PART TWO
MidNight
Chapter 5
Kasimir Sukui was not fond of the sea. It was untamed. It followed no internal framework of logic. It aroused feelings he preferred not to acknowledge: fear, anger, awe. Fear was perhaps to be expected—drowning was not something to anticipate in any other way—but why be angered or awed by slabs of water, stirred by gravity and by the wind? Kasimir Sukui disliked such impulses. He was a rational man.
Facing his fears boldly, he stood at the prow of the barge and watched the waves. The largest—barely three metres from trough to tip—were capped with foam that was green with algae. He tried counting the waves in an attempt to find some sort of ruling pattern but there was none and soon he tired of the activity.
He walked back to the aft hold and sat in his mahogany chair, under the shelter of a canvas awning. After rummaging in a bag he withdrew a book, opened it on his lap and wrote down the results of his counting. He would probably never read this page of his diary again but he knew that method was the key to the universe; everything must be recorded, the failed experiments as well as the successes. This was science, it had to be carried out in an orderly manner.
Kasimir Sukui came from the southern fortress city of Alabama, capital of the lands that were ruled by the Andricci clan. He was descended from Expatria's first chief archivist and he had been reared in a lean-to that was crammed with books and diaries, handwritten histories of the first days of the colony and even histories from the Ark voyage that had brought the original colonists from Earth.
Although Sukui did not believe in family precedents—each person must realise their own potential—he recognised that he did not deviate far from what such a tradition might have expected of him. The books had been a formative influence. He had read of inventions and of science and soon, using a borrowed pencil, he had learnt to copy the letters and then whole words.
He had entered the Primal household as a servant but had risen rapidly through the ranks. He had studied the people around him. He had worked out what it was that made people succeed and what it was that made them stay at the same level for a lifetime. Putting his observations to work, he had associated with the right people, he had given his superiors bright ideas and then praised their originality, he had even slept with an ungainly senior vetting officer in order to convince her of his suitability for higher things.
Now, as Prime Salvo Andric's principal adviser, his hard work was finally being rewarded. At last there was a Prime who was open to new ideas. Sukui had bided his time as adviser to three earlier Primes, all of whom had been hostile to innovation, but Salvo Andric professed a vigorous enthusiasm for his people; he often told Sukui that the citizens must benefit first from any advances made under his Primacy. Initially Sukui had been tentative about introducing the technologies about which he had read so much but Salvo had welcomed his innovations and then demanded more. After seven years Salvo Andric was the most popular Prime in Sukui's memory, and the adviser took great pride in his own small part in the triumph of rationality over the earlier ignorance of his nation's leaders.
With Andric's Primacy thoroughly established, Sukui's role had broadened. Now, as well as being Andric's principal adviser, he had sole responsibility for Alabama City's Science Project, directing research, advising the workers, scouting for new talent to revitalise the scheme. The Project was the reason for his current barge trip across Mirror Bay. The first colonies established on Expatria had all been situated either on the island of Clermont or to the north, in regions now governed by the Hanrahan clan. Consequently, the greatest hoards of artefacts were located in these regions and Sukui had to organise frequent trading trips, often going himself in order to ensure that prize items were not missed by his juniors.
The terrans had built their technologies to last; early records indicated that this was deliberate, so there would be ample time to set up industries and also, they said in parentheses, in case of tragedy, so that the survivors would not necessarily revert to savagery. Sukui could see that happening to the north, with the fundamentalist cults and their frequent tirades against knowledge; years earlier it had been happening in his own land but Prime Salvo had put a halt to that.
Sukui closed his diary. He had been writing at greater length than intended. He had meant only to record the chaotic motions of the waves, no more. Adjusting the clip of his diamond-shaped skullcap and then straightening the waistline of his grey robe—he had learnt early in his career the importance of appearance—he climbed the steps from the hold and joined the skipper at the helm of the barge.
Clermont was looming large now, far closer than the mainland. Sukui estimated, from experience, that they would be tying up at the docks within twenty-five minutes, give or take three.
The port of Orlyons was a cosmopolitan cluster of buildings, squeezed into a gorge between granitic outcrops. The place was unruly like the sea, but beneath the anarchic exuberance Sukui recognised a framework of order. Of all the places he had visited there was nowhere quite like Orlyons; he often felt that he was close to defining the town's wildness, categorising it, but somehow another quirk would arise and he would start all over again. His diaries were crammed with observations and interpretations of the rabble that was Orlyons.
A yell came from out to sea and Sukui turned to look. Fifty metres beyond the barge there was a tall-sailed catamaran skimming across the waves. The boat was an impressive design, its twin hulls polished and tapering to knife-edge prows. It was a vessel constructed expressly for speed. The boatbuilder was a skilled individual.
The barge's skipper and five crewmen were lining the seaward railing, along with Sukui's two juniors, viewing the spectacle. As the catamaran slipped away the skipper returned to the barge's untended helm. 'The twin-hull is an efficient design,' said Sukui. 'Tell me, who is its creator?'
'Ah, Sukui-san,' said the skipper. Sukui liked the -san to be appended to his name; it added an unthinking respect, a subliminal acknowledgement of his status. 'The cat is Matt Hanrahan's. That's his fun-boat, he says he wants to go faster than the cutter-birds one day. Ha! That one's the Matt III, the first two fell apart. Ha ha!' The skipper had been drinking, but Sukui knew from experience that he handled the boat better when in such a condition.
Sukui walked back to his sheltered seat. So this was Mathias Hanrahan. Sukui knew the stories: that Hanrahan had killed his father and then been driven from the throne or, as others said, that he had fled from his father's killer. That had happened more than three years earlier. Sukui had heard much of Hanrahan's achievements since he had fled to Orlyons; much of it was no more than rumour, but he had clearly made a success of his life in exile if he could wreck two catamarans and still afford a third.
Sukui made a note in his diary and then settled back to pass the fifteen minutes—give or take a minute—until they would tie up at the Orlyons docks.
~
The streets of Orlyons were narrow and dense with people and animals. Sukui edged through the crowds, walking in the gutter where the flow was less urgent. He had left the barge as soon as it had docked. His juniors were capable of supervising the disembarkation of the delegation's provisions and trading stock.
Orlyons was a good place to trade. The supply of artefacts was steady and varied and the vendors were unaffected by northern fundamentalism. On this trip, Sukui's delegation had brought the usual exotic foodstuffs from the cooler south and a plentiful supply of money, but this time they had brought weaponry, too. Sukui felt uneasy about trading in arms—they so easily gave power to extremists—but the Orlyons collective council were in favour of the trade and this was one area in which Sukui had no influence over his Prime. On several occasions Salvo Andric had even tried to persuade Sukui to carry a gun, but each time he had refused; he felt far safer unarmed.
The street opened out into a square and here Sukui had more room to move. The hotel was only minutes distant. His juniors would stay with the trading stock in a harbourside rooming house, but Sukui always stayed in comfort. It was a part of his role.
He booked in and placed his small bag on the bed. The room had a basin, so he stripped to the waist and sluiced himself with cold water from the faucet.
Outside, the sky was darkening. Soon it would be MidNight.
Years before, Sukui had discovered Orlyons's idiosyncratic view of the calendar. From his reading he had learnt that the human brain was adapted to a 24-hour cycle: awake for sixteen, asleep for the remaining eight. The histories said there had been trouble adapting to Expatria's 14-hour day: some of the first colonists had even tried to impose a 28-hour system, working through two days and a night and sleeping for the remaining night. But the pressures of light and dark had proven greater than the so-called internal clock and the norm of waking an hour before dawn and then retiring an hour or so after dusk had taken over. Orlyons, however, had kept to its own version of the 28-hour system. In Orlyons alternate nights were different: Night was for sleeping, usually dusk to dawn; MidNight was for partying. Most of the port's population followed this system and consequently the town contained a network of drinking dens, gambling parlours, discotheques and many more houses of high ill-repute.
Now Kasimir Sukui prided himself on being a man of rationality, a man of science. As such, he had to recognise that his intellect was carried in a vehicle that was entirely animal in origins. Seeing the logic of this observation, long ago he had accepted that, like all human beings, he had his vices. He had urges that, if unsatisfied, would impair his functioning. Being a rational man, he looked after himself, and there was no better place on all of Expatria to look after the occasional animal urge than the port of Orlyons. Glancing through his window at the darkening streets, he tried to decide where he would go first on this, his first MidNight for five months.
One of his vices was gambling—it was so easy for logic to triumph over the probabilities of most games of chance—but that could wait. He decided, first, to call on Mono. She was a hard worker, something Sukui respected in anyone, regardless of profession. Mono was perhaps his favourite of all Orlyons vices.
~
She was the first woman he had been with in near to three months.
Kasimir Sukui's breathing rapidly returned to normal; he always kept himself in good physical condition, it was the rational thing to do.
He had found her easily. The bartender at Salomo's, her usual rendezvous, had told him she was in her room in the Gentian Quarter. Sukui knew her room well. 'She is an acquaintance,' he had told the bartender. 'I will visit.'
She hadn't changed since his last stay in Orlyons. Her olive-brown complexion was pure as ever, her hair long and straight and a black that was blue when caught by the sun. Her face had lit up when she saw who was at her door. It had been a long time, but she had remembered how he liked her to treat him.
Sex was a bodily function just like any other. Sukui did not like women who lost control in their passion, the ones who moaned and begged and clawed at a man's back. Mono was always quiet and dignified, only occasionally did she lose her poise and cry out. This time she had cried out, towards the end; Sukui took it as a compliment.
Lying slightly apart from Mono's tiny form, he studied the contours of her face. She looked composed in her sleep, content with the ways of her world. It made him feel good to think that he could make another person look so at peace. It made him feel whole again.
He had often considered the option of taking a permanent companion back to Alabama City with him. Perhaps it was the greying and thinning of his hair that made him think in these terms now. He had never shared a bed for more than simple gratification before and the thought of a face as contented as Mono's now was, beside him each morning, was a source of great temptation.
Mono twitched, her whole body jerking in her sleep. It was an animal movement and it reminded Sukui of the impracticalities that had always deterred him. On at least one earlier occasion he had almost asked her to return with him, but he had stopped himself. It could never work: a constant companion for a man so accustomed to his solitude. It was fine on occasion, something he needed. But she would be a distraction, he would be thinking of her when he should be working, he would be constantly tired from her attentions. He had always concluded that he would be losing far more than he gained.
But, lying by her side, sensing her stir and stretch, everything seemed different. Maybe the time had arrived.
She put a hand on his chest and kissed his shoulder. 'Sukui-san,' she murmured. 'It's been a long time. You know how to direct a woman's passions.'
Sukui felt a surge of emotions that he would normally have rejected, but now he sorted them, tried to itemise exactly how he felt. Mono often made him feel this way, helpless and glad about it. 'Mono, you are very accomplished.' He took a calming breath. 'Mono, would you come—'
She sat and then climbed off the thin mattress that was her bed. She didn't appear to have heard him, she didn't appear to recognise the effort he was having to make to squeeze the words out and he stopped helplessly. She wrapped herself in a purple kimono and tied it at the waist with a cream obi. His passion spent, Sukui could assess her beauty more objectively now and still he was impressed. She moved quickly around her room and then, seeing Sukui still lying on her mattress, she threw one of his shoes at him.
Dressing, he realised that it could never work. He admired her looks, her grace, and also her discipline and dedication to her work, but underneath it all there was the raw edge of the streets. There was a wildness that Sukui associated with the most basic elements of nature. Like the sea, Mono controlled herself but she could never be tamed; a man could sail across the sea but always in the knowledge that he might easily be swallowed into its depths.
Kasimir Sukui shuddered and pinned his skullcap into position, suddenly glad that he had stopped himself from inviting Mono back to Alabama City.
'Shall we go?'
Mono was by the door and Sukui nodded, suddenly aware that MidNight had been happening without him. 'Yes,' he said. 'Let's go.'