“Good evening, Simon.” Simon checked his wristwatch. A little before twelve midnight. “You and I have a lot to discuss. We could do so here if you insist, but I think it's better to do it somewhere more…” Anthony Grayson paused and looked over at Simon's wife who was gripping the sheet to her chin, “Private. Better for all involved.” The President rose to his feet, turned and marched away. One of the Guardians began opening cupboard doors until he found clothes. He pulled out a pair of casual beige trousers, the kind Simon would only ever wear at home for fear that they were too similar to the uniform of the Omega residents, and threw them onto the floor. A white T-shirt followed. He pulled them on all the while trying to ignore his wife who was relentlessly questioning him about what was happening. Even the sound of her voice drilled through him. Her very presence was near intolerable. After he dressed he turned to face her, edged himself onto the bed and stroked her hair from her eyes, trying his best to force a smile.
“It will all be okay. There is something very important that I must take care of. Just stay here and try to go back to sleep.” Simon caught sight of one of the Guardians sniggering. Simon concentrated his eyes on Amelia, his wife of four years and ticket to the upper levels. “I'll be back soon.” He pursed his lips and planted a brief kiss on her forehead before standing up and walking towards the Guardians. As they exited the room the final Guardian closed the door behind them. The President was nowhere to be seen, and Simon kept to the Guardians’ pace.
“He thinks it will all be okay. Did you hear that?” one said.
“Loved the way you kissed her on the forehead. Very convincing.” Simon didn't attempt an answer.
“Maybe he doesn't even know what has happened.”
“I can always come back and show her what a real man can do, if you like, Mr Adjustment Coordinator, Sir.”
“She probably can't even remember, it's been so long.”
“Be great if they get Daley Cartwell to do it though, eh?”
Much laughter followed this, but Simon remained quiet. He was making up all sorts of possibilities about what they really meant. They were just trying to scare him, shake him a bit. It's the power, he told himself. They had got over-excited by it and were losing themselves. He'd sort out whatever issue it was that President Grayson had and get back in time for a shower before his appointment with the hygienist tomorrow. He could probably sneak in an appointment for a repeat pedicure tomorrow afternoon before he saw Zack. He would need to relax, especially knowing that he would at some point have to report to Margareta. Even the thought of her name was enough to send a shiver running along his spine. But being lost in such abstract thought meant that he hadn't been following the Guardians’ conversation. He hadn't even heard them say ‘Denunciation Ceremony’.
Chapter Forty Five
There was a combined smell of antiseptic and bleach as Emily opened the door a crack. She heard the familiar ping of the heart rate monitor and found a strange sense of comfort in the regularity of the beeping. The light in the room was grey, courtesy of the many monitors displaying information about what was happening inside her mother’s body. The nurse smiled at Emily and secured the tube that she had just inserted into Helen Grayson's arm with a strip of tape, and then retreated into the shadows of the adjacent room.
“Hey, Mum. I'm sorry that I'm a bit late today.” Emily Grayson approached the edge of the bed and began the usual daily assessment of her mother's condition. She began by stroking her fingertips over the skin of her face, checking if she was sweaty or cool. When she found a layer of moisture on her mother’s brow she pulled back one of the blankets, folding it precisely at the foot of the bed. She checked the cables and tubes, and chased a small insignificant bubble in a venous line back up to the reservoir as one of the nurses had shown her when she was younger. She checked the temperature of her feet, and then her hands, weaving her fingers into her mother’s. A minute later she remembered she hadn’t checked the electrodes on her chest. She checked them, even though she knew they were fine. “It has been a pretty busy day.”
Emily sat down on the plump armchair, the chenille material crinkling like the short fur of an animal. It was warm in here, and so Emily reached over and opened a window and a light breeze fluttered through the gap. When she could still talk, her mother would never have allowed it because of the fear of the toxins that had once poisoned the air. The same toxins that had rendered her a shell of what she once was. As a compromise Emily only opened it a couple of centimetres. It was enough for a slight draught to drift in, leaving the stronger winds to skip past the windows, screeching and complaining as they whistled past. She looked south and hoped that Zack had made it out.
Emily was always uncertain what it was exactly that she was supposed to say when she arrived here. She never avoided coming, but sometimes, especially on the difficult days, finding what to say to her comatose mother didn't come easily. Time always felt as if it stood still in this room. The situation had been unchanged for over three months now. Sometimes Emily wondered if the changes in her mother were so gradual that she just didn't notice them anymore. The heart rate monitor was ticking at a rate of 46 beats per minute, which somehow seemed to slow the seconds of the day, as if they had been wound down in order to make time last. To go slower. But no matter how slowly those seconds ticked by, they were still ticking. Soon enough they would stop, and there wouldn't be any more time left.
“Mum, do you remember that story you used to tell me when I was a child?” This is what Emily did when she couldn't tell her the truth. The easy days it was simple. I completed my pledges, I went outside, I saw a friend. Sometimes those stories were improvised, but it was easy enough to do. Life in Omega required an imagination. But when the truth was hard to admit, her words got stuck somewhere on their journey out. It was easier to relive happier moments from the past. “I forget what it was called, but it was about a little girl who had two sisters. You used to tell it to me before bedtime.” She looked to her mother as if waiting for confirmation that she remembered the story, but when nothing came but an electronic beeping counting down life, she continued. “The King asked his three daughters how much they loved him. The first said that she loved him as much as life itself. The second said as much as the world. The third said as much as meat needed salt. Do you remember?” God, how she wished for just something. Even a flicker of her eyes to know that she was still there behind the stagnant flesh. Emily pulled the chair up closer and took her mother’s hand.
“Anyway, the King banished the third daughter, certain that she didn't really love him. She had no choice but to become a servant, and covered her good clothes in rushes from the river.” The heart rate monitor beeped faster, the number now reading 53 beats per minute. Emily leaned in, stroked her mother's head, certain that was the sign she was looking for. Encouraged, she continued, speaking softly into her ear. “So the daughter, Cap O'Rushes I think she was called, began working as a servant in a grand house nearby, and nobody knew who she was. When the King held a ball she wanted to go, so she pulled off the rushes to reveal her good clothes. She danced and ate good food, and met the Prince of the family who she worked for. He fell in love with her. He gave her a ring, and told her that without her he would die.” She smoothed her palm along her mother’s arm, brushed her cheek against her mother’s fingers. “But at the end of the night she had to go back to being a servant. She covered up her clothes again and went back to her life in the kitchens. But she had fallen in love with him too, so she slipped that ring into his food. When he saw the ring in his porridge he asked who had prepared the food, and when he realised that it was Cap O'Rushes, the girl he loved, he asked her to be his wife. At the wedding, to which her father was invited, they served food without any salt, and everybody had to keep adding it themselves. Only then did her father realise the truth of how much she loved him. Only once it was too late. Once he had already lost her.”
Emily glanced up at the heart rate monitor and saw that the rate
had settled back down to 46 beats per minute. Maybe it had never really been any higher. Maybe Helena couldn't hear anything at all.
“Sometimes people have to lose the ones they love to realise their mistakes. Don't you think, Mum?” Emily waited for a response that would never come. She filled in the blanks herself. “I do. I think that. When people make mistakes and you choose to stay by their side, it's as if you tell them it is okay. That you let them believe what they do is correct.” She leaned in to her mother's ear. She smelt like hospitals, antiseptic cream, the spray they used for bed baths that Denmark had shipped. She didn't smell like her mother anymore. She always used to smell like Chanel number 5 before the war, and for a couple of years afterwards when she was still bothering with life. But then she decided to end it by letting herself outside into the toxic air before it cleared. It had taken three teams and two whole days to find her, and when they had she was covered in the toxic dust, naked, and close to death from dehydration. Cancer hadn't taken long to find her.
“They are close, Mum. They are close to freeing another tower.” She was whispering so quietly that her words fluttered out like the flap of a butterfly's wings. Emily watched as her mother's eyes flickered, as if she could hear her. Was she proud? Did she understand what Emily had been doing?
One blink for yes, two for no. At least that would be something.
“Gamma is in chaos at the moment, and people have died. We didn't have enough people on the ground to counter attack. But still they did it. They cut Scenic Simulation Programming. I can only imagine what the Guardians did when the view of the real world filled the windows.” Emily brushed her hands over her mother's, fiddling at her limp fingers and brittle nails, her smile fading quickly. Her mother’s nails had thinned so much they had a pink glow, making them appear as if they could be brushed away like dust. “Imagine if they can stall the server just long enough in Alpha Tower for people to see the reality of what is beyond the walls. Maybe there will be enough people free that he has no choice but to end it. There aren't enough Guardians in Epsilon Tower to get the whole of Alpha under control. There is still part of me that hopes, Mum. Even more since I met Zack.” Emily swallowed her pain, fought the urge to cry as she looked south. She could see the distant lights of the Red Eyes near the distant perimeter. There was little time. “I have to go now, but I promise I will come back.”
Emily stood up as the nurse returned. She pulled the blanket that Emily had removed back up to Helena Grayson’s neck. Emily took one final look at her mother before closing the door behind her, knowing that there was no way she would be able to keep her promise.
Chapter Forty Six
“I don't want generalisations. I want specifics.” Anthony Grayson was pacing back and forth in front of Simon with his sleeves rolled up. Every now and again he would lean on the glass table that Simon was sitting at, stabilised by a swirl of three metallic legs. Simon was trying to fidget into a comfortable position but the twisted nature of the structure, knotted together like snakes on Medusa's head, made it impossible. It was either that or the presence of President Grayson breathing down the back of his neck. “Tell me what mood was he was in the last time you met?”
“I - I,” Simon stuttered, “I can't really remember.”
“Try. You are his Adjustment Coordinator.” The voice of President Grayson was flat, monotone. There was none of that false I'm-your-best-friend familiarity like he could turn on at a New Omega gathering. He was so charming when he had to be. “You told me only two days ago how well it was going. If that wasn't the truth, it's time to tell me now.” President Grayson left a trail of moisture on the surface of the table as he retracted his hands. His palms were sweaty. It was the only way to see just how stressed he was. “I've got two Omega residents on the run, heading away from Alpha Tower if the reports are correct. I want to know why.”
The door opened and another suited man who Simon hadn't seen before stepped sideways into the room. He could see the man's face in the reflection of the wall mirror. It was elongated, snake-like, deep lines running from his nose to his mouth, which served to make his lips look even thinner than they were. His hair was bright blond, almost as white as the Omega uniforms. Unnatural, Simon mused. Everything about him made Simon uneasy.
Simon noticed that the snake-faced man was carrying a piece of paper. Even that fact unnerved Simon, because people didn’t deal with paper anymore. It meant that there were departments in Omega that Simon knew nothing about. He tried to catch a glimpse of what was written. He saw some bold lettering towards the top of the page, darker in colour than the rest of the text which made it look like any other memo that he had seen hundreds of times in New Omega on the Communications Panel. The signature was big, swirly, with two oversized capital letters at the beginning of each name. He didn’t recognise it. There were two other men in the room with equally bright blond hair, dressed in the same dark suits, whose sole responsibility appeared to be to watch Simon. Simon concentrated on his reflection in the glass of the table. It didn’t look like the face he recognised. It appeared dimpled and irregular, dark circles under the eyes as if his existence was already being altered.
Anthony Grayson took the piece of paper from the other man and there was silence while he read it. “And you have sent this to him already?” the President asked.
“Yes, and I am awaiting a response.” The voice of the stranger was hushed and secretive as if he was telling his darkest secrets. “The first report was that they had been seen exiting an abandoned tube station in one of the southern boroughs at an alarming proximity to Alpha.” He looked down at Simon, as if aware that he was giving away too many details. The man angled his head towards the president in a way that suggested they had a close relationship. Working? Private? Simon didn't know. He spoke in hushed tones, slippery words like the hiss of a serpent. “Although they were not seen, it is presumed they slipped across an unofficial border into uncontrolled territory.”
President Grayson nodded as if he recognised the futility of their actions, his jaw clamped tight. He knew that if the escapees had made it across an unofficial border there was little hope of securing their return. Not without substantial force, and a couple of disillusioned residents wasn’t worth the effort.
“Whichever psychologist was seeing him, detain them. And I want Margareta here. Now. Plus, have somebody look at why the voice recognition software didn't pick up his defiance and lack of renunciation, and then bring me the tech working on it. We rely on those systems, Brent.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Simon racked his brain trying to recall if he had ever come across such a name. Brent? He tried another glance at the memo for the surname but it was no good, he couldn’t see it.
“And while you're at it, Brent,” President Grayson said, stopping Brent in his tracks. “I still haven't got the Gamma report. I want to know exactly where they cut that line. Destroy the entrances at whichever station it occurred. And I mean destruction.” The president wiped his rolled up sleeve across his forehead to mop up the sweat that had broken out. Simon could feel the same damp layer forming on his own brow, but he left it alone. He didn’t dare move.
“Sir, it could have been the Jubilee Line. We must be cautious. We cannot compromise it. Think of Beta.”
“I said the entrances, Brent. Don't question me again. I want their access cut.”
“Yes, Sir.” Brent nodded and accepted the instruction without further question. But he had attempted it. Whoever he was, he had the power to question the president. That was the point at which Simon realised this wasn’t as simple as answering a few questions, and he quickly tugged at his T-shirt and wiped it across his face.
“And get all the satellite tower servers re-encrypted. If they managed to get anything from us, I want them blocked out.”
“All servers have been checked, and they remain intact. Re-encryption is underway.”
“Good.” President Grayson chewed his lip. “Another wasted lottery.” H
e looked exasperated and tired. “I want you to put forth a motion to abandon the process. There has to be another way.”
Anthony Grayson's attention turned to Simon. Up until that point Simon had been drawn into watching the two men discuss the missing citizens and the failure on a number of security levels. But now he felt an uncontrollable need to look away so he focussed on the success of the earlier manicure. What he really wanted to do was to cover his ears like a child and start humming to himself.
“Have they located her yet?” President Grayson pulled out the chair and sat down at the desk as he spoke. He was speaking to Brent but his eyes were trained on Simon's face. Simon pushed his thumb nail into the skin of his wrist as a distraction. When he managed to draw out a droplet of blood he felt calmer.
“Yes, Sir,” replied Brent.
“Where?”
“She was in her suite. She was packing a bag.” Simon knew who Brent was referring to. If he had been uncertain, the look on President Grayson’s face would have been enough to confirm his suspicions. He looked set to explode, and his cheeks turned a hot shade of pink, like apples in spring. He tapped his fingernails on the table.
“Has she been detained?”
“Her location has been secured, Sir.” President Grayson didn't answer, and instead he placed the document on the table. Brent slipped out of the door as silently as he had slipped in.
With his fingertips spread open, President Grayson rotated the page and slid it across the table so that Simon could read it. It was today's date, written Omega style. 255th - 0010 N.O. Most people thought that N.O. stood for New Omega. It was a mistake. Really it was Latin, a dead language that some of the Conservators felt added a weight of authority to their choices. They believed that using the language of their forefathers could validate what they were doing. A permission slip. Novam Obedientiam. New Obedience. It was a bit of fun on their part.
The Dawn: Omnibus edition (box set books 1-5) Page 42
