Feodor was an imposing figure; Vikram had seen that before. Now, so much closer, he could see the grey threads in the thick hair, the slightly sallow complexion, and eyes that settled comfortably, with a keen relish, on any opponent, daring them to outstare.
But he doesn’t know me, he thought. I’m an alien to him.
“A simple case of reallocation,” said the son again. “The resources are there, we require only a good mathematician and a little imagination.”
“I see. And may I ask if you envisage the west developing further-perhaps to the same standards as the rest of the city?”
“Is there a reason why not? Is it Osiris doctrine to promote starvation and hypothermia?”
“I take your point,” said Feodor. The chambers had hushed for this debate between Rechnov and Rechnov. If he hadn’t known who they were, Vikram would have suspected he was observing a pair of regular antagonists. It made no sense. “Clearly we are not advocating poverty. Our city was not built with that intent-far from it. Nonetheless, Osiris has changed. We have been stretched beyond our resources, and we cannot offer the west the lifestyle of the City. False hope is a dangerous tool to employ.”
“You’re a defeatist, Feodor,” said the young man. His tone was dismissive, and Vikram allowed himself a small smile.
“I am a realist,” the other replied. “That is our job, to be realistic. To implement the feasible. East and west can never be integrated. Draw up your aid programmes if it appeases your conscience, but I guarantee the consequences will be more problematic than you imagine.”
“Consequences are always problematic. That doesn’t mean we should shy away from action. I tell you, we may choose to forget history, but it has not forgotten us, and nor will the west if we persist in flaunting our ignorance. We have executed one man-the threat, as some would say, has been eliminated. Now is our opportunity to show the west we can be generous.”
The younger Rechnov’s name was Linus, Vikram remembered. He looked more like the infamous sister than the father.
Feodor pressed on. “Do you honestly believe that any kind of integration could be accomplished without mutual tragedy?”
“If it were dealt with sensitively, I see no reason why tragedy should be the result.”
Restlessness pervaded the chambers now. Vikram sensed the debate slipping away into personal territory. Evidently he was not the only one, because the woman who had first spoken stood again.
“It is pointless spending hours going over these issues today when clearly the matter requires further research. I suggest we move onto other items on the agenda?”
A cheer echoed her. Vikram dragged his attention away from the two Rechnovs.
“What do you mean, other research? How much research does it take to see that people are dying of cold?”
“Mr Bai, you have been warned once.”
Half the Council were on their feet, raising their voices over one another as they argued.
“Actually, we’re neglecting an opportunity here. What we really need is a larger budget for the western defence perimeter. Personally, I’d recommend a twelve point five increase.”
“Twelve point five? Eleven should do it.”
“Eleven, twelve. We can discuss figures later. What we’ve got to do is streamline entry procedures. With that kind of budget we can develop waiting zones, double the checkpoints.”
“Exactly. We could even filter some of the allocation into the western task force. Surely Mr Bai will be happy with that.”
“There might be provision for a few places in schools, if it were passed by the parental boards…”
“That’s already covered by the Colnat Foundation-”
“No, no, no. The perimeter’s the important thing, I tell you.”
The speaker leaned over his podium to speak to Vikram. “Thank you, Mr Bai. Your presentation was most enlightening.”
“But we haven’t even started! You didn’t decide anything-”
“Mr Bai-”
The tug upon his arm was light but firm.
“No!” Vikram’s voice came out as a shout. The female Councillor was still on her feet. She turned to him, her face smooth and flat and devoid of emotion. Something about her complete inflexibility dissolved his reserve. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “I want to talk about Eirik 9968.”
“Oh yes? Do enlighten us.”
Vikram did not heed her sarcasm. He was only aware of Feodor’s heavy, brooding gaze. But he looked at the woman.
“I want to know why you killed him.”
She gave a little shrug. “I haven’t killed anyone, my poor friend.”
“Then who did?”
“I think you’ll find it was a matter of City justice.” Her lips parted in a flat half smile. “Why? Colleague of yours?”
“I didn’t know him.”
“So you say.”
“I said I didn’t know him.”
Very deliberately, she crossed her arms.
“I don’t believe you came here about the west at all. I think you came about the execution. What are you after-revenge?” She glanced over her shoulder. “I take it he was searched before you let him in here?”
Vikram gripped the podium.
“I came because there was no reason for that execution to happen and there’s no reason it ever should again-if you fucking do something to help us.”
“How dare you speak to me in that manner!” But Vikram could see that she was delighted at his outburst and it made him angrier.
“Hildur, enough.” Feodor Rechnov cut through the woman’s protests. Slowly, his gaze lifted to Vikram. “I believe this debate is at an end.”
Vikram didn’t care any more. He felt reckless and giddy.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You killed him. You gave the order.”
“I sanctioned a Council decision. You may go and tell that, if you wish, to your friends in the west. And when you do, remind them that the mode of execution is in good repair and that if anyone wishes to follow Eirik 9968, they know where their path will end.”
“He was innocent. He did nothing but fight for the rights of people he owed no allegiance to.”
“Then he and I have something in common. How ironic.”
“You have nothing in common with Eirik. You murdered an innocent man.”
“He was an inciter, a terrorist and a common killer. And if you don’t want to be taken as one too, Mr Bai, I suggest you reacquaint yourself with silence and leave this session. Speaker, I urge this house to order.”
The tug on Vikram’s arm grew persistent. He kept his eyes locked on Feodor; all of his burning rage channelled into one single focus.
“I hope your sleep is haunted by ghosts,” he said.
“Remove him.”
“Mr Bai!”
“I hope they come to you in your sleep and tell you how they died.”
Feodor remained unmoved. Vikram’s minder had an inexorable grip on his hand. Now there were other hands, on his arm, on his shoulders, pulling him away from the podium. In seconds, the faces of the Council were obscured from his view. The clamour inside the Chambers was muffled as the great wooden doors swung closed. Doors like that would never be made again. Vikram stared at this sign of wealth in mute fury, first at Feodor Rechnov, and then, increasingly, at himself.
He had been in front of the Council-and he had lost them. How had he lost them? How had he lost control?
