Expatria: The Box Set (21 page)

Chapter 23

'I don't even know where to start,' said Mathias. 'I've thought about it all night and I don't know what to tell and what to leave out.'

It was early morning, the sky still golden-tinged from the rise of the sun. Mathias sat on his bed, knees pulled up to his chest, Jeanna sitting at his feet. She was tense, studying his face, aware of the importance of her role. She was to be his message to the world.

'What will you do after today, Jeanna?' he asked, deferring the start of his story yet again.

'I don't know,' she said. 'I'm leaving the Guard, that's for sure. It's not my kind of life, I don't like it. Matt, will you tell me what to do? Will you give me some guidance?'

Mathias shook his head. 'I'd hoped you would leave the Guard, but I can't tell you what to do. All I can hope is that you'll spread my words as well as you're able. That's all I can ask.'

'We don't have long, sir. Matt.'

'I'm ready to die, you know. I'm prepared. I'm not going to give Edward the chance to see me suffer. I suppose the place to start is by saying simply that I didn't kill my father; I'm letting Edward kill me because I want to give my friends in the south, and in orbit, some more time to do what they've already started. Let me tell you about a friend of mine, a man called Decker...'

And so he told Jeanna all that had happened. He told her of Decker and his people, he told her of the ship from Earth, he told her of a brittle-minded old scientist called Kasimir Sukui and of Lui Tsang and of Chet Alpha, he told her of playing music in Orlyons, of Mono and of why he had refused to leave with her last night.

And Jeanna listened, her eyes growing wide and then narrow, her breathing growing fast and then slow and calm. As he spoke, Mathias knew that his every word was becoming lodged, instantly, in the mind of his guard.

'I heard of your speech at the market,' she said, when he eventually stopped speaking. 'I couldn't understand why nobody was interested in the things you said. When I was small, people used to tell me lies, knowing that I would believe them—I believed
anyone
: why should they tell lies? I feel like that now, sir. I feel like you've just told me the biggest lie anyone has ever told and when I've gone you're going to laugh at me.'

'I've told you the truth, Jeanna.'

'I know,' she said, and shrugged. 'I never doubted that, I'm just telling you what I feel. Stupid, I know, but it's the way I think.'

'I can hear them coming for me.' The door at the end of the corridor had just swung back and hit the wall, a sound he had always associated with mealtimes until now.

Jeanna stood and looked down at him. 'You won't be forgotten,' she said. 'What you've done. I'm going to tell everyone I meet. When the Earth ship comes people will be expecting it. I'm going to spread the word, sir. Your followers will meet the Holy Charities half-way, I'll make sure of that.'

She turned and opened the door and Mathias swung his feet off that narrow bed for the last time in his life.

Now, he was ready. He had seen the look in Jeanna's eyes and he knew that she would keep her promise. Smiling serenely at the approaching guards, he knew that he had no choice. They would kill him today. But, also, he knew that his death would serve its purpose. 'No need for that,' he said, as the guards grabbed his arms. 'I will go in peace.' Their hands fell away and, dumbly, they followed him out of the small room that had been his cell.

~

The guards led him through the streets of Newest Delhi, heading for the scaffolds on West Wall. Nobody said a word. The people of the city stopped as the procession passed them by. They stared, they whispered, children ran indoors to fetch friends and relatives. 'Mama mama mama!' he heard one little girl cry. 'The Prime's son—they're taking him past!'

He smiled. Even after four years the people still thought of March as their Prime.

Although individuals would stop and stare, there were no crowds, no tail of children running after Mathias and his guards. Jeanna had told him that it was not to be a public affair, the people were to be kept at a distance.

A street away, Mathias could see the tightly packed marketplace, business not halting for a mere execution. A troupe of Death Krishnas hurried past, alike in their orange robes and their shaven heads painted with hearts and swastikas and brightly coloured flowers.

They climbed a set of access stairs, spiralling tightly inside West Wall, and emerged on a paved area that Mathias knew well. He looked seaward. He should have been able to see the fishing fleet dotting the distant reaches of Liffey Bay but there was nothing, only cutters and gulls, and a small school of porpoises breaking surface a few hundred metres offshore. Watching the cutters, he realised that finally he had ceased envying their freedom.

He turned to the sound of voices behind him. The Primal Guards were handing over to an officer in the grey bodice and leggings of a Conventist Guard. Other Conventist troops stood in formation behind their superior and as the Primal Guards headed back down the stairs, Mathias was seized roughly and half-dragged through a stone arch to a wide balcony, the site of his execution. To the seaward side was a low wall and there Mathias saw Greta, hanging on to Lucilla Ngota's arm and staring out at the waves. The other three sides consisted of high stone walls, with two small archways cordoned off and a third, wider one, blocked by a row of Conventists. Beyond, Mathias could see a crush of people who had defied the Primal edict and come to view the proceedings. Mathias wished they had stayed away.

He had not expected the event to be run by Conventists; he had not realised how much influence they had gained, through Greta. In these four years they had risen back to near their former level of power, always ready to throttle any resurgence of the old ways. He looked across at the two women by the wall. Greta looked happy, chatting, laughing, awaiting the death of her one-time fiancé. Lucilla looked more dejected, even nervous; it was the culmination of her vendetta against him—her life would be very different after this morning and maybe she was just realising that fact.

Mathias was surprised that so few had been invited. He had expected his half-brother to bring along a host of officials and clan-leaders and others he wished to impress. But it appeared that even Edward had opted not to attend. Did it really matter that little to him?

Eventually, Greta glanced around and realised that Mathias had arrived. She smiled and said something to Lucilla. Looking at her, Mathias realised that she was actually pleased for the same reason that Lucilla was tense: an unhappy chapter of her life was finally coming to a close.

She was glad that Mathias was to be executed.

Greta nodded to the Conventist officer, who then barked out an order to the troops holding Mathias. They pushed him up on to a platform that was set against the inner wall. Standing there, listening to the boards settle beneath his feet, Mathias stared at the noose, centimetres from his nose. He smiled at his guards and they looked away, disturbed by his demeanour.

Greta came forward, leading Lucilla by the hand and forever chattering, giggling. Mathias stared at her, at her golden hair dancing in the breeze despite being tied tightly back with a length of black cord.

He felt at peace, he felt happy. He smiled at her, and her chatter faltered and then stopped. He bowed his head. 'I am ready, Greta,' he said. 'Are you going to pull the rope? Or you, Lucilla?' He turned his smile on Lucilla and, for the first time, he saw how her stay in Alabama City had transformed her: at last she bore signs of human weakness. She stared for long seconds at his warm smile and then she turned away, unable to take any more.

Greta opened her mouth to snap an order at the guards, then she stopped without saying a word.

Mathias turned to see what had caught her attention.

There was a commotion at one of the small arches and then the guards stepped aside and Edward passed through.

Mathias nodded. He had never really believed that Edward would miss this moment. He started to turn back to Greta and then stopped, his attention caught by the man following Edward into the arena. There was no mistaking that ankle-length violet robe and the matching skullcap.

It was Kasimir Sukui. The old scientist had a kind of pack on his back and was sweating with effort. To one side—emerging from the wall!—was a ghostly image of Decker, floating above the ground, his limbs blurred and translucent, his body and face more tangible, but still somehow unclear. Decker was glowing, even in the sunlight.

Mathias leapt down from his block and strode across to Sukui, the guards too stunned by the appearance of Decker to stop him.

The sight of Sukui had startled him out of his reverie. He didn't want to die. He wanted to live and he wanted to be with Mono and Decker and all of his friends.

Then he remembered Edward and stopped in his tracks. What was going on? He looked from face to face, confused.

'Excuse me, but I must,' said Sukui, and he took the projector unit from his back and set it so that its camera lens had the best possible view of the arena.

Mathias looked at Edward and waited. For once he was at a loss.

Edward stepped forward and surveyed the troops, the scaffold, his wife. He looked at Mathias and said, 'This has gone on too long.' Then louder, he said, 'The execution has been suspended.'

Mathias looked at Sukui, but the old scientist only bowed his head and smiled.

Edward turned back to Mathias. 'I have been in conference with Sukui-san and Decker,' he said. 'It has been most enlightening. You see, August Hanrahan survived. He's a folk hero to Decker's people. He's also the grandfather of a proportion of them. Decker is our cousin, Mathias. He's impressed on me how important it is for his people to be in contact with August's only two direct descendants on Expatria.
Us
. He's told me a lot of other things, too. He's confirmed what you said about the terran ship.

'I can never forgive you, Mathias.' Edward shrugged. 'But I can pardon you. Sukui-san says you are of value, and I know you are intelligent. I hereby grant you a Primal pardon, on the condition that you work under Sukui-san's supervision for the foreseeable future. Do you accept?'

'Of course,' said Mathias. It was too much information to digest at one time, so he just stared at the trifacsimile of Decker, and nodded to the camera. Sukui had done a good job.

He didn't like it—his instinct had been to demand more: Edward was patronising him—but he had left instinct behind. He knew to accept what little he was offered.

Edward had walked past Mathias and now he was having a heated discussion with Greta. 'You cannot do that,' she hissed at him. 'The court has decided—you have no precedent.'

'Greta,' said Edward, trying to calm her. 'I am Prime. I create precedent. I have talked with Decker, you don't understand.'

'It's a trick, a trick!' She was shouting, now, not caring who heard. 'You can't let him get away now. You agreed: he is an enemy of the State, an enemy of the Convent.'

'You've had your way for too long,' hissed Edward. 'I think it is time you and your Convent
shut up
. I am Prime. I have made the decision.

Mathias had never seen such an expression imposed on Greta's delicate features. He would never have thought it possible. It was a sneer, a lip-curling statement of just how little she thought of her husband, Prime Edward Olfarssen-Hanrahan. 'Sewell,' she said, gesturing to the Conventist officer. 'Continue with the execution. The Prime is not responsible for his actions.
Continue
.' And all the time she stared at Edward, daring him to oppose her, daring him to challenge her authority.

Mathias groaned. Realisation was sinking in and he wanted it to stop. He didn't want to think what he was suddenly thinking. Two guards stepped towards him, unsure of themselves, not wanting to oppose the Prime but not daring to disobey Greta.

They stopped as Decker glided forward to float before Edward and Greta. 'You killed March Hanrahan, didn't you?' he said.

The image of Decker was not directed at either of them, but Mathias knew who he was talking to. The image adjusted itself, as Decker was able to see it in his own camera-view.

Decker was facing Greta. 'Please, confirm,' he said, and bowed his head, a gesture he must have learnt from Sukui.

'What is he saying?' asked Edward, stunned, but Greta ignored him.

Suddenly, she appeared scared. The ghostly appearance of Decker had pierced her defensive layers, his questions hurt. 'What does it matter?' she said. 'It's all over now. Guards! Continue with the execution!'

'It's
true?
' Edward had turned white. He looked at Mathias and then at the guards. 'Stop,' he said. 'Stop at once!'

But the Conventists ignored him and moved towards Mathias.

Just as one seized his arm there was a noise from the widest of the three archways, a commotion, a hubbub of raised voices and screams. Suddenly, Mathias could hear amplified music, loudspeakers distorting the sound almost beyond recognition, their circuitry unable to cope with the volume.

Mathias shrugged free of the guard's grip and turned. A line of Conventist Guards were struggling to prevent a crowd of Death Krishnas from forcing their way into the arena. The guards had linked arms, but their efforts were in vain, the pressure of the Krishnas was too much for them. The line broke and a mass of orange robes flooded into the arena, spreading and moving around, suddenly unfocused and lacking in direction. Behind them came a rabble of Black-Handers, yodelling and stamping and swinging their chained bibles over their heads; pageanteers with back-packs and floating trifaxes; neck-tied Masons with clubs and stones; Jesus-Buddhists giving the blood-chilling Cry of the Hellbound as they charged into the fray. Two fazed-out Nano-Hippies came in after the main flow, driving a small motorised kart which had been mounted with the loudspeakers, children racing after them making high-pitched humming sounds in imitation of the renovated vehicle.

'Guards!' screamed Greta, but it was no good.