Expatria: The Box Set (8 page)
Read Expatria: The Box Set Online
Authors: Keith Brooke
Chapter 9
Drinking with Chet Alpha was not Kasimir Sukui's greatest pleasure. It was more a necessary evil.
Sukui pushed his distaste aside. He had bled his animal urges dry and now he was back in his prime again. Every move was calculated beforehand, every casual remark a planned speech. He took another mouthful of vodka and tossed the drained finger-glass back over his shoulder. 'You're a good man, Chet,' he said, careful to slur the occasional word. 'You're good in your job.'
On returning from Mathias's hideout, Sukui had gone to Alpha, the one person in Orlyons he knew who could not keep a secret. He had spent ten minutes with one of the girls as a prelude to inviting Alpha out for a drink. It was a formality more than anything; Sukui had not enjoyed the encounter.
Alpha called for more drinks.
Sukui had not visited this bar before. It was dark and musty, and the customers looked constantly to be on the edge of violence. The girl had said Alpha liked this kind of place. She had said he liked to imagine himself as being part of the crowd. She had said he was full of macho shit like that. Sukui had smiled and made a mental note, his diary being inaccessible at that moment.
'You're a good man yourself, Suks.' Alpha was at a stage Sukui had noted as quite common, in his experience. The compliments, the vulgar familiarities; it was time to manipulate the flow of drink in order to keep Alpha at this level of insobriety. 'There's people would say different about me, you see. They...
disapprove
of my line of business. They say as if the girls aren't queuing up to work for me, but they are. Hey, it's empty.'
'Your work?' prompted Sukui, taking Alpha's glass and, for a moment or two, making it appear that he was trying to attract the bartender's attention.
'Yes, I
do
work.' Alpha's moods were changing rapidly, like moths flitting around the light of Sukui's questions. 'The girls, they wouldn't say it, but I do. It's like... I see myself as their kind of
guardian
, you see? I look out for them, I put money their way, I put a roof over their heads. And what d'they do? Huh? It's "Chet, do this" and "Chet, will you do that". "Chet, you're working us too hard" and "Chet, don't forget to do
this
". You know th'other day? Larinda was even straightening my collar. Straightening my collar! Jeez-Buddha, they're like having six mothers buzzing round your ass like flies on shit. I tell you, anybody'd think
they
were running the show!' He laughed and Sukui joined him.
'The way I see it,' continued Alpha. 'It's something
spiritual
, it's a need from inside. I'm bringing people together, that's my role in life. Sometimes I think there's somebody out there guiding me, a Jesus-Buddha or an Allah or something—
I
don't know, He doesn't leave His name. I sometimes think if we could all give, like the girls give, then maybe we'd all be, I don't know,
giving
I suppose.'
Sukui wanted to bring Alpha around to the subject of Mathias Hanrahan, but he could see that it might be difficult. As Alpha meandered onwards, Sukui began to wonder why he was taking so much trouble with Hanrahan. He certainly had a talent, but his temperament was suspect, to say the very least. He appeared to shy away from effort and he had a certain lack of application about him, an inability to concentrate or follow the lead of others. He had even killed his own father.
But there was something about him.
Sukui did not like being unable to categorise a person but, no matter how he tried, he could find no appropriate slot for Hanrahan. Maybe that was it. Sukui had been locating talented individuals for the Project for long enough. Despite his distaste, he knew that Hanrahan would be worth this investment of effort.
Sukui was honest enough to know that he, himself, was little above second-rate. He had worked hard, he had made a success of his life, he knew exactly what it took to emerge from the crowd; but at heart he knew that he could never fulfil such aspirations. Maybe that was how he could spot it in others, this elusive
talent
.
There was a clock behind the boarded-together bar. Time was running out. Sukui decided that he must be more blunt. He opened his mouth to speak.
'Hey, did you hear what went down at Salomo's, th'other MidNight?'
Sukui could not have crafted a better opening himself. 'Salomo's?' he said, trying to sound insincere.
'
You
know. That Hanrahan, the one who killed the Prime. I
told
you there was somebody out to get him, didn't I? Didn't I? They tried for him at Salomo's. They wrecked the place trying to get at him, but he got out, so they say.'
'Really,' said Sukui. He looked around and leaned closer to Chet Alpha. 'I hardly think this is the place we should be talking about such matters.'
'No?' Alpha looked around. 'You think they're here, too? Hmm.'
'Hanrahan's life is in our hands,' said Sukui. Alpha stared at his hands and said nothing. 'We must guard our words with the utmost caution.'
'Caution. Hmm.'
'Time draws on,' said Sukui. 'I have a meeting at the Woodrow Gate. A certain
fugitive
.' He smiled at the look of dim-witted comprehension that drifted slowly over Alpha's face.
'Woodrow Gate, you say?'
'Yes, in only an hour and a half. Chet, you're a good man. I would be most grateful if you would keep this quiet. These matters can be blown up beyond all proportion, you know.'
'Sure, sure. My lips are steeled.' Alpha stood. 'This is MidNight, you know. I have to be working.' He waved at Sukui and left the bar.
Sukui looked around. His words had been noted by two of the drinkers nearby. He did not think they were with Ngota, but he felt confident, now, that his untruths would spread. He stepped clear of his stool and left the bar.
~
Mono's face dropped when she saw who it was at her door.
'Oh,' she said. 'Sukui-san. I'm sorry, I'm not...'
'No,' he said. 'Neither am I.' Mono stepped back and Sukui entered her room. This was the first time he had been here on anything other than business. He had almost decided not to call on her, but he had given Hanrahan his word.
Upon entering the building, his suspicions had been confirmed: Lucilla Ngota was having Mono watched. But Sukui did not care if they saw him visiting her, or if they made the connection between himself and Hanrahan. Soon he would be away from Orlyons and this sequence of events would be relegated to a few colourful passages in his diary.
He sat on Mono's mattress. She looked tired and her room was a mess. She was usually fastidious about appearance, it was a part of her job. The business with Hanrahan was clearly taking its toll. Sukui had not fully realised the extent of their relationship. He made another mental note against Hanrahan: emotional weakness.
'I have spoken with Mathias Hanrahan,' he said, observing the effect of his words on Mono's face. 'He asked me to visit you.' He consulted his diary. 'He said to tell you he was leaving. He said he would return for you. That was all.'
Mono nodded slowly. 'He has to,' she said. 'Don't tell me where—I don't want to know.'
Sukui stood. 'I must go. I have an appointment with Lucilla Ngota.' He smiled at Mono. 'I will return too,' he said. 'I will visit you.'
They left the building together. 'I have things to do,' Mono said.
Outside, she disappeared into one of the many alleyways of the Gentian Quarter. Sukui walked on alone. He had spoken with his juniors before calling on Mono. Everybody knew what to do.
He smiled and walked on, through the ever-shifting throng. There must be a pattern to people's movements, he realised, some sort of statistical law that governed their flow. But—he sighed—like that of the sea, the pattern was just beyond his grasp and he had the irrational feeling that it would always remain so.
As he walked through the early MidNight crowds, Sukui kept feeling that he was being followed. Occasionally he paused, but he refrained from looking around. If his pursuers knew he was aware then they would only be more diligent, less easy to spot when the need arose.
Just before the appointed time, Sukui arrived at Woodrow Gate. The gate was a curious structure, a tall, wrought-iron folly of a thing, mounted on a single brickwork pillar. It marked one of the many ways into the series of connected pockets of parkland known as Greene Gardens. The Gardens were largely unsuitable for building on, so they had been given a name and treated as if they had always been meant to be, not the accident of geology that they were.
Sanjit Borodin was standing by the gate, talking to two large men, each clad in leather and wearing knives in their belts. Sukui shook his head as he approached his junior. 'Are these all?' he hissed. 'When I say "men" I do not mean only
two
.' He did not feel angry—always the stoic, he was already reconsidering the scenarios, working out the probabilities—but he knew that a display of anger might have some effect on Borodin. He always tried to remember that his role was to educate the juniors; they were not merely his assistants.
Borodin bowed his head and accepted Sukui's words.
Sukui walked a short distance into Greene Gardens, away from the crowds that streamed past outside Woodrow Gate. The men would be enough. Ngota was just an underling; she would have to accept his words and pass them on to her master in Newest Delhi; for Sukui, that was the purpose of this subterfuge. There would be no call for violence.
Again, he sensed the presence of others. He wondered what Ngota would do. He had heard all about her and he was eager to see if she deserved her reputation. He controlled his breathing and worked through the probabilities in his mind. This was not a time to allow the emotions to surface, control was necessary.
Sukui looked at Dee, the more distant of Expatria's moons, hanging above the horizon. The time was right. He knew Ngota was watching him, waiting for him to move. Earlier, he had located the precise patch of vegetation behind which there was a good chance she was hiding.
He heard footsteps nearby and then he saw his other junior, Egon Petrovsky, approaching. He was wearing trousers and a jacket; Orlyons clothes, not his usual robe and skullcap.
Sukui spoke loudly: 'Ah, so you have decided to come.'
There was a sound from the bushes and suddenly a number of figures stepped into the open. A quick count: twelve. More than Sukui had expected. Dressed in inconspicuous town clothing, standing with knees bent, ready for action.
Closest to Sukui was a tall, dark-skinned woman. Her face was broad and her eyes wide. She was staring past Sukui at Petrovsky. The junior was still a number of paces away and Sukui doubted the woman could make out his features in the dim light that spilled over from the Gentian Quarter.
Sukui nodded. 'Miz Ngota? I was told you were in Orlyons.'
Ngota finally looked at Sukui. 'I have business to complete,' she said.
'So I hear. I am afraid I have business of a similar nature. A fugitive.' He turned to the approaching figure of his junior.
'Ah, Petrovsky. I am glad you chose to return.' He studied Ngota's face as Petrovsky drew near. 'He was tempted by the lights of Orlyons,' explained Sukui, 'but he has chosen to return.' He smiled.
Ngota knew she had been fooled.
But Ngota's troops were still poised for action and Sukui was suddenly reminded of his own lack of support. The odds were in his favour, but only narrowly now. 'I would like to remind you that this kind of covert activity is not within the current Primal statutes,' he said. 'Clermont must retain its neutral status. Any such incursions into
Andricci
territory, however, will not be overlooked. You will convey this to your Prime. You must also inform the Prime Hanrahan that his half-sibling is now beyond his reach. Mathias Hanrahan is out of bounds.'
Ngota gestured to her men and they began to move slowly forward. 'I must remind you of our position,' he said. 'Prime Salvo Andric expects me to return. He would be most unhappy if you did not accept the situation.'
Lucilla was looking at him. He had never before been looked at in such a manner. The animosity of her expression was a fascinating phenomenon; in Lucilla Ngota aggression had been refined to a form of art.
It was almost hypnotic.
Sukui had not expected anything like this. He had not expected such an emotional response. She should have accepted that she had been outwitted; she would gain nothing by turning on
him
.
Sukui stepped uneasily backwards, something shifting inside him. He could not take his eyes from Ngota's. A cold sweat prickled his face. 'I warn you,' he said. 'You are acting irrationally.'
Ngota did not appear to hear, she had stopped and was now staring right through him. He wondered why she was hesitating for so long, drawing out his fear.
'I'd say you were acting
very
irrationally.' The voice from behind startled Sukui. He turned.
The man who had spoken was huge and dark. His hair was stacked high and haloed by the light from the Gentian Quarter. He was wearing a long coat with 'SLIDE' scrawled all over it. There were others, too. Salomo, aproned and carrying a table-leg; Mono, standing by Slide, carrying a stick and looking tiny among the mass. Sukui recognised some of the others, many of them from the streets: musicians and entertainers, traders and hawkers and anonymous faces that could have belonged to anyone. There were too many to count, and for once he did not even try.
'Word was, Matt might need help,' said Slide.
'Hanrahan has gone already,' said Sukui. 'He is safe.'
Sukui turned but Ngota had vanished. In the end she had acted, as he knew she must, in a rational manner. The odds had finally gone against her.
Chapter 10
Alabama City was an amber smear on the otherwise dark horizon. Mathias stared at the faint, unnatural glow. 'How do they...?'
'The city is lit by electric power,' said Sukui. 'Each block has a bio-converter which is used as a supplement to the solar collector-storage units. The main cause of light spillage is the street illumination around the Capitol. The Lord Andric plans to install more such lighting throughout the city. This was one of the Project's earliest successes.
'Tell me, Sukui-san. What's my part in your Project? What does it
do?
'
Sukui shifted in his wooden seat. 'You would be wise to remember that it is not
my
Project. It is but a small part of the Lord Andric's grand design.
'"Project" is a misleading label. It is a co-operative of scientifically disciplined workers. We strive to develop a better understanding of our world. There is a team searching the archives and piecing together a detailed history. There are a number of teams restoring the technologies. There is a natural sciences team studying Expatria, and another studying the patterns of our society. Look around, Hanrahan: the world is ordered. Everything has a pattern; our function is to find such patterns and study their application. That is the divine purpose of our kind.'
'So why am I here?'
'You show promise. We find it easier to train people who have already attained a certain understanding of science.'
He had said as much before. 'And...?' prompted Mathias.
Sukui stared at him in the darkness, and then continued. 'You are trouble, Hanrahan. Wherever you pass you leave a wake of destruction. It is as much a pattern of life as the ripples left on a sandy beach by the sea. You must be aware of the disputes between the Hanrahan and Andricci borderlands. Orlyons, being situated on an island, is neutral.' Sukui stood and walked over to lean on the edge of the barge, staring out at the sea; it looked as if he was counting the waves. 'Your presence was upsetting the equilibrium. You had to be removed. Prime Hanrahan wanted to remove you, and he was prepared to upset the status quo to do so. I identified what was happening and removed you first. I have despatched Lucilla Ngota with a message, reminding her Prime of Orlyons's special status; she is a determined woman; you have been lucky.'
Sukui returned to his seat and closed his eyes. Sitting upright, he was instantly asleep; earlier, when Sukui had slept in this manner, Mathias had not believed it possible but now he thought that, for Sukui at least, it was probably the most natural position.
~
They disembarked as the sky started to lighten, MidNight drawing to an end. There could be no MidNight in Alabama City for already the people were hurrying, serious-faced, through the wide thoroughfares. The buildings were tall and square, some looming over the streets, others set back, surrounded by high stone walls. Powerful, twin-headed lights on tall pillars lit the city—they were clearly near to the Capitol.
Away from the docks, the street-lighting disappeared and the buildings became more dense, the roads more narrow. The people, too, were more tightly packed, and they were less grim-faced about their business. Sukui led Mathias along a street lined with Harrod stores and Wimpy-Washes, Hitachi cafeterias and Happy Hobo Clubs. 'I thought entertainments were limited by Primal edict,' said Mathias, hurrying after Sukui.
'Entertainments?' said Sukui, looking around innocently. 'These are places of work, not fun-houses.' They passed a tall placard that told them of Gino's Pretty Boy Dance Pack (supported by Bernie and the Blue Rodettes), playing twice nightly. 'The Prime approves wholeheartedly of the people's devotion to their work.'
They walked on, Mathias beginning to get a feel for the city. He had not thought much about his future since accepting Sukui's offer of refuge. He had been too worried by what was happening, too confused by thoughts of Mono and how she would react. Now, walking through Alabama City, he began to think about what was ahead of him; the alien environment of the city had finally made him realise that he was making another entirely new start.
The city did not appear as dull a place as Mathias had expected and, more than anything, Sukui's talk of the Project had ignited something in him. All his life he had been made to suffer because, where others rejected or at best ignorantly accepted, he had wanted to know how things worked, how they fitted into the world, how they could be improved. Now, at last, he had the opportunity to live among like-minded individuals, people who wanted to rediscover the ancient technologies. As he walked through the streets, tagging after Kasimir Sukui, Mathias's head began to whirl. There was so much to take in. He hoped they would let him settle for a day or two, before expecting anything major from him.
~
He soon grew accustomed to the long working day. He would begin two hours before dawn and he was rarely finished before twelve-thirty; then he had three hours before his next shift was due to start. He quickly learnt to make the most of those three hours. Within days he could sleep as soon as his body hit the thin mattress they gave him as a bed. Between sleep and work there was no time for anything else.
He would not have minded so much if his job had been interesting. He spent each eleven-hour shift in a basement laboratory in the Soho district where he also had his quarters. When Sukui had described the Project, Mathias had envisaged a purpose-built research centre, perhaps on the outskirts of Alabama City; the idea came from a terran book he had once read. Instead, the Project was spread throughout the city, squeezed into any spare space, hidden away in basements and tenements and the back-rooms of great square buildings. Alabama was clearly not as progressive as Sukui had implied.
Mathias need not have worried about the Project pushing him too far too soon. His work in the basement laboratory was demanding only in a physical sense. He carried boxes, he swept floors, he fetched drinks for his superiors. For several hours a day he did actually get to do science: classifying, counting, measuring. Mathias had never known boredom like it.
It was a life sciences lab. His room-mate, Siggy Axelmeyer, had explained the work to him. 'There's quantities of seeds left from the first colony,' he had said. 'They're centuries old but they're still viable—we think they were treated with some kind of preservative. Some are labelled, but they still need to be grown and analysed; others are only seeds and we have to see what they produce. It's a major task, there's still decades of labour to see it out.' Siggy had smiled and slapped Mathias on the shoulder. 'Work to do,' he had finished up.
He had tried, but finally he decided that there was nothing for it: he was at war with the system.
He began his own regime of MidNights: sleeping alternate nights and catching occasional naps at the lab; during the time he freed in this manner he became acquainted with the nightlife of Alabama City. He was fortunate that both his quarters and the laboratory were situated in Soho, a district that made him think fondly of the Gentian Quarter. Some of the clubs were licensed and they proclaimed the fact in huge letters over their doors; the majority were illicit, they were places of work, not entertainment, and the customers went merely to create demand for the work that was being done. In theory, at least. In reality, it was a farce, one which irritated Mathias for some reason he could not fathom. He longed for the freedom simply to make music for the love of it, to play it on street corners, to do it in the open and not hiding behind the façade that was Soho.
One night, Mathias returned to his quarters and found Siggy still awake, sitting against the wall and reading a book by candle-light. 'Still up?' he said, by way of greeting.
Siggy looked up and grunted. There was something unsettling about Axelmeyer, a look in his eyes. He would be more bearable if he wasn't so bound up in his own serious world. Suddenly angry, Mathias said, 'Listen, Siggy. Why are you so
controlled?
It's like you're trying to fill Sukui's shadow or something.'
It broke through Axelmeyer's barriers. His face sagged and his big body slumped. He said, 'I have to, Mathias. Let me explain; I guess nobody tells you anything around here, am I right? You probably don't even realise I'm Salvo Andric's cousin. No? I live like this'—he gestured around himself at their shared room—'because Salvo's made it clear our blood isn't close enough for me to succeed any other way. You may not believe it but I used to be wild, Mathias. I mean really
wild
. I used to go around town wrecking places and there was nothing anyone could do. Except Salvo. He made me do this, he said Sukui would be a good influence. He told me I needed taming.' Siggy shook his head sadly. 'Now I can see the only way back up is by out-learning everyone else. I have self-control and one day I'm going to be back at the top and
then
I'll show Salvo what it's like.' Siggy's eyes had finally come alive; the control that Sukui had instilled was wavering, just a little.
Mathias was appalled by his tale. So this was what Sukui's scientific training did to people! He saw himself in a few years'—months'?—time, coldly rational, his spirit confined, restricted. Slightly drunk from his night's entertainments, he remembered his earlier vow: he was at war with the system. 'You mustn't let them take it all away, Siggy,' he said. 'Sukui'll destroy you.'
He drew a cold metal object from his pocket.
He squinted and remembered what it was. He had won a mouth-organ in a side-bet at the Happy Hobo Eaterette. He put it to his mouth and blew, tonguing a few unsteady notes, then he found a tune he knew from Orlyons.
After a minute or two he saw Siggy looking curiously at the instrument. 'Want to play?' Mathias asked. 'You just find a note for yourself and work out what's happening, there's no other way.' It was Slide who had introduced Mathias to the mouth-organ. He had said it was the purest musical instrument ever invented. Nobody could teach you to play, you had to feel your way around; you couldn't watch what you were doing and learn in any rational way. Harmonica music came straight from the heart. Mathias had never been very good—he had not practised enough—but he knew that Slide had been telling the truth.
It made a curious kind of sense to him, watching Siggy Axelmeyer find his first few notes. A bit of music from the heart was the ideal counter to Sukui's indoctrination. Maybe Siggy was salvageable.
Mathias smiled. He recognised the tune Siggy had just played—'Mama Gonna Sell My Soul'—the timing different, the emphasis more upbeat, more aggressive, but still recognisable. Siggy was doing well, he was a natural. Mathias fell asleep to the sound of his room-mate's music.
~
Mathias opened the door and entered the lab. There were trays of seedlings everywhere. The phrase 'decades of labour' kept leaping into the front of his mind. The work would take even longer when someone found more stores of ancient seeds. Decades of labour.
Even when he was involved in the science of the laboratory, Mathias's work was menial. He gave the seedlings measured amounts of water, noted down their rates of growth, drew them, described them, fed them to test animals. He never got to see the results of his work. His figures and measurements were taken away and analysed by Siggy or one of the more experienced scientists.
He was first at the laboratory, as usual. That meant he could get the messy tasks like watering out of the way before the others arrived. That was how his superiors liked it.
He went to the basin and a slight movement caught his attention. Standing in one corner of the laboratory, studying a chart, was Kasimir Sukui. '
Salix caprea
,' he said, glancing up at Mathias. 'A small tree. It should be decorative in the Capitol's arboretum. You are late. You have kept me waiting.'
Sukui was an occasional visitor to the laboratory—as Mathias guessed he was to most Project facilities—but it was unusual to see him so early.
'Sukui,' said Mathias. 'I'd hoped you might call by. I want to know why you're treating me like this: giving me work more suited to a servant. You said I'd be a part of the Project, that I'd be doing science.'
Sukui was smiling and bowing his head. It was one of his more annoying habits, it made it so difficult to be angry at him. After a pause he said, 'You wish to return to Orlyons? Or Newest Delhi, perhaps? It can be arranged.'
Mathias considered saying yes to Orlyons, if only to test Sukui. The latest news, according to talk in the laboratory, was that Orlyons had become the centre of conflict between Andric and the north; refugees were arriving by the boat-load in Andricci territory. Mathias was worried about Mono. In his heart, he knew she could look after herself better than most, but he would like to have known for sure.
'You're avoiding the topic,' said Mathias, keeping rein on his feelings.
'The topic. Ah, yes. You feel the work is beneath you? Perhaps that a man of your breeding should start from a privileged position? I started as a servant,' said Sukui. 'I worked my way up. Now I know what service is like at every level within the Primal household. I have benefited from the experience. Hanrahan, I have told you that I consider you to be trouble. I have not revised that view. You are impetuous, you have not known hard, menial labour until recently.'
Sukui paused, considering his words. 'You have a talent but you do not have the attitude. Science is the triumph of logic over emotion; it is the rational exploration of the world. All else must be sublimated. You cannot simply leap in and
do
science, as you put it. When you understand that fact, then you will be ready for the next stage. You will work here until you achieve the requisite discipline.'
'But what about the intelligent guess, the intuitive leap?' said Mathias, feeling frustrated by Sukui's speech. 'What about the great scientists of the past? Verne? Darwin? Redway? They followed hunches...' He was clutching at straws, not sure what he thought any more. Sukui often had that effect on him.
'You claim such greatness?' asked Sukui, his head bowed, smiling gently. 'Science for the mortal is the rigorous pursuit of logic; there is no room for the unquantifiable or the emotive.'
