Expatria: The Box Set (55 page)
Read Expatria: The Box Set Online
Authors: Keith Brooke
CHAPTER 35
They pulled up at a place the young technician called Dixie Hill. It was a gentle slope, to the eastern side of Alabama City, two low wooden huts at its summit.
A communications dish was mounted on the roof of one of the buildings. Primitive, but Katya knew that it would work. The jalopy stopped a few metres below the huts, and instantly Lui Tsang was out and opening one of the first building's doors, beckoning for her and Sukui to come inside. 'We can't make your broadcast,' he was saying. 'We don't have the power. But give me five and I'll link us through to ArcNet and you'll have all the power you need.'
She waited, while the technician worked. 'Can I talk to anyone in orbit?' she asked him.
'Sure,' he said. 'Ask the 'Net.' And then she simply waited in silence. Tsang had accepted Sukui's request without question, as if broadcasting to Earth was an everyday occurrence. Now, she looked at the old scientist and noted how unwell he still was. He clearly didn't trust her; he must think she was going to give it all away, call in the might of GenGen for a delayed counter strike. But he was letting her do it. He was handing all the responsibility over to Katya and she felt it pulling her down. She could do whatever she wanted and it felt weird, a feeling she had never known, a feeling she had never even imagined.
'OK,' said Lui Tsang. 'The 'Net's waiting for you. Here, stand here. That's right, the mike's this thing here.'
It was all so primitive. A camera was pointing at her, it would be a two dee broadcast but that would be sufficient. It would have to be.
She cleared her throat, looked at a bank of four screens. 'Can I talk to a Roman?' she said. 'Is anyone left up there?'
'
Sure
,' said a footnote on one of the screens, then a face slid up into view, one she had never thought she would see again.
'
Turkut?
' she said. 'Is that you?'
'Katya!' It was Turk, all right. The way his mouth curled lazily around her name. 'Listen,' he said. 'I don't know what it's like down there, but the Meta's gone down and the directors have gone with it. Things are different now, we're getting it under control slowly. Guys like Decker and Dippso—'
'Sounds like what happened down here,' said Katya. She felt strange, as if her control was about to ebb away. She tightened her skin, pushed her pulse up, her blood pressure up, found the edge once again. 'Listen, Turk. We'll catch up later. Right now I have to make the Progress Report.' She saw the look pass over his face, the surprise, followed almost instantly by his acceptance, his trust in her. More weight across her shoulders.
'OK,' he said. 'Trust ArcNet, OK?'
He slid off her screen and she turned, full on to the camera, cleared her throat again.
'This is RoKatya Eloise Tatin,' she began. 'Roll number 38 QHY 638. I am the most senior representative of the Holy Corporation of GenGen on all of Expatria. It is my duty to make the Progress Report.'
She wondered how she could phrase what she wanted to say. She remembered improvisation classes in lower college, the way her mind had seemed to fog and then come good at the operative moment. Right now it was fogging badly, she didn't know what to say, didn't even know what she should think. She had planned a disaster report: terrible diseases, homophilic predators, unstable poisonous gas eruptors as a natural part of the planet's geology. Anything to put them off.
But she couldn't. She looked across at Sukui's patient gaze. Remembered the way of the Pageant, the way of openness. 'The report is brief,' she continued. 'We have seen so much, but there is so little to say. By the powers invested in me under the First Stockholm Protocol, clauses 36 to 38—' this would never stand up but it sounded impressive in the brief echo of the words in her head before they reached her mouth: she was playing it as it happened, taking her chances, playing her hunches; she looked at Sukui, bowed her head, continued '—I hereby declare that the planet of Expatria, and the associated planetary system, is incorporating in its own right. We are breaking away from the Holy Corporation, we are Expatria united. We are Expatria Incorporated.' She nodded, briefly, at Lui Tsang, and the camera cut out. They could add to the broadcast later, if they chose.
She controlled the pattern of her breathing, steadied her heart's pounding. Sukui was staring at her, his expression unreadable. And then he smiled. 'Katya Tatin,' he said. 'You are, I believe, a true Charity.' His smile broadened, he bowed his head. He was, she knew, a rational man.
EPILOGUE
I
Kasimir Sukui felt old. His joints ached, his breathing was laboured, his hair and his wispy strands of moustache had long since departed. He was, with a high degree of probability, the oldest man on Expatria.
He stretched, teasing the tension from his muscles one by one, as Lucilla had taught him. She should be here soon, in fact she was overdue. Sukui smiled now. She had been gone for three weeks this time, off in the valleys on one of her wilderness treks. They were growing longer each time, these excursions, as if she knew that soon she would be too old for the wilds and so, each trip could be her last. He shook his head. Compared to him, Lucilla was still young, in her middle years at the most. Perhaps her trips were growing longer because she knew that was where she really wanted to be. He shrugged, too tired to decide which reason was the most likely. Maybe he would allow himself to be persuaded to move out to one of the new valley settlements. Maybe.
He stood and walked over to the window of the small room, looked out over the neat green slope of Dixie Hill to the city beyond. It was a dry day, like so many recently. The Niño current had stalled again, trapping an anticyclone between Mirror Bay and the Cuzco mountains.
The city had built this small house for Sukui some years before. A tribute, they had said, an honour. The window was open and he could smell the wilting grass, taste the dust on the air.
High-pitched yells caught his attention, then peals of laughter. Down, where a line of jelebab trees marked the start of the city proper, there were children now. Kathi, Willard, Jaroslav and Stella-Doe; Muir, Todor, Chaplin and Martine. He thought of them as his grandchildren although there was no genetic link. They were the offspring of his adopted family: of Ana and her Corinthian partner, Berne; of a young menial they had named Pythagoras, who was a genius with figures but not with contraception; of Shai and her now dead partner Cantor. The rest of his adopted family were yet to produce.
Ana was with the children, leading them up the slope. Sukui watched her movements, assessed what a fine young person she had become. He could hope for no better testament to his life. He felt fulfilled.
'Papa-san,' she said, seeing him at the window. 'Lucilla asked me to come for you. Can you come?' This close, Ana standing three metres beyond the window, Sukui could see an urgency in her eyes and he felt his pulse accelerate.
'What is it? Is Lucilla—?'
'She's tops, papa-san. Come on, I'll help.' She was in the house now, hand resting gently on Sukui's arm. 'We're going down to the Capitol. There's some news you'll want to hear. Lucilla and Lui and Salvo are there, and the Prime, of course. Along with Pieter Sugratski and Maize and Newstopp.' Newstopp was the daughter of Dippso and Zambezi. She had been brought up with regular visits to the gravity levels of the
Third Testament
so that she would not suffer the brittle bones and muscular atrophy of her parents' generation. Six years before, she had been the first orbital to set foot on the Expatrian surface and now she and her partner, Samizdat Buschois, were regular visitors.
'What is it?' asked Sukui, as Ana guided him into his seat and strapped him in. 'Will you tell me what is happening? I am too old for all this.'
'Too old for nothing,' said Ana. She hated him to play on his frailty and immediately he felt guilty. She smiled, yelled at the children to get clear of the doorway. 'Let's go,' she said. 'You'll see soon enough.'
II
They glided through the city in style. The crowds of pedestrians and runners and cyclists parted before them along the Route Magnificat like bow waves before a boat. Kasimir Sukui, strapped on to his adapted autonome, was a frequent enough sight on the streets of Alabama City yet still people halted their business to stare.
Sukui thumbed Drive and the vehicle reached its maximum speed of almost eighteen kilometres per hour. Lui Tsang had imposed that limit on the autonome, something for which, seven years on, Sukui was still to forgive him. He laughed with exhilaration as the autonome swung itself in through the opening gates of the Capitol and Ana's long hair whipped him in the breeze.
They stopped and Ana was grinning uncontrollably. 'I know someone who can fix it to go faster,' she said, glancing behind her conspiratorially. 'But not now. Come on. Inside with you.'
The autonome mounted the steps and nudged its way in through the Capitol's wide front doors. Guards stood back, snipes at ease. They were accustomed to sights such as this. Sukui greeted them and headed directly for the auditorium at the rear of the huge complex of buildings. He had a hunch that was where his friends would be waiting.
The doors were wide open and voices came from within. This wing was the latest addition to the Capitol, an annexe containing the best research facilities on all Expatria.
Sukui guided his autonome into the large hall and paused for Ana to jump clear. Then he headed directly for a small group on the far side. Salvo and Lui and a Roman technician by the name of Napier were talking to a trifacsimile of Mathias Hanrahan. Mathias was currently governor of Orlyons, although it was probable that Katya Tatin, the mother of one of his daughters, would oust him again at the coming election festival.
Sukui was pleased to see his friends again. Even with the aid of his autonome, he did not leave his home as often as he should.
'Kasimir!' called Prime Jo-Ni Chao, a young upstart of forty-four who Sukui still felt was unsuited to the role. She had replaced Salvo Andric at his fourth infirmity hearing, six years previously.
'My lord?' said Sukui, as the group around the Prime turned to greet him.
'News!' cried Lui Tsang, pushing through from where he had been standing by a flat screen. 'We've had the Reply!'
Sukui understood immediately and his pulse raced, setting off alarms on the autonome. He glanced at the faces, at Sugratski and Salvo and Prime Jo-Ni. Back to Lui Tsang. Eight Expatrian years ago there had been a tremendous build-up of excitement and fear. The time had come, the time when a Reply could be expected. If Earth had replied instantly to Katya Tatin's broadcast—the famed Declaration of Corporate Independence—then their response would have been received in Alabama City those eight years ago. But no message had come, no Reply. The tension had built—Earth would have taken time to digest the broadcast, to discuss their response—and then, after months had passed, that tension had ebbed, faded, been buried deep in the minds of the populace.
By now, no one seriously expected a Reply. Yet today... this morning... it had come.
'Play it again, ArcNet,' said Lui, into a microphone gummed to the inside of his wrist. 'Play it
big
.'
The group turned and others in the hall stopped their work to watch as a huge screen rolled down from the ceiling, came to rest, sparked into life.
There was a face, a vast face, distorted by its very scale. The eyes were piercing, blue, the chin marked with wavy striations of stubble, the pattern echoed across the scalp and down over the forehead. It was, immediately an alien face, or at least, as alien as a human face could be. The head spoke with a woman's voice, the accent and dialect a close relative of the GenGen drawl of years before. 'We send our heartest-felt greetings to our partners in the Expatrian venture. My name is Colville Hawk, Director of Eurecon operations of Twogen's new corporativity.'
Sukui glanced across at Lucilla, saw her smile, knew that it was all, finally, settled.
Salvo Andric came to stand by the autonome, shaking his head, looking confused and old. 'It's over,' he said, disbelief swamping his words. '
Over
.' He stared at Sukui, squinted. Twisted the grey strands of his beard between thumb and forefinger.
Sukui looked past the ex-Prime, trying to follow the broadcast.
'It's just words,' said Salvo, shaking his head. 'You know the protocol. Goes on for twenty-five minutes. Then there's the real meat of it all. The broadcast splits and one strand of it is all history, the other's more words. Do you understand? Hmm?' For a moment some of the old Salvo had broken through, but then the old man in him took over again.
Sukui felt pity for him: Salvo had once been such a great leader.
'They've had a revolution back on Earth,' continued Salvo. 'They're calling it the Expatrian Fightback. Hmm? Hmm?' He chuckled, went on. 'They figured that if
we
could incorporate then why couldn't
they
do it? So all over they were declaring independence from the Holy Cee, and it all fell away. They're calling us revolutionary heroes, Kasimir.
Heroes
. You, me, Katya. Stopp and Mondata and all the others, too. They teach our names to their children.' He laughed, broke into a fit of coughing, leaned over the autonome so he could look Sukui in the eye.
'That's it then,' he said. 'Over. Finished.' He shook his head. 'Might as well die now. Relics like us. Our job's done. Hmm? Hmm?'
'But my lord,' said Sukui, glancing up at the face on the screen, marvelling at the clarity of the image, the wonder of its transmission across the void. 'If I could be so bold as to contradict you. Our job has barely begun.'
About the author
Keith Brooke
's first novel,
Keepers of the Peace
, appeared in 1990, since when he has published seven more adult novels, six collections, and over 70 short stories. For ten years from 1997 he ran the web-based SF, fantasy and horror showcase
infinity plus
, featuring the work of around 100 top genre authors, including Michael Moorcock, Stephen Baxter, Connie Willis, Gene Wolfe, Vonda McIntyre and Jack Vance.
Infinity plus
has recently been relaunched as an independent publishing imprint producing print and ebooks.
His novel
Genetopia
was published by Pyr in February 2006 and was their first title to receive a starred review in
Publishers Weekly
;
The Accord
, published by Solaris in 2009, received another starred
PW
review and was optioned for film. His most recent novel,
Harmony
(published in the UK as
alt.human
), is a big exploration of aliens, alternate history and the Fermi paradox published in 2012 by Solaris and shortlisted for the Philip K Dick Award. 2012 also saw publication of
Strange Divisions and Alien Territories: the Sub-genres of Science Fiction
, an academic exploration of SF from the perspectives of a dozen top authors in the field (edited by Keith Brooke, published by Palgrave Macmillan).
Writing as Nick Gifford, his teen fiction is published by Puffin, with one novel also optioned for the movies by Andy Serkis and Jonathan Cavendish's Caveman Films. He writes reviews for the
Guardian
, teaches creative writing at the University of Essex, and lives with his wife Debbie in Wivenhoe, Essex.
For full details of Keith Brooke's work, see:
www.keithbrooke.co.uk
.
