by Seth Rain
When a Watcher appeared in the doorway, Gabriel nodded at him. ‘You should get some sleep,’ he said to Freya. ‘We’ll see to Noah. And in the morning, we’ll find Juliet.’
‘I want to stay here, with Noah.’
Gabriel nodded. ‘I will have a bed put in his room.’
Freya watched Gabriel walk out of the room, looking for a sign that she could trust him. She saw none.
Thirty-Six
‘Watchers keep track of who has a date and where they are,’ Scott said.
Rebecca frowned. ‘You mean they make sure men die on their allotted date.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘They don’t intervene.’
‘Like hell,’ she said. ‘Then why do they carry guns?’
‘They protect the Chosen.’
‘Protect?’ she said. ‘You’re way too gullible.’
‘They’re calling it a paradox. Because the Chosen know the date of their death, some people, often religious zealots, want to make sure they die on the date given. It’s a way of proving God’s word is true.’
‘But how would the AI have known that?’
‘That’s what’s so remarkable. It did. It foresaw the actions of nine billion people.’
‘Impossible.’
‘That’s what they thought. But it’s just a matter of computing power.’
Rebecca peered over her shoulder. ‘So now we have to be on the lookout for some religious nut killing you as well.’
‘I guess so. There’s talk of the first Chosen being the prelude to the Second Coming.’
‘That’s crazy,’ she said.
‘It will lead to the Rapture. But if any of the dates are wrong, there’s a chance the AI is wrong about all of it.’
‘And there’ll be no Second Coming? No Rapture?’
‘Exactly,’ he said.
‘Do all the Watchers want the Rapture? Want to send us all to Heaven?’
‘They’re more interested in the Chosen dying without human intervention. They see the actions of radicals who kill the Chosen as heresy.’
‘But if they didn’t kill them, then the predicted date wouldn’t be right.’
‘As I say, it’s a paradox,’ he said. ‘But there hasn’t been one man who’s died on the wrong date.’
Rebecca scratched her temple. ‘This is hurting my head.’
‘You remember the story of Judas?’ he asked.
‘Kind of.’
‘Judas had to do what he did for Jesus in order for him to be crucified then resurrected. If he hadn’t betrayed him, there would be no Jesus – no son of God.’
‘It was all part of the plan?’
‘You could put it like that.’
‘Like God putting the Tree of Knowledge in the garden of Eden? He knew what would happen?’
Scott raised an eyebrow. ‘Or making those apples so tasty,’ he said.
Thirty-Seven
It was early morning. For Scott, yesterday felt like a lifetime ago.
Outside the pub, on the road, two black self-drivers waited, their doors open. Mathew nodded to the Watchers before getting in the back seat of the car in front. Another Watcher gestured for Scott and Isaiah to follow him. Still limping, Isaiah fell into the car. Scott took one last look at the Black Country. It was strange to be in the open, so obviously there, when only hours before he had been hiding. He slid into the back seat next to Isaiah and closed the door. The car in front pulled away, followed by Scott’s self-driver.
At the junction at the end of the road were two Watchers, following the self-drivers, their arms held by their sides like gunslingers.
They drove through the Black Country, now busy with early-morning commuters, turned onto the slip road and joined the motorway.
The traffic on the motorway parted for the two black self-drivers, which were travelling at high speed. The Watchers sitting in front didn’t speak. Isaiah had slept since leaving the Black Country; he was clearly still in pain, his ankle swollen and discoloured. It was better for him to sleep until they reached London, Scott thought.
They flew past the countryside outside Scott’s window. He thought hard, working through what had happened the day before.
As they neared London, the air became noticeably cleaner. Instead of the low steel-grey clouds in the Midlands, the clouds travelled freely and were a clean white.
Scott had never got used to the scale of the wind farms. Along one stretch of motorway, to his left, stood the latest model of turbine he’d heard about: almost three hundred metres tall, each with three blades rotating slowly, stretched across the hillside like sentinels.
The landscape changed when they reached the M25. He had not visited London for some time. Today the sprawling steel and glass buildings, threading their way upwards, reflected the blue and white sky. Scott listened to the regular hissing of the car’s tyres against the road and rested his head against the headrest behind.
When he opened his eyes, he was in the heart of London.
‘How much further?’ he asked the Watchers.
‘Five minutes.’
Scott sat back in his chair and checked on Isaiah. He was still pale, but the pain on his sleeping face wasn’t so acute. Scott tapped his shoulder to wake him. ‘How’re you feeling?’
Isaiah leaned over to inspect his ankle. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s broken.’
Scott pursed his lips and leaned forward again to talk to the Watchers.
‘My friend,’ Scott said. ‘He needs his ankle checked.’
‘We have someone waiting to help him.’
Scott nodded and sat back in his chair.
‘Where are we?’ Isaiah asked Scott.
The glass and steel had changed to smaller, yet no less grand, period buildings.
‘Central London. Knightsbridge, I think.’
Isaiah rested his head on the seat.
The self-driver wove through a series of cramped streets, coming to a stop in a small square. A sign informed Scott it was Ennismore Gardens. The Watchers got out of the car and opened the doors for Scott and Isaiah. Scott breathed in the cool London air that rustled through the trees in the square. The air he inhaled was clean and sharp.
‘Please,’ one of the Watchers said, ‘this way.’
Already, he noticed the presence of drones in the sky. Unlike in Birmingham and the Black Country, the government still had a presence in London. But as always, their presence did not extend to the Watchers’ business. No one knew the details of the arrangement exactly, but it was obvious all the same. The two drones on the horizon banked slowly, turning away towards the centre of the city.
Scott helped Isaiah walk to one of the white buildings. The door opened as they approached – inside, another Watcher waited for them.
‘We can take you from here,’ a Watcher said to Isaiah. ‘We have a doctor waiting to see you.’
Before Scott could say anything, the Watcher had taken Isaiah into a room off the hallway and had closed the door.
‘Mr Beck,’ a voice said.
Scott saw Mathew walking towards him.
‘We arrived moments before you,’ Mathew said. ‘Please, come inside.’
Scott walked past the door through which Isaiah had entered, and hesitated.
‘He’ll be fine,’ Mathew said. ‘We have the best surgical-machines.’
Scott noted where the room was, then nodded before following Mathew into a room along the hallway. It was long and narrow, busy with Watchers working at an array of holo-screens.
Mathew smiled at Scott. ‘Many of the Chosen in this country are here in London. It is difficult to watch them in the traditional sense.’
‘So instead you spy on them?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that.’
‘How would you put it?’
‘You have been watched for some time, Scott. You must appreciate the different ways there are to watch by now.’
Scott shook his head. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever appreciated it.’
For a moment Mathew appeared hurt. ‘We’re still trying to make sense of all this, Scott. Like you.’
‘All this? The dates?’
Mathew nodded. ‘It is still remarkable, don’t you think? That a computer can predict the future in this way?’ Mathew’s words sounded childlike, filled with wonder. ‘To work it all out like that,’ he went on. ‘Can you imagine the data and computing power required?’
Each Watcher was engrossed in their task, lost in their screen.
‘But you think there has been a mistake?’ Scott asked.
‘No,’ Mathew said, his excited expression becoming serious. ‘It is more a case of answering the question that some people have put forward. This is only a small minority, but a loud enough minority to suggest, if we do not quell the notion, could cause the government considerable problems. I have heard nothing that convinces me your date is wrong.’
‘So what do we do? How do we work this out?’
Mathew smiled and held up his hands. ‘You can relax here. You are safe, Scott. Gabriel cannot get to you now.’
‘And what about Freya? Noah?’
‘We will find them,’ Mathew said, waving away his question. He walked further into the room, beckoning Scott to follow. Pointing to one row of holo-screens, then at a huge screen hanging from the ceiling, Mathew explained how they protected the Chosen in London. On the screens were images of men, like Scott, going about their daily life.
Mathew led the way to a doorway at the rear of the room. A Watcher stood in front of the doorway, inviting them through. As they made their way down a spiral staircase, Scott found the air much cooler. At the bottom of the staircase, Mathew pointed to a door.
‘It’s in here.’
Scott acknowledged the door. ‘The AI?’
Mathew’s smile grew wider. ‘Of course.’
Scott stared. He didn’t know anyone who had seen it.
‘This is your decision. We can speak to the AI and ask if there is a problem with your date. We have not discovered one yet, but we can put your mind at ease.’
Scott stroked his left palm and the tattoo.
‘It’s an important decision, Scott. Think carefully. Maybe you prefer the doubt you have now. Or maybe you would like to know for sure.’
‘What about you? Don’t you need to know too?’ Scott asked.
‘We need to be able to deny this rumour. It’s only growing more widespread. But it’s your decision. Your choice.’
Scott clenched his fists. He recognised the feeling he had when Paul told him his date could be wrong. It was like entering a new country, a new landscape. It was liberating and frightening at the same time. But then the exhilaration of knowing his choices were his own began to coalesce into a sensation he recalled from childhood. He’d rebelled against the idea; not because he thought it was wrong, but because he was scared it might be wrong. It also meant that what had happened to Rebecca was not his fault. It meant his decisions weren’t his own, it meant what happened was out of his control. This offered a consolation he welcomed.
‘Scott?’ Mathew asked.
Scott stared at Mathew, then at his own hand.
‘We need to know,’ Scott said.
‘But do you?’ Mathew asked.
Scott stared at the door. He had a vague memory of a time before he knew his date. Back then, he had a birthday, and that was it. Once he’d discovered the date he would die on, he had two important dates each year. He touched the door. Since Paul had told him his date was wrong, he’d experienced a sensation he’d not felt in a long time: that the future was no longer set. Only now, with this feeling in danger of being taken away, did he value it. He would be giving it up again, and there’d be no going back. But it would mean that Gabriel was wrong. If he could work out how to convince Gabriel, maybe he could use the information to help Freya and Noah.
‘I need to know,’ Scott said.
‘This way.’
Mathew led the way through a series of guarded doorways. As he followed, Scott recalled the day he found out about his date. The news on TV, the email.
Mathew slowed down as he neared another doorway. ‘You ready?’
Scott nodded.
‘There are only a few people who have seen it, who have been inside this room,’ Mathew said. ‘This is how much I trust you and appreciate your assistance.’
Scott waited.
Mathew nodded to the Watcher beside the door.
Then the door opened and Scott stepped inside.
Thirty-Eight
Freya leaned forward to follow Gabriel’s finger. He pointed to a small house at the end of a terrace. The three front windows were shrouded with closed blinds, and the door had no letterbox, doorbell or number. It was clear that visitors were not welcome.
‘You’ll have to go alone,’ Gabriel said. ‘She won’t see me.’
Freya waited, craning her neck to check the windows on the first floor. They, too, were covered.
‘Why would she see me?’ Freya asked.
‘We have nothing to lose,’ Noah said. ‘Maybe I should come too.’
Freya got out of the car and waited for Noah, who closed the door and followed her down the path. She felt the early morning sunshine on the back of her neck, but when a breeze blew, she shivered. She knocked on the door, then crossed her arms.
‘What are you going to say?’ Noah asked.
Freya shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’
‘Something tells me we’re not going to get a lot out of her unless we ask the right questions.’
‘Be my guest,’ Freya said. ‘If you know what the right questions are, ask away.’ She shook her head and knocked again.
‘We need to know where the number came from,’ Noah whispered. ‘Find out if it’s genuine.’
‘So, I just come out and ask?’ Freya stepped backwards and peered up at the windows above. ‘Don’t think she’s in.’
‘Let’s go,’ Noah said.
Freya walked to a gate at the side of the house. She looked back at Noah, then opened it.
‘No,’ Noah said. ‘You can’t.’ He checked on Gabriel in the self-driver parked on the street, then followed her.
At the end of the alleyway, Freya entered a long garden with a high privet hedge on either side. There was a woman on her knees, using a small trowel to dig the soil at the edge of the lawn.
‘Freya,’ Noah whispered. ‘Wait.’
But Freya didn’t listen. She strode across the lawn towards the woman.
‘Excuse me,’ Freya said. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but there was no answer at the door.’
‘Because I’m not in,’ the woman replied, her hands busy.
Freya glanced at Noah. ‘It’s just that we really need to speak to you.’
‘I’m afraid you’ve come at a bad time,’ the woman said, taking a plant from a pot and shaking it.
‘I’m sorry,’ Freya said, ‘but we don’t have a lot of time. And it’s important that—’
‘I bet it is,’ Juliet said. ‘It’s always important.’
‘Sorry?’ Freya asked, moving closer to the woman, who had buried the plant in the soil and was filling earth around it.
‘You’ve no idea how many times I’ve been told it’s important that I speak to someone.’
‘This really is important,’ Noah said.
‘And that’s usually the next thing they say.’
‘I’ve spoken to Gabriel,’ Freya said.
Then the woman’s hands stopped and she peered up at Freya. Her hair was grey, fixed close against her head in plaits. She raised an eyebrow and Freya noticed her eyes were grey too.
‘Gabriel is the same as ever, I’m sure,’ she said.
‘We have a friend,’ Freya said. ‘There’s a problem with his date.’
‘I can’t help you,’ Juliet said, returning to the plants.
‘Gabriel said you’d be able to tell us about the AI,’ Freya said. ‘About why Scott’s date might be wrong and what should b
e done about it.’
Juliet took another plant and tapped the bottom of the pot to release it.
‘Gabriel can tell you everything you need to know about that,’ she said, shaking the plant free.
Freya waited before trying again. ‘Gabriel says we need to hear it from you. He says there isn’t a lot of time. What does he mean?’
Juliet ignored her and buried the plant in the ground.
‘Gabriel wants to kill Scott,’ Freya said. ‘He wants to prove his date is wrong. Is there a chance the AI has made a mistake?’
Juliet rested her hands on her thighs and took a deep breath. ‘Have you noticed how every seedling, no matter what kind of plant it is, looks the same as every other seedling?’
Freya glanced at the rows of plants the woman had already planted.
‘Take a tomato seed,’ she continued, ‘or lupin, or geranium – you name it. To the naked eye, the seedlings are almost identical.’
Freya thought for a moment. ‘I guess that’s because that method of initiating germination works perfectly.’
Juliet nodded. ‘It does. One stem, two small leaves. It has proven itself dependable.’
Freya stared at the plants in the ground. ‘And this is programmed within the DNA of the seed?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Juliet said. ‘Exactly. We put the seed in the ground. We know what plant it will be, but we don’t know how tall it will be, how many flowers it will produce, how healthy it will be.’ She held one of the leaves of the plant she’d just planted between her thumb and index finger. ‘But if we can work out the condition of the soil, the healthiness of the seed, the weather to come, and so on, we can calculate how successful the seed will be before planting it.’
‘And the AI can do that?’ Freya asked.
Juliet nodded. ‘We are no different to plants.’
‘But we are.’
Juliet smiled and tilted her head. ‘Have you seen the foetus of a lion, a tortoise, a bird?’
‘They’re very similar,’ Freya said.
