Ephialtes (Ephialtes Trilogy Book 1) (51 page)

Bobby took
the call in the middle of the night.  Anthony didn’t even have the good
grace to call himself.  He asked one of the nurses to do it.  The
nurse told Bobby he should come as soon as possible.  Jack was weakening
and this was probably the end.

On arriving at
the house he made his way to his father’s bedroom, which now bore only scant
similarity to the place he recalled from his childhood.  He remembered
jumping up and down on the bed with Anthony, and he remembered clambering into
bed with his father and having stories read to him.  The room from his
memories was now was overlaid with medical equipment and the people in there,
the nurses, doctor and lawyer, made it seem a public space and not the intimate
family home of his memories.

“How is he?”
said Bobby.

At first no
one answered then one of the nurses said, “He’s comfortable.”

He looked
anything but comfortable.  A breathing tube was taped to his face and
another tube from his arm lead to a drip.  He was propped up and his head
lolled forward at an angle.  His eyes were closed but his mouth hung open
and his tongue was hanging out.  His breathing was noisy and laboured.

“Is he
awake?” said Bobby.

“No,” said
the nurse.  “He’s been like this for the last four hours or so.  The
doctor thinks he’s very close to the end now.  It’s good that you’re
here.”

Bobby moved
around to the side of the bed where Anthony was sitting.  He put a hand on
Anthony’s shoulder.  “How’re you doing?” he said.

“I’m fine,”
said Anthony.  “Thanks for coming.”

“Is there
anything you need me to do?”

“No, it’s all
taken care of.  We just need to be here now.  For Dad.”

“Okay,” said
Bobby, and he pulled up a seat next to Anthony.

They sat like
that for a few hours.  Bobby went to get them some water at one
point.  They sat and looked at their father, occasionally entering into a
whispered exchange with one of the nurses or the doctor.  The doctor had
nothing to do.  His patient was far beyond help and the nurses were more
than capable of administering the painkilling medication he had prescribed. 
In truth, the only reason he was there was that Jack Karjalainen was rich
enough to afford a personal physician and his imminent death, as the ultimate
health crisis, required that physician’s presence.  In order to look busy
and medical the doctor, from time to time, would look at the instruments
monitoring Jack Karjalainen’s state of health and then refer to his comdev to
make a few notes.  He would then whisper into one of the
nurses
ears and the nurse would nod back at him with a
serious face.  It was all pantomime.  Everyone in the room knew why
they were there.  They were simply waiting for Jack Karjalainen to
die.  Nothing they could do would make a difference.  He was
unconscious now so even pain relief, the one thing they did have some control
over, was superfluous.  They went about their business, playing their
parts in a drama over which they had no influence.

It was during
one of their pointless performances, this one being a nurse whispering to
Anthony about maintaining Jack’s
hydration, that
he
leaned forward slightly and appeared to be wincing as if in pain.  He fell
back on the bed and moved his head, the first time he had done so since Bobby
arrived.  He let out a long breath and appeared to stop breathing. 
The nurse went to him as if to adjust his breathing tube, but the doctor
gestured for her to leave it alone.  For a long time there was no sound of
breathing and it seemed to Bobby like his father was gone, but then there was
another gasp and Jack’s face twisted into a weird shape.  He exhaled
slowly and seemed to slump.  After that there were no more breaths.

The medical
staff kept a respectful distance for a few minutes.  Anthony was holding
Jack’s hand and tears silently rolled down his face.  Bobby sat with head
bowed.  He gently put an arm around his brother’s shoulders.

“I’m very
sorry,” one of the nurses said and Bobby nodded in acknowledgement.  The
nurse took Jack’s other wrist and held it for a while, confirming there was no
pulse.  She nodded at the doctor, who made a note on his comdev.

“Would you
like a few minutes in private?” said the doctor.

“Yes,” said
Anthony, “we’d appreciate that.”

It’s said
that important decisions should never be made when tired or angry.  After
staying up two whole days and nights with his dying father, and immediately
after witnessing his death, Anthony Karjalainen went directly to Charles
Venkdt’s
office.

After
initially being held up by
Venkdt’s
PA he was finally
told that his president was currently busy with an important function. 
The PA’s reticence had wound him up even further.  It took some more
infuriating pressing to get the PA to reveal what and where the function
was.  Anthony left the Venkdt building with fire in his eyes.

He had been
told that Venkdt was addressing the inaugural meeting of the Martian Trade
Association.  This quasi-governmental organisation had been put
together with the purpose of allowing networking between Mars’ emerging
business class and forging some sort of unified front in key business
areas.  All Martian enterprises needed financial resources as well as
logistics, communications and regulation.  Taxation was another
issue.  It was something Venkdt thought he would leave to a later
meeting.  The inaugural session was something more akin to a backslapping
session or a works beano, particularly in light of its setting in Gluttony, one
of Marineris’ premier restaurants.

On entering
the restaurant all Anthony Karjalainen could see was his father’s sworn enemy,
in business for the last thirty years and in a profound ideological sense for
the last few months of his life.  For Anthony Karjalainen Charles Venkdt
represented everything bad.

Venkdt was
standing at the head of a long centre table and was making a rambling informal
speech.  His audience were mostly attentive and a few waiting staff moved
about the room clearing plates from the dessert courses and bringing
coffees.  Venkdt was smiling, having just made a light-hearted
remark about something or other.

“Charles
Venkdt!” shouted Anthony.  Venkdt stopped and peered through the semi-darkness
to the figure he could see approaching.  Two of Foveaux’s MSS personnel,
seated either side of the room, snapped to panicked attention.  Until now
they had been enjoying the cushy assignment and free food.  A crowded room
such as this was a terrible place to have to subdue an assailant.  They
both desperately hoped the situation was benign, and each was keenly aware that
inaction or overreaction were equally undesirable.  One caught the other’s
eye as they both stood, hands moving towards their concealed firearms. 
They had the ability to immobilise a target and silently communicated their
intention to do just that should the situation deteriorate further.

“First of
all,” said Anthony, striding across the floor of the restaurant as if he was
about to start a bar fight, “I want you to know that I do not recognise you as
my president.”

“Anthony?”
said Venkdt, dumbfounded.  All eyes were on Anthony, some of the more
distant patrons standing and craning for a better view.

“And I want
you to know that when the USAN arrives, as they are going to someday, somehow,
they’re going to install me as interim president and I’m going to oversee the
reversal of everything you’ve done.  You are a threat to peace on this
planet and you’re a disgrace to your own company, the company that bears your
name.”  Anthony had stopped just short of Venkdt and he jabbed his finger
violently as he spoke.  The two MSS personnel were silently drifting
closer to Venkdt.

Anthony turned
to the crowded restaurant behind him.  Again, he crazily jabbed his finger
as he spoke.  “And all of you are complicit.  Every one of you. 
If any of you had any decency, a single shred of patriotism for our home planet
and great nation, you would have hauled this man off to the stockade months
ago.  It’s not too late.  Here he is, right now, in front of
you.  The Great Traitor.  Are you going to do anything?”  He
waited in vain for an answer.  “Look into your hearts.  We will have
our planet back.  You need to decide which side you’re on.  When this
terrible injustice has been righted I will remember where each one of you
stood.  With me, or against me.”

Venkdt had
detected that although Antony’s anger was being directed at him it may have
bubbled up from somewhere else.  “How’s your father, Anthony?” he said.

“My father is
dead,” spat Anthony, “and don’t act like you give a shit.  You always
hated him and you hated everything he stood for.  He was a good man, a man
who knew right from wrong and would stand up for it.  He could see right
through you.  He could see what your power grab was all about.  He
wasn’t taken in by all your fancy words and that comfortable, matey manner in
your streams.  He knew what you were about: power.  You wanted to
seize this planet to use for your own ends, and people like my father could see
right through you.  Well I can see right through you too, and when the
army arrive I’m going to be right there when they throw you in jail.”

“I’m sorry to
hear about your father,” said Venkdt.  “He was a good man.”

Anthony
snorted.  “You didn’t even know my father, he was nothing to you.”

Venkdt
shrugged.  He knew there was no point arguing and he could see the
distress Anthony was in.  He hoped the talk was all bluster.  He bore
Anthony no ill will, but it was hard to deny that talking about throwing
presidents in prison wasn’t treasonous.  “I think you should go home,
Anthony.  You’re very upset and you need some time alone to think things
over.  I’m sorry for your loss, please relay my sympathies to the rest of
your family.”

“That’s right
Venkdt, I’m going home.  But the next time I see you I’m going to have an
army with me.  You’d better be ready.”  He turned and left, the MSS
agents skittering behind him at a short distance.

Venkdt stared
at the door long after Anthony had left.  He knew the kid was in a
distressed state but some of the things he had said would have to be
addressed.  Was it all bluster?  The things he had said about the
USAN Army installing him as president sounded unsettlingly specific, and some
of the other things he had said had been directly threatening.  A loud
murmur hummed through the room as the politico-business class discussed
exactly that.

Venkdt had
always known that being president would mean taking difficult decisions. 
He had genuine sympathy for a young man who had just lost his father, but
openly challenging the president was something he could not let stand.  It
was well known that the
Venkdts
and
Karjalainens
were rivals in business, and that
Hjälp
Teknik
was the only
challenger to
Venkdt’s
operation on Mars.  He
didn’t like the way it would look for him to be arresting the new CEO of his
erstwhile rival.  It could easily be interpreted as an abuse of power, of
him using his presidency to silence his enemies.  But equally he couldn’t
let someone threaten the presidency in public with impunity.  He knew what
he had to do.  He did it with a heavy heart.

He tapped on
his comdev and spoke to his PA.  “Can you get me Ms Foveaux, please,” he
said.  Moments later, as colleagues fussed about him, his comdev
buzzed.  It was Foveaux.  He made his excuses and quickly walked to
an anteroom for some privacy.  “Hello,” he said into his comdev.

“I was asked
to call you,” replied Foveaux.

“Yes,” said
Venkdt.  “You know Anthony Karjalainen, Jack Karjalainen’s son?”

“I do,” said
Foveaux.

“I need you
to arrest him.”

“Arrest him?”

“Yes. 
You need to be quite sensitive about it; his father has just died.”

“Okay. 
What are the charges?”

“Sedition.”

Anthony
Karjalainen, despite having only grabbed a few hours’ rest here and there over
the previous forty-eight hours, had not gone home after leaving
Venkdt.  He had headed to a café to have breakfast.  He didn’t want
to be around people he knew, people who might be asking questions about his
father or how he felt.  He didn’t want to be at home, where the coms would
be buzzing and visitors would be dropping by.  As well as not sleeping he
had not eaten properly either, so he headed for a café where he had a full English
breakfast with beans and tomatoes.

He was wiping
up the bean juice with a piece of bread when the two officers arrived.  He
paid no attention to them.  The bean juice was mixed with tomato juice and
there were also remnants of brown sauce and tomato ketchup, with bits of egg
yolk and some bacon oil in there, too.  The bread was buttered and it
picked up the fabulous liquid, which tasted incredible in Anthony’s
mouth.  He was so distracted by the unbelievable flavours he didn’t notice
the officers approach.