Opus Veda

Hospitalised again. Twice in one year. Surfaces overflowed with cards - compliments from unwanted parents; scripted AI lines from friends; businesses seeking product placement.

And condolences from colleagues, who made no mention of their former desertion.

Their desertion which left Gemma for dead.

Their desertion which remained unpunished.

Gemma lay in bed, nauseous from surgery and desperate to recover for her wedding. Scarlett sat with her, distant and depressed. She had been drinking - heavily it seemed, her voice as broken as her posture. Gemma tried to empathise; they both coped in their own way.

Eva sat on Scarlett's lap and scribbled superheroes along Gemma's bandages. For her intervention against the vagrants - for saving Gemma's life - Superintendent Morgan had awarded her a Civilian Commendation for Bravery. Eva had turned the medal - a spray of silver laurel leaves - into a hair clip.

Before Morgan left he suggested to Gemma, with something between awkwardness and intrigue, that her award would be arriving soon.

Whatever. Gemma stroked Eva's hair.

"You really don't have to stay. There's Christmas leftovers waiting for both of you at home."

"I have to finish my drawin'," Eva rested on Gemma's stomach and started drawing a new character, "I'll be done when you leave."

"Me too..." Scarlett toyed with the ring on Gemma's finger, "I never want to leave you again..."

"If you keep giving me that guilty air I might force you too... As for you Eva: you're coming to the wedding aren't you?"

Eva stopped scribbling, "you're invitin' me to a weddin'?"

"As long as you sit on my side of the aisle, otherwise the whole guest list will be Scarlett's!"

The ward door opened. Eva's pen dropped. She launched off the bed and swore in coarse Polish.

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Scarlett tutted until she saw the visitor. She flung herself up as Eva had.

Gemma's injuries prevented her moving to greet her new guest. She had only seen the woman online. It took less than a second to dispel the myth that her glamour was AI's artifice. Her job was one of the few of importance left to the English government. Her ability to manage it set her apart as one of the few of any competence.

Anita Søreni, the Home Secretary and First Lady, eyed Gemma's guests with curiosity and just a hint of distaste.

"I hope you had a good Christmas. Gemma Alderton?"

"M'am?"

"I will have a word in private if you don't mind."

Anita stepped aside. Scarlett took Eva and hustled through the opening. Shadowy guards pincered them. Anita craned her neck back and lifted her chin. Her gaze made Scarlett shrink.

"My security detail will look after you whilst I'm here, a precaution. I'm not in the mood for being leaked to the press."

Before Scarlett could respond Anita shut the door on her. Gemma was alone with the most powerful woman in England. Silence divided them. Anxious and absent of anything useful to say Gemma resorted to small talk.

"I still have snacks left on the counter, if you'd like some?"

Anita sighed with polite amusement.

"No, thank you."

"Or something to drink?"

Anita's chin raised again. Her nostrils flared slightly.

"I might get a Glühwein later, once I return to Number 10. Are you going to offer me a seat?"

"Yes! Please..."

Gemma motioned to the one chair. Anita wiped her small handbag over its surface, then wiped the handbag's edge. She sat and watched Gemma as if studying a case.

"I trust you're recovering well, Miss Alderton."

"I hope so M'am. I'm told the doctors even brought in a nanophysician."

Anita's eyebrow arched; a betrayal of overconfidence.

"My nanophysician, Miss Alderton. When I heard what happened I thought I'd step in. I expect you to make your wedding," she held her ring finger up, "thank you for joining the few of us keeping the tradition alive."

Gemma fumbled to pull herself up, spluttering thanks and admiration. Anita cocked her head.

"I'd prefer no flattery, I get more than I deserve. It is one of my guiding principles: to ask for no gratitude, and tolerate no ingratitude. Useful words in my line of work..." she breathed in and looked around the room, "you gave your aggressors a stiff reception. You versus 32 wasn't it?"

Gemma chuckled, "I counted 36…"

"That's very impressive..." Anita's tone suggested she'd seen better, "the Republic of England & Wales owes you much, and yet must ask more of you. I worry you may find in it's demands, ingratitude."

Gemma's eyes narrowed, "M'am?"

"A friend of mine has asked me to keep an eye out for talent to send his way. His offer invites great risk. Though... isn't it the always the case, throughout history, that civil strife is a time for competent minds to climb, quickly?"

Anita waited, letting Gemma fill in the details.

"What does you need? Military police?"

"No Miss Alderton we need an army.

I'm putting you in it."