I want to know just what that wall is made from and what else she’s got hidden under our nose, said Helena to her AI.
Simple,came the immediate response.The walls are a carbon alloy of molecular construction, high-impact resistant and capable of operating as a superconductor. My first guess is it’s designed to deter intruders. However, there are a number of magnetic signatures that remain unidentified, although Newton-Raphson theory suggests at least one of them is that of the power source.
‘Look at the wall,’ said Helena.
‘What kind of answer is that?’ said David. Helena realised she’d missed a conversation.
‘You can analyse me later; for now, tell me what you see when you look at the wall.’
‘Convenient,’ said Jane playfully. ‘Not listening when someone is talking about you is the height of bad manners, you know.’
After a few moments’ silence, David let out a sigh. ‘What I don’t understand is why she’d go to such trouble to protect herself all the way out here. It’s not like she knew Indexiv were going to invade Northern Jutland.’
‘She’s not been here that long,’ said Helena. ‘After the war began. From her perspective it’s prudent to have thought ahead about security, but I concede your point.’ Jane shrugged and, regarding Helena for a moment, settled back into the room, flouncing down onto one of the sofas.
‘David was telling me about his family,’ she said breezily. ‘Weren’t you, David?’
Helena looked at David and said, ‘His grandfather no doubt.’
Jane looked blank. ‘No, his brothers.’ Jane waited for David to take up his subject.
He looked hesitant, so Helena said, ‘Come on David, it’s not like we’re going anywhere right now is it? It’ll help pass the time.’
Helena leant against the back of the empty sofa. David stayed by the window and folded his arms.
‘My brothers,’ he said, pausing to gather his momentum.
‘Struan,’ said Jane.
My word, she’s nurturing a crush, thought Helena.
Instinctively she turned her attention to the embarrassed David.
‘Oh come on, man,’ said Jane.
‘Struan is a visual artist. He won the Mackenzie Prize a decade ago.’
Jane interrupted him. ‘The last time it was awarded.’
‘He’s mentioned to me that the light here was ethereal in quality. He said he found it ghostly, peaceful. He enjoys painting along the Baltic coastlines.’
‘That Struan Chalmers?’ said Helena.
David grinned sheepishly and nodded.
‘Where is he now?’ asked Helena.
‘North of the City, some county called Lothian. His mother named him after someone she knew from there.’
‘Have you seen any of his work?’ asked Jane.
‘Not in person,’ said Helena. She’d never found anything attractive or inspirational in what she did know of his work. She preferred abstracts, large physical installations that you could lose yourself in. She didn’t connect with representative art.
How did I miss Jane’s interest in this? Then again, Helena couldn’t honestly say what interested Jane. Their friendship had only just begun to blossom when she’d discovered that her uncle had orchestrated Jane’s appearance in her life. Since then they had been distant, guarded. Helena had no desire to open up to Jane.
Jane said, ‘I’ve been to the Tate in the City; fascinating stuff, reminiscent of the best of the first generation work. The show I saw was interested in examining our perceptions of death now we are immortal. I know, not very original, but there were some interesting interpretations.’
‘I didn’t get the chance to see that,’ said David. ‘Struan wasn’t very pleased. He sent me a white feather in the post claiming I was too cowardly to go and consider death with an open mind.’
‘So are there any other famous siblings we should know about?’ said Helena.
She saw David’s features harden slightly at her jibe, but he replied with good grace. ‘Donald is centre back for the Northern League. He’s been there for six years now. Before that, he was in the Americas playing for one of their teams, the Old Bostonians.’
‘Speedball, right?’ asked Jane.
‘Yes,’ said Helena. ‘There are two centre backs in a team of nine: one goal keeper, two centre backs, three midfielders and three attack — at least that’s how I played in the Corps.’ Helena could see it in her mind as she spoke.
David smiled. ‘You play?’
‘Fifty-two years, always centre striker.’
He laughed. ‘Figures.’
Helena suddenly had a thought and, feeling increasingly annoyed for reasons she didn’t want to fathom, she bluntly asked, ‘Are you the youngest?’
David pursed his lips as if to ask her what the problem was. Instead, he shook his head.
‘Figures,’ said Helena, regretting it immediately.
Silence followed, a quiet which flowed between David and Helena like treacle until Jane shuffled around in the chair in an attempt to interrupt it.
Helena watched David, who looked down towards her feet. He stood quite still and she could only guess at the rebuttals he was constructing in his mind, words he’d not venture to say in front of Jane.
‘Helena, fancy a walk?’ said Jane enthusiastically. Helena snatched her attention away from David to look across in surprise.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ said David, focussing on Helena. ‘Your mother’s not the only lead we have here in Jutland.’
Helena’s chagrin peaked as he continued with their charade in front of Jane. Helena wanted to be alone, as she always did when she failed to get what she wanted, but she supposed Jane was hoping to diffuse the situation and that seemed good enough.
David left the room before them, heading up to his bedroom. When his footsteps had receded to muffled taps against floorboards felt more than heard, Jane said, ‘Come on then,’ and skipped from the room. It dawned on Helena that Jane had broken the scene for reasons other than her spat with David.
‘I know he’s the enemy,’ said Jane as they left the house, ‘but it won’t do to antagonise him. You should know that.’ She paused then said, ‘Are you playing good cop bad cop?’ Jane continued without waiting for an answer. ‘Oh, that’s very smart Helena.’
Helena let it slide past her like some curious animal she was content to watch but whose attention she didn’t want to attract. Getting safely away from the house they rounded the perimeter, passing under the eaves of some densely branched trees before reaching the shore. The smell of salt and rotting seaweed assaulted her senses with memories of a tour she’d been on with the Corps’s first 9 speedball team, for whom she’d played until the outbreak of war and the events following the sinking of the Amazon Fell. Jane asked about speedball and, as her interest seemed genuine, Helena allowed herself to be drawn into the conversation.
Helena’s team tag was ‘Trip’. Her style of playing was not as rough as that of some other attackers, but she’d made something of a speciality of leaving centre backs sprawled out and gazing heavenward. She reflected, as the two of them stood quietly for a moment, how the violence of the game seemed controlled in a way she’d never perceived before Africa.
Seeing people shot for daring to try and avoid a mass execution, and being tortured herself, made the fractures and lacerations she routinely suffered playing a game appear insufferably trivial. Helena could have dampened the emotions that swirled around her as memories of Africa were sparked by and intertwined with the violent events of playing Speedball, but she knew she had to let them flow their course if she was to move on. She chuckled wryly to herself. I thought I had moved on.
‘What?’ asked Jane.
‘Nothing, just thinking about something,’ said Helena.
‘Oh.’
Clouds were gathering to the north, piling up into a bank, billow upon billow. Helena could see the smudging of the sky as rain fell out on the horizon.
; ‘How long have you known him?’ asked Jane.
‘I don’t understand,’ replied Helena.
‘How well do you know him?’ said Jane.
Oh please, thought Helena. ‘Not for any extended length of time,’ she said and, knowing what was coming, asked, ‘Why?’
‘You don’t like him, do you?’ asked Jane.
‘It’s not that,’ said Helena.
‘It must be difficult for you to know he’s going to, that he’s got...’ Jane paused, ‘that we’re here to interview your mother.’
Helena held her body still before allowing herself the smallest of frowns as she turned to face Jane rather than conduct the conversation with the sea.
‘I’m not really worried for her.’
‘He’s good material, don’t you think?’ said Jane. Helena watched her face as Jane looked elsewhere, suddenly coy.
‘I suppose so,’ she said neutrally. ‘There’s something unidentifiable about him. He not very sociable though.’
‘You’ve just not tried Helena; it’s been impossible not to notice the frost between the two of you. You say you don’t mind him interviewing your mother but your response to him betrays you. I agree though, he’s not a casual lover. One would have to understand he’s the type who plays a long game.’ Jane sounded almost dreamy.
Helena didn’t know where to begin but Jane had actually made it unnecessary for her to do so. ‘You surprise me, given your training in the core; I’d have expected you to be more in control of your feelings towards David.’
Helena was both glad and dismayed with Jane. She was relieved that whatever secrets she and David held; Jane had absolutely no inkling of their existence. Yet Jane’s belief that she was competing for David’s attention bewildered her. Helena knew that the depth of her feelings for him were not great; she barely knew him and what she did know had been founded on stress, deceit and bloodshed. She regarded Jane’s chances as slim but, even so, she was torn. Jane was too much the society wannabe to hold David’s interest, and likely her own, for any length of time. Jane would prefer to be able to attend a ball, or eat at the right restaurant, than to discuss the philosophical messages in family photographs or crime scenes.
The ambiguity of David’s connections and his authority within the Company left Helena playing catch up. Coupled with the fact that she knew she was falling for him meant Helena was doing her best to simply remain neutral. Jane had constructed a plausible fantasy to explain what she was doing as ‘frost’. It was a fabrication which Helena could not have bettered if she had a week to think of an alternative. If Jane was to be kept away from the telepaths, Helena was going to have to act right up to her perceptions.
You have been distant from him, said her AI.
To both Jane and her AI she said, ‘Perhaps I have been angry with the poor man. I won’t let it get in between us and our mission.’
Given your awareness of your body’s aggressive response when Jane and David have interacted in your absence it is encouraging to know you will adopt this strategy.
Jane narrowed her eyes. ‘You do like him then?’ she said in conclusion. ‘Bit of reverse psychology?’ She winked in approval.
‘It’s minor,’ responded Helena thankfully.
‘Then I can select him?’ asked Jane excitedly.
Helena arched her eyebrows but smiled as broadly as she could. ‘If he’ll have you, don’t you mean? I can’t see you being aloof after such a confession.’
Jane shrugged, more casually than was necessary, thought Helena. ‘Helena, I’m not desperate,’ she said. ‘Let’s go back to the house, the evening’s drawing in.’
AS THEY approached the house from the beach, they were intercepted by one of the concubines. Helena was fairly sure it was the one who had originally relayed their message to her mother. The man made no accommodation for the cool of the evening and bemused, as well as impressed, she watched his buttocks wobble as he led them into the house.
He took them into the kitchen, whose generous views encompassed a range from the lighthouse in the west along the shoreline around to the north-north-east. The clouds were laid low in the sky as night finally found the compound and all Helena could see was darkness unbroken by stars. A soft and ghostly light emanated from the top of the lighthouse; a poor imitation of what it had once been.
They didn’t have to wait for long before David joined them. Third time round, he was better at not being mesmerised by the absurd nakedness of their host. Helena watched him find a spot in the kitchen where he didn’t have to look directly at genitals.
‘Is Edith ready for us?’ asked Helena.
‘She will see her daughter,’ said the man. To Helena, he said, ‘Given your appearance I conclude she means you.’
‘What about us?’ asked David.
‘You may join them in half an hour.’
David sighed angrily but didn’t voice any further objection.
THE LIGHTHOUSE had a small two-storey building attached to it at the point where the tower’s stairs began their ascent from the ground floor. The building was rectangular and ten metres long by six wide with a steep, slate-pitched roof. Where the steps for the lighthouse went to the left, a single half flight of stairs ran up to the entrance of the lean to. The concubine left her at the bottom of the steps, wandering off into the night without a second glance. After watching his receding form Helena began climbing. The stairs ran around the inside of the outer wall. Empty space hung between the interior walls of the lighthouse. In the pale light of the wax candles that were dotted irregularly on the stairs, Helena could just make out that the space had originally provided room for some sort of mechanism. By the fourth floor, looking down into the vertiginous gloom, she figured out that the shaft which had once turned the light the top of the tower would have through the centre of the building.
At the far end of the fifth floor landing was a rusting cast iron door which opened outwards into the chilly air of the night. Helena stepped through to be greeted by the early splattering of the promised storm. The wind whipped erratically around her face, drops of moisture hung in the air as if gravity had been suspended, getting her wet even though it wasn’t raining.
Helena made her way up to the housing and stepped into the softly lit space to find her mother sitting, arms folded with her back to her easel.
Helena wiped away a few strands of damp hair that were valiantly trying to cling to her cheek. Nanomachines whirred furiously to repel the water and dry her out.
She smiled weakly.
‘I’m not coming back, you know,’ said Edith crisply.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Helena.
‘Hell will freeze over before I come back with you,’ reiterated Edith, pulling her folded arms up under her breasts.
‘Hell?’ asked Helena.
‘What?’ said Edith, then, ‘Oh never mind, you’re clearly too young to understand the reference. However, the point stands.’
‘I see,’ said Helena. This was not going quite how she’d expected. Then again, she wasn’t sure what she had expected of this meeting. She didn’t know what delusion her mother was labouring under, but she was going to have to work around it before she could even think about how to find out where her father might be without letting Edith know she was looking for him.
‘You’ve been told about the fleet making landfall south of here then?’ asked Helena, hoping that had something to do with it.
Edith’s head moved backwards on her neck. ‘Fleet? What fleet? There’s a fleet landed in Frederikshavn? One of my concubines is there on an errand for me. As if it weren’t dangerous enough with the Normals playing silly buggers. Is that why Hal sent you?’
‘Hal Lanais?’ guessed Helena.
‘I got a message from him...’ Edith’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you here, darling?’
Helena smiled at Edith and blurted out the naked truth. ‘I needed to see you.’
Edith rolled her eyes, ‘Oh come now, I haven’t seen you, or conta
cted you, in nearly eight years. Nor have you exactly been an attentive daughter. I’m almost hurt.’ She pouted theatrically.
It was Helena’s turn to fold her arms. She realised she was still standing in the doorway with her back exposed to the elements. Even if she didn’t feel their impact, her location gave her mother a stronger position.
Helena moved round, attempting to see what her mother was painting. She wasn’t remotely interested but she knew Edith would scrabble to block her path.
The two of them played out a short tango which resulted in the canvas remaining out of sight, but their movements enabled Helena to position herself on the seaward side of the tower away from the open door.
‘You weren’t born in a barn,’ said Edith, noticing the open door as if for the first time.
‘Really?’ said Helena lightly. Edith held out her hand for a moment; seconds later the door creaked slowly shut.
‘I do so hate wasting my energy,’ said Edith tiredly.
‘You could have invited me into the room, mother,’ said Helena pointedly.
‘You do as you will,’ retorted Edith dismissively.
‘I was brought up to live my life,’ said Helena defensively.
‘And how many have you lived?’ asked Edith, her voice curious.
‘Enough,’ said Helena.
‘Ah,’ said Edith. ‘The answer given by those who don’t know the answer. Did you succeed? Did it make you happy? Was it enough? Have you done enough? What you are saying to me is the life you chose hasn’t satisfied.’ She finished decisively.
Helena was about to disagree when she realised that, at that very moment, her mother was right. It was enough for Helena that Edith might consider herself to have won a small victory, not matter how Pyrrhic.
‘An adequate summary,’ said Helena.
‘Oh,’ said Edith. ‘You gave in so easily.’ She tapped her chin. ‘Am I right? Or is it that you’re interpreting my statement in a narrow enough way that all you’re admitting to is dissatisfaction with this conversation?’ With a harrumph of pleasure she said, ‘At least you’re not intellectually stunted, darling.’
A People's War (The Oligarchy Book 2) Page 9
