“Not directly. I would say that Axel was aware of the City’s limitations, even in an abstract capacity. Osiris is too small, he said once. We think we’re free but we’re not.”
“What do you think he meant by that?”
“Feelings of entrapment are a common theme among those I see, Miss Rechnov. But I might add that we live in a quarantined city. Human beings are not designed for confinement, however vast and exquisitely made the prison; the explorer in us will out.”
She sat for a moment, considering this. What if Axel had met the airlift through Radir?
“Doctor, do you ever see airlifts? Ex-westerners?”
“I cannot give you information on my clients.”
“You know my family think he’s dead.”
Radir looked at her. She could see him selecting his words.
“Miss Rechnov, I am — saddened that I could not help your brother. As I have explained in the past, I could offer no diagnosis; Axel fit no specifications. Over the years I have seen patients who have, through various causes, withdrawn in some way from typical social interaction, for a longer or shorter period of time. Those who suffer post-traumatic stress, for example, following injury or a shocking incident, but sometimes there is no obvious trigger. The condition is a more common occurrence than you might expect, though it is rarely spoken of. Citizens of Osiris are survivors, are we not?”
His tone as he uttered that final sentence was gently ironic. Adelaide looked at the single picture on his wall, a swaying kelp field on the edge of the Atum Shelf.
“Is that not a positive trait, Doctor?”
“For some, doubtless. There are others who find it a source of pressure. In any case, whatever happened to Axel seemed to be an extreme form of this kind of internalization, and that, I feel, was a loss. To society as well as to the family.”
She nodded. In spite of the formality of his tone, she believed Radir was genuine. She folded her hands tightly.
“I know he’s alive. We have a connection, you see. Do you understand that, Doctor? Do you think it’s possible?”
She hated the plea in her voice, but she could not hide it. Radir showed no signs of sympathy. She was grateful for that.
“I believe that there are things which will never be mapped by science,” he said. “There are many that were once mapped and are now lost. But I also think, Miss Rechnov, that our society can be harsh, perhaps more condemning, of certain acts, than might be fair.”
Adelaide’s face went hot and her body chill.
“If you mean to imply, Doctor, that my brother might have committed—” She forced herself to speak the taboo. “Suicide—you are very much mistaken. Axel would never humiliate himself in that way. And he would never leave me.”
She sensed that there was a weight of things behind Radir’s blue eyes. Things that he might or could have said, if pushed. Those unspoken words chased her as she scraped her chair back, got up, stuck out a formal hand and pressed her wrist to his too hard for politeness. They followed as she walked out of the office. They followed her into the lift where she punched in level twenty-four, stood rigid for the fourteen floors up to the Obelisk shuttle line, and stalked onto the platform.
Why not? said the voice. You left him.
She felt muddled and angry all the way to the Southern Quarter. In transit it seemed that the shuttle pod stood still and the city itself was rushing towards her, pyramids, steel and bufferglass all flying upon the ocean surface, but the speed was not enough to abate her turmoil. She took out her anger by sending Lao an o’voy.
Any news? Am I not paying you enough?
She did not expect a reply but to her surprise, her scarab flashed almost instantaneously.
Paying me to be discreet. Therefore will contact only when news. I’ll be in touch.
She replied:
Been to see Dr Radir. Check his client list. He might have seen a westerner.
There was no return message. Moving her bag to accommodate another passenger, Adelaide struggled to assemble her thoughts. This next negotiation required careful handling. She had to put Axel aside, for now.
“Excuse me?” It was the woman who had sat next to her. “Can I have your signature?”
Adopting a gracious smile, Adelaide signed her name in green ink.
“I loved that garden you designed for the medical school,” said the woman. Adelaide was tempted to tell her that the garden had come from a series of doodles on restaurant napkins whilst she was waiting for Jannike, nothing more, but if the woman wanted to think of Adelaide as a landscape designer, so be it. Adelaide liked plants. She liked the feel of earth crumbling in her fingers; she liked its dank alien smell. Plants behaved as you expected them to.
The Daily Flotsam offices were undersea and windowless and smelled of perspiration overlaid with heavy perfume. At sixteen o’clock, the place was a tip. Dirty Neptunes balanced on desks overflowing with Surfboards, wrappers, BrightEye pills and mouldering tea glasses. A screen on one wall showed the latest feeds from rival press groups. Nobody recognized Adelaide when she first walked in, then the whole office reacted towards her; a sea of sunk conversations and swivelling heads.
“I’m looking for Magda,” she said.
One of them moved. Over the years their faces had changed, but the avaricious hunger had not. Adelaide no longer cared what they wrote about her. She only cared about what they had done to her twin. Odd lines — the things she hadn’t been able to avoid, still stuck. Is Axel Rechnov sick in the head? That was one of Magda’s. Looking about, she was able to match each headline to its creator.
Silence endured until the door to the inner office opened and Magda Linn looked out. When she saw Adelaide a smile spread across her face, slowly, like clotting butter.
“Well, well, well,” she said. “Little fishy’s come to play with sharks.”
Magda’s office was surprisingly clean. Her Neptune had a bright red frame and was unadorned. The editor sat at her desk and waved an arm at the chair opposite. Both women crossed their legs.
“Adelaide.”
“Magda.”
“What can I do for you?”
For a woman with a penchant for character defamation, Magda Linn looked remarkably innocent. She was small and neat, with straight black hair and low eyelids. Her right hand sported a scratched glass ring with which she toyed incessantly. Adelaide hated every inch of her neatly proportioned features. It was difficult to look Magda in the face without conveying this, so Adelaide examined the wall behind her.
“I heard you wanted access to a few events.”
“And I dare say I’ll get it.”
“I don’t know. The Haze has had enough security issues recently. This season we’re really clamping down.”
“My reporters will have to become more ingenious.”
“Maybe so. But they’ll have to be remarkably wily to get into Jannike Ko’s twenty-second.” Adelaide paused. “Private party,” she said blankly.
For a brief moment, Adelaide felt bad about offering up her friend as bait. But Jan could handle it.
“Jannike Ko’s twenty-second,” Magda said slowly. Her smooth face could not help but flicker at the thought. Adelaide knew she was imagining the newsreel, constructing, already, the headline copy. Jannike Ko, last of the Haze to come of age, could supply Magda with enough subreels to keep her afloat for the next year. Then Magda’s face closed down again.
“What do you want, Adelaide?”
“I want you to do what you are best at, Magda. I want you to lie.”
“I see. And what type of lying might you require?” Magda tapped her ring against the edge of her desk. “Some light slander before breakfast? How about a nice little libel case?”