Aijlan

by Andy Graham

  “Some individuals within my government started their own little club,” De Lette said, “a secret society where they claimed to be discussing the secrets of the universe, the untold truths that the Old Lady, Mother Nature, hides from us. I hear they discussed other topics too: changes, timings, portents, and other things that directly concerned my interests. One man, a man with the moral fortitude of a carnivorous vegan, promised them great things if they would support his cause. I was fortunate enough to be in a position where I could offer them greater things.” A look of exaggerated disappointment spread across De Lette’s face as he peered into his glass. ”Oh, dear, the ice cracked. I guess you’ll have to start again.”

  Without a word, Hamilton took the glass, his hand trembling.

  “You think you have something on me, Franklin?” said De Lette. “Trust me, it’s nothing compared to the information I have on some individuals. Certain members of my government have a few unsavoury predilections that parents of young children in particular may find distasteful. There is a hierarchy to moral outrage, one which is easily manipulable. But some things will always press the right buttons, no matter how little they need to be exaggerated.”

  Rick heard a whimper from behind him. The president scowled at Hamilton, who seemed to be scuttling while standing still.

  “Starving a man of his self-esteem is almost as good as starving a man of food, Major Franklin. Remember that after today, and remember that those of us higher up in the food chain feed on other people’s self-esteem like vampires on a battlefield.”

  De Lette’s toothy grin disappeared, his hooded eyes following his successor around the room. He patted his belly. Pink, hairy flesh was just visible under the material straining between the buttons. “Life in the shadows suits me. Less time under the spotlight, away from the camera lens is good. I’m tired of being the example I’m supposed to be. Someone else can be the figurehead, the visible face of Aijlan, and what’s left of Karth. Public figures are supposed to be youthful today: slim, with good hair, and teeth, able to dazzle with a scripted speech. They’re circus animals, stress-tested and trained to repeat the same answer, no matter what the question. I’m tired of it, the high-profile pantomime. I want freedom. Life doing what someone else tells me to do, however,” he tutted, “never.”

  “If you don’t agree to my demands, I will release the video,” Rick said. He forced the words from his hoarse throat. “I want you to come out of the shadows, and confess to your role in this sham revolution, and the hangings.”

  De Lette took a sip of his drink, pulling his lips back over his teeth as he swilled it around his mouth. “No ‘sir’ this time? I heard that your family had a touch of the disobedient about you, a taste for rebellion. Would you go against the will of the people, Major? The ever-so-spontaneous, popular revolt that has got us where we are today?”

  “If it’s all a lie, then yes,” Rick said.

  “But it’s not. The new government will be seen to be listening to the people about their grievances. My friend here,” he nodded to Hamilton, “is a fine actor. Show him your ‘we mean business’ look, Luke,” he commanded.

  Hamilton obliged.

  “And your ‘concerned’ look.”

  Luke Hamilton twitched, his face moulding into a different expression.

  “No, no, no,” De Lette said. “‘Concerned’, not ‘playing with the kids.’”

  Hamilton jumped as if he had been electrocuted.

  De Lette sniggered, running his tongue across his slug-like lips. “Really, Major. Would you want a man like that running the country?”

  Rick kept his mouth shut, revulsion and fear warring across his face.

  “All politicians are good actors, but my friend here is particularly good, given the right incentives. Even when drunk. Amazing what some people can do when inebriated,” said De Lette, waving his glass around.

  “Sir—” Rick began.

  De Lette held up a podgy finger. “As for the people, the government will keep stoking the fires in their bellies. We’ll release the occasional story of a benevolent foreigner who ‘is not like the others’ just to keep our citizens on their toes. An emotional population is more easily led. And then, my trade deals will go ahead. I have invested too much in them for them not to, and it’s the only way the nation will see its money again. It’s the right thing to do, even your friend Beth agrees, ‘a sure-thing, no ifs, ands, or buts’.” He looked at Rick, his eyebrows raised, stirring the ice cube in his glass with a finger.

  Rick replayed the sentence in his mind, hearing Beth’s voice overlaid on De Lette’s. Through the lead-framed window that was thicker at the bottom than the top, Rick saw the sun dip behind the horizon, dragging the last of its warmth with it. Icy moonlight flooded through the window, outlining the man facing him.

  “You lied to her. That camera in my work room was on.”

  De Lette sucked the alcohol off his finger. “No. I had another one installed.”

  Rick’s memory flashed through the time alone with Beth in his little office: the files that had been moved, the dust that had been disturbed from the shelves.

  “I never said I wouldn’t do that,” De Lette said. “There was no lie. It seems young Laudanum still has a lot to learn. I’d happily teach her, in return for her sitting on my lap occasionally, but she seems to have a peculiar issue with that. She does make good tea though; she’ll have to teach her replacement the recipe.”

  Rick’s hands tightened around his wrists. He stared at the black panel of sky, peppered with red and blue flashing lights. A fog rolled off the river, obscuring the moons.

  “We have a problem, Frederick,” De Lette said in flat tones. “I don’t want to lose you, your status in society is too well revered. I considered sacrificing you to the cause, a tragic, untimely death would have worked well for us, but I was persuaded that you have a lot more to contribute. Your sun-fans are a genius idea, for example.”

  He took a sip from the glass, rolled the drink around his mouth, and necked the lot. “However, I’m not going to sacrifice the fragile stability we have just re-established in Aijlan. Bringing the people who committed the hangings to justice would destabilise society, undermine the peace that is now stalking the streets. I could have just resigned, but a revolution was a perfect opportunity for me to do some late spring cleaning, clear out some dead wood and get rid of the people too honest to be bought off. And it’s so much more fun,” he said, grinning.

  “You murdered them!” Rick took a step forwards.

  “I martyred them. Essentially the same thing, but just a spelling mistake away from being very different. Some of those people may be honoured to have died for the cause they were fighting for.”

  Rick shuddered, hearing Beth’s words as if she were standing next to him. ‘Give someone a knock, a stinger, or a bath.’ Dissembling language that ran rings around the truth. She had been right, again.

  “Stop the word games. You killed them.”

  “I didn’t kill them, and even in the unofficial records, my name is not mentioned,” De Lette said.

  “But—”

  De Lette’s finger tightened around his glass. “Think on this, Major. If these people are not out there fomenting dissent and discord, we will have peace much more quickly. The population will be able to eat and sleep in safety much sooner. We can relax curfew, allow alcohol again, let people watch TV, switch our Internet servers back on. Isn’t that a worthwhile sacrifice? Wouldn’t you cut the head off an endangered animal, a mythical beast such as a dragon, if it were threatening your people? Some animals, rebellion, strikes, coups, are much more dangerous than the wasps you and your ex are so worried about.”

  “And what if that animal is a hydra?” Rick asked. “This insurrection could just be the beginning.”

  De Lette slammed the glass down on a table with a crack that made Rick jump. “Then you make sure you chop the heads off faster than they can regrow. And if that doesn’t work you take its legs and
its heart. And then its young.”

  In the silence of the room, Rick could hear his own sweat dripping off his chin. It splashed off his shoe, the scuffed one, and landed on the presidential seal stitched into the rug under his feet. A dull ache was spreading through his shoulder, into his neck, his little finger. “I still have your video,” he said.

  The president shook his head. The glass clinked as he shoved it around the table with a fingernail.

  “Frederick, or should I call you Richard?” He raised his eyebrows. “You’re not reading between the lines. I have your video. It turns out that loyalty really does get you nowhere.”

  A chill ran up Rick’s legs, burning through his hips and into his groin. “How?” he asked.

  The president eased himself up out of his chair, and leant over his desk. There was a slight catch in his throat, a wheeze as the breath whistled in and out. The intercom crackled into life. “We’re ready for you now,” he said.

  The main door opened. Rick kept his eyes fixed on the image of Karth though the window. One of the moons had crested a cloud, its pale light bathing the ruined city beneath it. He didn’t want to turn around; he didn’t want to know.

  Someone stopped next to him, a faint smell of perfume drifting over. It brought back memories that he tried to crush. This couldn’t be, not her, not like this.

  XXIX - A Handshake

  Rick refused to look round. If he couldn’t see her, then this wasn’t true. It was juvenile, but that felt better than the alternative.

  The corners of De Lette’s mouth twitched as he studied them both. “Oh,” he said. “You think your Bethina betrayed you? Wonderful, I never thought of doing that.” He clapped his hands together, jowls of fat jiggling under his chin as he giggled. “Show him the video, Laudanum.”

  Beth held out a small portable computer screen. Rick took it, his fingers greasy with sweat. The video he had stumbled across was already playing. He watched it to its conclusion, replaying it twice.

  “This has been edited. You’re not in it anymore.”

  “This, on the other hand, hasn’t,” De Lette replied. He shunted the cigar box out of the way, and spun the screen of his desk computer around.

  On it was a still image of Rick clasping Beth’s hands, cupping her waist, lips locked in a kiss. His stomach flipped. Beth’s head dropped.

  “That’s not what it seems,” Rick said.

  “Oh, well then. That’s fine. I’m sure on the moral outrage scale a little infidelity is nothing that can’t be overcome, eventually.”

  Rick could feel an acidic taste at the back of his throat. He kept his gaze fixed on De Lette. He was not going to give this man an easy victory, the satisfaction of scuttling his self-esteem. “What do you want?”

  The president toggled a key on his computer. The picture whirled inwards, blurred pixels refocusing on their lips, their eyes squeezed shut. A gesture of love and affection twisted into one of betrayal, just like in the old texts. De Lette’s voice was low and soft, like the footsteps of a thief.

  “I want you to accept the fact that the people you think of as baddies need to get away with their crimes. That way the majority of the population can keep living as goodies. Then I want you to tell me where you’ve stored the other copy of this video you alluded to,” said the president. “We found the remains of that notepad you were scribbling on in your little office. We know you uploaded it somewhere, but we don’t know where. You covered your digital tracks remarkably well, and the camera we installed in that room couldn’t see your keystrokes. Then, I want you to keep your mouth shut,” De Lette smiled at Hamilton, who was downing a large glass of a thin brown liquid. The VP refilled it as quickly as he drank it.

  “What kind of politics is this?” Rick shoved the screen Beth had given him back at her. The shiny red burn marks on his wrist glistened. “I thought democracy was about freedom.”

  “Democracy isn’t about freedom — it’s about winning. Just like any other type of politics. Isn’t that right, Laudanum?”

  Beth hung her head.

  “Have you no morals?” Rick asked.

  “Morals are as varied as the people who spout on about them. And that, my dear Major, depends on the politics. So we find ourselves back at the beginning again.” He scratched at his chin, eyes losing focus for a second. “A vicious circle of life,” he said, “I think that’s how you described it to your former friend in his hovel. Major Frederick Franklin, do we have a deal?” He held out his hand.

  Rick ignored it.

  Stann had been right. It was an uncomfortable thing to do to someone. An insult to someone’s pride that many would rather forgo in place of physical pain. One simple gesture, one time-honoured tradition, and his life would become easy again. He could go back to his wife and child, resume his post in the military, progress work on the energy bridge now that his upgrade to the sun-fans had been uploaded.

  Life would be easy. Those people would still be dead. Murdered. He had killed someone. Was this really that different? Maybe this was the best way forwards. This was always the way it had been. Why should now be any different?

  Aijlan’s two moons were hanging proud in the sky now: Lesau and Melesau, chasing their prey from dawn to dusk, and back again. The president’s twin moon shadows cut across the floor, framing him in the amber light from the candle bulbs. Rick’s shadows had done the same on the battlements in Castle Anwen, when he had made the wish on the moons, a wish that had been gutted. His and Stann’s lives had been twisted beyond recognition since then: one gaining, one losing, a near mirror image of reward and retribution. He could get some of that normality back, redress the balance with his oldest friend, go home.

  One handshake.

  He reached out and grasped the president’s hand in both of his. He closed De Lette’s fingers until they formed a fist.

  “No.”

  De Lette’s eyes narrowed, the pulse in his neck quickening. He waddled back round the desk and lowered himself into his chair. “I thought that would be the case,” said De Lette. “A man with unwavering ideals where common sense should be living will not be bought. I have another conundrum for you then, Franklin. We have a word for a child who loses their parents, and a wife or husband who loses their partner. Why no word for a parent who loses their child? Too cruel a label?”

  “What are you saying?” Rick asked, toes gripping the insides of his boots.

  “That the uranium mines have some thin seams that are best mined by hand, by small hands. It would be a noble thing for a father to volunteer to send his daughter there for the good of the nation. We’d have to work on how we present that. It’s a little clumsy, but I’m sure the press-corps can come up with a good slant. Maybe leaking that tawdry image of you and Beth would help.”

  Beth gasped. “You promised, sir!”

  De Lette shook his head and tutted. “When you worked out what was going on, I promised you would get the reward you wanted for keeping your mouth shut. I promised you I didn’t want to use that photo to harm your reputation. I don’t. I want to harm his. I didn’t say that you wouldn’t get caught up in the crossfire. And as for my promise not to hurt Franklin’s family, so far, that promise still stands.” He shunted the chair back with his knees as he stood. A bead of sweat dripped down his temple. “You should have thought this through before calling your old flame back to the capital in a romantic bid to save him, Bethina. Or were you trying to woo him back into your slender loving arms?”

  He spread his arms wide, sharp white teeth shining between red cheeks. His torso seemed to swell to fill the space in front of the large window that framed the burning city.

  “Really, Bethina, stay here. Learn from this,” he trailed his fingernails down his shirt. “Learn from me. You’ll get so much more here than at this silly school you want to go to. But I always keep my word, my reputation is built on it. You can go. And this is why I have to honour these trade agreements I signed.” He turned his gaze back onto Rick. “So, Fran
klin, what’s it to be?”

  Rick’s head was spinning, his heart racing. He could see Rose running in their garden, playing the endless games of hide and seek that she never bored of, the tears when she fell that trickled down his cheek when he tried to comfort her. Her dressing up in his clothes, his shirt sleeves trailing in the mud as she wandered through the orchard, the innocent defiance of youth in eyes that matched her mother’s. The images blurred into those of Private Marka, the bodies slain in a nameless basement, and untold secrets. There was no choice.

  “You’re a bastard. I will make you pay. You have my word on that,” Rick said.

  “I’ve been called worse, and threatened by better, Franklin. You agree?”

  “Yes, I agree. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  “Not enough. You’ll keep working on your new project. We have some other things for you to do too. You can make the occasional video call to a news provider of our choice, to reassure the public that you are still alive as they’re slowly allowed to forget you. And you will be allowed one text message a month to your family.”

  “What are you talking about?” Rick said.

  The president slammed his fist on the table. His voice rose, drowning out Rick’s protests, and the horrified noises from Beth as she saw what was coming.

  “You’ll go to the mines in your daughter’s place. Tonight. I promised them new help, a man with your skills will be useful there.”

  “Sir, this wasn’t what we agreed,” Beth cut in, taking a step forwards. The lines of the muscles in her neck were taut and quivering. She turned to Hamilton. “You were there, tell him! Or are you too spineless to even try and redeem yourself?”

  The VP’s hands were twitching, the arrogant face he presented the nation a sham. A man who would refuse to make eye contact with himself in a dirty puddle.

  “Quiet!” the president shouted.

  Captain Lacky stuck his head through the door. De Lette bellowed at him to disappear and leant on the table. His flushed face poking out of his shoulders now seemed large rather than fat.