Osiris

by E. J. Swift

  He had also noticed that Nils was coughing a lot, and trying to hide it.

  When they had finished eating, Rikard collected up the empty cans and set to work cleaning them in a bowl of drip-water. The set of his back said quite clearly that he wished for no assistance.

  Pekko came back. Vikram waited for him to explain, but the man said nothing, just picked up his can and spooned up the remainder of his food. Finally Nils asked, with a hint of irritation, “Was that Sorren’s cell?”

  “Tomorrow,” said Pekko.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be talking to the Citizens—” he spat the word, his immobile face revealing a brief flicker of disgust. “Tomorrow.”

  / / /

  Vikram slept badly. The torches were off and shadows materialized from under the heater’s glow. The night was filled with the sounds of breathing, of small creatures. He thought of his first night indoors, he and Nils, Keli and Drake. He remembered sharing plans, ambitions, talking other nonsense, a story of Drake’s—something to do with a raft rack dare and a man with velvet eyes, Drake and Keli giggling. He woke in fits and starts, thinking he was there, with them. When he remembered that one of them was dead, the glass in his chest was as sharp as it had been three years ago. He woke later thinking he was in a bed, that the rough sacking was cotton sheets, and that if he rolled over he would touch the drowsy limbs of a red-haired girl. He threw out an arm and found damp floor. The sacking smelled of mould. She was not far, that girl, a matter of metres away, lying against the same hard floor.

  Silently his lips formed her name: Adelaide.

  When he woke again, a trickle of grey light was seeping through a crack in the boarded window-wall. He watched the wall turn from grey to brownish green to sickly yellow. It was a new day, and he already wished it were over.

  41 ¦ ADELAIDE

  The man who wanted to kill her had taken away the light. Adelaide’s wrists hurt. They were fastened to the piping with steel rings, but she could not see the steel or the piping. The room was black. Water dripped in a corner. She curled in the same position she’d been in for the past hours, or days, or however long, face buried in her knees, her arms raised overhead to where they were fastened. She knew that it would hurt too much to move, so she didn’t.

  In the dark, she wandered through childhood haunts: through the hidden dens in the Domain, the space under her bunk bed, her grandfather’s room with the marmalade cat. She went to the Roof and drank Kelpiqua, giggled and gulped and watched Axel standing on his hands, grinning at her upside-down.

  The Roof receded, flying away from them at impossible speed. Axel bowed to thunderous applause and went behind a curtain, so she followed him but he wasn’t there, Tyr was, and after that she found Tyr in every place but home.

  And then Tyr, too, went behind the curtain and there was only Vikram, the man from the ice, who would always be alone, as she would, as they were both destined to be. The crater in the ocean gaped, and there was the chromium mermaid, but this time the mermaid was Adelaide. Adelaide’s tail swished. Here, in the molten sea mud, the truth awaited her with a silver smile.

  She had always been chasing her own tail. Even if Axel were alive, even if she did find him, she was not recovering her brother. She was recovering what he had become.

  Everyone she cared about had disappeared. Axel, Tyr, even Vikram. She was a curse. She was bad luck. She ran on.

  On, along the gleaming shuttle lines, over the glass funnel bridges, from the lowest underwater boutiques to the roof garden parties at the top of the world, up and down, in lifts and through stairwells, until she reached the butterfly farm. The path twisted before her feet. The farm had become colossal, and its glass walls were made of diamonds. What was she doing? She was searching for Axel. She ran on. She called his name. Axel! Axel, where in Osiris are you? He was playing hide and seek again. He had been playing for too long now, and it wasn’t funny.

  She sat on a bench and sobbed because she could not find him. The butterfly farm moved away; it was attached to a boat, a boat that had travelled for months and for miles, a boat whose murdered crew lay in a graveyard at the bed of the ocean, where their bones rattled as they sang of their own slow decomposition. Adelaide held onto the dream. She held it tight because she was cold, colder than she had ever been, and she did not want to wake and find out what the cold had done.

  Something crawled along her cheek, towards her nose. She thought it was a butterfly. But it was an insect, an invader from the real world. A white fly. She hunched her shoulder to knock it aside.

  Now sounds raked at the dream, threatening to pull her into consciousness. She clung tighter to the spirit world. A door, opening onto the butterfly farm with an ungentle scrape, and there were people framed within it, and voices. The man who wanted to kill her was there. The girl with the black tooth was there.

  She saw Vikram last. He had been walking the vaults of her dreams with the others; it made sense that he was here, allied with the cold. He had a green tinge. The cell had stuck to his skin, as it had stuck to hers when she left him last.

  One of them spoke. She ran further into the butterfly farm. She saw the Red Pierrot balanced on a leaf, saw its wings opening and closing. It fluttered into the air and she followed it. Even when the man with the shaven head took her chin and she shivered and he lifted her face to stare into her dream-drugged eyes with his own, she saw only the red and black and white spots, the symmetry.

  Vikram was in front of her. She kept very still. If she did not move he would not see her, and he mustn’t see her, not yet. She hid behind the flowers. Vikram spoke her name. His lips moved. There was a look in his eyes, an unfamiliar, broken look that she knew she must remember, but even as she frowned he dissolved into the foliage.

  / / /

  She found herself fully conscious, and she knew that the dream world had gone for good; she had woken up.

  “Vik?” she whispered.

  Her eyes were wide open but saw nothing. She was cold, so cold. Colder than she’d ever been.

  “Vik!”

  There was no light, because she had missed him. The room was empty. Vikram had gone.

  42 ¦ VIKRAM

  Pekko stood behind him, his disdain like a burn between Vikram’s shoulder blades.

  “Talk to her.”

  Adelaide seemed half-dead. Vikram crouched in front of her, looked right into her eyes as he said her name. There was no response but the drowsy flicker of her eyelashes, as though she was drugged.

  As they closed the door on the tiny room, Adelaide’s presence stayed with him, as if she had become a part of his own pulse. He could not set aside the image of her face under Pekko’s torchlight. Somehow, he had to protect her.

  One of them was always on watch. They patrolled the circumference of the tower, walking through the empty laboratories, past the torched counters, around metal twisted into weird sculptures and the traces of clumsily adapted sleeping spaces. Ilona and Rikard went to check that their blockades were still in place in the other stairwells. Peering out of the dirt filmed window-walls, they watched for any sign of skadi vehicles. The only boats they saw were fish barges heading out to sea.

  Pekko contacted the other cells. He reported that they were holding out. The second cell had arranged a call to the Citizens which they would link to Pekko later in the day. The others played cards. They made up a game with a motley collection of chess, Shells and Sharkbait rules. Buried in the dirt, Vikram found a necklace carved out of bone. The string had rotted. When he lifted it the beads scuttled away. He collected them up and they used the pieces for counters.

  Nils called Rikard on a point.

  “That was five.”

  “It was a six.”

  “It was a five, I saw it tip.”

  “It was a fucking six.”

  “Guys, come on!” Drake grabbed the die. “Just throw it again.”

  Around lunch time, Rikard handed out kelp squares. Vikram knew that he should b
e hungry but his stomach felt like air. He had to force himself to eat. Afterwards, he swallowed a few of the pills surreptitiously.

  Vikram’s memories of the last riots were all vivid, fast-paced scenes—images of action, of violence, of cold clear mornings and wet nightfalls peppered with the clash of Home Guard guns. Perhaps there had been waiting too. Perhaps he had forgotten. He itched for information, for any news. He would have slid easily into the group’s routines.

  He spoke to Pekko.

  “Why don’t you let me take a patrol? Split the shifts between us?”

  Pekko looked at him and said, “I don’t think so.”

  “I want to help.”

  “It’s not negotiable.”

  As they threw down hand after hand of Pirahna and Sharkbait, he went through every possible and impossible solution in his head. Vikram would not—he could not betray his friends. The act was unthinkable. That did not mean he wasn’t searching for a way to get Adelaide out. Could one of fishing boats help him—could he get out a message? What if he let Adelaide escape, told her to hide in the tower until it was all over? Could he make it look like she’d got out by herself?

  By mid-afternoon, he was exhausted. He curled up for a rest. He was only going to doze for thirty minutes but slept for several hours. The lost time worried him. His body never used to crash out with such dangerous oblivion.

  When he woke, Pekko was out of the room. Vikram stretched his stiff, groggy limbs, easing cracks out of his knee and elbow joints. He winced as he kneaded the circulation into his muscles. He smelled tobacco. Nils lay on his side, dragging on a cigarette, hacking after every inhalation. Vikram had an instant craving for one of Adelaide’s cigarillos, their warm, woody, complex taste, even their acrid afterbite. Next to Nils, Ilona was filing down her nails with a bit of metal. On the other side of the heater, Rikard and Drake sat talking quietly.

  “My brother’s over with Maak’s people,” Rikard was saying.

  “Is he your real brother?”

  “No. Good as, though.”

  “Course. What does he think?”

  “Same as us. That it’s changed. Used to be about equality, but everyone knows that isn’t coming. Says there’s been a lot of talk in the last year. About changing policy.”

  “In Surface?”

  “Everywhere.”

  “I suppose your brother sees a lot of Maak, working with them.”

  Rikard had clearly seen that Vikram was awake, but he answered Drake nonetheless. “I don’t think anyone sees too much of the man.”

  “Who is Maak?” Vikram asked. His voice came out hoarse and crackly, and he cleared his throat.

  “Who is he, or who was he?” said Rikard.

  “Both.”

  Rikard stretched out his legs. “He used to be a petty dealer. Greenhouse drugs, bit of manta on the side. Rose up to second in the Juraj gang. According to legend, he killed Juraj, then hacked him up and used the body parts for fish bait.”

  “But Juraj burned. On a pyre. We saw it.”

  “Not his limbs. Maak kept the limbs. But the fire fight—that was him, yeah. Crazed. A lot of Juraj’s supporters died that night, shot to bits by the skadi. Conveniently for Maak.”

  “It’s true,” said Ilona. “When we heard about it, us girls on the boats, we were pleased at first. Juraj did terrible things to the girls.”

  Nils squeezed her hand.

  “But Maak is no better than Juraj,” Ilona added. “He burns people alive. He loves to burn things. He made a girl unconscious, then put her on a pyre all soaked in oil. When she woke up she was on fire. We all heard the screams.”

  Drake scoffed. “I never heard that. They’re making things up to scare you.”

  “I heard the screams,” Ilona insisted.

  Rikard gave a lopsided smile. “Anyway, however Maak killed the old man, he’s merged the Juraj and the Roch gangs. Now he’s just known as the Coordinator.”

  “Except that he’s never seen. The man’s like a ghost,” Nils put in.

  “The Coordinator.” So Linus Rechnov had been right about one thing. “But what does he coordinate?”

  “Violence,” said Rikard. “Assassinations. Hostages. That’s the way it’s going.”

  “It’s not about justice any more,” said Drake. “It’s about war. That’s the choice people have made.”

  “We never had a choice,” said Nils abruptly. “They made it for us. They make the same choice every time they slaughter one of us.”

  “But we don’t have the resources to fight them, never mind attack them,” Drake said. “We never have.”

  “That’s why Maak wants insiders,” said Rikard. “He’s taking on old principles. The man thinks like an Osuwite—the NWO radicals didn’t go far enough for him.”

  Nils exhaled a trickle of smoke through his nostrils. “D’you reckon it was the NWO who killed the Dumays, Rikard?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Could have been anyone,” said Drake. “You know what I think? I think the Rechnovs did it. Them or the Ngozis.” She held her hands over the heater, rubbing them together. “Makes perfect sense. They wanted everyone to hate the west, so they killed off two of their own.”

  “Could well be,” Rikard nodded. “Why don’t you ask the girl?”

  Drake laughed. “Adelaide? She don’t know anything.”

  Rikard looked at Vikram, as if for confirmation. Vikram thought of his last conversation with Linus. He thought of the man’s reaction when he said Whitefly. But Adelaide hadn’t known about that either; she’d been fishing for information. Once again, he thought of her drugged, ice-bound eyes. There had to be a way to get her out without compromising the others. Adelaide would listen to him. If he told her to hide, she’d hide.

  “Honestly,” he said. “I don’t think she does.”

  When Pekko returned, his face was agitated. He stood in the doorway, surveying them all, until one by one their conversations dropped away. His hands, buried in his pockets, clenched and unclenched. At first it was not clear whether the news was good or bad. Then a smile twisted Pekko’s mouth.

  “We have a location for the exchange,” he said.

  Everyone spoke at once.

  “When, Pekko?”

  “Who did you speak to?”

  “What did they say?”

  Pekko came to sit by the heater, not next to anyone but in a space of his own. He was clearly relishing his moment of triumph.

  “Tomorrow, two hours after sun-up. S-294-W. They’ve promised to withdraw the patrol force. They’re sending the food supplies.”

  Rikard rattled two die between his hands.

  “Will they expect to see the girl before they release the boats?”

  Pekko barked with laughter.

  “The girl’s going nowhere near the place. All we have to do is sit tight and let Sorren’s cell take care of it. They’ll seize the supplies. If the Citizens complain we can always send them a bit of the girl. A finger, for example.”

  Excitedly, the group discussed the logistics. Vikram said nothing. The back of his neck tingled where the dampened tracker was lodged. Implanted, Pekko had said. What in hell’s tide had Linus put on him? Had he really imagined Vikram would trust Linus to keep his side of the bargain?

  “I’ll go check on Adelaide,” said Ilona, as if she could read his thoughts.

  “Already done,” Pekko shot over his shoulder. He grinned. “Not in the best state, our little princess. Learning how the real folk live.”

  His eyes slid to Vikram: a slow, thoughtful look.

  Sunset fell. Vikram accompanied Nils on his watch. They felt their way around the circumference of the window-wall, peering through the opaque glass for the telltale lights of skadi boats. The wind had dropped. On the other side of the tower, they stood watching the sea. The moon glimmered faintly on the waves.

  Vikram spoke softly to Nils. “Do you blame me for going to the City?”

  “You did what any of us would hav
e done.”

  “That’s not a no.”

  “You’re still pedantic. Anyway, it’s what Mikkeli would have wanted.”

  “She did?”

  “Of course. It was her great plan. You were always the clever one. She had ambitions, that girl.”

  “But that’s what Keli wanted. And she’s gone. It’s us that’s still here.”

  Nils’s sigh was heavy. “Of course I can’t blame you, Vik. You were doing good stuff with those schemes.”

  “Didn’t work.”

  “Not your fault. Things were already in motion.” Nils paused. “Drake and I agreed we’d try and keep you out of it.”

  “What? Why?”

  “C’mon, Vik. After last time…”

  “You were trying to protect me.” Of course they were, he thought. He’d have done the same, had their situations been reversed.

  “Well I guess that didn’t work either,” said Nils. “I don’t know what to think any more. Seems like people just keep vanishing. Keli. You. And it eats away at you. Makes you start to wonder about things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “What’s ahead. I mean really ahead. I do think of those days, Vik—Horizon, Eirik, all the things he used to talk about—and he really, properly believed them. But it seems like madness. I don’t know what we thought would happen. Maybe back then, everything seemed—well, further away. Like we could beat it. But it’s here, isn’t it. I realized that when they drowned Eirik. I mean, this is it. I’m standing here with a gun and we’ve taken a Rechov hostage. A Rechnov, for stars’ sake.”

  Vikram had no answer. He understood what Nils meant. He had seen Adelaide, and he had a choice to make. He could not delay much longer.