Son of Heaven

by David Wingrove

  He wondered where Kate was. Whether she was at home now, worrying. Whether Hinton would have told her that his craft had gone missing.

  That disturbed him, more than anything, because it felt like Hinton had given up on him. That, having lost him, they hadn’t bothered to send anyone out to see if he’d survived the crash. It felt wrong, somehow. It felt—

  ‘Jake…’

  Jake looked to Sam. He was hunched forward, his head down.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’d better leave me here. Go get help.’

  ‘But Sam…’

  Every word seemed to cost Sam dear, but he was insistent now. ‘No, Jake. I’m just being practical. You try and walk me through those streets you die. And I’ll die too. Whereas you leave me here we both have a chance. Just put me somewhere where no bastard can see me. Then you go and get help. Bring someone back, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah…’ Jake smiled and gently touched Sam’s arm. ‘Okay. Let’s find a place to hide you…’

  It took Jake the best part of an hour to get to the outer wall of the West Kensington Enclave. He’d had to stop and double back a dozen times, to avoid the mob. Once he’d been chased, but they had quickly given up, looking for easier targets.

  Keeping to the shadows, moving cautiously from hiding place to hiding place, he had made his way through roads littered with the rusting, burned-out hulks of ancient cars, the debris from fallen houses, slate and broken bricks, soiled rags and human excreta, flattened beer cans and endless other rubbish. It would have been bad at the best of times but tonight it was like a vision of hell. Not a street was untouched, not a single house intact. He had passed endless burning buildings, countless blackened shells from previous nights.

  All of which was bad. Yet the worst was by the enclave wall itself, for there the houses had been bulldozed flat to make a space before the wall a hundred metres wide. There, on that flattened pile of brickwork, they had built fires. There, as the guards on the walls looked on, shaven-headed men and women, half-naked with their faces painted savagely, kept up an unearthly heathen chant, thrusting their home-made weapons in the air to the rhythm of a dozen makeshift drums.

  Defiant and powerful they looked in that hell’s glow, Britain’s new outlaw class.

  The unprotected…

  Jake had never seen the like. On the news they never showed this side of things. It was always the mob fleeing Security. Never this.

  The men were bad enough, yet it was the women to whom his eyes were drawn, for in them the transformation was most marked. Whatever signs of femininity they might once have possessed had long since disappeared, devolved into a hard and brutish form.

  Those whose heads were not shaved, in the fashion of their menfolk, wore long, matted hair. Streaks of dirt marked their faces, while what clothes they wore were rags and tatters, the cloth frayed and stained. Many of them wore even less, their painted breasts exposed, held up, thrust out towards the soldiers who manned the enclave’s gates, as if in defiance of the Eden from which they had been cast.

  Looking at them all, Jake felt a certain pity. As fierce as they were, they had a worn and shabby look to them. A beaten look. They were like dogs. And mongrel dogs at that. Years of ill-use had given them a furtive appearance, as if at any moment they would fall upon each other, tearing at one another’s flesh with tooth and claw. They only seemed like a tribe. What they were was a pack.

  Respectability had fallen from them, leaving them exposed. Where they lived now was a darker, nastier reality – a world in which each day was a struggle to exist, and god help the one who showed any weakness.

  As the wind changed, he could smell them, a sickening, fetid smell that made him want to retch.

  Seeing them like this made him wonder how they lived. What they did when they were not taunting the enclave guards or making trouble. What they ate and how they organized their lives. But he would never know. The media would never let him know. All they ever showed was this. This savage barbarism.

  It was not their fault. But if not theirs, then whose? His?

  Jake pushed the thought away. He was crouched now in the shadows at the end of one of the streets that opened out onto that great swathe of rubble, hidden behind an outcrop of brickwork. Looking on and wondering how in god’s name he might get past such a mob, for there seemed to be hundreds of them dancing in the firelight, their ragged voices taunting the men on the wall.

  From where he was he could see the gate, over to his left. It was a massive thing, like an ancient barbican, its upper levels heavily armoured.

  If he could get there he was safe. If he could get there.

  He looked to his right, wondering suddenly if there might not be another, smaller entrance somewhere. Down by the river, maybe, like they’d had on old castles. He couldn’t see anything, but maybe he should try it.

  Only what if he did that and was seen? What if they caught him?

  Jake looked back. The mob was slowly working itself into a frenzy. To even think of trying to make his way through its ranks was absurd.

  He would try the river. See if he couldn’t get the attention of one of the guards. There had to be a river gate. Had to.

  For the next twenty minutes he crept from one pile of bricks to another, across that uneven wasteland, certain that at any moment he’d be seen. Only the attention of the locals was elsewhere. They seemed to know what was happening in the Market, that all was not well ‘inside’, among the protected.

  Finally he made the river. There was an old stone wall, which was crumbling in places, and a metal ladder down, but no sign in the enclave wall of any gate. The pale marble was tall and smooth. Unbroken.

  ‘Shit…’

  There were no guards on this part of the wall, but overhead an automated gun followed Jake’s every move, its infrared tracker seeing him as clearly as in the daylight.

  For a moment his disappointment stopped him thinking.

  Where there was an automated gun, there would be a man at a board, supervising it, looking at a screen. If he could speak to him…

  Jake raised himself on his toes, waving his arms in the air and shouting, praying that no one was close by, that they wouldn’t see him, and that the noise of the mob would cover his own yells. There was only one person he wanted to know he was there – the guard at the board.

  ‘I’m stranded!’ he yelled. ‘I’m a citizen… You’ve got to help me!’

  He looked round. If they saw him now…

  ‘He-elp!’ he yelled again, waving his arms frantically. ‘For god’s sake help!’

  The gun jerked. Jerked again, as if focusing on him, then lifted a fraction.

  The sudden chatter made him jump. He could hear the bullets whistle overhead, missing him. Heard a howl, the clatter of disturbed brickwork as someone fled.

  Jake closed his eyes. For a moment he had thought he was dead.

  And then, suddenly, there was another noise in the air. The pulse of engines.

  Jake whirled about. Over to his left four big Security hoppers had swung in over the gate and, spreading out in a half circle, had begun to fire on the mob below. As he saw the mob begin to scatter, one of the craft rose up over the others, heading directly towards him.

  Jake stood there, picked out by the searchlight on the side of the craft, as it slowly drifted in. He still wasn’t sure. Still thought that any moment might be his last. But now someone was hailing him, telling him to get his arse across and fast.

  Safe, he thought, as the guard’s hand gripped his arm and pulled him onboard. Safe. Only his problems were just beginning.

  Jake stared back at the Security captain, then shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘What do you mean I don’t exist? Of course I fucking exist.’

  ‘Oh, you exist… as far as you’re sitting in that chair facing me. Only Jake Reed doesn’t. Never has, and probably never will.’

  Jake shook his head. ‘I’m a login. I work for Hinton. The pilot… the guy we pulled out o
f there just now. Sam… He’ll tell you.’

  The captain sat back. His grey eyes looked sceptical. ‘Unfortunately he’s unconscious. Took rather a heavy blow to the head.’ He paused, then, ‘Listen, you may have been dressed like a citizen and cut your hair like a citizen, but there’s not a single mention of you in our records, so…’

  Jake looked up, met the captain’s eyes again. ‘There’s got to be some mistake. Check again. Or phone George Hinton, he’s my line-boss. He’ll…’

  ‘George Hinton is dead.’

  The news stopped Jake in his tracks.

  ‘Fuck…’

  ‘Yes, as in fucking-outta-luck, eh? Now tell me who you really are and who sent you.’

  ‘No one sent me. My hopper got shot down…’

  ‘Yeah? So why is there no report of that?’

  ‘I don’t know, I… Look… contact Hinton… get them to send someone who knows me. Joel Haslinger, maybe. He’s known me years. He’s chief tech there.’

  The captain looked tired. He was clearly fed up with this charade. But he was going to do his job.

  ‘Okay. Last chance, though. This Joel guy doesn’t ID you, then I’m throwing you in a cell until you tell me who you are.’

  Jake looked straight back at him. ‘I’m Jake Reed and I’m a login for Hinton… a web-dancer… and I’m engaged to Kate…’

  ‘Enough…’ The captain stood. For a moment he stared at Jake silently, as if trying to fathom him, then he turned and left the room.

  Sitting there, his hands and feet restrained, Jake could tell what had happened. It was the Chinese. It had to be. Who else would take such care to erase him from the records. And others, too. Just in case they survived the attack.

  Thinking about it, Jake was almost in awe of the mind behind this. He could almost imagine that an AI – some new super-intelligent breed of AI – had done this. Only no. This was too good. Too human. There was a man behind all this. One single mind. A subtle, clever mind bordering on genius. And that mind had a face. He existed… somewhere.

  It came back to him. The name he’d been trying to remember. The Han he’d seen on the TV. Tsao Ch’un. That was his name. Tsao Ch’un.

  Jake smiled. Realizing just how simple it actually was, he said the words quietly to himself.

  ‘Just find Tsao Ch’un and you find him. Whoever he is.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  The captain had returned. Jake looked down.

  ‘Bad news,’ the captain said. ‘Everyone you know seems to be dead.’

  Jake looked up at him, shocked. ‘You’re kidding me…’

  ‘Would I joke about this? No. It seems they killed your friend Joel outside his apartment, an hour back.’

  ‘Fuck…’

  ‘However…’ The captain paused. ‘I did check on the hopper. Seems that one has gone missing, only they had no record that it was going to pick you up. Only that its pilot was your friend Sam in there.’

  ‘So what does that prove?’

  The captain smiled. ‘I’m fucked if I know. Only…’

  Jake stared at him. ‘What?’

  ‘The guy at the hopper place… when I mentioned your name, he said he knew you. Said…’

  ‘Go on…’

  ‘It’s just that I checked his records and there’s no mention of you as a client. So either you weren’t a client, or…’

  ‘Someone’s erased me. All traces of me.’

  The captain nodded. ‘Do you want to try someone else? Someone who might still be alive, that is.’

  Jake had been thinking about that. ‘Harry Lampton… that is, Sir Henry Lampton. He’s Head of Security for Hinton.’

  ‘And he’ll know you?’

  ‘He’ll know of me.’

  The captain stood. ‘I’ll give it a try…’

  Jake watched the man leave, then sat back.

  So what do I know?

  He knew this much. That he’d been targeted, both inside the datscape and out here in the real world. They had tracked him down and tried to kill him, like they’d killed George and Joel. Yes, and others. Not only that, but they had anticipated possible failure; had taken the secondary measure of erasing him from the records, and that was no mean task when you considered how much personal information a person accumulated in the modern world.

  Or was that what they’d done?

  He sat up, alert suddenly.

  It looked like an erasure, sure… but what if all of that information had not been erased but moved, ‘shifted’ sideways somehow. Shunted off into the sidings, so to speak.

  It made a lot more sense. To trace all of that information and erase it would have been a gargantuan task even for a highly-discriminating supercomputer, whereas to modify where it was all stored…

  Jake was beginning to understand. Their security had been breached at not one but numerous levels. Their encryptions – which they had thought were absolutely failsafe – had been as much use to them as a piece of string to secure a gate.

  Jake shivered, thinking about it.

  The man anticipates. He leaves nothing to chance. Not a single detail escapes him. An imagination that wide, that precise and yet that flexible.

  It was impressive. No. More than impressive. Awesome.

  He smiled, trying to picture in his mind what kind of man this other was. His antagonist.

  You play wei chi, don’t you? You’re a master of Go. These moves. You see the small patterns and the large. You’re watching the board all the time, placing a white stone here, another there, waiting for us to make a mistake.

  The captain returned, this time with the duty sergeant. He bowed, then looked on as the sergeant removed Jake’s restraints.

  ‘I take it Lampton’s vouched for me.’

  The captain lowered his head, respectful now. ‘He’s sending his private craft.’

  ‘I don’t blame you,’ Jake said. ‘I’d have done the same. The man we’re up against…’

  The captain met his eyes, surprised. ‘You think this is a single man?’

  ‘Pulling the strings? Yes. It’s all of a piece. He’s outwitted us. Made us chase shadows.’

  ‘But why?’

  Jake hesitated. Did he really want to say? After a moment he shook his head, then lied.

  ‘I don’t know why.’

  Only he did. Sat in the back of Lampton’s private hopper, swinging back over the river, he saw it all clearly for the first time; pictured the man sat at his computer, moving the pieces while his ‘Master’, Tsao Ch’un, looked on.

  Young or old?

  Old, surely, for such wisdom; such insight didn’t come to the young. And yet young, equally surely, for such invention; such originality was not a trademark of the elderly.

  Whichever, their foe had not beaten them. Not yet. They had been savaged, certainly, but a war was not won with a single battle. A genius he might be, but he was still a single man, capable of being killed.

  And maybe that was what he should suggest to Lampton. To track Tsao Ch’un down and deal with him. Because wherever Tsao Ch’un was, this one would be with him.

  Yes, send an army. Two armies. Maybe ten. But get him. Make sure the bastard’s dead. Then reconstruct. And build it better next time. Stronger.

  The hopper flew on, as daylight leaked into the world again.

  Yes, we have to kill the fucker. Before he kills us all.

  Lampton was waiting on the pad for him as the craft came down.

  It was a beautiful house, more country estate than London home, its broad lawn sloping down to the river. But what impressed Jake most were the massive walls that surrounded it, the guard towers and the endless armed security. This wasn’t just Lampton’s home, it was his fortress.

  As Lampton looked on, Jake was searched and scanned. Only then was he allowed to move down, through the cordon of guards, to shake Lampton’s hand.

  Lampton was a big man in his fifties. An ex-mercenary and SAS man. But Hinton had hired him for his brains not his b
rawn.

  ‘Jake… sorry about the fuck up… seems the thieving bastards have been plundering our data base. You’re not the only one who “went missing” from the records.’

  They were making their way down the steps into the main courtyard. Guards were everywhere. It felt like they were under siege.

  ‘It’s the Chinese,’ Jake said.

  Lampton glanced at him. ‘How’d you make that out?’

  ‘Who else could it be? There’s been a coup, right? Tsao Ch’un is in charge?’

  ‘We don’t know who’s in charge. But Tsao Ch’un would be a good candidate.’

  ‘And towards the end, as we were about to get out of there… I saw a face… a Chinese face. I think it was Tsao Ch’un’s.’

  Lampton laughed. ‘A bit egotistical, wouldn’t you say? Besides, it doesn’t mean it is them. What if someone wanted us to think it was China?’

  ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘I don’t know. But why would the Chinese – why would this Tsao Ch’un – kick away the supports?’

  ‘So that he doesn’t have to fight a nuclear war against the USA.’

  That stopped Lampton dead in his tracks. He stared at Jake for a full ten seconds, as if slotting that in to his mental picture of events, then he nodded.

  ‘You know what, Jake? That makes a kind of sense.’

  Inside the main building, in what was a huge conference room, the others were waiting for him. Some he recognized, others were total strangers. One thing he did notice, however, was the absence of any Chinese faces.

  There were roughly sixty or so of them, mainly men, but with a handful of women, their Savile Row suits marking them out as ‘execs’.

  ‘Ladies… gentlemen,’ Lampton said, introducing him from a platform at the front of the room. ‘This is Jake Reed, Hinton’s principal login. Jake’s just had the pleasure of being a guest of our Security services. It seems he doesn’t exist. He’s been erased.’ Lampton smiled. ‘Fortunately for us, that’s not true. Jake… tell them what happened.’

  For the next half hour Jake told his tale. As he ended, Lampton took the stage beside him again.