by E. J. Swift
‘Dien?’
‘She doesn’t have another name.’
Karis can’t read Aariak’s tone, and so he isn’t sure if she disapproves of this unconventional titling or whether she simply doesn’t care. He looks to the other side of the room, where the Boreal delegation are seated. He’s never seen a Boreal before, and never expected to do so. He can sense the animosity from the northerners, like a toxic chemical substance leaking out of them and trickling its way across the room. One of the Boreals has suffered a head wound, a fact that gives Karis some small pleasure.
‘And them?’ he asks Aariak.
‘The central three are the ones we need to worry about. One Alaskan, one from Veerdeland, the other from Sino-Siberia. They sent everyone. We know something about Katu Ben, the man from Alaska. He was responsible for containing the recent redfleur outbreaks. He has a reputation for ruthlessness.’
Karis considers the round, almost cherubic face of the Alaskan man. Burly and round-shouldered, his teeth protrude slightly, raising the upper lip so that even in repose he gives the impression of a man who at any moment will break out into a display of beaming joviality. He could easily have had that corrected, thinks Karis. But he’s chosen not to.
‘I know, doesn’t look like much. But don’t be deceived,’ says Aariak. ‘This is a man who incinerated an entire city of his own people.’
‘Is it that bad up there?’
‘It’s bad,’ she says.
‘And the other two?’
‘Luciana Tan from the Sino-Siberian Federation and Marc Bernier from Veerdeland. Let’s just say none of them would hesitate to shoot your firstborn.’ Aariak sits back and folds her arms. Her face is set like bufferglass. ‘Then again, if it was a Boreal, neither would I.’
Across the Chambers, Luciana Tan tilts her head to acknowledge something Katu Ben has said. She smiles. A cat’s smile. Karis looks from face to face. The city’s fate, and Karis’s with it, now lies in their hands.
He is relieved when Nkem Sosanya, leader of the Solar Corporation delegation, begins the proceedings. Sosanya rises, and without any obvious gesture manages to convey that everyone else should do the same. With the room on its feet, she thanks them for their attendance. She has a beautiful head, thinks Karis incongruously, the sort of head that would have sculptors in ecstasy. The smooth shape of her skull is accentuated by the close shave of her hair, speckled in black and grey. The face is experienced, commanding, a face to which Karis would probably apply the vague descriptor of wise, and a face which gives him cause to hope.
The Corporation leader speaks in her own language, and there is a rustling as everyone inserts their receivers, some glancing mistrustfully at the African technology. The Corporation have set up a translation chamber, with a row of receptor cubes set in a semi-circle in front of the delegates. There is a second’s delay and then the mechanical voice of the translation murmurs into Karis’s ear, speaking Boreal English. The foreign language, with its clipped northern enunciations, has a strange effect upon him, a distancing from the room and the people in it. He has a surge of longing to hear Swahili, his own language of the home, or patois, or any common Antarctican language.
Sosanya speaks and the translation follows.
‘We are now in session. Be aware that any words you voice from this moment will be picked up by the translator and exported until the session end. Please raise your hand to indicate your understanding and agreement.’
Hands raise, some with obvious reluctance. Sosanya inclines her head. She puts forward the situation. What has happened here is a direct contravention of the Nuuk Treaty. Both parties have used illegal weapons of force, against each other, and against the Osirian people. Hundreds of innocent civilians have already died in the crossfire.
Despite her measured address, Karis has the impression that Sosanya would like nothing better than to bash together the heads of everyone in the room; that the perilous journey across the sea from the Solar Corporation has been a matter of deep inconvenience, a matter which has taken the African away from more important, pressing, never-to-be-revealed matters.
‘There are a number of legal issues to address,’ she continues. ‘Firstly, the legal ownership of the city of Osiris. Secondly, the reason and responsibility for the city’s disappearance in the last fifty years. And thirdly, whether crimes against humanity have been committed by the parties to my left and right, that is: the Boreal States of the north and the Republic of Antarctica.’
Aariak stands. ‘We wish to put forward a fourth issue.’ She looks pointedly at the Boreals. ‘The question of why Osiris was built in the first place, and so conveniently close to Antarctican waters.’
Sosanya consults briefly with her peers. ‘Intent will be considered. We have a lot to unravel over the next few days. I expect the full co-operation of everyone in this room.’
The Boreals respond with outrage. The translation babbles in Karis’s ear. Voices overlap, the words fusing together, too quick to make any sense. Sosanya calls for order.
As the day goes on, Karis feels the hope prompted by Sosanya’s presence gradually seeping away. Glancing around the room, he can read only anger and resentment. There is no will here for resolution. Rather, the Boreals and the Antarcticans are relishing the chance to finally come together, out from the shadows of a war long fought but never acknowledged.
It all comes back to the fucking knowledge banks, he thinks. The Corporation has energy, but the north maintains its monopoly on medicine. They guard those banks as jealously as emperors. We’re self-sufficient and they can’t bear that; they can’t bear to be excluded from anything. Because of our independence, we have to be punished.
‘Is it – ready?’
‘Almost, Ms Rechnov – Silverfish—’
‘Just Adelaide.’
The technician makes some final adjustments. She watches silently. The small, bluish eye of a camera is trained on her face, a microphone positioned by the pillow. If she concentrates on any one thing in the room for long, it blurs into senselessness. People materialize who she knows are not there. Others take on appearances that are not their own.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ murmurs Mikaela Larsson at her side. Ole squeezes her hand in agreement.
‘I do. It may be… the last useful thing… I do.’
Ole’s grip tightens. She senses him shaking his head. Don’t say that.
With difficulty, she turns her head to the nurse. Lifts a hand to point.
‘I need you to take that away.’
‘That’s your morphine, Adelaide—’
‘I know. But I can’t… think straight… with it.’
The nurse’s face is flat with refusal.
‘That’s a Rechnov order,’ says Adelaide.
When the nurse cuts off the supply she doesn’t feel it at first. And then it hits her, and it’s annihilating.
‘We move on to the question of this city’s disappearance,’ Sosanya announces. ‘I call upon the Osirian representation.’
Attention shifts to the two Osirians in the room, who so far have been silent, although Karis has observed them exchanging notes on a pad.
‘Please confirm that you represent the two sides of your city, east and west.’
Linus Rechnov gets to his feet. Rechnov. Wasn’t that the name mentioned by the officer on the ship?
‘That is technically correct,’ says Linus.
‘But we’re talking together today,’ says the woman known as Dien. And Linus adds, ‘The border has been removed.’
‘Very well. Let’s address the central issue at stake here. There has been no contact with this city for the past fifty years. What explanation do you have for this?’
Linus Rechnov speaks calmly.
‘I’m afraid we have no explanation. Since the days of the Great Storm, no one has ever answered our distress call. We believed ourselves alone, the rest of the world lost. Most of us did. I have been somewhat notorious in our city for having views
to the contrary, though I have never seen any evidence to confirm this belief. Until now.’
The Boreals wear open expressions of disbelief.
‘It was I who encouraged the last expedition boat,’ Linus continues. ‘We had fallen into a trap of belief, taking our customs for granted. That is what I felt. Because all of our previous expeditions had failed, we lost hope. We decided the risks were too great; we couldn’t afford to lose anyone else. But I believed it was necessary to try again, although others in my family did not. Our city, which we as Osirian citizens are so proud of, is in a state of stagnation. We’ve tried to preserve it – but we can no longer deny that without valuable resources, our society will collapse. It might not have happened immediately – perhaps not even within my lifetime – but the decline would have begun.’
Linus pauses, taking his time. Karis has a sense that he is walking a very fine line.
‘Our call was answered, but not in the way I expected. I have to assume that the expedition boat which departed last October made it safely to land. No one has deemed it fit to inform us that this is the case.’
Nkem Sosanya confers with a colleague.
‘I can confirm that the expedition boat did indeed reach land. There was one survivor. A man called Vikram Bai.’
Karis sits up. He knows that name. Fuck, he’s even seen Vikram Bai, albeit in a holoma.
The revelation has a clear effect upon both of the Osirians. Dien sits bolt upright, her eyes wide with surprise. Her mouth opens, then she decides against whatever she was about to say. Linus has lost colour. For a moment, the Osirian politician is at a loss for words. He pulls himself together with apparent difficulty.
‘And the rest?’ he asks.
‘Patagonian reports confirm the ship was wrecked on the coast. The other crew were lost at sea.’
The Alaskan Katu Ben gets to his feet.
‘None of this goes any way to explaining fifty years of silence.’
Linus Rechnov turns to face the Boreal.
‘We wouldn’t mind an explanation from you, either. Why was our distress call ignored? Why did no one ever come to help, to find us?’
‘We sent seventeen expeditions,’ says Katu Ben. His face is the picture of charming bewilderment. ‘None of them ever returned. We’d like to know why.’
Linus Rechnov wears an equally puzzled expression.
‘Surely the explanation is entirely obvious? For the same reason we have never sent a successful expedition until now. They did not survive the journey.’
Nkem Sosanya gestures at the Boreal to sit down.
‘Let me ask you once and for all, Linus Rechnov. Did you know about life outside of Osiris?’
The Osirian pauses for a moment, listening to the translation. Then his expression clears.
‘No,’ he says, without hesitation. ‘But I suspected we were not alone.’
This man is a good liar, thinks Karis. And it occurs to him that the lies of Linus Rechnov may be the only thing standing between grace and destruction.
‘And yourself?’
This time the question is directed at Dien, who listens, and laughs bitterly.
‘You think I’d have stayed in this shitty city if I did? When I was a kid, almost every day of my life I asked the stars to send us a boat. Eventually I realized none was coming. I stopped asking. Kind of ironic that when you do show up, all you can talk about is who’s going to take us over. But hey, I’m just a westerner. What do I know?’
The Boreals exchange irritated glances, clearly unhappy with the lack of resolution. Sosanya calls for attention.
‘We move on to the technicalities of ownership. Records and treaties have been cross-referenced. Undisputed is the fact that the City of Osiris was built as a joint venture by the Boreal States of Alaska, Veerdeland and Sino-Siberia. Construction was begun in the year twenty-two eighty-six and not fully completed at the point of the Great Storm, leading to the subsequent division of the city into east and west.’
‘It was built to spy on us!’ shouts Aariak. In her rage she has reverted to her own language of the home and there is a moment’s pause while the translation boxes compute. ‘If their right is so legitimate, why did they come here in stealth, sneaking south in the night like thieves? Why did they meet with resistance from the rightful citizens of this city which we are endeavouring to liberate? Answer me that!’
‘Silence, please! I will have silence. I will continue. As a joint venture, the city was an asset, the governance and value of which was divided between the three states. Each state had a representative on the Council of Osiris. Correct?’
The Boreals offer sullen acknowledgement.
‘The city of Osiris declared independence in the year twenty-three forty-six. However, according to records this was never formally recognised by the Boreal States.’
Linus Rechnov gets wearily to his feet.
‘It was agreed by the representatives on the Osiris Council at the time.’
‘That agreement depends upon their authority to speak on behalf of the Boreal States,’ answers Sosanya.
‘Certainly independence was never ratified,’ says Katu Ben, still in a tone of bemusement. Karis imagines this man stepping onto the Antarctican peninsula, with his murderer’s smile and a submarine fleet at his back. He would revel in it.
‘They were empowered as Councillors,’ argues Linus Rechnov. ‘The appointment gave them the legal right to make that decision. Their signatures validate the city’s independence.’
The Solar Corporation delegates are pulling up texts of international law, their hands enshrined in the faint glow of the projection. They whisper in consultation, apparently shielded from the translation chamber. The wait stretches out. Karis fidgets.
‘Unfortunately this is not the case.’
‘We have been independent for over seventy years,’ says Linus.
‘And appear to have made some dubious decisions in that time,’ says Sosanya, frowning.
Dien is standing, her hand jabbing at the air.
‘You’re talking about things so long ago none of us were even born. Hundreds of people died the night these people decided to stage their war inside our city. Why don’t you talk about what that really is—’ She glares around the Chambers. ‘Like fucking murder?’
‘We will come to the matter of human rights violation—’
‘There is another testimony you need to hear,’ says Linus. ‘And I think now is the time. Adelaide Rechnov, the Silverfish. She was badly wounded the night the Antarcticans attacked.’
‘Very well. Connect her.’
The wall behind the Africans flickers, resolving into an image of a young woman in a hospital bed. Her hair is very red. Her skin is very pale, almost translucent. There are tubes inserted into her nose and she is evidently having trouble breathing.
‘Will you state your name, please?’ says Sosanya.
The red-haired woman looks directly at the camera.
‘My name is Adelaide Rechnov. Also known as… the Silverfish.’
‘You have agreed to tell us about the night the Antarcticans arrived.’
‘Yes…’
With difficulty, the young woman describes the night of the attack.
‘There was no warning. We didn’t know what was happening. My brother told me it was the Antarcticans – I didn’t understand. First the Boreals, now this. What had we done to incite so much hostility?’
‘I’m going to ask you the same question I asked your colleagues. Were you aware of a conspiracy to conceal the city of Osiris from the world?’
A look of bewilderment crosses the woman’s face.
‘No,’ she says. ‘When the Boreals came – I can’t explain to you… how impossible that seemed. They might have been from another planet.’
Sosanya nods. ‘Thank you for your testimony.’
‘I want to say something.’
‘Go on.’
Adelaide Rechnov’s eyes close briefly. Karis can see the st
rain in her face. A membrane of moisture is forming on her skin with the effort of speaking.
‘I don’t know who is in that room. I don’t know where you come from. But… hear me now: you know nothing of our way of life. We have a city, yes. But we’re sea people. The sea is in our souls. We aren’t like you. The places you come from – what do they mean to us, to an Osirian? Until a week ago, I didn’t even believe… there was anything outside of… Osiris. All my life I’ve believed that. Believed a lie. You can never understand what it means to have your life turned upside-down – like that. So what gives you the right to make decisions about our fate? We have nothing to do… with your war.’
Magnified by the screen, those intense green eyes demand the attention of the room. Give me answers, say those eyes. Give me resolutions, give me an end. Listening, watching that face, Karis can see how this woman has commanded the hearts of both sides of the city. But however eloquently she makes her case, Adelaide and the Osirians do not stand a chance. The Boreals will never let go. It’s a matter of principle; to acquiesce is weakness.
‘The significance of your culture is noted, and regardless of the outcome, steps shall be taken to ensure its preservation,’ says Sosanya. ‘Unfortunately, we are all tied to the Nuuk Treaty. International law cannot grant independence where there is a prior claim.’
‘Then grant Osiris independence now, and we can act as a mediating force,’ Adelaide Rechnov argues. ‘We can be a bridge… between north and south. That was the original… purpose of our city. Why not use this as an opportunity – to see it done properly?’
The two Osirians in the room are nodding their agreement. Karis can see the approval in Sosanya’s face, but alongside it is caution. It’s too late for pleas or promises. Perhaps the African has already come to this conclusion for herself; at any rate, she calls a recess. Adelaide Rechnov hovers for a moment, her face broadcasting passion and fury like an avenging angel in one of those old Retribution shows, before the link dissolves, leaving behind an empty marble wall.
Her eyes lock onto the nurse as he hooks up the morphine, the nurse’s fingers, the crumple in the transparent plastic bag and the clear, precious solution within it. Her jaw is a clamp. Her lungs are drowning. Distantly she is aware that there are others in the room, doctors, surgeons, people talking in worried voices, hands adjusting medical equipment, but she can’t think about anything but the pain, the impossible pain, and the infinitely slow trickle of morphine down the tube into the needle in her arm and into her blood.