Skyfall

by Anthony Eaton

  ‘You’ve read my son’s report. There are no alternatives.’

  ‘There are always alternatives, Doctor Mann,’ the Prelate said. ‘We just have to find them.’

  ‘Please, Madam Prelate, I implore you …’

  ‘Don’t beg, Doctor Mann. It’s unseemly.’

  ‘I agree.’ Janil spoke softly, but his words seemed to echo. Dernan Mann stared at his son.

  ‘What! Janil …’

  ‘No, Father. They’re right. Jenx summed it up perfectly. She’s become more of a liability than a benefit to us.’

  Lari watched his father’s face closely, trying to read it. Dernan Mann shook his head.

  ‘You of all people, Janil. This is about Larinan, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, Father. It’s about logic. It’s about facing up to what’s in front of us and dealing with it accordingly.’

  Father and son stared at one another, both angry, both daring the other to say something, anything. Then Dernan Mann turned back to the Prelate.

  ‘At least give us a little more time. Surely this decision doesn’t need to be implemented immediately. Every hour you allow us increases the possibility that we’ll find something – anything – in that girl’s genes which we might be able to use to our advantage.’

  The Prelate considered this for a moment, before turning to Jenx.

  ‘Mr Jenx, for how long can you keep a lid on the Underground?’

  Jenx made a non-committal gesture. ‘Hard to say. Possibly a week, possibly a day. They might launch another bombing attack tomorrow, or just stick to stirring up the shifties and undermining productivity. Ratz is cunning, he doesn’t allow—’

  ‘How long, Mr Jenx?’

  The security chief shrugged. ‘Say a week. That’s as likely as any other guess I could make.’

  The Prelate turned to Janil. ‘Janil, do you believe that you might discover something significant in a week?’

  ‘Probably not, but it couldn’t hurt. There’s always a slim possibility. Father is right about that.’

  ‘Very well.’ The city leader turned back to Dernan Mann. ‘Doctor, you and your sons have a week. No more. Unless you achieve some kind of breakthrough in the meantime, you are to report back to me here in seven days and we will organise the … disbanding of the project. And of course, if anything significant happens in the underworld in that time, I reserve the right to change this decision at a moment’s notice. Is that understood?’

  ‘Of course, Madam Prelate.’ Dernan Mann looked a broken man.

  ‘Good, then. In that case, thank you for coming, gentlemen. That will be all.’

  As they moved towards the door, the Prelate spoke again. ‘Janil, would you mind staying for a minute longer. I’d like a quick word with you alone.’

  Ignoring the look his father gave him, Janil came back to the couch, and Lari and Dernan Mann followed Jenx out into the foyer.

  ‘Well, that’s that, then.’ The chief of security walked towards the hub with them. ‘Looks like I’ll see you in a week, Doctor Mann.’ Outside, to the west, the sea gleamed in the afternoon sun, the horizon startlingly low without the field of domes to blur and raise it. ‘Oh, and Larinan?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’ll organise for your mag ban to be lifted this evening. As long as the Prelate seems happy to trust you, then I will, too.’

  ‘What about Kes?’

  ‘Your girlfriend?’

  ‘My former girlfriend.’

  ‘I see no harm in lifting her ban, too. I’ll let you give her the good news yourself.’

  Behind them the door to the Quarter Room opened and Janil emerged, joining them at the hub without a word. A long look passed between him and his father, but neither spoke. They scanned in and the lift was there instantly. As they stepped inside, Jenx spoke again.

  ‘I’ll see all of you next week. At the latest.’

  Without another word he turned on his heel and marched back into the Quarter Room.

  ‘So what do we do?’ Lari asked, as soon as the doors had closed and the lift dropped into the long downwards shaft.

  His father’s voice was hard. ‘We get back to work, Larinan.’

  He hasn’t come today.

  It’s the first time in many, many days that Nightperson Lari hasn’t appeared, slipping out of the dark gap in the wall, asking her name, talking about nothing and everything.

  She wonders where he is.

  Slowly she climbs down from the padded mat on its podium and crosses to the place in the wall where she knows the door is: the place where Nightperson Lari always emerges. She runs her fingers across the smooth surface, searching for a gap, a slit, even the tiniest chink in that hard, cold whiteness.

  There’s nothing, though. She’s not surprised. She’s done this many times since she woke up here.

  Saria walks a complete lap of the room, trailing her fingertips across the cold white wall

  It’s strange, him not appearing as usual It makes her feel odd … unsettled.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he always asks.

  She still hasn’t told him.

  She hasn’t told him anything.

  Her stomach growls. She wishes they’d give her some food. But they don’t. They make her sleep sometimes, whether she wants to or not, and when she wakes up she’s no longer hungry, but her stomach never feels full, ever.

  Perhaps he’s given up? Perhaps he’s not coming ever again.

  She pushes the idea away. It is uncomfortable to realise that the thought of him not coming scares her.

  She hates him.

  He’s cold. Nothing. Empty. She can’t reach him. She can’t reach anything in here, except for the skyfire, which hurts her.

  She hates him more than she’s ever hated anything, ever. More than Baanti, more than Slander.

  But still, she hopes he’ll come …

  The Bean was asleep, finally. It had taken almost two hours, and Kes was about ready to throw him off a balcony somewhere, but finally he’d nodded off. Now she stood over his bed, watching as he sucked on three fingers crammed into his mouth.

  ‘You’re much cuter this way, you know that?’

  She whispered so there’d be no chance of him waking. If that happened, she’d never get him off again.

  Kes sighed. ‘I don’t know what’s more tragic – that my only friend nowadays is a one-year-old or that the best part of my day is when he goes to sleep.’

  Being locked out of the mags had at least freed up time for her mum to get back to work, and with the double productivity allocation coming in there was a chance they might be able to get a bit up the waiting list. Reaching down, she adjusted the sheet covering her little brother then backed out of the room. With a bit of luck, he’d sleep for a couple of hours, giving her an afternoon of peace and quiet.

  The com chimed. She held her breath, listening for a wail from the room behind her, but luckily the Bean didn’t stir. Quickly she crossed to the terminal.

  ‘Kes!’

  ‘Lari.’ Even though the sight of him sent a tingle of nerves through her, she kept her voice carefully neutral. He’d tried calling a couple of times after the thing with the pacifier, but she’d always refused to answer and in the end he gave up.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Still trapped here. Still looking after Savi.’

  ‘Yeah. About that, listen … Can I come over and see you?’

  ‘Aren’t you still locked out of the mags?’

  ‘No, we’re both free again. From last night. That’s why I called. I thought you should know.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘So can I come over?’

  ‘Don’t you have work?’

  ‘I … I’m taking some time off.’

  ‘Must be nice for you. My parents don’t get time off.’

  ‘Can I come over or not?’

  Kes hesitated. Any diversion would be welcome after three months stuck in her dome babysitting her brother, but there was a reason she’d
been refusing Lari’s calls.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I just want to chat. Properly.’

  She stared at him for a moment. ‘Fine. Whatever you want.’

  ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  The terminal went dark.

  Kes paced around the apartment. She knew every scratch in the walls and every little bump in the floors so well that she could find her way around blindfolded if she had to.

  Why would he be coming over? Nothing for months, and then this? She stared out the grimy clearcrete window.

  How was she going to talk to him? She really didn’t know. Gregor had told her she needed to rebuild her bridges, and of course he was right. She’d be no value to the Underground – sky, she’d be no value to anyone – unless she had the ear of Larinan Mann.

  That was the bit which really hurt. It didn’t matter what she did, any of it. It didn’t matter how good she was with data systems, how fast she could access the right protocols, or how easily she could spot an error or inconsistency in the code and then either fix or exploit it. None of that mattered to anyone, because first and foremost, where other people were concerned, she wasn’t Kesra Anatale but Larinan Mann’s mixie friend.

  The city barred her from the mags. Why? Because she was Larinan Mann’s friend.

  The Underground had helped her get into the advanced school just so she’d befriend Larinan Mann. They’d cultivated her for years, waiting for this moment, waiting until Lari became important enough that she could draw him in for them. They’d pacified her, lied to her, made her lie in turn.

  Nobody saw Kesra Anatale. All they saw when they looked at her was Larinan Mann, and that was all they wanted.

  She’d done a lot of thinking in the last three months, but now, with Lari magging over to her dome, she was no closer to knowing what to do.

  Kes sighed. If only she’d known. But it wouldn’t have made a difference. She’d have done exactly the same. They’d chosen her well. And early, too, right back when she was still nothing more than a little kid in prep. She remembered clearly the day her teacher had pulled her aside.

  ‘Kesra, I have a question for you.’

  ‘Yes, miss?’

  ‘You’re the brightest little girl I’ve taught in a long, long time. You know that? A long way ahead of the others.’

  Five-year-old Kes smiled shyly, and her teacher continued.

  ‘I’d really like to be able to send you to the advanced school for primary. Would you like that?’

  Kes had laughed. Kids from their level didn’t go to advanced school, everyone knew that. But then she realised that her teacher wasn’t even smiling.

  ‘Do you think that’s funny, Kesra?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘I guess it is, in a way. But I’m not joking. If I could organise for you to go to the advanced school, do you think you’d like to?’

  Kes still remembered the feeling of those words, the lightheaded giddiness that they carried with them. It was like a tiny ball of hope opening up.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Are you certain? It might not be as easy or as much fun as doing primary with your friends from our school. The kids in the advanced school will all be … different. They’ll look at you differently, too.’

  ‘I don’t care.’ And she didn’t. The advanced school was a possibility that mixed-use kids didn’t even bother dreaming about. ‘But how can you send me there? Why don’t other kids from our school get sent there?’

  Her teacher had knelt down and whispered in her ear. ‘I can’t explain that, Kesra. Normally we couldn’t and, even though I’ve said it might happen, you shouldn’t be too disappointed if it doesn’t. But I have some friends, who have some friends, who think they can get one little girl into the advanced school, and I think that little girl should be you. Can you accept that and not ask any more questions?’

  Kes had nodded, her tiny face all serious now.

  ‘Good girl. I knew you’d make me proud.’

  ‘When will I start there?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. Soon. You’ll have to be patient, okay?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘And Kesra, there is one more thing, the most important thing of all. Whatever happens, if you get into the school, or even if you don’t, it’s very, very important that this is our secret. All right? You can’t tell anyone that we’ve had this talk. Anyone at all about it, ever. Not even your mum and dad. Can you do that?’

  Kes had nodded again, silenced at being told a secret so enormous it couldn’t even be shared with her dad.

  ‘Are you certain, Kesra? Secrets can be very hard things to keep sometimes. Especially from the people you love the most. But you have to keep this one, more than anything else. Can you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I knew you could.’ Her teacher had smiled then. ‘Here, this is for you.’

  Reaching up, she’d unclasped a small pendant on a fine chain from around her neck. It was of two silver tridents, backing up to one another.

  ‘Think of me when you wear it.’

  ‘What will I tell my mum if she sees it?’

  ‘It would be better if she didn’t. But if you have to, you can tell her it’s a present from me.’

  Her teacher had propelled her gently from the room and, without Kes being any the wiser, into the Underground.

  ‘They picked me well.’ Standing by the window of her apartment, Kes’s fingers sought out the chain and pulled it out, holding it up to the light, watching it twist slightly as she dangled it, the tridents’ points always indicating outwards, whichever way it faced. ‘They must have known.’

  And they had chosen well. It was years later, long after she and Lari had become firm friends, that she’d been approached again and told what that tiny pendant really meant. It wasn’t a gift so much as a mark of ownership. Her teacher had given her to the Underground.

  Kes was spared from further reverie by the door chiming. She opened it without hesitation.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Lari.’

  He looked different, somehow. Older? Perhaps that’s what being allocated did to you.

  ‘You look well.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She let him stand there, awkward and fidgety. He wanted to come in, she knew, but Kes folded her arms and waited.

  ‘You want to go and get a caf?’

  ‘I’m watching the Bean.’

  ‘Oh.’ Lari stared at his feet before meeting her eyes again. ‘Listen, Kes, about what happened with Gregor …’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it, Lari.’

  ‘Hear what?’

  ‘That you’re sorry. I don’t care whether you’re sorry or not.’

  ‘But I am.’

  ‘Good for you, then. It doesn’t change the fact that you stood there and let them do … that … to me. Twice. You’ve got no idea what it was like.’

  ‘I didn’t have any choice.’

  ‘There’s always a choice, Larinan. It’s just that sometimes the alternatives aren’t the ones you want to hear.’

  Gregor’s words from her mouth.

  ‘Listen, I came over to apologise. If you can’t take an apology …’

  ‘I can take the apology, Larinan. It doesn’t mean I care.’

  ‘I’m sorry you feel that way, Kes. If you knew what Gregor wanted, you’d understand why I didn’t have any choice.’

  ‘Is that why you’re here? To explain what was important enough that you were happy to let them keep torturing me?’

  ‘I thought you had a right to know. That’s all.’ Lari turned away. ‘I’m sorry I bothered you. I won’t do it again. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry they hurt you, too, whether you care or not.’

  She let him take a few steps.

  Don’t rush. Don’t be too eager …

  ‘Lari …’

  He stopped.

  ‘Come in, then. As long as you’re here. Come and tell me everything.’

  ‘It’ll take a while, t
here’s a lot to tell.’

  For the first time in a long time, Kes threw Lari a quick smile. It felt good.

  ‘I’ve got time,’ she said.

  A trickle of sweat itched down Lari’s temple and dropped from his eyebrow onto the neck seal, but Lari was so used to it by this time that he ignored it.

  ‘Give us a couple more minutes, copygen, I’m just re-initialising the recording gear.’

  In the gloom of the airlock, with the only sounds the humming fans inside his suit, Lari thought about Kes. When he’d finally left her apartment an hour ago, she seemed to have forgiven him, as far as he could tell. She was still behaving oddly, but she hadn’t objected when he said he’d call her later.

  He was glad he’d told her. And now she knew all of it – the girl, the entropy scenario, the Prelate’s ultimatum. He’d told her everything, and if nothing else it was a relief to be able to talk to someone who didn’t have a vested interest in what happened to the girl waiting on the other side of the grey door in front of him.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Okay, opening now.’

  As always, the light that flooded in from the chamber was momentarily blinding, even through the helmet. And as always, Lari expected it to feel warm, but of course no heat managed to penetrate the heavy shielding of the daysuit.

  ‘All good, copygen?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘In you go, then. She’s sitting on the floor on the far side.’

  Lari stepped across the threshold and into the white room, toggling the suit’s external coms as he did so.

  ‘Hello?’

  The lights flared for a couple of seconds at almost the same moment as he entered, just as they always did. As Janil had said, the girl was propped up against the wall, her legs hugged to her chest with her skinny arms. Lari made his way across to her. She no longer tensed up or backed away when he entered, which was something, but she still got nervous if he came too close.

  ‘It’s Lari. How are you today?’

  His questions drew no response other than a dark-eyed stare. He toggled his coms.