“What is this document in relation to?” Simon asked, in an attempt to sound as if there was still a chance that they were here to work together on whatever issue had arisen.
“Read it.”
“Subject: escape of two lower caste Omega residents,” he began, his words drifting to a whisper as he scanned the rest of the document. Then he stopped and pushed the paper away as if it was diseased. He tried to push his chair backwards but the twisted legs of the table were still catching at his feet. He was stopped by the bulk of the two guards behind him. “That's my number,” he panted, gripping on to the arms of the chair. “Breach of marital commitments? How? With who?”
“The Seventh Creed, Simon. Can you recite it to me?”
“Every citizen of New Omega shall renounce their previous life for the prosperity of the collective society,” he said robotically, through laboured breaths. “Of course I can recite it. I teach it.”
“Then you believe that your place of privilege in Omega Tower was secured on the basis of ‘do as I say, not as I do’?”
“I don't know what you mean, Sir.”
“I think you do, Simon. I think even your wife would know what I mean.” President Grayson leaned across the desk, his fingers interlocked, his arms propped up on his elbows. The sweat on Simon’s brow had intensified and he wiped his hand across his face to mop it up. Beads of the same terrified sweat trailed down his back. They had turned up the heating, he was certain of it. As if they wanted to sweat the truth out of you. “We chose to let it go, as long as it went unnoticed. As long as you were discreet. Daley Cartwell is a well-known face, a beacon for many people. Not just here in Omega Tower, but all towers. On that basis, we chose to turn a blind eye. Against our better judgement, I might add.” The President sat tapping a fingernail against his canine tooth.
“I'm not sure....” Simon began, but President Grayson cut him off with the tip of his index finger pointing skyward, his eyebrows following into menacing arches. Simon, of course, knew exactly what he was talking about.
“I don't believe you. I knew that you would deny it. Extramarital affairs, especially those which have no hope of producing a child, are forbidden. You know this. Four years you have been married and what is there to show for it? Nothing. Your wife walks around looking miserable, knowing full well that you are fornicating with Daley Cartwell.” President Grayson shook his head in disgust, his lips turned down at the corners. He stood up and walked away from the table, one hand on his hip, the other across his mouth. Simon couldn't bring himself to look upwards and instead watched from the corner of his eye. “Every citizen of New Omega shall renounce their previous life for the prosperity of the collective society,” Anthony Grayson bellowed. “That is what you teach!” He raced to the table, snatched at the chair, holding himself up on it. “And yet you flout the rules. The rules we created. That I created. The basis for a better world when we had to pick ourselves up after the mess that landed at our feet.”
“But people are not happy, Sir. We are trying, but Omega cannot provide everything. Some things cannot be provided by a government. I was trying.” Simon knew as well as Zack that Omega Tower couldn’t provide everything a human needed. It could provide warmth on a cold winter’s day, but that warmth only penetrated skin deep. It could provide food to keep you living, but it couldn’t make you feel alive. It could find you a partner and talk about commitment, but it couldn’t bring you love. He thought about Zack on the other side of an unofficial border and hoped that somewhere he would find happiness in freedom. A freedom that he wished he could have shared with Daley.
“Perhaps they are not happy, Simon. Perhaps you were not happy. But we were a sacrifice for the greater good, and this balance that we are trying to create is for our benefit. It was your responsibility to adhere to it. At least until our quarantine ends. Can you not remember the world before the war, Simon? No security. No peace. We were at war with a collective of countries. We tried to control it, but it was impossible. Back when we were an empire we couldn’t be touched. Countries fell into line, we could do whatever we liked. When we loosened the reins on those countries some of them flourished. Take India for example. In the years before Operation Boa they even landed on Mars. But there were other countries which fell to their knees. They rebelled, they formed resistance armies who preached hatred dressed up as religion. And we were so wrapped up in diplomacy that we allowed them the space to manoeuvre until we ourselves became the target. We, the very people who had given them freedom.”
President Grayson sat back down leaning in as close to Simon as the width of the table allowed.
“So we did something about it. We created a better world for as many as we could, by sacrificing ourselves. It gave us the justification to do what was necessary. We needed an irrefutable basis upon which we could settle the war. Start it properly. Some might say we shouldn’t have done it, but we were an island, and somebody had to take the hit. But when somebody decides to go against the balance that we have created, put his own needs above that of the society, he forgets what he is here for. He forgets his principles, and in doing so he makes mistakes. This is how the need for war arose in the first place.”
“I haven't made a mistake,” Simon said as he wiped a snotty tear from his cheek. “I admit I might have gone astray. But I can renounce again. I can take double pledges.”
“Your mistake was lack of focus, Simon. I admit, it will be easier for the future generations who cannot remember. But this population needs some pressure to mould, because the quarantine could last for decades. We have to be prepared. This is why we have the means to teach principles. After Gamma Tower, and the rumblings I have heard in Beta, we need a deterrent. Especially after this latest escape.” President Grayson spoke with ease and calm. “This is why we have the Denunciation Ceremony.”
Simon jumped from his chair, pushing the other two suited goons backwards as he lunged for President Grayson across the desk. Simon managed to get both hands on the collar of his shirt. President Grayson stumbled backwards, pulling Simon with him.
“No! No, please!” Simon begged as he fell to the floor, still clinging to the president’s clothes. President Grayson stepped backwards against the mirrored wall as the two guards staggered to their feet. “Anthony, please. Don't say that. I will give him up. I'll give anything up. I am still young. I can work on procreation instead. I promise.” The guards grabbed Simon within a matter of seconds. “Please! I'll do anything.”
“What you will do,” President Grayson began as he straightened his shirt and fiddled his tie into the intended central position, “is set the best example that you can possibly set by going along with your denunciation. You will face the charges with the dignity expected of a citizen of New Omega. It will be set for the 266th day.”
“Please,” Simon begged. “I haven't hurt anybody.”
“You have hurt me. You have betrayed a position of trust and privilege, and beyond any of that you have betrayed the values of New Omega by conducting your life in the same way as you previously floundered through your existence. You were given a chance. A good chance. It is over now.” The guards pulled Simon from the room, but just before they could get the door closed he managed to break free. He clung to the door frame.
“Anthony, what about Daley?” Simon sobbed.
“He will of course present your denunciation to the citizens. I'm not sure any further deterrent for him will be necessary.”
Anthony Grayson wafted his hand to sweep them away, and with the arrival of two Guardians during Simon’s desperate protest, he was dragged from the room. His pleading and crying was still audible from the other end of the corridor. Every now and again President Grayson heard Simon call out Daley’s name.
Anthony Grayson picked up the upturned chair and sat down. He pulled the Communication Panel, a smaller version of a Control Panel, from his pocket. He tapped the screen and then raised it to his ear like he would have once done with a phone. The voice on the
other end answered.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Arrange the Denunciation Ceremony for the nineteenth. Yes, of course this month. Have him held in Epsilon. He should be with you shortly. Then arrange for Emily to be brought to my private offices. Not a word of her involvement gets out, you understand me?”
“Of course. There is no need to complicate matters.”
“Please tell me that there haven't been any further breaches. We lost Gamma on the back of sloppiness. I want all stations manned from now on. I want numbers at every open line, got it? I don't want to lose Alpha. And I cannot even begin to consider the loss of Delta or Beta. I heard what has been happening in the latter recently. Did you get everything backed up at those sites?”
“The servers remain intact. The feed is sound. Uncompromised on all sites. As for Beta, security has been stepped up and shouldn’t be an issue from here onwards.” President Grayson was nodding as if Brent Ravenscroft was in the room with him. “We lost a few in the riot that ensued, but all is well.”
“Good. Make sure it stays that way. We cannot afford to lose anymore. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“And find Margareta. Send her to my private offices. I will need her for more than one reason once this is contained.”
“Of course, Sir,” replied Brent.
President Grayson didn't say anything else. He slipped the Communication Panel back into his suit pocket and stepped out of the Interview Room taking the first steps towards his private offices. He didn’t know what he was going to say to Emily, but he was looking forward to the sensation of Margareta draped across his body later. That would be just what he needed to relax.
Chapter Forty Seven
When the electrical supply was interrupted the Guardians moved into their protocol positions. There were two stationed at each intersection and each doorway in the corridor that led to the Presidential Suite. As President Grayson approached some of them acknowledged their president in the hope that he would remember their face. It was just a subtle tipping of the head. In the future they might speak of this day to their families, or to the children they dreamed about but had been forbidden to have. They would be a distraction, it was decided. The others stood firm, their eyes front, feet spaced shoulder width apart, their Assisters in hand and ready for whatever. Just in front of the main doors there were four more. They stepped aside as their president advanced, the most experienced holding the door open so that President Grayson could glide effortlessly through. His appearance was startling; sweaty, red faced. Harassed. It wasn’t what they expected, and just this sight focused their resolve. If this was what their president looked like, there was reason to be ready. They’d leave this bit out when they retold the story. Nobody wants a weak President, or even to be associated with one.
The boots of the four Guardians shuffling back into position on the other side of the door were the only things to break the silence as President Grayson stepped into the Presidential Suite. There was nobody spare to sit at the reception desk and it remained unmanned. If Margareta was here she would have greeted him. The fact that she wasn’t around was puzzling. And frustrating. Sometimes she would bring him a brandy, served over ice in a squat crystal tumbler even though it wasn't her job. She did plenty that wasn’t her job and that was the main reason Emily hated her.
The only lighting came from underneath the settees which appeared to float over the marble floor. He felt alone, as if he might be the last person in the world. He knew he wasn’t. He stepped forward into the belly of the room, towards the second sofa, a less futuristic corner affair which looked altogether more comfortable but in reality wasn’t. He hadn’t sat on it on in weeks, maybe months. Not since Helena had been sedated. The doctors had said it was for the best, and that even transporting her to France for treatment was a risk. The situation there was becoming more unstable by the day. He took the decision to halt treatment alone, knowing that it was his burden to shoulder. Emily had never forgiven him for it. She said that he had given up on her mother. In a way it was true, but Helena had given up on him long before that.
He looked left towards the corridor leading to the bedrooms. It was quiet, not even a flicker of light under a doorway to interrupt the peace. He looked right towards his private offices, the place where he was never to be disturbed. Dim light crept out from under the door to his offices, no stronger than a distant star, such as those that twinkled in the skies above Omega on a clear night. He knew Emily was there. Brent had confirmed it. It was natural, he thought, to want to protect his only child. The need to do so was even enough to make him consider ending the whole charade. All it would take was for him to open the doors to Alpha and her faith in him would be restored. She might even forgive him his dalliances with Margareta. Okay, that was pushing it, but even for her to smile at him would be a start. It had been days since they had even spoken, and his thoughts kept returning to that day in her bedroom when he locked her in and threatened to keep her prisoner. How she had cried, even when she thought she was alone. That was the last time he had seen her. He had watched her since, via the Unity Panel in her bedroom, crying and pawing at the door. Now that was his lasting image of her. He wished instead that it had been happy, a smile, a shared joke, perhaps one that involved her mother. But it wasn’t, and he wasn’t going to get another chance to make a better lasting memory.
He ignored the dim flicker of light and moved towards the bedrooms. He passed the old guest quarters where he now slept, before changing his mind and returning to take a quick peek inside just in case Margareta was there. It would have been highly irregular of her to be there alone, but so was the situation, and his hopes that she was around were still high. Upon finding an empty bedroom he took another step forward before stopping when he heard the voice behind him.
“Sir, may I take your jacket?”
Maurice, their butler, was standing in silhouette at the entrance to the bedroom corridor. He had been with them from the start, and was probably the person who knew the most about what happened in Omega Tower outside of the Conservators. He was privy to their private conversations, their tears, their tantrums, their disagreements, of which there were many. It was Maurice who prepared the brandy that Margareta would bring him. It was Maurice who had shown Margareta to this very corridor when President Grayson had first requested that she join him outside of working hours. It was Maurice who had held Emily when she learnt of her mother's diagnosis, when her father’s love wasn’t enough. ‘Terminal’ had been the word that broke her. Emily lost all belief as soon as it was uttered. Anthony knew that it was that moment when he lost her. Her mother was the reason she tolerated her life. If she didn't have her, what was the point of still trying?
“No, thank you, Maurice. Retire for the night. Relax.”
“As you wish, Sir.”
Maurice slipped away unheard, his feet like hovercrafts skimming the ground. Anthony Grayson pushed on, arriving outside his old marital bedroom. He edged towards the door and heard the familiar beeping of the heart rate monitors, a constant reminder of life continuing without really existing.
“Good evening, Sir,” said the nurse. She stopped what she was doing, setting a metal tray with several syringes down on a nearby glass bench, and performed a small curtsey.
“Good evening. How is my wife today?” He was standing just inside the door, as if he was asking for information regarding a stranger. He didn't know if Helena would want him here, and even though she couldn't talk to him anymore, her motionless silence spoke a thousand words. He had heard every one of them in his head over and over again.
Ignorant. Stubborn. Unimaginable.
He stopped himself, not wanting to go on. He stepped forward and focussed on the beeps, shutting out the past. Easier said than done.
Your decisions killed my father, came her voice in his head. Her words were as fresh today as they had been all those years ago.
“What is that you are about to administer?” he asked,
trying to change the subject. He didn't hear the nurse’s response.
Your decisions killed my father.
Words he had heard time and time again, so ingrained in his memory he no longer bothered to argue against them.
At the side of the bed there was a small chair, soft and velvety, as good as new because it had never really been placed here to be sat upon. He pulled it from the wall and positioned it close to Helena. His wife. The woman he had promised to protect until she died. He had failed. He held her fingers in his own, brushed them over her tissue-paper skin which seemed so delicate it might tear.
“I'm sorry I haven't been here for a while.” He loosened his tie and leaned forwards in his chair, his elbows resting on the tops of his knees. “I am sure the nurses have been looking after you. I certainly see them coming in and out.” It was so lame. The fact that he had noticed the nurses coming in and out but couldn't even take the time to open a door to visit seemed so pathetic now. It was either a confession or excuse, but it seemed to him much the same thing. He sat back, dropped his weight onto a clenched fist, supported by his temple. The pressure of the weight on his shoulders began to work its way into his head. He could feel a headache coming on.
“I suppose I wasn't even sure you wanted me here. And, well, I know Emily didn't want me here. She told me so. She told me that she blamed me. I guess now that's both of you, and I am officially outnumbered.” It was an attempt at humour, and a wry grin crept onto his lips. It was gone within a blink of an eye. He reached forwards, his face close to hers, one arm wrapped protectively around the crown of her head. “I wish you could find a way back.” He kissed her on the forehead, his lips lingering against her warm, moist skin. “But I know you never can. Neither of us can.” He pulled one of the blankets down, folded it at the end of the bed. As he stepped out of the door, he saw the nurse waiting outside.
The Dawn: Omnibus edition (box set books 1-5) Page 43