The Abyss Beyond Dreams (48 page)

‘Do you think they’ve got him?’ she asked as they walked away. Not in a hurry, not drawing attention. Further along the street, three elites were watching people and mods,
alert for anything out of place.

‘Oh yes,’ Coulan said. ‘He has a wife and three kids. He’s not going to vanish without telling them.’

‘Has she reported it to the sheriffs?’

‘Yes. As you can imagine, they just leapt into action.’

‘Dammit. Nobody can hold out against what they’ll do to him. He’ll give them passwords, places, times. Everything. He probably already has.’

‘Yes, but what is everything? What does he actually know? He gets an occasional ’path from someone he’s never met, a suggestion that this or that might help stick it to the
Captain every now and then. Harmless enough stuff.’

‘I ordered him to stand with Slvasta, Coulan. It’s a disaster. Trevene will know we’re organized way beyond a simple political party.’

‘If he’s half as smart as he’s supposed to be, he knew that a long time ago.’

‘But now he’s got names.’

‘A name. One.’

‘There were others with Slvasta. They need to leave Varlan. For good. And the other four in Kolan’s cell, too: he can identify them.’

‘So warn them. That’s why we have the cells set up the way they are. It’s a network Trevene can’t hope to crack as long as we take the right precautions.’

‘Yes,’ she nodded, his composure making her own fluttery thoughts calmer. ‘You’re right.’

He grinned. ‘I’m always right.’

Bethaneve started to private ’path specific warnings. With luck, the recipients would take them seriously. It took a lot to up and leave your home. She added a few details, emphasizing the
danger. The First Officer’s face was often a subliminal addition to the messages.

Do what I ask. Please. Get out while there’s still time. You won’t live to regret it if you don’t.

*

‘Hotheads and ideologues, huh?’ Javier snorted in contempt.

Slvasta grinned at him over his tankard. ‘’Fraid so.’

They were all in the Bellaview pub’s high walled garden, huddled round a table to discuss Slvasta’s lunch.

‘And they’ll give you Langley?’ Coulan queried.

‘That’s what he said.’

‘I wonder who he really represents?’ Bethaneve asked.

‘Some faction of Citizens’ Dawn that’s backed by the regiments,’ Javier said. ‘There’s some heavy-duty fallout from the Doncastor station stampede. The
politicians and the regiments are each blaming the other. It’s getting ugly in the government district.’

‘It’s getting ugly everywhere,’ Coulan said. ‘People have been reminded how dangerous mods are when they’re controlled by Fallers; their complacency has been
shaken. We need to capitalize on that with the right candidates, who can stand up in public and make a smart argument for our policies.’

‘Why are we even talking about this?’ Bethaneve said. ‘It’s the cells that will overthrow the Captain, not spending twenty years working up through the corrupt council
system.’

‘Really?’ Javier said. ‘There were hundreds of comrades at the stampede. We managed to get three to stand with Slvasta. We were helpless when the neuts charged. We turned and
ran when the mod-apes joined in. It was the Meor that actually brought that Faller down. We did the groundwork, but they have the power, them and the sheriffs.’

‘Power,’ Slvasta said. ‘You mean weapons.’

‘I do.’

‘We’ll never achieve anything until we can physically take on the regiments and sheriffs,’ Coulan said.

‘You’re talking about killing people,’ Slvasta said wearily.

‘We have to arm ourselves,’ Javier said. ‘What happened to Bryan-Anthony made that very clear.’

‘Maybe,’ Slvasta said. He hated the whole idea, though he had to admit that unless they could fight the establishment out on the streets, the odds against them were overwhelming.
‘But Trevene will certainly know if we start buying guns. Even if we had that kind of money.’

‘Maybe not,’ Bethaneve said. She tried not to grin as they all turned to look at her. ‘I had an interesting message today; it came up through the cells. One of the comrades was
trying to recruit someone from out of town. Turns out this person claims he can put us in touch with some kind of weapons merchant.’

‘Trap,’ Javier said immediately. ‘Trevene and the Captain are closing in. You’re popular now, Slvasta, they can’t just disappear you like they do everyone else. So
they set you up, then come crashing through the door just when you’re holding the guns and handing over the money. A gift for the whole city to perceive.’

‘Nice idea, but we don’t have the money,’ Slvasta said. ‘And before anyone suggests it, I really don’t want to use the cells to start robbing banks –
we’d be nothing more than gangsters then.’

‘It wouldn’t come to that,’ Bethaneve said. ‘The weapons merchant is sympathetic to our cause.’

‘There’s no such thing as a sympathetic merchant, let alone one who sells weapons,’ Javier said forcefully.

‘We can’t afford to ignore this,’ she replied, meeting Javier’s stare levelly. ‘It could be the difference between success and the dungeons underneath Fifty-Eight
Grosvner Place.’

‘Trap,’ Javier repeated stubbornly, shaking his head.

‘Possibly,’ she conceded. ‘In which case we need to send someone who’s smart enough to see it coming and walk away, someone they can’t arrest on suspicion alone.
But at the same time, someone who can deal directly with this weapons merchant if it turns out legitimate.’

They all turned to look at Slvasta.

‘Oh, come on,’ he exclaimed, his tankard frozen halfway to his mouth. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah,’ Bethaneve said. ‘Seriously.’

The Southern City Line express was scheduled to take sixteen hours to complete the thousand-mile journey from Willesden, Varlan’s over-the-river station, to Dios, the
capital city of a sprawling agricultural county. After that it would carry on to Port Chana on the southern coast, a further two thousand miles and thirty-five hours away.

Slvasta sat in a second-class carriage, a window seat giving him a view out across the farms and forests that cloaked the landscape. Long brick viaducts carried the train lines across broad
valleys where tributaries of the river Nubain meandered their way through the land. Streamers of steam and smoke churned past the glass, temporarily obscuring the view. At first he’d paid a
lot of attention to the panorama, then as the monotony grew, he turned to the books Bethaneve had supplied for the journey. Three biographies of first ministers of the National Council: ‘Pay
attention to their campaign strategies,’ she instructed; and two weighty tomes on economic theory, ‘because we have to get a grip on the fundamentals’. He read the pages
dutifully, wishing she could have slipped a decent modern novel into the stack; he enjoyed sheriff procedurals.

The carriage was mostly full of salesmen and junior government staff. Some families were travelling, their restless kids prowling the aisle. At the far end an infant cried in hour-long outbursts
despite everything its fraught mother could do to quiet it, triggering weary, knowing expressions from the rest of the adults each time the wailing started.

Slvasta’s travelling companion took a seat further down the carriage. The meeting had been set up by a cell in the Hicombe Shanty. A cautious introduction in the middle of Lloyd Park, with
Javier and Coulan keeping a careful watch for any signs of the Captain’s police lurking in the bushes. The sky overhead appeared to be free of mod-birds, and no one suspicious was strolling
across the rolling expanse of grass. And as agreed, the man had been waiting by the big stone and crystal fountain at the centre of the park, wearing a dark blue hat.

He called himself Russell, and Slvasta couldn’t tell if that was true or not. His shell was impeccably maintained. He was middle aged, wearing a simple white shirt, dark blue trousers and
sturdy boots. ‘Captain Slvasta, a pleasure,’ Russell said.

‘Just Slvasta, now. I resigned from my regiment some time ago now.’

‘Of course. But I am glad it’s you who’s here.’

‘You told a colleague you might be able to help Democratic Unity.’

Russell smiled gently. ‘We both know that’s not true, but I understand your caution. So, yes, I know a man who can greatly assist your cause.’

‘In what way?’

‘The way every politician craves. He would like to donate. The kind of donation that will ultimately guarantee your success.’

‘I see,’ Slvasta said. ‘And what is it this benefactor wants in return? Democratic Unity is not rich.’

‘I have no idea what his price is.’

‘Then what— ?’

‘This meeting is simply to assess your level of integrity.’

Slvasta’s face hardened to match his shell. ‘Oh, really?’

‘He would like to meet you. That way you can have the opportunity to appraise him. He hopes, that way a deal can be agreed.’

*

So, a week later, here he was on the express, travelling to an unknown destination to see someone who may or may not have guns for sale. It was about as unlikely as you could
get. Not to mention potentially lethal. If this was a set-up by the Captain’s police, he wouldn’t be coming back.

Though, if it was a set-up, he had to admit it was flawless. Everyone at the station had seen him get on the train by his own free will, no coercion involved. He wasn’t yet Democratic
Unity’s publicly acknowledged leader, not a true public figure. So who would ever ask what happened to good old Captain Slvasta if he didn’t come back? And if you were stupid enough to
persist in asking, you’d most likely experience a similar journey. All he wondered about now was if the Captain’s police were really
that
good.

It was half past ten at night when the express finally drew in to the main station at Dios. There were eight platforms sheltering under four long arched roofs whose glass was blackened by soot
from the big engines. Russell brushed against him on the platform, and Slvasta was left holding a new ticket. A local train for Erond at the end of a branch line, two hundred and fifty miles east.
It departed in twelve minutes from platform seven.

Slvasta hurried over to platform seven, where the slightly smaller engine was puffing away enthusiastically. Behind him the express let out a sharp whistle blast as it rolled out of the station
on its way south. As far as he could tell, he and Russell were the only passengers from the express to board the Erond train. Once again, they sat in the same carriage but not next to each
other.

Erond was the end of the line – a simple station with two platforms but no grand overhead roof. A considerable quantity of cold rain washed across Slvasta as he stepped out at two thirty
in the morning. He hurried for the cover of the wooden canopy that arched out of the main ticket office like a stumpy wing. A lone platform agent inspector stood by the gate, stamping his feet
against the chill as he examined the tickets of the disembarking passengers. Outside, sparse oil lamps on wall brackets emitted a weak yellow glow, revealing a bleak street of terraced houses and
small shops. A couple of listless mod-monkeys moved along slowly, clearing rubbish from the gutters. Slvasta stared at them almost in shock; he hadn’t seen a team of mods performing civic
work for weeks now. No one here had heard of the anti-mod campaign that thrived in the capital. Erond was a market town, but not especially wealthy. Here people needed all the help they could get.
He suspected that it would be a lot harder to wean them off mods, even though the countryside population ought to be natural Democratic Unity voters.

If we overthrow the Captain and the National Council, how many of the counties will recognize a new government?
he wondered.
But they can’t afford to ignore us. Defending
Bienvenido from Faller eggs has to be a joint venture, with everyone cooperating.

Russell walked past. ‘Follow me,’ he ’pathed.

The street led into the town’s waterfront district, which had been colonized by warehouses and large commercial buildings. Walking along the gloomy streets between the high uncompromising
brick walls, trying not to lose his mysterious guide, Slvasta hadn’t felt so isolated and lonely since the day he arrived in Varlan, full of resentment and completely alone. At least, back
then, he knew where he was going; here there could be anything waiting for him in the bleak warren of lanes and alleys. He wasn’t sure if he was frightened or excited by that.

When he arrived at the docks, the cold rain had wormed its way under his jacket, turning his skin numb. Slipways alternated with wharfs, almost half of which had cargo boats birthed for the
night, dark and silent except for one.

Russell had stopped at the gangplank of the only boat that had its running lamps lit, a longbarge that was fully laden judging by how low it was in the water. Slvasta could hear the engine
chugging quietly below decks; a tall iron stack puffed out thin streamers of smoke.

Then he sensed someone emerging from an alley between two warehouses behind him and turned to see a dark figure in a rain hat standing in the meagre glimmer of a street lamp. Slvasta was sure he
hadn’t been on the train. Russell gave the watcher a silent wave of acknowledgement. ‘We haven’t been followed. You can come on board.’

‘More travelling?’ Slvasta asked with a groan.

‘If you want to meet him, yes. Not much further.’

Slvasta shrugged; he’d come this far. He stepped onto the gangplank, impressed by the way Russell’s boss had arranged the trip and watched for any signs of pursuit. Clearly, the
network of cells they’d painstakingly built up in Varlan wasn’t the only subversive organization on Bienvenido. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or not.

*

Slvasta didn’t know how long he slept. When he woke it was raining again, the big drops drumming loudly on the taut canvas tarpaulins covering the longbarge’s
holds. His cot was in a tiny alcove in the cabin, barely more than a shelf, a curtain closing it off. He pulled it aside and swung out. A weak grey daylight shone through small portholes just below
the roof. His clothes were stretched across a stool in front of the galley’s small iron stove. The heat from the coals glowing in the grate had dried them out overnight, and he put them on,
allowing his ex-sight to sweep the longbarge.