Rising Tomorrow (Roc de Chere Book 1) by Mariana Morgan (essential reading txt) 📕

the Caspian Sea. At the southern end of that inland sea, the border continued south to the northern part of the Persian Gulf, running only about forty kilometres short of old Tehran.

For administrative purposes the Afro-European Alliance, covering over forty million square kilometres, was divided into four districts, which also split the population of a hundred million fairly evenly. The Northern District consisted of the majority of the old Europe minus Greece and part of Italy. Scandinavia technically belonged to the Northern District, but it was virtually uninhabited except for some research bases and training facilities. The old United Kingdom and Ireland were also uninhabited, though for different reasons. The Centroeastern District consisted of Greece, southern Italy and the majority of the old Middle East, as well as eastern Africa: old Egypt, Sudan, Eritrea, Djibouti and parts of Libya, Chad, Ethiopia and Somalia. The Western District included the western regions of Africa, stretching south nearly to the equator. And the Southern District, as the name implied, consisted of Africa south of the equator and the island of Madagascar.

It looked organised and civilised, and not even remotely indicative of the horrors the two-tier System of the population of the Afro-European Alliance had descended into. The Alliance was the child of the World Government, and somewhere deep down Gonzalez was proud to serve it. He wanted to believe that under all the corruption and rot, the ideals that had allowed the human race to rebuild after the Great Collapse were still there.

Somewhere even deeper down, he knew that the World Government’s philosophy had been flawed to some extent, but a man needed something bigger than himself to believe in.

Pulling himself away from the map and his utopic dream, he turned around to face Ingram.

‘Ms Moretti seems to think you saved her life.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What do you think?’

‘She is alive,’ Ingram replied after a split second’s hesitation.

‘Do you think you could have done things differently?’

‘I don’t know, sir.’ There was guilt in her voice. There was always guilt when their actions required sacrifices.

She really didn’t know if she could have done things differently. She had thought about it since. There were always options. If it wasn’t for her smashed ribs. If she had landed on a different building. If she’d had anything of value to trade. If she had only had a gun. Or if she had only stopped for a moment to think and plan. Maybe, just maybe, it all would have turned out differently.

Or maybe, if she had started questioning her instincts, she and Eloise Moretti would both be dead.

Gonzalez looked at her probingly. Most people would have said yes. Most people would have used the wonderful powers of hindsight to expect more from themselves. But not Ingram. Despite the pain and the irrational sense of guilt and failure, she knew that given her limited vantage point at the time, she had made the best decisions she could have. She would look back to analyse the experience, but mainly she would look forward at what needed doing next. And even when the irrational sense of failure enveloped her, she knew just how much she had achieved, how improbable it was to have got through and out of the Underground City given the handicaps she’d had to work with.

Suppressing a sigh, he scanned her face. The mask was back on and it was impossible to read her emotions, but he didn’t need to see them to know the amount of strain the woman was under.

‘Take a few hours off,’ Gonzalez ordered.

‘Sir?’ Her head finally snapped sideways to look at him.

She had expected a pointed lecture about how she had lost her cool. How she should have found a better way to deal with the Elite woman in the slums and now in Roc de Chere. How she had just further traumatised the only expert they had available.

Gonzalez laughed wryly at her expression. He could be the worst sonofabitch when someone fucked up in action. Out of the field, however, he preferred a much softer attitude, giving his people the opportunity to reflect and learn rather than ram rule after rule down their throats. After nearly four years of working together, it still confused Ingram.

‘I’m not going to waste oxygen telling you that you have to control yourself around her. You already know that. You also know what will happen if you ever let this get physical.’ He paused briefly, giving her bloody knuckles a look and then holding Ingram’s gaze until the woman nodded with understanding. ‘And I’m only going to say it once, so pay attention. You did your utter fucking best in the slums; no one could possibly expect more of you. I certainly don’t. I don’t know how you held it together. Yes, in an ideal world we would have transported Ms Moretti here in a Stealthy in pristine condition, but we do not live in an ideal world. You know that. We cannot avoid making sacrifices. I am not holding you responsible for how banged up our guest got on the way here. I’m relieved she is here. And proud of you.’

Ingram flinched, her defences crumbling. She had made it through the Underground City without wasting a single tear, but one little compliment and she was struggling to hold it together. She didn’t deserve it.

‘Thank you, sir.’ The words came out husky, and she bit her lip hard to stop it trembling.

‘Tell you what. Fix your hand, grab a VRP and go for a run. Clear your head.’

There was, of course, a risk that without clear instructions to take it easy, Ingram would run herself ragged, choosing some off-road wild trail in abhorrent weather conditions. But that was preferable to her beating herself up over what she had done, and it would also help flush whatever nano-toxins still persisted in her body. Physically she had healed from the ordeal and was ready to be pushed, but her head would take substantially longer. While she might have felt okay, she