Lament for the Fallen (7 page)

There are gasps and a rising hubbub.

[That wasn’t charming. Please, do not scare them.]

‘My apologies. I mean that the danger I am escaping is in the United States, a long way from here. We are outside the connect, and they cannot find me here.’

‘I am not sure that is helpful. Are you a criminal? Why do they pursue you?’ asks Joshua.

[Tell them.]

‘What do you know of the sky people, of us?’

‘Not very much. That your people live in cities in orbit about the earth and that you keep to yourselves.’

‘Yes, but we are not one nation. There are many cities in orbit. Each is distinct and independent from the others. Some are privately owned, some belong to particular countries. All, independent or not, are expected to hold allegiance to one country.’

‘We understand. That is not very different from Ewuru and Nigeria.’

‘In my case, I am from Achenia, which is the largest of the orbital cities.’

‘How large is that?’

‘We number about eight hundred and fifty thousand people.’

Again, the jumble of conversation and exclamations. The sound settles.

‘Our people are organized very differently to you. I am of the Nine. We are the –’ [Careful.] ‘– defenders of our people. We offer legal enforcement and protection against threats.’

‘Nine because there are only nine of you?’ Joshua is trying to assess how lethal a soldier he must be if nine can defend eight hundred and fifty thousand.

‘Yes. We do not make the laws or judge whether they have been broken. We are completely subject to our laws and answer directly to the Five, the judiciary of our society. Only they have the legal right to call on us or send us to war.’

‘Are you at war? Is there a war between your people and the Americans?’

Joshua can see that the question causes Samara tremendous anxiety. Many people are speaking now but still the amphitheatre is able to isolate and amplify their voices over the noise.

‘I don’t know. I –’ Samara squeezes his forehead as if willing an answer there. ‘– I was on a diplomatic mission to the US to discuss our cutting the umbilical and leaving. I don’t know what happened.’

[Samara.] ‘They cut off my ears!’ [Samara. Gentle. Please.]

‘Your meaning is unclear. Why would you need to go to visit the Americans? Do they own your city?’

Samara is silent. He appears locked in some internal struggle. Then he seems to recover control.

‘Achenia is owned by our people, but we are nominally associated with the US. Many of the great orbital cities have been cutting their ties to earth. In our case, perhaps literally. We manage a space elevator to move large quantities of freight up to our city. There are only two other such elevators left, and organizations who may wish to place freight in orbit use our services. This is how we have transferred megatons of material to build the space cities. It is not much used any more except as a safe channel to exit the atmosphere.’

‘You call this an umbilical? You would wish to cut it loose, like a child leaving its mother?’

Samara pauses. ‘Yes.’

‘I understand. Does this –’ he searches for a word, ‘– cutting? Does this cause conflict?’

‘We are the largest and most technologically advanced city. Our leaving will have many consequences for the planet. I was part of a delegation sent to negotiate with the American government in Washington. We were agreeing ownership of the elevator, amongst other things,’ says Samara.

‘This went badly?’

‘No, I didn’t think so. But –’ [You’ll need to simplify a bit. Maybe up to the first blank?] ‘– one of our delegates went missing. I went in search of him, and then I was rendered unconscious.’

‘How? We saw how much damage you can survive.’

‘I am unable to say. When I awoke I was on Tartarus, the American space prison.’

‘A prison in space? Why would anyone build such a thing?’ asks Joshua.

Samara gags, clutches his mouth, his chest heaving.

[Calm.] ‘They were eating each other!’ [Samara. Remain present.]

Edith leaps to his side, Joshua bracing him to prevent his fall. She rummages for a cloth and pours water on it before wiping it across his brow.

Samara grabs at the cloth and holds it over his eyes, regaining his composure.

‘I am sorry,’ his breath easing. He nods at Edith, the damp cloth crumpled in his hand and resting on his leg.

‘Tartarus is an evil place. It was built to dump America’s most unwanted. There is no hope there. Transportation to Tartarus is to death, one way or another. I saw things –’

Samara seizes Joshua’s arm. ‘I will see that place brought down. No one should suffer so, no matter their crime. We honour ourselves when we have honour even for broken men.’

Joshua grits his teeth under the pressure of Samara’s hold. Easing his fingers loose, he settles Samara back in his seat. The cloth drops to the ground. Edith retrieves it and, her heart pounding, returns to the shade.

‘You escaped, though?’ says Joshua, carefully.

‘Yes, I built a craft and escaped and landed here.’

Joshua sucks on his lips. Samara’s terror of the jail has chilled him, and many of the villagers look frightened. He decides not to press Samara any further on his time there.

‘That last part would seem to cover a great deal. But, no matter. It would, as you say, not appear to affect us. Do you think that your people might now be at war?’

Samara has been gradually drinking the fish broth, but there is insufficient energy there and he is growing tired.

‘As I said, I am unsure. My people will know I am missing, but I am unable to contact them. I crashed here as both outside the connect and sufficiently close to be able to reach the earth-side entrance to Achenia.’

‘Why can you not contact them? Why not simply go to the connect? It is only two and a half days away in Calabar,’ says Joshua.

‘No!’ Samara looks both exhausted and determined. ‘I don’t know who put me in Tartarus, or why. The Americans monitor all communications in the Earth-side connect, and I would be spotted immediately.

‘Normally there are antennae embedded in my ears so that I may contact my people directly. Without them, I would make myself known to those who pursue me as soon as I enter the Earth-side connect, but I would not have access to Achenia to call for help. That would create danger for your people.’

Joshua looks confused. ‘Where are your antennae?’

Samara’s exhaustion and isolation begin to overwhelm him. ‘They cut off my ears!’ he says, his voice anguished and despairing, his pain suddenly stark to all. Then he topples sideways off the chair, and is unconscious.

Joshua stares. ‘But I can see his ears?’

Then, ‘Quickly. Carry him to my house and place him in the guest room. Careful with the bed.’ Four men run for the stage.

Joshua stands and addresses the now quite chaotic crowd. ‘This Ekpe is suspended. We will return after sundown at eight this evening. If our guest is awake, he will join us, otherwise we will discuss the events of today.’ Then he follows the men who are carrying Samara.

The villagers are now very excited. This story, of the man who fell to earth, and his pursuit of justice, will become a legend.

8

[You are at Joshua’s house. It will take a few hours before I can ensure that you do not pass out again. In the interim, please remain as calm as you can.]

Samara opens his eyes. A young boy is close, staring at him. He grins in delight.

‘He is awake, Father,’ he calls. ‘Hello,’ smiling. ‘I am Isaiah.’

‘I’m Samara,’ he says, carefully shifting himself into a sitting position. The mattress is on the floor and the frame is leaning against the wall alongside.

They stare at each other, each as if they are seeing a creature of such fabulous peculiarity for the first time.

Joshua comes into the room, a mug of tea in each hand.

‘Do you drink tea? I find it helps.’

Samara realizes he has been staring, ‘Yes, sorry. It is many years since I have seen a child so close. Our people do not have so many children any more.’

‘Why not?’ asks Joshua as he hands him one of the mugs.

‘Our lives are long. We seem to have fallen out of the habit,’ he smiles. ‘And I was thinking that I am far too young and irresponsible to have children just yet.’

Joshua sits on a chair at the desk in the room. Samara remains seated on the mattress while Isaiah compromises and squats on the floor between them.

‘You must be at least my age,’ says Joshua, assessing him. ‘Thirty-eight is a good age to have children.’

‘Oh, I’m much older than that,’ says Samara.

‘How old are you?’ asks Isaiah.

‘I’m ninety-three.’

‘That is older than Aunt Miriam,’ exclaims Isaiah.

‘How is that possible?’ asks Joshua.

‘My body is host to a symbiotic intelligence. I lend it my subconscious and it forms a biological network to maintain my health. I can choose to be any age, but most of us –’ he smiles, ‘– most of us prefer to remain young.’

Joshua thinks. ‘I can understand why you would embed such a network, but why does it have to be intelligent? Is that the voice we hear when you are unconscious?’

Samara nods, ‘His name is Symon. We have a close bond, which maintains the balance of the system. Managing all the functions of the symbiont is extremely complex. I cannot do that and be me as well. Without Symon’s intelligence, my mind would become unstable.’

‘I am unable to imagine what that must be like?’

‘You have a voice in your head you speak with that is really you? I no longer have that. I have Symon. It takes training not to lose one’s identity during the integration process. We don’t let children integrate with either the connect or with a symbiotic intelligence.’

The complexity is boring Isaiah. ‘Are you married?’ he asks.

‘Isaiah!’ says Esther, who has just come into the room and is leaning against the door frame, listening.

‘I don’t mind,’ says Samara. ‘Yes. My wife is Shakiso,’ looking sad and forlorn even as he takes strength from thinking of her. ‘We have been married only twenty years. She is one of the leading advisers within the Seven. They’re a sort of nominated group who offer insight to our people. They are like your father and the amama.’ As he speaks of her, his voice changes, goes soft, and his body relaxes.

‘Your ways are very strange to us,’ says Esther.

‘Yes, they must seem so. They have arisen because we live a long time in a confined space. There is nowhere else to go and we must find a way for everyone, not just the majority, to seek fulfilment.’

‘Can I speak with Symon?’ asks Isaiah.

‘No, not here. On Achenia, our atmosphere – the air we breathe – is different, almost a living organism. There Symon can project his presence outside my body and interact with others.’

‘Oh. What does he look like?’

‘You have seen him. He’s the silver fluid in my body,’ laughs Samara. ‘But I understand what you mean. On Achenia, he can look like whatever he wants to. Some people have symbiotic intelligences that look like people, while some look like animals or simply abstract shapes. It depends on the person concerned. My father –’ he stops.

‘Your father?’ asks Isaiah.

Samara shakes his head. ‘I will tell you another time.’

Joshua leans forward in his chair, studying Samara. ‘I have seen your craft, and I have made some assessments. You knew that it might malfunction and that you would be injured. I assume that your extra weight has something to do with your ability to heal from such tremendous damage?’

‘Yes, that is true, although my first concern was surviving the vacuum outside the prison. I needed to shield myself to survive. I was much heavier when I jumped into space.’

Samara sips his tea. It is black, sugarless, and he enjoys the tannic flavour.

‘I am a member of the Nine, though, so I am heavier than most. Normally, there is only a small amount of the symbiont fluid in one’s body. When I became one of the Nine, Symon was augmented with new functions aligned with my military role. He now almost fills me completely and has turned my body into a single solid mass.’

‘Can you shoot laser beams out of your eyes?’ asks Isaiah, who seems quite taken with the idea and has recently discovered a trove of ancient comics in the sphere.

‘I am a bit more apprehensive, but I would certainly like to know your capabilities,’ says Joshua.

‘Fast healing, able to withstand any level of concussive injury, ability to project my awareness to greater distances, able to blend my appearance to suit the environment. I can’t shoot lasers out of my eyes,’ he grins at Isaiah. ‘All of this is outside the connect and of a battleskin. The Nine, in full attack mode, are the equivalent of half of this planet’s military.’

Isaiah’s eyes are almost wide enough to fill a bowl.

‘I thought you said that you are not a danger to my people,’ exclaims Joshua, rising a little in his chair. Esther looks extremely worried.

‘I am not a danger to you or your people.’

‘Then what is driving you? I cannot even begin to imagine the suffering you have gone through, what it must have taken to jump into space in such a craft.’

[Ah, good one.]

‘I have a duty to my people. I am one of the Nine.’

‘No, I am dedicated to my people also. I am not sure I could do what you did if that was the objective.’

[Very good.]

Samara’s face twists as he tries to turn to the wall while maintaining eye contact. His emotions, so close to the surface, are in danger of erupting. ‘I –’ he wipes tears from his eyes. ‘My people will leave soon and I cannot lose Shakiso. I don’t want her to go before I can join her. If she cannot find me, if she believes I am dead –’ he starts to tremble.

He looks up, his golden eyes shining and wet. ‘I love her and miss her.’ The words are filled with more hope and yearning than they should carry.

Joshua crouches close and pulls Samara to him, embracing him. He looks over his shoulder at Esther, whose eyes are similarly filled with tears. He nods. ‘Samara,’ he says, ‘that I understand.’