Meridian Days (19 page)

I entered the dome. A strange silence hung about the place. I moved through the rooms and made my way down the connecting passage to Fire's bed-chamber. Nothing remained to suggest that it had once belonged to her. I told myself that I could just detect, elusive and tantalising, the aroma of her scent in the air. As the many memories of my time with Fire returned to me, I could no longer shut out the final, terrible vision, and for the first time I began to apprehend the tortured complexity of Tamara Trevellion's motivations. I wondered if I would ever come to fully understand what had happened, and
why
it had happened — and, if not, then how I would be able to go on living in ignorance.

I retraced my steps. I came to the lounge and stopped dead. There, by the exit, stood Tamara Trevellion. Her fins shimmered about her slender body, giving her the aspect of an apparition. "When the ultimate event is achieved," she said, her voice reaching me from a distance, "I shall take great delight in destroying all these... these
objects
."

I rushed towards her, and as Trevellion disappeared, a ghost in my imagination, I noticed for the first time the remains of her works of art. They stood on their pedestals in the empty room, sculptures in crystal and wood reduced to slag and cinder — the desecration a testament to her ultimate achievement.

NINE///FIRE

In the days that followed I kept to my dome and had no contact at all with the outside world. I shunned the vid-screen, even the entertainment channels; I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. In my isolation, I could almost persuade myself that what had happened that night on Trevellion's island was nothing more than an hallucination, a nightmare scenario far more terrible than reality could ever be. Of course, another part of me knew the truth; when I had almost succeeded in convincing myself that Fire was still alive, her continued non-presence, and flash visions of the sand lion's attack, told me otherwise... Even then, when I came finally to accept the fact of Fire's death, my reactions were erratic. I could recall the times we had spent together, and feel gladdened that we had done so; then, for no reason at all, a small thing like the recollection of her smile, of her moccasin lying in the sand, would send me into fits of tearful grief.

I took to sitting for long periods on the patio and staring out across the sea. Abe's island in the foreground, and Trevellion's beyond, a faint blur on the horizon, were constant reminders of my loss. I told myself that by regarding them day after day I might come to some psychological acceptance of what had happened. I did not, however, dwell on Tamara Trevellion: I tried to shut out thoughts of the woman from my mind, for fear that notions of revenge might prove all-consuming and, in time, self-destructive. On the few occasions that my thoughts did dwell on her, I frightened myself with the power of my ability to feel hatred.

One morning, perhaps five days after the event, I was seated as usual on the patio, looking out across the ocean for the ferry. For the past few days I had used the punctual passing of the hydro-foil as a reminder to go to the kitchen and feed myself. Today it had neither passed the island on its way down to Main, nor on its return trip back up the archipelago. I was speculating idly over the reason for this when I saw a launch appear from an island beyond Trevellion's and score a long, parabolic wake across the bright blue surface of the ocean. I estimated that, if the vehicle's wake was to form a perfect semi-circle, then the launch's destination would have to be my island.

I watched the launch decelerate and drift into the cove, wondering who my visitor might be. Now, with Fire and Abe and Doug all gone, I knew no-one likely to pay me a social call. I watched the short, stocky man climb from the launch, peer up the hillside to the dome with a hand shielding his eyes, and begin the long ascent.

Five minutes later he rounded the last bend and approached the patio, and I belatedly recognised him. Individuals present a different aspect out of uniform, and Trevellion's guard, Tanner — the same who had taken Fire from me that day on Abe's island — looked almost human in casual slacks and a chequered shirt.

Already I was on my feet. I believe, had I been armed then, that I would have shot him without a second thought. "What the hell—!"

He stopped short in response to my anger, held up both hands. "Careful, Benedict..." Without the authority of his uniform or side-arm, and perhaps aware that my rage was justified, he was conciliatory.

"How dare you come here—" I spluttered "-after what you did..."

He was shaking his head. "I did nothing, Benedict. When I found out what was happening, I got out. I haven't worked for Trevellion since before the event."

"If you expect me to believe—"

"I have something for you, Benedict."

I hardly heard him. "Where's Trevellion?"

Tanner shook his head. "I've no idea. She moved to some other island, way down the chain. I don't know where."

I calmed, taking deep breaths, but at the same time feeling something building up inside me. He was the first person I had spoken to since that night, the first outside verification I had received that what I had witnessed was not some gross hallucination. It was as if he were the harbinger of dire news, and I hated him for it.

"What do you want?"

"Fire made this before she... before the event." From the breast pocket of his shirt he produced a small, silver vid-disc. He held it out to me. I noticed that his hand was shaking. "She gave it to me and asked me to deliver it to you..." He looked at the disc. "I said I would. I haven't played it. I couldn't bring myself to... so I don't know what's on it." He stepped forward, holding out the disc and staring me in the eye with an expression that might have been pitiful.

I stood rooted to the spot, unable to respond. The fact that Fire had thought to contact me in her last hours, and the fear of what the disc might contain, produced in me an ambivalent response: I wanted more than anything to take the recording, to re-establish contact with Fire, but at the same time I did not want to be destroyed by the grief I had so far held in check.

Tanner took another step forward. "Please, take it. She begged me to give it to you. She said you'd understand..."

I reached out and took the disc, inclining my head in silent thanks.

I watched him retrace his steps down to the cove, the disc heavy in my hand. Only when the launch started up and accelerated from the island did I step inside and cross the lounge to the vid-screen. Even then I delayed still further, staring at the blank screen in a bid to postpone the inevitable.

As I slipped the disc into the drive, felt it snap home, I was aware of the rush of my pulse in my ears. I concentrated on the screen to the exclusion of all else. I had the sudden urge to withdraw and destroy the disc — so I tapped the start key before I gave in to the impulse.

The picture flickered, strobed bars of black and white, then cleared. Fire sat in her bedroom. All I could see was her head and shoulders. She was reaching out to the recorder, making adjustments. Then she sat back and stared into the screen. She was wearing the white gown, and her hair was braided and coiled about her head. She looked alert. Evidently she had made this recording just before the surgeon had drugged her for the very last time.

I stared at her pale oval face, the pointed chin, the dark bar of her eyebrows and her short blonde fringe high on her forehead. She appeared calm, composed. Only when she spoke did she betray her fear, her apprehension. She looked about her, through the walls of her dome, checking to ensure she was unobserved, before beginning, "Bob — I haven't got long... A guard said he'd take this to you so... Well, you'll know all that already. You'll also know..." She stopped there, biting her bottom lip to prevent the tears. "But there's nothing I can do to get away. They've got the island surrounded. Tamara will be here soon with her surgeon." She stopped there, and when she went on she was contrite. "It worked, Bob — the frost." She stared down at her fingers, whispered, "I know why Tamara blocked my memory of Jade's death."

She leaned forward then, gripped the edge of the table in determination. "Are you listening, Bob?" she said, her emerald eyes burning. "I also know why Hannah Rodriguez was killed. She knew too much. She told Tamara and I overheard them..."

Then Fire unburdened herself and, in doing so, made the terrible events of the past week perfectly clear.

~

I boarded my launch and headed for Main Island...

I made the journey not so much to verify what Fire had told me — a simple call through to the island itself would have achieved that — but to distance myself from the vid-disc. My initial impulse, when Fire had reached out and stopped the recording, was to take the disc and burn it. I knew, however, that I would live to regret this. In due course, when the pain had passed and I had worked through my grief, the recording would stand as testimony of our time together. To have destroyed it now would be in a way to have destroyed the events through which we had lived, our shared experiences. It would be unbearably painful to view the disc in years to come, but beyond the tragedy I could take comfort that Fire had made the recording at all, that she had thought enough about me not to leave me in ignorance.

As I approached the wide harbour of Main Island, uppermost in my mind was not so much
what
Fire had told me, but the
way
she had told it. Throughout she had shown courage before the knowledge of her death, she had faced me bravely and told me what she knew, aware that if she had broken down, shown, however briefly, her true emotions, the resulting recording would have been even more heart-wrenching than it was already.

As for
what
she had told me, it would take some time to adjust to this — like my grief, it was something that would take years to come to terms with, and even then might not be something I could ever wholly accept. As I drove slowly through the streets of Main, I thought I detected a subtle difference about the place. True, there were fewer people about — which was to be expected — but the difference I noticed was in the attitude of the citizens who remained. They seemed friendlier, unified in the face of adversity. People gathered on street corners to discuss the situation, congregated in front gardens. When I stopped at a station for a recharge, the attendant, a total stranger, smiled in greeting as if I were a regular customer: his smile told me that we were allies, ranged against an injustice about which we could do nothing. For the first time in the history of Meridian, we faced an uncertain future.

I made my way to the Telemass station. I passed a crowd in a parking lot, quietly staring up at a great screen showing a live broadcast from the Governor's residence. The deputy Governor exhorted the populace to keep calm, work together in the face of what he called the terrible treachery. I stopped and listened for a while: the deputy claimed that he had been told nothing — which was probably true enough, as he was still here — and that no blame should be attributed to the officials who remained. He counselled solidarity and perseverance, spoke rousingly of the years of hard work ahead for every citizen on Meridian... I gunned the engine and crossed the suspension bridge to the station.

I was not alone. It seemed that perhaps half the population of the island had had the same idea, as if to verify for themselves that the station was defunct, inoperable. It rose, grand and majestic against the clear blue sky, a towering epitaph to a sequestered people. A hundred vehicles were parked around the scimitar tripod, and citizens strolled aimlessly, uncertain exactly how to respond now that they had reached their destination. The elevator was working, and it shuttled groups of quiet sightseers from the base of the station to the operations' platform. I took my place in line and presently rode with a dozen other colonists to the deck. Here, islanders wandered about in reflective silence, the liberty to walk where before had been off-limits tempered by the solemnity of the occasion.

At one end of the deck, a crowd had gathered around a small screen. I made my way over to it and eased through the press. I was shocked to see the face of Wolfe Steiner, speaking to us from a recording made in preparation for the shut-down. This recording reminded me too much of the one I had fled, and I found my throat blocked with emotion. Director Steiner was doing his best to justify the wholesale shutdown of the colony planet Meridian 673. "It pains me to repeat..." was one of his phrases. "We must face up to the harsh reality," he said, and I recalled his ultimate sacrifice and wondered if, had he lived, he would have left the planet, or remained and faced the consequences. "Meridian is an unprofitable planet, and Earth can no longer subsidise Meridian and over two dozen other similar colonies across the Expansion. Against my wishes, and those of certain members of the council, the decision was taken to close down the Telemass operations on Meridian. The stations on twenty six other planets will also be closed. It was deemed impossible to repatriate the entire populations, some one billion citizens, of these planets. I personally regret this decision, and can only counsel..." He continued, saying nothing about the fact that Meridian relied on regular food supplies from Earth to survive — but his knowledge of the omission showed in the strain on his face.

When Steiner came to the end of his speech, his place was taken on the screen by a grey-suited official. He announced a series of public meetings to take place on various islands of the archipelago over the next few days, to assess the position, elect governing bodies and appoint officials to oversee the development programme. One fool cheered, and this provoked applause from the other viewers.

I left them to it and made my way over to the elevator. A minute later I stepped into the parking lot and crossed to my launch. The proximity of so many people, concerned with only one thing and ignorant of Fire's death, accentuated my sense of isolation and loss. I gunned the engine and drove quickly across the suspension bridge. Soon I was out on the open sea and heading for the sanctuary of my own island.

The drone of the engine, the thump of the hull against the surface of the ocean, hypnotised me. Fire's face appeared again in my mind's eye, and I could do nothing to banish it. I heard her last words in my head.

"Steiner's no fool, Bob. He knows what kind of woman Tamara is, he knows how psychologically tortured she is. He was close to Jade — he guessed what really happened to her, and he could see Tamara doing the same to me. That's why he wanted me to leave with him. He told me that I was in danger if I stayed on the island, that Jade's death was more than just an accident... Even then, I thought he meant that Tamara's cruelty had pressured Jade into killing herself, not that she had actually..." Fire had paused there, gathering herself. "Do you see now why I had to have the frost? Do you understand? I just had to find out what really happened to her!" She paused again, then continued. "Now that I know... know for certain what really took place... I wish I didn't—" The knowledge of what was about to happen to her had been plain to see on her face, and it broke my heart.

I steered the launch in beside the jetty and just sat there for a long time, gripping the wheel and staring at nothing, just seeing Fire's stricken face high in the sky.

She had finished, "I know I used you, Bob... But at the same time — if things could have been different, if only..." And she had lifted her head and smiled bravely through her tears, and then reached out and brought the communication to an end before she broke down completely.