Atcode

by David Wake

  Collect Jellicoe’s niece from the station, Braddon remembered, the memory interrupting any further deliberations.

  He finished his beer, reckoned the tab and made for the door.

  “Templeton?”

  “Braddon?”

  “What do we know about Sentinel House?”

  “Very little, private security, Mantle has political connections, so we tend not to go poking our noses in. Cerebral Celebrities is there.”

  “Really?”

  “Straight up.”

  “You mean Tammy–Zing and the others live there?”

  “Yep. Sometimes they look out over the city and you can see where you live in their feeds.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Well… amazing. Thanks.”

  Braddon remembered again to collect Jellicoe’s niece: he’d drunk too much to turn it off.

  My niece, Jellicoe thought.

  “Oh, Detective Sergeant,” Templeton called after him. “He’s rumoured to have a cage there.”

  Braddon was shocked: “A cage? You’re kidding!”

  “Straight up.”

  Braddon walked to the train station. He was in plenty of time. He’d set the reminder with a good safety margin, but Jellicoe’s pestering thoughts had got him on his feet quicker than he’d anticipated.

  Inspectors, even when retired, had that effect.

  He wondered which entrance to use.

  Are you collecting my niece, Jellicoe thought.

  Luckily, the fresh air and exercise had sobered him enough to think: At Jellicoe, I’m at the station.

  No, you’re not, you’re leaking about which entrance to use.

  That’s being… I’m inside now!

  So, Braddon waited at the train station, checking Noodle with a formula and remembering the time until the train arrived. It didn’t seem to go down at the right rate, and climbed when the train suffered a delay.

  Signalling, the station feed thought.

  At Braddon, there’s a delay.

  At Chloe, I know and think of me as Oliver.

  At Oliver, and Uncle Aidan thought you’d be nice.

  Uncle Aidan?

  Aidan Jellicoe… you are Oliver Braddon, the tepee… policeman?

  Police officer, yes. I’ve just never heard Inspector Jellicoe referred to by his first name.

  She lolled: Always Uncle Aidan to me.

  She thought some more about Tammy–Zing and Lola_Five, shopping and could they stop for a Fizzy Good on the way?

  Sure.

  I’m not a child having a soda, she thought, I happen to like them.

  Fair enough.

  When Chloe appeared, she wasn’t what Braddon had been expecting. She was bubbly, he knew, excited (and no doubt excitable), but she was also physically attractive with short blonde hair and a bright smile almost as captivating as her emoticons.

  Don’t ogle.

  I was not.

  That’s my niece, Jellicoe himself added. Police officers should be trustworthy.

  I am!

  They stopped in a Café League in the station for a Fizzy Classic and Braddon had a beer.

  As he sipped his beer, they watched the world hurry by, the passengers’ panic about platforms and times flaring in recognition as they came into range. Chloe drank in short bursts, excitedly thinking that she’d arrived, it was all so big and wonderful, and she’d updated her status several times before Braddon’s iBrow’s safeties cut in.

  Oliver, Oliver… “Oliver!”

  Braddon felt like he’d just come round, and he took a moment to focus on her thoughts amongst all hubbub of the station.

  Her voice was deeper than her mental transmissions suggested, sexy, and Braddon was glad his iBrow wasn’t transmitting. That thought buffered and Braddon deleted it. He deleted ‘what would Uncle Aidan think’ too.

  “We must go to Denizens.”

  “Denizens?”

  “The fashion store.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Denizens was full of rustic wood colours, blaring music and assistants who couldn’t keep the bored emoticons out of their thoughts. They were all following Lola_Five, Tammy_Zee or Zak–Zak.

  The youth of today, Braddon thought, sobering. Not one of them has time for a cerebral.

  Honestly, Chloe thought: And this?

  Lovely.

  Oh, for goodness sake. It’s gorgeous.

  Braddon checked again, but she’d gone in a swirl of reds and purples.

  Tiffany, it’s gorgeous, Tiff… or this?

  Braddon followed her thoughts as she went back to the changing room. She was responding to Tiffany’s opinions about this and that, but Braddon didn’t follow her distant friend. One of them was enough. Chloe’s transmissions about the outfits, and her stripping off to try on the next ensemble, were distracting.

  He considered following a cerebral himself, something heavy and suitable impressive in case this girl (somehow related to that old fossil, Jellicoe) followed him, but he didn’t have the patience.

  Instead, he attempted to contact Cerebral Celebrities, Inc., again. Instead of using the usual contact via Noodle, he searched for a link in Human Resources. They were recruiting, so he found a promising contact.

  At Jacquline_889, have any of your personnel disappeared?

  Our employees are free to come and go. Any absences are an internal matter.

  Has anyone not turned up for work since last week?

  If a person is absent for more than 48 hours, our policy is to contact the police.

  I’m the police. Has anyone been absent for more than 48 hours?

  For that enquiry, please contact the police.

  Oh for…

  Our company does not tolerate abusive thoughts.

  He’d leaked his real thoughts on the matter.

  I’m police.

  Your iBrow ID has been barred.

  Braddon’s emoticons were somewhat rude and repetitive.

  Oliver, Chloe warned from the changing room.

  A bored assistant glanced over, sullen and warning, having not bothered to check the context of the thought stream with the dodgy emoticons. It was rude and on recognition inside the shop, so it needed attention.

  Braddon considered showing him his police ID, but the assistant raised his hands in mock surrender.

  This? It was Chloe again in blue, jeans and a top.

  Lovely, Braddon thought.

  What’s the use of having someone here to see through their eyes, if they don’t actually look?

  Braddon looked: Lovely, and she was.

  Oi!

  She was following his thoughts, seeing the outfit through his eyes, so it was Braddon’s turn to raise his hands in mock surrender.

  It was nice of you to think so, she thought back.

  It was hard to stay angry with this breath of fresh air racing around.

  However, he didn’t want to risk ruining the day with another attempt to contact Cerebral Celebrities, so he thought: At Draith, can you organise an appointment with Mantle?

  The Mantle?

  Yes.

  Can’t you?

  No, some idiot has barred my ID.

  Did you think unpleasant thoughts at it?

  If I could find her, I’d do more than think them.

  Desk Sergeant Draith leaked a loll at this: I’ll see what I can do.

  Thank you.

  Chloe settled on something yellow and red that ought to have clashed horribly with her blonde hair, but didn’t in Braddon’s opinion.

  Saucy!

  Who thinks thoughts like ‘saucy’ nowadays, he thought back.

  It’s hip.

  They stopped for a drink and cake. Chloe had coffee, Hasqueth Finest, but Braddon had a Fizzy Good Classic, partly to make a point and then he appreciated it. It reminded him of summer days when he was young. He could have noodled them, but such a search would take a while and he didn’t need to know exactly what he’d been do
ing when he’d last had the drink.

  It was hard to imagine he’d ever been as young as this slip of a thing.

  Not a thing, she warned. A woman.

  He wasn’t that much older, but he looked it: police work, drink, and the drink that came with his kind of police work, had aged him.

  I think you look ‘distinguished’.

  Thank you, and I’m not as distinguished as your Uncle Aidan.

  She laughed at this, genuinely out loud and it was a delightful sound accompaniment to her emoticons.

  Chloe had noodled for somewhere to stay, but she was quite hard up.

  Not hard up enough to be unable to buy clothes.

  Oi!

  So, Braddon, not sure how her thoughts had changed his adamant mind, offered her the spare room in his apartment.

  He was distracted when Desk Sergeant Draith came back with an appointment, all neatly packaged in a thought with some directions via Noodle. Braddon remembered to park at the side of Sentinel House for short appointments or in the main area for stays longer than an hour.

  He rethought the appointment Draith had secured, 9:30am, into Noodle as a reminder.

  Oliver?

  Sorry, Chloe, work.

  Who’s Chloe?

  Never you mind, Draith.

  Not Jellicoe’s little niece.

  Never you mind.

  She’s only this big.

  The Desk Sergeant’s thought didn’t have a proper calibration of ‘this big’, but the emoticons were amazed enough to suggest she’d grown. She’d grown curves too.

  Oi, she thought back.

  Braddon hailed a cab, remembered that it would be five to ten minutes, and, after the wait, they took all her bags, packed and recently bought, to his place.

  At Chloe, drink?

  Fizzy Good.

  It’s a bachelor pad.

  Wine?

  With food?

  Indian?

  Italian?

  Indonesian?

  They had a Chinese takeaway, a Sauvignon Blanc, and enjoyed each other’s company and thoughts, and other people’s thoughts. Braddon did follow a cerebral, something about the 18th Century, and Chloe flicked between Tammy–Zing, her friend Tiffany and last week’s Layton’s thlog cast.

  Women… you need that multitasking to follow that lot.

  Oi!

  Doesn’t it get repetitive following Tammy_Zing, your friend’s rethinks of Tammy_Zing and the thlog of Tammy_Zing’s thoughts from last week?

  No, it doesn’t, they all have their different take on it.

  Really, but–

  You can download a multi–tasking App for your iBrow. Whimsy… or Notion if you are old–fashioned.

  I’m sure I can’t.

  Braddon got himself another glass of wine and didn’t leak any thoughts for the rest of the evening.

  He checked his diary for tomorrow, remembered the appointment with Mantle at Sentinel House the next day and set an alarm. Draith was a good man, but that thought buffered rather than winging its way through the Thinkersphere.

  “Night,” Chloe said.

  She leant down and gave him a peck on the forehead.

  She unpacked, found the clean sheets he’d left for her, and settled down.

  In the hall mirror, he caught a glimpse of her rushing back from the shower, a towel barely covering her shape, a flash of nubile pink, and her stimulating thoughts, full of fears of being caught naked.

  He smiled; it was exciting.

  How long since he’d had a woman in the flat, he wondered?

  Suddenly, he knew exactly as Noodle delivered the memory even though he hadn’t been aware he’d searched for it.

  And it had been Jasmine, his ex.

  What a rotten end to a lovely day, but it had been good, even though his feet felt more pummelled than any survival–training course he’d been on.

  Once he was sure he wasn’t going to be caught semi–nude – Chloe’s thoughts indicating she’d settled into bed – Braddon washed and slipped into the shorts and t–shirt he wore as pyjamas.

  The bed seemed larger than the previous night, even though he’d got used to having more space in the last three months, two weeks, five days, six hours and forty–three minutes and seventeen seconds.

  He heard the guest bed creak.

  Chloe wasn’t asleep.

  Her thoughts were clear, crystal and bright through the thin divide, the recognition signal easily coping with the stud wall.

  Her friend, Tiffany, finally stopped exchanging thoughts and drifted off to sleep.

  It was late.

  Chloe started to focus on Tammy–Zing’s thought stream. Tammy was up late, finding something on a thlog hilarious, lolling and rethinking the best bits, and then gracefully painting her nails with a designer brand of varnish, lascivious red.

  Stroke back and out, back and out.

  Braddon checked his iBrow setting: there was still enough wine and beer in the system for the safeties to stay on.

  Tammy finished one set of toenails, easing cotton wool – always buy the best, Tempo’s Deluxe – between her toes before moving to the other foot.

  Back and out, back and out… stroke.

  Chloe shared this.

  It was therapeutic: following two girls in bed. Different beds.

  Let them dry. Lie back. Legs apart.

  Braddon swallowed.

  There were erotic cerebrals he could follow.

  But two innocent girls, together, one a mere metre away, and the other famous, admired and followed by millions. And there were millions of other young girls in their beds… their thoughts entwining.

  Let’s get changed into this night attire from Clientella, Tammy thought.

  Braddon found it difficult to concentrate, his wordless thoughts buffering.

  Lacy… black…

  Chloe admired it, followed Tammy–Zing’s thoughts on its availability, its touch, feel, sensual fit, the way it moved across the skin.

  Braddon’s pace increased.

  Let’s try another, Tammy thought and Chloe shared this.

  God yes, Braddon buffered.

  Red and sexy. Only costs 19.99. Does up at the front.

  Jesus, yes – buffered.

  This is very silky, smooth on my skin.

  Fuck, yes!

  Braddon waited until his breathing relaxed.

  He felt ashamed.

  Three months, two weeks, five days, seven hours, two minutes and thirty–one seconds was too long.

  He went to the bathroom, careful to put his dressing gown on to cross the hallway, and washed.

  When he got back into bed, he very deliberately deleted every thought in his buffer.

  TUESDAY

  The doorbell chimed.

  Since when did anyone press the doorbell?

  Since when did he have a doorbell?

  Braddon went down the hall but didn’t pick up anyone beyond the door as he passed the coat hooks. Usually, this point coincided with stepping into recognition range with anyone loitering outside.

  Kids pressing the doorbell, he thought, irrationally. Or a parcel, wonder what?

  Trying to remember what he’d ordered, he opened the door looking down for a package and saw a pair of red shoes, attractive legs and smart skirt… all very strange and surreal without a person standing there.

  He jumped: Shit! Steiger! “Steiger! Miss Steiger.”

  “Detective Sergeant Braddon.”

  Noodle reminded him that he had no orders outstanding, so he wasn’t expecting a parcel.

  He looked at her, stupefied. He’d not even had a coffee or gone down the night’s thoughts in his inbox, so he felt somewhat at a loss.

  What do you want?

  “May I come in?” she asked.

  “Er…” He swallowed. Talking aloud before even the first coffee: it was immoral. “Yes. Would you like a coffee?”

  “Tea.”

  “Tea?” I have Hasqueth’s Finest. “Sure?”


  He noodled if he had any tea.

  She stepped past him, reached the hooks set in the wall, put down her large bag and took off her coat. It was strange to be standing at the door looking at someone in the hall and not being able to recognize them. She seemed as unreal as her reflection in the hall mirror.

  “My coat,” she said.

  “Oh. Right.” He took the mackintosh and hung it up. She was wearing a smart business suit, a neatly pressed white blouse pushed forward to open her jacket. It was strangely erotic despite the singular lack of thought.

  Noodle returned its results and Braddon remembered he had enough tea. He wasn’t sure where.

  “Tea, right,” he said. “I ought to get dressed.”

  Noodle had parsed his thoughts and so he remembered that there was a tin in the back of the middle cupboard. It was almost a year since he’d thought about it, so he hoped it was still fresh.

  “No rush,” Steiger said.

  She walked confidently into the lounge.

  The tea, he remembered, was seven months and four days past its sell–by–date.

  Braddon went into his bedroom and quickly changed from his shorts and t–shirt into yesterday’s clothes. He wasn’t sure if it was much of an improvement.

  A scream, sharply audible, was followed by a stream of emoticon expletives.

  Braddon sprinted into the lounge.

  Steiger was sitting on the sofa looking much like a drop of oil standing proud on a wet surface.

  At Oliver, what the hell?

  Braddon had to check the thought’s id.

  At Chloe, he thought, best behaviour. Guest.

  I know!!!

  “I didn’t realise you already had a visitor,” Steiger said.

  “Er… friend’s niece, staying over.”

  “I see.”

  He waited, wondering what to do next: comfort the panicked Chloe, who was hiding somewhere in the kitchen, talk about work or go through his inbox of thoughts. He had a reminder about an appointment at Sentinel House, 9:30am, and a survey from Celebrity Cerebrals to complete.

  “I’ll get that tea,” Braddon said.

  At that moment, Chloe came into the lounge carrying a mug.

  “Miss?” she said, pointedly aloud.

  “Thank you,” Steiger said, taking the tea.

  “Oh, right,” said Braddon. How did you know?

  I checked your thoughts.