Lagoonfire, page 7
“So you’re fine with Ateni going through rehabilitation and reeducation because of your fireworks?”
“No, I’m not fine with it! But if I tell them the fireworks are mine, they’ll just take me in too.”
“But you said they were legitimate! You have papers!”
The man’s lip curled scornfully. “Like that’s ever stopped the Civies from detaining someone. If they decide they want to get you, they get you, one way—or another. Would’ve thought you’d know that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He stared at me incredulously and I glared back. People flowed around us on the sidewalk, unaware.
“The Civie at the main desk called you Jowa,” he said in a low voice.
My heart banged against my ribs.
“That was a mistake. My name is Manu. Manu Sae.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Then it’s true,” he whispered. “You’re Jowa Fen and Manu Nakra’s daughter.”
I turned and walked away, fast, but the man came after me, his hand closing on my arm like a metal band.
“Let. Me. Go,” I said, trying to keep the quaver out of my voice. But he didn’t let go.
“Say it’s true!” he urged—and if he was trying to keep his voice steady, he was as unsuccessful as I’d been.
“It means nothing! I’m nothing like them,” I said, with such vehemence that passersby shot us concerned glances.
“Some people think they’re heroes.”
I couldn’t believe my ears.
“They killed 214 people,” I said. “They were murderers.”
Thirty-two years ago the Polity’s Central Planning Committee approved a project to modernize and redevelop the Sweet Harbor District. Old higgledy-piggledy neighborhoods—houses, workplaces, schools, markets, and shrines—were razed, and the population placed in relocation centers to await the completion of the promised new neighborhoods. The relocation centers were austere places administered by Civil Order, and the wait wasn’t a short one. One year stretched into two, and people grew restless, but no one was permitted to move elsewhere unless they had either the promise of work or family to act as a guarantor in the destination location—requirements almost no one could meet. Those whose livelihoods had not been disrupted by the construction were free to leave for work during daylight hours, but at night everyone had to be present and accounted for, and the relocation center gates were locked. Everyone else had to remain behind those gates, day in and day out.
Eventually there were demonstrations, especially at the Fifteen Breezes Relocation Center, which was in a low-lying area that flooded every time it rained. Civil Order’s oversight became more stringent in response.
As the second year of confinement in the relocation centers drew to a close, there were those—especially, tragically, in Fifteen Breezes—who turned to more violent means of seeking redress. On an evening when a huge cyclone was scheduled to make landfall and Civil Order’s forces were largely preoccupied overseeing evacuations, two extremists in the Fifteen Breezes Relocation Center forced their way into the Civil Order administrative barracks attached to the center and laid explosives, which detonated early, killing one of the extremists and three Civil Order officers. Worse, the rubble from the explosion blocked Fifteen Breezes’ entrance gate—the only way in or out. When the cyclone hit, terrified residents found themselves trapped between a powerful storm surge and massive pieces of broken concrete. Two hundred eleven died—either drowned or trampled. The surviving extremist was condemned and executed.
Those were my parents.
“They were murderers,” I repeated. “They left me an orphan—me and others. They weren’t heroes.”
A memory: the odor of cooking oil and also, faintly, jasmine—my grandmother’s scent. The softness of her well-worn blouse against my cheek as I buried my face in her chest and lost myself in tears, surrounded by that scent and her arms.
I came back to the present. My eyes were dry. The young man had finally released my arm, and now was simply staring at me, almost solemnly, with no sneer.
“I guess that’s the way your fosters would’ve told it,” he said.
“My grandparents.”
“Your grandparents raised you? Oh, well definitely then. Kind of surprised they were able to keep custody of you, to be honest. Bet Civil Order made them report every living thing about you. Bet you had to be just perfect.”
Another memory: my grandfather drilling me in Thought Orthodoxy maxims. You have to get this right. His face so stern, so severe.
“It didn’t really happen the way we learn in school,” the man said.
“Like you would know,” I said. “You weren’t even born then.” I was pretty sure of this—I’d been only five, and this man was several years younger than I was.
“People who lived through it told me. My big sister. Ateni’s aunt and uncle. Other people.”
“I’m not interested,” I said, but I made no move to go. He gave me a long look.
“There’d been protests—”
“I know that,” I cut in.
“So the place was on lockdown,” he continued, slowly, dropping his head, so I couldn’t see his expression. “The Civies should’ve been evacuating everyone—there was a big storm coming—but they said they wouldn’t unlock the gates until the protest organizers came forward.”
An awful, choking sensation was rising within me, a filthy turbid feeling.
“It was a standoff. The wind was already up and the rain had started. Your parents were committed to the protest movement, and somehow they’d managed to lay hands on demolition explosives. They were going to blow up the gates so everyone could get out.”
“But their plan backfired. The wreckage trapped everyone, and more than 200 people died,” I whispered.
“No! People could’ve walked right through. It was the Civies. They started firing on people as they came out! People were caught between gunfire and floodwaters. Survivors said you knew your relative had been shot if they said the body wasn’t recovered. ‘Wasn’t recovered’ meant it had bullets in it.”
I clapped my hands to my ears. “Shut up! Just shut up! I don’t want to hear any more.”
“Daughter, can I help you?”
I jerked away from a touch on my shoulder and found myself face to face with an elderly gentleman in monastic robes. My throat ached.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, casting a quick look around, but there were no lingering spectators and, thankfully, no sign of anyone from Civil Order.
“Are you sure? Is this man harassing you?”
The young man was still there, hands jammed into the pockets of his trousers, expression surly but remote.
“No. I apologize for the disturbance. It was bad news. I wasn’t prepared.”
“If you’re sure…” He glanced doubtfully at my unwelcome companion. When neither of us said anything more, the monk lifted his hand. “Then peace to you, daughter. Son.” He nodded to us, and the sun winked off badges for the Abstractions of Compassion, Reason, and Community on his sash. In a few seconds he was just another figure in the crowd.
“I’m going back to the Ministry,” I said unsteadily.
“You don’t believe me.”
“Believe that Civil Order massacred Polity citizens during a cyclone? No.” The choking feeling was rising again. I started walking. The bus stop. The Ministry. Laloran-morna. There were things I had to do.
The man followed a few steps behind. “There’s proof. If you go to the archives of City News or any of the other dailies and—”
“I’m not going to do that,” I said through clenched teeth, without looking back. I picked up my speed. “I have better ways to spend my time.”
“You know, you’re right!” he shouted after me, “you’re nothing like your parents!” The words were heavy with contempt.
Righteous retorts and blistering counter-insults sprang to mind and died without reaching my tongue. I was running now and didn’t stop, even when the bus stop came into sight. I just kept going, spurred by feelings I had no name for, feelings so deep and powerful they threatened to tear me apart from the inside. At last I ducked into a public toilet, and in that rank, stifling space I gave way to deep, silent sobs. And then, emptied, I wiped my eyes, adjusted my clothes, stepped out, and hailed a courtesy vehicle.
Civil Order was intimidating, high-handed, opaque, but was it—? Could it—? As the courtesy vehicle wove through traffic, the question presented itself for my consideration over and over again, and over and over again I shied away from it.
My grandparents must have known the truth—whatever it was. The shame and sorrow etched permanently in their faces—what if the cause wasn’t their daughter’s crime, as I’d always imagined? What if it was their own participation in her defamation?
No.
But each time I pushed the idea away, it slithered back.
“We’ve arrived, ma’am.”
I paid the driver and went to the conference room where Tailin and Feshi were still working.
“What happened? You look like you were hit by a truck!” Tailin exclaimed.
Feshi stifled a giggle. “That’s not a thing you should say to someone,” she told him. To me she said, “You never got that tea Tailin requested for you—I’ll get you a fresh one.”
“Seriously, though,” Tailin said, when we were alone. “Did it go so badly with Laloran-morna?”
“I couldn’t speak with him—he had a health crisis,” I said, barricading and sandbagging away the feelings surging inside me.
“I’m sorry.” Tailin said, with genuine sympathy. “I know you’re close.”
“I spoke with the other retired Sweet Harbor gods, though, asked some questions, but—” I swallowed. Everything from here forward was going to require deception, and I hate deception.
“But?”
“I— I don’t think it’s worth pursuing any further.”
He nodded slowly.
“That’s hard too. You seemed very committed to your theory.”
New tears were threatening. I blinked them away. “That’s how it goes, though, doesn’t it,” I said. “One minute you’re sure of something; next minute—” I forced a smile, shrugged. “Everything’s different.”
Tailin’s brow creased. “Is there something else going on?”
I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.
Tailin’s frown deepened. “Do you still feel up to seeing the exhibition tonight? Maybe you’d rather go home and get to sleep early?”
“No! I want to go to the exhibition!” I said, maybe a little too forcefully. Seeing the surprise on Tailin’s face, I added, “It’ll take my mind off things.”
Feshi returned with a tea tray before Tailin could say or ask anything more. Her face was grave.
“Five came into the kitchen while the tea was brewing,” she said. “She wants to see you. Here. You may as well fortify yourself.” She poured a cup and handed it to me. It was the smoky stuff the Ministry buys in bulk. Just a few sips of it—aromatic, bitter—soothed me. That was enough. I set it down and headed for Five’s office.
Why had Captain Lotuk’s office reminded me of Five’s? Experiencing them in this order, I could only think of the differences—Five’s office had a window, for one, even if it was a narrow one, and there was a photo of her spouse and children on her desk, and all manner of representations of various deities, active and decommissioned, not to mention Abstractions, on shelves and walls.
“Ma’am. You asked to see me?”
Five looked up. Maybe that was it: maybe it was the authority of the person occupying the space, and my own smallness.
“I was speaking with that captain from Civil Order just now,” she said. “That’s twice today. I prefer to keep my interactions with Civil Order to zero. Oh for goodness sake don’t hover on the threshold like a ghost; come in. Sit.”
I complied.
“She said you wanted to see the detainee in the Daybreak Ventures case.”
Five didn’t wait for me to confirm this. She had told me to sit, but she herself stood and began to pace, back stiff, shoulders tight.
“She wanted to know if I had authorized the visit. She asked about my sympathies.” There was a tremble in her voice at that last word. Fear? Anger? Probably both. A bright bar of late afternoon sunlight bisected her face as she paused by the window.
“You had a specific task today,” she said. “What were you doing out in the city?”
“I was following up on something related to the undecommissioned goddess…but nothing came of it. Going to Civil Order wasn’t part of that.”
“Going to Civil Order shouldn’t be part of anything! You told me you only met that man yesterday. What business could you possibly have had trying to see him?”
“I just— I happened to find out something related to his research, and I thought… I know he has more serious things to worry about, but it can feel good to know that—”
Five interrupted me with a half-disbelieving, half-resigned laugh. “If anyone else were to tell me they visited a new acquaintance in detention purely to pass along a research note, I would be offended by the clumsy attempt at a lie, but from you? It seems only too likely to be true.” She sighed. “Would it be fair, then, to say that you used work time to take care of a personal matter?”
I took a deep breath. Using work time for personal matters was an infraction—but nothing like linking Ministry work to a purported crime.
“Yes,” I said.
Five’s shoulders relaxed, and she slipped back into her seat. She opened a drawer and pulled out a form.
“Then I’m going to have to reprimand you,” she said. “And”—this next more to herself than to me—“I’ll let Captain Lotuk know I’ve done that, so she understands I’m taking the situation seriously. I did warn you.” I thought I could hear regret in her voice. “I gave you a direct order, which you ignored. I’m not writing you up for that, but I can’t protect you from the consequences. My primary responsibility is to the Ministry’s work.”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand that.”
She softened. “I was surprised and pleased to hear about the goddess you and the others uncovered. She’s rather peripheral to Sweet Harbor, but still—that’s good work.”
But she’s not the one, I thought.
“Thank you,” I said. “It was Thirty-Six who found her.”
“With your guidance,” Five said.
“It was a team effort.”
Five smiled. “Just so. All right, I won’t keep you any longer. Don’t worry too much about the reprimand; everyone gets caught doing personal business now and then. But Thirty-Seven.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“It might not be a bad idea to incorporate a prayer to Prudence into your daily ritual, if it’s not part of it already, and if it is, then add another.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She wouldn’t like my plans for the evening, but there was no helping that. Five, Tailin, my grandparents… There were so many people, living and dead, whom I might fail tonight. The one person I absolutely could not fail was Laloran-morna. Captain Lotuk was right: I had botched his decommissioning. But I could make sure he left his mortal life in peace. And maybe doing so would prevent future flooding where Lotus Estuary used to be and bring some justice for Ateni.
Back at the conference room, Tailin and Feshi were finishing up. They closed in on either side of me as I entered.
“Was it terrible?” Tailin asked. “Five was asking earlier today why you’d gone out—she definitely wasn’t happy.”
“She was furious,” murmured Feshi.
“It’ll be all right,” I said. I highly doubted that, but it was the response that left the least room for further questions, especially when I didn’t volunteer anything more. Sure enough, the other two didn’t press me. Instead, Tailin had me look over the finished list of references for the search terms I’d suggested, and Feshi showed me the brief she’d created on the goddess of the northern current.
“Tailin says the two of you are going to the Art of the Abstractions exhibition this evening,” Feshi ventured presently. “Would it be all right if I tagged along? And then maybe we could all get something to eat together?”
A spike of panic shot through me. I hadn’t foreseen this complication, and yet what could I say? To object would be to suggest I was treating the date as something more than an arrangement between companionable friends, and I certainly didn’t want to do that. What I was planning was already too big a trespass on my friendship with Tailin.
And then it hit me that having Feshi along might actually solve a problem.
“That’s an excellent idea,” I said. My enthusiasm sounded false in my own ears, but Feshi grinned.
Tailin seemed momentarily startled at my easy agreement, and for a half-second I wondered if he was disappointed. But surely not. Now he was nodding approvingly. We agreed to go home to change and to reconvene at the exhibition.
Alone, I considered how much time I had. My eyes drifted to my unicom. No, I reminded myself. Any communication could be monitored and the device itself tracked. Ateni had been the one who pointed that out to me. Ateni, who was looking at years of rehabilitation and reeducation… I gritted my teeth: focus!
My instinct, once I reached my apartment, was to rush, but I made myself sit down and think carefully about next steps. Kadiuk’s protests notwithstanding, Goblet was a tutelary deity. How much could I remember about decommissioning a tutelary deity without accessing the Ministry’s databases? The primary requirement was to be in the place associated with the deity, but of course that was impossible. But with the knot stones Ateni had hidden on the mangrove spit, it ought to be possible to create a simulacrum of Cup of the Sea. I closed my eyes, recalling everything Laloran-morna and Kadiuk had said, describing the place. A garden of ruby slenderweed and jade mussels. I’d have to stop by a market—but I couldn’t do that before going to the exhibition. I suppressed a shaky giggle at the thought of walking past sculptures, paintings, and votary items with a bag full of seaweed and shellfish.
