by Gavin Smith
‘So what are you doing here?’
‘We have a gig in Portsmouth in a few days, on the pier.’
Du Bois had lost count of how many times Alexia had reinvented herself. Her current reinvention was as the front person for a band playing a type of music that du Bois found very difficult to listen to.
‘And you need me to get onto the island?’ Alexia grinned at him. ‘You don’t change, do you?’
‘You could come.’
‘You know I don’t—’
‘You like some of it, and you have to admit we’re good musicians.’ She was right about that. Alexia had always excelled at music – all the courtly arts, in fact. He had excelled in the arts martial.
‘I’ll get you into the city.’
‘And I was worried about you.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘That’s a lie. None of us will.’ She looked sad. Even after all the trouble she had put him through, all the chaos she left in her wake that he inevitably had to sort out, he hated to see her sad.
‘You know I can’t talk about it.’
‘Everything comes to an end. You can rest now if you want.’ Du Bois looked away and said nothing. ‘But you won’t; you’ll rage against the sea and the heavens and the hateful uncaring gods themselves.’
Du Bois frowned. ‘Are you quoting your own lyrics to me?’
Alexia’s smile brightened her face.
‘I knew you listened to us.’ Then she became serious again. ‘I wrote that for you. You’re a bad servant, Malcolm. You always have been.’
‘It’s all I’ve ever known.’
They lapsed into silence again.
‘You know,’ Alexia started, ‘I will be deeply disappointed if the apocalypse starts in Portsmouth.’
Du Bois had to laugh. Then he wondered if she just wanted to see the end. He looked around. There was nobody else on the hill. He wasn’t sure what made him look over to the mound that had been the hill fort. Relaxed as he was, he had not let his guard down. She had appeared unnoticed through his blood-screen and even now seemed invisible to it. Something was spoofing the tiny machines somehow. The level of tech involved was frightening. On the other hand, she was there in plain sight. He cursed himself for being so reliant on technology.
‘Malcolm?’ He could hear the fear in her voice. Fear was an emotion they both should have been able to put aside a long time ago. They were not used to it. ‘It’s her, isn’t it? The traitor?’
Malcolm’s mind wandered back to a night in an earthen root-lined chamber. He remembered the flickering firelight, painted faces, fire dancing and the feeling that he had left his faith far behind him. The chalice full of molten red gold. He remembered how it burned inside. No way of surviving, it had been his death. He remembered her standing over him. Not the shambolic mess she was now, but strong, powerful, impossibly old and so very sad.
‘Alexia, go back to the bike and get away from here.’
‘But—’
‘Alexia, please. She won’t be here for you. I can’t worry about you . . .’ And fight her, he left unsaid.
‘I don’t want her to kill you,’ Alexia said fiercely. She meant it, but even now, after all these centuries, he could still hear the voice of the child who just wanted things to be better.
‘Please.’ He was all but begging her now. Alexia gathered their picnic stuff and headed back towards the bike. Du Bois waited until she was out of sight. He thought about contacting Control but assumed that Alexia would somehow deal with that. He wondered how the woman was hiding from the network of micro-satellites they had orbiting the world as he made his way towards her. He drew the .45 and swapped the magazine for one with nanite-tipped bullets. Somehow he didn’t think it would help.
She was standing on what had once been the ramparts, looking out over trees at the patchwork of fields under the cold blue sky.
‘It wasn’t that different. All farmland. Of course, the trees were not here, but I like them. I like trees.’
‘Good farmland’s good farmland,’ du Bois said warily. Even standing as far away as he was, he could smell her. She stank of urine and sweat. Her clothes were basically layers of filthy rags, her face obscured by grime, her hair a matted mess. She leaned heavily on a gnarled wooden staff. In her other hand she gripped a plastic bag full of what looked like rubbish.
‘No wonder we can’t find you,’ he said.
‘They wouldn’t think to look where I hide.’
‘They say that you’re no longer real.’
‘It’s easier to be a legend than it is to be a person.’
‘That you’re a nano-form. That you live in the earth now.’
‘They say a lot.’
‘They certainly do.’
She hadn’t looked at him yet. If anything she seemed to be enjoying the view, her mind somewhere else. Du Bois was content to let her be, though he himself was wound up like a spring, waiting for her to attack, assuming that it would be over soon. She laughed. It was a very dry-sounding noise.
‘I’m not going to kill you, Malcolm. I like you. I always have done. You’re so terribly earnest, to the point of parody.’
‘So what do you want?’
‘Would you believe me if I told you it was going to be okay?’
‘I’d want to see some evidence of that. For example, access to your bloodline.’
‘Me? No, I poisoned that knowledge a long time ago. I pissed in my own DNA when I saw what the Circle was becoming. I couldn’t risk it falling into their hands.’
She sounds bitter, du Bois thought.
‘You’re protecting the prodigal.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘Am I?’
‘Did you help the Brass City kill the other children?’
She turned on him. The look of fury in her face made him step back, his hand reaching for the holstered .45.
‘I don’t kill children!’ she hissed and then seemed to master her anger. ‘Unless I have to. I disagree with their methods but the Brass City were right. This corruption that the Circle has become cannot choose the shape of the future of mankind. They will only feed destruction. They will only teach people not to care. They will only teach them that they are helpless. These are lies.’
‘Do you serve the angels now?’
She looked more exasperated than angry. ‘What is it with you? Despite all the killing, somehow after all this time you still know right from wrong and always did. If only you would think for yourself. Alexia –’ she nodded towards the car park ‘– is all appetite; you are all duty. Both of you could learn a little from the other.’
‘She is a deviant.’ The words were out of his mouth before he could even think.
‘Don’t call her that! You know it’s not true and always have done! You just listen to all this bullshit you’re fed. Religion’s like anything else. Take the good stuff, ignore the hate.’
Du Bois wasn’t sure if she was angry or just frustrated. She was, however, making him feel like a child.
‘You didn’t answer my question,’ he demanded, as much to cover up the shame of what he had said.
‘Have you ever even met an agent of the Eggshell?’ He did not answer, but thinking back he hadn’t. It had always been the Brass City and then smaller groups or individual madmen who had stumbled onto the technology. ‘They are your legends, your myths. Fools, but at least they were honest fools.’ She either doesn’t realise that she’s contradicting herself or doesn’t care, du Bois thought. ‘But no, I’m not serving them.’
‘Then why are you here?’
‘The key is for everyone. It is not for the rich and powerful to enslave humanity. The Circle has betrayed all that it was set up to do. It is a tool of tyranny and empire in whatever guise those nasty little ideas have now become.’
‘It’s not practical to save everyone – you know that. We’re taking what we can, the genetic material to—’
‘A slave race.’ Her look was daring him to deny it.
&nb
sp; ‘That’s not true.’
‘I founded the Circle. Who would know better than I?’
‘Even if what you say is true, we’re the only ones who have the resources to do anything, unless you believe in the Brass City’s paradise.’
‘A half-life.’
‘They claim you wouldn’t know the difference.’
‘The problem is the same.’
Du Bois knew she was right. The processing power they had had access to for centuries, maybe longer, was still limited to a degree. Recording functional human consciousness in its totality required massive amounts of storage, as every molecule in the human brain was the equivalent of a powerful computer in its own right. In order to store a single human consciousness, the structure and function of trillions upon trillions of molecules needed to be simulated, as well as all the rules that governed how they interact. It was the interaction that took up the real space. The random complexities of the human mind ran into thousands of petabytes.
‘And that’s assuming the flesh isn’t corrupt and insane,’ she added. ‘Don’t help them write their filth across the skies, Malcolm. It’s beneath you.’
‘I think it’s the only chance we have.’
‘And I think you’re just too used to following orders. It’s so much easier when other people make our decisions for us, isn’t it?’ She sounded sad. Du Bois didn’t know what to say. It had never seemed easy to him. ‘Do you know when I left?’ Du Bois said nothing, just watched her warily. ‘It was the artists. They kept the great minds, the scientists – though I suspect they will be modified, redesigned to toe the party line – but they wiped out so many of the great artists. Their future doesn’t have any room for beauty and thought, I think.’
‘That’s a lie!’ Du Bois said angrily, but the conversation with Hamad played over in his head.
‘Some of them were my friends. They replaced them with the venal and the petty who happened to be the rich and powerful. They’ll leave the best minds because they don’t make good slaves.’
‘What do you want?’ Du Bois demanded again. He was trying to armour himself with anger. Convince himself that she was lying. The Circle was the grand plan. The best hope for humanity.
‘You to join me,’ she said evenly. Du Bois looked her up and down.
‘Look what you’ve done to yourself!’ he all but spat at her. He was feeling more secure in his convictions now. Comforted in the familiar surroundings of his belief. She was an external threat again.
‘Don’t be so stupid!’ she snapped. Her anger would make it easier.
‘I’m not joining you; you betrayed the Circle.’
‘They have betrayed all of us!’
‘Words.’
‘Fine. You wish to remain nothing more than a violent slave, then so be it. Stop looking for the key or I will kill you. Do you understand me? Don’t make your sister weep for you.’
Du Bois understood her perfectly. The key was in Portsmouth and alive, but she did not know where, otherwise she would have moved her. There was hope.
‘You can go now,’ she told him. ‘I’m not going to sink into the earth or anything like that.’
‘I still don’t know your name.’
‘You never will.’
Du Bois turned and walked away. He glanced over his shoulder. She was still there looking out over the land. There was something about the way she stood that made him think that she was so very tired.
Du Bois made his way quickly back to the bike. Alexia was there, of course. She had not abandoned him and was so relieved to see him. It was only then he realised how terrified he had been.
The amusements were closed, a neon beacon of wasted electricity garishly lighting up the night sky. Beth had done most of her work and was sitting on the sea wall again, watching two armed police officers walk along the front. Nobody wanted to come out and play with all the police around and the island blocked off from the mainland.
‘Excuse me, love.’
Beth was slowly getting used to the mangled cockney of the Pompey accent. With her broad West Yorkshire vowels, sometimes conversations sounded like they were being held in two different languages. This voice was the most Pompey she had ever heard: she had to play it back in her head to decipher it.
‘Yeah?’ she finally said. She didn’t like the look of him. Weasel-faced, lank, shoulder-length blond hair, looped earrings. He looked thin but she was guessing that under the shell suit was a wiry frame. He was leaning on a bizarre-looking cane that looked like it was made out of leather. His mouth moved with the constant chewing movement of the habitual speed freak. It was the eyes, though. She’d seen them before, working the doors. This was a man who didn’t feel anything and so liked violence. A proper psycho.
Two large men dressed much more smartly, in suits and overcoats, flanked the weasel-faced man. Massively built, their pronounced jaws suggested steroid abuse. Beth had seen their like before in the gym.
‘You looking for me?’ the thin man asked. Alarm bells were ringing.
‘Don’t think so.’
‘Sure? Jaime said you was. So did William. You do that to his fingers?’ he asked, sounding casual. If there was anger there, it was because someone was playing with his toys, not because someone had hurt his people.
Beth got off the wall. ‘You know my sister?’
‘Probably be better if we asked the questions, love.’
‘Who are you?’
‘You’re not very bright up north, are you? We’re going to go for a bit of a ride. Have a bit of a chat, okay?’
‘I’m a bit old to get into a car with strange men.’ Beth turned to walk away.
‘I don’t think you want to do that.’
Beth made the mistake of glancing behind her. The big guy on the psycho’s right had opened his coat to show the pistol stuffed in his waistband. Beth knew she should have kept walking but stopped. The man with the gun was trying to look hard but he had to be scared. The city was crawling with armed police and even soldiers. Battery Row was pretty open and he was carrying a shooter.
‘You going to use that here?’ Beth asked. She tried to sound casual, but her hand went into the pocket of her leather jacket, fingers curling around her brass knuckles. She didn’t fancy her chances of crossing the distance before he drew the gun. These guys being mown down by trigger-happy police was little consolation if she was dead.
‘What are you doing?’ Ted was behind her, staring at the psycho.
Beth swore to herself. She didn’t doubt that to run an arcade you needed to be hard, but she didn’t think Ted was anywhere near this psycho’s league, and he was old, fat and really unhealthy. The last thing she needed was to drag him into this, particularly with a gun involved. ‘I asked you a fucking question, McGurk. You know better. You don’t fucking come down here and hassle my people.’
Beth turned to stare at Ted. He was an easy-going guy. This was a new side of him. Fat or not, he suddenly came across as more than capable of defending himself. She wondered how many other people had underestimated him in the past.
‘Hello, Ted, and watch your fucking mouth. That agreement was made a long time ago, and you’re not quite the Jack the Lad you once were, if you know what I mean.’
‘I stay out of your business; you stay out of mine.’
‘I’m thinking of renegotiating. Besides, little missy here has been messing in my business. Beat up one of my boys, cut another. Something has to be done. You know that, Ted.’
Ted turned to Beth looking less than pleased.
‘Do I look like a fucking little missy to you?’ Beth demanded.
McGurk looked her up and down, an expression of exaggerated distaste on his features. ‘You’re too fucking ugly to rape. Your sister, on the other hand, she was proper rape material.’
Beth went for him. Ted, moving surprisingly quickly, grabbed her and managed to hold her back. McGurk just laughed.
‘Enough . . . Beth, not here . . . That’s enough!’ Somehow the
words got through, made their way through the red, and Beth started to calm down. ‘Isn’t that what they call overcompensation, McGurk? Didn’t think you liked the ladies.’ He glanced at McGurk’s two minders.
‘What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?! What are you trying to say, you cunt?!’
‘Just hear you like to break your boys in,’ Ted said, still holding on to Beth. Ted looked at the minders one after another. Neither of them would meet his eyes. McGurk’s face was red and furious. Ted whispered to Beth, ‘I’ve got to let you go. You go for him and you’re on your own. Understand? Now get a grip.’ Beth nodded and he let go of her.
‘They need to know who’s boss, that’s all! It just establishes, you know . . .’
‘Dominance?’ Ted asked innocently.
‘Yeah, like a wolf! You’re not a fucking faggot if you’re doing it to them!’ McGurk screamed. ‘I’m happily married and plenty on the side! You go around saying things like that and you could get yourself badly hurt. Know what I mean?! Now give us the bitch.’
‘That’s not going to happen, and this isn’t a good time to be doing this. The city’s crawling with plod.’
‘Either she’s one of yours, in which case we come back mob-handed, or she’s not and you give her over. Save yourself the fucking trouble.’ McGurk moved closer to Ted, leaning in towards him. ‘Look, I get it. You were a big man when I was coming up, a hard man. I had to show respect. But look at you now. Too many fags, too many doughnuts, you got high on your own supply. Well, fat anyway. We can just take her now – you know that – but I’m still trying to show you some respect, okay? Let you get out of this with a bit of dignity.’ Beth looked at Ted. She was about to go with McGurk. This wasn’t Ted’s problem; she’d brought this down on him. Then she saw how angry he was. The big man was shaking with rage.
‘For a piece of shit like you to think you can even talk to me like that . . .’ he managed. McGurk backed up. Shifting posture. Beth decided she was going to go for the guy with the gun first. Ted didn’t know about the gun.
Then they came, everyone who worked at the amusements. Many were not physically impressive but some of them were. A lot of it was hard physical work. Men and women. The youngest to the oldest, a lot of them carrying whatever makeshift weapon they could lay their hands on.
