Gemsigns

by Stephanie Saulter

  He had almost stopped noticing Aryel’s deformity. The protrusion under the omnipresent cloak was as much a part of her as sky-blue eyes and a warm smile. He had, in the rush of events over the last few days, forgotten to be curious about it.

  ‘What makes you think it’s important?’

  ‘Why else would she be at such pains to conceal it?’

  He was baffled. ‘I don’t understand what you mean by conceal. She’s dysmorphic. It’s winter. What do you expect her to do, run around in a bikini?’

  Zavcka Klist smiled a frost-hard smile. ‘You really don’t know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘That the material is a military-grade electromagnetic reflector. Very expensive, very hard to come by, and virtually impervious to scans. I doubt even Gaela Provis could see through it.’ She stood up. ‘You think we have secrets, Dr Walker? You think our agenda is the one you need to worry about? At least you know who we are. You might want to ask yourself what the famously frank Aryel Morningstar so desperately needs to hide.’

  22

  John pushed open the front door of the UC outreach centre and breathed a sigh of relief. It was empty, save for the boxes upon boxes of clothing, food and other donations from citizens and corporations who would not, he was sure, have shown anywhere near the same charity to the deserving, human, poor. There was a case of brand-new tablets with linked earsets, balanced atop another of medicinal teas and tinctures, both half buried under factory-packaged bed linen. Here was a basket of freshly baked bread, next to a crate of oranges. He stepped around them and continued through to the back office. It too was empty, and he leaned against the wall. It would be only a momentary reprieve, but he was grateful for it. His certainty of the morning was wavering, and he needed to regroup.

  It had begun to diminish at checkin, when, without Tobias to mediate, he had had to deal directly with Mikal. He found the giant’s face impossible to read, difficult even to look at, and Mikal had little to say, at least to him. He could therefore not be confident he remained unsuspected. His nervousness was matched only by his outrage when he realised that the adjacent office was occupied today not by the gem Gaela, but by a pretty young female police officer with whom Mikal carried on an easy exchange that, to John’s way of thinking, bordered on flirtation. That the policewoman responded in kind was a shock somehow more hurtful than he had been prepared for.

  He had been trying to convince himself that the connection he thought he’d sensed had most likely been the product of an overwrought imagination, or at the very worst a very rare perversion, when he arrived at a small block of flats close to the quayside with his first delivery of the day, a cartload of necessities for those who had arrived with little. Strains of lazy music stopped as he wrestled it inside, but there was no interruption in the conversation between a sleepy teenage couple and a shaggy-headed young man as they helped him unload. The trio’s hair colours were as modest and matt as his own, but he had seen the young man on the late-night newstream, standing next to Aryel Morningstar, shouting at Tobias; and the seven fingers the other lad raked through his black locks confirmed his origins as well. John was surreptitiously trying to spot the girl’s gemsign, already growing angry at whatever gemtech had spawned her for making it so obscure, when the talk turned to how they had met, her family’s furious objections, and the degree to which she absolutely, positively did not care.

  He’d barely made it out of there without betraying himself, caution returning in the nick of time when the one called Donal turned to him, with every indication of concern, and asked if he was all right.

  ‘Yer heartbeat’s goin’ a mile a minute there. John, was it? Sure luggin’ this stuff in’t too heavy fer yer?’

  For a moment the shock had steadied him. He’d muttered something about needing the exercise and excused himself, a cold tongue of fear lapping at his spine. He was too stunned even to wonder how the other had known.

  The next two deliveries were uneventful, small parcels to obvious grotesques who did not meet his eyes and thanked him with a far more acceptable level of nervous respect. He had recovered his composure somewhat by his fourth consignment, to a large residential building in the middle of the Squats. He had been eager for an opportunity to get inside, knowing from Tobias’s tour the day before that this was an important structure.

  ‘Maryam House is the original heart of the community,’ the priest had said. ‘It can’t hold everyone any more, so there’s an effort to make more use of the leisure centre as a sort of social hub. And of course we hope the role of the church will grow, in time. But this is where the founders still live, along with most of the residents who need special care. The way they’ve been integrated is just remarkable. It’s a special place.’ He’d sighed. ‘Nelson lived here.’

  John had clenched his teeth and nodded in pretend sympathy while a little spark of excitement lit within him. The ones they’d miss most, along with many others who’d simply accept the inevitable, who couldn’t or wouldn’t fight back. Mac had been similarly delighted last night, and after the terrifying pre-dawn brawl, culminating in the loss of Simon and Zack, John was even more inclined to try to identify a soft target.

  But when he had finally been admitted, groaning cart in tow, he’d been unprepared for the reality of the community room. The rocking, the twitching, the fixed stares at tablets and vacant looks elsewhere, all under a sea of radiant rainbow hair. The disfigured faces and disproportionate physiques and multiplicity or absence of features, limbs, digits. These were not, he realised, merely the intentional malformations or collateral damage that they had all become somewhat used to. This group included the accidents.

  He was still standing, awkward and open-mouthed, when the middle-aged woman who’d met him at the door returned to tug gently at his sleeve and with a jerk of the head indicate that he should follow her through to the kitchen. Sally, her name was. Sally Trieve. Another big shot wasting time and money on a lost and unworthy cause.

  ‘Try not to stare,’ she said quietly, as he negotiated the cart around the periphery of the room. ‘I know it’s difficult. Most norms have become so unaccustomed to disability.’

  He had to respond. He tried to think of something obvious and inoffensive. ‘They must be accustomed to it. Being stared at, I mean.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean they like it.’ She fixed him with a look that was too sharp for comfort. ‘Imagine if it was you, how you’d feel.’

  Now that was a properly ridiculous thing to say. No decent human being could suffer such a fate. Only among the Remnants was there ever an occasional birth defect or developmental disorder, and even those fools were belatedly, but increasingly, coming forward to get their next generations fixed. But there was no hope of that with the gems, even without all the moral objections to the continuation of an unnatural race. They were too wrong, their modifications too intrinsic to be manipulated away. He didn’t have a problem with putting the useful ones back to work, as long as no more were manufactured and they didn’t breed. Get some value out of them. Maybe. This was a contentious issue within the godgang, but there would be no argument about the rest. Half the ones in this room didn’t look like they’d ever been good for anything. What in God’s name was the point of them?

  But he’d had to bite his tongue and swallow his bile and studiously avoid looking at the creatures that arrived on either side of him to help unload the cart. He had never felt so exposed. He remembered that Donal had somehow spotted his disquiet, and tried to focus on remaining calm. Deep, even breaths, remember why you’re here, what you’ve already achieved, how much more work there is to do.

  They aim to make us forget who we are, Mac had said. They aim to make us lose but they don’t want to fight us outright. They are deceivers, remember. They aim to make us think there ain’t no fight, so we give up without a struggle. An’ that’s our strength, my brothers, because with the help of the Lord we know the truth. We know we’re in a fight, an’ we know we can win.

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nbsp; He needed a dose of Mac, a boost for his resolve before he had to head back out again. Too risky to pull out his tablet. He activated his earset, and with a sinking heart listened to the tone flip instantly into message mode. He could not leave dead air, Mac would think something had gone wrong. He spoke quickly and quietly, a detailed message outlining what he had already learned that day. He hoped Mac would pick up on his deeper meaning, and call him back.

  He was just finishing up when a gust of cold wind pushed at the office door and told him someone had entered out front. He broke the connection and stuck his head around the door. Two more volunteers: his guide of yesterday and the woman who had been stationed here earlier. She looked surprised to see him emerging from the back, and he muttered something about checking for any updates to the deliveries list.

  ‘Nothing’s changed, I don’t think. How’re you getting on?’

  ‘Couple more loads to Maryam House.’

  ‘Let’s see if we can get it to them in one.’

  He felt better with the company, normal humans at least even if they were misbelievers. They formed enough of an obstacle to make gems step aside as they manoeuvred two carts down the narrow lanes to the apartment building. His appreciation dimmed when he caught a glimpse of their progress past the dark glass of an entrance and realised what a spectacle they made, straining in shameful servitude. He put his head down and tried to distract himself by listening to the others.

  ‘Any word from Tobias?’

  ‘Just a quick post. It was about to start. He’d had a look at the Walker Report, says it goes a lot further than anyone expected.’

  ‘Further how?’

  ‘He argues that gems are the same as us, basically. Any segregation or discrimination would be genetically unfounded, I think that was the line.’

  ‘Wow. That’s … it actually says that? Is there a link?’

  ‘Not yet. I guess they’ll release it a bit later.’

  John kept his jaw firmly shut. They had arrived and he took the lead, hauling his cart up the shallow ramp that ran alongside the stairs. Donal was at the door, talking to a tall, powerfully built gem with short hair that glowed a deep bluish colour. There was a child with the big man, a little boy with a clear, bright face under sandybrown curls. It looked as though they had been going out, and met Donal coming in.

  The sight of the child startled John to a halt. He registered a similar hush from the two behind him, and then caught their whispers.

  ‘Is that Gabriel?’

  ‘That’s him.’

  Gabriel. Someone had mentioned the name. A special child, a blessed child. Ample justification for allowing gems to breed. He had had to move away at that point. Perhaps he should have stayed, learned more then and been less surprised now. He had not imagined a gem child could look so shockingly ordinary.

  Donal broke off and turned towards the three norms with their carts.

  ‘Here come the Good Samaritans,’ he said, and palmed the door open. John was sure there was a faintly mocking note in his voice. Anger rose up in him again, but he had a method now. He kept his face carefully bland, his breathing controlled, his mind focused. He moved forward with the cart. The big man stepped clear, holding the boy’s hand.

  Beside him the child turned suddenly and looked straight at John, head tilted, eyes wide with surprise.

  ‘What?’ he said. His voice was clear and piping, and filled with horror. The man glanced down at him and then sharply over to John.

  ‘Gabe?’ said the father.

  ‘He … you …’ suddenly the child was tugging on his hand, trying to pull him away. ‘Papa, don’t go near him, he wants to hurt us. Papa, he’s a bad man.’

  John stumbled and stopped, staring at the child. Behind him he heard the UC woman say, ‘No … no, this is John, he’s here to help.’ There was an uncertainty in her voice that stunned him. ‘Isn’t he?’

  ‘No,’ said the boy. Panic squeaked in his voice. ‘He came here to find out about us, so he can come back with his friends.’

  The big man pushed the child behind him and stepped forward. Donal released the door, letting it slide shut. John felt as if the Squats were suddenly tightening around him, like a noose.

  ‘Who are you?’

  John’s mouth opened but he could not force anything out. He was aware of the two carts and two people on the narrow ramp behind him, the breadth and height and strength of the gem in front. He looked a lot like the one this morning, the one who had killed Zack and then fought all the way to the edge of the terrace, and over. John’s ribs still ached from the encounter, but in the lifting and carrying and pulling of the day he was sure he had given nothing away. He tried desperately to think. He had sailed through the identity checks. They had no reason to suspect him. Stay calm, remember the mission.

  ‘I’m John Senton,’ he managed. ‘I’m volunteering my time, like she said. I don’t know what’s got your kid so upset.’

  ‘You’re a liar!’ shouted the boy. Tears were streaming down his face. ‘You killed Nelson! You and someone named Simon and someone named Mac! You keep thinking about it!’

  John recoiled, almost falling into the cart behind him. The mantra in his head, the clear memory from the night before last that had carried him through all the trials of the day, juddered to a halt.

  The child was shrieking now.

  ‘And you killed that other man! And tried to kill that lady! And you want to hurt my papa!’

  The big man turned and stooped suddenly, sweeping the child up into his arms.

  ‘Gabe, that’s enough. Stop. Get out of his head.’

  ‘But he did it, Papa, he did, and he hurt Callan too, and he hates us, he hates us …’ The child was shaking like a leaf in a gale, trying to burrow into his father’s chest.

  ‘I believe you, baby. But you need to stop now. You’re hurting yourself. Stop looking. Just stop.’

  He cradled the boy’s sobbing head in a big, scarred hand, and stared over it straight into John’s eyes. John felt the world fold and collapse around him.

  ‘Don?’ the big man said quietly. ‘Please take Gabe inside.’ He handed the boy to Donal. As he prised the child’s fingers loose, looking down for a moment, John felt a surge of power come back into his legs. He moved sideways, fast, vaulting the railing to land on the steps, leaping down them. He had taken no more than two sprinting strides along the pavement when a hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him dead and whipping him around.

  The big man flipped him against the side of the building as though he were a fish landed on the quay. The air slammed out of John in a rush. He slid down to the ground. Behind he could see Donal, standing in the doorway, clutching Gabriel to him. His erstwhile companions stood beside the forgotten carts, faces blank with astonishment.

  Bal stood in front of him, face impassive save for a flaring around the nostrils and a fury sparking deep in the brown eyes. John offered up a last, silent prayer.

  From the doorway, Gabriel said, ‘Papa?’ in a scared little voice.

  ‘I know, baby,’ he replied. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not actually going to do it.’ He raised a hand, flicked at his earset. ‘Mik? We need you. And your friend.’

  *

  They had pulled him into a fenced square of frozen lawn at the side of Maryam House. Sergeant Varsi had planted herself in front of the closed gate and was trying to make sense of what she was being told. Her colleague stood to the side, tablet in hand, scanning no doubt for any inconsistencies in his story or recent history. Their transport sat out front, blue lights ominously flashing.

  Gabriel was gone. As soon as Mikal and the female officer had arrived, racing over from the leisure centre while the one on patrol screamed in from the far side of the Squats, Bal had left Donal to provide the initial explanations and disappeared with him inside the building. He was back now, though, flanked by the other two gems. John huddled against the fence, as far away from Bal as possible.

  They had tried at first simply
to insist that they had reason to believe he was a member of the godgang and needed to be arrested and investigated. But the two UC volunteers, who stood as far apart from him as they could get, had failed to understand, and kept interjecting with explanations that involved Gabriel. John had clutched at a faint hope that the gems might back down rather than allow the child to be exposed, and had said over and over that he didn’t know what they were talking about and he was sorry if he’d somehow scared the kid.

  It hadn’t worked. Once the police started to ask questions about Gabriel, once Bal had realised that he could not be kept out of it, he had taken a deep breath and raised his hands to shut the others up. He spat the words out into the bitter wind that blew across the icy grass.

  ‘My son is psychic. He can perceive what people around him are thinking. As soon as he got close to this – John – he could tell who he really was, and why he is here.’

  ‘You’re telling me your son can read minds?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well,’ the policewoman shook her head in bewilderment, ‘I’ve never heard of such a thing.’ She glanced at Mikal, who nodded confirmation.

  ‘Where is he then? Why isn’t he here explaining this himself?’

  ‘Because he’s five years old and he’s terrified.’

  Her frown deepened. ‘You expect me to make an arrest on the word of a five-year-old? Based on an unproven psychic ability?’

  ‘It’s not unproven.’ This from the UC man.

  ‘You know about this child?’

  The man nodded eagerly. ‘I saw him do it before. A couple of days ago. A poor suffering woman who couldn’t speak. He looked right inside her head and pulled out what she wanted to say.’

  She stared at him. ‘That sounds very unlikely.’

  ‘It happened right in front of me. It was amazing. I felt privileged to witness it.’

  ‘Many people witnessed it,’ the woman put in. ‘He’s a gift from God, he truly is.’