Osiris

by E. J. Swift

  “She never wanted to join the Council, I take it?”

  “She was too busy designing invitations. Actually, she’s a better politician than any of them, but she prefers to exert her influence over raqua and dessert.”

  “That might not be such a bad idea,” Vikram said drily.

  He had forgotten the way the pale stone of the Chambers whispered. Scuffles and muttered words chased one another around the indoor amphitheatre. As the Council settled with a flurry of surcoats, his gaze was drawn to the final faction on the far right. The first generation Councillors were stooped, always one of them shaking, like so many pine needles disturbed by a breeze. Their hair was as white as snow. The women’s coiffeurs were cropped short or drawn into wispy buns. Their earrings were bright chandeliers against the soft folds of their necks. The men had jackets under their surcoats in moss green or mulberry red. Many wore glasses that both magnified their eyes and disguised them. Adelaide had warned Vikram not to be fooled by their antique appearance; a lack of sharpness, she said, only increased their obduracy.

  Despite their inevitable antipathy towards him, it was these veterans that interested Vikram the most. As their hair had gained streaks of grey and finally was bleached of all colour, they had watched their city change. They had witnessed it pass from elite, technological masterpiece, to benevolent rescue centre, to reluctant tyrant. Finally they had seen it become two cities. Perhaps that wall gave them the illusion that the thing they had created retained its beauty and its integrity, but Vikram doubted it.

  The three notes sounded again. Only when the entire Chambers had hushed did the Speaker begin.

  “On the second Thursday of the month of Mae, I declare witness to the gathering of the Osiris Council, guardians of the city of Osiris, one hundred and forty-five years after the founding of the Osiris Board, the city being now in its seventieth year as an independent state. This session opens at the hour of two minutes past eleven hundred. This session is held in the domain of the public eye, although the public shall not contribute to the issues discussed today which are for the consideration of the esteemed Councillors and them alone. As Speaker, I invoke the Eleni Clause which orders that all words spoken in this session are words of truth.”

  The Speaker drew a long breath and continued. Up in the balconies Vikram saw yawning faces. Even the Councillors looked peevish and uncomfortable under their purple robes. Finally, the Speaker introduced Adelaide.

  “Miss Mystik has invoked the Ibatoka Clause. I remind all present that the Ibatoka Clause may be used by Citizens to speak on a matter which they feel, if not addressed, shall have detrimental consequences for the future of Osiris. Miss Mystik represents the New Horizon Movement.”

  Adelaide gave Vikram’s hand a tiny squeeze before she stepped up. Cheers and whistles from the Haze accompanied her progression to the podium. First generation members of the Council shushed disapprovingly. Feodor Rechnov’s face was rigidly neutral.

  “Hello, esteemed members of the Council.” Adelaide’s voice was a river of milk. “I thank the Speaker for his words. I, however, am not so good with speeches, and I therefore present Mr Vikram Bai, who has addressed you once before, to present the matter of my grave concern.” She gave a little bow. Vikram noticed her glasses slipped a fraction down her nose as she did so. She turned to step down, then turned back. “Regarding the west,” she added.

  A murmur ran through the Chambers. Adelaide winked at Vikram. They exchanged places. As he climbed up he felt more than ever like an appearing puppet. Then he looked around the sweep of Councillors. I can name you now. There was muscle in a name.

  “Esteemed Councillors,” he began. “I am exceedingly grateful to have this opportunity to stand before you once again.” He waited a beat. “And I hope it shall prove a more profitable exchange of our time than on the last occasion. Forgive me if I reiterate a few things. I feel it is important that the facts stand fresh in our minds, and I hope also to enlighten those who were not present at my last address.”

  He glanced up to the balconies, where curious faces crowded at the rail. He glimpsed surprise there, and smiled to himself. They had not expected a westerner to sound so formal. Vikram wanted to remind the Council that they were under surveillance. Public debates were rare, and he was certain they did not like it.

  “This is a very beautiful room,” he declared, now letting his gaze roam the marbled walls, the elegant pillars. “It is also a very warm room. Nobody on this side of the city has much occasion to dwell on warmth—and why should you? Our city was built to make such day-to-day necessities invisible. And yet, on the other side of a line that a past Council has decreed a boundary, people die daily from cold. I’ve seen it many times. It comes when you’re long past shivering, long past feeling the pains of frostbite, past recognizing the threat. You freeze, quietly, into a quiet sleep. So quiet, that there isn’t going to be any waking up.” Vikram paused. “How many? That’s a difficult question, because as you know, there is no accurate census in west Osiris, no way of telling how many deaths. The informal numbering process affected by the Home Guard—” He almost said skadi, but caught the word in time, “—is inexact, not to mention clearly delineating westerners as different from yourselves, who after all are only one or two generations further from your own Old World origins. But I can assure you that the number of deaths is certainly in the hundreds, and more than likely in the thousands.”

  He let this figure resonate. With so many present, the Chambers were growing increasingly hot. A couple of first generation Councillors flapped ineffectual hands to try and stir the air. Vikram focused on this odd sight: the elderly weakened by heat.

  “It is unforgivable,” he said. “Unforgivable that this is still happening in our city. The potential for electric heating is here, at our fingertips, in the very fabric of the buildings, and yet we lack the necessary connections to access it, whilst the connections we do have are temperamental and unreliable. How many of those thousands of lives could be saved by the flick of a switch?”

  Vikram sensed the fickle sway of his audience’s attention, now present, now absent. The spectators listened keenly, the Councillors grudgingly, aware that they were on display and unable to retract too far into their private worlds. He judged it was time to push.

  “But these things, these apparent feats of engineering, are for the future. I come before you today with a simpler request. Winter approaches. Many citizens of the west will spend the coldest months of the year on boats, with no protection from the cold or the storms. The young and the elderly are particularly at risk, if not from hypothermia than from starvation. Complete catastrophe could be averted with the establishment of a number of overnight shelters and boat kitchens. These are very basic things, ladies and gentlemen, but they require good will and funding. We need insulation works. In the future, we will also require an investigation into the undersea levels, many of which are flooded and uninhabitable, depriving the west of further accommodation.

  “A few words on health and sanitation. The single hospital in the west is overcrowded, understaffed and unhygienic, no surprise as we have one to your five. It serves as little more than an accident and emergency unit. There are no provisions for those with long term illnesses, many of which could be averted if vaccinations were available. The most basic vaccinations, which I believe Citizens receive at the age of two, would save further lives.”

  Vikram looked slowly around the room, trying to catch each Councillor’s eye.

  “It seems logical to adopt a two-stage programme. The first stage, that is, shelters, boat kitchens and vaccination centres, to be implemented immediately, whilst structural repair works should be investigated in the spring. Councillors, the choice is yours. Act now, or condemn thousands.”

  He made no appeals. He offered no vote of confidence in the Council’s humanity, or in their ability to make the right decision. Guilt was best eked from silence. It came out of the gaps and the spaces, the things not said, the thing
s left hanging. He took a step back, and gave the Speaker a nod to show that he had finished.

  “Thank you, once again, Mr Bai. That was, again, enlightening.” The Speaker’s voice erred just the safe side of sarcasm. The Councillors were keeping quiet. Only a small susurration of whispers indicated unrest. “Are there any questions for Mr Bai?”

  A woman from the liberal camp stood to speak.

  “I have a question for Miss Mystik.”

  Vikram moved over to allow Adelaide space on the podium. Pandemonium on the balconies greeted her second appearance; Vikram was certain that most of the press had come in anticipation of an Adelaide show. The Speaker’s hammer banged furiously. The Councillor raised her voice.

  “May we take it, Miss Mystik, that you speak on behalf of this group, this—”

  “The New Horizon Movement,” Adelaide supplied.

  “Yes, yes. Are you, in fact, an active member of the group?”

  “I am,” said Adelaide serenely.

  Exclamations flashed around the balconies. Journalists tapped frenziedly into their Surfboards. The Speaker shouted for silence. Vikram looked at Adelaide and found her perfectly composed, her lips curved in a slight smile, the sheared fringe brushing her demurely lowered lashes. He did not care, at that moment, what her motives were. She had given her name to the west, knowingly and absolutely. Glancing across to Feodor Rechnov, he saw that the Councillor’s cheeks were tinged with red.

  “Then do you have anything to add to Mr Bai’s statement?” the woman pressed.

  Adelaide’s smile blossomed.

  “I feel Mr Bai has explained the situation clearly enough. I only hope that the subject matter is not too distant for our esteemed Council. After all, many of you do not step outside over the course of twelve months.”

  Vikram saw the Minister of Resources lean forward and tap the shoulder of the man in front. The man got to his feet.

  “I can hardly imagine that the cosseted lifestyle Miss Mystik enjoys includes outdoor excursions in adverse conditions.”

  “On the contrary,” said Adelaide. “I regularly waterbike as far as the ring-net. Without the insulation of my bike-suit, I would probably die of hypothermia. As Mr Bai has explained, there are no such suits in the west, in fact, there is barely any heating. It does strike me as somewhat unfair.”

  “Forgive me if I say this is a very abrupt demonstration of concern,” said the man. Adelaide was unfazed.

  “Indeed it is, Councillor. I confess until I met Mr Bai, I was entirely ignorant of these circumstances. Now that I have been enlightened, I am compelled to support his cause.”

  Vikram stifled a laugh. There was shuffling amongst the Councillors, and the Minister of Resources tapped her spokesman on the shoulder again.

  “May I request we open to the floor, Speaker?”

  They don’t like dealing with Adelaide, Vikram thought. She disarms them; she knows the language. He looked for Linus. Adelaide’s brother’s face was serious, but Vikram had no doubt that beneath the calm exterior lurked a satisfied smile.

  “Granted,” said the Speaker’s voice overhead.

  This time, there was no rush to stand. Then the woman Linus had been speaking to earlier rose.

  “It seems a reasonable request,” she ventured.

  The word reasonable was the spark. At once the left side of the crescent were on their feet, arguing over what could be considered reasonable, questioning the criteria for the demand, the lack of available resources. It was difficult enough to keep the City in good repair. Where would the money, or the materials, come from for the west? The liberals jumped up in response. Dmitri Rechnov said nothing. Linus was vocal. The demands, he argued, were so basic as to be almost unreasonable in their conservatism. They should be doing far more. Through the debate, the voices of the first generation Councillors sounded like thin, disconsolate reeds.

  An elderly woman turned to the podium.

  “Mr Bai, I recall that the last time you were here there was some incendiary talk of demilitarization. May we assume you have dropped that aggressive stance today?”

  Vikram leaned both hands on the podium. “I hardly consider it an aggressive stance,” he replied. “Rather the opposite. I won’t say that my opinion has changed, but today I am here purely to request funding for a winter aid scheme.”

  “You have not mentioned costs in all of this, Mr Bai,” said a balding man who Vikram recognized as the Minister of Finance. “I assume you have some form of budget in mind.”

  “A figure of fifty thousand credits would comfortably encompass the schemes I have mentioned. Thirty-five thousand would be the absolute minimum required.”

  Exchanges fired through the ranks of the Executors. Vikram exchanged a glance with Adelaide. They had agreed the asking price should be high, but now he wondered if they had pushed too hard. Adelaide clasped her hands and brought them to rest upon the podium, her white cotton sleeve brushing against his arm.

  The Chambers quietened. Feodor Rechnov was rising. His eyes were riveted on Vikram. He did not spare his daughter a glance.

  “Mr Bai,” he said, and the Chambers hushed further. “You have made an impressive case, an—emotive, case. I congratulate you on the almost inconceivable improvement. You must realize, however, that you are asking this Council to supply you with a large sum of money on the basis of your word—and your word alone.”

  There were murmurs of approval from the reactionaries. The Councillor of Finance was nodding.

  “I take your point,” said Vikram calmly. “The reason I am standing here today, is, very simply, because there is nobody else to represent my side of the city. There are no westerners, ladies and gentlemen, in your assemblage. The labyrinth of administration with which this Council surrounds itself makes it almost impossible to gain a hearing. As to my qualifications—I can only tell you my own experience. I am, however, happy to escort any Councillors who wish for further proof on a tour of the west, and there I can show you all of the disease and poverty of which I speak. I’d advise you to wrap up warm.”

  A ripple of laughter from the liberals.

  “Perhaps you’d like to go, Councillor Rechnov,” called out a girl from the balcony. Vikram recognised the voice as Adelaide’s friend, Jannike Ko. Feodor’s face remained impassive, although Vikram thought that the red spots in his cheeks intensified.

  “I believe the Council would prefer a more scientific assessment of the situation,” Feodor countered. “Rather than the rhetoric of a westerner.”

  There was a collective gasp from the balcony, purely theatrical, as Vikram doubted there was a single person in the room who was not secretly thinking what Feodor had voiced. Vikram crushed his own anger. He even smiled. Adelaide had already supplied him with all the ammunition he needed, and now Feodor had given him the incentive to use it.

  “Councillor Rechnov,” he said. “Forgive me if I have my facts wrong, but didn’t your own father, the Architect, remarry a refugee? Surely you feel a degree of responsibility towards the west, even if you do not feel compassion?”

  Uproar followed. Vikram saw Feodor’s jaw clench, and the red spots burned brighter for the paleness that infected the rest of the Councillor’s face. Vikram did not take his eyes off the man, but sensed, at his side, Adelaide’s initial surprise melting into expectancy as she, too, sniffed the resolution that had to follow.

  The Speaker asked for a vote. Vikram watched the hands raise and hover in midair, swaying in an impossibly complicated semaphore whilst the Speaker took his count. There were too many hands, a hopeless number. The hammer rapped. In the commotion from the balcony, the Speaker’s words were swallowed. Councillors were on their feet, imperial surcoats swinging. Vikram’s heart went numb. We’ve lost, he thought.

  As he stepped down from the podium a surge of people gathered around. Hands clapped his back, pummelled and tugged at him. He was aware of voices, offering congratulations, hollering questions through the clamour. He blinked in a barrage of camer
a flashes. How did you meet Adelaide, Mr Bai? Adelaide, why are you helping the west? He heard his lie of a surname repeated over and over, and thought dizzily that in the last half hour he had managed to become someone he was not.

  Vikram turned to his accomplice. Her face was ablaze. He realized, finally, that they’d won, and he felt his face split in an answering grin. A wing of pure joy trembled in his chest. It rose to his throat, filled it, had to fly out. He grabbed Adelaide and lifted her shrieking off the ground. As he spun her around she was pressed against his smart new jacket and her brother’s letter. He put her down. Her smile was a solar beam. Then, in full view of the Chambers and the krill, she kissed him.

  27 ¦ ADELAIDE

  Her eyes opened. It was not yet light, and she was very still. At first she thought she’d had a nightmare that had frozen her muscles. But then her lungs expanded and she realized the restraint was physical. A pair of arms wrapped around her upper body, pinning her against the hard heat of the man’s chest. Her heart beat faster, in confusion, and anger, that she had allowed this to happen. The hands that were not hers were nonetheless familiar; she had seen them manipulating her Neptune, peeling an apple with a penknife in one long strip, unfastening the strap of a watch. And now they were warm on her skin.

  Vikram’s breath fluttered on the back of her neck. She shifted, hoping the movement might dislodge him. He only paused between inhaling and exhaling, and his grip tightened as his breath trickled out. Adelaide thought back to yesterday. She remembered the victory afterparty, the Haze running rampage over the Red Rooms, the dancing and the octopya. She remembered kissing him at her bedroom door. She remembered locking the door. After that, memory failed her.

  She twisted her head to look at Vikram. His head, pressed against the top of her spine, fell into the alcove just below the pillow. She prised his arms away and turned to study him properly. Dim light and sleep had softened him. Tiny veins tracked the half moons of his eyelids. His lashes shivered, betraying his subconscious, active in dreams. She traced a finger down the length of his back. His mouth twitched. She wondered what he was dreaming.