by Patty Jansen
“That’s not true.” My voice was much more heated than he deserved.
“Prove it, prove it!” Eva’s father banged his hand on the table with each word. The plates rattled.
“I will, if I’m allowed to do my job.”
Eva’s mother interrupted. “Stop it, stop it, with the crazy politics.”
Her husband glared at her in the tense silence.
I sank down on the springy cushions of the couch, wincing when my hands touched the armrests. Normally, I liked discussing politics with Eva’s father, but today’s issue had lost its appeal.
Eva came back with the glasses. Her father poured and handed out the drinks, still in relative silence.
Eva settled on the couch next to me. “Are you tired?”
Exhausted. I’d lie down and fall asleep immediately. “When I’m with you, I’m never tired.” I kissed her forehead.
“I know. You just keep going and going.”
Her father said, “That’s the good thing about you. With a lot of hard work, maybe one day you’ll come to your senses.” Your senses being his side of politics. And that, accompanied with a bittersweet smile, was as much of a compliment as I was ever going to get from him. Strangely, I liked the man; he was always true to his word and his principles.
I smiled at Eva. “I have to rest some time.”
How much would I give to do it next to her, to watch the news together and talk about it without her father’s opinions, to drink a glass of wine, to peel off that dress. . . . I kissed her again, softly, on her nose.
Eva’s father cleared his throat and raised his glass. “Well, let’s just say: to the start of your job.”
Eva clinked her glass against mine. Her eyes glittered. Oft-spoken words of worry passed unspoken between us.
As the tiny sip I had taken burned its way down my throat, Eva’s mother said, “We have news, too.” Her tone was laden with meaning.
Eva straightened, her hands jammed between her knees.
Her mother breathed in self-importantly. “Eva will graduate when you come back.”
“She will . . .” I met Eva’s eyes, brimming with tears.
She nodded. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Yes, it is. I thought you wouldn’t be finished until next year.”
“So did I, but I’ve heard I can do both Global Economics and International Law in the next semester. It will be really busy, but you’re not going to be here, so I thought . . . Isn’t it great, Cory?” In her eyes lay the words she didn’t say: Now we can get married.
I stared at her. With the alcohol and the lack of sleep, my head felt even woollier than before. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to marry Eva—there was no question about that; I had signed the official intent. There was nothing barring us. We both had White permits, and Eva had passed her genetic test. I had stressed that my mother had died of a non-hereditary cancer, waving a declaration signed by my father four years ago. I remembered that visit to Lunar base, where he worked back then. His mouth had been twitching when he read through the document, and he’d mumbled things like, We don’t know that it was non-hereditary . . . and What is Earth coming to? This is the biggest load of moondust I’ve ever seen . . . and, Well, son, if you think it will get them off your back . . . Then he had scrawled his signature on the pad, and impressed his ID.
He’d returned the reader to me and said, I guess you really love the girl.
And I did. It was just that, at the moment, with all this mess, with Nicha locked up and me unsure what was happening, a wedding was the last thing on my mind. So soon, so definite. I swallowed. “So . . . when is the graduation?”
“I can put it off until you come back. Then we can have a graduation party and . . .”
No excuse for delaying.
Stiff and sore, I slipped off the couch, taking Eva’s hand in my bandaged ones. “Eva, when I come back, will you marry me?”
“Yes, Cory.” She flung herself in my arms.
Ouch, that hurt. But I savoured her warmth. I knew I would be vulnerable alone in Barresh, and it would be better if Eva came. It was too late now, but when I returned to deliver my first report to Nations of Earth, Eva would come back with me. Eva would be my wife.
Her father went around with the bottle, topping up the glasses. “We drink to that.”
6
JUST BEFORE DINNER, I escaped into the hall with the excuse of checking on the guards. Of course, I wanted to make a few calls, and felt a cheat for doing so, but I simply had to know if anything of note had happened. I didn’t expect the emergency council to have concluded their meeting, but part of me was still seething about not being invited, even though I accepted that it was too late now to try to get in. I’d had my chance and, for whatever reason, when I faced him in his makeshift office, Danziger had chosen not to invite me.
I found the two guards in the furthest corner of the kitchen, the subject of shifty-eyed glances from the cook. Two empty soup bowls stood on a nearby table. The men sat on their knees, a veritable showcase of electronics spread out on the floor between them. Screens flickered, lights blinked.
With a sinking feeling, I recognised my comm unit in the middle of the electronic tangle. “Mashara, anything wrong?”
Moss-green eyes met mine. “The unit, Delegate. It had a listening bug. Mashara has disabled it.”
“It had . . .”
I stared. A listening bug. Spyware. My first thought was that people were welcome to spy. I had nothing to hide. On the other hand, my midnight conversation with Delia hadn’t been so glamorous, and . . . Nicha’s father. Shit. I could already see the headlines: Asto plans military action to free suspect.
“Has mashara confirmed where it came from and who has been listening?”
One of the guards held the unit out to me. I recognised the ID on the screen. Delia? It was suddenly too hot in the kitchen.
“Is it safe to use now?”
“It is, Delegate.”
“Thank you.”
I picked the unit up between my left wrist and the tips of my right hand taped-together fingers, put it on the table, looped the earpiece over my ear and punched the ID with my free thumb.
Delia answered within two rings.
“What the fuck is this, Delia?”
The cook gave me a wide-eyed look over his shoulder.
“Cory? What are you talking about?”
“Listening to me, spying on me. My staff have just identified a listening virus in my comm unit that came from you. I—”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t like being accused.”
“Then get your surveillance off me. I’m being followed. My communications are being tapped. The police tell me that Nicha made a call to request assistance, but he hasn’t been allowed to call anyone, has he? What the fuck is going on? Do you want to solve who shot the president, or do you want to blame the first person who comes along in absence of a real suspect? Do you—”
Click.
She’d broken the connection.
I tried again, but the number was dead. No answer.
Eva and her parents would probably be waiting for me, but I quickly tried Amarru’s number. She was busy.
Then, in a fit of despair, I entered the number of the person who had been trying to contact me when Eva told me to switch the unit off.
It rang a few times before someone answered, “Nixie Chan.” The typical Coldi deep honeyed tones of her voice almost made me cry with relief. I switched to Coldi.
“Nixie, my name is Cory Wilson, and I—”
“Ah, I tried to contact you earlier.”
“I know. I was busy. I’m sorry. I hear Amarru has asked you to look after Nicha’s case.”
“She has. It’s beyond belief. No one has heard from him. I’ve been asking to see him all day.”
“He can’t possibly have been involved in the attack on the president. I left him in the foyer—”
“I know. You watch it. I’ll get
him out. If I’m not getting anywhere tonight, Danziger is not going to know what hit him tomorrow. I don’t think anyone in this city knows how many businesses we Coldi own. If you have any warm clothing, keep it handy, because we’re going to turn off the city heating.”
Even while the heating was still working, a chill tracked down my spine; within gamra, this would provide ammunition for those who said that Asto was taking over Earth by stealth. “Thank you for your support, but don’t you think that—”
“We’ll get him out. Don’t worry. We have everything organised.”
That was just what I feared. “Thank you.”
“No, thanks to you. If this goes to court, we’ll get the opportunity to prove the illegality of the citizenship case. We’ll—”
I heard the distinctive clang of the living room door.
“Nixie, by the way, do you have any thoughts on the sort of weapon that may have been used?” I came very close to mentioning the red circle of light, but all sorts of shit would fly if Danziger found out I had breached my promise. Besides, like Nicha, she didn’t see the colour red; few gamra people did.
“No, I don’t. It is rather strange, though. There is no vantage point to shoot from. I’m not convinced that something was shot, in fact. There are no traces of explosives.”
She’d been doing her research. More often than not, I wondered how the Coldi got all those data so easily.
“I still think it sounds like gamra technology. It’s definitely not local.”
“Agreed, but—”
The door to the kitchen opened, letting in Eva. “Cory where are you—oh!” Her eyes widened. Concern. Annoyance. Anger. I wasn’t sure what to make of her expression. Probably all three.
I said, in a low voice, “Sorry, Nixie, I have to go.”
“Trouble?”
“Family dinner. Let me know if there are any important developments.”
“I will.”
“Thank you.”
I disconnected and pulled the earpiece off. “I’m sorry, Eva, but things are happening that are too important.”
She shrugged. “Dad always says that, too.”
Anger, then. A seed of annoyance crept up in me. What did she expect? That I spliced myself in two pieces?
I handed the unit back to the guards, and followed Eva out of the kitchen.
In the hall, she turned so abruptly I almost crashed into her. Tears welled in her eyes. And then she was in my arms.
“Eva, I’m really sorry. I really am, but—”
“You’re so distracted tonight.”
“I’m sorry. I’m tired. One doesn’t get shot at every day.” It was a lame attempt at levity.
“Oh, you poor thing.” She closed her arms around me, and I lost myself in the rush of a rose-scented kiss.
A maid cleared her throat as she walked past carrying a tray with dishes.
Eva broke the kiss and she straightened the collar of my shirt. “You should really have put on a clean jacket.”
“I know, but all my spare clothes are in Athens.” I’d taken a spare shirt, but hadn’t seen the need to drag along a spare jacket for a two-day visit.
In the living room the maid was unloading her tray onto the table. Wine sparkled in glasses, and the smell of something Polish and hearty hung in the air.
We sat down. I forced myself to relax for Eva’s sake. I ate and drank more than was good for me. I talked more than was good for me, too, Eva’s hand on my knee under the table.
For once, talk was not about politics, but about churches, halls and dresses. I itched to go back to the hotel, but every time I thought to bring the subject up with Eva, she seemed to know what I was about to say and I relented. I was leaving after all, and in the last few months I had given Eva far too little of my time. If I wanted to be a good husband, I needed to put in a better effort, much better.
It got late, and then it got very late.
A maid came in with candles and Eva’s father stoked the fire.
In the shelter of the bay window, I stole a few kisses, and could almost taste the day she would be mine. Then I wondered how Nixie was going, and how people would react to whatever she planned for tomorrow.
I was ready to leave some time after 2 am, shocked into silence by the harsh light in the hall, and the unflattering reflection of myself in the mirror—red-eyed, white faced, and not quite steady on my feet. Eva was right—the jacket was disgusting.
Eva’s father wanted to call for a taxi, but one of the guards nudged my arm. “Delegate, mashara prefers we arrange our own transport.”
The feel-good cocoon of food and alcohol evaporated in about one-hundredth of a second. The guard showed no outward sign of emotion, but I knew the subtleties. Something had happened while I was at dinner and I was sure the guards wouldn’t tell me until we were in that taxi that probably waited around the corner.
I turned to Eva’s father who would not have understood the guard’s Coldi. “They have already arranged a car.”
Eva’s father laughed, not entirely genuine. “Well, I suppose they could have done that.”
Both guards made no reaction, although I had no doubt they would have understood the barb.
I faced Eva, still so pretty at that unholy hour.
Her mouth twitched. “So . . . what time does your train leave tomorrow?”
That brought me fully back to the harsh reality. I held two tickets for the train back to Athens for ten tomorrow morning, but would I go?
Eva’s face creased. “Cory?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. At this stage, I’m not even sure I’m going.”
I sighed at the hopeful spark in her eyes. Of course I knew she didn’t want me to go, but it hurt to see it acknowledged. “I’ll let you know.”
The maid said, “There’s a taxi outside.”
See, I’d been right.
I kissed Eva, said goodbye to her parents and followed the two guards into the rain.
Except the car wasn’t a regular driverless taxi; it was one of the very few privately-owned vehicles in the city. Nothing on the doors or windows alluded to its owner, except the driver, whose Coldi ponytail glittered in the streetlight. A gamra contact then, someone out of the database.
Shit. If they didn’t even trust taxis, something had happened indeed. The guard held open the door.
I settled in the back seat and forced a smile as I waved to Eva. Her face showed no concern, thankfully. No doubt everything would be fine, but just now, it would be nice if someone told me what was going on.
Doors slammed. The electric motor whined and we were off.
“Mashara, I’m sure it is time to tell me what this is about. You are aware that I no longer have my feeder?”
The guard didn’t answer immediately; he was fiddling with his comm unit. The holo-screen lit his face with a bluish glow.
“Delegate.” He bent forward, peeling the earpiece off.
I attached the device to my ear.
Someone said, “Cory?” In that warm-hued tone between male and female. Coldi.
I recognised the voice. “Amarru.”
“Where are you now?”
“I just got in the car.”
“Tell the driver to avoid the city bypass.”
“What?”
“Just tell him, right now.”
“All right.” I relayed the message. The driver grumbled that he was aware of trouble.
“Amarru, can you tell me what this is about?”
“First up, there is a car behind you.”
I looked over my shoulder, but saw only an empty street. “I know that.”
“There is also a group of police at the hotel, and there is a trap on the bypass. Our bugs are better than theirs, Cory.”
“Thank you.” I made every attempt not to sound sarcastic, but I felt sick. The concepts “ours” and “theirs” were becoming horribly blurred. “Does this mean I am being targeted now?”
“Have you heard the press relea
se from the emergency council?”
“No. I was at a family dinner.” See? I shouldn’t have given in to Eva; I should have kept my unit. I swear every time I had no communication I missed something important. Damn, damn it.
“The meeting only lasted about an hour and a half. Must be a record. Wait, I’ll read this out.” There was some rustling and clicking. “The Emergency council of Nations of Earth has declared that following the attack on President Sirkonen, member nations must ensure full cooperation to find and bring to trial the perpetrators, and has sanctioned the use of all available means in doing so. . . .”
“All available means? But . . .”
“That means using armed forces if necessary.”
A chill went down my spine. “That could mean war.”
“Danziger has just declared a state of emergency for Rotterdam. Already, there are riots in a number of places. People are looting shops owned by Coldi. And yes, the police want to talk to you. We’ve picked up some communication to that extent.”
“Shit. Are they going to give me the same treatment as Nicha?”
“I can’t answer that, but I have an offer: we can guarantee gamra protection on a flight that leaves for Athens in about an hour’s time.”
Leave Rotterdam. Now. That was as strong a suggestion as she had ever given me.
“I can’t. Not without Nicha.”
“I think Nixie is doing her best on that front. Nothing I can do; nothing you can do.”
I swallowed hard. “My luggage is at the hotel.” Buying time, surely.
“That’s been taken care of.”
I glanced over the seat. My suitcase lay in the back.
The car braked suddenly. The driver let out a fluent curse in Coldi and swerved into a side street. Between the two front seats, I glimpsed two police vans parked across the road.
Then we plunged into darkness. The driver hit the brakes as ahead of us, automatic gates swung open. We went down a hill, into a mass of buildings shrouded in darkness. I’d come this way to Eva’s house often enough to know where we were heading: one of the city’s Blue zones, where refugees, the poor and ill, lived in half-submerged high-rise buildings, and where gangs that prowled the waterways named themselves after the condition that stopped them getting jobs in the White zones: the Blind Bats, the Wheelies, that sort of thing.
