never going to get it. But maybe one day his child or grandchild would, and then his work would be done.

Sometimes it is necessary to be a monster today, to be a hero tomorrow. 

Chapter six

The ARD dropped from where it had been hovering near the ceiling, crashing down onto some of the discarded beer cans that sat on the e-table before shooting forward at Claus. It's aim wasn't quite dead on, striking him a glancing blow on the shoulder, but the impact coupled with the sheer surprise sent Claus sprawling from his chair with a yelp. The ARD paused by the window, turning one way then the other as if getting its bearings. Its remote claw opened and closed, the arm it was on extending slowly, before the whole unit once again plunged towards the panicked looking German on the floor. Claus frantically attempted to crawl under the e-table, but not before the remote claw had grabbed a chunk of his suit jacket, cheap fabric giving way without much protest as he scuttled away.

Mike was up on his feet before Ling, the shock of the shuttle crash dampening her normally sharp reactions. The big American grabbed the chair he had been sat on and swung it over the e-table with a cry of anger. The rickety wood of the chair splinted over the ARD, but the force was enough to dislodge one of its external cameras, which now hung off the rim at a drunken angle by a single cable. The machine paused from its efforts to claw at Clause to attempt to turn a functioning camera towards its attacker. With no other obvious weapon to hand, Mike beat a tactical retreat, grabbing the slowly standing Ling by the shoulder and dragging her into the side office, slamming the door shut behind them. The ARD, with targets freshly acquired, shot after them, hitting the now closed door with a force enough to shake it inside the frame, dust and plaster falling from the ceiling.

Mike scrabbled around the office, throwing and kicking various detritus out of the way as he searched for something he had a vague recollection of being in there. Somewhere.

"What are you looking for" Ling turned her head from the door she was attempting to keep braced from another ARD ram.

"They're here somewhere. FUCK. I remember. SHIT. That dick the Germans sent to nanny be before Claus made me fill in the health and safety release for each SODDING one of them" on his knees Mike pulled aside an fusty beer crate, "A-HA, knew I'd find you bastards"

Ling strained to see what he'd come across, but his fat arse was in the way "WHAT?"

"SHITTING FUCKSTICKS" Mike tried to stand up quickly, but only succeed in smacking his head on the desk he'd had to climb under amid his hurried search, crying out in pain, but shuffling away to one side so that Ling finally got a view of what had annoyed him so much.

A weapons crate

A locked weapons crate.

"No key?" she enquired, just as the door rattled heavily again.

"It's coded to a permission on my IR specs" he was rubbing his head

"And the network's screwed" a statement rather than a question

"Yup"

"Lucky I came prepared then" putting her shoulder against the door to free an arm, Ling produced one of the largest handguns Mike had ever seen from the folds of her jacket. Mike was transfixed, not least because Ling had a slight figure and he could work out where she kept the weapon. "No need to thank me" Ling smiled at him and threw open the door. The gun thrust out in a double handed grip, legs braced apart, trigger pulled one, twice three times.

Nothing happened

"What the...?" Ling brought the gun close to her face to try and see what was wrong, forcing Mike to bodily shove her out the way as he again slammed the door shut in the face of the onrushing ARD.

Mike slumped down with his back to the door "shit", but the expletive was more half hearted this time

"I don't get it, I used this on the firing range at the embassy just this morning" Ling stood above him, still starring bemused at the gun

"The kill switch"

"What? That was for your military machines"

"Nah, it's an area of affect command. The Germans would have neutered every foreign owned weapon in the building as a precaution. I should have thought before, would have at least saved me the sore head" which he was again rubbing tentatively. While the kill switches could be manually reset on the MOP's by a trained on-site American operator, it was more complicated with the old fashioned hand weaponry. In order to prevent the user simply manually resetting the switch themselves, bypassing any benefit to the concerned host government, the gun had to be reset by the German authorities at one of their own weapon depots.

"Then my gun is screwed too"

"Uh-huh" Mike turned to look up at Ling, just as a new smile started to form on her face "Why are you so happy?"

"Because, Michael, the proud Chinese nation, how do you say? Ah yes, _don't take any shit_" she started fiddling with the gun, accessing a small keypad on the side of the grip, quickly tapping at the buttons. Mike frowned, but had no time to ask any more questions before Ling was shooing him out of the way and again opening the door.

This time the gun erupted into life, shot thudding against the body of the ARD, which, in the latest break from the action, had gone back to harassing Claus under the e-table. The first ricochet smashed the outside window, the second tore a large hole in the opposite wall, but the ARD remained airborne.

Once again Mike shoved Ling out of the way and slammed the increasingly distressed door closed. An even more distressed German whimpered from under the table.

"That ain't gonna work" Mike faced a perturbed looking Ling

"Well feel free to tackle it with bad breath and a surely attitude, but I shall stick with my gun"

"Give the gun to me" Mike held out a hand and looked her in the eye

"You're crazy, why am I going to give you my gun? Who is the trained agent here and who is the fat janitor? Now get out of the way and let me finish this. I've more important things to be doing than babysit your incompetent ass" she chose her words to wound; Mike was starting to irritate her.

Mike ignored the gibe "I operate that thing every day, I know how to take it down"

"Then tell me"

"Too hard to describe. Besides, I need you running decoy"

Ling frowned in thought, but still holding Mike's gaze. Handing over Chinese tech to the Americans was one of the biggest breach of protocol in her line of service. But it was Mike. She'd known him for close on 10 years now, since she first came to Berlin. He was the guy that had effectively cost her any hope of career progression. But he was also the guy that had probably saved her life.

Her very first mission on arriving in Berlin had been to infiltrate the American base of operations in the city; having just taken delivery of the latest MOPs the Chinese were keen to get the technical specifications. Electronic infiltration had proved too difficult to manage undetected so Ling had decided to go after what she and her superiors saw as the weak link, the disillusioned ex-serviceman given the bum job of supervising the MOP transfer. Mike. Getting in to the warehouse was easy enough, Mike seemed almost desperate for English speaking company as Jack could hardly be classed as intellectually stimulating (the Americans didn't even trust him with access to the specifications). Getting Mike drunk was even easier; China produced more - and in Ling's opinion better - whisky than Scotland these days.

But getting him to talk was almost impossible.

She tried persuasion, she tried bribery, she hinted at threats. She even tried flirting, but that was before she'd commissioned the deeper search into his background. Even having done that, her attempts to use his homosexuality against him just felt clumsy; to Mike it wasn't an issue he or the people close to him cared about. This was all taking time, her superiors were starting to get frustrated with the lack of progress of the agent they had been told had enormous potential. Ling's star began to wane, her frustration increase. Eventually she had asked to be taken off the mission, to try and claw back her reputation somewhere else in the Berlin intelligence circles. But the damage had been done. The opportunities for career progression began to close in front of her. She was stuck in Berlin as her more successful peers were invited back to senior position back on the Chinese mainland.

The thing was, Mike had been ordered to pass on the tech specs.

Ling found this out some years later over one of their now regular card and whisky sessions. Almost as soon as Ling had first started the mission, Mike had been called for a briefing with his own superiors. He was to allow the Chinese to get hold of the specs, but without it looking like he was giving them away freely. This wasn't out of some sort of international benevolence, no, this was because of a nifty little programme they had planted within the (incomplete) tech specs. A programme that would quietly embed itself in the Chinese electronic systems and feed back any tasty information which it unearthed.

But that wasn't Mike's style.

He was a more of a head on sort of guy. The sort of guy that hadn't adjusted to the virtual age very well. Part of his actions came out of petty rebellion, a minor display of power in the face if his military career being subsumed by the latest generation of MOP. The men and women earning the medals these days were sat behind a control system 3,000 miles away rather than actually on the battlefield. Another part came out of a childish attempt to get back at his ex-husband, the politician, who he often drunkenly blamed for his being sent to Berlin. But most of all Mike justified his actions on the basis that this sort of thing just wasn't playing fair.

And that stubbornness had saved Ling's life

The programme the American's had wanted to smuggle into the Chinese systems wasn't as clever as they thought. It was eventually passed over to the Chinese via another agent once Mike's intransigence had become apparent. It lasted three days before Chinese technicians had discovered it. It was then traced back to source. While the Chinese couldn't outright confront the American's over it - after all, both sides had been doing this sort of thing for decades - they could probe the Chinese agent that had been tricked into passing the infiltration programme on.

That agent disappeared.

Ling could never be sure if some other dirt had come to light on the agent in question, perhaps they were guilty of some other crime. But she could never shake the feeling that the agent had been removed (permanently) in order for her superiors to save face. She'd seen it before; the Chinese intelligence service was a harsh and unforgiving environment. Mike didn't know any of this of course, and so it wasn't as if he had heroically saved her. But she had come to admire his stubborn streak, his determination to play it straight (in his career rather than personal life, that was). That was the sort of stability that she had never felt within her job, came with the territory she figured. And so the two of them had formed an odd sort of friendship.

Ling passed over the gun.

"Ok, this is how it's going to work. You open the door, catch its attention and get it in here" Mike was bending down to sit on the floor next to the door as he was describing the plan

"While you have a nice lie down?" Ling cast a suspicious gaze on the now sat form of Mike, with his back to her at the door.

"That's about it, yup. You ready?"

She shook her head, but agreed to the affirmative "yeah".

Ling threw the door open once again, Claus' yelps again filtering into the side office as he attempted to ward off the ARD's claw arm with a broken chair leg from under the table.

"HEY! OVER HERE" Ling yelled, waving her arms. The ARD turned, front camera focussing on the door way. With a slight wobble, it shot towards the doorway. Ling, realising just how little confidence she had in Mike's plan hurriedly backed off in the office, bumping against the desk. The ARD came into the doorway just as Mike lay down underneath it, gun pointed into the air above him.

The thing with the ARDs was that they were built to be robust. As the mainstay of many civilian authorities monitoring and enforcement divisions, as well as widely used by the military, they had to be tough. Outer rim re-enforced cryo-steel, inner blades and control surfaces designed to fly whatever the weather.

However, this one was slightly different, thanks to Jack. A couple of weeks previously the bored American technician had been attempting to impress some visiting German school children in the firing range by using an MOP gun system to shoot an apple off the top of the ARD. Why the hell he'd tried to do this using armour piecing rounds rather than something slightly less destructive, Mike wasn't sure. Anyway, Jack had - oh so predictably - missed, ripping out some of the airblade housing. Rather than have to send back the ARD to the central repair depot in Colorado, along with an awkward damage explanation report, Mike had attempted to fix the ARD himself. Neither his skill or equipment were as sophisticated as those available back in the US, but an hour's welding later and the ARD was at least airborne again.

The welding had, however, left a weak point on the underside of the ARD, one Mike was now lining up along the sites of Ling's gun. The weapon barked its response as he pulled the trigger, once, twice. The second shot found its mark, and with a harsh metallic crunch, the ARD veered to the left, slammed into the wall and fell to the floor behind the desk. A slim trail of smoke lazily drifted into the room above it. Mike regained his feet, brushing the dust and other dirt from his clothes as Ling was peering over the desk at the wreckage.

"Not bad. My gun, please" she held a hand towards him, in which Mike placed the gun

"Could say the same about your gun. It's a beast"

"Finest Chinese tech, crafted rather than manufactured like your tat" she was still looking at the ARD

"Mmm-hmm. Claus, you ok?" Mike wandered back into the control room.

"Is it gone?" Claus wasn't in a hurry to get back out from under the e-table

"Yup" Mike turned back upright one of the chairs he hadn't smashed over the ARD and sat down with a tired sigh.

"So what the hell is going on?" Ling stood at the doorway, rubbing her eyes "My IR is still down"

"Mine too, I can't reach central command" Claus tentatively pulled himself out from under the table, eyes darting around the room as if searching for the next object that was going to attack him.

"Ok" Mike was rubbing his head again "We're under some kind of attack, but we don't know by who" although with this he cast a glance of slight suspicion at Ling. "But we're unable to use the MOPs to defend ourselves" this with a glance at Claus

"Likewise the MOPs can't be used to attack us" it wasn't often Ling defended Claus, but after the ARD attack she was glad they weren't also having to deal with an errant MOP or two.

"So with no communication and basically no means of defence, what do we do?" Claus asked nervously

"I need to get back to my embassy" Ling walked over to the broken window, but a crash from inside the warehouse caused her to swing around. Claus froze, as if torn between heading back under the table, or jumping out of the window. But Mike was back on his feet, heading to the door linking the room to the stairs down into the main warehouse.

"JACK? YOU OK BOY?" another crash. Mike attempted to peer into the dimly lit warehouse, but couldn't see where the noises were coming from.

Ling had come up behind him, once again with her gun out "Need me to get your back, again?"

"If it's an MOP it wouldn't matter who has my back as we'd all be screwed. JACK?!"

A running shape shot under one of the lights and back into shadow accompanied by a dull clanking noise

"What was THAT?" Claus had now joined them, although making sure to keep Mike and Ling between him and the stairs into the warehouse.

"Rogue MOP. SHIT" Mike crept forward, right foot poised over the top step

"Hang on, I've seen you guys operating those things, we're not going to be able to do anything about it, so why not just stay here? Or leave down the fire escape?" Claus sounded desperate

"I've got to see what happened to Jack. You guys go if you want" Mike started down the stairs.

Ling gave a shrug, and followed. Claus gave a shiver, and followed.

Chapter five

The apartment exploded into a cacophony of noise and action. Rose's mother was still stood up, sobbing hard as her dad attempted to sooth her. The other adults were animatedly yelling at one another, variously trying to make sense of the shuttle crash or work out why their links to the ultranet had gone down. It was too much for Rose; with most of the adults stood up she was mainly left looking at people's knees, a forest of legs surrounding her. She battled across to where her grandpa was still sat down, eyes focused on the screen in his lap, despite it being dead.

"Grandpa, what's wrong, why is mummy crying?"

"....those stupid idiots.....don't know what they're doing......why must we gamble with people's lives so freely?"

Rose didn't understand what he was talking about. It was like he didn't know she was there, mumbling quickly to himself. Rose turned back into the room, realising she didn't have her robin with her. She made her way to the spot she'd been sat down, the small purple cushion marking the spot. But where was the robin? Something glinted in the sunlight from the window, something metal. A wing. Rose hurried over to it, gently picking it up before another metallic glint caught her eye; a bent cog, this next two one of the red stones that had been the robin's eye. Other parts were spread around the floor, trodden on unknowingly in the melee that had followed the shuttle crash, bent and crushed beyond repair. Her own tears now, tracing lines down her cheeks.

She ran, jumping up to reach the door handle to the apartment and into the hallway. Lifts with an out of order message scrolling across the display above the doors, so she ran into the stairwell and started climbing upwards. Up one floor, then two, she was getting out of breath, but pushed on. Four floors up she ran out of stairs to climb. A fire exit led out onto the roof of the building. Here the residents association had grouped together to build a small patio and garden; numerous plant boxes and trellises sprouted a variety of boldly colour flowers. Rose squeezed down the side of a greenhouse and worked her way to the edge of the building. Here, among bags of compost and boxes of plant pots she sat down. It was here favourite spot for when she wanted to get out of the apartment, to be able to talk to her international friends without adult interruption, or to hide when she played hide and seek with her apartment friends. She climbed up and sat on the small wall which lined the roof, legs dangling down either side of a guard rail. She looked out over the Newcastle skyline.

Back in the apartment and Rose's uncle had noticed her absence. He had felt an uncomfortable lump poking through the sole of his right shoe. Looking down he discovered it to be the beak and head of the mechanical robin that he had brought Rose back from China. Glancing around the room and he couldn't see his niece. Nor was she in her bedroom or bathroom, then he saw that the door out to the hallway had been left ajar. He caught the eye of his wife, who was across the room with his sister and brother-in-law and nodded to the door and mouthed "going to get some air". She nodded in response and he slipped out.

The hallway was quiet, lights flickering slightly. He approached the lift, but it was out of action. Into the stairwell and he paused. "ROSE?" he shouted downwards, but was greeted instead by a dull banging noise above him. He set off up stairs. Four flights up he came to the source of the noise; the fire escape to the roof garden had been left open and was banging in the wind that blew strongly between the apartment blocks. A gust of wind caught some soil from a plant box and threw it into his face. He rubbed his eyes, the irritation drawing his attention back to the cornea IR, the red 'offline' light still blinking in the bottom corner of his vision. He ruefully shook his head and headed outside. "ROSE? YOU OUT HERE?"

Movement

A shadow near the greenhouse, was it the wind? He leant against the wind and started to move closer. It was a tight squeeze down the side of the greenhouse, but once at the back of it he was rewarded with the sight of his niece looking up at him with big teary eyes. He lent down and put an arm around her, "Hey little one, what are you doing up here?"

She sniffed and spoke quietly into his ear "My robin" she opened a hand to reveal the broken wing

"I know, but we can fix it, no need to run off like that, you scared me"

"Sorry" another sniff "Do you really think we can fix it Uncle Rob?

"We can try. Why don't we head back down an take a look?" this was greeted with a nod, Rose lifting her arms in the air as a signal that she was not adverse to being picked up. Rob obliged, hugging his niece close. He was about to turn back towards the fire exit when another movement caught his eye. Looking out over the edge of the apartment block there was a railway which snaked its way between the buildings in this part of town. The line turned close to his sister's apartment block; she often moaned about the noise if she had a window open, but its proximity kept the rent down. Further up the line something glinted in the sunlight, much like the robin on the floor of the apartment. It was a train, but seemed different to the commuter service which usually trundled past the building. Its nose was more aerodynamically shaped, the glass it was constructed of twinkling under the sun. It was one of the new hyper-trains. It was approaching the apartment.

It was approaching fast.

Rob ran, back past the greenhouse and onto the main part of the roof, heading for the fire escape. But the crash from below knocked him from his feet, Rose cried out, but he managed to turn to land on his shoulder rather than her. His arm rang out in pain and he rolled onto his back, Rose gripped tightly around his neck. She was sobbing again. The building creaking and rumbled. Rob wasn't sure if he'd bumped his head, or if the apartment block really was swaying. He unsteadily clambered back to his feet, stumbling uncertainly towards the fire exit once again.

The force of the fireball sent him back to the ground. The explosion channelled up through the stairwell and vented out at the top with a powerful boom. Rose gripped his neck even tighter as once again he tried to regain his feet. The heat made it impossible to get any closer to the fire exit, so Rob turned back towards the edge of the building. No escape made itself immediately obvious, so he started to edge his way round. Another shudder and the building released an alarming groan. Onto the northern side and Rob spotted some cables leading over the side. Looking over the edge and a little way down was one of the automatic window cleaners. He turned his attention back to the machinery on the roof, looking for a control panel.

Rose was still attached to him like a limpet, muffled sobs emanating from her head which was buried in the folds of his jacket. He attempted to shift her round a little, but that just resulted in Rose tightening her grip. "Rose, darling" he attempted to sooth her "I just need to take a look at this machine, I'm not going anywhere, I just need you to let go for a little while" no response "Rose?"

"The control panel is on the other side" she looked up at him

"What"?

"On the other side, I can show you" tears still fell from her cheeks, but Rose let go, sliding off him before grabbing a hand and leading round the machine. Sure enough, there was a small panel. Another red light blinked, much like the one from his IR. But it was an old machine. While the citynet controlled it, this command function was retroactively fitted. Prior to the central command it would have been a janitor's job to set the window cleaning machine off and working. Flipping up the control panel revealed a jumble of cables, but one looked newer than the rest and led to a small circuit board which had been plugged into the main motherboard. Small writing on the circuit board read 'citynet control ver:2.013b". With a little wiggle of the board, and a grunt of exertion from Rob, it came free. He threw it aside and put the control panel back down. The light flashing had turned green.

"Now we're talking" Rob muttered to himself, although any smugness was quickly snuffed out by another groan and shudder from the building "Rose, can you go round to the other side and call out what the window cleaner does when I ask" Rose nodded and disappeared back round the machine. Rob waited a second then pressed a button on the control panel, "ANYTHING HAPPENING"

"NO" came the reply from his niece, so another button was pressed "IT'S GOING DOWN" Rob sighed and tried another button "NOW ITS GOING TO THE LEFT" another button "IT'S COMING UP NOW UNCLE ROB!" More like it.

"TELL ME WHEN IT GETS TO THE TOP". After what felt like an eternity amid the rumbling, explosions and groans, Rose let him know that their way out had arrived. Back on the other side Rob surveyed their chariot. Unlike the more modern window crawlers used on the upmarket tall buildings, this older design actually had a small foot-plate to allow for manual operation. Rob tentatively clambered in, before reaching back across a small gap back to the building to pick Rose up and lift her on board. There was another control panel in front of him, the same as the one on the main roof unit. Using his new found window cleaner operating skills, he pressed the 'down' button and they began the descent.

Two floors down and Rob made Rose turn towards him so that she couldn't see the devastation caused by the train's impact. Four floors down, the floor containing his sister's apartment, and Rob himself had to turn away. All was left was a blackened shell, fires still sporadically burning. Before he turned away Rob had been able to see from one side of the building all the way through to the other. He wasn't sure what exactly was holding up the top floors of the apartment block. It was if the building was having the same dilemma, another load groan - this time accompanied by a cracking noise - implying that the upper floors weren't going to remain the upper floors for that much longer. Rob looked at the control panel, trying to figure if any of the other buttons would make it descend any quicker.

The building swayed, the window cleaner swinging out then banging back in to the building, causing Rose, and Rob, to yelp in alarm. Rob was rapidly coming to the conclusion that they weren't going to get down to ground level before the upper floors collapsed. Looking down and away from the building he saw a possible solution. His sister's block was one of the tallest in the area, but it was surrounded by its slightly shorter cousins. About 10 floors down from where they were currently loomed the roof of one of the other blocks. It would be quite a leap, but it looked doable, certainly worth the risk if the intensifying cracking noise of their own building was anything to go by.

When they got to about one floor above the height of the next door building, Rob stopped the window cleaner. He bent down to look Rose in the eye, "Now my darling, I need you to be a really brave girl, do you think you can be brave?". She nodded, but tentatively. "We need to jump onto that roof behind us" she peered out behind him and her eyes widened in nervous surprise. "I'm going to pick you up and we're going to swing round, like I did when you were a toddler. Remember? You used to love that" Rose frowned "Except this time I'm going to have to let go" he was starting to talk more quickly, as rubble had started to fall from above, coating them in dust. "Shall we give it a go?" Rose shook her head, but Rob picked her up regardless. She shrieked as he began to swing her.

Then he let go

Rose cried out, her stomach lurching as she briefly flew between the two buildings.

She landed hard on her backside, giving a yelp as she skidded across the hard surface, scratching her back and legs. Tears stung her eyes once again, but she was quickly back onto her feet, running to the edge of the building to see where uncle Rob was. He had clambered over the side of the window cleaner, perched precariously as it swung sickeningly in the space between the buildings.

With a crunch and a sickening lurch the top of Rose's apartment block began to collapse in on itself. The cables on the window cleaner went slack.

Rose screamed

Rob jumped.