Gemsigns

by Stephanie Saulter

  ‘Was that necessary?’

  ‘It was a lesser risk than leaving him with only what he already knew.’

  ‘What did he …?’

  ‘He was shocked. Horrified. He’s still not convinced that we shouldn’t have gone straight to the police, but he understands now why we didn’t. He made the connection to Henderson before I got there, by the way.’

  ‘Speaking of which.’

  Aryel raised an eyebrow at her.

  ‘Interesting piece on the Observer stream today.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Timely, don’t you think?’

  ‘Aryel, you know how much we trust you but this is getting fucking scary.’

  ‘Herran laid a few breadcrumbs. They didn’t even know they were following them.’

  ‘Did you tell Eli about Herran as well?’

  ‘No, and he didn’t ask. Doesn’t need to, really. He’s bright enough to figure out that if we found something no one else did, we must have a capability no one else has. And he and Sally already knew the archives were fixed.’

  Gaela squeezed her eyes shut. Even on the quiet, quickly darkening street it felt as if she were trying to process too many inputs; as if every facet that danced off the river in front of them was a weakness, another way into the refuge they had built for themselves. She blinked back tears, and thought a headache might be coming on.

  ‘So yet another of the things we were trying to prevent is compromised. Knowing about Gabe is a straight line to knowing about Herran. Know about Herran, and you know that we poor, defenceless, coded, catalogued gems might have a dangerous talent or two that didn’t make it into the brochure. Know that and you might decide the answer is more control, not less. Make that mistake—’

  ‘Gaela, calm down.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She wiped a hand across her face and sniffed. ‘It just feels like it’s all so close to unravelling. I like Eli. Gabe says we can trust him. If it was all up to him I think we’d be okay. But it isn’t, Aryel. He’s just one man. What can he do in the end?’

  ‘One man can make an army. And Eli Walker is not the only weapon in our arsenal.’ They had reached the river and stood side by side on the quay, gazing at the ripples that spread and clashed and merged in the coal-grey water.

  Aryel reached for Gaela’s hand, clasped and held it tight.

  ‘I know you’re scared for Gabe. So am I. And I’m scared for you, and for Herran, and for the rest of us. I don’t have the luxury of worrying only about one extraordinary child. There are compromises I might have to make in order to protect us all. But no matter what happens, I promise you, Gaela – I swear on my life – that I will keep him safe.’

  DAY FIVE

  20

  Eli woke to an incessant, unpleasant buzzing. The room was still dark. He had been in a sleep of such deep and complete exhaustion that as he floundered blearily for the surface he could not for several long seconds recall who or where he was, or what the sound was that hummed repeatedly through the room. A fire alarm? Wake-up call? But then the lights would have come on. Lights. He fumbled for the button beside his bed. The blackness receded into grey, and his disorientation resolved.

  He did remember, for the most fleeting of moments, that he had been dreaming about forgetfulness. Then the memory of the dream slipped away and he reached over and grabbed his tablet. It was flashing Rob’s comcode. He flicked to receive, noting from the timestamp that he should have had at least another hour’s sleep.

  ‘What’s the matter? Didn’t it upload?’ The last thing he had done was send his report to the Conference datastream.

  ‘What? Oh god, I don’t know. There’s been another one.’ Rob looked as if he had been woken up only slightly less recently, and stopped being sick just long enough to call.

  ‘Another …?’ Then Eli got it. ‘Oh no. Oh shit. How? Someone went out?’

  Every gem registered in London had been contacted and advised to stay indoors after dark. Employers had been asked to accommodate changes in schedule, and escorts had been offered to those for whom evening travel could not be avoided. Eli had nervously monitored the streams until the early hours of the morning, and fallen asleep relieved that tonight, at least, appeared to be quiet.

  ‘Someone was out. Looks like it was one of the gems from the employment centre brawl.’

  ‘Where?’ And then, with a sinking certainty of the answer, ‘Is he – or she—’

  ‘He. In the financial district. They threw him off a thirty-storey tower.’

  ‘Oh god.’ Eli fumbled for his trousers. ‘When? Does Aryel …?’

  ‘She knows, she’s on her way. I’m heading there too. No need for you to come, but I thought I should let you know before some journo called up looking for a comment.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Eli slumped back onto the bed, tablet resting on his knees. ‘Did it just happen?’

  ‘About half an hour ago. Security vidcams caught part of it, seems like it was a hell of a fight. They jumped two of them. The other one – the woman – got away, but not before they’d fought back hard enough to kill two of the godgang.’

  ‘Oh. Fuck.’ Eli dropped his head in his hands and let the import of that crash against him. ‘The rest?’

  ‘Gone. They broke into an office building with one of those viewing terraces, chucked the one they’d caught off it, and were back down and out before the police arrived. Left their dead behind.’

  ‘Two norms. Not that many tears will be shed for them, but holy shit.’

  ‘Yeah. Self-defence and all that, just like before, but there were two gems with no weapons as far as we know, and maybe fifteen norms with clubs and knives, so …’ Rob trailed off.

  ‘That ratio’s going to get a lot of attention.’

  ‘Probably.’ On the tablet’s screen Rob finished contorting himself into a jacket. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go. I’d say turn your alerts off and get some more sleep but that’s not bloody likely, is it? Sorry.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Just be ready for the Conference. Four hours from now you’re going to be starring as the voice of reason, and I think you’re going to have to shout pretty loud.’

  *

  Masoud and Gaela walked the route of the battle, sidestepping splashes of blood, discarded weapons and sheeted bodies. White-suited technicians swarmed over the crime scene. The building was lit up inside and out. They could see tiny figures moving on the terrace that wrapped around the roof.

  ‘I should have worked it out,’ he said. ‘Christ. What an idiot. Shit always happens where you’re not looking for it.’

  ‘How could you have guessed they’d be here? Either of them?’

  ‘Because this is one of the few places in the city that’s deserted after dark. No one lives here. Perfect place to hide out.’ He gestured to the towering buildings around them. ‘We discounted it because of all the activity during the day. But there’s lots of empty offices, even whole pre-Syndrome buildings that haven’t been brought back into use.’

  He nodded at a discarded bag of provisions, contents spilling out, stamped and smashed into the dirty rime of frost on the pavement. ‘Looks like one or the other went out to get supplies. My guess is the gems, since there were only the two of them.’

  ‘The group could’ve split up.’

  ‘True. But the godgang were out in force, which doesn’t seem like a grocery run. Which raises the question, where were they all going at that hour? Not to the Squats.’

  ‘What about the meeting place you located yesterday? It’s close by.’

  ‘Newhope Tower,’ Masoud said, and frowned. ‘Over there. Very close.’ He pointed at the steel-coloured shard, a darker grey against the lightening sky. ‘But that’s a hell of a risk to take. I mean they were all together anyway, why go to a public place?’

  ‘New recruits?’ Aryel suggested. ‘Supporters? Suppliers?’ They had returned to where she waited, shrouded in her cloak, next to a police transport.

  ‘Maybe. But if they’re using
a private stream to coordinate movements they could have arranged to meet somewhere with no history. Less chance we’d have it under surveillance.’

  ‘Places can be important,’ she observed. ‘Symbolic. The UC have their churches, from which the godgangs are excluded. Maybe their meeting places assume a similar significance.’

  ‘They’ve definitely got some fixation on heights,’ Masoud said thoughtfully. ‘The Newhope terrace is eight hundred feet up. You might have something there.’ He sighed, and gestured towards the transport. ‘This is turning into a habit, but Gaela, if you can recognise anyone … help us to reconstruct what happened …’

  ‘That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘We’ve pulled the feeds from all the area vidcams and assembled them back at the station. Aryel?’

  She shook her head. ‘I won’t be able to see anything that Gaela can’t see better. I need to deal with the press and get on top of the streams before the Conference gets under way.’

  They could just see around the corner of a nearby intersection, to where a ranked mass of media vans and shouting journalists pressed up against the barriers the police had erected a block away. The sturdy figure of Robert Trench stood with his back to them, facing the vidcams. He had, along with a police press officer, been keeping them at bay for a good twenty minutes, but even from this distance they could hear the clamour for Aryel Morningstar.

  Gaela’s lips twisted in distaste. ‘Better you than me.’ She stepped towards the car. ‘I’ll see you later, then. Good luck.’

  ‘We’re going to need a lot more than luck,’ Aryel said.

  *

  Several miles away, Mac’s little group huddled in the basement of a disused building, much like the ones Masoud had described. But Mac had had the presence of mind to realise they needed to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the converging sirens, and as he ran had sent a gasping message over a ghost code to the rest of the congregation to pick them up in the side streets that led away from the Newhope traffic circle. The others on their way to the meeting had responded immediately. While the police were still counting the bodies the godgang were being bundled into cars and ferried away, by a variety of routes. They had been dropped off at different locations close to this new safe house south of the river, and had made their way in on foot.

  Now Mac and John were holding a whispered conference.

  ‘You should go now, brother John,’ Mac said. ‘Make it so you get there early. It’ll make you seem more earnest-like.’

  ‘I don’t think I should leave you all like this, after such a terrible loss …’

  ‘Loss! Brother John, you are mistaken.’

  Once the immediate danger was past and they were safely indoors, Mac had gone through a surge of rage and hate that threatened to unhinge him completely. He had clenched his teeth and prayed his way through it, and been rewarded by the descent of a calm, detached clarity. It showed him what had happened, and why, and how it was simply the next and inevitable step in the inexorable unfolding of the Lord’s great Plan.

  This serenity, this insight, was another great and humbling gift, one that he understood he needed to impart to others who might be struggling as he had been. He felt the rightness of his words as he spoke them.

  ‘Simon and Zack are already in Heaven, seated at the right hand of the Lord. They may have died at the hands of the Beast, but they died glorious. And their deaths are a sign to us of the sacrifices that must be made if we are to rid ourselves of the Beast. We are entering another stage in this struggle, John, one that you were the first to foresee. You made a grand start yesterday. You learned things that we needed to know. Today is the time to build on that. While the rest of us lie low, lick our wounds and recover our strength, you will be the one to guide us to the next battle in this war.’

  A shiver went through John. He was unclear as to whether it signalled inspiration or uncertainty. He knew Mac would have no such doubts.

  They spent a few more minutes arranging logistics and exchanging new ghost codes. John wanted to stay and join the prayer for their fallen comrades.

  ‘We’ll be prayin’ for you as well, brother John,’ Mac said sternly. ‘An’ our prayers must not be wasted. Once you have received our blessings it’ll be time for you to go.’

  He raised his voice. ‘My brothers, gather round.’ The twenty or so men in the room shuffled into a circle. Those who had been part of the morning’s struggle limped or bore black eyes, or other signs of damage.

  ‘We pray for the souls of brother Simon and brother Zack,’ intoned Mac. ‘They have fallen, and in falling have ended one chapter and begun another. We now know that we cannot continue to hunt the abominations one by one as we have been. We know that the next step is to step it up. And we thank brother Simon, and brother Zack, for sacrificing their lives to show the world the truth of the abominations, and to set our feet right on the path of the Lord.’

  He reached out, grabbed John by the shoulder and gently pushed him into the middle of the circle.

  ‘The first steps on this new part of our journey have already been taken by brother John here. Today he goes back into the lair of the Beast, into great danger, as a soldier of the Lord. His mission is to find us a path through their maze of deception, so we can strike right at the heart of the Evil One. The stronghold of the abominations must be broken, and their ambitions must be laid waste. And brother John will show us the way.’

  He raised his hand and brought it down to rest on John’s head. His voice rose, a sing-song cadence that the others caught and turned into a chant.

  ‘I bless brother John. The blessings of the Lord be upon him, guide him and keep him so that he be a light unto us all.’

  Other hands came down on his shoulders, his back, his chest.

  ‘I bless brother John. May he not falter.’

  ‘I bless brother John. The Lord keep him safe.’

  ‘I bless brother John, bravest of all of us.’

  John’s doubts thinned and shredded like the morning mist. Mac was right, when the finger of the Lord came down and touched you it felt like nothing else. It felt like this. He knew himself to be caught, and cradled, and catapulted towards a mighty destiny.

  He clasped his hands and bowed his head for a moment, murmuring his own blessings back. Then he slipped free of the benedictions, wiping away tears of joy as he strode to the door, and out.

  *

  ‘But why?’ Gabriel asked again.

  ‘Gabe, I don’t know how to explain it any better.’

  ‘But it doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘Gabe, how much of the stuff you see in other people’s heads makes sense?’

  Gabriel had to concede that a lot of what he picked up was pretty confused.

  ‘But they don’t go and kill people.’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’

  ‘We don’t. I mean, the Squats people don’t. Even though a lot of them don’t like norms either.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean that no gem has ever killed another person, Gabe. It just means that you haven’t met any of the ones who have.’ Bal sighed. It always felt as if he was explaining things to Gabriel several years ahead of schedule, but there was nothing else for it. Dissimulation was a bad strategy to try on a mind-reader. ‘Those gems this morning killed two of the norms, remember.’

  ‘But the norms were trying to kill them first.’

  ‘What’s your point?’

  ‘Well, doesn’t that make it okay?’

  Bal’s hands were braced on the kitchen counter as he leaned forward. He looked down at them, noticing and then immediately, carefully, unnoticing the scars on his knuckles. It was a trick of mental self-distraction they had learned, a way of misdirecting Gabriel away from the things they did not want him to home in on.

  ‘Killing someone is never okay,’ he said. ‘If someone is attacking you and the only way you can protect yourself is to fight back, fine. And if the person who’s trying to hurt you gets killed by
accident while you’re defending yourself, then that’s not quite as bad as if you killed them on purpose. But that doesn’t make it okay.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, how would you feel if you killed someone? Even by accident?’

  ‘That would be terrible,’ Gabriel said immediately, then frowned. ‘I don’t know what it would really be like, though.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Well, what happens when people die? Like Nelson and the people this morning? Where do they go?’

  Bal was nonplussed. ‘They don’t go anywhere, Gabe. That’s it. They just end.’

  ‘But they can’t. There’s too much there.’ He spooned another mouthful of porridge and blinked up at his father. ‘What happens to all the stuff in their heads?’

  ‘Oh Gabe.’ Bal dropped his head in his hands and scratched at his indigo hair. He wished mightily that Gaela were there for this conversation. ‘It just stops, baby. It disappears. People aren’t like tablets, there’s no backup for our brains. When we die it all fizzes away into nothing.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ The frown deepened. ‘That doesn’t seem right, Papa.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure, Gabe. No one’s ever been able to prove that anything else happens.’

  He wondered whether to venture into this minefield, and saw from the child’s tilted head and sharpening gaze that it was too late to avoid it. He organised his thoughts as best he could, and plunged in. ‘Some people, religious people mostly, believe that there is some kind of life after death. They think there’s a way of continuing on in some invisible form in some invisible place. But they don’t know where it is or how it works, and if it’s true no one’s ever managed to send a message back to tell us about it.’

  Gabriel set his spoon down and pondered. Bal was grateful he had abandoned trying to understand the hatred of the godgangs, but on reflection decided that might have been the easier line of questioning.

  ‘If it’s invisible maybe Mama can see it.’

  Bal barked a startled, delighted laugh. It was such an unexpected, such a logical thought.