“That might not be such a bad idea,” Vikram said drily.
He had forgotten the way the pale stone of the Chambers whispered. Scuffles and muttered words chased one another around the indoor amphitheatre. As the Council settled with a flurry of surcoats, his gaze was drawn to the final faction on the far right. The first generation Councillors were stooped, always one of them shaking, like so many pine needles disturbed by a breeze. Their hair was as white as snow. The women’s coiffeurs were cropped short or drawn into wispy buns. Their earrings were bright chandeliers against the soft folds of their necks. The men had jackets under their surcoats in moss green or mulberry red. Many wore glasses that both magnified their eyes and disguised them. Adelaide had warned Vikram not to be fooled by their antique appearance; a lack of sharpness, she said, only increased their obduracy.
Despite their inevitable antipathy towards him, it was these veterans that interested Vikram the most. As their hair had gained streaks of grey and finally was bleached of all colour, they had watched their city change. They had witnessed it pass from elite, technological masterpiece, to benevolent rescue centre, to reluctant tyrant. Finally they had seen it become two cities. Perhaps that wall gave them the illusion that the thing they had created retained its beauty and its integrity, but Vikram doubted it.
The three notes sounded again. Only when the entire Chambers had hushed did the Speaker begin.
“On the second Thursday of the month of Mae, I declare witness to the gathering of the Osiris Council, guardians of the city of Osiris, one hundred and forty-five years after the founding of the Osiris Board, the city being now in its seventieth year as an independent state. This session opens at the hour of two minutes past eleven hundred. This session is held in the domain of the public eye, although the public shall not contribute to the issues discussed today which are for the consideration of the esteemed Councillors and them alone. As Speaker, I invoke the Eleni Clause which orders that all words spoken in this session are words of truth.”
The Speaker drew a long breath and continued. Up in the balconies Vikram saw yawning faces. Even the Councillors looked peevish and uncomfortable under their purple robes. Finally, the Speaker introduced Adelaide.
“Miss Mystik has invoked the Ibatoka Clause. I remind all present that the Ibatoka Clause may be used by Citizens to speak on a matter which they feel, if not addressed, shall have detrimental consequences for the future of Osiris. Miss Mystik represents the New Horizon Movement.”
Adelaide gave Vikram’s hand a tiny squeeze before she stepped up. Cheers and whistles from the Haze accompanied her progression to the podium. First generation members of the Council shushed disapprovingly. Feodor Rechnov’s face was rigidly neutral.
“Hello, esteemed members of the Council.” Adelaide’s voice was a river of milk. “I thank the Speaker for his words. I, however, am not so good with speeches, and I therefore present Mr Vikram Bai, who has addressed you once before, to present the matter of my grave concern.” She gave a little bow. Vikram noticed her glasses slipped a fraction down her nose as she did so. She turned to step down, then turned back. “Regarding the west,” she added.
A murmur ran through the Chambers. Adelaide winked at Vikram. They exchanged places. As he climbed up he felt more than ever like an appearing puppet. Then he looked around the sweep of Councillors. I can name you now. There was muscle in a name.
“Esteemed Councillors,” he began. “I am exceedingly grateful to have this opportunity to stand before you once again.” He waited a beat. “And I hope it shall prove a more profitable exchange of our time than on the last occasion. Forgive me if I reiterate a few things. I feel it is important that the facts stand fresh in our minds, and I hope also to enlighten those who were not present at my last address.”
He glanced up to the balconies, where curious faces crowded at the rail. He glimpsed surprise there, and smiled to himself. They had not expected a westerner to sound so formal. Vikram wanted to remind the Council that they were under surveillance. Public debates were rare, and he was certain they did not like it.
“This is a very beautiful room,” he declared, now letting his gaze roam the marbled walls, the elegant pillars. “It is also a very warm room. Nobody on this side of the city has much occasion to dwell on warmth-and why should you? Our city was built to make such day-to-day necessities invisible. And yet, on the other side of a line that a past Council has decreed a boundary, people die daily from cold. I’ve seen it many times. It comes when you’re long past shivering, long past feeling the pains of frostbite, past recognizing the threat. You freeze, quietly, into a quiet sleep. So quiet, that there isn’t going to be any waking up.” Vikram paused. “How many? That’s a difficult question, because as you know, there is no accurate census in west Osiris, no way of telling how many deaths. The informal numbering process affected by the Home Guard-” He almost said skadi, but caught the word in time, “-is inexact, not to mention clearly delineating westerners as different from yourselves, who after all are only one or two generations further from your own Old World origins. But I can assure you that the number of deaths is certainly in the hundreds, and more than likely in the thousands.”
He let this figure resonate. With so many present, the Chambers were growing increasingly hot. A couple of first generation Councillors flapped ineffectual hands to try and stir the air. Vikram focused on this odd sight: the elderly weakened by heat.
“It is unforgivable,” he said. “ Unforgivable that this is still happening in our city. The potential for electric heating is here, at our fingertips, in the very fabric of the buildings, and yet we lack the necessary connections to access it, whilst the connections we do have are temperamental and unreliable. How many of those thousands of lives could be saved by the flick of a switch?”
Vikram sensed the fickle sway of his audience’s attention, now present, now absent. The spectators listened keenly, the Councillors grudgingly, aware that they were on display and unable to retract too far into their private worlds. He judged it was time to push.
“But these things, these apparent feats of engineering, are for the future. I come before you today with a simpler request. Winter approaches. Many citizens of the west will spend the coldest months of the year on boats, with no protection from the cold or the storms. The young and the elderly are particularly at risk, if not from hypothermia than from starvation. Complete catastrophe could be averted with the establishment of a number of overnight shelters and boat kitchens. These are very basic things, ladies and gentlemen, but they require good will and funding. We need insulation works. In the future, we will also require an investigation into the undersea levels, many of which are flooded and uninhabitable, depriving the west of further accommodation.
“A few words on health and sanitation. The single hospital in the west is overcrowded, understaffed and unhygienic, no surprise as we have one to your five. It serves as little more than an accident and emergency unit. There are no provisions for those with long term illnesses, many of which could be averted if vaccinations were available. The most basic vaccinations, which I believe Citizens receive at the age of two, would save further lives.”
Vikram looked slowly around the room, trying to catch each Councillor’s eye.
“It seems logical to adopt a two-stage programme. The first stage, that is, shelters, boat kitchens and vaccination centres, to be implemented immediately, whilst structural repair works should be investigated in the spring. Councillors, the choice is yours. Act now, or condemn thousands.”
He made no appeals. He offered no vote of confidence in the Council’s humanity, or in their ability to make the right decision. Guilt was best eked from silence. It came out of the gaps and the spaces, the things not said, the things left hanging. He took a step back, and gave the Speaker a nod to show that he had finished.
“Thank you, once again, Mr Bai. That was, again, enlightening.” The Speaker’s voice erred just the safe side of sarcasm. The Councillors were keeping quiet. Only a small susurration of whispers indicated unrest. “Are there any questions for Mr Bai?”
A woman from the liberal camp stood to speak.
“I have a question for Miss Mystik.”
Vikram moved over to allow Adelaide space on the podium. Pandemonium on the balconies greeted her second appearance; Vikram was certain that most of the press had come in anticipation of an Adelaide show. The Speaker’s hammer banged furiously. The Councillor raised her voice.
“May we take it, Miss Mystik, that you speak on behalf of this group, this-”
“The New Horizon Movement,” Adelaide supplied.
“Yes, yes. Are you, in fact, an active member of the group?”
“I am,” said Adelaide serenely.
Exclamations flashed around the balconies. Journalists tapped frenziedly into their Surfboards. The Speaker shouted for silence. Vikram looked at Adelaide and found her perfectly composed, her lips curved in a slight smile,
