“Sir,” she acknowledged.
“It's very warm in there. Open a window. You can't expect her to be comfortable stuck in such conditions.” The nurse rushed in, turned down the sheets, opened the window a crack, and then set about organising a cool bed bath. “And up her sedation. Do it quickly. I want her comfortable.” He swallowed hard, fought the image of his daughter from his mind who he knew would disapprove. “Very comfortable.”
Brent Ravenscroft was standing in the hallway waiting for him. Anthony Grayson blinked his eyes dry. Brent held out a set of papers.
“What's this?” President Grayson asked as he took the papers from the outstretched hand. Brent was standing with all his weight on one foot, the other held out loose and bent to the side as casual as could be. President Grayson resented the ease at which Brent conducted himself. Only somebody who never questioned his actions could be so casual. Brent could have a Denunciation Ceremony planned in hours, and he would execute it without breaking a sweat. It never shook him. Inside he was as cold as ice, and as unbreakable as diamond.
“The original psyche report for Delta 8652.” President Grayson leafed through the brown, dog-eared paper from the Department of Public Adjustment and Adaptation. When he came across a brown stain that looked like the ring of a coffee cup he looked to Brent with exasperation. “Not all the documentation is well looked after,” Brent conceded. “Some is missing. I can't find anything recent. It's as if we haven't completed any paperwork since his arrival in Omega. This was hand-delivered from Epsilon when he arrived with us.”
“People's inadequacies never fail to amaze me. How did this get overlooked?” President Grayson pointed to a pencil mark on the page. “Type two childhood abuse,” he read. He flicked to the next page and continued reading aloud. “Difficult relationship with father. Our Delta resident 8652 was defiance and disobedience just waiting to happen.”
“With all due respect, Sir, it wouldn't have made any difference what this intake report had written in it. We had to get him out. We had been compromised.” Anthony Grayson didn't answer because he knew what Brent was referring to. Once Zack had seen Emily, they couldn't leave him in Delta Tower. He shoved the papers back to Brent, who shuffled them into order. “Margareta is on her way. She is just leaving the basement.” That was something, at least. Brent’s acknowledgement of Emily’s part in Zack’s extraction, as subtle as it was, was enough of a hint to focus him. He might be a slippery son of a bitch, but Brent always forced Anthony to focus his mind on the task in hand. He knew how to get him to do what was necessary. That’s why he kept him around.
“And Gamma? What is the latest?”
“Essentially, Sir, it is offline.” So the Republic had lost Gamma Tower, the residents inside, and its capability for power supply.
“The secondary power supply?” President Grayson risked.
“At the moment we are on generator. We are good for a week, but the secondary power supply should be on line by tomorrow.” Anthony Grayson nodded his approval.
“Good work, Brent. I’ll still want that report. But, whenever it is ready,” he relented. “Any risk to the servers in Gamma?”
“No. They were manned throughout the disturbance, even during the fire, and we currently have a team there organising decommission.”
“Excellent. As soon as the work is complete I want you to take out the District Line.”
Brent stepped in closer to President Grayson, so close that he could smell the coffee on Brent’s breath. His voice dropped down to a serpentine hiss that indicated the exchange of important factual information for their ears only. “There is an important intersection that leads to Beta from that line, Sir. I am not questioning you, but I want you to know the risks involved. Perhaps we should call a board meeting.”
“Remove that line from service, Brent,” said President Grayson as he stepped back. “If we have lost Gamma, we don't need it. Beta will be fine. Just exercise caution around the intersection.” Brent made a note on his Communication Panel. “What about the other Towers? If Zachary Christian is loose, I have some concerns that he could attempt a return to Delta. According to Miss Fletcher he was quite fond of an old man there. Larry something. Used to talk about going back for him.”
“Leonard, Sir. Leonard Chambers. Or rather Delta 8631. I have instructed an extra fleet of Red Eyes into Delta territory, but early reports suggest there has been little movement across unofficial borders, and no significant increase in numbers of rebels. Most of the Drifters are still south and therefore pose no risk to us.”
“Perhaps it would be a good idea to pull this Leonard character out anyway. We can use him as bait to lure Mr. Christian back in if things get out of hand.” Brent made another note on his Communication Panel.
“We have him in custody anyway, ever since 8652 was misplaced. He was caught using a water ration card with a different identification. We thought it prudent to detain him.”
Even now President Grayson couldn’t get used to calling a person by a number. Brent made it seem effortless, as if it was easy to reduce a whole personality to a series of numbers and symbols. More than anything, Anthony hated the idea of being Omega 1. He had fought the Conservators’ wishes to brand the Omega Tower residents in the same way as the other towers. The barcode had been the compromise. “Why was it always so damn exposed out there?” he asked himself. “Gamma has been trouble from day one,” he called back to Brent as he disappeared into the corridor to his private offices.
“And so was Emily,” Brent muttered to himself, but President Grayson didn’t hear him.
When President Grayson opened the door to his private offices he couldn't believe what he saw sitting before him. It was like a reference book to the past, a distant visual memory that you don't know is stored until it surprises you by making an appearance. A punk sitting in his office, a vision from his childhood. But it was no stranger. It was Emily in the guest chair, two Comrades either side of her. One of them had his hand on her shoulder. Half of her head had been shaved.
“Remove your hand from my daughter.” It was instinct that made him say it, but it didn't make Emily feel protected. In fact, it only angered her more, his display of control over a situation in which she was involved. “Did you do this to her?” he demanded from the Comrades.
“No, Sir,” they both said in unison.
“You did this to yourself?” he asked as he pulled his chair out from underneath the desk. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. His feet kicked at clumps of clipped hair scattered about the floor, and other strands clung to her grey and lifeless Delta-issue boiler suit. “Emily, I am talking to you.” When she didn’t answer he looked up at the Comrades. “Leave us.”
Anthony Grayson closed the door and turned back to face Emily, uncertain what to say. She nibbled at her thumb and then wrapped her arms around herself. She tried to concentrate on a black mark that dirtied the leg of her overall. Anything for a distraction.
“Emily, you have put me in a very difficult position. I have tried time and time again to turn a blind eye to the things that you have been doing. I even organised the recent lottery in order to cover your tracks. But now what am I supposed to do? Hmm?” He was standing over her, his fingers working in rhythmical circles over his lips before they worked their way down to investigate the remaining hair. She pulled away. If it had been anybody else it would have been simple for him. “Tell me you didn't help them,” he said as he crouched down and took hold of her knees in his hands. He grabbed her face and pulled her towards him, forcing her to look him in the eye. Her lips were tightly pursed, and her eyes darted around like fireflies. He let go of his grip on her face and pulled up a chunk of the cropped hair for inspection, before tossing it back down as if it were contaminated. “Tell me, Emily. Tell me you didn't help them.”
“I didn't help them.” She didn't look at him when she said it. “If that’s what you want to hear, that’s what I will tell you.” He shook his head dismissively. “Ask me fo
r the truth, and I’ll tell you that, too.” As if he needed proof of her lying, there it was, laid out in front of him.
The knock on the door was sharp, expectant. The lights above were flickering, still troubled by the recent power cut and the instability of the generators. Anthony Grayson got to his feet and opened the door. Once he saw that it was Margareta, he opened it wide enough for her to step inside. When she saw Emily she gasped from the shock. For a second it looked as if she was about to be sick.
“Emily, darling, what have you done to yourself? Oh my good President, what in His name have you done to yourself?” She dashed towards Emily and started picking her way through the short cropped hair, causing Emily to flinch and pull her head away. “We'll take you to the health centre. I'm sure they can organise some kind of wig, or, or something.” It was President Grayson that she was trying to reassure, not Emily. “We'll find somebody. In Delta they grow their hair. We can have one of them shaved and a wig made especially. Until then we can, well, we can have things brought to her so she doesn't have to go out.” She turned to Emily. “Don't worry, Emily. It's just a mistake. We can cover it up.”
This was typical of Margareta's approach. She was Emily's father's fixer. She wrote his speeches, organised his wardrobe, crafted his public image. She had tried to do the same with Emily, but her efforts had been thwarted by a lack interest. Emily had never wanted to play the game. Not since she learned the rules.
“I'm not worried, Margareta. Except for the fact that I didn't get it finished and by the fact that I am still here.” Margareta looked away as if she had been personally wounded by the concept that shaving her head was intentional, and not some unfortunate and terrible accident that needed a solution. “And you can drop the act. We both know you hate me as much as I hate you. You are only here because of him.” They both looked at President Grayson who ignored all of what had been said. “Which means we are all breaking the rules, so I suppose at least that gives us something in common.”
“Our good President, Emily. Where do you get such things?” Margareta was holding her palm and a handful of splayed out fingers to her chest. Breathing under such disturbing conditions appeared to be causing her difficulties. Perhaps she was having an asthma attack, Emily mused. Perhaps she might die. Emily hoped it was true without any hint of remorse.
“Stop it, the pair of you. Margareta, what did you find in the basement?” asked President Grayson. Before she answered she took a final look at Emily, closed her eyes and bowed her head, before opening them wide with a look of new-found confidence. She had composed herself. Simple as that.
“I found two Guardians, both of whom had bloody noses. One of them had also sustained a rather nasty knock to the head. They were lying on the floor on BASEMENT LEVEL ONE.” She glanced towards Emily over the top of her non-existent glasses. “I'm afraid they had been attacked. The one who took the knock to the head cannot really remember the details, but his colleague is most certain that immediately prior to the ambush they had been escorting an Omega resident who claimed to have become disorientated and lost during the electrical blackout. Furthermore, there are three day-packs missing. I do believe that the only conclusion regarding the reported sighting of three individuals moving away from Alpha Tower, is that they are in fact those individuals who left Omega Tower.”
“I thought it was two people? Can we be certain who they were?” President Grayson asked.
It was the first time Emily was grateful to be in Margareta’s presence. Three people spotted moving away from Alpha Tower. So they had done it. They had got out. She had succeeded in getting them out. The only person she had failed to get out was herself. She should have left with them at the same time, but she had to say goodbye to her mother.
“I assure you it was three, but one of them is ours. And yes, we are quite sure who they are, Sir.” It was a triumphant announcement. Margareta was revelling in authority and importance. She pulled a small tile of glass from a pocket on her utilitarian belt. She inserted it into a slot in the wall and then picked up the Control Panel. Before long the CCTV image appeared on the Unity Panel before them.
There was no sound on the video. The images provided all the information needed. It showed Serena standing alone. A counter in the bottom right hand corner scrolled forwards with each passing second. Before long Zack arrived, closely followed by Emily. Then Duke. They all watched the movements of those on screen, and Emily waited until she saw Zack kiss the image of herself on screen before she looked away. President Grayson and Margareta watched until Zack left. Margareta stopped the video then, removing the tiny glass tile from the wall. During the whole performance her face was plastered with a satisfied smile. Emily hated her more in this moment than ever before. Even more than when she had seen her sleeping in the same bed as her father.
“Give me that,” said Anthony as he held his hand out towards Margareta. She handed over the evidence of Emily's involvement, privately celebrating her successful performance. “Is this the only copy?” he asked.
“The original exists and is safe. I wanted to get this to you as a matter of priority.”
He took the small glass tile and dropped it to the floor. He brought the heel of his shoe down on top of it, shattering it into splinters of glass. Margareta's hand was back on her chest in an effort to regulate her breathing. This time it was most likely genuine, because even Emily jumped at the thud of her father’s shoe.
“Margareta,” he said with conviction, gripping her by the arm, “destroy the original. Emily's involvement is a private matter, and I will not have such knowledge leave this immediate circle. Who has seen this recording?” Margareta's lips quivered but no words came out. “Who?” he bellowed.
“Just one of the coordinators who works in the digital display room. I’ll deal with it. I suppose the positive to take from this is that Duke is with them.” President Grayson ignored her response, but he saw Emily's interest spike when she realised that Duke was working for both of them. Had Duke betrayed her?
“His implant is still online?”
Margareta pulled her Communication Panel from her pocket. She made a series of taps and finger swipes until she found what she was looking for. “Yes. He is online.” Her voice trembled. “Somewhere past the southern defence border.”
“Have him removed. I want him back here.” He turned to Emily. “Did you take them down to the server level?” He knew that Emily was nervous by this point. He could see it in the way that her nostrils flared and eyelids fluttered. Ordinarily he would have been embarrassed to see her kissing Zack, but there was so much more at stake that it didn't seem important. But the problem is that he could see it wasn't just a kiss. It was a connection to somebody who wanted something that she could never have. The kiss was a bridge between the regime and the desire for freedom that he knew so many of the Omega residents still craved. “Margareta, obtain the recordings from basement level four. Emily,” he was standing above her now with his hands on his hips. “Emily,” he repeated, so loudly that even the Comrades standing outside the room could hear him, “did you take them down to the server level? Did you give them access?”
“No,” said Emily. Anthony Grayson began shaking his head.
“I don't even know why I'm asking you. How can I believe anything you tell me? You are sitting there with half a head of hair dressed in a boiler suit. You were ready to leave us.” He was working up into a crescendo. Emily could sense it coming. “Where were you planning to go? Hmm? Disappear into one of the other towers? To find him? To find that man?” Then he began narrowing his eyes as if he had been caught by a sudden thought. He looked to Margareta who seemed desperate to provide an answer to a question she hadn't yet heard, before her inability forced her attention into the glass fragments on the floor. “Now I come to think of it you were never interested in any of the potential suitors that we found for you. You never wanted to socialise with anyone from this tower, and you spend all your time sneaking around into different plac
es. Like Delta tower,” he said as he demonstrated somebody sneaking along with his fingers like a spider. “Has this whole thing been about this man? To bring him here? To run away together?”
“It's not like that.” Emily knew that wasn’t strictly true. Zack had changed things. She had spent her time sneaking into other towers in a desperate effort to absolve her part in the crime, as if her time in the sublevels of Delta Tower could negate her position of privilege in a life she hadn’t asked for. She worked alongside the Southern Resistance to try to save those in the other towers, but she knew more than any of them it was she herself who needed saving. Zack did that by showing her that it was possible to feel something other than regret in this life. That’s when it stopped being just about her.
“I don't believe you. Margareta, I want somebody on her door constantly. She is not to leave this suite.”
“Yes, of course, Sir.” That relaxed him. He liked it when she called him that.
“Do you hear me young lady? That's it for you. I have covered your tracks time and time again. I have put up with the sneaking around. I have put up with the absences. With the clothes. With your absolute refusal to assume the position of authority expected of you. I have done that for your mother. But she is gone now.”
Any embarrassment she felt after the video was replaced by fury. “She hasn’t gone anywhere. She is right up that corridor and would never agree to what you're suggesting. She told me I had to find my own life, not be bound by what you created for me.” It was raw for both of them because they had both accepted that Helena Grayson had gone in some capacity. Neither of them could really believe what they were saying. Just in the same way that President Grayson knew his wife wasn’t really gone, Emily knew that her mother wasn’t really there anymore either. But to hear him say it brought tears to Emily’s eyes, full heavy drops which stung her. It was the first time that Margareta appeared genuinely uncomfortable.
The Dawn: Omnibus edition (box set books 1-5) Page 44
