Osiris (19 page)

“Yes, they’ll follow you, you idiot—we should stick together!”

“Come on,” said Drake. She staggered up the boat. “Nils, come on. Tell us when, Vik. And good luck.”

Nils was shaking his head, plainly furious, but Vikram had no more time. As they approached Market Circle, he choked the throttle, slowing the boat just enough to skid past a decking. Nils and Drake leapt from the hatch and dropped flat to the decking. Vikram powered ahead once more. He risked a glance back and saw that the speeder had followed him. Nils and Drake were safe.

Now it was just the two boats. Vikram’s only advantage was that he knew the western waterways. He closed his eyes momentarily, allowing instinct to take over. Through Market Circle. Out the other side. This part of the west was quiet. He was following the route taken by the waterbus on the day he went to the Council. As he approached the border, the speeder was hard on his tail, but his assumption had been correct—there were only two skadi boats stationed at the checkpoint.

Setting the boat on a direct course through the gap in the border net, Vikram ducked low. The shooting came late; the border guards had not expected his clumsy vehicle to charge. He hurtled straight through, searchlights sweeping overhead.

He was in the City.

The speeder was chasing him, and now one of the border boats as well. He kept the fry-boat straight. He had to get out fast, but they would not be able to shoot so easily deep in Citizen territory. He chose a residential tower—swung the boat in close and leapt from the fully powered vehicle. He hit the decking hard, hurting his ankle, and rolled. Jumping to his feet, running to the doors, he pounded the open button. The doors slid apart and Vikram darted inside. He heard a shout as the skadi spotted his exit, and then the doors slid shut.

He was inside a clean, low lit lobby with four lifts. He ignored them and ran into the stairwell. The skadi would be following.

He raced up the stairs until he heard the sounds of them entering the building. Now he had to be silent. He removed his dripping shoes and socks and carried them. He moved on up in bare feet, as quietly as possible, unaware if his pursuers were doing the same. His heart was pounding so fiercely he was sure they must hear it. There was no shortage of electricity in the City; every floor had the same low night lighting. No dark corners to hide in.

Ten floors up, he came out of the stairwell and ventured into the corridors. He limped past the numbered doors of apartments. He was acutely aware of his appearance, tattered and soaked. He had a fresh cut on his temple which he could feel now was bleeding. His only hope was that at whatever time of night it was, the Citizens who lived here were all sleeping.

And then he saw it—so simple, so easy. The fire alarm.

He kept going, through the heart of the tower, looking for a stairwell on the other side. First he needed somewhere to hide. With every step, he felt the fear of capture heighten. Sweat lined the inside of his clothes. He didn’t dare look back. What if there were cameras? What if they were lying in wait?

He kept going up until he found what he was looking for—a cleaning room, full of mops and buckets, with enough space for a skinny man. He limped back into the corridors. The fire alarms were posted at every level. He took a deep breath, glanced once around the silent corridors, and smashed it with his good elbow.

The noise was shrill and instant. Vikram ran back to the cleaning room and slipped inside, pulling the door to. From his tiny prison, he listened to the sounds of the tower waking up. Running footsteps pattered on the carpets as people evacuated their rooms. Their voices were groggy and confused.

“What’s happening?”

“Where is it, where’s the fire?”

“Orla, get back here now, don’t run!”

They streamed past him. An age seemed to pass before they had all gone. When the noise had faded, Vikram slipped out and continued back up the stairs. He had no doubt that the fire fighters would be investigating that floor within minutes. The skadi would guess who the culprit had been, but the confusion had bought him time.

He kept going, fighting a great flood of weariness, until he saw the sign for a bridge. He urged himself on. Just as far as the next tower. Walking across the closed, windowless bridge he felt trapped and nervous, and hurried through the tunnel as quickly as he could persuade his exhausted limbs to move. In the morning he was going to have to find himself some clothes that would pass in the City, and track down Adelaide’s restaurant—but for now all he wanted was a bolthole to curl up in for the night.

He took the lift. When it reached the first level underwater he felt the hairs raising on the back of his neck, but he doubted the skadi would expect him to go down; they knew the horror underwater held for ex-prisoners. The Undersea station was silent and deserted. Vikram ran down the giant escalators, feeling the damp chill of tunnels blasted out of rock below the seabed. Salt trails ran down the cracks between display boards flashing up taglines for skating exhibitions, electro recitals, the annual gliding race, gold-level Guild ratified Tellers, the annual gliding race. They were all months out-of-date. On the dusty screens, the letters scrambled themselves and fingers beckoned. Adelaide Mystik’s virtual eyes followed him as she lifted a Sobek scarab in the palm of her hand, her lips o-shaped to blow him a kiss.

The dripping walls of the platform were streaked with lichen. The weight of the ocean bore down upon him, and his head pounded. The idea of spending more than a few minutes minutes here was terrifying, but he needed to hide. He jumped onto the tracks and walked into the tunnel.

15 ¦ ADELAIDE

I
t was after midnight, and everything outside the penthouse was the same except for the yellow security bar bisecting the wooden door. Adelaide reached past it and deliberately twisted the handle. It was locked, as she expected. She took out her old key and pushed it into the keyhole. It didn’t fit. Axel had changed the locks. She sat down in front of the door and waited for someone to come.

Two years had passed since she had stepped out of the lift to find this same door, her own front door, wide open, a gateway for the landslide of her possessions. The way in had been blocked with a cabinet. When she clambered over one heel snagged and her foot slipped out of the shoe. She grabbed the door frame for support. The trail continued into the penthouse: shoes, clothes, pictures, cosmetics. She heard glass smash.

“A?” she shouted. “Is that you?”

The tinkling sound reverberated on and on. Then there was silence. Adelaide abandoned her shoes and wriggled into the hallway. Not knowing who she was about to meet, she padded through the ransacked rooms. The door to her bedroom was ajar. She pushed it cautiously.

Her twin crouched in a myriad of broken glass. Shards winked at the ceiling and each other and Axel. He was sucking on one finger. A line of blood ran down his wrist and his shirt sleeve was scarlet. Adelaide looked at the wall where her mirror had hung. The rivets that had held the glass were still there, with clinging fragments of silver.

“Axel?”

He stared at her. Scratches marked his face. For a moment she thought he didn’t recognize her. Then his features bunched.

“What are you doing here?”

“What?”

“You don’t live here.”

She almost laughed. “What are you talking about, A?”

“I said you don’t live here.” Axel raised himself slowly. A shower of glass fell from his clothing.

“You’re bleeding,” said Adelaide.

Axel glared fixedly at the ground. He began to trace a deliberate circle around the room. Each step destroyed another remnant of the mirror. On the floor near the bed, Adelaide saw a hammer.

“I think you’d better go to the bathroom,” she said, louder this time. “Axel. Come on. Get cleaned up, I’ll fix us a drink and you can tell me what happened.”

He stopped pacing. His eyes flicked up. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“This is our apartment, Axel,” she said carefully. “Not yours. Ours. Neither of us had a problem with that before. If something’s changed, now’s the time to tell me.”

He barged past, slamming her into the wall. Anger flooded her. She chased him to the kitchen. He began to pull pans out of the cupboard and throw them onto the tiles in a discordant opera of noise. Adelaide put her hands over her ears.

“For fuck’s sake, what are you doing?”

Utensils and machines followed. A bottle opener flew past her head. The blender cracked on the floor. Axel opened the glass cupboard. Adelaide darted forward and grabbed his wrist. She felt his blood on her skin, wet and slippery.

“Oh no, you don’t.”

Axel shook her off and reached for the nearest glass. She moved—an amalgamation of leap and unkind embrace, pinioning his arms to his sides. They fell to the floor together. Metal struck her elbow. Her entire body twanged with the pain. For whole, excruciating seconds she was paralysed. Axel was struggling to get up. Gathering her strength, she tackled him. They fought viciously, a tangle of limbs, childhood tactics made newly cruel. He yanked strands of hair from her scalp. She got both hands on his arm and twisted. They scratched and kicked. Pots and pans skidded over the floor. Then his hand struck her forehead. The blow sang inside her skull. She grabbed the nearest utensil and thrust it between them in panic.

“I’ll do it, A, I’ll really hurt you if I have to—”

His body went slack. His head fell to one side as though he was listening intently, and his fingers drummed the ceramic tiles. A repeated tattoo, like hooves. Then he got up without looking at her and walked out of the kitchen. She lay gasping on her back. Her face and body smarted with bruises. She stayed there for twenty minutes, listening to the sounds of her twin evicting her. Second by second, her courage seeped away.

“Miss Rechnov?”

Adelaide opened her eyes. The door was obscured by a pair of black trousers, neatly ironed. The shoes beneath them were highly polished, but looked worn-in, comfortable. Sanjay Hanif.

“It’s Miss Mystik,” she said.

“I apologize. According to official records your name is still Rechnov. Would you care to explain what you are doing here? This is an investigation scene.”

“I’m not on the investigation scene.”

Hanif crouched, bringing his face closer to her level. He had dark eyes. Intelligent eyes, she thought. He was a man used to making quick assessments, yet now he was forced to take the long slow path of unmatchable clues. How could anyone make sense of Axel?

“You tried to get in,” he said, and pointed to a high corner behind her.

“I knew it was locked,” she said. “And I know you have a camera there. I’m not stupid.”

“I don’t think you are, Miss Rechnov. Which begs the question once more, what are you doing here? Some might consider trespassing on Council territory an act of extreme stupidity.”

“I was looking for you,” she said.

Hanif clasped his hands, resting them upon his knees. He balanced easily in such an awkward position. She wondered if this was how he interrogated criminals.

“You have my attention,” he said.

“Axel’s my twin. I have a right to know what you have discovered.”

“I understand. But as I have already explained to your father, the family must be excluded from the investigation until we have ruled out the possibility of foul play.”

“You mean murder.”

Hanif’s face remained still. She wondered if he was aware of the underground activities of people like Lao. If he had any inkling that Adelaide had hired her own man. She wondered whether Hanif knew about the airlift.

“It is customary to explore all avenues. In my experience, well-known people do not go missing for no reason. When was the last time you saw your brother, Miss Rechnov?”

“You’ve seen my statement. A month before Yonna found him gone. He came to my apartment.”

“And you’re positive you did not see him again?”

“Of course I’m positive.”

“Did you come here?”

“No.”

“Did you make any effort to see Axel?”

“No, I—no.”

“Did you ever feel angry with your brother, Miss Rechnov?”

“Are you interrogating me now?”

His mild expression did not alter.

“We both have our questions, Miss Rechnov. You have yours and I have mine. If you do not believe that I wish to solve this riddle because I care about what happened to your brother, at least believe I will do so because it is my job.”

She stared at him. “Everyone gets angry with the people they love.”

“Of course.”

“You should trust me,” she said. “I knew him. The rest of my family had no interest in Axel after he changed. He was an embarrassment to them. A problem.”

“It’s late, Miss Rechnov,” he said quietly. “You should go home.”

He called the lift. She understood that it was for her. Not far above them, the huge wheels started to turn and the cables rushed through their bindings. They waited, each intent on the incalculable drop beyond the glass doors. People said Hanif was a good man. His quiet manner, his level tone, all were suggestive of a man of integrity. But everyone was corruptible, and the Rechnovs had more money and influence than anyone in Osiris. How far could she really trust him?

The roof of the lift swept up. The doors parted. She stepped inside. As the lift started its descent his calm unhurried face vanished, then his torso, and finally his polished shoes.

/ / /

Adelaide curled up on the futon. The wall opposite flickered with a continuous projection of black and white films, but the sound was off, and she did not really see the images.

A week after her eviction from her home, Axel turned up at Jannike’s apartment where Adelaide was staying. He was distracted. He asked her to come back but she refused; she was scared of him. Axel could not understand why she wouldn’t come back, and she was too humiliated to tell him. After that, the visits stopped. The rift cut like acid.

The Red Rooms were her home now. So she kept telling herself.

Four in the morning and Osiris was quiet. She knew the night’s fluctuating dynamics, the grace notes that marked a creaking machine from the floor above or the generators shifting to beta mode. By four o’clock, Osiris was always quiet.

She refilled her voqua glass. Clean, clear, uncomplicated.

In less than twelve hours, she was due to meet Vikram. Although she had made the appointment with no intention of keeping it, something about his face, his stillness, lingered with her. He was the angriest and the calmest person she had ever met. It was like stumbling upon a ticking device; the horror of what might happen was only equalled by her desire to see the mess. She imagined him waiting at the restaurant tomorrow. Today, now. Had he drawn up a plan of action? Was he running through the arguments he might use?

He’d lost someone too. Mikkeli. The name burned, as though Mikkeli’s vibrancy in life had passed into a flame that needed no oxygen, only a vessel. Adelaide did not know how tall Mikkeli was, or the colour of her hair, but the girl was present with the ghosts circling the city. She hid behind wave crests. She lay supine in troughs.

Axel is alive, Adelaide told herself. Otherwise I would see him like I see that girl. With salt in his lungs and frozen crystals in his hair.

Occasionally, when she was very drunk, Adelaide wondered if other cities had been like Osiris. If other great metropolises ate away at sanity by hurling people through their gates, more and more people, an overdose of life, until the crowds became drugged with their own gluttony. She studied photographs of lost civilizations and touched the imprints of the people in them and in her head she moved them to Osiris and watched their faces change. And sometimes she moved herself from Osiris to those long gone places and watched a different Adelaide walking on streets. That Adelaide had the same eyes, lips, hair. She had the same indolent walk. But the ground was different. It pressed onto her feet and sometimes it tripped her and sometimes it hurt. But she felt it. She knew it, with the witless intimacy and the trust offered only to a stranger.

Ground-dreams. Everybody had them. Adelaide poured herself another splash of voqua. Osiris was clever. Osiris made you think too much.

She sank back against the cushions, her eyes half-closed. The projection played out its muted scenes. Vehicles with silent wheels and boats that flew. Moving stairways held rivers of people. Their eyes forward. Their eyes all-knowing, knowledge in every part of them, injected into their blood, in the machines that lived in their heads. Now steps lead to a door: a house with four walls.
How functional.
Trees leaning out of the ground. Wind moving the arms of the trees, the vehicles rushing past them, careless of the ground, of roots or earth.

The whirrs and tics of everyday life in some other world. Worlds, she reminded herself, that had failed.

Out in the ghost-sea, the girl Mikkeli breathed. She had a message for Adelaide. Don’t give up. Keep looking. Follow the silver fish.

/ / /

In the morning, a whim sent Adelaide across the city to see Linus. He was in a meeting when she arrived. She busied herself reading the news headlines on her Surfboard.
Home Guard arrest key Juraj gang members in all night fire battle. Council announce budget increase for western perimeter reinforcements…
The moving text made her dizzy. She stopped reading.

After ten minutes her brother appeared. He escorted her directly to his office, glancing around the reception area as though she might have inflicted unmentionable damage in the short time she had been waiting. The room was smaller than Feodor’s, but meticulously organized. She supposed this was the impression Linus wanted to create: geometric and clinical. His walls were covered with incomprehensible graphs.

Linus sat behind his desk and indicated the chair opposite.

“To what to I owe the pleasure, Adelaide?”

“Sarcasm already? You know I am still very angry with you, Linus.” But she didn’t want to talk about Tyr, and added quickly, “Any Council gossip?”

“We steer clear of that.”

“Oh.” The chair had wheels. Adelaide used one foot to propel her in circles, aware that he was watching her. “I wonder why you do it,” she mused.

“I’m not going to explain myself for your entertainment. You have no idea what’s going on in Osiris.”

She paused spinning. “Have you and Vikram formed some sort of conspiracy?”

“You’ve met him again, have you?”

“I had a visit.”

“And?”

On the Neptune, a long-finned angelfish swam forward until it filled almost the whole of the oval oceanscreen. Its mouth opened and an envelope floated out.

“You have Reefmail,” said Adelaide.

“So I see.”

The angelfish swam back and forth.

“Seems important,” Adelaide commented.

“It can wait. When did you see Vikram?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not going to help him.”

Linus propped one arm on a filing cabinet. “He’s right, you know.”

“Of course you think that.”

“Look, you and I have grown up with this divide. But that’s not an excuse to accept it. Our parents’ generation won’t talk about it, they feel too guilty. It’s up to us.”

“They’re the ones that did it, Linus, let them sort it out.”

“They’re tired, Adelaide.” His voice was earnest now. “They can’t imagine a way to reverse that decision without a massive backlash. And they’re right, it won’t be a smooth transition. But that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be done.”

“What, you want to integrate now?”

“I think we should demilitarize the border, yes.”

“And get us all killed,” she scoffed.

“I didn’t say it’s not a risk. But we’re sitting on a time bomb. Remember the riots three years ago, all those people killed at the desalination plant. A plant, I might add, which is now functioning at forty per cent.”