by E. J. Swift
On the shuttle journey she thought about what she had uncovered so far. Axel was not in the hospitals; according to the official investigation, he was nowhere to be found in Osiris. A westerner had come to see him, an airlift. Axel had been planning something. He intended to make a balloon. She thought of Vikram’s story about the last balloon flight. A western thing, he said. Her brother must have heard the story from the airlift. No doubt the horses had told him to do it. Axel had gathered all the resources, but something had interrupted his plans.
Radir was the next card in the deck.
The psychiatrist’s office was in the northern quarter, on the tenth floor of a low rise scraper. It was a surprisingly industrial area for a private practitioner. The squat, adjacent pyramids housed on one side botanical gardens which grew the plants for cosmetics and anaesthetic, and on the other a reef farm.
The reef farm had been Adelaide’s favourite haunt as a teenager. She used to go there when she was angry. Axel used to go with her, although he would inevitably wander off to talk to one of the wardens or marine biologists. Not for the first time, she considered the irony that his last psychiatrist had been there all along, seeing patients in the tower next door.
The receptionist was easy. After a sharp knock on Radir’s door, Adelaide announced herself. “Good morning, Doctor.”
The psychiatrist, a large man with an arched nose and fair hair who had so far repelled all of Adelaide’s efforts to flirt with him, looked up and sighed. He did not seem surprised to see Adelaide. On the contrary, he had the expression of a man resigned to his fate.
“Good morning, Miss Rechnov.” His voice was mid-range, the sort of voice you trusted without asking why, although if Adelaide had been asked, she would have said she trusted his eyes. They were blue and turned down at the corners. Seeing him again in the flesh, the lack of resemblance between Radir and Sanjay Hanif could not have been more marked.
Adelaide slid into the seat opposite him with a charming smile. It was not returned. That was another reason she trusted Radir. She had no effect on him.
“You can call me Adelaide,” she said. “I told you that before.”
“Miss Rechnov,” he said implacably. “I must remind you that I have patients to see.”
“I’m aware of that, Doctor. I’m also aware that this is your lunch break. Now don’t think me amiss, but your receptionist was kind enough to get me a glass of water and I confess I did take a look at your appointment book whilst she was gone. You’re free until half fourteen.”
Radir tapped the activation strip of his Neptune with an air of finality, abandoning whatever he had been working on.
“I should also remind you, Miss Rechnov, that in light of the current investigation, I’m not sure you should be speaking to me.”
“Right,” said Adelaide. “Now we’ve got the formalities out the way. You may be wondering why I’ve come.”
“I have an inkling.”
“Well, Doctor, I suppose I want your opinion as to what has happened to my brother.”
She sat back casually, as though she had just remarked on the rising price of raqua, and crossed one leg over the other, waiting.
“I cannot possibly conjecture. My sessions with Axel were cancelled six months before he disappeared. Over that period, his state of mind may have undergone a drastic transformation, or none at all. You will remember our last conversation.”
Radir had said he felt sorry for her, a statement she had viewed as unforgivable at the time. The psychiatrist watched her, his face contemplative above his steepled hands. Adelaide found she did not care any more. He could think what he liked. He could pity her, if it would make him answer.
“Axel’s last session,” she said. “Were there any signs that he might be planning something?”
“You’ve had the report, Miss Rechnov. Your entire family has had the report, albeit via five separate requests.”
“It’s not the same as hearing about it. He came to see you here, didn’t he?”
Radir swivelled slightly in his chair so that he faced away from her. He might have been recalling the visit; he might have been absolving himself of responsibility for what he was about to say.
“Your girl, Yonna. She brought him. He exhibited no signs that it was under duress, appeared willing to be here. He was-as he always was with me-at times lucid and capable of maintaining a conversation. He called me Doctor, but did not know my name, or if he did, he chose not to use it. And then, as if a switch had been pressed, he would become completely absent for minutes at a time. Lost in his own world. Unresponsive.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Ordinary things, never specific people. The weather. The ocean. He often talked about the ocean, he said he liked to listen to its voice late at night.”
“Did he mean the horses?”
“I suspect it may have been one and the same to him.”
“Is, Doctor. It is.”
“My apologies, Miss Rechnov.”
“Did he ever mention a balloon?”
“Not that I recall.”
“You’re frowning, Doctor.”
“The balloon… Something about that word rings a bell. But not from my sessions with Axel. Perhaps another patient.”
“Did he-did he ever talk about leaving the City?”
“Not directly. I would say that Axel was aware of the City’s limitations, even in an abstract capacity. Osiris is too small, he said once. We think we’re free but we’re not.”
“What do you think he meant by that?”
“Feelings of entrapment are a common theme among those I see, Miss Rechnov. But I might add that we live in a quarantined city. Human beings are not designed for confinement, however vast and exquisitely made the prison; the explorer in us will out.”
She sat for a moment, considering this. What if Axel had met the airlift through Radir?
“Doctor, do you ever see airlifts? Ex-westerners?”
“I cannot give you information on my clients.”
“You know my family think he’s dead.”
Radir looked at her. She could see him selecting his words.
“Miss Rechnov, I am-saddened that I could not help your brother. As I have explained in the past, I could offer no diagnosis; Axel fit no specifications. Over the years I have seen patients who have, through various causes, withdrawn in some way from typical social interaction, for a longer or shorter period of time. Those who suffer post-traumatic stress, for example, following injury or a shocking incident, but sometimes there is no obvious trigger. The condition is a more common occurrence than you might expect, though it is rarely spoken of. Citizens of Osiris are survivors, are we not?”
His tone as he uttered that final sentence was gently ironic. Adelaide looked at the single picture on his wall, a swaying kelp field on the edge of the Atum Shelf.
“Is that not a positive trait, Doctor?”
“For some, doubtless. There are others who find it a source of pressure. In any case, whatever happened to Axel seemed to be an extreme form of this kind of internalization, and that, I feel, was a loss. To society as well as to the family.”
She nodded. In spite of the formality of his tone, she believed Radir was genuine. She folded her hands tightly.
“I know he’s alive. We have a connection, you see. Do you understand that, Doctor? Do you think it’s possible?”
She hated the plea in her voice, but she could not hide it. Radir showed no signs of sympathy. She was grateful for that.
“I believe that there are things which will never be mapped by science,” he said. “There are many that were once mapped and are now lost. But I also think, Miss Rechnov, that our society can be harsh, perhaps more condemning, of certain acts, than might be fair.”
Adelaide’s face went hot and her body chill.
“If you mean to imply, Doctor, that my brother might have committed-” She forced herself to speak the taboo. “ Suicide- you are very much mistaken. Axel
would never humiliate himself in that way. And he would never leave me.”
She sensed that there was a weight of things behind Radir’s blue eyes. Things that he might or could have said, if pushed. Those unspoken words chased her as she scraped her chair back, got up, stuck out a formal hand and pressed her wrist to his too hard for politeness. They followed as she walked out of the office. They followed her into the lift where she punched in level twenty-four, stood rigid for the fourteen floors up to the Obelisk shuttle line, and stalked onto the platform.
Why not? said the voice. You left him.
/ / /
She felt muddled and angry all the way to the Southern Quarter. In transit it seemed that the shuttle pod stood still and the city itself was rushing towards her, pyramids, steel and bufferglass all flying upon the ocean surface, but the speed was not enough to abate her turmoil. She took out her anger by sending Lao an o’voy.
Any news? Am I not paying you enough?
She did not expect a reply but to her surprise, her scarab flashed almost instantaneously.
Paying me to be discreet. Therefore will contact only when news. I’ll be in touch.
She replied:
Been to see Dr Radir. Check his client list. He might have seen a westerner.
There was no return message. Moving her bag to accommodate another passenger, Adelaide struggled to assemble her thoughts. This next negotiation required careful handling. She had to put Axel aside, for now.
“Excuse me?” It was the woman who had sat next to her. “Can I have your signature?”
Adopting a gracious smile, Adelaide signed her name in green ink.
“I loved that garden you designed for the medical school,” said the woman. Adelaide was tempted to tell her that the garden had come from a series of doodles on restaurant napkins whilst she was waiting for Jannike, nothing more, but if the woman wanted to think of Adelaide as a landscape designer, so be it. Adelaide liked plants. She liked the feel of earth crumbling in her fingers; she liked its dank alien smell. Plants behaved as you expected them to.
The Daily Flotsam offices were undersea and windowless and smelled of perspiration overlaid with heavy perfume. At sixteen o’clock, the place was a tip. Dirty Neptunes balanced on desks overflowing with Surfboards, wrappers, BrightEye pills and mouldering tea glasses. A screen on one wall showed the latest feeds from rival press groups. Nobody recognized Adelaide when she first walked in, then the whole office reacted towards her; a sea of sunk conversations and swivelling heads.
“I’m looking for Magda,” she said.
One of them moved. Over the years their faces had changed, but the avaricious hunger had not. Adelaide no longer cared what they wrote about her. She only cared about what they had done to her twin. Odd lines-the things she hadn’t been able to avoid, still stuck. Is Axel Rechnov sick in the head? That was one of Magda’s. Looking about, she was able to match each headline to its creator.
Silence endured until the door to the inner office opened and Magda Linn looked out. When she saw Adelaide a smile spread across her face, slowly, like clotting butter.
“Well, well, well,” she said. “Little fishy’s come to play with sharks.”
Magda’s office was surprisingly clean. Her Neptune had a bright red frame and was unadorned. The editor sat at her desk and waved an arm at the chair opposite. Both women crossed their legs.
“Adelaide.”
“Magda.”
“What can I do for you?”
For a woman with a penchant for character defamation, Magda Linn looked remarkably innocent. She was small and neat, with straight black hair and low eyelids. Her right hand sported a scratched glass ring with which she toyed incessantly. Adelaide hated every inch of her neatly proportioned features. It was difficult to look Magda in the face without conveying this, so Adelaide examined the wall behind her.
“I heard you wanted access to a few events.”
“And I dare say I’ll get it.”
“I don’t know. The Haze has had enough security issues recently. This season we’re really clamping down.”
“My reporters will have to become more ingenious.”
“Maybe so. But they’ll have to be remarkably wily to get into Jannike Ko’s twenty-second.” Adelaide paused. “Private party,” she said blankly.
For a brief moment, Adelaide felt bad about offering up her friend as bait. But Jan could handle it.
“Jannike Ko’s twenty-second,” Magda said slowly. Her smooth face could not help but flicker at the thought. Adelaide knew she was imagining the newsreel, constructing, already, the headline copy. Jannike Ko, last of the Haze to come of age, could supply Magda with enough subreels to keep her afloat for the next year. Then Magda’s face closed down again.
“What do you want, Adelaide?”
“I want you to do what you are best at, Magda. I want you to lie.”
“I see. And what type of lying might you require?” Magda tapped her ring against the edge of her desk. “Some light slander before breakfast? How about a nice little libel case?”
“No, that doesn’t serve my purpose. I’m after something simpler. The Council will be holding a convention next week to discuss the implementation of western aid schemes. I’d like you to announce it.”
Magda’s expression was pure disbelief.
“The Council?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Since when have you been interested in the Council?”
“Since today, Magda.”
“And why would you be interested in aid schemes?”
“I don’t see why that would concern you. The request is simple enough, is it not?”
“You’d give me access to Jannike Ko’s twenty-second in exchange for a little article on aid schemes?”
“A big article, Magda. A headline article. I’ll be invoking the Ibatoka Clause-you can say that too.”
Magda laughed. “The what?”
“Why don’t you look it up?” Adelaide suggested.
“If I don’t know what it is it’s not headline material,” Magda shot back. “You coming to my office asking for help, now that’s headline material.”
“Come on Magda. You know you love the Council. Miserable old octopuses, promoting unprecedented aid schemes. You’re telling me you can’t make something juicy out of that? Spin it whichever way you like, I don’t care.”
Magda scraped the ring against her front teeth.
“Jannike Ko only turns twenty-two once,” Adelaide mused.
“Well, I suppose we could run with a riot containment theme. There have been… flickers. A profile of one of the Home Guard might of interest.”
“No Home Guard. How about a neglect and sob story piece?”
“Yes, thank you, I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job.”
“Do excuse me. I’ve been the subject of your job for so long, sometimes I feel I know it as well as you do.”
Both women sat back, assessing one another.
“What guarantee do I have that you’ll keep your word?”
“I don’t give guarantees,” said Adelaide.
“I could turn this whole industry against you.”
Adelaide pretended to give this a second’s thought.
“I doubt that. On the other hand, I could get you fired in the time it takes to do this.” She snapped her fingers. “Still a Rechnov, Magda. Now. Do we or do we not have a deal?”
Magda gnawed on the ring.
“Make sure you check the morning feed.”
“Good.” Adelaide stood up. “I’ll see myself out, shall I?”
The knock at the door was insistent. She went to answer it, muttering to herself about people who couldn’t wait. Axel stood grinning in the corridor. He strolled into the apartment, a half-smoked cigarillo dangling from his lips.
“Is that the time?” he said. The cigarillo waggled comically in his mouth. “Must have been gone longer than I thought.”
“Months, actually,�
�� she said. “Where were you, the western quarter or what?”
“Oh, this and that. Baiting Linus. Annoying Dmitri with my expenses. Why, A, did you miss me?”
She woke with a jolt and found herself on the futon, fully dressed. For a minute she thought it was raining again, but it was just the noise of Vikram’s fingers on the activation strip of her Neptune.
“Evening,” he said.
“Did I sleep?”
“Yes. You got about halfway through telling me about going to the Daily Flotsam. Linus called, by the way.”
She rubbed her eyes. They were prickly with sleep.
Hell’s tide! She was beginning to wake up. Last night this man had wanted to kill her. Today she was falling asleep in the same room.
But she wasn’t scared any more. She sensed that a line had been crossed.
“What did Linus want?”
“To let you know he’d had a message from some woman called Linn asking about a conference.”
She smiled at that. “Good. We’re going to force their hand.”
And why are you trying to help him, Adelaide?
“There’s some fresh coral tea if you want.”
“What’s the time?”
“Twenty-one thirty.”
“Shit. Said I’d meet Jannike for dinner. You coming?”
“I’ve got a presentation to write.”
“It’s your call.”
Vikram hadn’t woken her for Linus’s message. She could not decide if that was a good thing or not. She perched on the futon to pull on her boots, sneaking surreptitious glances at his thin angular figure, tensed over the Neptune. Her laces were tangled and it took her a few minutes to work out the knots.
There was no time for tea so she took a shot of voqua, aware that Vikram’s eyes were on her, nervous in a way she could not pin down. If those eyes held a different light, they might draw her right in.
Better pull yourself together, girlie. You might not be as strong as you think you are.
The lift came almost immediately when she called it, from the floor above. The man inside held the door for her.
“Good evening, Miss Rechnov.”