Gemsigns

by Stephanie Saulter

  ‘Yeh,’ he said. ‘Outreach centre, tha’s wha’ they call it.’

  ‘I thought they had a church near here.’

  ‘They do, up a’ the end o’ the street.’ Donal nodded up the high street, away from the river. ‘Bu’ I guess they reckoned they’d ge’ more contac’ wi’ us if we didn’ have to go there, an’ there’s lots o’ empty space, so …’ He shrugged.

  ‘You were pretty down on them last night.’

  ‘Yeh. Los’ my rag. I jus’ think this whole fairytale o’ theirs is such obvious crap. An’ I’ve talked to enough of ‘em to know they mos’ly don’ really believe it themselves. Bu’ they want it to be true so they keep the story goin’, an’ then th’ godgangs crop up an’ invent a version that they really do b’lieve. An’ then we en’ up wi’ Nelson dead on the pavement, an’ Callan close as dammit, an’ the priest wailin’ like it doan’ have nothin’ to do with them.’

  ‘He probably doesn’t see the connection the way you do.’

  ‘He kind o’ does, actually. He an’ I talked a bit las’ night after I calmed down. I doan’ know if he’s the best or th’ worst o’ them, because he’s a true believer as well, even though he’s a decent guy. So he thinks he has a duty to keep the whole malarkey goin’, even if th’ godgangs are a consequence. Makes me crazy. But,’ he said, as they stopped at the entrance to a six-storey block of flats, ‘Aryel’s point is that the UC, for all their flaws of logic – her term not mine – end up mos’ly tryin’ to do right by us. Which is true, I can’ argue with that. They’re big on causes, an’ right now we’re it. So we need to be polite, even if mos’ of us think they’re a bit daft.’

  The identipad beeped approval and the door slid back. Donal stepped aside to let Eli go through. ‘Anyway, I ended up apologisin’ an’ agreein’ to disagree, an’ they’re providin’ transport an’ all sorts for th’ folks comin’ in today, an’ Tobias an’ his bishop are goin’ to be a’ the Conference remindin’ the faithful an’ everyone else that they’ve got a moral duty to treat us as they would wish to be treated themselves. So really, it would be churlish to complain.’

  ‘Is that another line from Aryel?’

  Donal chuckled. ‘Yeh. You’ve got her well spotted.’

  ‘She’s eloquent in a way that feels like it’s from another time, almost. It’s a rare gift, being able to communicate the way she does.’

  They crossed the entrance hall to a pair of lifts. A hum of anxious conversation emanated from behind a set of double doors to their left. Donal waved at them.

  ‘Tha’s the community room for this buildin’. Been a bit fraught in there since yesterday. Mos’ o’ the larger blocks have one so people can hang out. Mikal’s generally back there.’

  ‘This is Maryam House, isn’t it? Does he live here?’

  ‘Yeh. So does Aryel, an’ Bal and Gaela o’ course. I think this was the firs’ one people moved into.’

  ‘Are you here as well?’

  ‘No, I’m in a block closer to the river. Quieter.’

  They entered the lift. Donal punched for the top floor and leaned back against the wall, arms folded. ‘You’re quite taken wi’ her, aren’t you?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Our Aryel.’

  Eli took his time replying. ‘She fascinates me,’ he said finally. ‘I’ve never met anyone like her, gem or norm. I keep thinking she shouldn’t be able to do what she does. It takes instinct and experience and a really broad understanding of what makes human beings tick, in addition to having the right kind of personality, to be able to – I don’t want to say manipulate, that’s the wrong word – to manage situations the way I’ve seen her do these past two days.’

  ‘Bein’ pretty an’ charmin’ don’t hurt.’

  ‘No. But that’s another thing. Beauty affects people, it’s part of our chemistry and there’s no getting away from it. It’s a difficult thing to measure, but everything I know, as a scientist and as a man, tells me Aryel shouldn’t be beautiful. She just shouldn’t. In fact she should be repellent. She’s so tiny and her gemsign – whatever it is – is so huge, so warped, it should more than offset her face and her voice and all the rest of it. But it doesn’t. She’s lovely.’ He shrugged, perplexed. ‘Why is she lovely, Donal? How does she do it?’

  Donal smirked. The doors pinged open and he led the way along a corridor. ‘You could ask her yoursel’ if she was home, bu’ I doubt you’d ge’ anywhere.’ He nodded at a door off the corridor ahead of them. ‘I could tell you, but then, as the old sayin’ goes, I’d have to kill you.’

  ‘You know about her.’

  ‘A few of us know a few things. I think the only person who knows everythin’ abou’ Aryel is Aryel.’ He looked thoughtfully at the locked door as they walked past it. ‘All I’ll say is, she’s no’ nearly as helpless as she looks. An’ what you’re sensin’ is part o’ that.’

  They had reached the end of the corridor. Donal pushed open an access door, swinging it back to clamp against the wall, mounted a few metal steps and opened another door. Beyond it Eli could see grey sky. Donal cocked his head to listen. ‘They’re there.’ He stepped back, letting the older man go past him. ‘See you later.’

  Eli watched him walk back toward the lifts. As he passed Aryel Morningstar’s door he reached out, without pausing in his stride, and brushed the tips of his fingers along it as though touching something sacred.

  *

  He stepped out onto the roof, and experienced another of the moments of dislocation that seemed to be part of the Squats experience. He was standing in an orchard. Row upon row of gnarled fruit trees marched away, rooted in deep inset troughs and espaliered along taut parallel wires that started down near his knees and ran to an arm’s length above his head. A few cankered apples still clung on near him. He could have been in a garden in Kent were it not for the gravel instead of grass beneath his feet, and between the trees glimpses of city rooftops in place of hedged fields.

  Ahead he could see splashes of green low to the ground. As he wandered forward through the trees a series of raised growing beds came into view, some turned over and brown, some still covered in foliage. He heard a child’s piping voice say, ‘He’s here, Papa. I’ll go and get him.’

  Gabriel appeared between two of the beds and ran towards him. They met where the rows of trees ended at a wide gravelled pathway. The vegetable beds began on the other side of it. To his right, an area bordering the edge of the roof was enclosed by a fruit cage; ahead of him the muted sounds of machinery could be heard from a small, solidly built hut at the far end of the building; and to his left a long, narrow greenhouse shielded the beds in the middle from the wind that knifed at him where he stood on the path. Bal appeared in the doorway, his hands full of some sort of vegetable, nodded at him and stepped back inside.

  Gabriel stopped in front of him. ‘Hello, Dr Walker. Do you like our garden?’

  ‘It’s amazing. I didn’t expect it to be this big.’ He smiled down at the child. ‘Yes, I like it very much, Gabe. Do you?’

  The boy nodded emphatically. ‘Yes. Papa and I come up here all the time. It’s even better in the summer though, ‘cos there’s raspberries.’ He pointed over to the fruit cage. ‘In there.’

  ‘Mm, I love raspberries. We grow a lot of them in Scotland, where I live.’ He followed the child back towards the greenhouse. ‘What else is up here?’

  ‘Well, not much right now. There’s parsnips, and leeks, and spinach’ – he was pointing them out as he went – ‘and there’s some stuff in here.’ They turned the corner of a growing bed to approach the greenhouse entrance. ‘Papa’s getting it.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Eli pointed at the hut with the mechanical noises.

  ‘That’s where all the water and poo and stuff gets recycled.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘It’s smelly.’ They stepped into the greenhouse. Bal looked up from a sink where he was rinsing soil off his hands.

  ‘You know what else was smelly? What happened when a certain b
oy decided to eat every apple that fell off the trees, whether they were any good or not. Hi there.’ This to Eli.

  ‘Oh yeah.’ Gabriel grinned. ‘There’s apples, and pears, and plums. Too much makes you sick.’

  Eli grinned back. He could feel any pretence at scholarly detachment slipping away fast. The child was effortlessly charming. Gaela and Bal treated him with the relaxed, amused forbearance of parents of mischievous children the world over. The ease of it was completely seductive.

  Until you recalled their histories, and realised that even without the memory of that original survey of the first residents of the Squats, something was very strange about that very naturalness. These people should not be able to have a child; he would not be this old if they had; and they should not know how to do this as well as they did.

  Gabriel was shaking his head at him. ‘They read a lot,’ he said, and wandered off to peer through the plastic lid of a propagator.

  ‘What?’ Eli was sure Gabriel had just answered a question he hadn’t asked. Bal walked over, drying his hands on a towel.

  ‘Gabe, please don’t do that.’

  ‘Do what? Oh,’ glancing at Eli, ‘sorry, Dr Walker.’ He looked momentarily abashed. ‘I keep forgetting.’

  Eli shook his head sharply to clear it and looked at Bal. ‘I have a feeling I’m missing something.’

  The big man sighed. ‘Well, we might as well get this over with. We weren’t sure whether to just tell you, or see if you’d spot it on your own, but since Gabe is incapable of being discreet—’ He shook his head, an irritated echo of Eli’s confusion, and called to the boy, ‘Come here, you.’ Gabriel skipped over. ‘Who reads a lot?’

  ‘You and Mama.’

  ‘And why did you tell Dr Walker that?’

  ‘Because he wondered.’

  ‘He wondered if we could read?’

  ‘No, Papa.’ Gabriel rolled his eyes. ‘He wondered how come you knew how to be good parents since you didn’t have any. And before that, he was looking at the garden and wondering how come we knew how to grow all the different stuff and make it so nice. He was thinking all sorts of things that were wrong.’

  Bal was looking at him over folded arms, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. ‘What d’you mean we?’

  ‘I meant you and Aunty Wenda and Uncle Mikal and Franko and the others.’ He frowned at Bal. ‘I do help though, Papa.’

  Bal nodded amused agreement and Gabriel looked back at Eli. ‘There’s lots and lots and lots of old books and vids about gardening and plumbing and having kids and all that stuff you were thinking it was strange for Mama and Papa and everyone to know about. They’re always reading stuff like that.’

  Eli felt as though his knees were about to give way. Bal pointed wordlessly to a stool by the sink. Eli tottered over and sank onto it. Gabriel looked at him, head cocked to one side, then over at his father.

  ‘Why does everyone think I’m impossible?’

  ‘You’re supposed to be. And you bloody well are, too, just not in the way they imagine. Now please go and pull me a couple of leeks while I make sure Dr Walker isn’t having a heart attack. Nice fat ones, and don’t get covered in mud.’

  ‘Yes, Papa.’

  He slipped out. Bal filled a glass from an old-fashioned filter tap at the sink and handed it to Eli.

  ‘Here.’

  Eli took it, gulped, and clutched it with both hands. He stared at the door through which the child had disappeared.

  Bal said quietly, ‘Are you all right?’

  Eli closed his eyes, opened them again, shook his head and took a sip of water. His brain felt numb. Finally he looked at the other man.

  ‘Gabriel can read minds.’

  Bal nodded.

  ‘That’s not possible.’

  Bal raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Really?’

  ‘How … how is it possible?’ He sipped again, out of nerves and shock rather than thirst. The water was ice cold. It helped him focus. ‘I’ve … I’ve never heard of such an ability, not in real life. The gemtechs said it was impossible.’

  ‘The gemtechs aren’t responsible for Gabe. He’s a natural child. As for how it works, we have some ideas but we’re not entirely sure.’

  ‘I …’ The questions flooded into Eli’s brain. ‘I don’t even know where to start. When did you know he could do this?’

  ‘We were certain when he began to talk. We started to suspect from before.’ Bal shrugged. ‘He’d point at something that Gaela or I were thinking about, or he’d go and get something that one of us had moved and the other was looking for. Stuff like that.’

  ‘Does everyone here know? I mean, I hadn’t heard … but for someone to actually have a psychic ability, it would be a sensation …’

  ‘We really do not want that to happen.’ Bal spoke sharply. ‘Yes, people know. At first it was just close friends. More have been finding out recently because of stuff like what just happened with you. We’re trying to get Gabe to understand there is a big difference between someone asking a question out loud and just thinking it. But unless he’s paying attention he can’t always tell whether he’s heard a question or heard a thought.’

  He sighed again, gazing out of the door. ‘Being gems, I suppose it’s easier for us to take it in our stride than it is for you lot. We’ve been hoping people around here would just find out gradually and it wouldn’t be a big deal. But he did something yesterday that a bunch of norms saw, which is partly why we decided there wasn’t much point trying to hide it from you. That reporter last night had already got wind of it.’

  They were quiet for a while, Bal looking out at the rooftop vegetable garden and Eli staring into the water in the glass while his mind slowly reorganised itself. Finally he looked up.

  ‘Shouldn’t he be back by now?’

  ‘I thought at him to give us a minute. You looked pretty ropy.’

  ‘I feel pretty ropy. There are things in my head he shouldn’t … no child should … and in yours, and …’

  ‘Don’t think them,’ said Bal quickly. ‘He doesn’t have access to all the contents of your brain, thankfully. He can only tell what you’re actively thinking or remembering, and only if he’s close by.’

  ‘Can he send thoughts?’

  ‘No. It’s a gift of perception, not projection. Our guess is that if he ever met someone else with the same ability they probably would be able to communicate telepathically, but until then …’ He let it trail away, and shrugged.

  ‘Have you ever heard of anyone else with this ability?’

  ‘In real life? No.’

  ‘So he’s unique.’

  ‘As far as we know.’

  ‘The gemtechs …’

  ‘The gemtechs would love to get their hands on him.’ He looked over at Eli. ‘How’re you doing? Got your head straight?’

  Eli nodded, and a moment later Gabriel appeared in the doorway, three huge leeks held away from his body. Clods of earth still clung to the roots. He was scowling. ‘It’s cold.’

  ‘Come on in then.’ Bal took the vegetables from the child and rinsed them. ‘Gabe, I said two.’

  ‘But you’re going to ask Dr Walker to stay for lunch.’ ‘I still only needed two.’ Bal tapped the boy lightly on his sandybrown head with the heel of the unwanted leek. ‘Eli, would you like to stay for lunch?’

  18

  The more Mac thought about the plan the better he liked it. It felt right, as though the angel of the Lord moved amongst them, touching his comrades with the same vision and boldness that had first been vouchsafed to him. It had been John’s inspiration this time, and he was confident, certain. He knew the ways of the misbelievers well, and he had been the lookout when they had found the gem-bashed reporter with the hidden vidcam. So John could not have been identified, and he had come up with a way to turn his past mistakes to advantage. No one knew where he had gone when he left them; he should have no trouble being accepted again amongst the misbelievers.

  His own fac
e stared out at him from every newstream they checked. So did that of the Preacher, although his was an enhanced still from the vid and not nearly as recognisable as the police mugshot of Mac. Still, he worried about the Preacher far more than he did about himself. It would be difficult to do God’s work, finding and fortifying the faithful, if he was not free to travel.

  Mac’s task, on the other hand, was to lead the battle. He did not need to move until it was time to strike. They had found a safe place to hide in the meantime, an empty suite of offices to which one of their number had access. But strike they must, which meant continuing to find ways to hurt and expose the enemy. The tactics of the past two nights, hunting for stragglers in the late-night streets around the Squats, would be anticipated now. Even without the constant streamed assurances from the police, Mac knew enough about their ways to know they would focus their efforts on preventing any more of the same type of attack.

  But they were notoriously bad at anticipating anything new. That was why this could work. The streams were full of praise for the misbelievers, full of the mealy-mouthed priest promising safe passage and solace, full of images of their gem-ferrying vehicles and unconsecrated churches and sap-faced volunteers. Aryel Morningstar had been back on again, full of thanks for the staunch friendship of the misbelievers and those they attracted. They had made the mistake of thinking they were secure in their Squats, protected by authorities both profane and divine. All they had done was point the way to an open back door.

  To use a route made by those who had strayed from the true path, invade the sanctuary of the evil ones, bait the Beast in his own den – that, they would not expect.

  *

  Aryel met him as he came into the leisure centre from the plaza that faced onto the high street. She was escorting a pair of new arrivals back from reception, along with the gillung woman Eli had spoken to the night before. With her preternaturally long torso and preposterously short legs wrapped in an ankle-length oilskin coat, the woman appeared to glide rather than walk.