Day Zero

criminal. But some of the others enjoyed that sort of thing. They liked a bit of the old ultra-violence to break up the monotony. Olly preferred to steal ones and zeroes from the safety of the hideout. He wished he were doing it right now.
Krish led him towards the far corner of the central room, where a team sat hunched on their couches and leaky beanbag chairs, diligently scrubbing the cTOS surveillance grid of any images of Olly. Liz was hovering over them, arms crossed, expression unreadable as she watched them work.
Olly felt a flush of pride as he noticed how few there were and how scrambled the ones that did exist were. Liz saw his smile and nodded. “You do good work, Olly. Bit sloppy around the edges, though. A few drones spotted you disposing of your hoodie.”
“Shit,” he said, smile fading.
“Already handled it,” Liz said. “Hoodie’s already gone, anyway.”
Olly nodded. He’d figured someone – a street person, or just someone bin-diving, would have claimed it. “It was good gear – you know, except for the blood.”
Liz turned away. “Smart getting rid of it, though the DNA might have bitten you in the arse, if the plods had found it. Never leave anything behind, and if you have to, don’t leave it intact. Burn it, bleach it, chuck it in the canal. Something, anything.”
“I wasn’t really thinking about it.”
“Well, learn to think about it. We have to be lucky every time – they only have to be lucky once. Remember that.” She checked her Optik. “Right. Time to go.”
“Where?”
“Downstairs.”
“Oh good. I was missing that sofa.”
“Not to sleep. To talk.” Liz started to walk.
“I thought you had everything,” Olly said, as he hurried to catch up to her.
They’re ready for you. Chin up. Straighten your shoulders. The elite awaits.
Bagley sounded inordinately pleased, and Olly felt a tremor of anxiety. “Who’s he talking about? Who’s here?”
“Never mind. Just answer their questions, be helpful.” Liz led him back downstairs. The lights were already on, the screens full of data, servers humming. There were voices as well, distorted by electronic interference or scratchy from pirated frequencies, but understandable. They overlapped one another, as if several conversations were going on at once.
Olly stopped dead when he saw the floating heads. The holographic projections were crude things – a pig with a monocle, a gas mask, a knight’s helmet, half a dozen others. They spun in a slow circle over the table, projected by Bagley from multiple sources. As the owner of each projection spoke, their image was limned by light. The conversations had clearly been going on for some time.
“…managed to install a sneak and peek sub-routine into the new Battersea surveillance systems. As soon as they’re operational …”
“…Malik is definitely buddying up to Cass. His mob may be angling on working with Albion…”
“…so we need eyes on the Parcel Fox distribution centre…”
“…any photos of the AWY Imports warehouse across from the Tate Modern…”
“…MI5 is on the way out. My contacts…”
“…Kelleys are operating in the Whitechapel Terminus, I’m sure of it…”
“Who…?” Olly began.
Hush, Oliver, Bagley chided. The adults are speaking.
Liz lifted her Optik and activated an app. The holographic image of a crowned skull, glowing crimson, joined the discussion circle. “Redqueen reporting in,” Liz said. At her words, all conversation ceased.
The knight’s helm lit up. “Any more on the shooting?”
“We’re working on it. I’ve got the witness here. I’ve already uploaded his statement, but if you want to ask him any questions, now’s the time.”
“Not necessary, Liz.”
Liz frowned. “No names, Dalton. Jesus. Remember our discussion?”
“If you say so. This stuff isn’t my sort of thing. I prefer the material to the virtual.”
“Hard to punch someone who isn’t there, you mean,” another voice piped up. An ovoid mask, with an animated dragon crawling across its surface.
“Ah, you know me, Sabine.”
“Names,” Liz reiterated, with an air of resigned frustration. She rolled her eyes. “What’s the point of enacting security protocols if you lot never follow them?”
Indeed. Though I have already encrypted this session, and scrambled the frequency.
“Good job, Bagley,” the knight’s helm – Dalton – said. “Sorry, Redqueen. I’m slacking off in my enforced retirement. But like I said, I trust your report. My only question is whether or not this incident is connected to the others?”
Olly silently mouthed the word “others?” at Liz. She ignored him. “Unknown as yet. I suggest we keep an open mind in that regard. Not everything is connected.”
“And yet, we find ourselves with a pattern nonetheless,” the ovoid – Sabine – murmured. “Unrest is already brewing in the emigration centres. There was an anti-tech riot at the site of the TOAN conference last week. And there’s chatter on the crypto-boards… someone is moving money to all the wrong places.”
A cartoon character – a wolf with a wide grin, lolling tongue and big eyes – lit up. “I still say the Kelleys are behind it,” it said. The accent was foreign, Eastern European. It reminded Olly of one of his neighbours, an old Albanian. “That witch is sinking her claws into every rotten pie she can reach – she’s up to something. I can smell it.”
“Maybe so,” Dalton said. “But in my experience, this has all the hallmarks of a false flag operation. Fake trails, double blinds, the lot. And while we chase leads all over London, the threat in question is free to do whatever they want.”
“Which means what?” Liz asked.
“Which means, your highness, that we have to pull on every strand until the whole thing unravels. Proceed as planned, until told otherwise.”
“I’m starting to see why MI5 gave you the sack, Dalton,” Liz growled.
Dalton chuckled. “Names, Liz – remember?”
“Fuck off, Dalton.”
“And cheerio to you as well.”
That was that. One by one, the images blinked out until only two remained – Liz’s and Sabine’s. “He has his own way of doing things, Liz,” the latter said. “You know that.”
“I know that he’s not taking any of this seriously,” Liz said. “He thinks it’s just smoke and mirrors – old school