god, sorry it's been such a long time

life keeps getting in the way of my writing. and while this is a good thing because it gives me new experiences, it doesn't make for very interesting reading here. if indeed anyone is reading this stuff at all.

here's something to chew on while i get back into writing....

Breaking out

Over the next few weeks all anyone can talk of is what they’re going to do once Calvinus is retired. They barely see Nagy at all; he’s with Calvinus almost constantly, taking care of him, helping him out, being loyal. If the other Assembly members get suspicious, well, let them. To all intents and purposes, Nagy is simply being a paragon of virtue, giving all he can to the legal ruler of the city. Just a civic duty. He’s really busy, often staying at the Assembly building for days at a time. Only Ramir sees him regularly, closeted in his workshop room in the evenings and the weekends when there’s no politics going on. Nagy frequently comes out of there with trouble in his face, his eyes far away and worried, but he never says anything to the others about what goes on, what he and Ramir talk about. Einor tries listening at the door a couple of times but he can’t make out what they’re saying. It’s all very mysterious, but they reckon everything will be revealed in time – and of course they’re too scared to ask Ramir about it. Mostly they ignore it and carry on as if nothing is happening, like they’re expected to do.
There’s a noticeable energy about the ever-growing workforce these days, now they’re so close to what they’ve been wanting so long. Mihan’s got about ten people in the Propaganda Department, of which he is chief editor. They’re a hive of industry. He can’t stop thinking of new slogans, new designs. Maybe this is his assembly time? His designs are bold, cartoonish, stylised like the Urban Realists but there’s something about them that’s infinitely easy to see as part of real life. He can’t draw properly, but he’s been trained to engrave and print. Woodcut-like, figures in motion, simple, blocky. He likes them, especially the one about the Transportation. There’s an early version of it on the wall of his office (his own office! Imagine). A bright blue sky, orderly square buildings made of white concrete stretching for miles down a street that teems with equally orderly people, pretty and shining and picture-book. The pavement on the near side of the street has a metal shelter on it, curved like a breaking wave rolling over, with a red flag attached to the roof of it. It’s burnished, silvery, reflecting the cartoon sun. The road’s got metal rails on it, dead straight and there’s a set for either side of the road. Coming down the rails on the street is what looks like an enormous cart with enclosed sides and a roof, not drawn by horses but attached to the wires that are strung above the street, connected by a big aerial shaped like a Y. There are people inside it; Mihan took great care in drawing them through the filmy blue wash he put over the windows of the Transport. He looks at it again. Big black square text, ‘This is how we will be travelling in 5 years,’ and underneath, their emblem, the hand holding the hammer, which he came up with in the most blinding flash of inspiration he’s ever had, and ‘Architects: Building the Future of Northbridge’ at the bottom.
All he does is think about what Ramir told him, that night when he was still afraid of Ramir, when Nagy had been beaten up, when they were all hating Northbridge and Mihan just wanted more than anything to go home to Jerboa. And that vision, The Master Blueprint, that’s every single inspiration for him. He’s hanging everything he’s got on it happening – because he believes, because he dares to have dreams. It’s got to happen. It’s waiting in the wings of time, the ether between the impossible and the real, and he believes totally and utterly that if he stretches out far enough he can help to bring it in. Not single-handedly of course; it needs everyone to reach for it. They’re all going to be part of it, after all, this world of glass and steel and sunshine. If only they can convince enough people to vote for them. Vote for what they’ll promise, rather than what they can see now. It takes dreamers, imaginative idealists like him to express the ideas but behind them all there’s a hard core of seriously rational, logical thought to validate it all. It’s coming. Soon it’ll be perfect.

* * *

Nothing like this has ever happened to Nagy before. He always dreamed of it, being in the midst of a great web of intrigue, but he never thought he’d have helped plan the intrigue as well. He always imagined himself solving the puzzles, like working out chemical formulae and energy transfers and things, deducing one thing from another and you get such a buzz when you work it out and it all slots into place like a layer of graphite. Politics is like that. He’s learning, building up his awareness of people and policies and their twisted, tangled views, separating the big knot that it used to be of ‘him’ and ‘everyone else against him because he’s a radical’. Now he knows who might support him, who might not if he says something stupid, and who won’t in a million years. But he hasn’t got time to say anything stupid at the moment. He’s taken up entirely by the deteriorating mental health of Calvinus, and his equally deteriorating physical condition. Vagus has done a good job. Calvinus was never exactly a shining example of good health, but look at him now! Nagy’s almost sad, what’s happening to him; it must be awful, those first stages of madness where you’re occasionally lucid enough to actually realise you’re going mad, and there’s nothing you can do, but then it all slips away again and you forget who you are, forget how to behave and sink back into some horrible fog of craziness.
Calvinus is now shut in his house in case he does himself or anyone else any harm. All government is suspended and the city is now in Political Crisis mode, which basically means anything goes because the civil servants are running the place. Security have got their hands full trying to work out who’s behind the poisoning. Hired assassins everywhere are having a field day, as is the Northbridge Post. One rainy afternoon Nagy’s upstairs with Calvinus, who has developed an obsessive attachment to him: he’s the only one Calvinus’s failing sanity has identified as ‘on his side’, because he was there when it first happened, he was helping. He’s mixed cures. Nagy agrees with everything that he says. How’s Calvinus meant to know that it’s all programmed and controlled by Ramir? He’s just a poor madman.
‘Nagy,’ comes the feeble reply from the tangled chair across the room. Nagy looks up from Calvinus’s desk where he’s reading reports from the head of Security, one Commander Metz, who Nagy’s met before and is terrified of. Nagy turns round.
‘Yes, sir?’
‘They’re coming for me, aren’t they, Nagy? Nagy, I’ve been bad, haven’t I?’
Calvinus’s face is wasted, grey, twisted expressions for twisted thoughts. He starts crying uncontrollably like a child and Nagy’s heart wrenches to see it, what they’ve done to him already. He’s been reading Calvinus’s papers and, against every rational fibre of his brain, he can see that Calvinus is not as bad as people think. What an intellect, what a way with words, a great speaker – and Nagy suddenly realises.
My God, he’s everything that Ramir is. That’s why he’s done this. He can’t take having to beat someone honourably, he has to get in and destroy them horribly, in his own way. And I’m part of the whole sordid enterprise.
His head hurts with the flashing revelations. He’s been unveiled after what feels like years of blindness, the light’s pure white and it kills his poor underused eyes.
What the bloody hell do I think I’m doing? This is sick.
Calvinus is sobbing his heart out. His brain’s gone, he thinks he’s about seven and having his first guilt-attack, that terrible moment where you suddenly become old enough to understand that you’ve done something really bad – but he’s a clever, powerful, fearsome man at the same time. Everything’s messed up and horrible in his head.
This is the future we’re offering Northbridge? Poison and madness to whoever gets in Leader Ramir’s well-paved way?
‘I’ve done terrible things, Nagy, I have, I have! I’m evil, Nagy!’
If you’re evil, what does that make us?
‘Shh, sshh, it’s alright, sir, it’s alright. Stop it now, come on,’ Nagy says automatically, getting up and gently holding Calvinus’s shoulders, pinning him against the back of the chair. Calvinus buries his head against Nagy’s chest and cries, talking and choking and making no sense. Nagy’s ashamed of what they’ve done to him. They’ve ruined him totally. He’ll die of this, in the end, it’ll never get better. It’s only a matter of time before his brain can’t function at all – and then he’ll just go. Nagy hopes he can die peacefully in his sleep one day. He untangles Calvinus’s painfully tight arms from around him and places them gently, firmly, on the arms of the chair. Calvinus wipes his face and seems to be having an interval of lucidity.
‘Nagy, what’s going on? Why am I at home so much these days?’
‘You’re ill, sir. Your doctors have told you to stay at home and rest until you’re better because the stress of your job will undoubtedly make it worse, whatever it is that’s wrong with you. I have no idea what they’ve diagnosed but I’m sure they’ve got their reasons.’
How many times has he answered like that? He’s practically got it off by heart now and his voice doesn’t shake any more when he says it. It grosses him out, the extent to which he’s stringing Calvinus along, but he knows it’s for the best when he thinks about it and estranges his emotions, like all good Architects should be able to do on demand. Probably they should do it constantly, just listen to their inner voice of duty which usually speaks in Ramir’s compelling tones. He shakes his head as Calvinus snorts, his wasted face showing a little of the contempt that used to freeze the strongest of characters, before which the most stalwart socialist or the most devout cultist on the Chamber floor would quail and sell out to him. It’s part of what makes him practically unbeatable, his icy, cruel, amused dismissal of anything and everything that matters to you.
But we’ve beaten him.
Does that make us more committed than anyone who’s been knocked down by his intellect and let him walk on them ever since?
‘Oh yes, I know exactly what their reasons are, Nagy. They’re the ones behind it all, they want to get rid of me because the College of Medics put them up to it. I know they don’t like the ban on importing toxics but I’ve told them again and again that it’s better for the market and that makes everyone happier in the long run.’
That’s one continuous statement. Calvinus barely pauses to think; he doesn’t even need to order his thoughts, they’re already perfectly formed.
He would have made a brilliant Architect if he wasn’t such a money-grabber.
‘Never trust doctors, Nagy, they’re all out to get you.’ He groans and scrubs at his eyes which are red rimmed and grey-lined. ‘As soon as I feel a bit better, I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I’m not having people poisoning me and getting away with it.’
He stops, a crafty look coming across his face.
‘In fact, as I’m stuck here and not allowed to do anything, I’d like you to find out for me, Nagy. I trust you enough to do this for me – but you probably know by now, if I find out you’re double-crossing me and you’re in with whoever’s doing this, I’ll get my revenge even if I’m dead. Go now, I want to sleep. Come back tomorrow and tell me what’s going on out there without me in control.’
Nagy is only too glad to leave. He’s terrified by those last words, even though he knows the bit about him is a complete stab in the dark.
Assassins stab in the dark every time.
He can’t believe Calvinus has already worked out he’s being poisoned. He’s got to get back and tell the others, and why has Vagus run away? Did he plant his notes with Larken, like he said he would?
Is it all going to work?

‘Units, as you no doubt know, things have taken a very significant development in the Calvinus affair,’ Nagy announces at meeting. Ramir is not there but he has instructed them to have the meeting anyway. Everyone goes quiet and Nagy is suddenly terrified. This is criminal, what they’re doing here. They could get hanged for this.
No, it’s politics. That cancels out the criminality; politicians are above the law these days.
‘What’s happened, Nagy?’ asks Cephall anxiously.
‘Well,’ says Nagy, ‘it seems Calvinus knows he’s being poisoned. Don’t ask me how, cause I haven’t said anything and I know who’s been in and out of there, I’d have seen them. But the fact remains, this has come up far too fast for my liking and I haven’t had time to check things. Things like where Vagus is.’
‘Vagus? No one’s seen him for days,’ says Einor, looking dismayed. Then some invisible thunderbolt lands on him and the colour drains out of his face.
‘Oh Creator, what if he’s – ’
‘What if he’s what?’ blurts Mihan, looking equally frightened.
‘Done a runner, I think is what we’re all trying not to say,’ Nagy interjects grimly. ‘We have no way of knowing unless we find him, or some trace of him. It’s safe to assume he has gone of his own volition. Which opens up more terrible questions.’
Nagy pauses, almost enjoying himself. He feels like an actor in a tragedy, seeing the white masks of faces around him, everyone like the ground’s been whipped out from under them and they’re falling into an abyss of dread, the realisation that it’s gone horribly, horribly wrong. You can taste the panic in the air.
‘Yes, we all know what I’m talking about. Who’s he told? And how long have we got before the rumour goes city-wide and we get arrested?’
‘Oh God, it really could happen, couldn’t it? We were functioning so well,’ Tyndell says sadly. Mihan shakes his head. He can’t believe it’s going to end now, before it even begins – no, it’s not. He’s going to keep it alive.
‘We’re not going to be arrested!’ he shouts. ‘We will not be beaten by a bunch of corrupt, stupid, in-bred malingerers just because they’ve got Security on their side. Let’s think positive here, alright! I for one refuse to believe that this is the end. We’ve got so much to give!’
His face is burning, his legs are jelly but everyone is staring at him with sort of awe-disbelief-shock on their faces. He looks round.
‘What?’ he exclaims. ‘Am I the only one who feels this way? I trust Vagus. Hear that? I actually trust him. If he was really against us he wouldn’t have bothered to poison Calvinus at all, would he? He wanted the same things we do, and I truly believe he’s helping us get them, wherever he is now. I don’t care what happens to us; we should carry on doing what we’re doing, hold our heads up high and show people we’ve actually got some convictions, not just worming and wheedling and selling each other like every other politician. We’re more than political. We’re for life.’
‘Exactly, Unit Igrain. Exactly,’ says Ramir’s deep voice from behind them. Mihan nearly faints he’s so surprised, so delighted. He feels dizzy and clings to the table, but manages to stand up straight and look like he’s vaguely composed.
‘The rest of you should be ashamed. Where’s your resolve? Especially you, Nagy: you shouldn’t be sitting unproductive, you should be working extra-hard on your public image. You never know, they might even choose you as Seneschal next, if you really get in with Calvinus. You’re functioning tolerably well, but there’s room for progress.’
Nagy has gone white.
‘Me, Seneschal?’ he croaks. ‘I couldn’t be Seneschal, no way!’
‘No, but the Creator could, through me and thus through you. I can be the middle man between you and the Creator. I am the process, He is the input and you are the outlet. Just as I am now, and just as He is. Think correctly, Nagy, and there is always a simple solution. Let the Creator take the burden of leadership for us all; be happy to follow His every word, and you will do no wrong.’
Mihan wonders at this man. It’s like he descended from heaven to guide them, and if they look too hard, ask too much, he might vanish into the ether and leave them rudderless. They’re absolutely nothing without him; they’re less than nothing, the slimmest flicker of a shadow of a doubt in some Calvinite’s mind.
‘We can win this election. Nagy, you can win it for us. Unit Igrain, a new instruction for you: from now until further notice, all Propaganda is to be for the election campaign and should be suitable for this purpose. Engineers, your tasks are on hold until the Creator tells me it is time: I want every single Unit, apart from Nagy, in the Propaganda department and producing as much as possible. Processed?’
‘Processed,’ they chorus, obedient as so many Reconstructs. Nagy’s disgusted to find himself answering with the zeal of the rest.
This means more babysitting and more sitting in that house feeling guilty. I can’t take much more of it.
He knows his faith has gone, and he doesn’t miss it much. It’s blinded the others, their fear-love for Ramir. They’re doing ridiculous things, irrational, stupid – plain criminal, sometimes, because he tells them it’s the future. Like the Reconstructs; they can’t possibly be legal. Collecting street scum and down-and-outs and literally taking their minds apart in a bloody, gruesome way.
Wiping them clean. Making them new and useful. Giving them a purpose and a way to aid society.
You know all the propaganda, it’s forced down your throat enough to make you sick.
Nagy hasn’t realised before how much he hates it, what he’s got himself into. Hates it, hates it, hates it deep in his subconscious which he’s been suppressing in case it got him into trouble with Ramir and his Creator. He’s frightened that the others have given Ramir so much of themselves, they’re willing slaves of a god that doesn’t even exist. And in return he gives them ridiculous rules, impossible tasks, fear and punishment and a crippling workload. But they love him and worship him for it. It makes no sense.
It’s because he makes it easy.
They don’t have to think for themselves any more about morals and conscience and all that humanity stuff. Following orders removes any semblance of responsibility: are the machines to blame for a badly designed product? Not in the least. Fault lies with the designers, the Creator[s]. Become a machine and all you feel is the happy efficiency of knowing your function and being able to process it, no worries. Added to the fact that it’s much easier to do the task and not get your head kicked in, than it is to feel morally superior. Ramir takes away choice and this cancels the conflicts that come with choice. The way is clear and straight and easy, every other path has bad consequences: why the hell would you bother to make it deliberately hard for yourself?
Yeah, that’s it.
Ramir’s words run in Nagy’s head again and again. Be happy to follow His every word and you will do no wrong.
That’s a horrible philosophy. Why did I get taken in by that?
I wanted it easy. Sick of thinking, sick of getting it wrong, sick of failing.
Everything is sick now. I’m sick, I’m overrun with Ramir, he’s using me like a virus uses cells to copy itself. It forces those poor cells to do what it wants, the little bastard.
He’s had enough of it, being used and manipulated by Ramir. He doesn’t feel like his own person, he’s being controlled from the outside, dancing on invisible strings.
If he wants to be Seneschal so badly, why did he make me be the Assembly rep?
That’s something he’ll never understand. But he might as well use it to his advantage, if he ever gets anywhere near Seneschal. He’d have far more political clout than Ramir, Ramir’s only a cult leader after all. Mihan’s wrong, they’re not political, they’re still religious, social, ethical: they don’t have the wormy wriggly ability to do well in politics. He does: he understands it all now, especially after spending so much time with Calvinus, just listening to him ramble.
I can’t make him let go of me.
But if he’s Seneschal – which, it’s true, he might be – he can gradually loosen Ramir’s grip on the city by changing small things in the instructions he’s given. If he’s going to be a puppet ruler, he might as well be a clever one. He won’t let Ramir have his every whim. That really would be disastrous.