They cheered again and most stood. Some had now given in and fallen asleep; how, Zack didn't know, because the noise was deafening.
“Thank you,” said Zack as he stepped away from the crowd. Daley Cartwell clapped, standing just to the side as if admiring Zack and his deliverance, his emancipation, his acquittal, his sins forgotten, safe now in the arms of acceptance. Then suddenly he stopped and the crowd stopped with him.
The words shimmered from his lips like moisture from sand. “Children. It is time.”
The children rose from the marble floor. Daley guided Zack to some seats at the side of the stage. He hadn't noticed them before, but there were five other people sitting there. Previous winners, he guessed. They smiled as he sat down. The woman in the next seat, from Alpha Tower, he thought, mouthed good job. The children positioned themselves. The music began, pipe music that might have once played in the foyer of the same grand building before it became the final sanctuary of humanity. The children lay down on the floor, each one certain of their place, and without delay or hesitation they formed a circle, a replica of the sun that would soon appear.
The first of the children rose to their feet, their golden arms trailing like spray behind a sailboat, weaving in and out of the other children who remained on the floor. The children dipped and dived. One by one they rose. Some of the taller children were wearing orange masks. The smallest of the children wore blue. They weaved, their arms outstretched, falling and climbing like the aeroplanes of an old sky. Then the music softened and the children began to crouch, huddling together as a ball on the floor. Another wave of children came running in from within the crowd. Each of them wore grey and they circled the other children like sharks. They reached their hands upwards and inwards covering the other children, swarming around them and amongst them so that the orange, yellow, and blue children could barely be seen.
The crowd gasped as the first chink of sunlight broke through the clouds outside, and with perfect timing the tallest of the masked children rose to their feet, ribbons streaming from their outstretched hands. From within the centre of the crowd an eruption of yellow and orange particles burst open like a volcano, and the swirling mass of grey fell away. Zack didn't see the children anymore, and instead saw a hypnotic mix of colour telling his own story. The end of the earth, and then its rebirth. He watched the ribbons trailing from the arms of the children, a wash of golden colour, like an old harvest festival. The shape of the sun dispersed and amongst the golden colours of summer he saw the shards of blue scatter amongst them. He watched as the smallest of the children reached into their pockets, streamers and ribbons, blue and aqua, the sky alive. Zack reached up and dabbed his watery eyes, his lower lids full of tears. He looked up to the glass windows, saw the light streaming in to illuminate the show before him. Simon had arrived behind him and he reached forwards over Zack's shoulder.
“Isn’t it the most beautiful thing? Praise our good President.”
Zack nodded, unable to speak, no words able to pass the lump in his throat. At the same time as thinking about all the things he had lost, none more so than the child he would never watch in a production such as this, he couldn’t help but remember the simple beauty of being alive. It was perhaps, something he had forgotten many years before the first bombs fell.
Chapter Twenty Two
The butler opened the door wearing a sharp black suit, suitable for a wedding or funeral depending on the occasion. Today he was dressed to welcome guests. Important guests. Zack was one of them.
“Mr. Christian,” he said as he opened the door, his voice curt and straightforward. It was an acknowledgement rather than invitation. His face was soft and aged, his eyebrows the only unruly thing about him. “Welcome.” He held a small glass tray, and on it was a flute which Zack guessed was both crystal and filled with champagne. Zack helped himself to one of the sparkling drinks from the tray, and then the butler bowed his head and stepped back. Zack remained conscious of his fingers, which still seemed rough and uncared for in comparison to his surroundings, even though he had been on the receiving end of three manicures, and suffered the exfoliation and make-up routines of the Presentation Ceremony. He had been informed that a weekly manicure was considered a necessity for all citizens of Omega Tower. But up until now Zack had still been wrapped up in the preliminaries, and Simon had told him that next week would be when real life started.
“Thank you,” said Zack as he took a sip of the drink, bubbles jumping upwards and striking the tip of his nose. The smell of the Champagne rushed up his nostrils, making him giddy. There was a small crowd of people at the far side of the room. Simon was one of them, but he didn’t approach. Now that the speeches and dancing of the Sunrise Ceremony were over Simon seemed off-duty. Zack moved through the foyer towards the crowd of people. He ran his fingers down from the curved shape of the glass towards the stem.
“Mr. Christian, welcome,” said an exuberant voice from within the crowd. A small, stocky man stepped forwards. His shirt was buttoned tight over his portly frame, which seemed much like a caged beast, eager and ready to burst through its flimsy captivity. “We have been expecting you.” Zack realised that one of the men in the crowd was Daley Cartwell. He had changed into a bright green suit, his monochromatic hair held in place with so much gel it looked wet.
The rest of the people began to take notice of Zack’s arrival. Some of them began to smile, especially the women who seemed excited by his presence and warm in spirit. They were wearing red silk and gold satin. One of them was wearing a sari, multicoloured and slashed open at the midriff. It seemed obscene somehow in comparison to the clothes that he had got used to, and Zack felt compelled to look away. A quick scan of the crowd revealed that he was the only one wearing white.
The gentlemen of the group were nodding their heads in approval, as if they were looking at their own creation. Then somebody shattered the ice between them with a drawn out clapping of their hands. A man no doubt, for the applause was deep and resonant, born of thick palms which have likely never tired through hard work. Soon everybody in the small crowd was clapping, although most of the women stood quietly at the side of a man. It was easy to perform a quick headcount. Ten men. Ten women. One butler, and Zack. Simon stepped to the front of the crowd and raised his applauding hands to the level of his face.
“Ladies, Gentlemen. I would like to introduce to you the delightful, and truly inspirational, Zachary Christian.” The applause intensified, like appreciation in a theatre hall until it eventually it subsided. Another man stepped forwards, tall and broad shouldered, confident in just about every way possible. Zack didn’t need to look twice to know who it was. Anthony Grayson. The President of the Republic. He stopped at just an arm’s length in front of Zack, his hands loose at his side. He brought one up and held it out for Zack to take.
“Welcome, Mr. Christian. It is my pleasure to welcome you to my home. Congratulations on your success, both on winning, and your presentation this morning.”
Zack had been waiting for this moment. Since Simon told him that he would meet with the President of The Republic of New Omega after the Sunrise Ceremony it had been hard to focus on memorising his speech. If ever there was an opportunity to gain some influence and perhaps help Leonard, then meeting with the President of New Omega would be it.
His hair was light brown, grey at the sides like people used to describe as salt and pepper. It made him look distinguished, and Zack found him handsome in a way that he didn't remember him before the war. Perhaps it was the power. People found it attractive, didn't they? The ability to make a decision for the masses drew people in. It made them want a piece of it.
Zack remembered seeing him on the television. He used to think of himself as a casual observer back then, when he would watch the now president talk about defence matters and the withdrawal from Afghanistan from the comfort of his bed on a Sunday morning. He believed that he could observe the world and learn about it from a safe distance. Like watching the n
ews of a murder, a rape, or a missing plane. It was always something happening to somebody else, in somebody else's city. He had never expected it to happen to the place he called home.
There was a long and egg-shaped table in the far corner of the room, all set for dinner. The sofa was white and shaped with a bend so that two people could lie on either arm of the sofa and their feet could meet in the corner. Cushions with regal-style material littered the settee, and the surrounding furniture was a mixture of rosewood and glass. It was highly polished and well maintained. The whole wall was made of windows offering what would have once been an impressive view. There wasn’t a speck of dirt anywhere.
“Tell me, Mr. Christian,” said Anthony Grayson as they took their seats next to each other at the table. “It must be a little strange for you being here amongst all of this. There must be so many changes for you to get used to.” The President picked up his napkin, placed it over his knees and rested his hands on his lap without thinking about it. “We are quite different to Delta, I believe.”
“Yes, Mr. President. It is very different.” Zack was aware of somebody standing at his side holding up a basket. It was full of bread rolls, some white, some brown, some covered in seeds and nuts. Some of the simplest tasks had proven themselves to be overwhelming over the last few days. Rising in the night to use the bathroom. The decision to activate the privacy settings on the windows, rendering them frosted at the flick of a switch. The choice to leave food on a plate. Having choices again was hard to get used to. He quickly pointed to a plain white roll to get the decision over and done with. His stomach was still as hard as a brick, and he was sure that the others with their toppings had the potential to disrupt his biological routines further still. If his intestines woke up now it would be a disaster.
“I believe that your quarters are quite comfortable,” the president continued. “I assume everything is satisfactory.”
“Yes, Mr. President. I am very satisfied. When I compare it to the conditions of Delta it is simply impossible to comprehend how lucky I am.” President Anthony Grayson selected a white roll with poppy seeds on the top. He split it open with his fingers, crumbs spilling onto the table. He looked at Zack as he did so, a smug smile on his face. It was as if he wanted to reiterate that they were in his place and he could do whatever he wanted. If he wanted to spill crumbs, he would spill them. The smile wasn't patronising, and it wasn't even unfriendly. But neither did Zack take it as an excuse to put his feet up and slap his new companion on the back and ask for a cigar.
“Please see to it that my daughter joins us, would you, Williams?” The butler, a second butler whose suit did not fit as well as Zack might have expected it to, nodded and left the room, the bread roll distribution incomplete. He returned only moments later, a woman trailing him, wearing the same white clothes as Zack. Her hair was long. It was golden, a dragon's tail, scaled and pleated and draped across her shoulder, before trailing off to a point.
“Emily,” said Anthony Grayson without taking his eyes from the small round of butter that he was spreading onto his roll. He spoke so quietly that the rest of the table could not hear. “You have a wardrobe full of clothes. I expected more from you today. You understand why, I am sure.”
“I'm here, am I not?” Her tone of voice reminded Zack of a petulant teenager, one eager to express her disapproval of just about anything her father represented.
Although the president's words were quiet and subdued, Emily’s chosen dress had caused a ripple of discontent around the table. Zack tried not to look at either the girl or President Grayson, and instead focussed on a large print. He recognised the print as Guernica by Pablo Picasso, and so assumed there was no chance it was real. But as he gazed at the terrified faces and destruction that the scene depicted, a memory registered. Emily. He stole a glance in the girl's direction and realised that it was the same Emily that he had met in the sublevels of Delta Tower. She was staring straight at Zack. She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't frowning either. In fact, she looked nervous. She looked as if she was begging him not to say anything.
“You want me at the table, I’m here,” she said to her father without taking her eyes from Zack. She reached out to her side and took a bread roll from the basket before the butler carried on with his rounds of the table. Pockets of conversation had erupted amongst the twenty three-strong group, and Zack had no doubt that the appearance of this girl was at least partially to blame. Zack looked around at the group and Simon caught his eye. Simon closed his eyes and pursed his lips, shook his head in a way that couldn’t be anything other than negative. Zack understood that it was best not to do or say whatever it was he was thinking, although he wasn’t really sure what that was.
“I would have been very happy if you had dressed appropriately, Emily. But never mind. Let us not spoil the day.”
“This is what everybody wears in Omega Tower.” She said, tearing into her bread. She nibbled at the chunk in her hand, her actions that of a sulky teen, her body and face that of a woman. Her skin was gauze-like, pink and fresh. Her eyes were the shape of almonds, bright and alive. There was defiance behind them, like the strongest faces on the walls of Auschwitz. She wouldn't subdue. She believed in herself. He thought back to his question in NAVIMEG. Ten years? You think we've been in here that long? She knew all along.
“Very well. We will discuss this later,” said Anthony Grayson, trying to put a stop to the conversation that he had started. The same conversation that had thrown the table into a gaggle of whispering gossips.
“I will be out later,” she said. Zack was desperate to ask if that meant Delta, but he couldn’t do that here. “Do we have any Merlot?”
“Emily, since when do you drink red wine?” Her father was laughing, and he appreciated the diversion. A man that doesn't miss an opportunity, Zack thought. “Williams, bring us a Merlot would you?”
They ate their way through a menu of venison and pheasant, roasted vegetables with the richest gravy that Zack had ever tasted. They also finished several bottles of Merlot, and Zack could feel that he had become slightly tipsy. He wanted to kiss Emily, hug her for suggesting the drink that he had described to her in the sublevels. He was sure it was a sign that she wanted him to understand that she knew it was him. She sipped from her glass, but complained that it was too dry. His stomach complained incessantly, and he knew he would pay for his pleasure later on.
“So, Mr. Christian. I believe that you are planning the first survey tomorrow.”
“Yes,” said Zack, trying to focus. “I want to get straight on and start rebuilding the road network as has been proposed.” He heard a quick exhalation from Emily which seemed nothing if not disapproving, but he pressed on. Anthony Grayson heard it too, Zack was certain, because he saw his eye twitch just a little in the direction of his daughter.
“Well done, Mr. Christian. Dedication, that’s what this is about, and I have been impressed by what you have shown so far.”
“Thank you.” Zack dabbed his mouth with his napkin, and it came away with red marks as if he were bleeding. He folded his napkin on the table so that the marks didn't show. “My primary aim is to get some of the already-cleared roads assessed for integrity. These roads lead towards both bridges. Tower and London. This should assist with connections to the north, and therefore with Beta Tower.”
“Bravo,” called a voice from the other end of the table. Zack looked up but he didn’t know from where it came. He continued.
“Once the bridges have been assessed, then at least we can understand what it might take to make them structurally safe.”
“Do you anticipate that they have sustained much damage?”
“Well,” Zack said, staring out of the panoramic window, lost for a moment in the glory of free thought and possibility: “London Bridge looks all right from here. It is only when you see the underside that it is obvious that it is not. Plus there have been some reports that sections have fallen away.”
“Drifters,” somebody
called, and as Zack looked up he saw a few heads nodding. “Trying to tear it apart from the underside.” Emily was looking up the row of suited bodies with a look of utter disgust, as if she would rather tear each one of them apart with her bare hands than listen to what they had to say. She had tasted and smelt something bad all at once, carried on the words of the others.
“I sense a ‘but’, Mr. Christian. What about Tower Bridge?” Anthony Grayson was undeterred by the gossiping, and the sudden outbursts. It was as if he didn't hear the others talking.
Zack shook his head. “I don’t think it’s very likely that we will save it. But we can restructure it if parts of it are viable. But as it currently stands, and from the images that have been provided, I'd say it's a fairly tough job.”
“Keep the Drifters out, that’s what I say,” called a voice from the other end of the table. It might have been the same one.
“But nobody asked you what you think,” Emily said, quiet enough so that only Zack and the president heard her. President Grayson stood up, and the rest of the table followed. Zack too stood up, but later than everybody else. He was still looking at Emily, willing her to look back at him.
“Everybody, it was a pleasure. Zachary,” Mr. Grayson said as he turned to Zack and held out a hand, “good luck with the first survey.” Zack took his hand and they shook. “Remember, keep me informed, and maintain your objective of clearing the perimeter. We need a clear perimeter so that we can start building the wall. It is of utmost importance, and you are going to be the driving force behind it.”
The Dawn: Omnibus edition (box set books 1-5) Page 21