Osiris

by E. J. Swift

  “Is that the time?” he said. The cigarillo waggled comically in his mouth. “Must have been gone longer than I thought.”

  “Months, actually,” she said. “Where were you, the western quarter or what?”

  “Oh, this and that. Baiting Linus. Annoying Dmitri with my expenses. Why, A, did you miss me?”

  She woke with a jolt and found herself on the futon, fully dressed. For a minute she thought it was raining again, but it was just the noise of Vikram’s fingers on the activation strip of her Neptune.

  “Evening,” he said.

  “Did I sleep?”

  “Yes. You got about halfway through telling me about going to the Daily Flotsam. Linus called, by the way.”

  She rubbed her eyes. They were prickly with sleep.

  Hell’s tide! She was beginning to wake up. Last night this man had wanted to kill her. Today she was falling asleep in the same room.

  But she wasn’t scared any more. She sensed that a line had been crossed.

  “What did Linus want?”

  “To let you know he’d had a message from some woman called Linn asking about a conference.”

  She smiled at that. “Good. We’re going to force their hand.”

  And why are you trying to help him, Adelaide?

  “There’s some fresh coral tea if you want.”

  “What’s the time?”

  “Twenty-one thirty.”

  “Shit. Said I’d meet Jannike for dinner. You coming?”

  “I’ve got a presentation to write.”

  “It’s your call.”

  Vikram hadn’t woken her for Linus’s message. She could not decide if that was a good thing or not. She perched on the futon to pull on her boots, sneaking surreptitious glances at his thin angular figure, tensed over the Neptune. Her laces were tangled and it took her a few minutes to work out the knots.

  There was no time for tea so she took a shot of voqua, aware that Vikram’s eyes were on her, nervous in a way she could not pin down. If those eyes held a different light, they might draw her right in.

  Better pull yourself together, girlie. You might not be as strong as you think you are.

  The lift came almost immediately when she called it, from the floor above. The man inside held the door for her.

  “Good evening, Miss Rechnov.”

  She noticed a funny motif on the collar of his shirt; a white winged insect. One of the facility crowd. What the hell did they do up there, anyway? Was it really astronomy, or some kind of dubious experimentation? She felt the voqua burn down her gullet and wondered if the man could see it, like a red streak down her neck.

  “Evening,” she acknowledged.

  “Please, give my regards to the Architect.”

  She nodded. The lift plummeted. It was a good thing Vikram wasn’t coming. He was too unpredictable. She would have to babysit him all night and besides, Tyr was going to be out. She was conscious of an overwhelming desire to have Tyr’s arms around her while he told her that all would be well, that everything would work out, as he had the day after Axel evicted her from the penthouse. She felt as though she was carrying the weight of a colossal secret, and yet the truth was she knew nothing at all.

  24 ¦ VIKRAM

  Vikram stretched his arms above his head, relishing the solitude and the peace. A week had passed while he worked in the Red Rooms, preparing for his presentation and watching Adelaide’s magical filmreels. Adelaide had just left, slamming the door of her apartment shut with a small implosion. It was not an aggressive sound; she always slammed doors. Vikram had got used to her. On this day of the Council address, though, he was glad of these last few minutes alone to prepare for the debate ahead.

  He lifted his gaze from the Neptune to the window-wall. The sleek silver towers stretched away like sentinels. If it weren’t for the year of storms, the entire city would have looked like this, and Vikram might not have been here at all. The sight stirred up a rare well of nostalgia within him. He examined the feeling, turned it over, tested its value toward today’s proceedings. Once more he read through the notes he had made.

  Adelaide had been surprisingly, even shockingly useful. She knew all the intricacies of the Council. The more they talked, the more he realized that as an ally she would stretch far beyond this initial appeal.

  There had been times when working with the girl was actually fun. They ran ideas past one another, tentatively at first, but grew increasingly frank in their discussions. Together they had pored over legal documents. They looked at records of previous appeals to the Council, from the Western Repatriation Movement’s first address, to the threats issued by an emerging NWO. Adelaide was quick to spot the inconsistencies in a piece of legislation. With her caustic commentary, she made him laugh more than once, and if she wasn’t expected at some soirée or other, they could quite easily sit arguing late into the night. Her energy reminded him of Eirik, although he could never tell her that.

  Neither of them ever mentioned that first night.

  A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He did not register the noise at first. Nobody ever came to Adelaide’s flat. Then it sounded again. He raised his head. Definitely a knock. It had occurred to Vikram, before now, that his and Adelaide’s cavalier attitude to the Council might well have made them enemies.

  His hand went to his ribs but he was not carrying a knife. He went to the kitchen, picked out a paring knife from the block and slipped the blade into the back of his belt.

  In the hallway he listened. The knock was not repeated. There was no other sound. He caught a glimpse of himself in Adelaide’s mirrors, a bundle of tensed muscles camouflaged by a suit. He opened the door.

  Standing in the corridor, a good metre back, was a short woman in a bulky coat. Her hair was flecked with grey. She had a scarf around her neck and her cheeks were flushed, which told him she had probably travelled by boat. Vikram knew instantly that she was a westerner. As always, it was the eyes that gave her away. She was good though; the expression almost but not quite repressed.

  “Hello,” she said. “I’m looking for Adelaide Rechnov.” She spoke quickly, a gruff voice.

  “She’s not here at the moment.” Vikram kept one hand on the door. “Can I help?”

  The woman brought her hand up to her hair, as though she might smooth out the frizz, then dropped it again.

  “No—no. I need to see her directly.” She did not move, all the same. Vikram’s apprehension evaporated; he was caught between irritation that she might delay him, and curiosity. What connection could another westerner have to Adelaide’s glamorous life? Perhaps she was—what did they call it over here, an airlift.

  “Can I take a message?” he persisted. “What’s your name?”

  Her eyes wavered. He thought she might bolt. With the speed of sudden decision, she removed a haversack, unzipped it, and took out an envelope.

  “I was told to bring this here if Mr Axel went away. He’s not here now so I guess that means he’s gone away. So here I am.” The last words were almost incomprehensible, her voice trailing downwards with her lashes.

  “Would you like me to deliver it to Adelaide?” he asked. She hesitated, still a metre away, the envelope gripped tight in her fingers. Instinctively, he knew if she left now, she would never come back. Vikram recognized that fear; he knew the effort it must have cost to come. “I’m going to see her very soon,” he said gently. “In about an hour, in fact. If you want to leave it with me I’ll make sure she gets it.”

  “Alright,” she said finally. “You’ll tell her what I said. I—meant to come sooner. But I don’t want anything more to do with it—with them. These people. You understand.”

  He knew then that she had recognized him as well.

  “I’ll tell her,” he said.

  She held out the envelope abruptly. He stepped forward to take it. The smell of outside was on her. Her fingers clasped the paper for a moment longer, then yielded. She zipped up the haversack and settled it firmly ac
ross both shoulders.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  She hurried away down the stairs and he guessed she would call the lift a few flights down, out of sight. As soon as she had gone, Vikram realized how much he had failed to find out. He hadn’t even asked who she was.

  He shut the door and looked at the envelope in his hand. The letter A was written in green ink. The envelope was bumpy. There was something more than paper inside.

  He put the envelope under the bowl where Adelaide kept her scarab o’comm and her keys, and went back to the study. He read through his notes a final time, enunciating each word clearly in his head before some part of his nervous system admitted he was taking in none of it and his legs took him back to the main room.

  Fifteen minutes before he needed to leave. He glanced down at the bowl. The keys were there, the big brass one and the smaller silver, on a large metal ring with a red enamel rose. Vikram bent to pick up the keys and straightened with the letter in his hands.

  That’s more like it, he heard Mikkeli saying. For a minute there I thought you were going to leave it.

  The ink on the envelope was blurred, as though the writer had scratched the A hastily and the nib of the pen had snagged, spattering bright green gobbets. No, he thought. I can’t read this. In the same moment he was walking towards the kitchen, knowing exactly what duplicitous trick he was about to perform, and unable to summon the willpower to stop himself. He filled the teapot with water and put it on the heat. When it began to whistle, he held the envelope over the plume of steam and carefully prised apart the seal. Inside was a letter, intricately folded, written in the same green ink. Something else fell out: a necklace, with a charm, smooth and ivory coloured. It looked like a shark tooth.

  He read the letter twice.

  A.

  I’m taking advantage of an afternoon’s rare lucidity.

  That is to say, there are times when the clouds clear, and I know that I have been walking in clouds—because once I am in them, I forget they are really there and assume that this fogginess, yes, today I’ll call it fog, is real. So I was surprised to find blue sky today. You understand.

  Listen. I think, A, that I have been taken away. I’m not sure where, or how, or even what for, though I suppose there’s some design in it. Or not. That’s the way Osiris—the name just came to me, this is a good day, A, a productive day!—the way Osiris works. Not with wheels and bolts and mechanisms. With yarn and threads. There is a big web of knots and sometimes you put your finger on one and know the answer but mostly you don’t, and in the fog you have to trust your instincts, Adie. Always trust your instincts.

  This Osiris appears to be a maze. I have gone along some of the walkways but not today. I haven’t felt like exploring for some time. There are too many people. I look for you often, though. I search all the windows. (There are many of them, and they are like eyes. It takes time.) Today you are clear, but often you make yourself indistinct, as if you are hiding. Then I remind myself that you are playing a game, and it is my mission to find the rules and then you will become like crystal.

  The horses were back earlier. They still don’t speak, but they’re running, secretly. I’m waiting for them to stop. I know they have something important to tell me—something about Osiris. I’m not alone, Adie. We’re not alone.

  The white horse will talk first. I am sure of it.

  Now, there is an event, a slide of what they call memory… it’s not focused, because it hasn’t been out in the sun long enough… I’m jumping in water, A. It’s very cold. It’s cold here, as well. I think it’s a test. I have to turn to ice before I can be warm again. The ocean calls and I will have to dive deep to discover its purpose.

  I am going to tell you a secret, Adie. That is why I am writing to you, because when the hour comes I will have to leave very quickly and will not have time to say goodbye. I am making a balloon. Don’t tell anyone. It’s just between you and me. I was going to tell you before, but I knew you were angry, and I thought the horses might not like it. Don’t be cross, A. It’s for the best. And when I come back we can find the sand. You’ll like that. No more mazes, no more clouds.

  I’ll find you soon.

  A.

  The teapot was screeching. Automatically, Vikram moved it and switched the electricity off. Steam lent the windows a temporary mistiness. It was misty outside too and his own vision seemed to slide out of focus. He refolded the letter back into its original shape. It looked to him roughly the shape of a horse’s head. A conversation with Adelaide flashed into his head. What was he like, your brother? He was clever. It was the only time he had heard her refer to her twin in the past tense.

  Even as the implications of what he had read settled upon him, Vikram realized he had no time to ponder the consequences. It would be insanity to give Adelaide such material minutes before they appeared before the Council. He slipped the envelope and the necklace inside his jacket pocket. He would reseal it later.

  In the hallway he paused, catching his reflections once more. A young man in a smart suit met his gaze, clean shaven, his dark hair combed neatly back, a necktie at his throat. Vikram stared at this stranger. The clothes had done their work; he did not appear, at first glance, like a man with a history of violence. Truth was in the eye, wasn’t it? He moved closer to the mirror. His breath, quicker than usual with nervousness, made a patch of condensation. He looked deep, but found no history there. The belief that you were able to see a person’s soul in their eyes was false after all. The eye was only matter. Axel Rechnov had known that, once. Just another example of human frailty.

  25 ¦ ADELAIDE

  She looked at all the fish in the elevator aquarium and chose the angelfish. It was an old game. If it followed, they would have good luck. As the lift doors closed, the nose of the angelfish edged up. It looked for a moment as though it might launch, then dived suddenly down into the depths of the scraper. The lift began to move.

  At level fifty-four a man intent upon his Surfboard got out and a young woman in a long skirt got in. Her glance took in Adelaide’s costume, then floated, as those dull, earnest types always did, up to Adelaide’s face. Adelaide stared blandly back.

  She knew why she was helping Vikram. It was because she was bored. And boredom in Osiris was dangerous, boredom was a one-way ticket to insanity. Liaising with a westerner, on the other hand, could not be described as anything other than reckless.

  As the lift rose she was overwhelmed by a sense of vertigo, a sense that her involvement was about to become far bigger, far wider than she had accounted for. Level eighty-one. The lift doors paused, the doors parted. There was still time. She could get out now. She could walk away.

  But she didn’t. Adelaide had been accused of many things, but no-one had ever said she was a coward.

  26 ¦ VIKRAM

  He waited in an aisle approaching the podium, just out of sight. The Chambers looked different today. The viewing balconies bulged with noisy spectators whilst below, the crescent rows of seats were unoccupied and expectant.

  In his jacket pocket, next to Axel’s letter, was a pine needle. He had taken it from one of the conifer trees in the lobby, for luck, and he could still sniff the aroma of the trees; the scent of mystery and far away places. Adelaide stood beside him. She was wearing a white trouser suit and tinted glasses and she’d done something to her hair, a new fringe that fell to her eyebrows. Vikram could not have imagined a more unlikely partner.

  She pointed to the balcony.

  “Your new fan base, that’s the Haze, are installed up there. The Council will be shuffling in shortly. So tell me, Mr Bai, how does it feel in the green room?”

  Vikram grinned in spite of himself, and the tie at his throat felt a little looser. Today, Adelaide’s irreverence was a tonic.

  Behind the podium, a gowned man was enthroned in a circular turret about two metres high. The Speaker, Vikram thought.

  Three long, sonorous notes flooded the Chambers. There was a rustling as
everyone on the balcony got to their feet. The great wooden doors of the Chambers swung open. One by one, the Councillors filed in, silent and solemn faced. They wore purple surcoats over their suits which swished on the pale marble floor.

  “These public events are so theatrical,” whispered Adelaide in Vikram’s ear.

  He nodded, nervous, but his eyes were more astute now. He looked around the filling rows and he could divide the Council into their five, distinctive segments. On the left, the reactionary heavyweights, second generation, responsible for implementing the border thirty-nine years ago. He found Feodor Rechnov straight away and studied him closely. Feodor’s face was entrenched with lines, but there was Adelaide’s perfectly straight nose, her strong brows, the set of her shoulders. It was a predator’s face, but not a reckless predator. Feodor Rechnov was like a high soaring bird, manipulating the thermals to scan all possible territories. Vikram knew he had to emulate that clear sightedness.

  Taking his seat, Feodor leaned over and muttered something to the man next to him, who nodded. Next along were the Executors, as Adelaide called them. He located the Board of Four in the second row, where their position enabled them to lean forward and whisper the things they wished to be announced into the ears of their subordinates.

  “That’s Security on the left,” murmured Adelaide. “After her it’s Finance, and after him Resources, then Health and Science at the end.”

  Behind them gathered other departmental heads. Adelaide pointed out Climate, Education, and Estates. The Executors were not communicating much between themselves, but each of them looked ready to do battle. Opposite and over to the right were the two factions of liberals, the Nucleites and the antis. Vikram spotted Linus speaking very quickly to the man and woman behind him.

  “There’s Dmitri,” Adelaide said. “In the second row, wearing a red-striped necktie. Doesn’t look much like the rest of us, does he? If I didn’t know my mother, I’d say she’d had an affair.”