Текст книги "Intermix Nation "
Автор книги: M. Attardo
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
“But only because that’s what the Medis wanted!”
“Exactly,” he says. “The Medis used you as propaganda. You became the symbol for what can happen to every citizen if they step out of line. We are hoping to turn that propaganda around. We want you to become the face of the rebellion, the face of intermix. Be the voice for people who are so unable to speak for themselves. Show them what happens if they do not join us.”
“So you want me to pose for an advertisement or something?” she asks. “Shoot a video?”
“It’s a bit more invested than that,” he says. “For a few weeks, we want you to go on a campaign of sorts through the four territories. Just show your face to the people a little, tell your story, and make a few speeches. Try to gather as much intermix and territory support as possible.”
“But I’m crap at public speaking!” she argues.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “The people living in the territories, especially intermix, are in a constant state of starvation and poverty. They want to revolt against the government, Nazirah. They just need a push. You need to become that catalyst.”
Nazirah scoffs. “Oh, is that all?”
“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” he says. “I’ve spent several weeks arranging your safe transfer with our most trusted allies around the country. And Aldrik will be with you the entire time, trying to forge new alliances along the way.”
“Aldrik?” she whines. “He hates me!”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Niko says. “He just doesn’t like you much. I don’t want to mislead you into thinking this will be entirely safe, because it’s not. But you will be as protected as possible.”
Nazirah fingers the gold bangle the Deathlandic girl gave her on the bus. The girl’s mother recognized her, sympathized with her. Niko is right. This is something she can do … something only she can do. So, although Nazirah can think of a million reasons to say no, she says, “Yes, Niko. I’ll do it. I want to do it.”
Nikolaus breathes a sigh of relief. He gets up and walks over to her. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me now,” she huffs. “I haven’t done anything yet.”
“But you will,” he says. “Don’t underestimate yourself. You’re more likable than you think.”
“You’re so sweet,” she says.
He laughs, but then turns serious again. “Listen, this campaign isn’t to be taken lightly, okay?”
“I’m entirely serious about it, Nikolaus.”
“That’s not what I mean,” he says. “I’m trying to say that this isn’t a job for one person to handle alone.”
“I thought that’s what Aldrik is there for,” she says slowly.
“Aldrik will be there, yes,” Nikolaus says evasively. “He has the formidable task of winning over some very critical allies. We are hoping to restrict the transport of various resources into Mediah, weakening them from within before we strike.”
“And how is Aldrik planning on doing that?” she asks.
“To be perfectly honest,” Niko says, “probably with bribes.”
“Well, it certainly won’t be with charm.”
“Agreed,” he laughs.
“And how do you expect the Medis to react when we cut off their access to food, water, and whatever else?”
“Not well, obviously,” he says, “Which is why our window of opportunity is so small. It’s now or never.”
“Okay,” she says bluntly. “Your point being?”
“Aldrik has good intentions …”
“I’m sensing a ‘but.’”
“But,” Niko continues, “like you said, his delivery isn’t great. We need someone there to negotiate. Someone with the military background and monetary backing to secure alliances and make sure our allies follow through.” Nikolaus looks at her, waits for her to comprehend.
Nazirah doesn’t need to ask. “Niko, no way!”
“It has to be him.”
“You can’t possibly expect me to spend weeks with him!” she cries. “This isn’t a two minute conversation where I can leave when he starts pissing me off!”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “But it can’t be avoided. He’s the best option we have.”
“The best option?” she yells. “If Morgen is the best option the rebels have, then we really have no chance in hell! He’s killed half the country, for God’s sake! You really expect people, intermix people, to ally with him? I don’t think all the bribes in the world could make that happen!”
“I think you’d be surprised by what people will do for money,” he says, “especially hungry people. Like you said, everyone in the country knows him too. You’ve heard what people are calling him. Renatus, Irri. They are naming him after the damn country, in whispers, all over! He’s exactly who people need to see in order for them to give us their trust and support. Can you imagine how this will help us?” His eyes glaze over. “Two former enemies, of completely different races and social strata, appearing together as a united front?”
“Only we’re not two former enemies,” she hisses. “We are very much in the present!”
“Stop being dramatic.”
“You don’t understand!” she tells him hotly, flashing back to all of their previous encounters. “Morgen is seriously deranged! He is mentally unstable.”
“Everyone’s a little unstable,” Nikolaus replies callously.
“Are you trying to upset me?”
“I’m not saying he’s the friendliest Medi on the street, Nazirah. Of course he’s a little mentally … preoccupied. But aren’t we all, with everything that’s been happening?”
“He called me ‘Nazi!’”
Nikolaus snorts. “That’s my fault. I may have mentioned your childhood nickname once or twice.”
“You talk to him about me?” she shrieks.
“Sometimes.”
“Niko!”
“Nazirah!”
“You can’t do this to me!”
“This isn’t open for discussion. We’re in the final stages of this and we need Morgen. Either you decide to get over yourself or you don’t, but he goes either way.” Nikolaus grabs a thick binder from his desk. “I have to go discuss the final schedule with Aldrik. Think about it over the weekend. If you decide to go, the car leaves for Rafu first thing Monday morning.”
“How am I supposed to pretend, before the entire country, that I’ve somehow forgiven him?” Nazirah asks. “Because isn’t that what you’re really asking of me? How can I possibly make anyone believe it?”
Nikolaus leans into her. He says, entirely serious, “Become an amazing fucking liar.”
#
Nazirah sits alone in Nikolaus’s office for a good ten minutes, trying to process everything her disillusioned brother has asked her to do. She rubs her temples, feeling a migraine forming in her skull. Ready to seek out the nearest bottle of tequilux to drown her sorrows in, Nazirah’s eyes befall the silver briefcase.
She stares at it, intrigued, remembering how unsettling she found Adamek’s appearance with it. Nikolaus tried to dismiss Nazirah’s curiosity, but she isn’t crazy. There are no training sessions today, Nazirah is almost sure of that. He used the Iluxor on himself. But what was he looking at … and why?
Nazirah stands rapidly, the chair scraping against the floor. She walks over to Nikolaus’s door. Nazirah puts an ear to it, listening but hearing nothing. She turns the lock before she can talk herself out of it. This is an opportunity she might never have again. And maybe, with a little luck, she’ll finally get some answers.
She grabs the briefcase off the bookshelf, pulling it over the ledge with two hands. It’s heavier than she expects. Nazirah hauls it over to Nikolaus’s desk, struggling to lift it. She runs her fingers over the keypad, trying to remember what code Adamek entered the day of their first lesson. The case unlocks on her second try, with a hiss.
Like a warning.
Periodically glancing at the door, Nazirah quickly fills a syringe to the top with translucent serum. Hesitating for only a second, Nazirah injects herself in what she hopes is the vein, grimacing in pain as the syringe empties. She remembers what Adamek told her that first day, about how the Iluxor stores the last memory it picks up. Nazirah argued then that it was an invasion of privacy, but she isn’t arguing now.
She places a shaky hand on top of the glass, watching with trepidation as the sparkling white mist fills the cube.
Don’t ask a question, if you don’t want to know the answer.
“Take a risk,” she whispers.
Nazirah closes her eyes, hesitantly touches the corner of the cube. And she gets her answer.
Chapter Thirteen
The party is already in full swing.
Nazirah opens her eyes slowly, taking in the grand room covered in crystal and marble. In every direction, in every crevice and corner, there’s lush opulence and indescribable luxury. Women dressed in corsets and velvet walk around with leather parasols. They laugh softly, dance slowly, sipping electric blue champagne from long-stemmed flutes. Their bodies are covered in glitter and shimmering dust. The men, not to be outdone, are dressed in gunmetal suits, liquid black waistcoats, bright top hats and crystal canes. They play cards and drink brandy, completely unfazed by the literal circus around them.
There are tigers and snow leopards and cheetahs with diamond collars, lazily chained to chairs and tables. A breathtaking mural of the sky and stars is painted on the ceiling. The centerpiece in the room is somehow both a waterfall crystal chandelier and a winding staircase that opens onto the roof. Near the stairs, a woman covered entirely in gold sequins serenades partygoers atop a fuchsia piano. Four electric violins back her up beautifully.
Most mesmerizing of all are the walls. There are no windows, only floor-to-ceiling glass. Nazirah sees the view outside, sees the glittering skyline she’s only ever read about, confirming what she has already guessed. She’s in Mediah.
Behind her are three unnervingly lifelike marble sculptures of Adamek, his father Gabirel, and his mother Victoria. Nazirah realizes that she must be in the Morgen’s penthouse. This is how Adamek lived? With this grand room as vast as an entire floor at headquarters? Nazirah wonders yet again why he ever chose to leave.
The large metal doors in front of her open and Adamek Morgen enters. He looks almost exactly the way Nazirah knows him. Guests all around stop their conversations. Females stare longingly as he makes his way across the room. Adamek stops halfway across the room to pet a tiger, shaking his head in amusement. Nazirah’s heart catches in her throat when his gaze pierces through her. She immediately turns to run, but he walks straight past. Nazirah tells herself to grow a backbone. This is what she asked for, after all.
Adamek speaks quietly to a woman who’s obviously his mother. Not much is known about Victoria Morgen. She tends to keep to herself because of her illness. She is, however, known for throwing lavish galas that are the talk of Renatus. Nazirah has seen photographs before, in the papers back home, but photographs don’t do Victoria justice. She is absolutely stunning in person, with flowing brown hair. She has creamy, unmarred skin, although very pale. She has Adamek’s high cheekbones and aristocratic nose. But on Victoria, the nose is delicate, not masculine. And she has the second most beautiful pair of eyes Nazirah has ever seen. Green eyes deep as the lagoons of Rafu, old as the Earth. Green eyes that whisper of Oseni hilltops, of Eridian shores.
Nazirah walks over to them, listening to their conversation. “You’ve outdone yourself, mother,” Adamek says. “But you could have warned me that I’d be walking into this tonight.”
Adamek does seem informally dressed for the occasion, even by Nazirah’s amateur appraisal. He’s in simple black pants and a dark shirt. His hands casually rest in the pockets of a black leather jacket. On anyone else, the outfit would seem out of place in this highfalutin zoo. But on Adamek, it’s refined. Like everyone else is just gaudy. Which might actually be the case.
Victoria sets her flute of blue champagne down on a nearby table. She smiles at him, but Nazirah thinks it’s not a genuine smile. It’s reserved, borderline restrained. Victoria straightens her back, linking her gloved hands in front of her. The emeralds that are woven into her gown glitter.
“My dear Damek,” she says airily. “My world, my earth. I told you about this charity gala weeks ago. You’re incredibly late. So you’ll forgive me if I don’t take your complaint to heart.”
Nazirah smirks.
“And what pointless fundraiser are you throwing tonight?” Adamek asks. “Bikinis for the Eridians again? Fur stoles for the Zimans? Hut decor for the intermix?”
“Your arrogance does not suit you, Damek,” Victoria says tersely. “I do what little I can with my hands tied. I have to appeal to certain tastes, certain expectations. Sometimes, you are just like your father.”
“Most people would see that as a compliment.”
“I’m not most people,” she says softly. “I’m your mother. But speaking of Gabirel, where is he? It’s rude for the Chancellor to keep his guests waiting.”
They’re distracted by a group of young girls giggling nearby. The girls point at Adamek, obviously infatuated. He clearly hears them, but doesn’t move.
“You could stand to learn a few manners yourself,” Victoria tells him.
Adamek turns around slowly, nodding his head in greeting at the girls. “Father is in his study,” he says to Victoria. “I’ve just finished speaking with him, after I came back. He’s in an especially rank mood, but should be down shortly.”
Victoria’s entire body tenses, before relaxing in what’s clearly a forced gesture. “Come back?” she asks, voice strained. “I did not realize you were away.”
Adamek is nonchalant. “Just a minor threat to security that needed addressing,” he says. “I didn’t want to worry you.”
Mother and son exchange a significant look, leaving Nazirah hopelessly lost. Victoria grabs Adamek’s arms, sliding them out of his pockets. Nothing strikes Nazirah as unusual, except that Adamek is wearing black fingerless gloves. Victoria, however, seems fixated. She stares at them for a long, uncomfortable moment. “You should change, Damek,” she says, her voice flat. “You’re a mess.” Victoria picks up her champagne and stalks away.
Adamek doesn’t move from his spot for several seconds. Without warning, he turns and begins weaving his way through the crowd. Nazirah follows him nimbly. Adamek stops only to greet someone here and there, shake a few proffered hands, and kiss several gloved wrists. It seems he’s brushing up on his etiquette.
Why is Nazirah wasting her time with this, anyway? Just so she could glimpse a lifestyle she’ll never know otherwise? Does Adamek replay these memories, regretting his decision to leave the luxury of Mediah behind?
Nazirah follows him through several hallways overflowing with sculptures and paintings. She stares in wonder at everything she comes across, trying to memorize the artwork that’s so incredibly breathtaking. Intermix aren’t allowed inside museums. Nazirah imagines Adamek probably took all this for granted, growing up.
Adamek eventually opens a door and Nazirah follows him inside.
Nazirah suddenly feels like she’s completely trespassing on his personal space. She’s clearly standing in his bedroom, which is large, full of dark woods, modern lines, and shades of gray and navy. It’s masculine and clean, perfectly suiting him. A large, wooden four-poster bed stands in the center of the room. The thought of Adamek sleeping there makes Nazirah clear her throat. She clamps her hand over her mouth and looks at him until she remembers he cannot hear her. Adamek casually shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on the back of his desk chair. The familiar silver briefcase that holds Iluxor rests on his desk.
Adamek’s furniture, though, is nothing compared to his view. Like the grand room, the back wall of his bedroom is made entirely of glass. Nazirah walks over to it, mesmerized by the Median skyline at night. They are thousands of feet up in the air. Nazirah realizes the Morgens must live on top of one of the tallest skytowers in Renatus. She stares down in awe at the miniature traffic, whizzing through the city at varying altitudes.
Nazirah eventually turns around. She finds Adamek similarly mesmerized, but by a fresco on his wall. She comes beside him, looking at the mural too, because he seems so absorbed in it. Hundreds of people, barely clothed, are scattered amidst a light blue background. The base of it is cut off, like the painting should be much larger. Nazirah finds that difficult to imagine. Compared to the other artwork around the penthouse, it’s antiquated and broken, cracked in spots.
Nazirah doesn’t understand it, but she can’t take her eyes off Adamek. Like Nazirah, only in solitude does he remove the mask of lies he shows to the world. Looking at him now, Nazirah feels like she’s really seeing him for the first time. Adamek reaches a gloved hand out, slowly tracing the brush strokes. Deep sadness and longing plague his face.
Adamek wrenches his hand away, removing his gloves and shaking his head. He sits down on the bed, untying his boots and replacing them with formal black shoes. He stands up, pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his bare torso. Nazirah flushes as she stares at his toned chest. She’s obviously seen shirtless boys before … she lived on the beach her entire life! She has no idea why this particular boy has such an effect on her. Nazirah looks at him in a way she would never allow herself to normally, because this is only a memory.
And she’s taking risks today.
Adamek stretches his arms above his head, yawning and revealing the Medi tattoo on his forearm. Nazirah tries to get a better look, ignoring his state of undress.
The tattoo’s different from that day in the library. It looks textbook perfect.
Adamek walks straight through her towards his closet, sending cold shivers through her body. Nazirah whirls around as Adamek searches for an appropriate shirt, seeing his dusza for the first time. She stares open-mouthed. The tattoo covers the entire left side of his back. Thousands of tiny black characters, in an ancient text Nazirah cannot read, scroll in vertical columns from shoulder to spine. She walks forward, wanting to see it up close, but is startled by the sound of soft knocking at Adamek’s door.
Adamek swiftly slips on a white shirt. He opens the door to reveal Victoria holding two silk ties, clearly a peace offering. Victoria walks in, gingerly closing the door behind her. “I thought you might need these,” she says, holding up both solid black and sequined options. Adamek eventually nods at the solid one and allows Victoria to slip it around his neck. She smiles slightly. “You never were one to follow the latest trends.”
“Thank you,” he says.
Adamek clearly cares for his mother. Nazirah doesn’t know why she finds this unnerving. She’s never thought about him as a son before, but she guesses it is yet another part he plays. Victoria tentatively touches Adamek’s cheek. There’s a tension and formality between the two of them that Nazirah never experienced with Riva or Kasimir, even when they fought. Nazirah is quickly realizing that there are many unspoken words between the Morgens.
Victoria’s attention drifts to the mural behind Adamek. “I don’t understand why you’re obsessed with that monstrosity,” she says.
Adamek stiffens. “I was drawn to it,” he replies, “when I traveled abroad to see the lost ruins.”
Nazirah is bewildered. Adamek traveled outside of Renatus? He saw the remnants of the Final War, scattering the world’s population around their sole surviving country? No one, Medi or otherwise, is permitted to leave Renatus. Ever.
Victoria lightly touches the mural. “Yes,” she says. “And it cost us a minor fortune to excavate, transport, and restore for you. And even then we couldn’t fit most of it in here.” She shakes her head. “It’s such a ghastly piece, Damek. Why not let me cover it? I’ll commission the best artist in all of Renatus to paint something worthy of you.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Adamek snaps. “Why are you bringing this up again?”
“Damek,” she says slowly, “this morbid obsession you have with death is not natural.”
Wait, what? Aren’t they talking about a painting? When did they start talking about death? Nazirah searches the fresco more carefully. It’s filled with figures climbing onto clouds, all focused around a man with a raised right arm and a lady in blue. She still doesn’t get it. Adamek looks down at his bare hands, clenches them. “Easy to say for someone who never gets their hands dirty,” he says quietly.
“Damek, please,” Victoria pleads. “I’m not here to argue with you. It isn’t productive for us, and it’s not good for my health. But you’ve changed so much these past few years. You’re almost unrecognizable to me.”
“I’ve grown up,” he says. “That’s what happens.”
Fat teardrops streak Victoria’s lovely face. “It’s more than that!” she cries. “You never used to wear the cares you do now! I fear your father and I made a grievous mistake, sending you to the monkey so many years ago. You should have trained here instead, with the other Medis. But we wanted the best for you.”
“This has nothing to do with that,” he snaps. “I’ve gone against all of my teachings.”
“Damek,” Victoria implores, “you can still stop! You don’t have to keep doing this, if you don’t want to.”
His eyes narrow. “I have to do it,” he growls, “despite the fact that I don’t want to. I do it to keep Mediah safe. I do what’s right.”
“You do what Gabirel tells you to do! What’s easy!” she hisses. “Not what’s right!” Victoria grabs Adamek’s hands, her eyes wildly roaming the sea of scratches. “I never wanted this life for you, Damek,” she says, her voice a shadow of a whisper. “And I am afraid for you, afraid of what you’re becoming … afraid of what you may already be.”
Adamek wrenches his hands from her. “What you’re saying is blasphemy.”
“Damek …”
His voice is cold and bitter. “Please leave. I’ll be down in a moment. We wouldn’t want to keep your guests waiting.”
Victoria nods tersely, collecting herself. She walks to the door. “I guess it’s a nice painting,” she says finally. “In a primitive, pedestrian sort of way. Who painted it again?”
Adamek glances at the mural. “Someone named Michel, I think,” he says. “Michel of the angels. I found it in a collapsed church over the Eastern Sea. The souls on the left are rising into heaven while the souls on the right are descending into hell. And their god is in the center, judging them all.”
“Adamek,” Victoria whispers, “there can be a better way to live. We can be better.”
Adamek turns around, but she’s already gone.
Nazirah watches the carefully constructed mask of Adamek Morgen shatter into pieces. He bangs his fists on the wall, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against it.
Adamek stays like that for a long time, breathing hard, before walking to his desk and sitting down. He reaches into the bottom left-hand drawer, moving some books aside to reveal a hidden compartment. Pulling out another silver case, smaller than the one that holds the Iluxor, Adamek enters the same four digit code on this keypad and opens it. He retrieves a thin needle and a small bottle filled with black ink. Adamek meticulously wipes the needle, inhaling deeply. He opens the bottle, dipping the needle into it with such care it makes Nazirah sick. Nazirah wants to look away but she can’t. She knows exactly what he’s doing. Adamek told her once that Medis believe in nothing except power. But if Adamek believes in anything, it’s this.
Like it’s his religion, Adamek zealously takes the inky needle tip and pushes it into the back of his hand, skillfully etching a small black scratch. It bleeds only a little. Nazirah watches as he makes one more scratch on his hand before returning the items to the case. Two unremarkable scratches already lost in a dark ocean. But Nazirah knows they represent two innocent lives Adamek has taken this night.
Adamek pulls out a pistol from his jacket pocket. He places the gun inside the case as well, locks it, and returns it to the secret compartment. He clasps his hands together on the desk, as if in prayer. A tear mars his face. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Victoria,” he says sadly. “But I don’t know how else to live.”
Adamek rises from his desk, moving towards the door. Nazirah gets a strange feeling in her gut that tells her not to follow him just yet. She looks from Adamek to the drawer where the gun is safely hidden, a nagging suspicion creeping into her mind. Almost against her own will, Nazirah moves closer to Adamek’s desk and stands directly over it. She feels the pull of his memory, dragging her away. But she can’t leave yet, not until she knows for sure. She scans the contents of the desk, feels the nausea hit when she finds what she’s looking for. The date is April 4th, the day her parents died.
He’s just murdered them.
Nazirah’s chest constricts and her throat tightens. She wants to leave Adamek’s memory … now. But she’s either injected too much serum or the memory isn’t over, because she can’t leave. She’s at the mercy of Adamek’s mind.
Adamek’s memory flashes forward. Nazirah watches distantly as he returns to the party, laughing and joking with friends. Victoria and Gabirel dance together, smiling in each other’s arms. The music winds down like a broken accordion. The crowd peters out. The handlers return the animals to their cages. Adamek searches for his parents, unable to find them.
Nazirah unwillingly follows him back towards his room, tired and emotionally drained. To Nazirah’s surprise, Adamek passes it by. He turns down a new hallway and knocks on a door to his right. He enters a feminine room full of pinks and pastels. It’s clearly Victoria’s private chambers. Nazirah knows he’s here to apologize for his behavior. She’s annoyed at having to watch them reconcile, when he so easily just destroyed her entire family. But Victoria isn’t here.
Adamek turns to leave, but something catches his eye. There’s a puddle of water pooling outside the door Nazirah assumes leads to Victoria’s bathroom, slightly staining the white carpet. And Nazirah knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she absolutely does not want to see what’s behind that door.
Don’t ask a question, if you don’t want to know the answer.
His words taunt her now, egging her on. Nazirah tries to run away, but is propelled forward by the relentless memory.
Adamek walks towards the door. His face is confused, but there’s dread there; Nazirah recognizes it well.
Adamek reaches his hand out, shaking slightly. He rests it on the doorknob. Nazirah prays for the door to be locked, but of course it isn’t. It swings open in one motion, revealing the tableau before them. And, in that moment, so many of Nazirah’s questions are answered. In that moment, she understands Adamek Morgen perfectly. She knows exactly why he rejected the Medis, knows exactly why Nikolaus trusts him, and knows exactly why he’s joined the rebellion. And she wishes, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she didn’t.
Victoria Morgen lies in the overflowing bathtub, skin pruning and pale. Her head lolls to one side, mouth slightly ajar. The tap is still running, crystal clear from the faucet. But the water spilling from the sides of the tub is tainted a deep crimson.
Gabirel Morgen, Adamek’s father, sits casually beside her on the drenched edge. He strokes Victoria’s lifeless cheek, nonchalantly smoking a cigar. His gun rests in one relaxed hand, no longer needed, long forgotten.
