The Blizzard

  ***

  Thousands of people sped beside them in the shaded plastic tunnels. Travelling on the rollertubes once more, Jack was able to appreciate what a feat they were. It was truly a monumental effort to have placed these platforms so high, going on to stretch them across the city. It was an effort, which at the time, would have required the focussed manpower of every single inhabitant of Sanaam.

  “Asif, your friend, was most useful in directing me to the right address,” said Zarius. “That’s the only problem with our new home, the lack of street signs make it very difficult to find your way.”

  The only problem. Jack could think of quite a few more things wrong with the slum town but bit his tongue.

  He focussed instead on his fellow passengers, standing idly around him as their platforms moved across the city. Elderly women, Western business types, wealthy families, clerks, school children, and sailors. As they slipped from sector to sector, the advertisements on the overhead boards changed, investment properties gave way to luxury scent and jewellery, to overseas air travel, to freight providers. Speeding through the heart of the centreless city towards pleasure beaches and hotels, Zarius and Jack transferred to the slowest belt and jumped off at a stand near the shoreline.

  The air was different to the dustbowl of the slums. Microscopic droplets of sea littered the atmosphere. After weeks of living at the desert edge, the moisture almost stifled Jack’s sand-hardened throat. Wealthy, tanned foreigners walked the lush boulevards gawping at the soaring towers. The docile enjoyment on their faces was a further reminder for Jack about how far he had come. He had spent too long now as a fugitive to go back to his old way of life. The detached contentment of tourists was now alien to him.

  The cousins stepped down to the second street level so they were eye-line with the mature palms which lined the coastal boulevard. The sun was at its highest point. Sweat drenched from the teenager’s browned face. Zarius pointed towards an unusual structure, whose undulating roof fanned awkwardly from its highest point to the ground in a wave of plexiglass.

  “Isn’t that clever? Look, it’s shaped like a seashell,” his fleshy cheeks wobbled as he marched forwards towards the ridge-ended entrance.

  The visitors were a strange mixture. Some were tan-skinned Medians, others older tourists, there were even a few servants dressed in crisp white uniforms. Almost all were male, although a smattering of older women left and entered by a smaller, separate entrance.

  “Now before we proceed, a few pointers my dear boy.” They had almost reached the black plastic gate which counted in the patrons. “Our good friend Ibn Nahim has much to lose by helping us. Treat him nicely but be careful what you say. He has delayed us so long because he is unsure whether to risk all for his obligation. He may falter yet and it will be up to you to remind him of the debt he owes your father.

  “You keep on saying that. But I don’t even know who he is? How does he owe them anything?”

  “Well we don’t really have time to go into that but if you look your usual cheery self then I’m sure everything will go swimmingly.” Zarius dived into the queue of men entering the building. Jack was preparing for a cool blast of air as he passed through the threshold but instead the temperature increased.

  His eyes adjusted to the darkness but struggled to focus on the swirling surroundings. A wave of steam bathed his face and body. Around them men in towels sat on long benches which tracked out of sight in both directions. Attendants in white smocks carried towels and drinks on wide metal trays. Stomachs and chests gleamed in the mist. Gentle music, the sound of birds or animals, was funnelled from sound points, muffled by the hiss from vents above. Through the dark horizon, Jack could just make out the sound of running water and the firm slapping of flesh on wet flesh.

  Ahead was a central nave, wider and taller than the other avenues. In contrast to the cavern-like darkness, it was flooded with shafts of white light from windows high above. Men stumbled out of blasting rooms, their raw flesh burned scarlet like a newborn. Other cried in pain as their limbs were contorted to breaking point.

  “Isn’t it cosy?” Zarius’s melodic, high voice was at odds with this hellish cathedral. He led them towards where the nearest shaft of light scored the floor.

  The white light against the background darkness, made the figures’ skin sheen almost like marble, giving their sweating, flabby bodies a curious dignity.

  But even in the cooler air of this atrium Jack, fully dressed, could feel his clothes now melt into his body. Sweat was pouring out of his every pore and a tight prickling sensation crept across his scalp.

  Without conscious thought, his gaze fell upon one particular figure, a grotesquely overweight Westerner, basking in the cooler air. His rotund figure was completely naked save for a modest pair of white shorts. Every few minutes, he dipped his hand into a nearby container and drew out a sponge soaked in a curious blue liquid which he distributed generously over folds of flesh before squeezing the remaining juices over his brow.

  Jack took some time to notice his companion stalking the dark perimeter of the corridor like an animal. Few of the prone figures noticed this fully clothed individual weaving past them in theatrically-measured paces. Zarius stopped beside a small, dark-skinned man whose head and features were entirely covered in a soaked white towel. Taking a seat next to him, he bend his head in introduction, speaking in what he considered a hushed tone.

  “We appreciate the risk you have taken for us, oh great one.”

  “Sorry?” the towel was taken off to reveal the smooth face of a Median man aged in his thirties with a neatly trimmed beard and a serious, unblinking gaze.

  “Oh, my apologies. I thought you were someone else.”

  “No. I am Ibn Nahim.” said the man, giving a relaxed unhurried bow. Beads of water were racing each other down his forehead collecting, in his thick eyebrows. “A bathing house is the best place for a meeting,” he continued, “No bugs or bracelet readers here.”

  The prickling tightness was moving across Jack’s face and chest.

  “Couldn’t you have picked somewhere more comfortable?” he gasped.

  “These days there are eyes, ears, and other things in every corner. One can’t be too careful.” The man studied Jack with careful eyes but his tone was relaxed, perhaps even glib, as he talked about the illegal bracelets he had acquired.

  “Everything has been done as you requested. Getting hold of unmodified bracelets in the first place is very easy. Their possession by those unauthorised to have them is, of course, one of the many offences which attracts the death sentence.”

  “We appreciate all your effort.” Zarius said hurriedly.

  But Jack was unimpressed, and ignoring his companion’s warnings asked: “So if you’re a forger, right? How come we’ve seen plenty of bracelets on sale in the streets? What makes yours so different?”

  The man with the beard gave a roar and slapped his bare stomach.

  “Getting these trinkets is the easiest thing in the world,” he laughed, “But do you propose to put on them? You need access to money and a plausible identity. What are you pair supposed to be? Cousins? Brothers? Where are you from? How much money do you have in your account? But do not fear! I have slaved for you like I have for no other. There should be a generous amount of credit available to you both which should be available for many years, long enough for you succeed in your challenge. Or else build a new life, if you fail.”

  Jack had tuned out of the subtleties of identity manipulation. He could see men dipping their hands in iced buckets proffered by attendants. He resisted the urge to rush forward and plunge his head into the nearest container. He tried to listen as Ibn Nahim continued with his account.

  “Even now, I still risk exposure and punishment. I tell you plainly, I would have ignored your plea, had it not been for the debt I owe.”

  Zarius bowed deeply at these words.

  ??
?I consider that this has now been paid?” the bearded man continued.

  A further bow

  “I don’t understand,” could not interpret silent message between the two men. “What was it you did for UisgeCorp? Why is it I’ve never heard about you before?”

  The forger’s sweat-rimmed eyes regarded him with disdain.

  “UisgeCorp? No, I haven’t done all this for them, the very opposite in fact. If you had any meaningful discussion with Mr Strang, your father, about then you’d know.”

  So he, too, thinks Strang is my father. The angular face, dark eyes, the sharp cheekbones, all masked by aged and time, but so similar to his own. The man who had forced him into so many schools, who had badgered him about whether he had done his lessons, was the one who might be his real father. While the man he never saw, the one who he had called father, who was always busy and distant, had always been a peripheral figure who had played a part in his mind, rather than in reality.

  But Ibn Nahim was about to satisfy his curiosity. Adjusting his towel, he gestured around the cavernous hall.

  “Your father was responsible for all this, our city I mean. We had blackwater to last decades, of course, but our rulers knew that one day it would run out. They seized the chance to install large-scale hydro, seeing the potential for roller-tubes, our hotels, every building to have air control. Many thousands of workers were involved in its creation. No safety rules then. The hydrogen and oxygen cores weren’t separated by carbon gates as they are now – seepage was common and fuel cell explosions were an almost daily risk.”

  “People died then?”

  “One tiny spark was all it took. Two hundred men dead and countless others injured. There was no publicity of course. Even then, the Hydra openness department was a well-oiled machine. Families which who lost a father or son or both were well-compensated.”

  “Well, at least they got something.” Jack spoke out of instinctive loyalty.

  “My family had no high station and used their meagre savings for my schooling. I excelled at logic, form, and function, but still could find no better work than as a minor manager among many. I worked through that black day and brought the bodies out; using my knowledge to seal the fuel cells, prevent further leaks. Suddenly I was picked from obscurity – handpicked by Mr Strang to be in charge of safety in one of the greatest building project the world has ever seen. Though he had considerable knowledge of the physics, your father was no engineer. It took the combined efforts of those around him to translate these theories into a working, practical reality.”

  “So he gave you a job and set you on the road to success?”

  “Yes, after a fashion. But I must confess, over these last few weeks, I have been trying to figure out exactly what percentage of my success I owe him. Would I have made good in my own time? Is it worth my head if I am found out? Worth the heads of sons and daughters? But as you will see, I have performed my duty and given what you seek.”

  Jack couldn’t be sure but, from the corner of his eye, it seemed that Zarius stiffened slightly at these words.

  “Where are the passes?” he demanded.

  After checking in both directions along the sunlit corridor, the forger produced three black wristbands.

  “I am surprised because I was told you had no interest in anything beyond comfort and wealth. And you have travelled so far without a bracelet. How could you have managed that I wonder..?”

  “A long story, my friend,” Zarius seized the looped material with his fat fingers. “One we shall entertain you with another time.”

  “Then I’ve done all I can for you. Do you agree that I am now free of my debt?”

  But Zarius had already turned to leave.

  Confused, Jack made his own brief thanks and followed the striding figure along the sunlit aisle. The people who had been reclining in the daylight mist just moments ago had withdrawn into the fog. Jack could see distant silhouettes moving and shifting. One eventually drew closer until he could see the torso wrapped in white cotton. In the man’s right hand was something glinting… a gun.

  Other armed men emerged from the steam. Each clad only in towels but quite capable of killing with their bare hands if necessary.

  Ibn Nahim. They had been betrayed. His last words were an excuse, an absolution from the blame of what was to happen. Jack felt for Zarius but his cousin was neither to his left or right. Turning around, he could see the portly figure of his cousin – his clothes bedraggled in the tropical climate – reach into his cloak and withdraw – a metal tool similar to a wrench and begin furiously to attack an exposed pipeline at the nearest wall.

  Suddenly there was a high-pitched wail and the sunlit nave filled with an even denser cloud of steam. Their would-be attackers were once again obscured. Voices around him roared in anger. There was a burning sensation around Jack’s wrist. It was Zarius’s hand, pulling him to a destination he could not see. The air grew clearer and lighter. Together they stumbled out of the clogged corridor, past the ever-coming crowds, through the entrance and its flimsy plastic gate, blinking into the sunlight.