Manifestations (18 page)

‘In this hotel, where we are standing, the Örjians arrived as they did everywhere. The story goes that the survivors living here were gathered in the courtyard, just behind us there.’ Ellizabeth raised an arm to indicate the flat area behind the crowd, where the light dimmed into darkness.

‘They were given an ultimatum: to live they would have to fight each other, as only one would be allowed to join the horde. And so the people fought. They either fought or were killed. By the end there were only two left. A man — who had seen his wife and children degraded and dismembered, a man who had just killed the friends he had been living with for years — and a young girl. She was barely two years old and no one had touched her during the fighting. The man had to decide whether it was worse for the child to die or for her to live and be raised by the Örjians.’

Her voice floated into the dark place behind them and they waited for her to continue. She looked over their heads to the darkness of the old courtyard.

‘What a terrible choice it must have been.’

‘What happened?’ somebody asked.

‘The story doesn’t say what happened. Or rather, I’ve heard it ended in different ways.’

Those in the crowd could feel the scene standing behind them. They had been drilled with fear for the Örjian horde, the eugenetics and splicer clones. Ellizabeth Betts left them to their thoughts for only a moment.

‘I apologise for telling this rather morbid tale on this night of celebration, but I tell it because there is much to celebrate. Life is a precious thing, which is to say life isn’t merely valuable; it is to say that life is fragile. Life is precarious. We can never forget what it is to be human and civilised. That is why I would like us all to raise our glasses to my daughter — who, despite everything that is happening in the world, has not forgotten that what makes life precious is more than just being alive. Thank you, Charlotte. Your gift of hope is the best present a centenarian could receive.’

The crowd raised their glasses.

~ * ~

The party did well for both Charlotte and Max. His rank brought him into the top 0.5 making him a candidate for the Primacy, and she had the potential to become Prime if she wished it.

Charlotte was quiet beside him on the flight home, nibbling at her bottom lip.

‘What’s wrong? Didn’t you have a good time?’

‘It was fine, I’m just thinking.’

‘You seemed to make up with your mother. I’d say that went very well.’

‘Yes. Yes. I did what you wanted.’

‘Then what is it?’

She nodded and smiled patiently at him. ‘Nothing, Max. I’m just composing.’

I have struggled, in this week of tragedy, to find a topic worthy of discussion. Tonight I was reminded of something. To control another is to remove their humanity. We have segregated the psis in fear that they would remove our control, but in doing so we have committed that very crime against them. How dare we judge them by the reactions we have provoked?

Max opened his mouth to speak. ‘Shush, darling, I’ll share it with you when it’s ready.’

When she returned to her apartment she stood before the mirror and quietly pinned a badge to her collar, a simple cloth circle with the white forked Y of the psis.

~ * ~

Atlantic was one of the biggest ecosystems in the world. It, like all the megacities of Earth, was encapsulated by the habitation, farming and industrial territory it required to maintain itself. It had many parts, as it had been born of older cities, some of which connected, many which didn’t.

The World Union had no sustained presence in the Cape. There was no centralised planning, no major transport, no single government. Each area looked after itself and protected its territory. Dozens of despots — alternatively called chiefs, bosses or mayors — ruled over small built-up areas and controlled tracts of farming land around the city to feed their people.

This had been the way of Atlantic for a long time, and the situation hadn’t changed with the coming of the psi rebellion. Each of these chiefs had been vying against each other for decades. James Reay, Hilary Carlton, Nathan Cusf and Teddy Bleech were low-ranking landholders who used their supply chains as leverage with the bigger chiefs — Lior Ligure and Boris Arkady. Freddy ‘Froggy’ Klinski had been considered the third big chief until much of his territory had been taken over by Chiggy’s benders; now he was hovering in a middle tier of power.

Doctor Salvator smoothed his hair back and looked around the table. Tamsin and La Gréle had nominated him as the speaker for the psis since the norms didn’t like being around telepaths. The reward for his good standing in the community.

It had taken a whole day just to agree on a location for the meeting, as none would meet on another’s territory, and nor would they come near the psi headquarters. Now they had been in the room for three hours and made zero progress.

‘You want something from me? How about I get something from you? That’s how trade works,’ Froggy said. He wore heavy chains of gold and gems over a high-necked metallic skivvy.

‘What can we give you?’ Sal asked, not for the first time. He reached for the jug of water and refilled his glass.

‘The benders have taken my buildings. I demand to have them back.’

‘We can’t give them back. We do not speak for the benders,’ Sal patiently repeated.

‘Then I want new buildings.’ Froggy pushed at the maps that were spread on the table.

‘I’m sure something can be arranged, but what are you offering us?’

‘Whoa, whoa. Hold your deal there, Sal,’ Boris interrupted. He was in a white suit with a lurid shirt bright enough to outshine his mirror teeth. ‘It don’t work like that. You can’t dole out territory without asking the rest of us first. Don’t throw the weight around, it’s irresponsible.’

‘There’s plenty of disused territory. Would that satisfy you, Freddy?’ Sal asked.

‘Hold on, now, I said,’ Boris interrupted again. ‘Froggy here is playing you. He only had plastics before. He’s just using this excuse to get a free upgrade to solids. Don’t let him sucker you, Sal.’

Sal turned to the man with the mirrored mouth. ‘Can you offer something better, Boris? You know what we need.’

‘Food and water. I have the most of both.’

‘So what will it take for you to supply us?’ he asked.

Boris leant back in his chair and pursed his lips. His teeth glinted out from beneath his cold smile. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to help you. I do, but what guarantee can you give me? The benders took Froggy’s buildings, what’s to stop them taking mine?’

‘Tamsin won’t let that happen.’

‘Are you saying, then, that she let it happen the first time? Can she really control this Chiggy so much?’

‘Yes.’

Boris laughed, softly in his chest. ‘Perhaps I should say that again. Will she control him?’ Salvator was slow to answer and the room felt the truth out for itself. ‘You see? It is my understanding that Chiggy doesn’t talk to tappers either. None of you have even met with him yet, have you?’

‘Not face to face,’ Sal admitted.

There had always been rumours of this Chiggy. A bender so powerful he hadn’t had any need to move since he was a boy. If he wanted something, he made it come to him.

Legend had it that Chiggy was so fat he could barely move his body. He lived in a bed on a mobile floor that he levitated with his mind.

When Atlantic had been declared a psi freedom zone he had emerged, claiming a huge area and blocking it off to telepaths. He was now Chiggy of Chiggy’s Arena where the benders fought. He used his powers to instil fear in his followers. If that didn’t work, he crushed their skulls and let it be a lesson to others.

Tamsin and Chiggy had been communicating on paper that was couriered back and forth by messengers. As strong as they both were, they could not trust the other to meet without attacking.

‘Have you met him?’ Sal asked.

‘No,’ Boris said, ‘but I speak with his associates. The benders are the real power in the Cape now, not the tappers. I think I’ll deal with Chiggy. He needs food too.’

‘A lot of it from what I hear.’ Teddy Bleech, not a small man himself, made a joke from the sidelines. ‘I assure you, Tamsin Grey and La Gréle are leading this revolution. Not Chiggy. I’ve been sent here to find equitable terms for your support, but if they can’t be found, then I’m not sure what Tamsin will be forced to do.’

‘And I’m not sure what I’ll be forced to do.’ Boris smiled. His teeth reflected.

‘Are you expecting our support or demanding it?’ asked Lior Ligure, proprietor of the TigerPark and its surrounds. In keeping with the theme of his arena, his suit and shirt were striped like the legendary animal.

‘Let me say again that we are not here as invaders or conquerors. Many of us have lived in the Cape as long as you have,’ Sal said.

‘But why come here? Why not Mexica, or STOC?’

‘This is where we came.’

And this is where we are staying.
The double doors opened and Tamsin strode through, closing them behind her twin shadows of Okonta and Risom.

‘What is the meaning of this? You promised us no tappers,’ Lior blustered.

‘Tamsin, what are you doing here?’ Sal asked.

I couldn’t wait.

What’s wrong? Are they attacking?

No. But we’ve picked up transmissions. There are some runners from the north approaching the perimeter. They need sanctuary. They’re in an old bus that is failing.

‘Sit down, norms,’ Tamsin commanded. Each of the men in the room felt their knees bend under them and they were pushed backward into their seats. ‘Thank you.’

Okonta and Risom took a place at either end of the table, both ex-Services agents different in every way. Okonta, dark skin and old enough that his hair was turning to grey, stood tall and impassive, saying nothing and his eyes unmoving. He didn’t need them to see.

Risom was just a boy and stood cradling his new silver arm to his chest, scratching it as if it was niggling him — which was impossible as it had no nerve simulation. The removal of his symbiot had not gone smoothly and Sal himself had been the one to amputate and affix the crude replacement. The boy seemed to bear him no ill will.

‘You’ve broken your word already, Sal,’ Boris said. ‘You said our minds would be our own to make and yet, here she is.’

Tamsin answered. ‘Yes, we said that, but it was a courtesy and this is now taking too long. Did you think we would let you stand in our way? Now, everybody, we don’t want all of Atlantic to go like Bendertown. We want to avoid that. But we’ll need you to start cooperating.’

‘What’s in it for us?’

She counted the reasons on her fingers. ‘Your lives, your positions, the lives of those you care about ... that’s all I can think of. Tell me if that isn’t enough.’

‘You come in here with threats and expect us to cooperate?’ Teddy Bleech protested. ‘We’re going to deal with Chiggy.’

‘Let me tell you something: you should be thanking me. Chiggy wouldn’t even give you the respect of a threat. He’d just pop your little head like the melon it is. There is much worse than me, gentlemen.’

‘You can’t do this.’

‘I think I can.’

‘And what if we say no?’ Lior asked loudly.

Tamsin looked to Risom, who was impatiently rolling on his heels and stroking his metal. He grinned and took a small stone from his pocket. It floated into the air and travelled smoothly to the centre of the meeting table, every eye following it. For a moment it hovered before the owner of the TigerPark, then it disappeared and Lior’s head hit the table, blood spreading from beneath.

The pebble returned smoothly to Risom’s waiting hand, making a red strip on his palm.

‘Who else would like to put their pride ahead of their life?’ Tamsin asked. The rest of the group stayed silent. Even Boris Arkady didn’t meet her eyes.

Tamsin looked at each of the chiefs and bosses in turn, and once she was done she nodded. ‘Good. We’ll take what was Ligure’s, problem solved. Now, I suggest that, if you don’t want Risom and I to come to your future meetings, you start listening to what Salvator tells you. We are not asking any more.’

Don’t take too long,
Tamsin thought to Sal and left with her men.

~ * ~

Salvator was furious. He was a man slow to anger, but it took him just as long to cool. He closed off the meeting as quickly as he could. The men agreed to his demands readily, but he could tell they were already looking for ways to escape the position Tamsin had put them in.

Her revolution certainly hadn’t started how Tamsin had hoped. She was tired, he knew, but they were all tired.

Almost as soon as the rebellion had been established the screams had started from the arena. They heard from those who had been present, both norms and tappers, that the ground had split open and an enormous man rose out of it on a flat stone tablet and began systematically exploding the heads of those who challenged him. He stopped when the screams stopped.

Now that whole area had been cut off. Bendertown. That’s what they were calling the zone to the south where the majority of the kinetics had set up with the strict mandate that telepaths had to stay out or die.