The footsteps in the distance quietened down but the voices soon escalated. Emily was used to all the different versions of her father’s voice; angry, sad, amused. This time he was none of those things. This time he sounded fearful. It was all that she could do to stop herself from going out there and telling him that she would do as he asked and stop making his life harder. Then she thought of what would happen to Millward, of the girl in IT who rigged the vote, and the numerous faces that were scattered throughout Omega Tower that dreamed the same dreams as she of a free life. She pushed herself in harder against Millward’s arm, wanting to feel the size of his body against hers. He responded by wrapping one arm across her shoulder. It made her feel protected and somehow safer. In reality there was nothing that Millward could do if things got out of control. She had realised that when she stared up into his eyes only a week ago in the hallway as the other Guardians dragged her back when she tried to escape with half a head of hair. He was as powerless as she. Emily brushed the fringe of the wig out from her eyes and remembered that it was only when people stood together that they had power.
“You told me that it was certain, Margareta. A sure fire result were your exact words. And now I’ve got Simon alive, Daley Cartwell clutching onto his feet in tears, and a perfectly decent citizen swinging from a noose over the doors of Omega Tower. Tell me, Margareta, just what exactly were you certain about when you told me to put Sarah in the Denunciation Ceremony?” Emily heard the creak of the leather as one of them sat on the black settee. “Nobody would have voted for one part of the couple. But Sarah? They must have thought that she was some kind of traitor just by the fact that she was single.”
“Anthony, please. What’s done is done. There is no going back on what has just happened.” The leather creaked again as Margareta sat down. “This can be spun in quite a wonderful way. In fact it is an unexpected opportunity. Unity will rise tenfold now that they know single folk are at risk. This will prove much more valuable than killing Simon.”
“Denouncing, Maggie. Denouncing. Nobody was killed today.” Emily felt the bile rise in her throat as she heard him call her by the shortened version of her name. How little time it had taken for him to find a replacement for her mother. How quickly he had moved on. The fact that he didn’t feel what had been committed was a crime, or even that somebody had been killed was of little surprise.
“Yes, of course, Sir.” The way she said it made even Millward raise his eyebrows. There was silence for a moment after this, interrupted by the occasional creaking of leather. Millward pushed the door closed.
“What?” asked Emily. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing that we need to see or hear.” Millward was blocking the door, but his effort was weak because Emily pushed his wide frame aside like a feather. She stuck her head out into the dimly lit corridor. She saw Margareta, or Maggie as she would now forever remember her, straddled across her father. Her body shuddered as a wave of goose pimples skimmed across her skin. Maggie’s head was buried in his neck and his head was bent back, eyes closed, lost somewhere in a feeling that Emily knew nothing of. Her mind went straight back to the kiss she had shared with Zack, the warmth that had flooded her, the way she shook in the moments afterwards when he had disappeared, leaving her feeling lost and alone. That was the full extent of her experience with a man. A single kiss and disappearance.
She hoped by now that Zack was far away, somewhere in the south, living his life away from the suppression of Omega Tower. But that was only part of how she felt. There was another part that wished he was here, that he was the one in Millward’s place, that he was here to hold her hand and stroke her face before she slept. Only last night she had dreamed about an Adoration of Life Ceremony in which she was bound forever to Zack. When she woke from the dream, ran her fingers through her half head of hair to wipe away a layer of sweat on her brow, it was with a smile on her face. Then she remembered that she hated everything Omega stood for, and tried to wipe the memory of the dream and the Adoration of Life Ceremony from her mind. She still hadn’t succeeded.
Millward pulled her back into the room just as the front doors of the Presidential Suite opened. The sound of footsteps resonated up the corridor, one, two, maybe even three pairs.
“If you go out there now, you put both of us at risk,” he promised. Her breathing was shaky, and Millward gripped her arms to pull her in close. What she saw between her father and Margareta had stung her, wounded her impression of him further. At least when she had walked in on them in the same bed they were sleeping. That time she could lie to herself, even if she knew what the truth really must have been. But now it was impossible because the image of Margareta kissing her father’s neck had been scorched into her mind. After a moment in his arms Millward felt Emily’s muscles slacken. When he was convinced she wasn’t about to run, he again opened the door a crack. The voices were clear enough to hear.
“Well, well,” came a sarcastic voice across the lobby. The footsteps were heavy and awkward, like a man who wasn’t accustomed to his weight. Roland Gladstone, no doubt. He always had plenty to say for himself, usually to express his hatred of the less-than-human Drifters, or the pleasure that Omega Tower gave him. “I understand there are certain Denunciation Ceremonies which call for a degree of celebration, but.....”
“Mr. Gladstone.” President Grayson manoeuvred Margareta from his lap and the leather of the settees creaked as she regained her position in the adjacent chair. She buttoned up her blouse, a sight which appeared to delight Gladstone all the more. The others averted their eyes, yet he offered no such deference. Emily hated him less in that moment.
“Don’t apologise, man. Nobody would begrudge you bit of private time. And it’s not like anybody is going to denounce you, is it? We all have our weaknesses.”
“Mr. Gladstone, I can assure you that indeed nobody will be denouncing me, but only because it is not warranted. I am not guilty of any weakness. My wife is as good as dead, and Margareta is certainly the right age for breeding. She is dedicated to the Population Planning Program and I am supporting her choices.”
“Did you want a little brother or sister?” asked Millward as they hid behind the door.
“What do you think?” she hissed, and indicated for them to both pay attention. They inched closer to listen.
“So, if your wife is as good as dead, Mr President, might I infer that she is very much alive?” It was the voice of Christopher Brand, the youngest and most emotionless Conservator who was once the youngest Chancellor of the Exchequer. Emily had always hated him too, and not just because he was a Conservator. His wife had a constant look of shame about her, and on more than one occasion bruising on her arms. It hadn’t taken much of a stretch of the imagination to assume that Christopher Brand, the Third Conservator, was responsible. But she also knew that most likely she was being unfair. She hated each of the Conservators simply because they were who they were. But the guy had guts to question her father, and she had to give him some credit for that. The way Emily was feeling right now if Christopher Brand could make her father squirm, she would walk right out there and shake the man’s hand.
“Yes, my wife is still alive.”
“In which case, should Margareta’s commitment to the Population Planning Program prove fruitful, who exactly do you propose should marry her?”
“Let’s not get tied up in such details now, Brand. There are other matters that press for our attention,” said Roland Gladstone. The leather groaned and the chair rocked back and forth as he set his considerable weight next to Margareta. “For starters, like how we have managed to string up a single woman of breeding age in a Denunciation Ceremony and save a man that has failed to get his wife pregnant for years. And,” he paused as if even the concept was difficult to put into words, “if anybody could explain to me what that debacle with Daley Cartwell was, I would be more than willing to listen.”
Margareta was strangely quiet. Emily was used to hearing her chipping in at
any given moment, especially the moment when she wasn’t required or expected. She obviously still thought that it was her fault. Instead, her father began speaking.
“The result was indeed unexpected. That I will give you. We have no idea how it happened. But Miss Margareta has convinced me of an unexpected benefit.”
“Was that whilst she was straddling you, or beforehand?” pushed Christopher Brand. He might be a Conservator but from the look Millward threw Emily, even Brand was pushing his luck. Emily allowed herself a moment to imagine a Conservator being denounced, but quickly fought the idea away. She couldn’t start enjoying elements of Omega justice just because it suited her own fantasies.
“I will choose to ignore that comment, Brand. Do not make me ignore anything else today,” said her father in a flat tone of voice.
“Denouncing a single person, especially one who appeared aggrieved about her single status, has a similar effect to denouncing a single pregnant female. It makes those who are unified appear safe. Those who are isolated appear at risk. And I believe that is what this result reflects. Peoples’ willingness to adhere to the Omega ideal. Unity. This really is an exceptional outcome, and vindication for the Manifesto.”
Christopher Brand snatched a glance at Jonathan Hay, the final Conservator in the room. Hay was the old Home Secretary and was responsible for the Omega Manifesto. He always seemed satisfied with the outcome of a Denunciation Ceremony, and could usually be found nodding along as the judgement was announced, soft appreciative sighs escaping his lips as the guilty citizen was strung up above the crowds. As long as somebody died, the result was always positive for Hay. Today was no different, and he took President Grayson’s words as a personal commendation, his gratitude represented by a simple nod of the head.
“Now I admit,” said President Grayson as he paid particular attention to Roland Gladstone, the one with most concerns regarding the spectacle of Daley and Simon, “that what we saw on the stage was, let’s put it, unfortunate. But it’s not unmanageable. Margareta? Ideas?”
When she began to speak her words seemed shrivelled, less intense than usual. Shame, it seemed, could make people react in ways that wasn’t expected of them. Emily wondered if based on this principle she could ever forgive her father for everything that he had done. Maybe it was possible if shame could explain his actions. Could it be that he really tried to save people in a series of towers across what was once London because of shame rather than greed?
He had tried to explain to Emily once during the final hours of one very long day when the cold of the winter was passing and when he thought she was old enough to understand. The towers had been built over the course of years. Preparations that had spanned two decades. He had always known that thousands upon thousands of souls would be lost during Operation Boa. He had agreed to the bombing of his country, a strike that would later go on to be attributed to an unnamed foreign enemy. One strike on their homeland. That was all it was supposed to be. There were so many countries out of control, he explained. So many threats to national security. Action had to be taken. For years they had tried to find excuses to attack the nations that threatened them. Weapons of mass destruction. Nuclear enrichment. Chemical weaponry. Arms deals from rogue nations. A steady stream of half-hearted wars ensued, followed by investigations which put previous leaders on trial, forcing Western nations back onto the path of diplomacy. What they had needed was one good reason to go in, and go in hard. This reason would need to change public thinking, result in calls for action. Most importantly, it had to change the world beyond all recognition. A sacrifice was required.
To its credit, or misfortune, President Grayson’s country was ready. There were enough buildings to protect a small population in the south, and the damage wouldn’t stretch far enough to destroy everything in the North. So it was agreed; one bomb followed by a period of quarantine, during which the rest of the other invested nations could take action upon the countries which they sought to destroy. What President Grayson did not know was that other agreements were made in secret. They feared that one bomb wouldn’t be enough to strike fear into the heart of the western world. The attack had to be strong, they agreed. It had to make the enemy nations look too powerful to tolerate. Drop the most powerful bombs. Drop the MIRVS. They won’t know anything of it. There are an island nation. Quarantine will be easy.
When she first learned the truth it was hatred she felt towards her father. Then anger, denial, bargaining that it was a lie. But as time passed there were moments when he stopped being the decision maker for whom she was capable only of hatred. Moments when he was her father again. Just like when she had touched his arm during the Denunciation Ceremony only minutes before. During such moments there was a look in his eye that suggested regret. It wasn’t a coup for power like many believed, and that led her to wonder if perhaps her father was ashamed of agreeing to such action? Had he really never considered what a terrible agreement it was? Could he ever be forgiven if it was a mistake that got out of control?
Margareta rose to her feet, began to present her grand plan.
“A great friendship. Unity of a different sort. Simon has his wife. He has his friend. He is an example to the rest of us how we must live for our neighbours. It’s very easy for us to create some kind of story about a medical issue regarding Simon’s wife to explain their lack of children. In the interests of future stability, we can even perform some surgery that makes it impossible for her to have children if that is deemed in the best interests. It’s really very simple to cover up their lack of a sex life.”
Roland Gladstone fiddled with his collar at the mention of somebody’s sex life. His cheeks blushed even further, and now that Margareta had the upper hand she was back to speaking in her usual self-assured, self-impressed way.
“Oh please, Gladstone. Let’s not pretend that we don’t know what’s going on. The fact that he has just managed to survive a Denunciation Ceremony means that we are beyond the point of trying to cover things up anymore. Simon and Daley are both gay. There, I have said it. It would also appear from the sorry little display that we all witnessed on the stage that Simon’s wife is well aware of that fact.” Hay and Brand were nodding in agreement. They knew very well that he was gay long before today. It was perhaps only Gladstone that had never come across a gay person in his life, perhaps convinced that such deviant types were no more real than a fairy-tale unicorn. “And with regards to my previous idea, if it is deemed extreme to prevent Simon’s wife from having children, perhaps we can help her have children without them having to actually touch each other. We can bring somebody over from France. Perhaps even send her there. IVF is very successful for many women. And to be perfectly honest with you all, I quite like the idea of a Denunciation Ceremony survivor who realises the value of life and so responds by getting his wife pregnant. It will be his ultimate renunciation. Imagine the Omega Today headlines.” She spread her hand across the sky like a rainbow. “Denunciation Survivor Gives Life.”
“Personally, I cannot see a problem with that plan.” Jonathan Hay was one of few words, which was why people always listened when he chose to speak. “I say we action her immediate evacuation to Epsilon, second stop Paris. Between us we should be able to get the woman pregnant.”
“Forget Paris,” chipped in Roland Gladstone. “Most of it was destroyed in a bombing raid a few weeks ago. Much better to take her to Angers in northern France. I remember a clinic near there and it is a considerable distance from the eastern front.” Gladstone was the old health minister, and by all accounts he knew his stuff. “But a much more pressing concern is for us to deal with the person we have in Omega in isolation two.”
Just then a new set of footsteps joined the crowd. Emily soon heard the slither of Brent Ravenscroft, the most repulsive of all Omega Tower officials. She mouthed his name to Millward and he nodded to show that he understood. He held the title of Internal Affairs President, which meant that he was in charge of the Department of Behavioural Reg
ulation and Order. That automatically made him the man most feared by every Guardian, especially those like Millward who worked against protocol. Emily stepped forwards and pushed Millward back into the room. He didn’t resist.
“Who are we sending to France?” Emily watched as Brent pulled a sturdy-looking armchair from beside the wall and positioned it to sit opposite President Grayson. His positioning automatically cut Brand and Hay from view. He was so good at being offensive, yet always made it appear effortlessly accidental.
“The unfortunate wife of the gay one.”
“Mr. Gladstone, there are many gay ones. His or her number would have sufficed for me to understand,” returned Brent. “I would have even understood if you had used their name.”
“The gay one from the Denunciation Ceremony,” he persisted. Brent waited, pretending still not to understand. With a degree of irritation Gladstone spluttered out, “Simon.”
“Well, that seems a perfectly acceptable use of resources.” Brent said it in such a way that it was impossible to tell whether he really meant it, or if it was just a sarcastic response. Margareta appeared embarrassed and was forced to look away. It was obvious that she understood the discrete layer of sarcasm that was lost on the others. “Who is going to accompany her to France? You, Gladstone? Hay?” The faintest breeze rippled through the lobby of the Presidential Suite as a low sun cast elongated shadows across the marble ground. In the silence that followed, nobody offered any answers. It was Brent who broke it. “Has anybody considered the advancement of enemy lines across the eastern front? The German forces were pushed back by one hundred miles in the last week alone. There was a wave of suicide bombings throughout their major cities. Munich, Nuremberg, Frankfurt. All still smoking. There was another ChemWeap attack in Rome and Zurich. The populations there are walking around like the living dead.” Brent stood up and walked over to the reception desk, swivelled a Coordination Panel so that they could all view it. The soft light revealed an unexpected layer of dust that clung to the screen. Hay and Brand grabbed other chairs from against the wall, following Brent’s lead. Brent jacked a Control Panel from his pocket into the side of the Coordination Panel. Images of what looked like the dead reanimated shambled through the city streets. Judging by the remains of background buildings it was Rome. Emily stretched to see, but it was too far away to really appreciate what was playing out on the screen. After a minute of footage Brent pulled the Control Panel. The others were stunned into silence as he slithered into a sitting position.
The Dawn: Omnibus edition (box set books 1-5) Page 55
