Tamaruq (25 page)

They hear the screams echo on. Adelaide remembers the burning tower in the west, the flames at her back, her terror as she jumped. She doesn’t know what Dien is thinking. She looks at her hands and finds they are shaking. She has done this. Shortly after that, the Council declares a state of emergency and the Boreals move into the city.

Their first act is to requisition Osirian weapons and replace their operators. Skadi boats are commissioned into Boreal service. Then the Boreals seize the Osirian o’dio stations and the Reef falls suddenly, shockingly silent.

The Boreals issue a summons to representatives from the City and the west. The new arrangements for the city will be discussed in the Council Chambers, at ten hundred the following day. The western summons is handed to a skad who hands it to a fishing vendor who hands it to a raft rack engineer until eventually it reaches the woman with many names, the woman known as the Silverfish.

Adelaide Rechnov reads the summons without comment. She looks at Dien, who has not said a word all day.

‘Do you want to read it?’

Dien doesn’t reply.

An unnatural hush descends upon the city. People remain inside, gathering in the stairwells, adults whispering, children alert for clues that will demystify this new, unexplained state. It begins to rain, a soft persistent drizzle. The rain streams over the solar skin of the towers and the bufferglass window-walls and the armoured sides of the Boreal submarines, soaking into the newly mounted Boreal flags.

Sometime between the hours of two and three in the morning, an explosion rips open the night. Orange flame bursts skywards, blazing brightly for several minutes before receding. Smoke drifts upwards and dissipates in the rain. The explosion occurs on the far eastern side of the city, where Adelaide Mystik once hosted her annual Rose Soirée at the Red Rooms. In the laboratory above the apartment, a row of exquisitely crafted telescopes is blown into shards.

Adelaide enters the vaulted dome of the Council Chambers unaccompanied. Today there are no glamorous accessories, no statement white suit or tinted spectacles to antagonize or distract her spectators. Her footsteps fall sombrely with each step, the sound seeming to sink rather than echo, and she can feel the creak in the waterproofing of her western boots.

The Chambers are almost deserted. Without the Council present, the skeleton is exposed, the wood and marble that were shipped from land nations and the ceiling frescos which are so painstakingly maintained, the rows of empty chairs bearing the impressions of those who are usually seated here. She has the sense of standing in a place that has not heard a human voice in years.

Except there are people: a single row of occupants, men and women, none of whom she recognizes. The Boreals regard her with curiosity rather than interest. Their attire is foreign, though some are dressed in what she takes to be military uniform, with insignia at their breasts or collars. Their faces are smooth and plump and strange to her. Even as she surveys them, a part of her can only marvel that they exist at all.

The mouth of one of the Boreals, a woman, curls in a sneer. Adelaide can imagine how she must appear to them. Unkempt. Bedraggled from the rain. Not much of a leader.

There is one other Osirian in the room.

Her father, Feodor Rechnov.

The contrast between them could not be more marked. Feodor, perhaps under advisement from his colleagues, has dressed austerely, even conservatively, but he has retained the purple surcoat of the Osirian Council. Everything about him speaks of affluence, from the protein-rich skin of his face and hands to the immaculate creases of his trousers.

Of all the people they could have sent, it had to be him. Feodor, who has so much to lose. She knows exactly how he would have bullied and cajoled to ensure his name was first on the table, employing every last scrap of his influence in the Council, the way he has used it to keep Linus out of sight. Seeing him standing there brings a wave of despair almost greater than the sight of their invaders. She cannot think of anyone more damaging to represent their case.

An usher leads Adelaide to a seat. She can see the terror in the young man’s face, and she murmurs to him, ‘It will be all right.’

A brazen lie, for quite clearly, it will not be all right. But the usher’s hands steady; he backs away and at a nod from the foreigners, he leaves.

Feodor looks her up and down. He laughs, an unmistakably bitter sound.

‘So it is true. I didn’t believe Linus.’

‘You should have listened to him.’

‘Listened to a traitor?’

Adelaide drops her voice.

‘I heard you torched the Whitefly headquarters.’

For a moment she sees the scene: Feodor’s lackeys entering the laboratory with hammers and explosives, smashing up data drives and telescopes, sloshing fuel over the monitoring equipment, an excess of it leaking down in oily puddles. She sees again the tail of the explosion and she wonders if there was any warning for the people in the tower where she used to live.

‘I don’t know what you refer to,’ Feodor says smoothly.

‘Of course you don’t.’

They are both placed facing and below the Boreals, she on the left, Feodor on the right. At the centre of the row of Boreals is a large man whose uniform is heavily decorated. His lips lie slightly apart, revealing the upper front teeth and giving him an expression of incongruous merriment. He addresses her father first.

‘You are Feodor Rechnov?’

‘That is my name. You can refer to me as Councillor Rechnov. That is the capacity in which I represent the people of this city.’

‘And you—’ The Boreal glances down. ‘You are known as the Silverfish.’

‘That’s correct.’

Feodor laughs again.

‘That is my daughter, Adelaide Rechnov.’

‘Familial relations do not interest us.’ The Boreal looks at Feodor. ‘You represent the eastern side of the city.’

‘I represent the City,’ he says contemptuously. ‘
Our
city.’

The force of Feodor’s will has a physical weight. Adelaide has felt it before; in the past it has swayed entire Councils to Feodor’s way of thinking. Now she senses him consciously directing it towards these strangers. Difficult to say whether she wants him to succeed or not: they don’t yet know which way the current flows.

The smiling Boreal turns his attention to Adelaide.

‘And you represent the western side of the city?’

‘I do.’

Feodor cannot restrain a snort. Adelaide resists glancing across at him. She is his weakness; this is clear to her now in a way that it never was before. But he should know better than to reveal it to these outsiders. The city’s only hope for survival may be to work together, which means she and her father have to co-operate, however much each of them detests the prospect.

‘I am Commander-in-Chief Katu Ben,’ says the Boreal leader. ‘I represent Alaskan interests. You should note my colleagues Luciana Tan, representing the Sino-Siberian Federation, and Marc Bernier of Veerdeland. We’ll be leading the transfer of jurisdiction. We understand the city is divided, which is why we’ve brought you here today – to work through the practicalities of Boreal governance.’

‘The city of Osiris is an independent state,’ says Feodor forcefully. ‘It was declared as such in the year of twenty-three forty-six. Your presence here is unlawful.’

‘On the contrary.’ Katu Ben gazes at Feodor with a clear, unblinking stare. ‘The City of Osiris may have declared itself independent, but independence was never formally granted by the Boreal States – which, I’ll remind you, paid for every cent of its construction. You remain a colony of the states of the north.’

Feodor squares his shoulders, making the most of his imposing frame. He adopts a leisurely, benign smile.

‘You have not set foot in the city for over fifty years. What right do you think you have over its citizens?’

‘A legal right,’ says the Boreal calmly. ‘But the fifty years is, as you say, pertinent. Fifty years is a long time for a city to disappear. A very long time. Wouldn’t you agree?’

‘It’s not our fault if you ignored our distress signal,’ interjects Adelaide.

‘There was no distress signal.’

‘You’re mistaken. Or your technologies failed to intercept it.’

‘There was no distress signal,’ Katu Ben repeats. ‘Or have you been colluding with the Antarcticans this past half a century? For that, I have to point out, would be an act of treason against the Boreal States. If treason is proved…’ He trails away, looking at both of them with apparent surprise.

Feodor tenses in genuine outrage.

‘The Antarcticans have been as lax as yourselves in coming to our aid. We’ve had nothing to do with them. On the contrary, we’ve been left to rot. You want our city? Well, here it is. Take it, and pay for the repairs while you’re at it.’

‘Feodor, for stars’ sake—’

‘I mean it!’ he shouts. ‘They want it, they get it all, including your little western crusade, Adelaide.’ Feodor is on his feet now. ‘So I hope you’ve got the resources to patrol a border and keep down terrorist attacks. I hope you’ve got the solar skin and the bufferglass to patch up the leaking towers and pump dry the flooded ones, and fix the ring-net too while you’re at it – I hear one of your submarines has already ploughed through the northern barrier and now we’ve got a rabid shark cruising around the waterways. There’s a reason we keep that ring-net in place.’

‘Local governance is your concern,’ says the Boreal. ‘We are here simply to oversee. So – this is how it’s going to work. You will report to us. The city will be economically viable, and pay tax to the Boreal States like any other colony. My advice: take the time to read these directives – at your leisure, of course, but not too slowly. Take them back to your Council, and explain to them how the administration will work from hereon. That is the extent of your role. No more.’

His voice carries a note of warning, but Feodor does not heed it.

‘And if the Council refuse, as undoubtedly they will?’

‘They should not refuse.’

‘And if they do?’

‘If you refuse to comply with our entirely reasonable demands, the Boreal States will have no choice but to enforce them.’

‘Now we come to it,’ says Feodor. He folds his arms. ‘All bullies are the same at heart.’

‘Just so we’re clear, what exactly do you mean when you say “enforce them”?’ asks Adelaide.

The Boreal leader looks at her, and while he speaks his mouth remains in that perpetual upward curve. Nothing, says that smile, could delight him more to be in this room on this day, dispensing these orders.

‘Let me tell you something.’ He leans forwards conspiratorially. ‘I have had to obliterate cities of my own people under the eyes of the world to preserve the Alaskan state. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m a man of empty threats. Do you understand me?’

‘I understand you perfectly.’

The blandness in Katu Ben’s voice terrifies her.

‘I hope that you do.’

‘Threats don’t go so nicely with your policies of governance, if I may say so.’

Katu Ben lets his gaze rove over the empty Chambers. Adelaide can almost read the calculations as he evaluates every aspect of the wealth on display.

‘When it comes to rogue states, we aren’t left with much choice.’ He nods to his left and right. ‘As I’m sure our neighbouring nations would agree.’

A Boreal officer rolls over a trolley.

‘It’s been so very, very long, no one was sure what level of technology you were working with,’ says Katu Ben. ‘We have made the relevant documents available in various formats.’

‘Too kind.’ Feodor’s voice is thick with sarcasm.

‘We’ll leave you to absorb these in your own time. Well,’ Ben consults a device in front of him, ‘within the next twenty-four hours. We’ve arranged a handover ceremony to take place tomorrow evening, when the city’s new governor will be announced. You can put your DNA to these documents then.’

‘And the city’s new governor?’ Adelaide asks. ‘Am I right in assuming that’s you?’

Katu Ben inclines his head.

‘In the transitional stage. Until we find someone more permanent. Believe me, none of us wish to spend any more time here than we have to.’

‘Should have guessed,’ she mutters. ‘Should have fucking guessed.’

‘Now do you see? Now do you see, you stupid girl? Where your idiotic, thoughtless schemes have led us?’

‘Shut up, Feodor, they’re probably bugging us—’

Feodor’s hand tightens on her wrist. She shakes it off.

‘The Chambers are a sacred site!’ he shouts.

‘Not any more, they aren’t. Let’s get out somewhere we can talk, for stars’ sake.’

They hurry back to the aquarium lifts of the Eye Tower. Adelaide takes the lead, leaving Feodor no choice but to follow her, taking the lift to the seventieth floor and walking briskly through the tower until they reach the private shuttle platform reserved for Council use. Adelaide calls the shuttle pod. She can hear rain pattering on the roof of the tunnel. It hasn’t stopped since yesterday. Feodor pays it no attention; he is apoplectic with rage.

‘You are so very ignorant, Adelaide. You always have been – wilfully so. Why do you think you were never told about Whitefly? I couldn’t trust you. And now you see why it was necessary – now those monsters have come to shit all over us!’

‘You could never have kept it up, Feodor, it was a stupid plan. Think how everyone in the city feels now they know they’ve been lied to. Do you think they’ll trust you now?’

He looks impatiently down the tunnel.

‘It was the only viable plan.’

‘It doesn’t matter now. It was only a question of time, and now your time’s up. What the hell are we going to do about this? Have you thought about that?’

‘You think I’m going to discuss this situation with you like a rational individual?’

‘Don’t forget I represent the west.’

He snorts.

‘Of course, you’re all for terrier rights now.’

‘For some people, Boreal governance might be a whole lot better than life under the jurisdiction of your precious Council.’

Feodor’s cheeks redden, emphasizing the fine capillaries running through his skin. She can see the tic working in his cheek.