MetaWars: Fight For The Future

Chapter 22

They were caught in the glare of headlights. A large, dusty black van came roaring up the pathway towards them. It skidded to a halt, kicking up chips of gravel as it spun around to face the way it had come. Its back doors flew open, and a stocky man in black beckoned to the quartet to join him inside.

They had barely climbed into the van when it roared off again.

The interior of the van was lined with computer equipment. Active monitors and flashing hard-drive lights glowed dimly. Four swivel chairs were bolted to the floor; as the last man in, Jonah found himself without a seat, and had to squat in the middle.

‘I apologise I am late,’ said the stocky man. He must have been about twenty. Jonah had thought him older at first glance, because of his unshaven appearance.

‘What happened, Dimitry?’ asked Axel.

‘Andrey suspected we were followed. We had to be sure to lose pursuit before we came to meet you.’

‘Andrey’, presumably, was their driver. Jonah could only see him from the side: an older, muscular man with a thick black beard. He didn’t even glance around at the mention of his name, focusing on the road. They had left the park now, turning south.

‘Millennial spies?’ asked Bradbury.

‘I think not,’ said Dimitry. ‘We have our own enemies, da?’

He turned to Sam and introduced himself, kissing her hand. Axel and Bradbury, it seemed he already knew – while Jonah, he happily ignored. Bradbury asked if arrangements had been made. Dimitry said they had. A plane was waiting for the Guardians at a private airport, some twenty miles outside the city.

‘What is all this equipment for?’ asked Jonah. ‘What do you do in here?’

‘Dimitry runs a broadcasting network,’ Axel replied for him. ‘How is business, Dimitry?’

‘Dangerous but profitable,’ Dimitry replied. ‘A Luke Wexler game comes out in a few months. Zombies Four. That will be very big for us.’

‘Broadcasting?’ asked Jonah.

‘Yes,’ said Dimitry. ‘Many vehicles like this one, with satellite uplinks, always moving, uploading content to the Metasphere twenty-four hours of every day.’

‘Pirated content, you mean,’ guessed Jonah. ‘You’re pirates, aren’t you?’

‘We make information, culture, ideas, available to all,’ said Dimitry, ‘not just to bourgeoisie.’

‘You can call it what you want,’ said Jonah. ‘But it’s still stealing.’

Dimitry scowled. ‘Our philosophies are not so different, I think. You are Guardians, da? You wish the Metasphere to be free to all?’

‘We do,’ said Bradbury. He shot Jonah a fierce glare, his meaning as crystal clear as always. Jonah chose to heed the warning and fell silent, but he couldn’t help but wonder if there shouldn’t be limits on some kinds of ‘freedoms’.

For the second time in as many days, he found himself profoundly uncomfortable with the allies of his Guardian friends.

                                                                                *

They drove through the centre of Moscow. Dimitry pointed out the green spires of the Kremlin, the fortified seat of Russian leaders going back centuries. The streets were quieter than when they had walked them earlier,