Expatria: The Box Set (48 page)

PART THREE

Some Faith, Some Hope, Some Charities

CHAPTER 25

'Sukui-san? Sukui-san? Will you just be
alive
for me, Sukui-san?'

There was a pressure on Kasimir Sukui's chest. A feeling of release. Then more pressure. His ribs felt like they were about to shatter. 'Miz Sender,' he said, his throat gratingly sore. 'I believe that I would be better able to breathe if you were to cease assisting me.'

'Sukui-san!' The pressure increased severalfold as Mags Sender hugged him tightly. 'Sukui-san, I thought you were dead. You were blue when they pulled you out, you looked like ... I don't know, you just looked dead.'

Sukui recognised the regular motion of a boat, larger than the ketch that he had recently been forced to abandon. He was stretched out on the wooden deck with his head raised slightly on a roll of sacking.

Mags Sender released him and he breathed once again.

He kept his eyes closed and surveyed his body yogi-fashion, working up from the soles of his feet, checking each muscle, each joint.

His condition was satisfactory. Weakness was all that afflicted him, along with a few aches and pains, more the residue of his illness than a direct result of the... was it an accident?

'Please, Miz Sender,' he said. 'I am not clear about what occurred. You shot at us and now you are glad that I live. Your rationale evades me. How are my companions?' He opened his eyes, finally, and looked at his rescuer, his assailant. She was as he remembered from the days when she had been a junior scientist under his supervision. She was a thin woman with a heavy bone structure, her bold facade was constantly betrayed by the nervousness of her mannerisms. She had been a good worker. Now, she would not meet his look.

'I was having a crap break,' she said. 'And I heard the cannons. We've only ever shot them for testing—I designed them myself, out of old refinery pipes, they work real well.'

'I remember you as a proficient engineer,' said Sukui. 'Go on.'

'I heard the cannons and I came running. They'd stopped firing by the time I got there, and the troopers were arguing instead. Five of the gunners said that the boat was flying the colours, two of them said it wasn't.'

'There were two shots,' said Sukui.

'Yes, I know. We got out here and found you floating face down in a tangle of ribbonweed. Xavier and Egon were fighting over a floating barrel. They're on one of the other boats now, still fighting. How're you feeling?'

'I have been unwell,' said Sukui. 'And I have been shot at and nearly drowned. I will leave you to judge how I must feel.' He closed his eyes and fell instantly asleep.

~

The docks of Alabama City were spread out along the entire length of the waterfront, not restricted to the base of a short stretch of city wall like those of Newest Delhi, or sandwiched between river mouth and cliffs like the harbour at Orlyons.

Sukui had always been able to sleep and wake at whim, it had been a useful ability for a busy diplomat and he had cultivated it from an early age. He roused himself as the boat edged into the shelter of the harbour's breakwater and the meth engines cut in. He had been away for little more than forty days yet he expected the city to have changed beyond his recognition. Instead, time appeared to have stood still. All that was new were the gun emplacements at regular intervals along the breakwater.

It felt good to have his feet set firmly on the land of his native city, to have those familiar smells in his lungs once again. He pulled the blanket tighter across his shoulders and resisted the urge to shudder. This was where he was meant to be. He felt it in his heart that things would improve. Once he would have rejected such a thought but now he savoured it, aware that there was probably a very good reason for his subconscious to have arrived at that judgement. He was, he thought, an emotional man as well as a rational one, he was a man united.

'I wish to see the Prime,' said Sukui, following Mags Sender as she stepped off the boat. 'Could an appointment be arranged?'

'I'll take you,' said Mags. 'Come on.' She led him across to the side of the Morning Promenade, the long street that flanked the city's docks. Tossing a coin to a vendor, she picked out a tandem from a nearby stand of bicycles.

Following her gestures, Sukui swung a leg over the rear seat and settled himself as well as he could manage. He was not a cycling person, he did not trust the disordered crowds to part before him; it was an undignified activity.

He positioned his feet on the rest and gripped his handlebars. As Mags pushed off and began to pedal, Sukui closed his eyes and wished he knew of a god to pray to. The seat was padded with leather, but the wooden wheels passed every imperfection of the road right through his battered body.

After a time, he decided that he would feel more secure with his eyes open. The sudden swings as they took a corner or dodged some pedestrian or animal could at least be anticipated if he looked ahead.

They followed the gentle sweep of the Ginseng Route towards the Capitol. Cycles sped past all about, pedestrians and animals thronged the pavements and alleyways. Sukui looked around, from his seat at the rear of the tandem, looking for any sign of change and finding none at all.

They swung onto the Route Magnificat and Mags glanced back and said, 'Nearly there.' More than anything, that made Sukui feel a stranger in his own city: he did not need a guide. He could see the street-lighting, he could see the drapery and ornamentation shops, the tall square buildings towering over the Street or set back behind high walls and railings. They passed the Hitachi cafeteria where he had first learnt of his appointment as junior assistant to the subequerry of Soho district. He had been nineteen years old then, barely into adolescence.

They came to Canebrake House on the right and Sukui stared up at that fourth floor balcony, the vines twisting around its patched-together railings. He looked at the ground below the balcony and realised that he had not had the dream since his illness. At last he had put that awful incident behind him.

The bicycle came to a halt and Sukui looked away from Canebrake House and across to the other side of the road. The Capitol was a huge complex of buildings, a jumble of whitewashed stone, grey stone, red stone, glittering marble slabs, windows of clear and coloured glass arranged to no apparent pattern. The Prime's residence was separated from the people's city by metal railings topped with barbs and spikes. Black-leathered troopers stood guard at the wide gates, swamped by the profusion of design and colour behind them. Sukui smiled. He felt as if he was coming home.

'I'll come with you to the gate,' said Mags Sender. 'Just so they know who you are.'

~

He stood in the corridor and waited. Before him was a double set of doors almost twice his height. He stared at their highly polished surfaces. The wood was from a squat oak, the dark whorls and channels of its grain suggesting that the tree had grown on a north-facing slope in the Novi Nis region.

He could see his face reflected four times over in the panels of the righthand door. He rubbed his chin, shocked at how haggard he looked.
Control of the body
, he thought, aware that he had borrowed the phrase from one of the Roman actives back in Newest Delhi.

He straightened himself and steadied his breathing. He could hear the Prime's voice.

Three minutes later—give or take fifteen seconds—the doors were flung open and Prime Salvo Andric stood before Sukui. His fiery beard appeared more unruly than ever, his hair in greater disarray. His eyes were rimmed with redness, his cheeks flushed. He stared at Sukui and waited.

'My lord,' said Sukui. 'I must apologise for my absence. It was unavoidable.' He should have said more but, suddenly, he felt too weary. The Prime must know Sukui's story by now.

'My principal adviser kills my cousin. He takes off with a bunch of pageanteers. He goes to the capital city of my greatest enemies. He consorts with the Terran aggressors... And he says it was
unavoidable!
Kasimir—' he waved a hand, beckoning his adviser into the room '—you know me better than that. Seat yourself. Explain.'

Prime Salvo Andric swung the doors shut behind him and marched around to the far side of a wide desk. He gestured at a high-backed chair and waited.

Sukui lowered himself, grateful to take the weight from his feet. He looked at his Prime, silhouetted against the tall, leaded windows of the High Office. His reception was unexpected. The Prime was known for his brusque manner but Sukui had broken through those barriers many years before. This current hostility was upsetting.

He did not know where to begin. Prime Salvo had virtually ordered him to kill Siggy Axelmeyer as a test of his loyalty and, in any case, he was not certain that the death was not an accident—had the Prime's cousin been falling already when Sukui's hand had made contact? He had been leaning out over those fragile railings and they had shattered. The case was not clear-cut. The probabilities were split evenly, Sukui thought.

But he could not challenge his Prime. He shrugged, an unfamiliar gesture to him. 'My decision to accompany Chet Alpha was taken at short notice. I saw it as the best way to influence the outcome of his spreading of information about orbit and about GenGen. I met the Terrans because I was present when they landed. I fell ill with one of their imported infections. Since then I have made every effort to return.'

'Is it true that they are taking Newest Delhi by force?' asked the Prime, leaning forward over his desk, plucking a handful of cashew nuts from a nearby bowl. 'Is it? Hmm?'

'To my knowledge they tried to keep contact peaceful in nature,' said Sukui, wondering if even that much was true. 'As with any grouping, they embrace hawks and doves. Their doves are as good as any of us.'

'I knew you were coming,' said the Prime. 'Lui Tsang has spoken to orbitals who've been in Newest Delhi. He said you had vanished some time yesterday.' Salvo tossed the nuts into his mouth, chewed, swallowed noisily. 'Things have taken off since you left the Hanrahan city. GenGen have started to purge the cultists. They're rounding up Death Krishnas, flattening their temples or taking them over. They've started on the pageanteers, now. Even the Masons are getting crapped. Hah!

'The cults are killing each other too, except everyone with two brain cells knows it's GenGen through and through. Kardinals and Matres and Mother Charities, getting knifed and shot. They've worked their way in, Kasimir, this Holy Corporation. They've worked their way in and now they're knocking out the foundations until they're the only thing left holding Newest Delhi in place. It's a takeover, a silent bloody coup. And you didn't see it.'

'My lord, what I saw is not under scrutiny.' Sukui felt as if he was being held personally responsible. He could see all the signs in the Prime's words and manner: Prime Salvo had attached a degree of blame on Sukui during his absence, that much was apparent. Sukui had opened communication with the orbitals, he had relayed their warning of the approaching GenGen ship. Sukui, in his absence, was responsible.

He put his thoughts aside. He could only plough onwards, deepen his furrow. 'My lord, I came as soon as I could in order to warn you and to prepare you for the arrival of GenGen in Alabama City. For arrive they most certainly will.'

'Hah!' Prime Salvo stared at him, hands on his hips, leaning forward aggressively. 'You've been away, Sukui. You've missed a lot. They've been arriving for days. They landed up in the Nagasaki foothills. Alabama City has been deluged with their timothies—militant evangelicals who come and preach and taunt the authorities. You throw them in jail and people just believe them more. I'd execute them—if only to make room in the prisons—but I would lose the sympathy of my people. There are the singers, too, the Philemonics. They perform without licences so I jail them too. We've stopped them coming into the city at all, now—troopers turn them away at the city limits. We keep them out and we keep the assassins out with them. Alabama City will not be de-stabilised.'

'My lord, I was once your most valued adviser. I hope that I still have your trust.' Sukui spread his hands. 'Please, you must try to talk to them. They are here. They are not going to return to Earth. Nobody can hold back the tide—we must learn to know one another.' He was sounding like one of Chet Alpha's Charities; with a smile, he remembered that that, indeed, was what he had become.

'You left me, Kasimir.' The Prime slumped back against the wall and shrugged. 'Many's the time I have turned to you for advice and then remembered that you were not there. Water has been flowing all the time. I have Lui Tsang now. With technical matters he's as good as you ever were; with the rest I have coped. How can I trust you again, Kasimir? Can you tell me that much? Can you?'

Sukui looked at his master and saw that a wedge had fallen between them. He did not feel that he had the strength to resist.

'Will you not try, my lord? That is all there is.'

But the Prime had turned away to stare out of his tall, leaded windows. Sukui looked at Salvo's wide expanse of back. He made himself remember his own advice. Not even he could resist the flow of history; to even try would be futile.

Sukui stood. He swallowed, took a breath. 'My lord,' he said. 'I hope that you will change your mind. If I may be excused I will collect my things from my office. My lord.' He bowed his head and retreated from the room, Prime Salvo still staring out of his window.

~

Sukui's study was being used as a store room by an assistant to Captain Mahler. Eventually, he managed to locate his few personal items in a box in the office of a junior equerry. He kept thinking of his return to Alabama City as a disaster. But he kept correcting himself, aware that it was important that he should know his own standing. No person can stop the movement of the tide—that phrase had almost become his personal Maxim, in the space of two hours.

He followed a staircase down to the ground floor of the Capitol's main block, emerging in a courtyard to the rear of the building. There was a stable here, spacious but by comparison with the rest of the Capitol, minuscule.