“The Kelon don’t tell us who we can or cannot have in attendance at our own events, on our own property,” Rupa added. “Besides, Javen’s no security risk.”
“None at all,” Roshni-ji agreed. “Now, please excuse me. I must go and be social. Rupa, dear?” Her niece took her arm and the two of them went over to speak to the mayor of Hegal.
Shardul and I made our way to the reserved seating behind the award recipients. I recognised one of the youngsters, and shook my head in silent disbelief. “What’s wrong?” Shardul asked.
“Nothing. Tell you later.” I grinned to myself to see Darpak Charan all scrubbed up and looking nothing like the bane of my existence he’d been four years ago when I was still a cop. I wondered which award he was up for, but it didn’t matter. The kid finally had his act together.
Over on the stage, my father greeted Shardul’s aunt with a little bow, which was more polite than I’d ever seen him act towards any indigenous person. I wasn’t so sure Dad would agree I wasn’t a security risk. I was damn sure if this ceremony had been held at the governor’s residence, the audience wouldn’t be more Nihan than Kelon, and I’d have been turned away at the door. My mother’s absence was almost certainly a signal that my parents disapproved of the character of the awards-giving ceremony, if not the fact of the awards themselves.
The Institute’s newly completed conference and lecture hall held five hundred people. Roshni-ji and Rupa could have approved three times that many attendees, so many Nihan wanted to attend. In the end, the compromise was to allow it to be broadcast live so the indigenous people could have a sense of this momentous event—the first of many, I hoped, now the legal judgment had cleared the way for special prizes and sponsorships of Nihan trainees and students. Since Shardul had worked his arse off to help his colleagues win the cases before the High Court six months ago, the trustees of Tanmay Kly’s estate had worked tirelessly to convince the rich and powerful that it would do their image a world of good to be seen to be helping indigenous youth reach their potential. Induma with her looks and charm, and years as the mistress of the wealthy and influential Tanmay Kly, had exploited her contacts with devastating effect. She was now rated not just the most powerful Nihani woman in Medele, but also one of the most prominent female public figures in the country. I had no idea how Tanmay Kly would have felt about that.
Being here was an honour for me, but a pain in the arse too. I really wished I could pop a pill to turn my empathy off in large groups. The best I could do was take a pain reliever for the inevitable headache, and have a stiff drink beforehand. I wondered how Roshni-ji managed. She was, as always, serene and composed, despite five hundred minds pressing on her talent as much as on mine. She’d given me a lot of valuable training over the time I’d known her, but I suspected being an empath from birth gave her advantages I’d never have. Or maybe it was her religion. She gained a lot of strength from her faith—something else I’d never share.
The ceremony was already late, but I detected very little impatience among the excited, happy crowd. A few executives from Denge Consortium, looking out of place among the more simply dressed Nihan, kept checking phones and watches, but the overwhelming sense of anticipation drowned out any possible resentment from them.
My father turned and saw me sitting in the reserved seats. I smiled politely. He scowled and turned around sharply, his stiff back a rebuke and rejection.
“How gracious,” Shardul muttered.
“Told you he wouldn’t be pleased.”
“But not to even feign pleasure at his son’s presence?”
“I think we moved past feigning a while ago. What the hell are we waiting for?”
“The media. Apparently there’s a lead-in studio interview running over time. Ah.” He looked at his phone where a message had flashed up. “They’re ready to go.”
And so they were. My father and the other guests were ushered to their seats on the stage, and the mayor stepped up the podium to greet the audience. “Welcome everyone. Jiagan fulti.” I winced at his Nihani accent, and Shardul rolled his eyes. But hey, the effort was nice. “Thank you for being so patient, not just today, but for the years many of you have waited for your youngsters to take their place at our universities and training colleges. But today is not the time to talk about failures of the past.”
“Why not?” Shardul whispered. I nudged him to shut up.
“With these generous awards from Denge Consortium, we hope that the shortcomings in encouraging our indigenous population will begin to be addressed. Now, I have the great honour of introducing the governor of this region, Governor Rajan Ythen.”
My father smiled at the audience while managing to studiously avoid looking in my direction. A neat trick since I was directly in front of him. I wondered where my mother was—up at the hospital with Tara again? My sister-in-law was so fed up with being pregnant. Another three weeks, the doctors said, before she could be safely delivered, poor kid.
“Welcome everyone. The honour is in fact mine, Mayor Klosil, to see so many of our finest young people here before me, and to know their academic excellence will be rewarded.”
Shardul cleared his throat quietly in what I suspected was a sarcastic manner.
“As you know, the awards today are just one initiative the regional government has instituted as part of the national court-mandated rectification of indigenous disadvantage. This region will pay a hundred thousand dolar this year alone in grants and scholarships, and I have personally ordered ten traineeships within the gubernatorial administration to assist Nihani youth increase their participation in the structure of government.”
My father droned on. It was all great news for the Nihan, and long overdue, but it didn’t have the emotional impact of Shardul bursting into my office six months ago.
The shockwaves had been felt as far as Kelon, and the decision still rippled through every sector of our society. The national council of governors had swiftly ordered regions to begin work to comply with the court ruling, and while Dad’s government, restrained by budgets and politics, had so far only come up with token gestures, big companies like Denge Consortium, looking to investors back on Kelon, had offered more substantial schemes. This wasn’t an accident. Induma Kly and the Institute had been laying the groundwork for over a year, anticipating a favourable judgement from the court. It would still take many years before today’s award recipients helped to improve the lot for all their people, but it was a start. A very good start.
The audience applauded. Oh good, Dad had finished. I looked up and caught him giving me a glare. Maybe he’d noticed my attention wandering. Oh well.
The mayor rose again. “Thank you, governor. Now to the heart of the event today. Let me introduce a man whose industrial and financial achievements need no introduction. Sri Kaushik Denge, of Denge Consortium.”
As the audience applauded again, I studied the man walking to the podium. Unlike Tanmay Kly, Denge kept out of the spotlight, though his company was behind a number of high-profile business and ventures in Medele. He was a big man, heavy, with greying hair and hooded eyes under thick dark eyebrows. He exuded vitality and power, feet placed apart like a commander of battalions. I’d hate to be the man who crossed him.
He made a short speech, and then invited Roshni-ji to come up to join in the prize-giving. A nice touch, and as everything was being televised, good for PR too. I imagined selected clips would find their way into the Consortium’s annual report to shareholders, but so long as Denge kept paying for scholarships, I couldn’t really begrudge him the advertising.
Darpak received a medical traineeship grant. I grinned at him as he sat down, but he didn’t recognise me. It’d had been over four years and a lifetime ago, after all.
“You know that boy?” Shardul asked.
“Yeah. Toe-rag made good.”
“Ah.”
As each student came forward, family and friends moved into position near the stage to take photos of Denge handing over c
ertificates and Roshni-ji clasping their hands. All the manoeuvring caused a bit of confusion, but the audience remained happy and not at all impatient with the lengthy roll call, though I noticed one fellow, sweating hard and anxious about something, making his way to the bathrooms at the side. Looked ill to me. I hoped he wasn’t infectious. Might have been the heat in here from all the people—the ventilation was barely coping.
My father spoke to many of the recipients, smiling his political smile. Damn hypocrite. He’d never had done anything for the Nihan without being pushed into it, and yet here he was, making capital out of the opportunity.
“It’s nearly over, so stop scowling.”
I shook myself. “Yeah. Sorry, just thinking....”
“About family? We can’t choose them. All we can do is transcend them.”
I looked at Shardul. “You feel that way about your parents?”
“They are the finest people I know. To transcend them is a challenge to me, not an insult to them. You loved him once.”
“I still do. I just don’t like him. Or admire him. I used to do both.”
“A loss to grieve for, I admit. Perhaps one day you’ll recover it.”
“Doubt it.”
The last student walked up to the stage, and the man I’d noticed before, the one who looked ill, came forward too. His father, maybe? Brother perhaps. He pulled something out of his pack, and, horrified, I realised the dark metal object wasn’t a camera or phone.
I leapt to my feet. “Gun! Everyone get down! He’s got a gun!”
People screamed. Most ducked, but a few fools stayed on their feet. A couple even moved closer to the gunman. I yelled at them to get down and stay the hell away from him.
Damn it, there were no guards at the front of the hall, and those at the back weren’t reacting fast enough. I reached for my own gun as I pushed Shardul down, only to remember, damn it, that I’d left it behind because no weapons were allowed at the ceremony. How the hell had this guy smuggled one in?
Above the yelling and shrieks, the man with the gun shouted, “No one move! Please. No one will be hurt if you do as I say.”
He walked onto the stage, the gun held in front of him. “Everyone here, stay where you are,” he said to my father and the mayor. “Everyone else, please leave the hall quickly.”
People scrabbled to obey, knocking over chairs and fighting each other to get to the exits, pushing the guards back towards the doors.
Bugger that. I pushed forward against the panicking tide of humanity, struggling to reach the stage. I barely registered Shardul moving in my wake, coming with me. The man pointed the gun at me as I walked up the stage steps. “Please don’t come any closer.”
I stopped. “I’m Governor Ythen’s son. If you want a hostage, take me. Let the mayor and others go.”
“I am Roshni-ji’s nephew,” Shardul said. “Please, she’s old and blind. Take me.”
His aunt, nowhere near as helpless as he made out, frowned at him. “Shardul, you can’t.”
“Muor, please.”
The man looked at Roshni-ji, and Rupa, cluthing her aunt’s arm. “Go. Both of you. And the mayor. This one and this one stay.” He’d indicated my father and Denge. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Shardul agreed. “Your honour? Roshni-ji? Please, go with Rupa. Go and don’t stop.”
The mayor bolted. Roshni-ji came to me and put her hand on my arm, and on Shardul’s. “Spirit guide you both. I will pray for your safety.”
“Thanks. Rupa, please, get out of here,” I said.
The man waited until the hall was empty. “You,” he said, pointing at me. “Please lock the doors and bolt them from the inside, then come back.”
He was the politest criminal I’d ever met. I did as he ordered, not willing to put Dad’s life or the others at risk. The guards clustered at the doorway. I told them to stay back and wait for the police. No way did I want these amateurs handling a hostage crisis.
When I returned, Dad and Denge were seated. “Both of you, please sit too,” he said. “I must insist you do what I say. I am wearing a bomb, see?” He pulled his jacket open, revealing ominous grey blocks of what I guessed to be explosive, wires and flashing controls. Definitely looked like a bomb to me. “If I let go the control in my left hand, we will all die.” A control was wired to his index finger, and his thumb held a trigger down. “Please, do as I say, and no one will be hurt.”
Shardul and I obeyed. The man was dressed in shabby, neat clothes, though it looked as if he’d been sleeping in them. His accent was very strong—a rural Nihan, I thought. Shardul would probably be able to tell where he came from by his braid pattern, but I couldn’t make anything of it.
“So what do you want? What’s your name?” I asked, keeping my voice pleasant. Hostage rule number one. Be polite to the man in charge.
“My name is—” He stopped to cough harshly, and it took a few moments for him to recover his composure. “I am Ekanga.”
“Ekanga, I’m Javen, and this is Shardul. We don’t want anyone hurt, so why don’t you tell us what you want?”
He straightened, his mouth thinning in his over-pale face. “I want justice for my family, and my village. I want it from him.” He gestured towards Denge with the gun. “I want justice for two dead children, and my wife who is sick, and my son who is dying.”
I kept smiling. Fuck. A gunman with a mission was likely to be a lot more driven than one looking for a fat ransom. “That’s a big task,” I said. “You want to sit? You look a little unwell.”
“Thank you, but I will stand.” He switched the gun over to his other hand, holding it awkwardly with the switch—every eye in the room focussed on the trigger until he had the weapon safe—and brought out a hypoinjector from his pocket with the other. He injected himself in the neck, shuddering. Great, a junkie with a gun.
“You can’t possibly escape,” my father said to him.
Shut up, Dad. “I think he knows that,” I said to my father, who glared at me for my impertinence. “Let Ekanga tell us what he wants us to do, and then we can all go home, right? You’re not here to kill anyone, are you, Ekanga?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to kill,” he said, before coughing. “The Seeker forbids it and there have been too many dead.”
“This is ridiculous,” Denge said. “I haven’t killed or hurt anyone. You’ve got the wrong man.”
The gun swung towards him. Ekanga radiated hate and his nostrils flared. “No, I don’t think so. Your company owns the mines in the Parleng mountains, yes?”
“A subsidiary does. They’re run according to the law.”
Ekanga sneered. “The law that you and your people buy off and cheat whenever you want, so you can poison the water and the land and let us die like insects.”
“Nonsense. He’s insane.” Denge appealed to us all with spread hands. No one offered him any comfort.
Oh good work, Denge. Call the man with a gun crazy to his face. “So what is it you want Sri Denge to do? You want compensation?” I asked.
Ekanga stared at me, then spat on the floor, loathing pouring off him. “Money. That’s all you Kelon think about. Money won’t bring my children back, or save the lives of my wife and child.”
“Or you,” Shardul said quietly. “Ekanga, I’m not Kelon, as you see. May I stand and come closer? I want to see something.”
Ekanga frowned. “Why?”
“Trust me. I am your brother in the Spirit.”
What the hell was he up to? I didn’t want him going near this guy. But Ekanga nodded and Shardul stood, walking slowly over to him, hands raised. “I am going to look at the injector in your pocket, and then your arms.”
“I have a bomb,” Ekanga said, moving back a little.
“Yes. I won’t interfere.” He reached into the inner pocket and drew out not only the hypoinjector but also a bottle of pills. “Your arm?”
Ekanga allowed him to push up his sleeve. Even from this distance, I could make out the li
vid purple marks on his pale skin. “Thank you,” Shardul said, putting the drugs back into Ekanga’s jacket. “You’re also dying, aren’t you?”
“All that matters is to stop it happening to anyone else.”
Shardul nodded, and turned to us. “He has lojeta poisoning.”
Denge suddenly went very still. I had no idea what Shardul was talking about, so I asked the obvious question. “What’s that?”
“Lojeta is a rare mineral found here and there through this continent, in association with nixum and other ores. When our people first settled here, there were deaths among those collecting clay and minerals for pottery and beadwork in certain regions. Left undisturbed, the deposits are not a hazard, and the land can be farmed. But when it leaches into the water supply, the poison builds up in those drinking it and causes organ failure, abortions, deformities and other illness.”
“We have no other water supply,” Ekanga said. “Even the rain water, which isn’t enough, is polluted by the mine dust. The officials investigated and measured, but then said there was no measurable amount of lojeta in the water.” He shook his blotchy arm at us. “This is imaginary, is it? My sons died of natural causes?”
“The mines caused this?” my father asked, then turned to Denge. “You must have known about this.”
Denge folded his arms. His expression was angry, but I sensed more fear than anger. “No report reached me, and if it was investigated, then the mineral must be present elsewhere than in the water.”
“You’re lying,” Ekanga said, advancing a little, gun in his shaking hand pointed at Denge. “The head of my village wrote to you personally to plead for help. He received a note thanking him for bringing the matter to your attention.” He pulled a piece of paper from his outside jacket pocket, and threw it on the floor. “There.”
Shardul bent and retrieved it. “It’s a letter from Sri Denge’s office as he said,” he confirmed after scanning it. He walked over and showed it to my father. “Doesn’t prove the original letter said what he claims but....”
Different Senses Page 40
