Chapter 11
Mathias Hanrahan realised how serious the situation was when he saw the size of the convoy headed for Orlyons. Despite the rumours and the inflow of refugees, he had thought that maybe it was all being exaggerated. The troubles were not that bad; he couldn't imagine Orlyons as a site of conflict.
He looked out from his position on the leading barge and saw the rest of the convoy of six, each with only a skeleton crew so there would be plenty of room for the return trip.
Sukui joined him at the prow. Mathias could see that the scientist was uneasy and he remembered the man's distrust of the sea. 'I find this business somewhat distasteful,' he said, and for a moment Mathias thought he was talking of the sea. 'Even though we go unarmed, it is an act of aggression. We are to remove anything of value before Orlyons becomes too dangerous. But, in so doing, we accelerate the town's decline.' Sukui smiled sadly and bowed his head. 'Still, it is my lord's decree.'
Mathias watched the waves, feeling uncomfortable.
'Tell me, Mathias. What do you know of this Lucilla Ngota?' Sukui was regaining his self-control; Mathias could almost see his brain ticking over. Lucilla had made an impression on Sukui when they had met in Orlyons; he seemed scared by her and now he wanted to find out more. He wanted to rationalise his enemy away, a form of thinking that Mathias had come to recognise in his mentor, although he did not yet know whether it was a weakness or a strength.
'Lucilla is from the valleys,' he said. 'She reached a high position in the Newest Delhi militia, before... She was close to March: that's why she came after me in Orlyons, or at least that's why Edward chose her.'
'The lord's intelligence says she is orchestrating the conflicts in the Massif Gris,' said Sukui.
The Massif Gris was a hard region: humankind could barely produce enough food to survive, that high in the mountains. The people were poor of body and even poorer of mind, their villages were riddled with fundamentalism of a most primitive form. 'They would respond well to her,' said Mathias. 'She's a doer, she's no bureaucrat. She can motivate that sort of people—I can see why Andric is worried.'
'The Prime? Oh no, he does not worry,' said Sukui. 'I am merely curious.' Then he turned and walked away.
Mathias studied the sea as it slipped away on either side of the barge. Most of the day would have passed by the time they reached Orlyons. He wondered if the coming night would be a MidNight or not; he had lost track, something he had vowed never to do.
~
Mathias had expected the arrival of the convoy to cause something of a stir in Orlyons harbour. People would gather around, they would stop their work to stare and maybe ask questions; word would spread rapidly. That was what he had expected.
But this was not the Orlyons he knew. Most of the fishing boats were tied up and idle; those that were missing had taken everything from their dockside lock-ups, their absence clearly a permanent move. There were people rushing about, just as normal, but their faces were grim and it was a long time before Mathias saw anyone he even vaguely recognised. He looked around for his old boarding house on Westward Street and then he saw why the place was so discordant with his memories: the building was gone, one wall a ragged barrier holding back the heaps of masonry that had once formed his home.
For a moment he felt horribly responsible, then he looked beyond the ruined boarding house and saw a whole row of what had once been shops and bars and workshops but were now reduced to rubble.
Mathias found Sukui giving instructions to the barge crews. He dismissed them and bowed his head to Mathias. 'You heard?' he said. 'They are to moor in Mirror Bay. They will return at sunset tomorrow and then we will depart. We will wait for no one. Mathias, you have done well since the Prime put you in my care. I feel I can trust you. We must all go our separate ways—I have despatched the other juniors already. We have to recover all that we can. I have no time to watch over you but you would be wisest to do as I have said and return tomorrow. There is nothing for you here.'
Sukui headed past Mathias and into the town.
Mathias knew he could lose himself in Orlyons and nobody would care but, also, he knew that he would be waiting at sunset the following day. Sukui was right: since meeting with Andric, Mathias had found a new sense of responsibility. He was working in electronics now, restoring radios and a curious Toshiba trifacsimile and, in any spare time, he was deciphering technical texts and trying to guess the gaps. He could see progress being made; he couldn't give it up now and return to Orlyons.
He set off, heading for the Gentian Quarter. His instructions were simple: people and goods, quantity and quality. Newest Delhi and Orlyons had a virtual monopoly on ancient supplies and Andric wanted a stockpile while he still had the opportunity; in addition he wanted anyone who could follow a wiring diagram or read a textbook.
Mono knew little of the ancient ways—she could barely even read—but Mathias knew this was his opportunity. He had to find her.
The Gentian Quarter had somehow survived the troubles. Of course, there were buildings missing and others damaged—there were signs of destruction throughout Orlyons—but the people were still there, the people Mathias regarded as his family, a substitute for what Edward had stolen from him all those years ago.
'Hey, Alya!'
It took her a few moments to recognise him, then she was around her stall and hugging him. 'You look good, Matt, you look good!' Her cracked old face was shiny with tears but she kept hugging him and cackling away. 'Oh, Mono will be pleased. Wait till she sees you!'
A heavy weight drifted away from his heart. Mono was all right. He had not realised how much he was worrying until that weight lifted. 'Alya,' he said, holding her at arm's length. 'Tell me what's happening here. Everything's so different.'
'Ah!' She shook her head bitterly. 'They are little children with toy guns. They don't know what it means to kill a person. "Somebody's baby!" I tell them. "You bastards, you're killing babies."' She spat into the dusty road. 'But they don't listen. I'm an old woman and they're too busy bam-a-bamming at each other.'
'Who, Alya?'
'It's that Vera-Lynne Perse, she's one of them. I told her she was causing grief, see, but she didn't listen to an old woman. She bought guns and bombs and things from the bastards who done you, Matt, only she wanted to fight them off. Your Prime Edward, he has an army in most of Clermont, save here. They thought Vera-Lynne was on their side but she's using their guns to fight them and she's making them mad. I tell her, she's killing Orlyons, but she don't listen to—'
'An old woman, huh?' Mathias hugged her to stop her flow. He had heard enough. 'Listen, Alya. I don't have much time. I'm here to take as many of you away as I can. We have boats from Alabama City. They're leaving at sunset tomorrow. Alya, you're good with the artefacts, you can read—I can get you a place in Alabama, easy. We want artefacts, too. Anything you can get hold of: wiring, circuit boards, tools, books, anything. Alya, will you come along?'
Alya was looking at him strangely. 'Oh shit, Matt,' she said. 'Of course I'm coming. I saw that Sukui, just before you came along. He has a softness for me, he asked me to come. He didn't mention you, though!'
Mathias left her cackling and tidying up her stall. The streets were coming alive for another MidNight. It had to be MidNight, he could feel it in the air.
~
Vera-Lynne Perse caught up with him on the Rue de la Patterdois. She fell into step by his side, the same sharp features, the same proud set of her shoulders.
'Nice to see you're spreading the freedom of Orlyons so successfully,' he said, thinking back to her earlier tirades. This part of the Patterdois was a crumbling mess, sections of buildings reduced to rubble, windows smashed, walls cracked and leaning eccentrically. One gap in the buildings had been shielded with a wide canopy bearing a huge red cross; in its shelter men and women queued to see a medic or a nurse. 'You're looking good.'
'I heard you were back,' she said. 'Slide said you'd come to join the fight. I didn't believe him. I see I was right.'
'Slide?'
'He joined us late, not till after your brother's militia invaded Clermont. He's just gone back out in the field. Keeping them at bay. Most of the Underground are street people—they're shrewd tacticians, they know what a struggle is. Your brother's taken ninety per cent of the coastline but his militia don't dare stay inland when it gets dark. They didn't think we'd resist. Will you join us, Matt? It's tough keeping control—you could bring us all together. We'd save Orlyons.'
'Like you're saving it now?'
'It's easy to sound clever, Matt. Not so easy to face up to your beliefs and act.'
'I have done,' he said, thinking that perhaps it was close to the truth. 'And my beliefs don't involve getting shot in Orlyons.'
'I thought so,' said Vera-Lynne. 'I told Slide, but he said to try anyway.' Her walk was still proud as she turned to leave Mathias. 'Mono is in Greene Gardens, busking by Weeping Rock.' She smiled and shrugged. 'I guessed you might be looking for her.'
~
The voice was unmistakably Mono's. Mathias hurried along the path. As he drew closer he recognised the difference: she was singing unaccompanied, she had found no replacement for the old Semi-A.
It was dusk and the sky was burning red, but still a good crowd had stopped to listen; the struggle could wait just a little, the lady was singing. She was a tiny figure before the thirty or so listeners and the great, bulking form of Weeping Rock; it didn't seem possible that such a powerful voice could be hers.
He hung back at the edge of the crowd and let her song wind itself down, drifting away on the muggy evening breeze. At first she had sounded mournful, but then Mathias realised that he was misinterpreting her. Her song was wistful but relentlessly strong; behind the barely intelligible words was a gutsiness that she would ordinarily have put out through the Semi-A. It sounded eerie, that strength expressing itself through her singing, but Mathias realised that it had always been there.
When she looked up it was as if she had been expecting him. Maybe she had heard that he was in town, maybe not.
The music over, the crowd began to disperse, until only Mono and Mathias remained. 'I've come back,' he said. It sounded feeble but he couldn't retract his words.
Then she was in his arms, holding him tight and he forgot everything, focusing himself only on Mono. It seemed that nothing else could possibly matter. Not ever.
They passed a long time just walking, holding each other. Mathias told her all about Alabama City, about people she had never met and things she clearly did not understand; Mono told him about what had happened since he had left, only five months before. There was a lot that he didn't follow, a lot that
he had already heard, but he soaked it all up, just for the sound of Mono's voice.
'Mono,' he finally said. 'Will you come back to Alabama City with me? Please?'
Her face grew serious and he knew her reply before she spoke. 'No, Matt. I can't.' She shrugged. 'Where would 1 sing?'
'I'd get you a Primal Licence—Andric would listen to me, he'd have to!'
'Matt, I'm an artist,' she said, quietly. 'I need to be able to do what I want when I want. An artist cannot work within the constraints of Primal whim and, yes, Matt, you've said most performers get around the system, but I'm an artist. I'm proud of that, I don't want to hide it.'
'But what freedom is there here?'
'I'm free to think, Matt. I might get shot but I have that freedom.'
'I'll stay with you, then.' He was throwing everything away and he knew it, but he didn't care any more.
'No, Matt. You've grown since you left Orlyons, you have a sense of direction that I've never known in you. You can't lose that. You have to go back.'
'Don't you want me to stay?' He was sounding pathetic but that was exactly how he felt.
'Yes, I do.' Mono shook her head. 'But you can't, and you know it.'
Even then, he vowed that he would stay, but while Mono worked a bar on the Patterdois he found himself talking with people, bargaining, persuading them to be at the docks with goods for the coming sunset. Just because he was deserting didn't mean he couldn't get people out to Alabama City, he tried to believe.
By sunset he was at the docks, amazed at the quantities of goods and people being loaded onto the barges. It seemed that most of Orlyons was being transplanted to Alabama City. Three gunshots sounded in the distance, as if to convince the refugees that they had made the correct decision.
Mathias shuddered as he stood with Sukui, watching the barges fill up.
'You are returning to Alabama City?' asked Sukui.
'Yes, I'm returning,' said Mathias. He had always known that he would.
They left as darkness descended and, above the steady beat of the manoeuvring motors and the winches pulling at the rigging, Mathias imagined that he heard a voice, a song carrying faintly over the waves.
~
Working on the Project was a welcome respite after the emotional upheaval of Orlyons. Mathias could lose himself.
He was part of a small team responsible for sorting through old electronic items, deciding what could be repaired and what was fit only for breaking up. It was not the most inspiring work, but at least it held his interest; things had been a lot better for him since the Prime's intervention.
A week after his return from Orlyons, Mathias approached the research team's hut, situated on Dixie Hill on the fringes of Alabama City. The hut was weathered and patched together, hardly the research centre he had once imagined; inside, it was cold and cramped, but at least it was somewhere for the team to work.
He looked around, squinting. He was not usually this mean-spirited early in the morning; in fact it was usually a good time for him, to the annoyance of Sanjit Borodin, the group's supervisor.
The problem was Siggy Axelmeyer.
Despite the transfer of work, Mathias still shared Siggy's room in Soho and last night, like so many nights lately, the Prime's studious cousin had come in drunk or drugged or just plain crazy. Mathias didn't care which.
One time Mathias had confronted him, stupidly. 'What about your work?' he had said. 'You were so ambitious.'
Siggy had told him to relax and have a beer. 'You're becoming boring, Mister Hanrahan,' he had said. 'Go on, have a beer.' They had laughed and said no more; it hadn't been important then.
Last night they had said nothing at first. Then Siggy started playing his mouth-organ. He had practised hard and now he was very good. Last night he played 'Mama Gonna Sell My Soul'. Over and over and over. It made Mathias think of Mono, only the coarse feelings Siggy put into the music cast up all the wrong memories. It made him think of all the men she had earned money from, the ones who had never mattered before; it made him wish they had finally made love, if only so he would know they had, so he wouldn't let it get at him like it did when Siggy Axelmeyer played the blues on his battered old mouth organ.
'I'm trying to get some sleep,' he had said, late the previous night. 'Will you give it some rest?'
The candles were still burning and he could see Siggy's glazed eyes fix slowly on to his face. It made him wish he'd kept quiet. 'Music comes from the soul, Matt,' Siggy had said. 'You shut up my music and you shut me up, you close down my soul. You want to do that, huh?' Axelmeyer's look had turned fierce, then. Mathias had never really believed the stories of how wild he had been before joining the Project. He had wrecked houses, he said, he had beaten people for no reason; once, he'd said, he had nearly killed an old woman for not smiling at him. Last night, Mathias suddenly believed those stories. 'You're nice, Matt.' The look had melted away. 'You wouldn't do that to me.' The mouth-organ had returned to his puckered lips and the blues came rolling on out.
So Mathias had plenty of reason to feel rough this morning. He looked around and Lui Tsang was standing by him with a steaming cup of coffee, a welcome break from the troubles-inspired rationing.
'You look fucked,' he said.
Mathias grunted and accepted the drink. Lui was the most junior member of the team, having been there for barely a week. For the past three mornings he had come in earlier than anyone else, his only opportunity to explore the restored equipment that littered the small hut.
'Listen to this, Matt,' he said, guiding Mathias to a seat and then crouching to fiddle with a radio set-up the team had recently pieced together. Mathias noticed some new wires trailing from the set and out through the window. He said nothing; Lui would explain, no doubt.
'It's something I thought of in Orlyons,' said Lui. 'But the equipment was limited. I had a radio and a small dish, but it was unreliable even when it worked.' He turned on a switch and the hut filled with a fuzzy hissing and crackling. 'This radio is a good one,' he continued. 'And the dish I found is four times the diameter of my old one. I made it work this morning.'
'What have you made work, Lui? You're not being very direct.'
'Listen, Matt. You're hearing messages from the universe.' He adjusted some controls and, for a moment, Mathias imagined he could make some sort of sense of the noise. 'I've moved the dish around, but it's strongest from one region of the sky. Listen, Matt: I think we're hearing messages from Earth. Listen.'
~
Sukui was brief with Lui Tsang. 'Messages from Earth would be too weak for us to receive with such a simple configuration,' he said. 'You have shown initiative but your reasoning is lacking. The texts tell us of the difficulties of transmitting and receiving signals over such vast distances. The power spreads and dissipates.'
'But...' Lui looked dejected.
'And if a message was coming from Earth you would constantly need to realign the dish as Expatria rotated.'
Sukui had just put into words the thought that had been nagging away at Mathias. 'What do you make of it then, Sukui-san?' he asked. Lui had been desperate to make a good impression; now Mathias wanted to protect his old friend.
'When the Lords created the universe there was a great blossoming of energy. Ancient texts tell us that all the energy contained within our universe was once compressed into a tiny region of space, and the rest was empty, waiting to be filled. From the outpourings of energy there still remains what the texts call a certain "Background Noise", in the guise of various forms of radiation. That is what you can hear, nothing more.'
Sukui was clearly feeling generous this morning. He turned back to Lui Tsang and said, 'You have shown initiative. This can serve as an introduction to the scientific method. You have just proven the truth of another aspect of the ancient texts; now, you must document it, measure it, find out all you can. Mathias, you must supervise the work. Report your results to me in two days.'
~
They worked through the following night, Lui filled with an intellectual fervour, Mathias kept somehow awake by his friend's enthusiasm.
'If it's Background Noise then why isn't it evenly spread across the sky? It has to be a signal.' Lui's frustration was evident by dawn.
'It can't be Earth, though,' said Mathias. 'We'd have to track it across the sky. The source is fixed relative to the planetary surface.'
'What if there are other settlements on Expatria?' asked Lui. 'People that didn't reject the old ways when our people did?'
It was their best idea. Mathias went back to his work: he had made a disc-recording of the noise and slowed it down. It faded and strengthened to no apparent logic but behind it all there was a definite pattern. If there was one thing that Sukui had lodged firmly in Mathias's mind it was the importance of pattern. It was a means of understanding, of explaining, it pointed to something more than the random play of chance.
When the time came, Mathias reported his measurements to Sukui and Lui remained silent; they both knew to keep their speculations quiet. 'See the pattern?' said Mathias, and it was clear that Sukui had.
'This warrants further analysis,' said Sukui. 'Tell me what you find.'
As it turned out, Sukui was present when the pattern was finally elucidated. It took them three days of dead ends and blind corners; on the third day the whole team was working on it, Sukui was so eager to understand the strange pattern.
Mathias found the answer, by chance as much as anything else. His mind numbed by the impossibility of it all, he was playing around with the trifacsimile, letting it cast his hand in different lights and watching the three-dimensional projection hang ghost-like in the air. And then the idea struck him—his disembodied finger was pointing directly at a restored cathode-ray tube; it was as if a ghost had given him the answer.
As he worked, he knew that this was it. It had to be! The signal was a digitised code, each bit of information controlling an individual picture element on the screen. He had taken that TV set apart himself, just to see how it worked. It took him nearly an hour to set it up, and by the time he'd finished everybody had stopped to watch. They knew this would be it, too. Even Sukui was standing back and waiting.
Finally, he was ready. He flicked the control switch and sat back, hoping fervently that there was some sort of standard specification common to both the source of the signal and the TV set before him. 'Don't expect too much,' he said, suddenly nervous.
The screen leapt into life, but it was only a fizzing greyness, the same tone he had seen on it before. He adjusted the tuning, even though the signal was coming direct from the disc and should need no tuning.
And the screen cleared, momentarily. It sparked grey again and then back to the clearer, slightly orangey tone, with a dark blob in the centre. The picture kept leaping and spluttering, fragmenting and then pulsing more clearly, but they could all see that the blob was a human face.
A thought occurred to Mathias and he leaned forward and adjusted another control. Sound filled the hut, much like the crackle that Sukui had labelled Background Noise. But over the top of the static were the nasal tones of a man's voice, coming in pulses of clarity, in step with the pulsing picture.
'...broadcasting to the people of Expatria from the Orbital Colonies ... greetings from the followers of Ha'an and the people of ... we are a people of peace...'
The message was from a colony in orbit around Expatria! It made perfect sense to Mathias, as if he had expected it all along, another hunch he had been unable to elucidate.
'...must repeat ... of some urgency ... know if there's anyone down there but ... we will be a surprise to you...'
Suddenly the voice grew clear. '...had a message from Earth. They say they have despatched a new colony ship and it's headed here. We have to consider a joint response. I'll repeat: there's a ship coming from Earth.'