Lament for the Fallen (37 page)

Joshua squeezes his hand. ‘You have my word on that.’ He laughs, ‘As long as those tales are told, no wooden spoon will go sheathed.’

Samara wipes his tears, laughs as well.

‘I’m going to hold you to that,’ he says. ‘I will return in one thousand years, and our first stop will be Ewuru.’

Joshua smiles sadly. ‘I will not be there to meet you, my friend, but I am sure that my descendants will be. I am sorry we will not grow old together. I am grateful for our time.’

He stares out at the lake and the city rising beyond. ‘As your grandfather says: coffee or tea.’

Samara follows his gaze, smiles, nods. ‘Come,’ he says, ‘if you are ready, everything is waiting.’

‘Yes,’ says Joshua. ‘It is time to go home.’

48

‘This is unprecedented,’ says Hollis.

‘There has been injustice. I am as much entitled as any citizen to bring that to the attention of the Five,’ says Samara.

The justices confer, establishing consensus.

‘Very well,’ says Hollis.

Samara will be heard.

The Five are meeting in person. They are keenly aware that Samara’s plans have the potential to tie Achenia in knots. Thousands have gathered in the great hall. Many more are listening via the connect.

Samara stands alone in the middle of the justices’ circular courtyard, before their seats, raised on a dais.

There are no outer walls into the court. Justice must be seen and be accessible to any. Cloud obscures the sun, and the light is muted under the stained-glass chhatri, suffusing those in attendance in a kaleidoscope of colours.

Samara speaks.

‘These are conditions which are akin to murder. There is no hope of rehabilitation, of redemption. Only insanity for some, and a lonely, futile existence for others. In the case of a few, it is a situation of premeditated murder.’

‘No one is debating these points. The Americans have promised to look into your allegations. And we have negotiated the release of your three companions there, but Tartarus is the property of a sovereign state. We have won our independence. We no longer have a say as to how the Americans dispense justice,’ Hollis assures him.

Samara stands tall and still. The Five are not an enemy. They do not look to catch him out. They are there to ensure that the law is internally consistent and that it applies to all.

‘We cannot flee. We have always said that we do not go to space to shrug off our responsibilities or to pretend that suffering does not exist.’

Samara’s voice is clear, carrying a timbre that was not there only months before.

‘You have suffered, Samara.’ Hollis looks compassionate.

‘This is not about me,’ says Samara. ‘I was able to escape. Even if I had not, you would have discovered me.’

‘You are asking us to intervene in the choices of a sovereign state,’ says Hollis.

‘I am asking you to return one hundred and fifty thousand men and women to lives of hope.’

Hollis looks infinitely sad, ‘Samara. Even if that were possible, we calculate that almost a hundred thousand of them are now insane. We cannot restore their original minds to them. They are not Achenians and we cannot remake them either. They will require a lifetime of institutional care.

‘
If
the Americans accept, you will have to buy the prison. Our laws can only apply to the justly acquired property owned by our citizens. And we cannot take them at their word. We would need to finance the care of each prisoner. Re-investigate each case. Move those that are genuine criminals to regular prisons, restore others to their families and find institutions capable of looking after the rest.

‘This is no straightforward task, Samara.’

This is the heart of Achenian justice. If Samara owns the prison, then he has the authority to expect the law of his Achenian polity to apply there. As a member of the Nine, he is allowed no polity and is answerable directly to the Five. Achenia, though, is no longer part of American jurisprudence. Samara requires the Five to recognize his authority and intercede on his behalf with the Americans.

‘I have spoken with The Three. She will work through the cases. She believes she will conclude them within three or four days. We will trace families, alternative prisons and institutions.’

The Three is in attendance; a puff of colour as she indicates she wishes to speak.

‘I am volunteering my time for this. It appears to me that this is a noble calling.’

The Five lean forward to recognize The Three, and sit back in their chairs as Samara continues.

‘I have spoken with the orbital cities of Dunblane and Equatorial 1. Polities there have agreed to take responsibility for monitoring those in institutions in the US for their lifetimes.’

Hollis acknowledges; she is running out of arguments. She lays her last. ‘And who will pay for all of this?’

‘I will pay,’ says Samara, without hesitation.

‘You cannot afford this, Samara. You have all but spent the last of your money on Ewuru and the villages along the river.’

Samara stands silent. He has no more to offer.

A murmur in the crowd and on the connect.

‘I will pay,’ says Nizena, his voice bursting with pride.

‘I will pay,’ say the remaining Nine, as one.

‘I will pay,’ says Shakiso.

‘I will pay,’ Kosai and Airmid.

‘I will pay,’ Joshua, listening over the connect on Ewuru’s new sphere.

‘I will pay,’ new voices, rising in the audience at the court.

‘I will pay,’ The Three.

‘I will pay,’ all across the connect, tens of thousands of voices. Including two of the Five.

Hollis raises her eyes to the sky, nods, smiles.

‘Very well then, it is carried.’ She bows her head to Samara.

49

‘–he’s been astonishingly lucky,’ says Celia Gutierrez, her dark eyes mocking.

‘What?’ asks Robert Alvarez. The Chief of Staff looks startled. His futile hand-waving has failed to attract the coffee drone hovering at the far end of the room. He is pondering whether he should simply get up and walk over to it.

Gutierrez grins at him and pushes a stray frond of greying hair back behind her ear. ‘I was saying that he’s been astonishingly lucky.’

They are leaning back in their comfortable leather chairs in the gloomy Situation Room beneath the White House.

Alvarez dabs at the console around his wrist and brings up a display of the current opinion tracker in the air between them. He scowls at the colourful chart and shrugs. ‘Yes, we’ve skirted some difficulties.’

‘A few weeks ago we were almost at war, and now they’re paying us to shut down that travesty? Ortega even gets to look like a great reformer? That’s more than “skirting”.’

Alvarez is still not giving her much attention. She sighs, stands and joins another group.

President Ortega is speaking with General Graham. Both are standing so as to mask themselves from the others. Alvarez can see the tension between them, and Ortega’s neck is flushed red. He seems to be holding himself still with great effort.

The meeting to discuss the Achenian proposal for Tartarus is in the middle of a rowdy break. Groups of people have clotted around the room, and their mumbling, rumbling conversation obscures Alvarez’s ability to listen in.

He catches a few fragments.

‘– never aware of this –’ Ortega’s voice rising in furious interrogation.

‘– meant to be used –’ and ‘– you have to understand –’ from Graham, her epaulettes shaking on her shoulders.

‘– we cannot sell it –’ from the General.

Ortega’s shirt is sticking to his back. Others in the room have noticed his intensity, and conversation is coming to a restless halt.

‘– your immediate resignation.’ Ortega glares at her. She cannot meet his eyes.

People are hesitantly taking their seats at the conference table. The coffee drone is finally hovering silently at Alvarez’s side, but he ignores it.

General Graham looks as if she will leave the room.

‘No,’ says Ortega. ‘You don’t get to escape this. You’re here till this is over.’

She sits quietly, not looking at anyone.

Ortega glares down the centre of the table, his teeth clenched.

‘The Achenians are expecting an answer from us in an hour, and now my ex-Secretary of State Security tells me we cannot go ahead.’ His skin is clammy, and his shirt is stained dark under his armpits and across his belly. ‘I am also told that I may not tell you why unless during the course of events it becomes absolutely necessary.

‘As of this moment our alert level is raised to two. You are all confined to the White House until this is over. You will not be permitted to communicate with anyone outside of this room.’

There is a collective thunk of bodies slumping back into chairs. Graham merely looks morose.

‘We cannot alert the Achenians that anything has gone wrong. They must still be permitted to remove the—’ says Graham.

‘Of course we cannot leave those people there,’ says Ortega, his voice a shrill snarl.

Alvarez takes a deep breath and, for everyone, asks, ‘Mr President, please could you inform us as to what is going on?’

Ortega’s face softens. His eyes fill with terrible loss. ‘No, my friend, I cannot. But I will tell you what we have to do.’

50

Samara flies up the safe channel, alongside the umbilical, towards the towering, brutal mass of Tartarus. His eyes glow. His face is righteousness.

Samara has not come alone. Two of the other Nine, Amaranth and Fodiar, have joined him. He can hear them in his head, conferring, as they fly behind him. Their symbionts chatter, calculating, making arrangements.

[I’m not sure I understand why they want to keep this? They’ve agreed it should never again be a prison?] asks Symon.

‘I’m more worried about why they want their own military presence here.’

[At least you all saved some money not having to buy this wreck.]

Samara nears the docking bay. The cargo doors are open, as when he left. His battleskin flares as he lands, its surface matt and absorbing the monochrome light.

He looks over his shoulder as the others join him, his skin flexing as if an organic part of his body. They wait as the ferry arrives and seals the entrance. The pressure is equalized and the area warms rapidly.

A door opens and Dondé Hélène steps into the bay, a med droid hovering at her side. Her team will assess every prisoner before the shuttles, already lining up, take them to their destinations. Those prisoners who are still self-aware face the daunting prospect of having their cases reheard. The others will be treated as best they can or sent to care services.

Amaranth indicates to Samara that she is ready. She releases a burst of pinprick observers. The tiny points of light flow around her and then hurtle into the maze of Tartarus. They will map every living creature and stay close to them, ensuring that they can find them and extract them safely.

Amaranth and Fodiar each take a different direction. Samara pushes the button to open the antechamber to the works warehouse. The double seal is not needed, and Symon disables the exterior closing mechanism, forcing the interior door to open.

[Well, not quite home.]

A Fury flies down from the ceiling, firing energy bursts. It no longer recognizes him. Symon reaches out, finds its controller and disables it. The Fury drops to the floor and bounces, making a deadening metallic clunk.

The hood over Samara’s head recedes, like an eyelid opening. He can see, displayed through the mass of crates and racks, Sancho, Seymour and Henry frantically scrambling to hide behind a stack of boxes.

‘Gentlemen, I promised I would be back. You’re safe, and you’re going home,’ his voice amplified to cut across the room.

They freeze, and he can see them whispering to each other. Hesitantly, Seymour stands and winds his way through the maze of shelves. Samara walks towards him, smiling.

‘Hello, Seymour. It is well.’

Possibly for the first time in his life, Seymour begins to weep.

The other two emerge, similarly dazed.

He shakes their hands, holding them gently at the elbow. They are unable to speak.

‘We are closing Tartarus. You are going home. Come with me and I will take you to our medical team.’

They follow him meekly, trembling in fear and relief.

Dondé Hélène is waiting. She is one of Achenia’s most celebrated neuro-doctors. She volunteered for this but is apprehensive. No one in Achenia suffers the harm she will soon be seeing.

As the men step into the cargo bay, she can see their terror. She runs to Henry and hugs him tightly, tears puddling on his cloak. He is not a hugging man, and it is a few moments before he knows what to do and hugs back.

‘Come with me,’ she says, leading them into the ferry.

‘I have to go,’ says Samara, ‘but we will meet again.’

They stare after him as he heads back into the warehouse.

[All of the living have been found and tagged.]

‘The family?’

[Yes, them too.]

‘And Athena?’

[Fodiar is there.]

‘Call him for me.’

‘Samara? There is something you must see.’

Athena is housed in a black metal pillar. Radiating out from the pillar are ranks of Furies, each hanging from a magnetic bracket.

Fodiar is standing in front of a console at the centre.

‘Do you have control?’

‘Almost.’

The pitch of the prison changes. Athena has been disabled. The Furies drift, so much flotsam, floating endlessly in the labyrinth of Tartarus.

‘Thank you,’ says Samara.

‘Wait,’ says Fodiar, looking upwards. A vast domed space rises above Athena’s pillar. Circular pipes project out towards the distal surface, each about four times the diameter of a Fury.