At the Edge of the Game

by Power, Gareth

‘You’ll have to do. Come with me.’

  I follow him out the door, through the red-lit corridor, into the candle constellation’s steady field of influence. Women are gnashing teeth at the foot of the escalator. Children linger bewildered around their legs. Some men are also standing there, stolid and armed.

  Victor is angry. ‘What are you waiting for, you bastards? Get out there.’ He pushes me towards them. ‘Give him a gun and ten rounds.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Wait. Don’t give him the ammo till we get outside.’

  The gun is heavy, heavier than it looks. It must be the hunger. Victor gives me another push forward.

  ‘Stay with them,’ he says.

  At the entrance of the shopping centre more men are laying upon the bank of snow piled up close to the doors, like men in a trench in World War I. In fact rather more like an Ypres trench that one might have expected, since the snow is melting. The toecaps of their heavy boots are dipped in meltwater. The word trenchfoot comes into my head. Their heavy coats are soaking wet. The air is warmish at the doors, a stiff breeze from the south with the inevitably false promise of spring. They have Griffin there. ‘Come on, lads,’ he says. ‘You don’t have to do this.’

  ‘Sorry, Griffin. Orders is orders.’

  ‘I’m one of you, lads.’

  ‘Sorry, Griffin.’

  ‘Hey, don’t talk to him,’ says Victor. ‘Go and get it done. Now.’

  Three of them push Griffin up the unstable slush bank and down Grafton Street until they are out of sight. A gun is fired twice.

  ‘Harsh but fair,’ says Victor. He takes my gun and rams a magazine into it. ‘Ten rounds,’ he says. ‘Use them well.’ He calls a man called Clancy to him. ‘Here’s our picket. Show him where to go.’

  ‘Right, boss.’

  Clancy drags me across the sucking, liquefying snow to a foxhole, and shoves me into it. It contains a layer of cold water that immediately seeps through to my feet.

  ‘They’re going to attack, so keep your fucking eyes open. You see anyone, anyone, you fucking shout back to us. Don’t waste your fucking ammo either. Use it if you have a clear target. And don’t think about running. We’ll have you in our sights. Understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t let us down. Don’t let your fucking country down.’

  Now I’m alone, hungry and light-headed kneeling in icy water. I can hear their voices over there. I know they’re watching me. I’ve got to keep watch or Clancy will be back. The sun slides along the rooftops, slips below. Dusk is verging into night. Through broken cloud the moon is visible, and a few stars. In a clear expanse at the zenith I see a swift speck, a satellite or space station in low orbit. Also a turning, dipping indistinctness that comes slowly into focus as my eyes find their range. The form fixes, alights on a bare tree. A bird, alive in spite of all this.

  Neck and shoulders hot with lactic fatigue. I twist and turn, trying for any position that will relieve the pain, but nothing works. Jaw starts to stiffen, and I sense that my teeth could grind to nothing. Fight it down. I retch, and nothing comes up. Perhaps the bile would freeze in my throat.

  Could I run for it, last throw of the dice? Is it dark enough yet? In a few minutes surely it will be too dark and I can crawl to the gates of the park.

  They should have realised I am not a soldier. How can they expect me to do these things, to fire guns, to thrust a bayonet into a warm body and twist? I have no quarrel with the aurochs. I only want to stay and be with Helen. She needs me now more than ever before. When they send me up the Wall, who will be there for her? We have no one else in the Far and Near Cities, nor in the Cylinder.

  Click.

  A soldier is standing over the foxhole. He’s going to shoot.

  ‘Don’t!’

  Throw the gun away, fling it with both arms past his laced-up boots. The dark is broken with noise, red and yellow flashes. I’m dead. No pain. It was easy after all.

  But no, not me. The soldier topples back like a felled tree. Blood soaks through snow.

  Know what I must do. Is this courage? Start belting for the park gates. Made it. Keep low. Bullets flying.

  Dozens of army men moving forward, shooting. Something blows up. Shouting and crying.

  Quick now, duck the way along the wall, away from the lunacy. Get away from here. Leave them to their fight.

  SOMEPLACE ELSE

  I didn't see much of the old man for a few days. He spent his time inside the Unquiet Spirit, and I felt that I shouldn't disturb him. In that time, Cat and the alien triped became friends, and were regularly to be seen together running along the beach, climbing trees, sunning themselves. I had seen the old man feeding the alien some berries from the food supply I had given him, so I stuck with these. The creature suffered no ill effects, and did not go hungry. Cat showed it the stream where we obtained our fresh water, but it seemed equally at home drinking the sea water.

  Dexter emerged from seclusion looking better than before. He showed some interest in hearing of my own interstellar journey, and of the modest discoveries I had made over the year on earth. I recounted it all to him during the course of the morning. He showed no inclination to tell me of his and Brinnilla's discoveries. I wasn't quite sure at the time whether he was evading the subject, or if it simply bored him. He told me to check the ship's records if I was curious about what they had discovered, yet he made his own suggestion impossible to follow by constantly refusing to give me the password to the ship's systems.

  Eventually Dexter gave in to my pleadings for a proper tour of the Unquiet Spirit. The air from outside had at last made some impact on the overpowering stench in the ship. He took it up on a brief circuit of the bay. I saw my home properly from the air for the first time, saw the smooth crescent of dark beach curve from headland to rocky headland, the many-hued fronds of the dense kelp forest waving in the transparent, shallow sunlit waters of the bay. In the midst of the kelp, almost completely obscured, was the dark, now inert shape of my ship. The ship’s Core had finally died three months before Dexter arrived, when the sea water penetrated at last into the heart of the vessel.

  Dexter gave me a lesson in how to fly the Unquiet Spirit, which turned out to be quite easy to do. All you needed to do in most circumstances was tell the computer where you wanted to go. However, he quickly became bored and irritated with my questions. He cut the lesson short by giving me the system password and permission to take the ship up on my own. I flew about fifty kilometres out to sea, and discovered that my island was one of dozens in a Pacific cluster. On the way back I saw two huge blue-grey whales, which surfaced and dived repeatedly, creating great waves that died as broken lines of white foam. This was rather intriguing, since the last species of whale had been declared extinct a century before I was born.

  I felt that I should return to the bay before Dexter started to fear that I had crashed his ship. As it transpired, I needn't have worried. Flying low over the habitat, I saw him stretched out on the beach, Cat sprawled across his lap. He liked Cat, though his dislike of the triped seemed to have intensified. The noise of the engines scared Cat, who ran into the forest. I landed the ship on the patch of beach that the thrusters had marked when Dexter first landed.

  ‘We should have stayed on Earth,’ he said that evening as we roasted crab on a campfire on the beach. ‘We left our daughter behind.’

  ‘You had a daughter? I didn’t know. How old was she?’

  ‘Oh, very young. Too young to remember us.’ His old eyes were bright in the dancing light of the fire. ‘My sister was to raise her as her own when we were gone.’

  ‘What possessed you to abandon your own child?’

  ‘You must realise we were young. We were both the children of wealthy families. Each of us was all the other needed. We were held together by a bond I cannot hope to explain to you.’

  ‘A bond that didn't encompass your child.’

  Ancient Helen, in such contrast, felt joy at the birth of he
r child, even in the appalling circumstances in which it occurred.

  I went into labour on the second day, George. The doctor helped me, but he doesn’t speak English. Daisy helped too, and she’s been very good to me. But the ship went into a storm, and it was terrible, the cold, and the waves hitting the side of the ship. But our little girl was born. I felt happy. We still thought we’d be safe.

  ‘Great adventurers had distinguished both our families. We wanted to bring that glory to our generation. We were the first interstellar explorers. From what you say, we succeeded in our aim.’

  ‘But you left your daughter.’

  ‘I hate myself for it. Had you any children of your own?’

  ‘I could not in good conscience bring a child into the world as it was when I left. The ice was spreading again. Populations were being driven towards the equator. Nations were disappearing. There were wars, famine, storms. It was chaos.’

  ‘You were like me – one of the privileged,’ Dexter said.

  ‘But that was no longer protection enough by the time I left Earth. I had a home in Lagos, where the Vicissitudinale was built. The last I heard of it, it had been occupied by refugees from the north. It’s so different on Earth now. It was good luck to get back here in the middle of an interglacial period… Do you mind if I ask you something personal?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Would you live your life again differently, given the chance?’

  ‘I wish I had never left Earth. I lived a worthless life, and so did my wife. Much as I love her, I can't deny it.’

  ‘But you are proud of what you've achieved, aren't you?’

  ‘I try not to be proud.’

  ‘You feel the need to atone.’

  He looked at me, and then flung his food into the fire. It hissed and spat. Cat sat up and looked around. The triped slept on.

  ‘I didn’t mean any offence,’ I said, not understanding his anger.

  ‘I could fly out of here tonight and never come back.’

  He stood up and walked away into the darkness. A little later I heard the door of the Unquiet Spirit slam shut with a metallic clank.

  Fall through wet snow, off-balance like a drunk. There’s never been cold like this. Lights in Ranelagh windows. No one out of doors. Far-off sounds of shooting. Cheap fireworks. Don’t go to town, people. Stay at home. Wading through black canal melt, it sparked brainstem instinct never before sparked. Fear of serpents. Genetically engineered polar crocodiles it would have to be, but try telling that to brainstem cells, or my legs when they get chewed off.

  Lights on in the house. Helen. Fall against the door, call to her. No good trying to knock with dead hands. Thank God, thank God, she heard. Front door swings. Fall onto hall carpet. Getting snow everywhere. It’s not Helen. A man – wrong house? No, right house. Forgot about him. Always here, he is. Go away bastard. Helen yelps like a dog. So hot here. Flames in the fireplace shall certainly melt lead. She’s pulling off my boots, coat, all my clothes. Stop, won’t be naked in front of him. But does his bit too, brings more clothes and blankets, boils water. Shock, exposure, pneumonia, hypothermia… is there a hyperthermia? Suppose there is, and if they don’t put that fire out maybe I’ll die of that. Have prepared a statement to this effect, but seized-up throat lets me down.

  Don’t cry, Helen. Really. There’s no pain. Can’t feel anything much. Hate to see you suffer like that over me. Wouldn’t want to put you through that. Is good to have you rub my arms, chest, legs. Can’t feel any of it, but is good. A sign of love? I think so.

  Suitcases and bags against the wall. We going somewhere? Just got here. Need to rest. TV’s on… but that needs electricity. Stupid me, the lamp is on too. Blazing light bulb of significant wattage. A scruffy man reading from a sheet of paper. Is it the news? Turn it up - can’t hear.

  ‘…strikes against…’

  Heathshade’s talking over it. Shut up, no one cares what you think, cretin. Listen.

  ‘…driving back Free State forces…’

  What’s that?

  ‘…no ordinary citizen need fear…’

  No, don’t switch it off. Don’t –

  Breath exhausts from lungs and I can’t get more. Help. Help me up. Help.

  The fire is to fading embers. So unnecessary, even those. It’s too hot in here. The spewing sun’s radiation penetrates the glass, hurts my face. The window has an inside coating of droplets that roll down, trailing, pooling on the sill. I think of the carriages of a steam train, beads of hot water pushed sideways by the air, pistons and gears and wheels working. The snow has not all melted yet. Bits of it slide down the outside of the glass, refreshing white sorbet. Looks like a summer sky out there. I’m parched, and sorbet or anything of that ilk would be so good.

  It comes back at once. The shooting, the bodies, the blood, the shouting.

  Scumbags. Worthless fucking scumbags. I hope they were all gunned down and picked apart by the gulls. That’s the world they chose. No comeback for them now. No complaints.

  Strange I didn’t fall to pieces. Found refuge in the rich detail of the city architecture, the immensity of the Falls, the desolation of the desert, the dark mass of the Cylinder, the taste of the air, bathed in the early morning rays of the Far City sun in our lofty apartment.

  Enough of that. I’ll suffocate in here soon. Where are you, Helen? All is quiet. Like when you wake up as a child and you go down to the scary, empty, dark downstairs. Flashing specks in my vision. Got to my feet too quickly. Grasp the side of the chair, stumble past suitcases by the door. The hallway is fresh and cool. The floor has a film of ice-cold water, seeping in through the front door. Don’t care. The stairs creak as I climb, and the landing is bright. Helen is asleep in our bed, lightly sighing in fairly close sync with the tapping on the sill. I open the window, let wash in the fresh breeze. Contrail high above, comet head moving west, cutting the sky in two. But turbulence soon spreads it into fading filaments, and slowly over minutes the sky is restored to perfect smoothness.

  The moment arrives when the invigoration of the outside air changes to the first intimation of chill. A gust sweeps over the rooftops at the other side of the road, the north side of the road, shaking the few protruding black branches of the bare tree directly opposite. I notice wisps of cirrus cloud towards the northern horizon where there were none before. They tumble south in high-altitude current. I shut the window as quietly as I can.

  She opens her eyes, raises the blankets and pulls me down to lie beside her. This is the antidote, the only one.

  ‘I thought you were dead.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘The IRA - they had me locked up.’

  ‘How could you be so stupid, George? I have to rely on you.’

  There’s no sense in arguing. ‘You’re right.’ Yes, a good strategy, because now she is kissing me.

  ‘I thought I’d lost you.’

  A revving engine outside heralds the arrival of my uncouth nemesis. A bipping car horn taps out a tattoo. Carbon monoxide laces the air.

  He sees me looking out and gives a wave, slamming shut the door of a big ruby jeep. I’ve seen it before. Belongs to a man who lives around the corner. If he’s still in one piece he’ll have no problem tracking it through the snow to us.

  ‘You’re up and about, then.’ He slaps my back in the hallway. ‘Is Helen about? I’ve got us our transport.’

  Helen glances my way. ‘We were talking about leaving the city,’ she says.

  ‘We need wheels,’ he says.

  ‘Leave the city?’

  ‘Ain’t she explained to you, George? I reckon my people in the UK will look after us. No good staying here with all this trouble going on.’

  ‘We were only talking about it,’ she says.

  Heathshade picks up the remote to turn on the TV. ‘Dunno about you, but as soon as the snow is gone I’m out of here.’

  The TV screen shows static. He sits down and starts fli
cking. Static on all stations, except one. Many uniformed men standing in an untidy, dark TV studio. Hanging from the wall are a tricolour and a blue banner showing a gold harp. One man stands to the fore reading from a sheet of paper.

  ‘Who’s he?’ says Heathshade.

  ‘…let there be no doubt that we will prevail.’ He has a rural but refined accent. ‘In Dublin and in the provinces the traitors are being defeated…’

  A man in handcuffs, cuts on his face. He’s shoved in front of the camera. A familiar face. Victor!

  ‘This man is a traitor,’ says the speaker.

  ‘That’s the guy!’

  ‘Quiet,’ says Heathshade.

  ‘He and his type would sit in judgement on the rest of us, tell us what Irishness is. Traitors will be dealt with using the greatest force of law. Treason is punishable by death.’

  Victor is taken away. Mirroring this, I lead Helen by the elbow into the hallway.

  ‘What’s all this about leaving?’

  ‘He suggested it.’

  ‘I don’t understand, Helen.’

  ‘Well, it’s not my fault if you don’t understand.’ She makes to walk away.

  ‘Wait a minute. I’m thick. Explain it to me.’

  ‘I thought you were dead.’ She starts to cry. The trump card.

  ‘But – ‘

  ‘You’d prefer me to be alone here?’ She jerks a thumb at the living room door. ‘He knows what to do. He can survive this.’

  I let her go. She covers her mouth with one hand as she climbs the stairs. I stand in the hallway like an idiot until the sound of the television draws me back into the living room.

  ‘Remain indoors. State forces continue to carry out vital operations. Food distribution will be resumed. Listen for messages on radio and television for further details. From tonight, a curfew will be in effect nightly from 6:30PM to 7:30AM. Police and Army are authorised to –’

  The screen wobbles, slides into jumping grey noise. An afterimage lingers of whoever he was and his retinue. The walls start shaking, setting up a rattling clatter of old windowpanes. This tails off, and now there’s a low rumble. Heathshade goes to the window.