Hodge has loosened up and is leaning forward. He’s starting to see something that is outweighing his natural distaste for the man in front of him.
‘Cos, that’s where I’m coming from. I’d like to move this whole debate upmarket. I mean we all recognise we’re dealing with an amazing phenomenon, a force – and while we get to grips with it I’m realistic about it having to have its populist roots pretty deep in the dirt – I mean look at the internet – but the political advantage comes on the high ground. We do need it properly regulated and a real awareness and education about it but there is a much bigger story to put across. I do see that as about wellbeing – in a general sense. But it has to include education, welfare, and a whole new approach to how we integrate technology into society…’
‘Well you must have heard Matzov. He’s a visionary. He loves to talk about how people will learn more through this than any other way in a few years. It’ll revolutionise education. All we need is to prepare the content. But I’m focused on what happens next and whether we’re working with you guys. And we’re talking votes, aren’t we? He taps the pad. Give ‘em what they want first. You tell them your big picture story but make clear that your party is going to get this moving now. The way to do that is to contrast with the other guys. Instead of a load of fuzzy promises you lay out specific policies now. Talk about the educational benefits, allocate subsidies and tax breaks to bring every household into scope. We lay out a long term plan for our guided experience educational content and you match it with investment. You can put control of the syllabus under a public body. We commit to so many hours of content that meets their criteria over a given timescale. Whatever. We can work the details out. Then you’ve got the high ground. You can have your watchdogs running alongside. But you need to get elected first. Put in a tangible benefit for every category of real and potential hookie. If you’re prepared to do that we’ll help you with everything we can. Britain could be at the forefront – with the right approach.’
Hodge also eases back in his chair. ‘And you’re heading about the law?’
Cos takes another swift look around him. ‘You want to talk about monopoly, right? Matzov building up this business and no one else getting any action?’
‘Indeed. There’s no precedent I can think of for such a comprehensive and bundled monopoly, for that much control by one person.’
‘Companies are what matter. There are different companies at every stage in the chain – they all want Matzov on board. It’s always been made clear that the distribution and the receivers would be enabled for any service. There are out-licensing agreements for all that. Only twenty percent of device manufacturing is in Matzov companies. That’s down from a hundred percent twelve months ago – and nothing to do with regulatory pressure. He’d rather have competition and stimulate the market. As it is he has to do everything.’
‘The nub of the issue is the capture system and coding. Without that a competitor can’t do anything. There is only one service. There’s only one system out there. You’ve never published any details about it. No papers, no patents, no public interfaces. Instead we have rumours all the time about provenance.’
‘You’d have to explain that one.’
‘Oh come on, Cos. Let’s not play games. The only thing anyone anywhere can point at that does what your KomViva does is classified military material. We can’t cite it; the Americans can’t cite it and I think you know what I’m talking about.’
‘And as the man trying to get your lot elected in Britain you care about that because…?’
‘We care because if we endorse you and nod through something which is a rip off from our major western ally, we look stupid and complicit. They are pushing very hard for us to act.’
‘Well I’ll put your mind at rest. The provenance for the new systems for the Sensomandos comes with no confusion or risk of embarrassment. We have 100% original code. And there are nineteen patents applied for.’
‘No links. There must be an awful lot packed into those systems of yours.’
‘Not a trace, dwarves standing on shoulders of giants and all that – in this case yellow dwarves, but no traces. The PM will have Matzov’s word.’
They both sense the reply that hangs in the air but of course Hodge doesn’t say it.
‘So there would be complete transparency, everything open to independent authentication?’
‘Yeah.’
‘When are these new systems available? It seems we may be able to shake a lot of this off in one go.’
‘They’re there now. You put some exciting promises in the manifesto, make it all contingent on strict compliance and all that malarkey. By the time you’re in we’ll be squeaky clean. You just need to lay off until then. You can bullshit a couple more weeks can’t you?’
‘And then if we push for open competition?’
‘Distribution is there now. Devices are opening up and we’ll licence the source for anyone else who wants to play at service provision. We’ll negotiate licensing on the head end – probably get a ‘within next term’ kind of deal. If I were you I’d go for a fudge. As I say, the voters don’t give a shit. Are we done?’
Hodge checks his watch. ‘I’d like to get on to the scats themselves.’
Cos is looking pleased with himself. ‘Bet you would.’
‘It’s very exciting and we’re keen to see it grow – in the right way. But this business of Adventure with a Purpose, it’s getting out of hand, isn’t it? We’re getting into comic strip territory. Having Komviva guest on a police raid is one thing but carrying out raids at your own behest, outright vigilantism, we have to be careful not to get drawn into that. Not while the PM is talking law and order as our number one priority. And you know there is enormous public concern, we have this march on the eve…’
‘Chicken shit. The public loves it. The Manchester scat was the all time most popular, bar none. And the press afterwards were saying job done. So did the Mayor – he’s no fool. If you’d stuck your head out the window you’d have heard people cheering. Someone doing something, really doing something at last and bringing everyone in on the act: action, adventure, excitement, participation, drama; and all serving a good cause. Justice; you want to grab some of that. Partnership. Other people are. Getting popular – never mind the weirdy beardies and their march – which by the way is going to get an interesting surprise…’
‘But that’s the point. We’d love to line up with you but we can hardly be seen to play second fiddle to…’
‘Can hardly be seen not to. I’m going to level with you, Graham. We’re on a roll. We’re gonna take this all the way. It’s direct. It’s growing. Five million plus voting age Hookies and that figure will easily triple by next time. That’s an order of magnitude bigger than any political party will even bullshit its membership is and our trend is going up not down. You need to get a hold of your guys and tell them to get on board. KomViva and Sensomondo are in their heads. If Matzov comes out against you now or after the vote – when you and I know the most likely outcome is a hung jobby – you’re fucked. How about this? What will you do when Matzov has fifteen, fifty, five hundred Sensomandos? Next week the new four take over. Behind them there’s a whole generation coming. What you need to realise is this isn’t a programme or a point of view or a paper or a party that people take or leave – it’s a fucking way of life they are not going to let go of.’
Hodge seems surprised and suddenly desperate. ‘What are you suggesting?’
Cos looks at his watch. ‘I need to be going. I’d suggest that you find a way to tell your party that they are about to drop the ball big time. You can’t control this. You may be able to get on board if you’re quick. I’d suggest that yer man accepts Mr Matzov’s offer and gets ready to dial himself in before the election. I suggest you ask your Chancellor to take a very serious look at the numbers we’re going to send you and figure out how to make a commitment to us that we know is going to stick.’
Twenty-on
e
The falcon sucks the horizon into its brown-black eyes and launches from Reuben Matzov’s gloved fist. It flies away in a low arc over the heather; a slate grey flicker amidst the storm clouds across the valley to the north. It turns into the wind to mount; angled wings flashing like blades as it works steadily up and then lets the current carry it in a wide sweep downwind before turning and working upwards again. The small party watches in silence as its silhouette shrinks turn by turn and it looks first like a swift and then just a tiny pulsing dot high in the unravelling grey.
Raindrops leak singly into the breeze but the clouds don’t burst over the hill. Instead they tumble across the sky like great ransacked bales of laundry and leave behind them in the distance a window of the clearest rain-washed blue.
Matzov watches the bird with quiet but obvious satisfaction. He has always understood instinctive power and its dominance of the elements that buffet it a thousand feet above him is a rare source of primitive awe for a man who spends too much time in the modern world. As a boy he hunted with falcons on the great plains of Europe in the footsteps of marauders down the ages. He likes the fact that a peregrine silhouette had etched the skies over Hannibal, Genghis Khan and Frederick the Great. Ignorant of the fickle tides of human history it has repeated its consistent truth about the contest for life. It keeps him coming back and in a moment will show him once again all he needs to know about the terrible beauty of nature.
Thirty yards ahead of him, the other members of the team are motionless. The two black and white pointers are held fast by a trace of grouse scent. Their muzzles reach into the wind, their tails stretch back and each raises one front paw, caught in mid step. Matzov looks up. The falcon evanesces, visible only with wings outstretched. It has reached its pitch. He wades knee-deep through the heather in a circuit around the invisible covey. He likes to flush the birds himself and he knows they will be watching the falcon and weighing the risks of flight, poised to seize the best opportunity should they be forced to fly. He approaches them from upwind, moving when the falcon swings overhead, waiting as it briefly spirals away and fights its way back. All those instincts combined; the tension waiting to tip. Then Matzov jumps forward and is immediately surrounded by launching birds. They skim away downwind over the heads of the suddenly mobile dogs. A collective shout goes up, the falcon turns over and pulls its way down with muscular strokes and then folds its wings. For a moment it is gone, too tightly bundled to be seen as it drops, only to reappear lower, a barbed spearhead with the weight of all the sky behind her. The noise in its wings is like cloth ripping and the collision when it comes – several slowed seconds later – is already distant, a burst, a tumbling and a comet of feathers. Matzov cries out first and the others join in. The falcon has skyrocketed over the fallen grouse and swoops down to grab it where it lies motionless in the heather.
Matzov springs forward with ungainly high-kneed steps, eager to witness the tableau of the falcon on its kill. The spectacle revives him and his movements show no tiredness even though the party has been on the hill for several hours.
He sits down in the heather alongside his bird. It has done well and he decides to let it take its fill. He reaches inside one of his many tweed pockets for something to smoke and retrieves a cigar. The peregrine stands on the grouse and busies its black-streaked face tossing mahogany feathers into the breeze. It pays no attention to him as he re-attaches the retaining jesses and tethers it to his bag.
He leans back on his elbow in reflective mood. The dogs sprawl nearby and keep an eye on the grouse. Sometimes they get a titbit. Matzov wonders whether he’d ever be able to experience the stoop of a falcon as it sees it itself. Perhaps one day it could be simulated for him.
Armand approaches tentatively and Matzov gestures for him to sit down. One of the cardinal rules that everyone knows when out with Matzov on a sporting day is not to disrupt the action and never to raise business until Matzov requests it. But Armand knows he has been asked up for the day to report on KomViva. There are some decisions to be made before the election and Matzov wants an update.
First there is some shared enthusing to do over the scenery. Matzov has recently bought this as his second Scottish estate and he is still in the honeymoon phase. ‘You’d know it was Scotland just by the sky. Look at that…’
When Matzov asks, Armand opens with the figures. The Sensomondo trials have been a fantastic success. The programme itself achieved top ratings for every show but throughout the series the sales of boxes have soared. Sony and LG are on board and the target numbers are starting to look modest. It is the steepest electronics equipment sales curve in history.
‘The Sensomandos seem like great kids,’ Matzov says. ‘You’ve done well.’
‘We picked the ones we felt best for coverage. The public actually liked all four finalists well enough. As you know we planned for two but it looks like all four will work out. The new chips seem to be much easier to work with. Having all four is giving us great range – and multiple perspectives. There are a lot more possibilities.’
Matzov runs through them in his mind. The Sporty one, Wayne, was the stud: People took to that racehorse body. They loved his physicality and wanted to touch and be touched. They’d needed to prop him up a bit to make him a winner on television; he wasn’t the brightest or most charismatic but that just underlined the difference between television and Sensomondo. Wayne would be awesome. Sam, the sophisticate, would pull in the women. Matzov was less sure of her. She made people want to follow her but now she needed to deliver. Sensomondo wasn’t a tease. Next time he’d implant first and run the trials for real.
Adventure with Purpose was proving the biggest success. It was the only topic of conversation at the coffee machine. People liked to discuss something as an issue, it legitimized the hedonism.
Their backups were a black male dancer called Shak and a toothpick of an oriental girl called Wu. Shak was power and sinew, Wu was yoga and gymnastics. The press had all gone for Wu as the likely winner, as though the competition was for real.
‘How soon are they going to be ready to take over, Armand?’
He takes a deep breath. ‘Press the button now and maybe a month.’ Too late. He hears Matzov’s ‘I don’t like maybes.’
‘I’d commit to six weeks.’ He already knows now he’ll get a month.
How about the new chips, are they working as well as we hoped?’
‘They seem to work very well. We’ve stepped two generations in sensitivity of the circuits and receptors. We don’t think we’ll need Escanol at anything like the levels we are now. That alone makes a big difference.’
‘Are we absolutely sure the provenance can’t still be tracked to Solomon? I don’t want another Baytran.’
‘All the code was reverse engineered and now has origination in China. Laying out the chips there and fabbing in Taiwan is paying off. There’s no trace to Solomon at any stage.’
Matzov looks up from under his eyebrows. He says nothing but begins to pull at the grouse carcass and encourages his falcon to continue eating. The bird manoeuvres its huge yellow feet and rips another strip of flesh off with the hook of its beak.
Matzov watches it feed, swallowing with a series of gulps that involve its whole body. ‘I’ve been having some discussions with the people we want at Defence – about Rees. We seem to be breached. I’m hearing things I don’t like. He has become a real liability. It seems to be an open secret in government – which means it’s an open secret, full stop. We need to move on. I think the timing is right now that we have the new kids and the Chinese chips. I’ve made a deal or two to keep it out of the papers – but we can’t hold for long. The whole issue needs to come off the table. Get the focus on the new. It has to be before the election.’
Armand watches and waits. Matzov shuffles his posture and looks around again at the distant hills and the grandeur of the clouds.
‘I don’t want something that looks sordid or downbeat or that in any way detrac
ts from KomViva and our move up to Sensomondo. Quite the contrary, I think we need a very special send off, a grand coup de théâtre; I don’t want him just slipping out of view. He’s a star, a hero and we need a hero’s send off for him; something mythical. Imagine the ultimate scat: the ultimate event. When people look back they will realise they were participating in the experience of his final moments – the creation of a martyr to the great cause. A grand tragedy in which everyone shares and which unequivocally has nothing directly to do with our own technology or the viability of the service. It will change the whole outlook for us. People will know that the risks are real. Best publicity we’ll ever get. I want to make the most of it. What do stars do? They shoot across the sky, they explode, and they leave traces in the universal memory for ever. Put him in the air. Put him in a chopper. Put him right into and all over that damn anti march. It’s the eve of the election and I want him right there – I want him to shake things up; I want him etched into people’s minds. I’ve got Jimmy Line in London – I know your people can organise something suitably pyrotechnic on the back of that. Get that girl he has, Pandi, to come across. Take our boy down on his way to the Sensomando launch! Solomon itself provides its own solution. I just need you to set it up so it leaves no traces, absolutely no possibility of anything being left. That would complete the issue in an elegant and fitting way. I don’t want the site of our first bona fide martyr being picked over by little men in white suits trying to find his fillings. Not another bloody Martinez. Put him in a chopper that blows when we take him down. Blast him, burn him and bury him at sea. You understand? Let those morons try to pin something on me after that!’
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