The Phoenix Creation, page 22
Raiden regained his composure as if reminding himself that Alya’s clothes were just a camouflage for Tal’s annoying kid sister, and Alya reminded herself that despite his formal suit and good looks, his eyes were as cold and menacing as ever.
‘They really ought to stop inviting kids to these things,’ slurred Raiden.
‘Exactly,’ snuffed Alya, looking him up and down.
Raiden’s eyes gleamed with malice and he stood up straight and drew back his shoulders. ‘Next time it’ll be your ribs, little Alya Clarendon. As soon as you step out of line, I’ll be there.’
Alya couldn’t help but sneer at him knowing they were in, too public a place, for him to do anything to her here, and she couldn’t help herself.
‘What makes you think I’ll step out of line?’
‘Oh, you will, we know your sort, your psychological profile is lengthy reading. You’ll step out of line for sure, and I’ll be your unit leader by then. I’ll make sure of that.’
‘What?’ Alya frowned. What was he talking about? Psychological profile? ‘Why would you be my leader? I wouldn’t dream of joining Patrol.’
Raiden’s expression changed the instant she spoke, and like a switch that had been turned off, he backed down.
‘Just watch yourself,’ he said dismissively, before heading down the hall in the opposite direction.
Alya stood for a moment thinking that Raiden had had too much to drink and was talking a lot of rubbish. Maybe Tal had said something about her joining Patrol which would be entirely untrue. She continued down the hall and bumped into Dali heading the other way.
‘Oh Alya, are you alright?’ Dali noted Alya’s fazed look.
‘I’m fine, I just spoke to Raiden, that’s all.’
‘Oh, that nasty boy?’ sympathised Dali.
‘Yes, there he is there,’ Alya nodded to Raiden’s retreating form and Dali followed her gaze.
‘I’ll wait for you,’ she said sweetly.
‘Thanks, Dali,’ said Alya, it was good to have her on their side. It was just meant to be, her and Bruce.
Alya grabbed two glasses of champagne from a waiter holding a silver tray and handed one to Dali as they rounded the corner, heading back towards the hall. Dali shrugged.
‘I’m not your mother,’ she giggled.
‘Well hello, Ms Dali. Looking good. I see you’ve been sucking up to my dad again. Does he like your dress?’
Alya side stepped as she realised Raiden was lurking again, standing at the back of the hall still swigging champagne as the repertoire on the stage continued.
Dali didn’t miss a step, and ignored him entirely, but Alya hesitated as if caught in no man’s land, as she tried to decipher Dali’s reaction to Raiden’s comment.
She turned to catch up with Dali as she continued walking back to their table not before taking another glance over her shoulder at Raiden’s smug face.
Raiden knew Dali? Dali knew Raiden’s father?
The hairs on Alya’s arms stood on end as she slithered back into her seat between her mother and father taking a backward glance at Dali as she resumed her seat next to Bruce. She kissed him on the cheek and Alya couldn’t help but feel she was deliberately avoiding making eye contact with her.
Alya tried to pay attention to the stage, but she was mystified as to how Dali would know Raiden, or his father. Perhaps it was on a professional basis, but then she’d denied she knew Raiden. Again, it could be for confidentiality reasons, but something just felt wrong about the whole thing. She felt as if Raiden really knew Dali, and as if Dali really knew Raiden and Alya was disappointed … and worried.
The introductions came to an end and then there was applause and a standing ovation as the president gave a poetic speech. He finished by introducing Commander Montu Mora, Raiden’s father, to the stage.
There was a standing ovation again as Patrol saluted their commander.
‘In a break from tradition, we’re going to present the awards before dinner, so that you all have something to talk about, at dinner,’ joked the commander.
There was polite applause and chuckles followed by one or two whistles as accolades for bravery and long service awards were handed out.
The commander was coming to the end as he read out the award for the last category; ‘Patrol Cadet - Year One,’ he announced, as he tore open the envelope.
He smiled broadly, then spoke into the microphone.
‘I know there will be calls of ‘fix’ but I swear this is legit, on my life I swear, and on my son’s life, for whom this award goes to.’
There were cheers from the commander’s closest colleagues and polite applause from the rest of the audience. Alya almost cried out as she saw Raiden weave through the tables and then up the steps to the stage where he hugged his father before accepting his trophy.
He handled it like a pro and turned in a good performance with a short grateful speech, as humble as pie, as if he were like that in real life.
Alya was breathing quickly and shallow and her mother placed a cool hand on her daughter’s arm to reassure her.
Alya couldn’t stand it! As if she’d been burned, she leapt out of her seat and shot off down the hall towards the side entrance aiming for the steps outside and some fresh air.
The doorman let her by and she sat on the steps watching as people down on the street headed about their normal business. She had to go back in. She knew her absence would be noticed and people would assume that Diana and Sol’s girl had turned out to be highly strung. She also had to look Raiden squarely in the eye, and hope he could read her thoughts. She had to convey to him that this was not over, not by a long shot.
Alya walked slowly back down the hall focussing on the extravagant red carpet and ornate, plastered interior walls. She heard Dali’s voice as she neared the payphone area and caught the tail end of the conversation.
‘Project Mobi, authorisation code 2980. Tomorrow. Thank you.’
Alya froze on the spot, then with a gentle tap of her wings alighted to the side, out of sight behind a column as Dali hung up, and walked the opposite way back to the hall.
Alya felt sick all of a sudden. Dali was clearly not who she said she was, that was for sure. She stood with her back to the wall feeling the coolness of the plaster through her top while she thought what to do next.
She stormed to the phone that Dali had just used and picked up the handset dialling quickly.
‘Red?’
‘Alya? Where are you? This is not your home number?’
‘I’m at the Patrol Ball, Red. Remember?’
‘Oh Gods, yeah, now I remember, how’s it going?’
‘Not great. Red. I’m about to do something really impulsive and stupid maybe, and I need your help.’
‘Do you want me to stop you?’ Red snuffed down the phone at his friend’s honesty.
‘No, I definitely don’t think I should be stopped, but I do need those photos; the evidence from the museum.’
Alya expected some resistance at least, but Red seemed to be intuitive about her moods and behaviours she’d discovered.
‘I’ll fly. I’ll be there in ten,’ he said.
Alya hung around outside on the steps, and the doorman, if curious about her reluctance to join the party, didn’t ask what the matter was, he just patiently observed her as she paced slowly, trying internally to talk herself out of any rash behaviour.
Her blood was boiling from Raiden alone, but the conspiracy theories her grandpa had raised her to believe in, were finally unfolding under all of their noses, and only she, had joined the dots so far. It would take too long to explain. She needed to go public and she wouldn’t have an opportunity like this again, with live cameras following every person’s, every move, within the grand hall right now.
‘Red!’ Alya ran to her friend as he landed neatly a few metres in front of her.
‘Here,’ said Red, handing her a brown envelope with copies of the museum evidence. ‘Are you sure, Alya?’ He was concerned and he eyed the doorman nervously who looked curiously at him.
‘I am,’ said Alya. ‘Find Hanuel, and Lancy, and Berlin, and call Poppy. Tell them I’m going public and to get their stories straight, just in case. I’ll tell them it was just me that did it, but make sure everyone is on the same page.’
‘Alya, I’ll help you …’
‘No, Red. You can’t help me, there are more consequences for you than there are for me. Please, you’ll have to hurry, I’m doing this now.’
‘Ok, ok,’ said Red, as he prepared to take-off. He watched for a moment as Alya marched away, in two minds still as to helping her, then he remembered who he was dealing with and did as he was instructed and sped to find the boys.
The doorman grimaced as she re-entered the Pioneer Hall sure she was up to no good but reluctant to challenge her.
Alya mused briefly that if she was in her school uniform, she’d have been chucked out by now, but as she was dressed to impress, she sailed cleanly by.
She double-checked the contents of the envelope and was certain she had decent images of the main contents of the museum files. She strode down the hall and took a right at the end which led up the grand staircase to the first-floor balcony. The lights were off to discourage guests from using it until the televised celebration had finished and the after-party began.
Alya stood in the darkness watching the stage below. She had a clear vision of what she was going to do, having processed different angles already.
If Montu Mora was in charge of the whole Mobi Project, and supposing he was, then he already had Patrol at his disposal and he could easily enforce the recruitment of teenagers from East-Side, and if Dali Brenta was helping him, and maybe others like her, then what chance did they stand? Montu Mora was well known and respected among his peers and it was evident that he and the president were close friends. The only weapon Alya had against them was public opinion and she needed to get her message across quickly.
She alighted the wide mahogany balustrade of the balcony and crouched, waiting for her moment, her wings already extended as she easily balanced, ready for action.
Montu Mora was still giving a victorious speech, and as Alya listened she heard subliminal breadcrumbs referencing a, ‘new world,’ and ‘man’s greatest battle to survive.’ She frowned as she realised how polished his speech was, and how it was deliberately attacking those living in East-Side, or teenagers without so-called ‘direction in life.’ Her hackles rose the more she listened as she realised the public were being fed a line, and a very clever one at that. This speech was clearly coordinated, and probably highly supported, as Alya watched the president nod in approval and applaud.
She waited until Montu himself had been presented with his medal of honour for long-service, and at the precise moment that he left the stage she swooped down over everyone’s heads and landed beautifully, turning to face the audience.
Alya was surprised by the brightness of the lights at first but she had to shake the distraction from her mind and continue quickly; she feared she had only moments before half of Patrol crashed onto the stage to arrest her at Montu’s signal.
She stepped up to the mic and glanced at the tables near the front who conferred with each other, wondering who the impromptu guest was.
‘Hello,’ rushed Alya. ‘My name is, Alya Clarendon, and I’m sixteen-years-old. I have evidence,’ she raised the envelope, ‘that the government are planning to enforce conscription for people my age and use them as free labour to move an island at sea to a new continent— where the humans live. They’re building an army to attack a civilisation. They are making teenagers in East-Side go to the penitentiary for crimes they didn’t commit and then they’re forcing them to work or fight in dangerous jobs. They’re also faking peoples’ deaths and I have evidence of that too.’
Alya looked warily down as Montu who hadn’t yet made it back to his seat turned and raised his head to listen to her. She could see the president fidgeting in his seat as he took counsel from his advisers as they whispered in his ear, their hands covering their mouths.
Montu was as cool as a cucumber and he remained still, gesturing for the nearest Patrol members to be still, while Alya spoke.
She already thought she was out of time but it appeared that Montu was letting her run so she whipped out the photos and held them up.
‘I have evidence of this,’ she said breathlessly. ‘This is Project Mobi, see,’ she tapped the diagrams, glancing back at Montu. Was she still standing here? Why hadn’t they come for her?
She could see that the TV producers were taking a keen interest in what she was saying and the cameras had obviously been prompted to film Montu’s reaction, but he remained completely still, a bemused look on his face. Alya began to waver. She’d said more than she thought she’d have time to, and Montu’s quiet presence unnerved her. She sensed movement towards the back of the hall and though it was hard to see, she identified, by his gait, her father walking promptly down the hall towards the stage.
Oh Gods, what had she done?
‘It’s not right,’ she said into the microphone.
No one was saying anything. All eyes were either on her, or on Montu.
Montu began to retrace his steps slowly, and as he walked across the stage towards her, she shrank back. She noticed from the corner of her eye that her father had stopped advancing and he hovered, as they all waited for what would happen next.
Montu stepped up to the microphone and Alya stepped back out of his reach.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said Montu politely.
The people in the hall appeared to hold their breath and Alya did too. The president had regained his composure and seemed to draw confidence from Montu’s calm manner.
‘The young lady is absolutely right,’ said Montu. ‘There is a Project Mobi and it is a mission to find—the new world.’
Montu waited until his words sank in and then he smiled and his eyes twinkled, and Alya could see that his performance was already one-thousand percent better than hers.
‘There is talk of conscription,’ said Montu gravely, deciding to tackle the main issue head-on.
The audience murmured but he pressed on.
‘But, be assured that Project Mobi is fundamentally for the benefit of all our people and no, it is not an army as the young lady suggested.’
Alya blanched, and her lips pinched together in refusal. She was the one holding the evidence. Was he seriously going to lie?
‘We have no reason to fight, and we believe that we will be welcome guests, able to trade, and holiday, and perhaps eventually live on the new continent. We have placed public interests first and foremost and we recognise this as a great opportunity for our continent.’
‘How do you know there’s another continent?’ shouted someone from the floor.
Alya was grateful for the interjection. It meant that people were questioning Montu, which is exactly what she needed.
‘We believe,’ said Montu calmly, ‘that there is a new continent, we have evidence from recently rescued, Boaters, and our own task force, that there is another continent. Our people have seen it and they know that it is green and vast.’
‘Oh, my Gods,’ the crowd murmured in excitement.
They were witnessing history in the making and as quickly as that, they were recessing the reason that Montu had got up there in the first place, to the back of their minds.
Alya glanced at the crowd, bewildered, and she stepped forward to the mic bravely hustling Montu so she could speak.
‘It’s a one-way ticket,’ she said loudly. ‘It’s dangerous and they’re using V20’s to do their dirty work.’
‘Now, now,’ said Montu, grabbing the microphone out of her hand and holding her calmly at arm’s-length. He turned to look at her, and Alya hoped the cameras at least would pick up the glitter of malice in his eyes that he shared with his son.
‘It’s not like that,’ said Montu. ‘It’s an opportunity for young people to be the founders of a new world, a new continent, and they will be paid and rewarded for their efforts. There are so few people in the new world that we wouldn’t need an army, and they will welcome us with open arms as we provide them with medicine, and culture, and trade. We will be a united world once more, and we will have freedom to fly across the lush, and far-reaching lands of the new world.’
Alya knew her time was up, and Montu’s calm and magnetic aura alone - even without his inspiring narrative of the new world had superseded her shock tactics. He’d won, at least for now.
The crowd was delighted and some had risen to their feet to applaud him and the final nail in the coffin came when the president took to the stage to endorse Montu’s story and the two men shook hands and the hall erupted into a full standing ovation.
‘The future is here, ladies and gentlemen,’ cried the president.
Alya shrank back, her heart beating rapidly and her breathing shallow. She stumbled into the stage wings just as she felt a steady hand under her arm and she turned to look up at her father.
‘We need to get out of here,’ he said quickly. He grabbed her hand and bolted with her through the maze of corridors that led behind the stage until they reached the outside.
‘Come,’ he said, and he took off with such force that Alya had to catch her breath before following suit. She still clutched the photos to her side as she followed her father into the night sky. He flew directly up and Alya wondered what he was up to, but as she glanced below, she could see several members of Patrol exiting the hall quickly from different entrances and looking about.
Sol was taking her higher to obtain cloud cover and was well aware there would be a pursuit.
‘Alya,’ he called over his shoulder until his daughter drew level with him. ‘Take this,’ he extended his arm and she manoeuvred under him and grabbed the key that he presented her. ‘Do you remember where Red used to live?’
