Expatria: The Box Set (42 page)

CHAPTER 18

He had killed a man once. He had pushed him over a balcony and watched him tumbling to the ground. The details were still fresh in his mind: he had spent three days in the dream, three days with Siggy Axelmeyer's accusing look as the Prime's cousin fell unerringly away.

Kasimir Sukui stepped towards his room's small window and looked out over the gardens of the Primal Manse. Birds hovered, darting, occasionally, after flies and moths. Tree frogs clung to walls, chipping away at the dusk chorus, adding their tinny sounds to the mass.

The scents were strong this evening. There had been rain. The dampness always brought out the scents. It was as if the odour molecules were more able to cling to a moisture in the air. He wondered if that was a possibility or if it was merely another distorted element of his own fantasy.

He had said and thought so many strange things during his recovery from illness. The delirium had been worse than his forced inhabitation of the dreamscape. At least, in his dream, he had understood his world.

He turned and then steadied himself, reminded again that his limbs had grown unused to manipulating his bodyweight. 'Control of the body,' he reminded himself, muttering as he had heard RoKatya mutter so often.

He left the room for the first time since his illness, struggling to calm his complaining body. His animal essence was so close to the surface: now he could clearly see how thin was the veneer of culture that held it in bonds. A simple crisis of the body was all that was required to puncture that skin. For so long he had been in control but now he saw that the animal was always there, lurking within. It was, he acknowledged, an undeniable part of his nature, as embedded in his genome as was his facility for language or science.

He came to a crouching servant. She did not appear to be aware of his presence. She polished a low shelf of decorative vases as if that was all that could ever exist in her tiny world.

'I,' said Sukui, pausing as she glanced at him, 'am an animal.' He dipped his head and smiled.

The servant returned to her polishing and Sukui to his slow walk.

He felt better already.

He came to a junction of corridors which he felt might be familiar. He rested for a minute, and then he heard voices approaching.

'My lord.' He bowed his head, despite the dizziness he knew such an action would cause.

Prime Edward stopped before him, his mother and one of his two half-sisters by his side. 'Kasimir,' said the Prime. 'It is good to see you on your feet again. Nobody told me you were awake.'

'Are you well enough to be up?' said Natalia, searching his face. The signs of his exertion must be apparent to all, he thought.

'I assure you,' he said. 'I am in the finest of health. Please accept my gratitude for your hospitality during my incapacity and let me express my gratitude for... ' He was losing track of things. Blackness was seeping into the corners of his vision.

He paused. 'Thank you, my lord,' he said. 'You have been most kind.'

'Will you walk with us?' asked Natalia. She took his arm and they began to walk. 'The Prime was telling us about his latest encounter with Directors Roux and Saluka. Please, my lord, I was listening.'

Edward straightened; Natalia plainly knew how to treat him. 'There is not much more to tell. As I say, I told them that, although they remain welcome in the city of Newest Delhi, they must remember the established order of things. We have our ways, our government... They said "Of course" and "Naturally" and other platitudes like that. They said that there was never any question of undermining my authority but that's exactly what they are doing. They're winning people over all of the time.'

'The citizens are not without judgement, my lord.' Sukui noted, calmly, that he was interrupting the speech of a Prime, pointing out the obvious. It was most unlike him.

'And neither are GenGen,' said Edward. 'The citizens are fascinated by them and now that GenGen are established they are manipulating that fascination. They are drawing my people in, tangling them in webs of deceit and false promises. It's happening so quickly! I hardly dare to think about the situation in, I don't know, a year's time. There may be no primacy at all—GenGen are leading a takeover from beneath. Or am I being paranoid? What do you say, Monica? You are always so quiet and thoughtful.'

His sister looked up. She looked far more mature than when Sukui had seen her at the funeral of the Primal consort. 'It is not my place to think,' she said. 'They are aliens here. They have no rights over the people of Newest Delhi. I hate them. They are not of this world.'

Natalia looked sharply at her daughter, now staring ahead, her face paling under the glare of her mother.

Sukui had heard that phrase before, not long after his arrival in Newest Delhi. The kleiner had spoken it, the male Sister of the Convent whose intensity he had found so disturbing.
They are not of this world
. The kleiner had crossed himself as he spoke the phrase. Sukui had seen the same reflex movement in Monica's right hand, suppressed but indubitably there. He looked at Monica, at Natalia. He stopped himself from reaching for his new diary and pencil.

Sukui bowed his head to Edward Olfarssen-Hanrahan. The Prime had not noticed the exchange. 'My lord, perhaps you should arrange to talk with the directors again,' he said. 'Dialogue is often most revealing.'

He slowed, then came to a stop by a window seat. 'Please forgive me,' he said. 'I need to rest. Your company has been most rewarding, I have been closed away for too long.' He felt, now, that perhaps he had been closed away for the greater part of his life. He sat on the seat and stared out over the Playa Cruzo, listening to the retreating steps of the Prime and his two companions. The rain had started again, he could see it in the light of the flickering torches as they hung from the Manse gates.

~

Kasimir Sukui came upon Katya on a balcony in the Administry Wing of the Primal Manse. It was dark, now, and the lanterns were drawing insects and insectivores up from the Primal gardens.

Katya's eye-balls were moving rapidly beneath closed lids, her body slumped across a bench. Sukui leaned against the Manse wall and waited. This strange form of rest rarely lasted longer than a matter of minutes, he had noted.

He eyed the balcony railings and realised that their effect on him was not as marked as he might have expected. There were no sudden images of Axelmeyer plunging away, no panic, no palpitations. Perhaps his ghost had been exorcised.

'You are well again?'

Sukui bowed his head as Katya rose from her seat. 'I shepherd my resources,' he replied. She looked as if she was about to leave, so he said, 'Please, I would appreciate your wisdom. In the brief time since my recovery I have been observing your Holy Corporation. I am a man of little spiritual substance: you fascinate me.' He had her attention now. 'I have studied ideas of religion in the past but yours stand apart from the rest. Conventists, Sikhists, Death Krishnas—all have their theology, but it is a historical entity, an echo across the generations. You—if I am correct—believe you are part of something that is happening right now, your prophecies and legends are of today, am I right? Tell me, RoKatya, what is it that makes GenGen a
Holy
Corporation? Why do you believe?'

Katya waited before she answered. 'We believe because it is so,' she finally said. 'The gospel, as it was revealed to the saints and to the first MetaPlectic All, tells us what we must know. The Lord has been on Earth for more than half a century: His work is witnessed by many every day.'

'And is this Lord on Expatria?'.

'The Lord is everywhere, but his manifestation as the Holy All—the new jesus—is embodied by the Corporation. We bring the Lord to you; all you have to do is be open to our message.'

'You will bring more colonists, too? From Earth?'

'We will do what the Lord demands. We aim to create a culture of belief across the known universe.'

Her answer was quick, facile, empty of content. Sukui smiled. 'You have myths, legends?' he asked. 'Like other religions? Please, I am trying to organise my thoughts.'

Katya had appeared calm when she had awoken; now she swatted awkwardly at some flies, then ran a hand over her stubbly scalp and collected herself again. 'Maxwell Riesling, the first saint, the Prophet. He created the Corporation from nothing; in a time of greed and corruption, GenGen was a shining beacon. He rose to international prominence—this is all historical truth, it is all documented—and people learnt that they could trust in his guidance. The Max inspired faith in a crumbling society and so he was poisoned by an anti-organisational rabble of Gaians. He survived many months before the poison finally won, and in that time his transcendence was completed.'

As she spoke, Katya's eyes were fixed on Sukui, control over her expression slipping as she desperately sought some element of acceptance in his features. Sukui had suspected that these actives' self-control could not be without flaw. He sighed and looked out into the dark gardens, affecting disinterest.

'Twenty years on, the Corporation had spread, but its spiritual direction had faded until Mother Tamsin was visited by the Lord and told to draw together those who might become believers. She tricked them into taking a drug called Glory and then she guided their hallucinations so that they might be open to the Prophet and to the Lord and to the wonder of Creation. They became the first spiritual directors and now they have been reconstructed as psylogues within the All. They are with us now, in orbit, formative elements in the MetaPlectic architecture. They—'

Sukui waved his hands before him and steadied himself as a blanket of dizziness descended. His span of attention was short this evening and the Roman's span of speech long. 'A man is killed, a group learn to use narcotics. These stories inspire your belief?'

Katya started to speak and then stopped. She swatted at the flies again and remained silent.

Sukui had expressed himself more harshly than he had intended. He bowed his head, softened the tone of his voice. 'Forgive me,' he said. 'I am simply trying to understand. I am trying to distinguish your stories, which you clearly find important, from ones with which I am more familiar.

'The Convent believe that history goes back no more than two centuries. Before that time a group of Sisters, the First Sorority, were created and lived harmoniously in Paradise until an evil spirit came among them and spread its corruption. Mary/Deus, a god amongst humans, was sacrificed for the common good and Expatria was created for the First Sorority. Half of the Sisters became men and all would have lived a pure life if it were not for the presence of the evil spirit, which had survived in the fabric of the new world; to this day, the Sisters struggle to preserve the faith against the malevolence of those around them.'

'But wherever you look there's evidence that the world is far older than that. The generation starships that brought your ancestors here are still in orbit. So much data...'

'They dismiss it,' said Sukui. 'The world was created for the sorority as it is; the history of human settlement on Expatria goes back a mere handful of generations. They fit it all into their frame of reference.' He found, now, that he was in his element; he would document this exchange as soon as the opportunity arose.

'Wherever history and legend are in dispute, history is clearly at fault.'

'But... but it doesn't make sense.'

'No,' Sukui replied and paused, waiting for Katya to go further.

'How do they explain
us?
' she asked. 'Surely the arrival of the Holy Corporation must clash with their stories?'

Sukui smiled. It had been the obvious question. 'They simply rationalise the problem away. You were a shock to them, but once their own systems of logic had overcome your disjoint their faith was merely reinforced. RoKatya, you must remember: all beliefs, religious or otherwise, are continually malleable. That is what makes us human, I fear. Yes, Katya, even
yours
.'

But she had set her face into a bland Roman mask and she was shaking her head. She clearly did not believe him.

He sighed and stood away from the wall. Suddenly the thought of entering this encounter in his notebook had lost its appeal. He was tired, he needed to sleep.

~

'I wish to return to Alabama City,' Kasimir Sukui said, over breakfast the following morning. It felt good to be eating again.

He dabbed delicately at his lips with a napkin. He sat on a stone bench in one of the smaller dining chambers of the Primal Manse.

Across the table was Lars Anderson and by Sukui's side was Nina Annawhal-Crosky, leader of the Alabaman observer unit in Newest Delhi.

'You as well?' said Mathias Hanrahan from his place, standing by the room's tall windows, staring out at the thin blue sky. 'Why's everybody going all at once? What is it?'

Mathias was upset. He had, apparently, not believed Mono when she had informed him that she was returning to Orlyons. Sukui wondered if Mathias had ever listened to anything his lover told him. He stopped his speculations; he had to retain his discipline. Alya Kik had come to Sukui earlier that morning. She had told him of Mono's departure, along with her friends, the Monotones. Sukui had been dismayed to realise that things had gone so far while he had been unconscious. 'Could she not have joined the Pageant?' he had asked. But Alya had only looked at him strangely and pointed out that Mono would have had to make that choice herself. Now he knew why Alya had looked at him so curiously. Kasimir Sukui recommending religion? Such a thing was unheard of.

'You know where Mono has gone,' said Sukui. 'You are a skilled handler of boats. A person must make their own choices and Mono has made one of hers.'

'What about Idi, then? He's deserted me too.'

'Kardinal Mondata has found a form of religion,' said Sukui. 'He has not deserted anybody, to my knowledge.'

'I know I'm only an observer,' said Nina Annawhal-Crosky. 'Non-intervention and all that. But I can understand why everyone is so keen to slip away. I'm an atmosphere person, myself. I go by what I feel, what I can sense. Right now this place stinks—if you'll excuse my candour, Captain Anderson, Mathias. The way they're moving in to any building that's empty, the way people are swarming all over them like they're gods. It turns my stomach. I wish I could come back with you, Sukui-san. Maybe we could prepare Alabama City better for the corporate invasion.'