The Abyss Beyond Dreams (47 page)

The doorman was frowning as Slvasta came up the steps. Then recognition kicked in, and the doorman suddenly smiled.

‘Captain Slvasta, sir! Welcome.’

Slvasta gave the man a small nod, half-embarrassed. This had been the way of it for the whole ten days since the Doncastor Station Stampede (as everyone now referred to it). He hadn’t
realized at the time, of course, but the shared vision from everyone in Eynsham Square had been perceived clean across the city. The one-armed man, standing resolutely in front of a group of
terrified school kids, aiming a pistol at the charge of rampaging neuts and fearsome mod-apes. Calmly picking off the mod-apes while his teekay lanced into the brains of neuts until the children
were safe. A few other people stood with him, but no one noticed them. Pamphlets and gazettes alike had been effusive in praising the ‘Hero of Eynsham Square’.

‘Thank you,’ Slvasta said modestly.

A footman was waiting by the reception desk just inside. He bowed in greeting. ‘Colonel Gelasis is waiting for you in the Nevada suite,’ he said. ‘Please follow me. It’s
such an honour to have you here.’

And how do you answer that and its variants twenty times a day?

The Nevada suite was a private wood-panelled room off the club’s second-floor dining hall. Colonel Gelasis was sitting at the head of its long polished table, wearing his uniform. But not
full ceremonial dress, Slvasta saw; no silk sashes or spiky oversize medals, just discreet gold braid and a line of ribbons. For the colonel, that was almost being in civvies.

‘My dear chap.’ Colonel Gelasis rose and shook Slvasta’s hand enthusiastically. ‘So good to see you again. Thank you for coming.’

Slvasta inclined his head politely. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’ His first instinct when the runner arrived with the invitation had been to refuse – with a vulgar reply. The
others had talked him out of it.

‘We need to know what they want,’ Bethaneve had said.

‘We need to know what they think you are,’ Coulan countered.

‘What I am?’

‘If they know you’re the true head of Democratic Unity.’

‘We are the party leaders,’ Slvasta said, almost desperately.

‘In here among ourselves, yes,’ Javier said. ‘But after Eynsham Square, you’re the public face.’

‘Like Bryan-Anthony?’ he grumped.

‘That’s not going to happen. Not to the Hero of—’

Eight days, and he was already cringing at the term.

Bethaneve stroked his cheek possessively. ‘They won’t kill you,’ she said. ‘They want to seduce you. That’s why your old boss wants to see you.’

‘So what do I tell them?’

Looking at Colonel Gelasis as they sat down, Slvasta couldn’t think of anyone less likely to be a political agent. The colonel had served the Captain’s Marines with distinction. The
damage to his leg was cleverly fuzzed, and he could walk with just the slightest limp; only if he attempted to run was the injury apparent. But then that was probably why he’d been chosen as
the one to make contact, someone Slvasta could relate to.

‘I have to tell you,’ Gelasis said, ‘we were all shocked by your resignation. Personally, I was very disappointed.’

‘Really?’ Slvasta wasn’t going to let him off that lightly. ‘They were going to crucify Arnice. He was going to be blamed for everything. If that’s the kind of
loyalty the Meor regiment shows, then—’

‘That
wasn’t
the regiment, and you know it,’ Gelasis snapped immediately. ‘Some little prick working in the basement of the National Council thought he could
shift the blame away from his masters. The Meor commandant would have had that charge revoked by the end of the week, that or the regiment would’ve marched on the Council. Arnice was one of
their own, dammit, a brother officer. Politicians don’t get to blame the regiments for their stupidity and incompetence.’

‘It wasn’t just that,’ Slvasta mumbled, annoyed with himself for being put on the defensive. ‘That was just the last straw.’

‘Ha.’ Gelasis poured him some wine. ‘Paperwork, eh? Now that I do understand. The number of times I’ve been tempted to tell the Treasury maggots to stick their triplicate
forms up their arse . . .’

‘One reform. Just one. That’s all I wanted. And it wasn’t exactly a tough one.’

‘Well, if it gives you any satisfaction, it’s going to happen now. And sharpish. Doncastor station was a lesson too close to home for some. I mean, I knew Fallers have a better
control of mods, but that . . .’ He shook his head and took some wine. ‘Bad business. And you did a superb job protecting those children. Commendable. You know, recruitment in the city
has nearly doubled in the last week. That’s all down to you.’

‘I’m a private citizen.’ Though it hadn’t escaped his notice that all the gazettes kept calling him Captain Slvasta.

‘That was a regimental officer I saw out there. Saving Bienvenido’s citizens from the Faller menace, without fear, totally selfless. You made me proud, my boy.’

‘What menace? I haven’t heard a damn thing about the nest since. You and I both know he couldn’t have been alone.’

Gelasis grimaced. ‘That’s the bloody Captain’s police. There hasn’t been a nest in Varlan for five centuries. They’re shit scared one slipped through somehow.
There’s a lot of backstabbing going on up at the sheriff’s office right now. And to their credit, there’s a lot of hard searching going on, too. Right now, you can’t get
into any government building without having a needle jabbed into your thumb to see the colour of your blood. They’ll find the others, don’t you worry. Failure simply cannot be
tolerated, not when it comes to nests.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ Slvasta was well aware of the political pressure right now. Even the gazettes had been scathing about the authorities allowing a nest into Varlan.

Their soup was brought in by two waiters in starched white jackets – tomato and red petter with crusty bread still warm from the baking oven. Slvasta had to admit it did taste good; the
Westergate Club wasn’t just about status.

‘Nice,’ he conceded.

‘My pleasure. Enjoy it while you can; the economy is going to take a real beating now. We’re all going to have to tighten our belts.’

‘Why?’

Gelasis paused with the silver soup spoon almost at his mouth and gave Slvasta a stern glance. ‘Please don’t pretend to be that naive. Besides, Democratic Unity supports the killing
of mods. Your public policy is quite clear and explicit about that.’

‘We support severing our dependence on them, yes.’

‘You’re talking genocide.’

‘I’ve faced Faller-controlled mods twice in my life now. That’s two times too many. Both times I was lucky to escape alive. I don’t want it to happen a third time. The
odds aren’t in my favour any more.’

‘That’s understandable. And now you may well have your wish. People were badly shaken by the stampede. Two of the smaller stables in town have already closed. It’s only a
matter of time until the rest collapse.’

‘You expect me to show sympathy?’

‘No. But you have to admit, we’re off the map with this one. The Treasury doesn’t even know if the economy can remain intact without mod labour.’

‘As you said, everyone will have to tighten their belts.’ Slvasta raised his spoon to make the point. ‘Except the people who had nothing to start with and now find themselves
overwhelmed with offers of jobs. The underclass finally has new opportunities opening up.’

‘And the votes for Democratic Unity will flood in, no doubt.’

‘Here’s hoping.’

Gelasis nodded sagely. ‘What do you want?’

‘You’re the one who invited me.’

‘I did, didn’t I? May I speak plainly and in confidence?’

‘Frankly, it would be a relief. If I’ve learned anything from council meetings, it’s that I’m not the world’s greatest politician.’

‘I’m surprised you’re not mayor of Nalani, now.’

‘Are you? Look what happened to the last mayor.’

‘Touché. All right.’ Gelasis pushed his soup bowl to one side and gave Slvasta an intent stare. ‘I have friends in the National Council who are keen to come to an accord
with Democratic Unity.’

‘Members of Citizens’ Dawn want an agreement? I find that hard to believe.’

‘Very senior members, yes.’

‘Ha. Who don’t like losing backwater boroughs like Nalani.’

‘Slvasta, face facts, nobody gives a crud about Nalani. Uracus, your party might even do some good there! Giu knows, nobody else cares about it. But the mid-term elections are coming up in
less than eight months. A third of Varlan’s boroughs, many of them poor ones. There are also seats on the National Council up for grabs, too.’

‘And your friends are getting concerned about that, right?’ Slvasta asked. Bethaneve and Coulan were already recruiting potential candidates to stand in the boroughs. They
weren’t short of volunteers; everyone was fired up after Democratic Unity’s recent success. And, just possibly, they were impressed by the Hero of Eynsham Square, too.

‘Some of those boroughs could be yours,’ Gelasis said. ‘Maybe even a National Council seat. Langley, for example.’

‘What?’ Slvasta desperately wished it was Coulan or Bethaneve sitting here in his place. Politics and its labyrinthine deals and bluffs and weasel words was something he could never
quite grasp. He was always worried he was being played for a fool when convoluted clever deals were suggested. And, as for making equally smart counter-offers . . .

‘Hear me out,’ Gelasis said smoothly. ‘I really did mean
yours
.’

‘Ours?’

‘No: you. Personally. You would be a superb addition to the National Council. Think about it. You’re not from a wealthy family, which brings so much resentment among a huge
proportion of the population, but you served your regiment with distinction. The city witnessed you going head to head with Fallers. You have integrity. People trust you, rightly so. You’re a
perfect candidate.’

Slvasta thought back to a similar conversation not so long ago, how his friends were just waiting to push him forward as the head of Democratic Unity. ‘I can’t believe
Citizens’ Dawn is offering this.’

‘You’re the right type, Slvasta – a decent cove who wants the best for people. All the people. And having you on the National Council would make the recessive elements of
Citizens’ Dawn sit up and take notice. They’ve been excluding and ignoring the poor for too long, don’t you think?’

‘Well, yes. That’s why we formed Democratic Unity.’

‘Tuksbury holds Langley, has done for the last thirty-six years. He’s a stupid, petty, vain little man, running a rotten district, serving his family and their companies before
everything else. The worst type of Bienvenido politician. If you were to stand, I have been given assurances that Citizens’ Dawn support for Tuksbury would be non-existent. You’d win.
It’s that simple.’

‘And Citizens’ Dawn are happy with that?’ he asked sceptically.

‘Listen, Slvasta, you’re a reasonable, rational man. You understand what should be done, and you’re not a raving hothead about it like all the other hate-the-rich dissenter
rabble. People who run the world need to be sensible and cogent, to understand give and take.’ Gelasis gave him a friendly smile. ‘And think how many friends you’d have in the
regiments. You could give us a direct voice in the heart of government, instead of trying to worm progress through the Treasury one request form at a time. That is the ultimate aim for all of us,
isn’t it? To give the regiments the ability to defeat the Fallers once and for all? After all, if not, we’re all doomed.’

‘I think that would take more than one lone voice.’

‘You have more supporters than you think. Your party only existed for a few weeks before the Nalani election, and look how many votes you got. And we both know you’re building
support in new boroughs, ready for the next elections. You know full well that nothing will be accomplished if your candidates are just a collection of firebrands and ideologues. Building a
reputable party capable of achieving your aims will be tough. If you don’t step up, it will be damn near impossible, eh?’

Slvasta let out a long breath. ‘You don’t have to tell me how tough it is.’

‘So you’ll consider it? Standing for Langley?’

‘I’d be foolish not to.’

‘Excellent. So, let’s get those steaks in here, shall we?’

*

Bethaneve waited in a small clothing store on Vesuvian Street opposite the six-storey tenement. The monolithic building was a couple of centuries old, and completely covered in
the heavy blue-white leaves of a skirs vine. She didn’t know if the walls were brick or stone – even the windows were slowly shrinking behind the vigorous shoots. Hordes of children
played lively games on the street outside, their exuberance a reaction to the tiny rooms they were forced to share inside.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go into the tenement herself; her reluctance came from a deeper place, the need to avoid exposure. The revolution might be undeclared so far. But
that didn’t mean it had gone unnoticed. And the First Officer was often seen at Trevene’s headquarters at Fifty-Eight Grosvner Place. The risk—

Bethaneve put a fast stop to that line of thought and glanced at the tenement again. Coulan was coming out of an open archway, walking briskly across the road. His thoughts as urbane as ever.
She left the shop, her ex-sight scanning for any mod-birds. This level of vigilance was routine now.

‘Well?’ she asked.

‘Kolan’s not been home for two days now,’ Coulan said, maintaining his neutral face and shell.

‘Crud!’ Yesterday she’d heard that Trevene’s weasel teams were asking about Kolan, the man who’d stood with Slvasta in Eynsham Square. Kolan, a fifth-level cell
member whom she’d instructed to help defend the children. Not directly, the request came slipping and slithering through three other cells before it got to him. But still . . .

Her people told her the questions were closing in on Vesuvian Street, then they had the name. They were good, her people. Special. Quiet. Clever. Elites, a group chosen by her from various cells
for specialist tasks. Not the kind of aggressor duties Coulan was training his militia for; her elites were used to tracking people across the city, to ask discreet questions, to follow rumour to
the source and gain the truth. They were developing into a useful asset in the unseen quiet struggle with Trevene’s informers and spies and thugs. She hadn’t quite got round to
mentioning them to Slvasta. The arrangement was that she handled details, leaving him free to lead the revolution.