Cataveiro: The Osiris Project (Osiris Project 2)

by E. J. Swift

  He cannot remember ever having so little faith in his own judgement. All his life he has been decisive and confident. If a decision was right, it was right. If it was wrong, let it be wrong and take the consequences. The important thing was that the decision was taken, in love and work and everything in between. Now he wavers over the tiniest action. Every thought, every word he utters is subject to dozens of minute deliberations.

  If you say this …

  If you don’t say this …

  He’ll trust you …

  He won’t trust you …

  He doesn’t trust you anyway …

  You can’t trust her …

  You don’t know what she knows …

  And now you’ve said that …

  Cataveiro is chipping away at the core of who he is, and he hates the city for it. You ask a Patagonian the history of their city and they’ll spin you tales until your head is dizzy, but the truth is, the city’s name is only one letter away from the Portuguese word for captivity. That is the only story Taeo needs to know.

  When he climbs the stairs to the rooms (he cannot think of them as his rooms, or their rooms, they are simply the rooms) he hears voices. There is a burst of low laughter, friendly, conspiratorial. Is it coming from the fifth floor? It sounds like Vikram’s voice. He is sure of it. He climbs faster. Vikram should know not to—

  At the top of the building, a girl is sitting on the threshold of Madame Bijou’s. He has seen her a couple of times, a funny-looking thing with acne and protruding eyes that give her an expression of permanent surprise. She is smoking a cigarette and nattering into a handheld radio. The voice coming out of it is male. When the girl sees Taeo she stops talking and waits until he has gone into the rooms before resuming her conversation.

  The girl’s secrecy instantly lowers his mood, as does the confirmation of his own paranoia. He takes the shopping inside. The door to the room where Vikram sleeps is closed, and he finds himself relieved. It is easier not to face the Osirian. A twinge of by now habitual guilt accompanies the thought. It wasn’t meant to be like this. They should have been on a ship by now. A pardon for him and a fresh start for Vikram. Instead, the lies he has told seem bigger and more impossible to retract with each passing day. He feels transparent, as though Vikram might see through him at any moment. But even if he wanted to, how could he tell the truth now?

  Taeo unpacks the bags slowly. Most of what he has bought can be prepared by pouring boiling water over it. Packets of powdered nutrition. Fuel rather than food.

  The door to Vikram’s room is closed.

  Suddenly anxious, Taeo knocks on the door.

  ‘Hello?’

  There is no answer. He eases the handle quietly and pushes the door ajar. Inside no lights are on; other than a sliver of daylight through the shutters, the room is entirely dark. Taeo has to open the door further to make out the figure of Vikram – it is Vikram – lying on the bed.

  His heart rate evens again. He is about to close the door when Vikram stirs.

  ‘You’re back.’

  ‘Did I wake you up?’

  ‘No. I was just hoping the dark might help.’

  ‘Help what?’

  Vikram rolls slowly to sitting and swings his legs over the bed. He kneads the heel of his hand into his forehead. His face is screwed up in frustration or pain.

  ‘It’s these fucking headaches.’

  ‘You’re getting headaches?’

  ‘I’ve been getting them, I don’t know, ever since the shipwreck. I thought it was because I was dehydrated, but I’m fine now. My leg’s good, I’m eating enough, everything’s fine apart from being cooped up in this fucking place, so why am I still getting them? And why are they getting worse? This isn’t right, it isn’t me.’

  Vikram leans his head into his palms, kneading ferociously.

  ‘If I could just get a drink of tea. I know I’d feel better.’

  Tea. The simplicity of the request relieves Taeo; tea he can deal with.

  ‘You should have said. We can get tea. I’ll go back out now, if that helps.’

  ‘Can you get coral tea?’

  ‘Coral, what’s that? An – Osiris thing?’ He still feels nervous saying the city’s name, even in private.

  ‘Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know where it came from. I don’t know, I never went to a tea factory. I just need it.’

  ‘Is it made from coral?’

  ‘No, it’s the colour, the colour, not the stuff.’ Vikram looks up at him agitatedly. He almost looks like he might cry. ‘You can’t get it here, can you?’

  There is something uncomfortably familiar about Vikram’s gestures. His tone of voice, the tremor of desperation. His hands clenched into fists. For a moment, Taeo has the surreal sensation of looking into a mirror, seeing himself as he must have appeared to others. It is not a pleasant experience. On the contrary, it makes him want to run, as fast as he can, away from this room and everything in it and anyone who might ever see him again.

  He pulls himself together.

  ‘How often did you drink this coral tea?’

  ‘Every day. At least, when I was in the city it was every day. Less before that, on the other side. In the west, what we had wasn’t as good. You cut it with rum, you know, when it’s cold. When I used to go out with the work parties … But everyone drank it.’

  The mumbled words seem to cost Vikram a great effort.

  ‘And on the boat? You had it on the boat?’

  ‘Yes, we had supplies. Some we lost.’

  ‘Is it just the headaches? Is there anything else?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘You said you needed the tea.’

  ‘I do, I know it’ll fix me.’

  ‘So you’re thinking about it a lot. All the time.’

  ‘I suppose so. I know it’ll help, so yes, I’m thinking about it. I’m thinking about anything that’ll help, I don’t care what it is.’

  ‘There’s quite a simple explanation,’ says Taeo.

  ‘What’s that then?’

  ‘You’re addicted.’

  Vikram laughs. The movement makes him wince. ‘To tea?’

  ‘You’re getting the cravings, the rebound headaches. It’s obvious. Whatever it was you were drinking in Osiris, it’s highly addictive.’

  Vikram frowns. ‘I’m not sure. Isn’t that a bit far-fetched? Coral tea? Seriously? I mean just because you—’ He breaks off, but Taeo can finish the sentence for himself.

  ‘Trust me,’ he says. ‘I know what I’m talking about.’

  It is Vikram’s turn to regard him for a long time. Suddenly, Taeo’s heart is beating fast. The walls feel very close. He is acutely aware of how thick the air sits. The infernal heat. Why does it matter if this man, this stranger, knows him for what he is? But it does matter. It matters because Vikram is the way back. And it matters, he realizes, because he cares about this man’s opinion.

  ‘The poppy fields,’ says Vikram.

  He does not need to say anything else. Taeo can see Vikram’s growing comprehension as the final pieces slot into place. He is surprised by the relief, how large it is, how shaky and abruptly vulnerable he feels.

  ‘Do you want a glass of water?’ he asks. Vikram nods.

  Taeo goes to the fridge and gets two glasses. The fridge is their single luxury, a luxury he appreciates more than ever now, as he gulps down mouthfuls of the cold water. He can feel the coolness tracing a line from his throat down to his stomach.

  He turns to Vikram. ‘Can I show you something?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Taeo retrieves the holoma from his room. ‘This is an Antarctican device.’

  Vikram nods, an expression of curiosity replacing his earlier agitation. Unlike the Patagonians, the sight of the machine does not appear to disturb the Osirian. Taeo activates the holoma and pulls up Shri in stasis. Her hologram shimmers between them.

  ‘This is my partner.’

  ‘She’s very beautiful.’

 
Shri is frowning a little. Taeo used to think it meant she was cross about something, but in fact it is her perpetual expression of greeting for the universe: Hello, what are you, how are you?

  ‘When I came here,’ he begins, ‘I’d lost everything. Shri … well, she may never forgive me. My children are on the other side of the Southern Ocean, being told by everyone they know that I’m a traitor. People are vicious. The ones you’d never guess are the worst, the ones you thought were your friends. Shri and the kids had to go and live with my cousin in some back-ice mining town, miles from anywhere. Anyway, when I got here, I had one thing. I was rich.’ He laughs bitterly. ‘Antarctican currency is worth a lot in this country. The opium was … too easy.’

  Vikram studies the hologram. ‘Your partner. Shri. She’s alive?’

  ‘Yes, she’s alive. And she hates me.’

  ‘Then you haven’t lost everything.’

  ‘I left her a disgraced citizen and I’ll return to her an addict, if she’ll ever have me back.’

  ‘You’ve got to stop feeling sorry for yourself,’ says Vikram.

  ‘What?’

  Vikram repeats each word, slowly, as if talking to an imbecile. ‘You’ve got to stop feeling sorry for yourself.’

  Taeo stares at the younger man, unable to mask his indignation. ‘Who the fuck—’

  ‘I mean it,’ says Vikram. ‘You want to get better, right? You want to get home? So start fighting. You’ve got someone to go back to. So fight for them.’

  Vikram is leaning forwards now, his eyes, those intense brown eyes, blazing with a passion Taeo has not seen before.

  ‘The friends I grew up with are dead,’ he says. ‘The woman that I loved is dead. So don’t talk to me about having lost everything. Your family are safe. You have Shri. You have your children. And now you’ve got me.’

  The words are a shock. This is the closest Vikram has come to admitting he knows Taeo’s game. And he hasn’t finished.

  ‘Fortunately for you, I want to go to Antarctica. I want a new life. So from now on, if it’s no addictive coral tea for me, and I doubt we’re going to find any in Cataveiro, then it’s no opium for you. Deal?’

  Taeo feels dazed. It’s as if he has been struck a blow to the head. ‘All right,’ he manages. ‘Deal.’

  But as soon as he has spoken, the cravings start. The thought of the smoke, the sweet oblivion …

  Stop it. Stop it now. You’ve got to stop or it’s going to get you for good.

  ‘Tell me about Shri,’ says Vikram. ‘And will you turn that thing off? I don’t want to offend you, but it’s freaking me out having her in the room with us.’

  Taeo laughs. The laugh surprises him, and after a moment, Vikram laughs too.

  ‘All right.’ He wraps the holoma carefully in its cloth. ‘Shri. Well, she’s – she’s fierce.’ That is the first word that comes to his mind. Fierce about life, fierce about love. Like the sun at the close of winter, with all its heat and potency and wonder. ‘She’s strong. Intelligent. Not just smart – she understands people, you know. What they’re about. You’ll meet her, when we get to Antarctica.’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘I met her at First Light. It’s a festival we have, at the end of winter. People in the streets, dancing … It’s special. She went against her family to be there. And to be with me.’

  That interests Vikram.

  ‘Her family don’t like you?’

  ‘She has Indian heritage. I’m Brazilian. I mean, not any more, but those roots go deep, for some people. We have different languages of the home. Her family would have preferred her to stay in her own community. But sometimes I wonder … I don’t know.’

  ‘Wonder what?’

  ‘If it was something more than that.’ Taeo shrugs. ‘It seemed too easy an excuse for them. Who knows, perhaps I’ll never know.’

  ‘My city was divided too. The other side, the City side, that was the original Osiris. In the west, where I grew up, we had – well, we had nothing. But I lived on the City side, for a while. I got across the border.’

  ‘What were you, an activist?’

  Vikram grins. ‘Something like that.’

  He remembers Vikram’s talk of underwater.

  ‘Is that why they put you in jail?’

  ‘Yeah. Twice.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it was an easy task.’

  The Osirian shakes his head. ‘No. But someone had to do it. I was told that, a long time ago. Sometimes there’s no one to do a thing but you. I suppose I always tried to live up to that. I don’t know if I succeeded.’

  ‘The woman you loved. What was her name?’

  A muscle works in Vikram’s throat. When he speaks, his voice is gruff and stifled. ‘She was called Adelaide.’

  ‘She must have been glad to have known you.’

  ‘She was an idiot,’ says Vikram angrily. ‘She got herself killed. It was so fucking typical of her, to do that.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘It was my fault. It was both of us. We were both stupid.’ His voice grows quieter. ‘Sometimes I wish I’d died in there too. I did think about it, you know. Afterwards. More than once. But where I come from, that’s not what you do.’

  Vikram falls silent. Taeo can sense the depths of his grief: so vast, so achingly empty. To imagine Shri dead is to imagine the world tearing open beneath his feet; it is cataclysmic. Unthinkable. The Osirian is right. He still has her. He still has the children. Most importantly, he has a chance to win Shri back. He pictures them now. Early evening. The light is long and steady over the ice fields behind Nyari Town. They’ll be eating together. Kadi directing the feeding of Nisha because she takes after her mother, that one. That gives him a pang because he always loved preparing the family meal, with all the small squabbles and triumphs of the day that emerged over eating. The sense of togetherness.

  Vikram stirs from his contemplation.

  ‘So what do we do next?’

  Taeo speaks firmly. ‘I’ll go back to the Alaskan tomorrow. I’ll get information out of her. She knows more than she’s saying. I can’t believe she doesn’t have Antarctican connections.’

  A decision. A decision that is firm and solid; he can examine it from all angles and know that it is right.

  And something else. He has made a friend; his first in this foreign country.

  In his sleep that night, Taeo dreams of the smoke. The perfect, rising helix coil, the wisps of silvery white in the dark room, his body suspended, cocooned in it. He dreams that the smoke lifts him into the sky and carries him gently home. It drops him in their bedroom where the blue lights of Vosti glow through the crack in the curtains, and Shri is by his side. She whispers: I love you, I forgive you. They have both become the smoke, wrapped in the ecstasy of their reunification. When he wakes, the dream is so perfect there are tears on his face that he did not know he had cried.

  A new day. A new identity.

  The first thing he does when he gets up is to take the pipe and the lighters and all the paraphernalia he has kept and stuff them into a bag. He’ll throw it when he leaves the building.

  He dresses carefully for his appointment with the Alaskan. For the first time in weeks he shaves, watching his jawline emerge from the stubble, surprised by the transformation offered by this simple act. He has grown accustomed to a wild, flustered appearance. Red veins mark his corneas, and there are new, deeper lines around the eyes and lips, but there too is the man he recognizes: the engineer he used to be. This is a man who knows about diamond and yttrium and the energy of the future. A father, and a partner.

  Today will be the day. Today, he will get what they need.

  26 ¦

  CARLA’S NIECE IS a slip of a girl, a dreamer, the kind of child you cannot help but fear is too fragile for life’s rough hand. She is nervous and frightened. Carla encourages her gently.

  ‘Come on, pet. Tell Ramona what you saw.’

  Ramona crouches so she is on the same level
as the child.

  ‘Anything you can remember, any little detail, will help me.’

  Slowly, holding her impatience in check, she extracts Gabi’s story. The girl was on her way uphill, ‘to see old Inés’. She was instructed to check on Inés and if she needed it, collect water from the tank. ‘Because, you know, it’s heavy, and Carla said she shouldn’t strain herself with the—’ she glances nervously at Carla but the woman nods: you can say it ‘—the jinn.’

  She saw the first raider approaching the shack from higher up the mountain. It wasn’t one of their people. Gabi knew that right away. She knew she had to hide. She dropped down to the ground and watched from between the grasses.

  The first raider was a woman. She looked like a Patagonian but not like a Patagonian. She was sunburned, but under it her skin was pale. She was very tall and she wore clothes that were the same colour as the dry scrub, as if she were one of those lizards who sit motionless for hours, not noticed by anyone, because their scales look like everything around them.

  The woman moved like a reptile too, quiet and creeping, in a way that scared Gabi and made her certain she was up to no good. Then she saw the others. There were two men, converging on the shack. Gabi was too terrified to move.

  The raiders did not strike immediately. They waited for a long time, Gabi was not sure how long, but at least thirty minutes. In that time Gabi did not dare to move. Her bladder was bursting. She was scared she would pee and the sound would be enough to alert them. At last she saw Inés come out of the house. Inés saw the first raider but she didn’t look scared, said Gabi. She looked angry. She shouted something. Gabi thought it was, ‘What do you want?’

  Inés turned to go back inside and as she did there was a soft sound, phutt, like that, and something struck her. She looked down. Gabi saw a thing, something metal, shiny, robotic, sticking out of Inés’s stomach. Inés fell to the ground.

  The raider woman walked towards Inés. Gabi held both hands over her mouth so she would not scream. The woman knelt and looked at her lying there, helpless, making no sound. Gabi was sure she was going to kill her. Then the raider tested her weight. She hoisted the old woman over her shoulder and walked away, the other raiders following behind her, one watching their backs until they disappeared out of sight.