Manifestations (16 page)

As Amy had explained to her, if she wanted to keep being a part of the Primacy she had to keep giving the Will something to support, or her influence would simply fade away.

The Prime’s office — and others — had a dedicated staff to keep up this steady stream of ideas and proposals, not to mention the moguls that disseminated his opinions in more discreet entertainments. Hundreds of thoughts and draft directives were floated — most of which were supported simply because they came from the Prime — and those that got the strongest backing could guide the next day’s official motions. In this way, an efficient bureau could test the public reaction to a strategy before it was in place, to predict what would or wouldn’t be a popular suggestion — though this had never proven to be a successful long-term tactic for a Civic career. The Will wasn’t stupid.

At least, that’s what Charlotte thought. Some Representatives filed regularly, pushing out ideas they thought would be popular to stay afloat or creating motions they thought would genuinely improve society. She liked to assume that humanity was essentially rational and that people didn’t always act out of self-interest, which made it much harder to write for.

Much had changed for Charlotte Betts since she had become a part of the Primacy, she reflected. In point of fact, everything in the world seemed to have changed. Six months ago the psis were barely part of the global consciousness, and now every man, woman and child had to choose for themselves whether or not to wear the psi symbol on their person. She wasn’t happy about that. The psis had done themselves no favours with their attacks and demands.

Charlotte sighed. These thoughts were just rehashings of things she’d said before and she needed something new. It was Saturday; time for her status report. Amy forced her to do them every week, to keep those who followed her stream up to date on what she had been doing and what she had achieved. There was very little to say this week!

A black ooze had swallowed a whole city. Four million lives were lost. What could Charlotte Betts,, possibly add to that? Were her deep-felt condolences enough? The problem, she felt, was that she didn’t even understand what had taken place. One minute Busan was there, the next it was not. It was horrifically simple and simply horrific.

No, she had nothing to say today. She filled her morning listening to the backlog of petitions. The psi collections had accelerated after the conflict in the Cape, and more and more protests arose from the loved ones of those who had been taken. Charlotte tried to listen and respond to each of them, but it was heartbreaking. She only listened to remind herself who she spoke for.

Charlotte had dedicated boosters now who spread her words and backed the motions she put forward. Not that it was doing them any good. She hadn’t achieved a single thing since her rise to office. Not one psi released, not one apology from the Prime. It was frustrating. Some days she didn’t know why she bothered and Max had to remind her that she was the conscience. She was meant to be the voice of reason so that things didn’t get any worse.

Nothing was right with the world and she had to find a damn outfit for a party she didn’t want to go to. She could write about that, no problem!

Every item of clothing she owned was now spread out on her bed, chairs and desk. Amy reminded her when she had worn a particular item before, and thus it couldn’t be worn again for this occasion.
Why is it that every occasion needs a new dress? Though, perhaps, this occasion calls for it. Your mother only turns a hundred years old once, after all.

She needn’t have worried. Amy found something for her on the Weave and arranged for it to be delivered; a benefactor who wanted Charlotte to wear her dress to the ball. Charlotte admitted that it fitted her well, a combination of two whites, and it was slimming where she wanted. Respectful to the event, combined with muted celebration.

‘Come on, Charlotte. Time to go,’ Max said. He was dressed in a three-hued suit: chocolate with black cuffs and blue edge-to-edge lining. At least he looked nice. Max was shaved and more neatly groomed than she’d ever seen him.

‘Do I have to go?’ she asked.

‘Yes. It would be a disaster if you didn’t show up. Don’t worry, I’ll be with you.’ He held his arm up for her to hold.

‘Well, that will help. My mother simply
adores
you,’ she said sarcastically.

‘She doesn’t hate me, does she?’ Max asked uncertainly.

‘Only by association, I’m sure.’ She patted his leg.

Ellizabeth Betts’s gala — an orgy of civilised society — was on the boot of old Europe, which meant a jet and a squib for three hours. Deep in the Roman empire, in a fine old ruin just like her.

Ellizabeth Betts was a real lady. She believed in civilisation, and so she was civilised. She managed to maintain a place in the highest society with nothing but her intelligence and refinement to make her ‘desired company’. Her art was the finest; her furnishings were art. Men and women gravitated to her for moments when their more animal instincts could be soothed and bathed in her fine example.

Charlotte tried not to think certain things. She hadn’t spoken with her mother, or connected to her stream, for nearly forty years. She felt bad about that, but she had just never been able to face it. Like the lady she was, her mother respected her wishes.

She had grown up wanted by the world, or so it had seemed. It took a long time for her to understand that when people couldn’t get what they wanted from the mother, they tried to curry favour with the daughter. Gifts and treats and favours were all Charlotte knew from the day she was born.

Then one day she realised this and broke the chains. Anyone who had ever tried to use Charlotte for leverage was blocked from her life and from her stream. In her tantrum, she didn’t question the difference between friends and enemies. She wanted to start afresh and Charlotte did every despicable and public act she could think of until finally her mother had no choice but to distance herself.

She ran into the arms of any man who would have her, of which there were plenty, so long as they had nothing to do with her mother. There were innumerable men her mother had thwarted, plenty who wanted the status of tapping the Betts girl, plenty who liked her young and willing body. She was starting to suspect that the main reason she hadn’t forgiven her mother was that she would have to admit to herself what a giant fool she had been.

‘I don’t know why my mother always insists on dragging people out into the wilds,’ she said.

‘This is hardly the wilds, Charlie.’

‘It will be cold.’

‘A cold night in the haunted lands.’

‘Don’t call them that.’

‘You’re not worried about ghosts, are you, Charlie?’

‘Don’t be silly, Max. It’s just cruel to the people who still live there.’

‘Ah, you’re right. We must remain respectful at all times. I learnt that from you.’ Max smiled. He was happy with himself. For once, he’d attached himself to the right train and his prospects were rising. Max’s association with Charlotte had elevated him significantly in the last few months and, if he chose, he could be an independent voice in his own right. For now, though, he stuck by Charlotte’s side.

‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked.

She hit him with her clutch purse. ‘Why do you have to ask that?’

‘It’s a long ride, I’ve got nothing else to do.’

‘If you must know, I was thinking about you.’

‘And?’

‘Have you ever met my mother, in person?’

‘No. I never received my invitation.’

‘Well, now you can be a plus one.’ She patted him patronisingly on the knee.

‘Just what I always dreamt of.’ He put his hand over hers and winked. Charlotte looked at him and smiled. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about him. ‘Amy says you haven’t put out your release this week. Did you snap at her when she asked?’

‘Yes. I’ll apologise. I just haven’t got anything to say.’

‘Impossible.’

‘Will you stop trying to jibe me? There is nothing you can say or do to get me in the mood for this.’

‘It’s worth trying. I’ve heard so much about your mother’s parties. Why aren’t you looking forward to it?’

‘I would if my mother wasn’t going to be there.’

‘Charlie, it’s time to smooth that out. You would get quite a bump if she supported you,’ he coaxed.

‘I’ll do my best, Max,’ she replied.

They landed in a sheltered squib pad. The wall was artfully lit and delicate plants were spaced as if they were in a courtyard. Four assistants rushed out to meet them, holding fluff coats and hoods for them to put on.

Great,
she thought.
I love the cold.

They didn’t have to walk far though, just to the edge of the tent where a fat-wheeled jeep waited to take them to the party. This was only a staging area, the villa itself being further up the mountain. The elder Betts didn’t want flying traffic to distract from the
mise en scène.

The road up was decrepit and crumbling. The jeep was buffeted by strong mountain winds and Charlotte jumped at the thunks as stones blew into the side.

‘You still don’t think she’s crazy?’

‘Eccentric.’ Max squeezed her hand.

Ahead of them they could see a glowing yellow canopy where an artificial dome had been erected, looking like an egg yolk had dropped onto the mountain. As they entered, the wind fell silent behind them and they stepped into a warm pavilion tickled with music.

Luckily her mother was too busy to meet her. Perhaps it was just that amongst such esteemed company her daughter had been deprioritised, even if she was part of the Primacy. Max and Charlotte turned in their invitations and were taken into the party tent.

Ellizabeth had brought all her friends to this remote ruin for her centenary. There were luminaries from universities across the globe, such as Neruda Yunque, Tera Gienau, Conrad Ricci, Liza Obrokta ... Celebrities of every make and model, including the young mistress of the erotic sensorium, Wendy Berkan. Max winked at Charlotte again and then disappeared into the circles of conversation.

Charlotte grabbed up a flute of champagne and withdrew to stand by the wall where she could watch the people she used to know. She recognised her mother’s former protégés and Servicemen of the previous wave who had been in attendance when she was young.

Despite her efforts at hiding, many people wanted to talk to her, to say hello to Ellizabeth’s daughter — they had heard so much — but Charlotte found them easy to get rid of by trying to engage them in discussion of the psi situation. They slipped out of such topics with generalities about how terrible the business in the Cape was, or by bringing up the black thing from nowhere.

She found herself drawn into conversation with the youngest member of the FutureFuture Club, a loud man called Lucius Gregg who was running a public hypothesis about natural diversity. Charlotte was amused by his cocky manner and was almost swept away by his antithetical approach to research.

‘You see, all I have to do is pitch theories to the Weave and let the masses complete the research. I have five hypotheses out there now and I don’t have to do anything but monitor and summarise the results. Most of that can be done with automation.’ He laughed large. The coterie of entranced women around him tittered.

‘Did you really once say the World Union was ridiculous?’ one of the gushing young women around him asked.

‘Oh, not at all. I was misquoted — taken out of context. Global government is a noble pursuit. We just shouldn’t be too idealistic about it. The founders of the WU recognised that we will never all agree, so they built a system capable of handling diversity. The World Union is one of the few human-made systems I do have faith in. It is the smaller groupings that fight the law of diversity, but some things cannot be fixed.’

‘The law of what?’

‘That’s what I’m calling it: the law of diversity. In homage to the great Darwin, of course. I’m not surprised if you haven’t heard of it, it hasn’t been proven yet. In fact, I only came up with it yesterday but I’m having fun extrapolating already. Look at anything, art, history, families, group psychology — all can be explained if the law of diversity is recognised. While we strive for unity, nature is pulling in all directions at once. Diversity is why we will never get everybody to agree. Diversity is why we will never cure every disease. We were born to be different, and that’s why humanity can never be controlled,’ he explained.

But he wasn’t talking to impress Charlotte, he had his audience.

Her arm was pulled by strange fingers, elongated four-knuckled hands and claws of blue. Her mother didn’t normally welcome the augmented, or ‘freaked’ as the younger generation called it. ‘Charlie dear, it’s been so long. How long has it been?’

Charlotte ran a scan to find out who this was. The woman was Miz Ramona Schnell, patron of the animal underclasses.

‘It is so nice to have you as a Representative, Charlotte. I cannot say how good I feel knowing there is a kind heart speaking at that level.’ Charlotte tried to thank her, but Ramona continued over the top. ‘And that you are a Betts, no less. Your mother must be pleased.’

‘Oh, I’m not sure my civic status has ever been high on her priorities.’