Expatria: The Box Set (50 page)
Read Expatria: The Box Set Online
Authors: Keith Brooke
CHAPTER 27
Sudden immersion in cold water was becoming an all too familiar experience. Kasimir Sukui broke the surface, shook his head in a futile attempt to rid it of its covering of water and pond weed. A few metres away Chet Alpha was making enough noise for both of them, so Sukui remained quiet.
He looked up, but the rocky overhang obscured his view of the top of the crag. They were most unlikely to still be there, in any case. They were, he assumed, professionals.
'He tried to kill me!' cried Alpha. 'To
kill
me!' Alpha was waving frantically to a group that was gathering at the bank of the pool. 'An' where's my bottle?'
Sukui straightened and his feet found the bottom of the pool. He had never learnt to swim, he had never had the inclination. There was always an alternative. He walked towards the bank, testing each foothold before trusting it with his full weight. Hands reached out and helped him through the reeds. He stared at the owners of the hands, looked into those perfectly symmetrical Roman eyes.
'This is the one!' shouted the Roman, tightening his grip on Sukui's arm. 'I have him.'
Sukui let them restrain him.
He watched as a tall woman waded out to drag the floating Chet Alpha onto dry land. 'We've got you another bottle,' she told him. 'It's OK.'
Sukui recognised faces amongst the crowd now. The powerfully built busker who was known as Slide, and his companion, Vera-Lynne Perse; they were two of the key members of the musical underground—Sukui was curious to note their mixing with the groups driven out of Newest Delhi. The barman, Salomo, in conversation with the old collective councillor, Ilya Borosche.
Others were familiar from stalls on the Patterdois or stools in Salomo's bar.
There were three Romans, in total. They had been talking with some Charities behind the crag when Sukui had gone up to find Chet Alpha. He looked at them carefully. Each of them held his gaze, their faces were calm and controlled. Their discipline was admirable.
'Chet,' said Sukui, as Alpha came to stand spluttering before him. 'I apologise for the inconvenience, but—'
'You tried to
kill
me!' Someone handed him a bottle and he drew the cork with his teeth and took a long drink.
'Please,' Sukui bowed his head. 'But I did not. I—'
'We were there,' said the Roman who was holding Sukui's arms. 'We saw it all. They appeared to be arguing and then this old man—' he gestured at Sukui '—pushed Mister Alpha over the edge, falling after him. I am the senior representative, my name is RoValentin. I may be contacted through any Roman active if my services as witness should be required.'
It was interesting, as improvisations went. The sincerity came asymptotically close to perfection. Sukui smiled at RoValentin, then turned to the audience. 'Slide,' he said, nodding for the big man to come forward. 'RoValentin has a double-edged hunting knife concealed under the second layer of his cloak. It has a piece missing from the knuckle-guard—if that had not caught on RoValentin's cloak Chet Alpha would not be alive.'
Slide stepped forward and RoValentin moved a hand reflexively towards his waist. In that moment Sukui stepped quickly clear.
'You are making a mistake,' said the Roman, his two companions backing away, their escape blocked by a line of Charities. 'One big mistake.'
Sukui was curious to see their facades beginning to show signs of deterioration. They were clearly unused to failure.
Slide took another step forward and suddenly RoValentin drew his knife, snagging it for an instant on his cloak, the faint noise being what had caught Sukui's attention up on the crag.
Sukui flinched as something whistled past his head; then he stepped aside as a scuffle broke out.
'Shit, I'm sorry, Mis' Sukui.' Chet Alpha was managing to look apologetic. 'I didn't understand.' He shrugged and Sukui bowed his head.
The confrontation was over now. Slide was on his knees by RoValentin, the other two were being pinned to the ground by a stack of Charities.
'Hell,' said Slide, collecting Chet Alpha's bottle from by RoValentin's head. 'Where d'you learn to throw like
that?
'
Sukui took the bottle and turned to Alpha. 'And where,' he said, 'did you find time to cork the bottle first?' Alpha shrugged and took his bottle and drank deeply as Slide started to tie the felled Roman with a cord that one of the Charities had produced.
'Chet,' said Sukui. 'Let us return to the encampment and talk nostalgically.' He slapped Alpha on the shoulder and they started to walk. 'I fear we have started to renew our acquaintance on the wrong footing.'
~
She was there, at Pic Renault, just as the boy had told him she would be.
Pic Renault was more of a gently rounded mound than a peak. It formed the south-eastern corner of Orlyons, rising above the docks, looking out over the sea and the Rabat river, dwarfed by the Tarragona mountains across the river. The town of Orlyons had spread over most of the Pic, but the rocky summit remained clear, except for a scattering of low-lying bushes and a few isolated tufts of grass and moss.
Lucilla Ngota was sitting in the lotus position, facing the sea. Sukui approached and saw that her eyes were closed. He squatted quietly beside her, unwilling to disturb her meditation. He stared out over the sea, watching family groups of cutters flying low across the water, bullied, occasionally, by a black-backed gull that seemed to think the air-space belonged to it alone.
He understood why Lucilla had chosen this spot. She had lived in Newest Delhi for years, but only by replenishing her reserves with frequent trips to the valleys. Lucilla was a woman of the open spaces, she could not easily cope with the congestion of city life. She suffered from claustrophobia, although Sukui had not dared tell her this: she would not take kindly to being labelled a phobic.
Here, on the Pic, there was only the sea, the river, the mountains and the sky. The town of Orlyons was hidden beyond the rocks.
He looked at the lines on her face, the tension that remained despite her trance. Lucilla had a wonderful sense of self-discipline—how else could a claustrophobic make a success of life in a city such as Newest Delhi? Her pure animal power was ever-present but always under control; Sukui would readily admit that it was this balance which had initially drawn him.
Her cheek twitched once, as a fly tried to settle. 'Kasimir,' she said, opening her eyes, turning her head towards him with a feline languor. 'I'm glad you're here.' He bowed his head, smiled as she placed a hand on his knee. 'I need someone good, right now.'
With one fluid movement she was on top of him, pressing him to the ground. He wanted to warn her about his frail condition, his recent illness, his subsequent near-drownings, but he was scared that if he released the air from his lungs he would never inhale again. 'Lucilla,' he finally whispered. 'I...'
She moved aside and he continued. 'Lucilla, what is wrong with you? What has happened?'
She lay by his side and he could see the pain in her eyes. 'I was home in Beka'a,' she said. 'Most of the valley was down with food-poisoning again, Grey's toxicosis, same old thing as ever. Normally I'd head back via Glendower but I'd crossed with the MacFadyens not too long ago and I was feeling a bit cautious. But I came that way in the end: it's the quickest route.
'I needn't have worried,' she continued, after a pause. 'The Black-Handers were dead. I found old Kensei MacFadyen in one of the ash houses in Saida. He was like all the others.' She shuddered and Sukui held her more tightly.
'What had happened?' asked Sukui. He knew the most likely cause but he knew, also, that he had to ask.
'Most of them had died of the same thing—I don't know what, but I could tell it was painful. Most of them died within minutes of each other, I'd guess. The ones who'd lived longer had covered their faces with sacking or clothing and they'd been shot.'
'GenGen?'
'Who else? Anyway, they'd been shot with those laser snipes they carry—you can't mistake the burns for anything else. I've never seen anything like it.'
'Come on, Lucilla.' He held her head against his chest, waited for her to stop crying.
They stayed like that for a long time, then Sukui spotted something out to sea, beyond a school of porpoises. It was one of GenGen's autonomic platforms and it was heading for Orlyons.
'Lucilla,' he said. 'I believe there is about to be a new twist to our tale.' He pointed at the transporter and then stood. 'Come along,' he said, as she rose to join him. 'Let us go to the harbour.' He turned and began to walk down the Pic Renault, back into the town of Orlyons, Lucilla following closely behind.
CHAPTER 28
The disturbances had lasted for two of the short Expatrian days; they had, on the whole, remained peaceful, despite the Roman snatch squads and the strictly enforced curfew. Now Katya stood, alone, on the balcony of August Hall. The city belonged to GenGen, the citizens had donated it.
The only people in the Playa Cruzo now were a few evangelicals supervising the parties of menials erecting entertainments booths along one perimeter. The city was barely breathing, most of its inhabitants had gathered up their belongings and fled to the valleys.
She remembered an exchange with RoPetra the previous evening. 'This would never have happened on Earth,' Petra had said. 'How could the MetaPlex ever have predicted something like this?' Her implication was that the Expatrians had not played the game fairly, they had hardly played the game at all. Katya hadn't had time for Petra and her rationalisations. She had gone walking in the empty streets, instead.
It was safe for a Roman to walk alone again; the citizens who remained were not the sort to cause trouble.
Now, she turned away from the Playa Cruzo, feeling hollow. Her moment of failure, two days ago, had not been commented upon, but that only made her feel worse. It left her tensions unresolved, made her dwell on things best left alone, it was like a maggot, deep inside her brain, feeding on her fears, tightening its hold.
She had Maxed only minutes before, but she felt the need again, already. Her mind-parasite seized on this weakness, reminding her how much she depended on the Corporation's Holy presence in her pleasure centres. She had come to understand those actives who FIred, but she knew the Free wIre could never replace the real thing. Maxing was more than just an electrical buzz in the Glory Chip. It was so much more than that. It was life itself.
She shook her head. She was getting nowhere.
Sometime in the night, she had come to a decision, the most difficult she had ever had to make. Even now she shied away from recognition of the path she had chosen to follow.
The streets were, as she had come rapidly to expect, almost deserted. She headed for West Wall, passed through a passage at its foot, and emerged at the docks. There was more activity here. There were menials, evangelicals, a scattering of actives. There were even a few locals, tending their fishing nets, arguing about whether it was worth going out in their boats or not. Who would buy their fish?
'EpheDrago, EpheSantos,' she said, waving at two Ephesian evangelicals who were helping a fisherman repair one of his nets. 'Please, come with me.' These days, she felt more comfortable with the Ephesians; they were more open than any other division. She no longer had any trust for the Romans she had grown up amongst.
She had seen these two stunting on one of the autonomes the previous day, diving and tumbling on the water just beyond the harbour. Evangelicals were not allowed the use of autonomes; nobody could ride them like Drago and Santos had done.
They went down to the waterside, to where she knew an autonome would be. 'Listen,' she said. 'I want you to cut out the director override on this thing. No protest, OK? You did it yesterday, you can do it now.'
The Ephesians looked at each other, and then Drago spoke. 'Only if we can come with you.' He knew her request was unofficial, he knew he could challenge her, evangelical to active, like this.
'And where do you think I am going?'
'Orlyons, of course,' said Santos. 'We all know that's where it's happening, that's where everyone's gone: it's the place to be.'
She hadn't realised that it was that obvious. It had taken her so long to make the decision. 'OK,' she said. 'There's room for all three.'
~
Director Roux came to her, out on Mirror Bay. She could see the island of Clermont, bunched up along the horizon; she could make out the artificial pattern of buildings that was the port of Orlyons.
And Roux came up before her. 'RoKatya Tatin,' he said. 'You are contravening your contract of employ in six respects. I command you to return to Newest Delhi and await further direction.'
She had closed her eyes involuntarily. It cut out the dizzy discord of Roux hanging against the backdrop of the sea. She shook her head, stopped herself, smiled.
He was telling her to return. That meant that the Ephesians' block on the override was working: the director was unable to seize control and return the transport platform without their consent. She wondered if, in this hallucinatory exchange, Roux could see that she was smiling. She had never wondered how such a communication must appear in whichever strand of mind the director was using, it had never mattered before.
'Director Roux,' she said, in her mind; she pictured him as somewhere in Orlyons, wondered if that had come to her subliminally as part of the message. 'It
is
Director Roux, is it not? There appears to be some appears to be some appears to there appears to be some kind of inter of interference ence. Am I dreaming is this a am dreaming or is it cination hallucination is I am it?'
She opened her eyes, kept her mind still using the yogic techniques of self-discipline they had taught her at kindergarten. The Ephesians were looking at her strangely, so she smiled again, said, 'Just a bit of a headache. It's gone now, though.' She felt Roux tugging at her templars, trying all kinds of prompts to get through her barriers, but somehow she knew she could hold him off. It had never occurred to her before: the degree to which hallucinations depended upon her unthinking cooperation. She had never felt the need to know before.
Their autonome would be at the harbour inside of a minute. She needed to be fresh. She slotted down into plusRem, the next best thing to paradise.
~
This was where they had all come, the Death Krishnas, the Charities, the Nano-Hippies. There was an energy to Orlyons that Katya had not felt since her days as a young gospeller in Cracow. Kasimir Sukui was waiting for her at the docks with his partner, the former Newest Delhi militia officer, Lucilla Ngota. Ngota was bursting with hostility—the aggression in her stare was fascinating—but Sukui was the same as he always had been. Curious, guarded, observant.
Drago and Santos had left her immediately, clearing the way before their autonome with shouts and whistles, swerving within millimetres of animals and the deaf.
'Sukui-san,' said Katya, nodding. 'It's always good to be met by a friend.'
He smiled in return, bowed his head a little deeper. 'You have met Lucilla,' he said. Turning to his partner, he said, 'RoKatya can be trusted. She is a dove.'
They led her through streets that were packed with Charities and Krishnas, evangelicals and actives staying in groups of four or more, tension overcoming their masks of self-discipline. Many of the buildings that lined these Orlyons streets were damaged to some extent; many had been reduced to heaps of moss-covered rubble that were now interspersed with the brightly coloured tents of the Pageant of the Holy Charities. Orlyons was a crowded town. She followed Sukui and Ngota, the only member of the holy staff out alone.
They came to a bar with a ragged banner calling itself 'Salomo's'. The buildings on all sides had been devastated by the fighting but the bar still stood, the tree that survives a storm while all around it fall.
The inside of the bar was crowded but Sukui was served with a tall carafe of scented mineral water without delay. The barman appeared to know him. Katya studied the faces around her and sipped at her drink, grateful that Sukui and Ngota were leaving her to herself, that they had sensed her mood. She was surprised at how many of the faces she recognised, from Mono, fronting a musical ensemble at the far end of the room, to Chet Alpha and Kardinal Mondata, playing cards and stone-rolling on a nearby clear part of the floor.
She took the last mouthful from her glass, swilled it around, spat it back. 'For the starving,' she muttered, the action the only thing she remembered about her mother, before Katya had gone into the company crèche.
Sukui was looking at her intently; Ngota was watching Mondata throwing his stones.
'I'm not supposed to be here,' said Katya, carefully. 'My director ordered me away.
'That does not necessarily mean that you should not be here,' said Sukui. 'Sometimes an order is wrong.' He appeared to be pained by this statement. 'Why have you come?'
'There are parts of the Holy Corporation about which even an active is kept ignorant.' She shook her head. She didn't know how to say what she was thinking, it was all a mess in her head. She needed to Max but she fought it down, wondered suddenly how much of that need was her own, how much was imposed by her conditioning, by her implants. She felt so confused... clutched desperately at her words. 'It's all gone wrong in Newest Delhi. I think the next place where it might go wrong is here in Orlyons... I think there will be trouble. I think there are factions within GenGen—factions within my own division, the Romans—which work outside normal parameters. Our book in
The Second Testament
says that where there is no law there is no transgression; the Maxim says
Sin's wage is terminal
. There are death squads on Expatria, Sukui-san. I think they're all converging on Orlyons. I came here because I have worked it out that far but I'm lost and I don't know what can be done about it.' She grabbed at her face, fought for control.
When she looked up Sukui was smiling his most irritating smile. He rose from his seat and bowed. 'Come with me, RoKatya Tatin. I have something to show you.'
He glanced at Lucilla, nodded, led Katya out of Salomo's bar and back into the dusty streets of Orlyons.
They stopped by the next block of buildings beyond the rubble. Sukui nodded to a man at the door and led Katya in. Inside, there was a woman armed with a hunting rifle. 'Vera-Lynne Perse fought with the Musical Underground,' said Sukui. 'But now she is too busy.'
He led Katya through another set of doors, past a huge man with the word 'Slide' scrawled all over his long leather coat. Sukui stopped before a door with a little barred window. He gestured to Katya and she peered into the dim interior of the room.
It was full of Romans—twenty-five, maybe thirty of them—faces she knew, all of them evangelicals. RoMihoko, RoLexja, RoMilton, RoCrue. And standing near to the room's centre was RoValentin, himself, the only individual she had ever suspected of being more than a mere evangelical. He caught her eye, held it, then broke away.
Katya looked at Sukui. She felt torn. These were
Romans
. Held in prison by Expatrians. She should free them... she knew she should free them.
'Here are your death squads,' said Sukui softly. 'They are being treated fairly, I can assure you of that.'
'How did you find them?'
'I have known this town for many years, it is a wonderful place. The people of Orlyons are not easily fooled. They have coped with all kinds of upheavals: I am yet to discover something that can defeat them. A few assassins are nothing to an Orloisee.'
She looked at Sukui's gentle smile. At that moment she could have hugged him.
He turned and she followed him out past Slide and Vera-Lynne Perse. 'There are more, if you wish to examine their conditions of confinement,' said Sukui.
She shook her head, said, 'No. I trust you.'
Sukui stopped suddenly in the exit and Katya looked over his shoulder, out onto the street. There was a squad of Roman actives—Sugratski, Lincoln, Mika, all people she had known as friends. Ahead of them, urging them on, was Director Roux, riding his autonome in jerky movements, sweeping across the street to clear the way for his squad. She stepped back into the building, wondering if there was another way out. 'Control of the body,' she muttered, wishing she was able to translate the Maxim into action.