*
George was still conscious, barely. They had dragged him aside and propped him up against a building. It still hurt to breathe, but at least he was partly shielded from the rain.
He had begged them not to leave him there alone. Mac had assured him help was on the way. ‘We can’t stay till they get here, mate. They don’t understand what we’re about. We’re doing the Lord’s work in a time of iniquity. They’ll take care of you, mate, but casting down the evil ones is up to us.’
‘Cover your face,’ came a growl from behind him. ‘We got to get movin’.’
Mac had pulled a scarf up to cover his nose and mouth.
‘You won’t say anything, will you, mate? All will be revealed in time, but for now don’t say nothing.’
Then they were gone.
He went away again himself for a while. When he came back it was to flashes of blue light that rhythmically illuminated the falling rain. The blue light got brighter and brighter, and then there was a steady white light, and then two vehicles slid to a stop in front of him.
And then, finally, there was something on his face helping him breathe, and gentle hands were lifting him onto a stretcher, and the rain was off him completely as he was slid into the back of the ambulance.
‘Can he speak?’
‘He’s in pretty bad shape, officer.’
He could feel the power pack pressing into his back. It reminded him there was something he needed to do. He fumbled to push the mask aside with a damaged hand.
‘Look, he’s trying to say something. Let him talk, if he can.’
The mask was pulled away, but he had to rest for a bit.
‘Can you tell us what happened, sir? Who did this to you?’
‘Told them already,’ he mumbled. ‘They’re gone. To cast down. Evil ones.’
‘Cast what? Who did you tell? What’s your name, sir?’
He said his name, and plucked at the pocket of his coat where his tablet still resided. He felt someone take it out.
‘Wasn’t a robbery.’
‘Who did you say you told, George? Was someone else with you?’ He shook his head. ‘Did you call anyone?’
He hadn’t. That was what he needed to do. He needed to make a call.
‘Shit,’ he heard. ‘Look at this. He’s press.’
‘Never mind that. He needs treatment.’ Fingers were at his throat, then moving down his chest as his shirt was opened. ‘What the hell is this?’
He looked up at the eyes of the paramedics and the policewoman looking down at the wire that trailed away around his waist.
‘Need to call,’ he muttered. ‘Editor. Newsbeat. Feature story. Need to call.’
*
Less than half a mile away, the godgang were close to being finished. Glowing hanks of lemon-yellow hair, with shreds of bloody scalp still attached, swam in the red-tinged puddles at their feet. Mac once again knelt over an unconscious body. This time he held a knife in his hand.
He was ready to complete the holy work, but the rain kept washing away their marks. This was distressing. Justice must not only be done, but must be seen to be done. If he left it like this people would know, sure, but they wouldn’t understand. He sat back on his heels, looked up at the water falling from the Lord’s heaven. His eyes travelled to the buildings surrounding them.
The others were milling around, mostly still riding the euphoria of retribution. Kicks regularly landed on the limp body at his feet. A few had stepped away, looking out for movement on the wide road from which they had dragged the skinny brute. They were shielded by a building that fronted it, in a rear courtyard accessed by a driveway along the side. A narrow alley at the back led away from the road, and some of his companions were starting to edge towards it.
The gloved preacher, in particular, seemed anxious to be off. He was a good leader, Mac thought, he had opened their eyes and shown them the way, but he didn’t seem to have the stomach to truly walk it himself. Well, no matter. Everyone had their strengths and their weaknesses. To criticise would be uncharitable. The test was to recognise when a fellow pilgrim had reached his limit, and accept the responsibility for taking their mission to the next level. He had known in his bones they were wrong to leave the filth alive the night before, should have made sure of him before they left, but he had not then felt it was his place to insist.
Now he felt differently. He straightened up as another kick landed.
‘You’re not gonna finish him?’ The kicker was flushed with effort, and excitement. ‘Want me to do it?’
‘No. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. The Lord is sending the rain for a reason. He wants us to leave His sign some other way.’
Those strongest in faith clustered around him. The others drifted back more slowly. He caught the eye of the preacher, who looked as though he might be about to speak. But he seemed to catch the mood in the group, and nodded at Mac as if to say, Over to you, son.
Mac looked up at the building again, and at the double doors that opened onto the courtyard.
‘We need to leave more than the marks. People need to understand the judgement that waits for those who scale the pinnacles of sin. We need to take him up on high.’
He must have woken up while they were breaking down the doors, from the way he twitched and moaned when they grabbed him. He even tried to struggle as they hauled him into the lift, and then up the access stairs to the roof.
George was finally being driven away, warm and sleepy with painkillers, when he heard the scream.
*
Eli felt drained. The meeting was finally over. His assurance to Bal and Gaela that he would learn a lot had turned out to be truer than he could have imagined.
He saw them now, on the far side of the stage, speaking to Aryel. The hall was clearing slowly, much of the crowd still hanging around to talk. He was surrounded by gems, eager to share anecdotes and insights, or simply to tell him how much they appreciated his frankness. He was reminded once again that a free and open society was still a novel experience for most of them.
Rob was similarly mobbed, by a group that included Tobias the UC priest and the giant Mikal. Sally Trieve had slipped away and Commander Masoud had stepped to the side, frowning as he listened to messages on his earset.
Eli finished chatting with a couple of gillungs, and saw with relief that the rest had become immersed in other conversations and drifted away. He turned to find Gaela at his elbow.
‘You look worn out.’
He rubbed his hands over his face. ‘Do I? Sorry. I am tired. But this,’ he gestured to the still-full hall, ‘this was amazing. I didn’t expect people to try and be so helpful.’
She tilted her head to look at him. She had an interesting face: full lips, slightly asymmetrical features and huge pale-green eyes under the blazing hair. It lacked the exquisite delicacy of Aryel’s bone structure or the classic lines of Zavcka Klist’s, but in her own way she was just as beautiful. In three days, he thought, he had encountered three of the most attractive, enigmatic and dangerous women he had ever met.
‘We like knowing where we stand, even if we don’t like the place,’ she said now. ‘And we appreciate actually being asked what we think about ourselves. Most norms seem to assume we don’t have an opinion.’
‘They don’t know what they’re missing. This is as opinionated a group of people as I’ve ever met.’
‘I hope you’ll remember that when you go to present your report.’
It seemed an odd thing to say, but the more he thought about it the more it made sense. A lot of things were starting to come together in his head: meanings and interpretations, solutions and resolutions. His comment, and Gaela’s quiet response, somehow captured their essence. All he needed now were the results to confirm that his instinct about the murder was correct, and an answer to the mystery of the child.
They were meandering back over to where Aryel and Bal still stood in conversation with several other gems. From the far end of the hall
, where it was quietest, Eli saw Masoud heading towards them at speed.
‘Bal and I wanted to let you know we’d be happy to talk to you. We understand you must have questions,’ Gaela said. Again that sharp look. ‘We could do it tomorrow if you like, or whenever’s convenient.’
The last piece of the puzzle, just in time. ‘Tomorrow sounds great.’
They were still making the arrangements when Masoud arrived next to Aryel. She was in mid-sentence, saying something to Donal, but there was an urgency in his face that made her stop and turn to him. Donal simultaneously turned towards one of the big doors leading into the hall, a quizzical look on his face.
‘Something’s happened,’ Masoud said. ‘Not far from here.’
As he spoke the door crashed open. Horace appeared in it, wildeyed, stumbling into chairs and people in his haste.
‘Aryel. Aryel.’ He was shouting and running, the panic clear in his voice. Everyone still in the hall was staring at him. Eli saw the way Masoud looked from Horace to Aryel, lips compressed, and thought Oh shit.
The green-haired gem slid to a stop. For a moment, between the panting and the shock, he couldn’t get it out.
‘Aryel, it’s Nelson. They’ve thrown him off a building. Aryel, he’s dead.’
15
Zavcka Klist felt a bead of cold sweat gather on her spine as she watched the live feed. It was all blue lights and barriers and tearstained faces under damp, shimmering hair. The vidcams followed Aryel Morningstar as the police let her through. The view was of her swollen, swaying back as they escorted her over to the gurney that stood before a cordoned and tented patch of pavement. Nothing of what it carried could be seen as an officer raised one end of the white sheet, but the way that she started in shock as she bent forward to look, turning into profile as she buried her face in her hands, told enough of the story. The tall policeman with commander’s bars on his uniform placed a hand on her arm. She looked up, white-lipped and dry-eyed, nodded and said something to him.
‘We can’t actually hear what’s being said, but Aryel Morningstar appears to have confirmed the victim’s identity …’
Zavcka killed the sound and continued to watch as Aryel glanced towards the top of the building, and then over to the side. She was still silhouetted beside the gurney, her ponderously overlarge body and small, sombre face clearly illuminated in the bright lights surrounding the tent. She appeared to be listening as the commander spoke to the scene investigators, their backs all firmly towards the vidcams. As the attendants moved to push the gurney away, she placed her hand on the sheet and looked down at it for a moment, a gesture of benediction and sorrowful farewell. There was an iconic quality to the image, as though one might have seen it before in stained glass, or ancient tempera. Zavcka knew it would be replayed over and over.
The commander walked Aryel back to the barriers. As the vidcam swung to follow them, Zavcka saw Eli Walker and Robert Trench standing amidst a group of gems. There was a gigantic Recombin assembly-line model, a Gempro Green-top who shivered and snivelled, an indigo-haired, broad-shouldered, grim-faced specimen who looked vaguely familiar, and next to him a Bel’Natur Provis redhead whom she recognised from the file she had reviewed earlier in the day. There were others, many others, clustered around them. A priest stood to one side, collared and ashen-faced, a crucifix clutched in his hands.
Aryel had stepped back through the barrier and was speaking, not to the vidcams, but to the group. Zavcka flicked the sound back on. The press crew must be filtering out the background noise, because her voice came low but clear.
‘… it is Nelson. He’d posted that he had to work late tonight. The police say it looks like he was grabbed on the way home.’
The sound of weeping. Someone off-camera called, ‘Is it the same as Callan, Aryel? Does it look like the same ones as got Callan?’
‘The police will have to say for sure, but it looks so to me.’
Through the muttering and muffled sobs there came another low murmuring sound. The priest had begun to pray quietly, eyes closed, crucifix raised to his lips. A mousy-haired young man without any gemsign Zavcka could see swung around to confront him. The vidcam angled and pulled out to capture the scene as he shouted at the priest.
‘Wha’ the hell’re you doin’ here anyway? They’re jus’ th’ same as you! Same god, same prophets, same saviour, you all b’lieve th’ same crap! What’re you cryin’ for? Why’re you here?’
The priest recoiled, blinking over damp cheeks at the furious gem, and tried to compose himself for a response. ‘Nelson was my friend too … my God has nothing to do with the people who did this to him. We’re not the same as them … they are a complete perversion …’
‘You are! You’re all the fuckin’ same!’
‘No they are not.’ Aryel Morningstar stepped between the two men, her voice firm. ‘Donal, you know better. Even if they claim similar beliefs, there’s no connection between the United Churches and the godgangs. The UC have supported us, they’ve defended us, and Tobias here has been a very good friend. Nelson went to some of his services.’
‘He did,’ Tobias said behind her. He was still struggling to pull himself together. ‘He came the last few Sundays, he—’ He heaved a huge, shuddering sigh and shook his head. The vidcams drank it in as he glanced away, biting his lip, and then looked back at Donal.
‘I understand your anger, I understand your grief, I share it. Please believe me.’
He seemed to notice the vidcams which must, Zavcka thought, have been edging closer, and spoke to them as well, as he gestured to the scene behind him.
‘This … this is an atrocity. This is an act God condemns, and whether you are a believer or not it is something we should all condemn. This kind of violence, hatred …’ His voice broke. ‘We should have left this behind by now. We should be better than this.’
The screaming fury seemed to have gone out of Donal. The priest stepped closer to him, speaking too quietly for the sound pickup. Aryel turned towards the vidcams.
Excuse me, UrbanNews, we’re streaming live right now. Aryel Morningstar, can you tell us any more about what happened here tonight?
‘I understand that the police will be briefing the press shortly. It would be inappropriate for me to discuss it ahead of that.’
We’ve heard that the victim was a gem named Nelson, can you confirm that?
‘I can.’
We’ve also heard that the attack on him might have been in retaliation for an earlier attack, as a result of which a journalist is now in hospital. Do you know anything about that?
‘I too have heard that this was not the only assault in the area this evening. I don’t know much more than that at the moment, but I can assure you we will be cooperating fully with any police investigations.’
We’re aware that there have been more than twenty violent encounters between gems and norms just in the past twenty-four hours. Aryel, are we at a crisis point?
She had been about to turn away, but paused at that, frowning into the camera.
‘Are we in crisis? Yes, I think we are. I think it is not only a crisis of violence, but more fundamentally a crisis of conscience. I think all of the people out there,’ she gestured towards the vidcam, speaking directly to Zavcka and the thousands more who would no doubt see the clip, ‘need to decide whether they are going to allow the people who did this,’ waving now at the police, the point of impact, the mortuary van, ‘to determine what kind of world they live in.’
Isn’t that overstating the situation? How could they possibly do that?
‘As you’re no doubt aware, the European Conference to determine the future status of gems begins the day after tomorrow. It does appear that an attempt is being made to provoke a conflict ahead of it.’
You think this murder is part of an effort to influence the outcome of the Conference?
‘As I said, I’ll leave it to the police to comment on this particular atrocity. But if you consider the campaign of hate
that is being waged on the socialstreams, coupled with the upswing in violence you mentioned, the timing is very suspicious.’
You seem to be suggesting that these events are being orchestrated. Who do you think is responsible?
‘If I could be absolutely certain, I’d name names. I can’t, so I won’t. There is, however, an old adage about following the money which I would commend to your viewers.’
I believe I understand what you’re referring to. But the obvious suspects, if I can put it like that, would not appear to be natural bedfellows with the type of group suspected in last night’s assault.
‘No they would not. But we are approaching a moment of great symbolic as well as political significance. I do not think the conjunction should be overlooked.’
That appeared to flummox the reporter. The bitch had probably planned it that way, leaving the interview hanging with the kind of cryptic inference that would guarantee it would be linked, reposted and discussed for days. She nodded a crisp termination and turned away, the grotesque bulk of her cloak for an instant filling the screen. The reporter began speaking to the priest as the vidcam watched her depart, Trench and Walker flanking her on one side, the red and indigo heads of Gaela and Bal on the other.
*
Zavcka fell back against the opulent sofa, trembling with fury. Dr Eli fucking Walker. So that’s where you are tonight.
The twisted little bitch had figured out the plan, pointed the finger, and appeared to have suborned her ace in the hole. On top of which the fake fucking priest had gone well beyond his remit.
They did not fucking understand who they were dealing with. She had not got where she was without knowing how to outmanoeuvre, out-manipulate and out-fucking-last all opposition.
So Eli Walker did not appear to be on board. No matter.
There was still the child.
*
They stood next to Rob’s car, parked behind a succession of police vehicles. Eli had driven it to the scene with Gaela, Bal and Donal while Masoud transported and briefed Rob and Aryel. How the others had got there so quickly he did not know, until he noticed a large transport with the United Churches logo further down the street.
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