by Andy Graham
“For an intelligent woman, Doctor Swann, you can be remarkably ignorant. It’s a trait of those with a scientific bent, I find.” The two men were now best of friends, alcohol sloshing over the table and staining their cloaks. “We can’t legislate for emotion, no matter how much we wrap ourselves up in laws, statistics and explanations. The old brain still pulls all the strings, especially when drunk on hormones. Understand fear and you understand people. I guess that gets lost when you doctors are learning which drugs press which chemical levers.”
She frowned, curious. Her world was not a physical one. It was a world of numbers and logic. She got a clean satisfaction from understanding studies, felt safe with practice guidelines and enjoyed what she saw as the empowerment of patients. It was different with her kids, but there were very few moments in her life when she had lost herself like she just had downstairs.
She stamped down the rebellious thoughts that popped up. Something tugged at her mind, something she wasn’t sure she’d heard. Her companion was still talking to her, but his distinctive eyes were staring over her shoulder. The VP made his excuses and glided off through the crowd to separate the redhead from the people surrounding her. The look of surprise on her face disappeared into a coy smile. After a few whispered words, the two were facing each other in a pair of secluded leather chairs, the previous occupants having left with nervous smiles stuck to their faces. An anaemic light flickered from low candles that were fixed to the tables by cascades of multicoloured wax. The redhead blushed furiously, twisting her long hair around her fingers. Her dress, cut low at the back and plunging deep between the swell of her breasts at the front, revealed the fisher gull tattoo, partially covered by sweaty strands of hair.
“Why are you watching them?” Stella whispered to herself. “What does it matter to you? You’re happily married, remember?”
From the steps to the crypt came the muffled thud of the drums. A murmur of excitement ran around the crowd and the buzz of conversation ratcheted up a gear. The VP and his new partner weren’t the only couples finding themselves sheltered corners. A number of people headed down the steep stairs to the old crypt, flushed and eager. Stella put her half-empty glass down on the table and headed for the exit. That thought she couldn’t pin down was just where she couldn’t reach it.
Outside, the cold night air stung Stella’s cheeks. As the door leading to the Ward clicked shut behind her, she realised what had been bugging her. ‘Doctor Stella Swann,’ the VP had said. How had he known her name? She hadn’t told him.
23
The Dawn Rock
(144)
Ray collapsed, sucking in damp air through sods of earth. Nascimento’s laboured breathing rasped in his right ear, Brooke’s his left. They clambered to their feet, refusing to use their rifles as props. A crowd of people had gathered to watch in the early morning. A ragged cheer split the dawn every time the legionnaires hit the ground. A couple of overly hairy men who hadn’t seen razor or scissors for many months looked to be taking bets. Right now Ray didn’t care what the odds were, nor what they were for.
“How long have you been in the military, Franklin?” Aalok bawled.
“Sir, twelve years, sir!”
His legs and lungs were burning. Orr yelled a command. The other three legionnaires dropped hard, springing up again as quickly as their bodies would allow.
“Twelve times twelve is how many, Corporal?”
“Sir, 144, sir!”
“Sure, legionnaire?”
“Sir, double-checked it three times, sir!”
“You don’t want to check with Sub-Corporal Nascimento here first? Want to give each other a quick nod like you did around the fire last night to see if you agree with my command?”
“Sir, no, sir!”
Orr shouted. They dropped. As they stood, Ray pushed himself up with a hand on his knee and instantly regretted it. Aalok signalled. They lifted their rifles overhead, the straps from their back packs cutting into their shoulders.
Up and down they went, again and again. Orr yelled the commands. All three counted the reps. All three hoped they would stop at the same time or else incur a penalty set. Aalok called out a rapid series of drops. Each one came hard on the heels of the previous, leaving the three legionnaires struggling to stand.
They had been woken before the sun and run through a long series of drills Ray hadn’t had to do since Basic Training. When their captain had then ordered three of them into full combat gear, Ray had had a sinking feeling in his gut, the nervous tension that preceded the threat of physical exhaustion. Orr, for some reason, was being spared the punishment.
With his boot, Aalok hooked an arm out from under Ray’s prone body each time he tried to push himself up. “Down!”
Count. It’s the only thing that matters. Count. Just one more. Just one, that’s all it is. Think you can do thirteen? Do one more. We’re over halfway. On our way out. It gets easier from here on. Ray ticked the reps off in his head, not daring to use the mini-signals most had developed to help the count. Aalok was too shrewd to miss that with only three to watch. Sweat was running down the back of Ray’s neck. The goggles heavy on the bridge of his nose. Aalok signalled for Orr to take over.
Lukaz and the Elders appeared in the crowd in front of them; one curious and disdainful, the others amused. Brooke clocked them too.
“Down!” bawled Orr.
“Up!” she yelled back.
“Fuck!” shouted Nascimento.
Brooke’s defiance drowned out the burning pain in Ray’s lungs and back. The counterpoint raged as Orr picked up the pace. “Never forget,” Ray gasped through gritted teeth, “never fail.” They were not going to fail here. He wasn’t going to fail Brooke.
After three interminably long gaps between the last drops, the three legionnaires snapped to attention, Ray’s knees threatening to give way. Aalok launched into a rapid series of rifle drills. Every muscle in Ray’s body wanted to lie on the floor. His lungs couldn’t work fast enough. But the variety in movement was almost pleasant, the familiarity of the drill reassuring.
“Give and take is encouraged in the 10th,” Aalok said once they were standing at ease. “Backchat is tolerated. Outright disobedience to a direct order is not. Next time we will use my service time as the multiples, not yours, Franklin. Understood?”
“Sir! Yes, sir!”
“Go clean yourselves up. We’re going to the theatre.” He turned to Orr. “Get ready, Sub-Corporal. You get what you wanted this morning.”
“Sir?” The stocky man’s head tilted to one side.
“We need to fight for access to the cave system. The Elders say it’s traditional. Personally,” Aalok said, “I think they’re just making a point.”
“Works for me. Who’s their victim?”
“Lukaz.”
Fed, watered and washed, Brooke led the squad through the Angel City. The legionnaires marched past a stream that cut its way through the rocks at the base of the cliff. The bubbling water disappeared into a large stainless steel filtration tank before being pumped out to the village in pipes and furrows. The hard-dirt path led past the central fire to a large crack in the mountain wall. Without breaking stride, Brooke walked into the darkness. Aalok was by her side. Ray and Nascimento brought up the rear. Orr was framed in the middle. Sci-Captain James had opted to update the notice-board settings.
The end of the pass bottlenecked down to single file. On the other side was a vast space seemingly bored into the mountain range. A pocket of fruit trees grew in the distance. The dull roar of a waterfall thudding into a pool broke the peace of the morning air.
Lines grooved into the rock walls made them appear to spin up from the grassy floor. Their tops were lost in a green tangle of forest. Birds circled and swooped under the pale moons, still clinging onto the sunlight. As his eyes adjusted, Ray noticed the lines in the walls concealed dark openings. Some were partially hidden by bushes, others were little more than cracks just big enough for a child
. Facing the legionnaires was a group of villagers. They parted just enough for Orr and his honour guard to have to shoulder their way through. Whatever was going to happen today, the Donian weren’t going to give them anything easily.
In the middle of the mountain clearing was what Brooke had called the Dawn Rock. A dirty, jagged, red-brown thing, taller and wider than Ray. It dominated the dusty ground around it. Off to one side stood Karaan, Kaleyne and Eleyka, the Elders. Lukaz and a group of younger folk stood away from them. They started whooping and hollering, scaring birds out of the treetops dizzyingly high above them.
“You sure, Orr?” Aalok asked.
“Roll him in, Captain,” Orr replied, leering back at Lukaz.
“You have a choice,” Brooke said, “tag or fight.”
“Tag?” Orr said. “The game we saw the kids playing?”
“They use a rock instead of a ball.”
Nascimento’s laugh brought angry looks from the Hoyden.
“Not even a choice,” said Orr. “Fight. Why did you ask?” He stripped off his top and belt. “You’ve done this, Brooke?”
“Many times.”
“Any tips?”
She patted his cheek. “Win.”
Orr kicked off his boots and stepped onto the dusty ground. Brooke signalled for the others to stop at the grassy border. Lukaz walked out in front of Orr, closely followed by his friends. Brooke hissed. A collective gasp echoed round the walls.
“Lukaz!”
“Hoyden!” yelled Karaan and Kaleyne at the same time.
Stamp.
Dust rose up around Lukaz’s left foot.
Stamp.
His right.
Squatting to parallel, feet wide, Lukaz raised his arms to the sky. He stuck out his tongue, nostrils flaring, eyeballs rolling. His shout bounced back off the rocks. It mixed with the answering call of the men and women behind him. Awkward, angular movements and low guttural words sprayed spit and anger onto the dust around them. The barely restrained menace escalated. The challenge became more graphic, more suggestive, aggressive. Slaps and slashes punctuated the stamping. Orr stood in the midst of the physical storm, waiting. As the last shout died down, Lukaz loomed over the legionnaire, stretching to his full height. His long hawk-shaped nose pressed down on Orr’s broken one, arms splayed up behind him like wings. With a lick of his lips, Lukaz strutted back to his friends.
Orr, squat and powerful, slapped the tattoos which sprawled up his forearms and across his chest. Lukaz stared wide-eyed at the ink, then he and his friends laughed and ripped off their tunics. Etched into their flesh was an elaborate latticework of scars that formed all manner of symbols and shapes that were old and shiny or fresh and red. Kaleyne dropped her head.
“The fuck is that?” Nascimento muttered.
Orr didn’t flinch. He studied the scars and stepped off the dust onto the frost-covered grass. Behind him Lukaz and his people were laughing, clapping each other on their backs.
Orr nodded to Brooke’s belt. She passed him her heavy knife. Orr turned back to Lukaz, who had gone quiet. Without a word, Orr drew the blade across his chest. Blood poured out of the wound, matting up the thick hair. He shrugged and stepped back onto the dust. Ray fought back a grin. Brooke’s chin was a little higher.
“Where I was born, we dance when we get married,” said Orr, giving Lukaz a parody of the bow the villager had given the legionnaire. “Would you like me to screw you now or later?”
With a roar, Lukaz hurled himself forwards.
24
The Disease Dog
Long shadows stretched through Lenka’s orchard behind the smallholding. The sunlight was fresh and unspoiled, burning off the mist that snaked amongst the trees. Stella had untangled herself from the heavy warmth of her husband’s limbs and made the drive to Tear early this morning. The journey had seemed to take longer than it should. The lack of sleep tugging at her eyelids was one thing. The slimy feeling the VP had left her with last night was far worse.
A carving in an apple tree looked down at her. It was a fair representation of an old lady, her severe ponytail pulled back from her forehead. On another tree was a balding man. A pair of real glasses rested on the stubby branch that formed his nose. The larger trees in the orchard had several carvings on them high above the ground, some blurred by moss and lichen. Stella pointed at another image. “Does every Free Town do this?”
“All the ones I know.” Lenka’s reply came wrapped in puffs of vapour. “We used to put death sheets on the notice boards, but the shortage of paper killed that custom, more so than the ban.”
“Veneration is illegal,” Stella said quietly, reluctant to get drawn into another argument. She felt in her pocket for the object she had smuggled out of the hospital store room yesterday.
“And reducing people to a collection of numbers and a dash is more meaningful than a picture? Or would you prefer an on/off icon?”
Lenka stooped to pick up two red-green apples. The fruit was an odd shape. There was a bruise on one side and a leaf on the stalk.
“Your apple’s deformed,” Stella said.
“It’s normal. For real apples, that is.” Lenka took a bite. Speaking between mouthfuls, she gestured to a carving of a young girl who had a gap where there should be front teeth. “We hoarded paper for a while, saving it for birth, marriage and death sheets, but that ran out, too. Then someone had the idea of cutting the notifications into the trees. It attracts less attention that way. The authorities were only looking for the sheets, so they didn’t see the carvings.” Lenka picked a mossy moustache off one of the pictures. “I remember giving Ray’s mother, Rose, the last sheets of paper I had so she could write letters to her dad after he disappeared. Poor thing, she was five.”
“What happened to him?”
“Rick Franklin volunteered to work in the uranium mines to help rebuild the country after the Silk Revolution.” Lenka’s voice was thick with sarcasm.
“Volunteered?”
“That’s the official story.” Lenka glanced over her shoulder. “I suspect the reality is that Rick offended the president of the day. Edward De Lette was not a man to cross.”
A horse stuck its head out from behind the trunk and breathed hot air over Stella’s face. She jumped and fanned her face with a hand.
“Rick Franklin was never seen again.” Lenka held her arms out and stamped her feet. The horse whinnied, trotting off. “And Ray has only ever heard tales of his heroic grandfather, the man who designed the sun-fans, saved the nation and rescued his oldest friend while he was at it. Stann Taille,” Lenka said with a shake of her head. “Ray’s other grandfather and Tear’s Rotten Egg. Stann and Rick were childhood friends that got caught up in a terrorist attack somewhere in Mennai. Castle Brecan, I think. I don’t know what really happened there as Stann can’t talk about Rick without spitting out what teeth he has left.”
“Is he dead?”
“Stann? No. Maimed, bitter and angry.”
“And Rick Franklin?
“After forty-odd years in the mines?” Lenka said sadly. “I hope so.”
Stella gestured to the faces looking down at her from the trees. “And these are all your relatives?”
“And some extra waifs and strays that passed through here over the years. It’s a nice touch. We plant a tree for every birth; it’s a happier version of an old tradition.” She pressed one of the apples she had picked up into Stella’s hands.
She took a bite. Her eyes widened as the juice sparkled on her tongue.
“Good, aren’t they?” said Lenka with a grin.
After a slow walk back through the orchard, they sat under the pergola. Black coffee sent steam upwards. The dogs appeared from behind the woodshed. The younger dog was running rings around Drak, who snapped back, front legs shaking. Stella was watching Drak, not sure how to broach the topic she was here for, when Lenka placed a bag of apples and another one of misshapen vegetables at her feet.
“Here, take these ho
me. Give your kids a taste of real food.”
Stella opened the second. “Carrots?” She had never seen them that big, nor that muddy. She wanted to say no. How was she going to explain the mutant fruit to her family? And her son would no doubt want to take some to school, which would lead to no end of unwelcome questions. Sacked over a vegetable – she could just see the headlines. She decided to throw them away on the journey, the easiest solution. “Thank you,” she said.
“No, no. I should be thanking you for your help. With both of us,” Lenka said. “You’ve been good for Ray.”
“It was all him. He just needed to hear the right information, that was all.”
“Oh. You mean his back? Well, that too, I guess.”
“What else?”
“You’ve given him a purpose to his precious military. Isn’t it better to die protecting someone you believe in rather than someone an official tells you to believe in?” Lenka asked, wheezing.
“He has you and his mother.”
“Me, not for much longer, and his mother has been a nebulous presence since she left the kids,” she said, reaching for a plate of cakes.
“Kids?”
The plate slipped out of Lenka’s hand and shattered on the ground. Chips of porcelain mixed with cake and dirt. “Kid. Just the one.”
Ben’s tousled hair pushed its way through the gates, an exaggerated frown underneath it. His pout increased when he saw he had a larger crowd to play to. Lenka chuckled at Stella mimicking him.
“Perfect timing. Sweep that up, would you, Ben?” As the boy scampered past them, Lenka said, “I think Ray’s smitten by you, too.”
“Nothing has happened between us. Nothing will. I’m married with children.”
