by Jem Tugwell
Serge offered the box, and eager hands grabbed for it.
‘One each for the final four.’ Serge beamed like a generous Father Christmas. Then his smile dropped.
‘Time to see if you have the will and determination to earn your prize. Return to your rooms and wait to be called.’
***
The tiny side room to the barn held two chairs and a small table. A simple light dangled on the cord over the table and cast yellow light on Serge and the sawdust covering the floor. A cigarette balanced on the edge of an ashtray sending a lazy spiral of smoke up towards the light.
Serge was fighting for breath as his chest tightened. Something in the air at the farm always made him worse. He pulled his inhaler from his pocket and took another long pull. The drugs eased his chest a little. He needed two more for the tightness to pass.
He was glad Jose hadn’t arrived yet. Serge didn’t want to show any weakness. He stuffed the inhaler back in his pocket.
The door opened and Jose entered. Serge nodded to the chair opposite him and Jose lifted it effortlessly and sat.
‘I think you will need an extra-large from BST,’ Serge said, but Jose was looking at the table and didn’t seem to hear him.
‘Jose,’ Serge said louder, and Jose looked up. ‘You have been impressive so far, but it is time to show commitment and not just strength.’
Jose nodded and kept staring at the guillotine on the desk.
Serge placed his hand on the guillotine’s release lever and paused. The blade shone and he watched Jose’s eyes follow the wires from the blade up to the large, heavy counterweights and down to the lever.
‘Please place your hand through the guillotine until your wrist is under the blade. Left or right – your choice.’
Beads of sweat appeared on Jose’s brow, his hands remained glued to his side.
‘Where did you think the BST hand was going to fit?’ Serge asked.
Jose said nothing. Instead, he licked his lips and moved his hand. Not towards the guillotine, but up to wipe his brow. Finally, he said, ‘I know, but I didn’t expect to do it now.’
‘Time to choose,’ Serge said and waited. Allowing the pressure to build.
‘Umm… OK,’ Jose said, as one of the drops of sweat broke the surface tension on his temple and started to roll down his face.
Jose moved his right hand towards the guillotine. The motion stopped halfway as Jose seemed to change his mind. His right hand withdrew to the edge of the desk and safety. Jose’s left hand inched forward and under the blade. Still he fidgeted.
‘It’s for the game, the money and the BST hand,’ Serge said. ‘And the fame.’
It seemed to take a lot of effort for Jose to crack a smile. His head dropped in a tiny nod and he said, ‘OK…’ Then with more conviction. ‘OK. Do it.’
Serge’s hand moved, drawing the lever down.
Jose’s whole body tensed as he stared at the blade. Waiting for it to drop.
As Serge’s hand moved again, the pin holding the blade came free with a small metallic click. The blade moved and Jose’s eyes bulged. The blade started to accelerate down towards his wrist and Jose’s arm trembled. The blade reached halfway, and Jose yanked his arm back and away from the guillotine, clutching it to his chest and rubbing the wrist where the blade would have bitten.
With a clunk, the blade finished its drop and bounced off a hidden stop. It vibrated at the sudden deceleration, a good 50mm above where Jose’s wrist would have been.
‘You’re not committed enough. You’re out. Go home and reflect on your weakness,’ Serge said.
Jose’s chair scraped back, leaving trails in the sawdust and he trudged out, still clutching his wrist to his chest.
After Jose left, Serge reset the mechanism and waited for Tatsuko.
He let out a low ‘hmmm’ noise from the back of his throat. The first one was weak and had failed. Now the others must all pass, otherwise he’d have to bring back some of the eliminated ones to fill the remaining slots. Compromise wasn’t a word he liked. Jack wouldn’t be pleased. Worst still if they all failed and he had to run another selection process. The delay would be a disaster.
His thoughts were interrupted by Tatsuko arriving and sitting down. He explained the challenge to her, and waited for her reply. It didn’t take long, the lure of the money and BST prize were more than enough for her. She nodded and adjusted her position. There was a slight shake in her hands that she couldn’t control, but she took two deep breaths and closed her eyes. She opened them and looked straight into Serge’s eyes before nodding again.
Serge pulled the lever, and the blade dropped, but Tatsuko didn’t flinch. She looked at Serge the whole time, a challenge in her gaze. The blade bounced to a stop with a soft thump. Tatsuko glanced down at the blade wondering why there was no pain. The hand she thought she must sacrifice for the game was still attached with the blade resting safely above it. Frown lines knotted her brow as she looked back at Serge.
He smiled. ‘Congratulations, Tatsuko, you’ve passed the test,’ he said. ‘Please return to your room.’
Chapter 17
The guillotine had been stowed away, replaced by his laptop, the sawdust swept up. The yellow light in the small room remained. Serge pressed send on his latest tweet. ‘Hi, film fans. Going old-school and watching “The Fantastic Four” tonight.’
He let the relief wash over him. Jack wouldn’t have liked the delay. Only one contestant had failed the third challenge, and Serge had his Four. They were waiting for him.
Serge rubbed his face, feeling the ends of the bristles from the days of growth of stubble. He wanted to get back to his apartment, have a shower and shave, pour a glass of wine and pull on a cigarette and watch the river flow by. But that would have to wait.
He scraped back his chair and pushed his hands into his lower back, arching and stretching to ease the grumbling pain. Opening the door, he stepped into the main hall and saw The Four sitting around the long table that held the BST universal mount and hand. He tapped the smaller box in his trouser pocket to double-check that he had it.
‘Congratulations,’ he said as he stood in front of The Four again. ‘You are the chosen elite. You will become legends.’
From the smiles that greeted him, they clearly believed his words. Especially Sully. He looked like he thought himself a Roman Emperor surrounded by peasants.
Serge pulled the small box out of his pocket. ‘I need you to decide which inferior human hand you want to upgrade with the BST device.’
He looked at The Four, seeing some frowns on faces, some glances at hands trying to decide. ‘BST recommend the weaker hand as a first replacement to give you the most immediate functional benefit.’ The frowns became nods. ‘Place your chosen hand on the table, please.’
As The Four each placed a hand on the table, Serge opened the small box, and pulled out one of the strips of transparent film. He placed it on the back of Lilou’s wrist, then repeated the process with Sully, Femi and Tatsuko. Each transparent strip started morphing in colour, going lighter and darker, trying to adjust to the specific skin tone of the wrist it was on. The fluctuations in colours started slowing as the strips got closer to the solution. Eventually each strip matched the skin tone of the wrist it was on, even adjusting for the density and spread of Lilou’s freckles. Only the slight sheen of the strip’s material made it visible.
‘Please write your name on the back of the strip.’ Serge picked up the special marker from the box that held the strips and passed it to Femi.
While he wrote his name and passed the marker to the next in line, Serge pulled out four small transparent bags and four more strips. ‘Now peel off the strip and put it in a bag,’ he said and waited for them. ‘Now put the second strip on a different part of your wrist.’
Serge watched as the four new strips repeated the colour changing convergence to the wearer’s skin tone. When they had all finished, he said, ‘Add your name to the second strip and put it in your
bag.’
‘What are these strips for?’ asked Tatsuko.
‘They are used to make sure that your BST universal mount matches the skin tone,’ Serge replied.
‘But why do it now and not when the game is over?’
Serge ignored the question as he scooped up the four bags and put them in the box. He slid the lid shut, then picked up the box and returned it to his pocket.
‘Let me explain the basis of the game,’ he said.
The Four all straightened in their seats, their eyes alive with excitement.
‘Obviously, you will travel to the Forbidden Island.’
‘Yes,’ Femi shouted. ‘But how can there be a game there with all the tracking.’
Serge smiled. ‘We have been planning this. All will become clear, but imagine a game where you run free of tracking in the Forbidden Island. Free to go as you please.’
He looked at four hesitantly nodding heads. They didn’t believe it was really possible. ‘Would we give you the BST device and money for nothing?’
He left them considering it and shuffled in his pocket again. This time he brought out a cigarette and lighter. The flame flashed and he drew a long breath, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling and finishing with a choked cough.
‘The game is a race. You will all start at different places. You finish at different places, but the distance is about the same.’
‘But that’s not fair if I get a longer distance,’ moaned Sully.
Serge shrugged as he dismissed the objection. ‘The routes we will choose later. You might get a slightly shorter one.’
Sully didn’t appear to like the answer. He seemed to be churning the idea over, sensing some conspiracy against him. He stayed sullen and silent.
‘If we are all going to different places, how will we know who wins?’ Lilou asked.
‘Ah, a sensible question,’ Serge said, glancing at Sully.
‘We will give you a device for the game. It will contain the details of your finish point on it. Once you are free of the Island’s control, it will provide GPS positioning and will tell you if you win. It will provide your fans the ability to subscribe to live updates on the game. They’ll be able to watch your progress. Watch you triumph.’
‘Yes,’ they all said. Even Sully’s sulk seemed to have evaporated.
‘How will we travel when we are on the Forbidden Island?’ Femi asked.
‘You know that the island controls its citizens. The control also allows them to pay for travel. Once you are in the game, you will not be controlled – so you will have no money.’
Serge could see them all thinking it through.
‘Think about the selection tests we made you do… How do you think you will travel?’
Chapter 18
Jay’s self-drive car trundled up the M40 towards Birmingham. Ten miles ago, the car had flashed a low battery warning onto its screen, and now it was in the inside lane, a link in a long chain of cars heading to the service area. They were all so close together that they could have been a stack of supermarket trolleys. Their speed and the distance to the car in front controlled by algorithms that churned through data and possible personal injury claims.
Eventually, his car peeled off the motorway with some others and headed to the recharging area.
A mass of white, generic cars waited on the tarmac, each in a neat, marked bay. The red box painted on the road showed the dangerous area where a car would go, and was flanked by a safe green, pedestrian striped area.
Jay couldn’t tell which box his car would choose, but as he had selected the ‘fewest stops’ option on the route guidance, he hoped that it would influence the car’s decision.
His vehicle seemed to have made up its mind, and it turned towards a bay. The car that was already in the bay looked like the one he was in. They were all identical. His car inched into the red box, and Jay saw the new car’s lights come on and one of its doors opened.
His car stopped and Jay opened his door. He grabbed his bag and checked that the box was still inside. Where else could it be? he thought, but he couldn’t afford to leave it behind. It was too valuable.
He stepped out, careful not to incur a fine by walking outside of the green, pedestrian area, and got into his new car. He checked the car’s information screen. The old car had passed over the details of the journey, and the new car showed more than enough charge to get him to his destination. He settled into his new seat, the door closed, and he started moving again. The old car edged forward and took his car’s place. Jay knew that a charging dock would attach itself to his old car so that it was ready for the next person. Charging the car batteries still took a long time, but one car handing the passengers to the next, like the baton in a relay race, meant there was no waiting around.
His car joined the motorway, and Jay moved the bag from his lap to the car’s centre table.
Genetics, he thought, and slipped his hands into the bag and onto the box.
It was cold to the touch and heavy. The box was sealed, not that he would dare open it, and he imagined what was inside.
He was on the front-line now – an activist.
Making a difference to the world – but feeling exposed and vulnerable. He shivered. iMe knew where he was, even if it didn’t know he had the box. Could it know?
‘No,’ he said to himself. Even so, he glanced around him.
Despite the carefully controlled ambient temperature in the car, he started to sweat again. He knew he wouldn’t survive the penalty if he was caught. If only he had kept his mouth shut at the meetings, but how could he when his dad had died like that? Drifting away, each day the hope diminishing.
Jay shut the thought down and stared out of the window. Trying, but failing to stop the tears forming.
He rubbed at his eyes, catching the sullen stare of a boy in the car travelling in the lane next to him.
He could have given the boy the finger, but with all the cars travelling at the same speed, the boy could be there the rest of the journey. Besides, from the look of his miserable parents sitting opposite him, perhaps the child had reason to stare out of the window.
Jay pulled the box out of the bag and put it on his lap. It had taken so much risk and planning to get it to him – so much danger. Its contents made the risks worthwhile.
***
Walking into the Coronation Gardens in Dudley, Jay clutched the bag containing the box to his chest.
He was a couple of minutes early, so he did a lap of the garden, gazing briefly at the cenotaph, before returning to Apollo’s Fountain. He wanted his signal to look like he was killing time before his real, official meeting.
Jay sat on a bench. It looked almost new and he flicked his hand to shift a couple of leaves that had settled there. He put the bag on the bench and waited. His view of the fountain was Apollo’s back and green buttocks.
Occasionally, a passing pedestrian crossed his gaze. He could feel the sweat on his brow again. The open space made him feel so exposed and vulnerable.
Jay caught sight of a woman coming towards him and he looked down at his shoes – black and generic. Suitable for an office meeting, not running from a trap set by the police.
He tried to calm his breathing.
‘Greetings, Brother,’ the woman whispered as she sat on the other end of the bench. ‘I thank you for the gift you bring.’
Jay kept his gaze down as he had been briefed. It was best to make it look like he didn’t know her.
He heard the woman stand and leave.
The bag and its box were gone.
***
Jay waited. Each minute crawling by – feeling more and more exposed. What if she didn’t come back? What would he do?
He glanced around, but he didn’t really know who he was looking for. It could be any of the women. They were all slim. iMe saw to that.
And that was part of the problem. Since iMe, everyone lived longer. No lifestyle illnesses forcing premature deaths, no careless acci
dents or car crashes.
No organ donors.
Jay thought back to his poor old dad, waiting for a liver transplant. Of course, iMe reduced all the self-inflicted illnesses, but it couldn’t help a genetic abnormality. A fault in the genes that led to illness and despair. It couldn’t manage the demand for no-fault transplants.
All it did was manage the supply. Down. Not enough deaths now to fill the demand. Priority given to the young. He understood that, but it didn’t help when he had to watch his dad die a little every day. Waiting for the inevitable. Seeing the pain and the suffering. Seeing the fear.
They would have put a dog down, but they left the people to suffer.
He thought again about the box and wondered what it held. Hearts? Eyes? Lungs? Something else?
This was why he joined the cause. iMe-free Europe had plenty of supply. Plenty of smokers and car crashes.
He would have preferred only to give his moral support, but here he was. Sitting on a bench in Dudley, waiting for the box to come back.
He had already made one drop, another after this. Then he hoped they would say he had done his bit. He could go back to talking and walking with his dog, Kevin.
‘Greetings, Brother,’ a man said.
Jay almost jumped. He was too wrapped up in his thoughts and hadn’t sensed the man’s approach.
The distance to the man’s shoes meant that he was on the other end of Jay’s bench.
He heard a soft scrape and assumed that it was the box and its bag being returned and pushed along the bench.
‘Thank you for your help in our struggle,’ the man said, and his shoes turned and left.
Jay stretched out his hand and found the handles of the bag. He pulled it protectively towards him.
As he had been briefed, Jay waited a minute more and then stood, lifting the bag, feeling for changes.
It was still heavy, most likely from the technology needed to keep the organs fresh and usable. Jay was sure the bag felt lighter and that meant that someone else had been helped.
