Meridian Days (4 page)

In the event he was saved the effort.

We were interrupted by the arrival of the nighttime phase. The leading edge of the oval shield swooped over the island, bringing with it the brief twilight which presaged eight hours of total darkness. Towards the sunward horizon, the shield was drawing slowly across the burning orb like a great shutter. With the advent of the penumbra, the Brightside aurora burned all the more magnificently, creating spectacular reflections on the surface of the sea. There was a spontaneous burst of applause from the guests on the lawn. Trevellion's dome glowed in the gathering darkness, and from nowhere a spotlight flashed on, picking out the arched exit and the steps leading down to the garden.

"What did I tell you?" Doug murmured in satisfaction.

The music grew muted. A hush descended over the gathering, and the Altereds beside us gazed up in adoration. Tamara Trevellion made her entry.

I stared, too, but the emotion I experienced was more revulsion than reverence. I thought at first that she was wearing a sheer, black evening gown. But then I saw, as she paused in the spotlight at the top of the stairs a matter of metres from us, that I was mistaken. Tamara Trevellion was entirely naked. The gown was in fact a membranous series of frills and fins which flowed and eddied around her body like the finest filigree. Her breasts had been removed, her vagina concealed behind a flap of scales. But it was her face that I found more shocking. Thin lips hyphenated mailed cheeks, and her eyes were huge, grey and depthless. A high, spined crest began at her brow and carried on over her narrow skull to the nape of her neck. Gills, sealed now, were angry red incisions at her throat. The entire effect — far from being aesthetically pleasing, as I guessed had been her intention — was monstrous. I recalled the beautiful mer-woman I had seen on my vid-screen a year ago, and could not decide if my senses had been at fault, or if Trevellion had had herself further Altered.

"The Black Widow fish of the Darkside deeps," Abe whispered to me, staring at her. "Its pigment blackens for camouflage when the male of the species has fertilised it and died."

I stared up at the tall, regal figure. I had to admit that I found her imposing, perhaps because of the way she stood, immobile and silent, regarding her guests as if we were her subjects.

Only then did I notice the two people standing in her wake. One was a small, thin girl, who I took to be her maid or companion. I was immediately taken by her: she was dressed rather plainly, as if she had had the yellow smock selected for her, rather than having chosen it herself — but this served only to highlight her natural prettiness. She was the first woman I had seen that evening who seemed wholly natural and
human
. I wondered if Trevellion had had a say in the girl's attire, so as not to be upstaged by her maid.

The second figure was a fat, bald-headed man who I recognised from news broadcasts as Trevellion's surgeon, responsible for her alteration. He hovered close behind the fish-woman like some kind of piscean parasite, as if expecting his skills to be called upon at any second.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Trevellion began in a clear, cold soprano, lights flashing off her iridescent scales. "I am, of course, honoured by your presence. Today is somewhat special for me, as you well know. It came to me that the occasion could not go without some form of event to mark it, a creation of surpassing merit. To this end, for the past month, I have endeavoured to create a montage with commentary for your appreciation. The piece is entitled "Memoriam" and will be screened, as ever, above the greensward in a little over thirty minutes. I sincerely hope you enjoy." A round of applause greeted the words, and I found myself joining in. Trevellion raised her hands in an imperious gesture, demanding silence. "Perhaps at this point, I might take the opportunity to mention that I have arranged a special live event to be performed next week..." At this, a murmur of appreciation spread through the audience. "I have been planning this event for some months now, and modestly believe it to be my finest creation. As yet untitled, it will symbolise Earth's relationship with Meridian. You are all invited." Trevellion inclined her head. "Thank you." More applause, and accepting it like royalty she stepped from the spotlight and circulated, the girl and the surgeon in close attendance.

"Well," Doug commented, "that should be worth the wait. Trevellion's live events are quite something." He broke off and gestured to someone among a group of Augmenteds.

Across the lawn Wolfe Steiner was engaged in conversation with a short, bearded man. When he saw Doug he excused himself with a civil bow and joined us. He towered over Doug, the effect of the two men side by side almost comical. The Director of the Telemass Organisation was attired in a severe black uniform; his silver hair, cropped short, emphasized his military bearing.

"Inspector Foulds," he inclined his Augmented head towards the officer, then to Abe and myself.

"Wolfe," Doug said jovially, and the use of his first name was like a challenge, "enjoying the party?" I was suddenly aware of a charge of ill-feeling between the Director and the Inspector.

Unsmiling, the Director tipped his head to one side in a non-committal gesture. "As parties go, it is above the average."

"We don't usually see you at these events," Doug went on.

"I have been especially busy of late."

I wondered if Director Steiner's air of detachment — although bodily present, he seemed absent, as if he had left his personality elsewhere — was the result of some belligerence between Doug and himself, or an effect of his Augmentation. Many Augmenteds I had met seemed to exist in a realm at one remove from reality, lost like autistics in some private inner world.

"But work couldn't keep you away from this one, eh, Wolfe?"

The Director deigned not to reply.

Undeterred, Doug continued, "The event should be quite something, hm?"

Steiner regarded him with eyes so brown they seemed black. A ribbed cupola braced his skull and held his head at a quizzical angle. His response came after a lapse of seconds.

"I cannot honestly say that I am anticipating the event."

Doug rubbed his hands together, gave a quick wink to Abe. "Oh, and why's that, Wolfe?"

The Director considered. "In my opinion, tonight's event seems too calculated a response to be considered true art. Also, I am not sure that Tamara has recovered sufficiently from, and fully assimilated, her tragedy to produce a significant work on the subject." He became silent. Points of light sequenced along the surface of the cupola below his right ear.

Perhaps to deter Doug's further jibes, Abe said, "Won't this be your last social event on Meridian, Director? I've heard you're leaving."

"I leave in less than a week," Steiner replied. "I might just make Tamara's next event. The date of embarkation has been put back, due to unforeseen circumstances—"

"And what of Tamara," Doug cut in, "will she be going with you?"

Steiner seemed not to notice, or chose to ignore, Doug's provocations. "I have asked Tamara to accompany me to my new posting."

"And has she accepted?"

"That remains to be seen," Steiner replied evenly.

Abe exchanged a glance with me. I knew that he felt as uneasy a spectator of this verbal duel as I did. He said, "Perhaps you could tell me, Director — is there any truth to the rumour that the Telemass shots to Earth are to be reduced to one a month? I've heard there's been staff cuts at the station."

I saw Doug glance at the Director, a slight smile on his lips, as if he knew something that we did not and was enjoying seeing Steiner cross-questioned.

"Earth-Meridian shots, and vice versa, will
not
be cut to one a month, Mr Cunningham," Steiner said. "Staff has been reduced, that is true. But this will in no way affect the regularity of imports and exports."

"Is that so?" Doug asked. "Then what's the 'technical adviser' — isn't that how he was introduced? — doing on Meridian if everything's AOK?" He indicated the black-suited, bearded man Steiner had been talking to earlier.

"Weller's visit here is merely routine," Steiner replied.

"But you don't deny things are slowing down on Meridian?" Doug went on. "Tourism has taken a tumble over the past year, the mining operations have pulled out..."

"I suggest," Steiner said testily, "that you interrogate the economists on Main about these purported facts. I run the Telemass station, Inspector, not the planet."

Doug sipped his drink, smiling to himself.

Steiner said, "I received your message earlier, Mr Cunningham." He turned to Doug. "I presume you wanted to see me about this matter, Inspector?"

Doug nodded. "Could you tell me if any of your technicians are missing, Wolfe?" he asked. "The remains found today seem to belong to one of your men."

Steiner lapsed into a trance. Lines of miniaturised text scrolled down his pupils. He came to and reported to the Inspector, "I have five staff on furlough at the moment. They might be anywhere on Meridian." He paused. "Do you know how the technician died, Mr Cunningham?"

"Well, not really. It was obvious that a sand lion got to him at some point, but whether the animal was the cause of death..."

"Also," Doug said, "it's a bit of a mystery how the tech got out that far. There was no vehicle nearby, or vehicle tracks, according to Abe and Bob. And he couldn't have walked so far out."

"Is it possible that a lion might have attacked him near the coast and carried the remains inland?" Steiner asked.

Doug glanced at Abe, who shook his head. "They're not known to venture anywhere near the coast. They live and hunt in an area one to two hundred kays into the interior. And they don't carry their victims. They devour them on the spot."

Doug nodded. "I might need to question you at some time. I'd be obliged if you could make yourselves available."

There was a flurry of commotion behind us. Tamara Trevellion was making her way through an admiring throng of guests, the pretty girl and her surgeon in tow. Steiner excused himself, joined her and took her hand; he escorted the fish-woman towards our group, answering her questions on the way.

As I watched them, I wondered how the Director could bring himself to conduct an affair with a woman so alien.

We accommodated the artist into our circle. "Mr Cunningham, Inspector Foulds." She inclined her head to each in turn.  "Wolfe, my dear, do introduce me..." Her tone was imperious, without warmth. She stared down at me as I was introduced and extended a cold and bloodless hand. Barbels depended from her underslung jaw, their extremities illuminated like fibre optic cable.

"Delighted," she said, far from convincingly.

Although Trevellion had retained her original form, it seemed as though she had been stretched, the bones and muscles of her limbs, and even those of her torso, drawn and attenuated to achieve some aesthetic at odds with any human criteria of beauty. Seen at a distance, she might have appeared strikingly slender and exotic; at close quarters, towering over Director Steiner and the rest of us, she struck me as a bizarre freak. When she took my hand I felt the cold sebaceous film that covered her body, and only then did I notice the parasitical, sluglike fish that anchored themselves to her scales by suction and moved about her person with quick flips of their tales.

Now she laid four webbed fingers on Steiner's arm. "I trust you have been keeping our guests entertained?" Her face was devoid of any expression I might have recognised, but I thought I detected a note of irony in her tone. The last thing that Director Steiner could be called upon to do was to 'entertain'.

"We were having a fascinating discussion," Doug joined in the fun.

Steiner, augmented beyond such petty concerns, stood beside the fish-woman and took it all in silence — or perhaps he was lost in some abstraction known only to himself.

"I suppose he's been telling you about his treachery," Trevellion went on.

At this, Steiner did respond. His eyes widened, as if the remark had jolted him. He stared at Trevellion.

"What treachery is this?" Doug asked, suppressing a smile.

"Oh, he didn't tell you?" She squeezed her lover's arm. "Wolfe is deserting me."

"That is hardly fair," Steiner said. "I have asked you to accompany me to my next posting, Tamara."

"Will you go, Mrs Trevellion?" Doug asked.

"Meridian is my home now. I adore the place. I will never leave, no matter what." At this she stared at Steiner, her flat grey eyes expressionless.

She changed the subject, addressing Abe. "Mr Cunningham — Wolfe mentioned that you were discussing sand lions. Apparently you saw someone savaged on Brightside today?"

I drew a sharp breath and almost choked on my drink. I was unable to tell if Tamara Trevellion's reference to Brightside was intentional, another cruel jibe, or merely a
faux pas
of thoughtless insensitivity.

In the fraught silence that followed, I noticed the girl — Trevellion's maid or assistant, standing behind the fish-woman. She clearly wanted to say something, change the subject, but could not find the words to do so. She wore a wincing expression between pain and embarrassment.

Abe nodded. "That's right," he said. His stare was a challenge.

"Sand lions fascinate me," Trevellion went on. "They are the most ferocious animal native to the planet, are they not?"

Abe swirled his drink. "You're well informed."

"Do you know something," she said, seemingly addressing us all, "I rather think I would like one as a pet—"

"That's quite impossible," Abe said, almost losing his cool.

"It is? But surely a lion could be operated upon so that it obeyed my commands?" She turned and gestured imperiously to her surgeon. "Hathaway, what do you think?" The surgeon almost bowed, then whispered that such an operation was feasible.

I wanted suddenly to be elsewhere, away from the tableau of Trevellion's holding court, trampling over people's sensibilities with her thoughtless egotism.

The same thought had obviously occurred to the girl. She edged in beside me, pursed her lips tight and raised her eyes, as if to say: "Here she goes again!" It was a relief to see features so animated after Trevellion's lugubrious expression.