Extropia

by Robin Bootle

  Extropia: Mind Game

  Robin Bootle

  Copyright © 2017 Robin Bootle

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Matador

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  Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,

  Leicestershire. LE8 0RX

  Tel: 0116 279 2299

  Email: books@troubador.co.uk

  Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

  Twitter: @matadorbooks

  ISBN 9781788032261

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  For my wife, Kate

  Thank you for everything

  I have brought death and misery to thousands.

  I am responsible for creating life where there was none, and condemning that life to torment and unimaginable horror.

  I have created worlds, full of suffering.

  Yet, an entire people call me a god!

  What now, my son?

  What evil do I bring into this world, now that the Beast walks the earth?

  Richard Founder, 2033

  Contents

  2031 When the World Was Without Form

  1 Greywell

  2 Contact

  3 The NCCU

  4 The Puffer Fish

  5 VirtuaWorld

  6 The Jump

  7 Home Leigh Hut

  8 Force Crag Mine

  9 A Tide of Darkness

  10 Windermere

  11 The Son of the Skylar

  12 The Red Mist

  13 Hunted

  14 The Great Black

  15 Bound in Black

  16 Hawkshead

  17 Westmacott

  18 The Men of Ejüll

  19 The Dark Agent

  20 Solitude

  21 A Fire in the Mountains

  22 The Garden

  23 A Cowardly Attack

  24 Return to Hawkshead

  25 Skelton Tower

  26 An Angel Falls

  27 The Beast

  28 The Second Element

  29 The Resurrection

  30 St Thomas’

  2031

  When the World Was Without Form

  ‘It’s not ready.’ In the corner of the attic, Edward’s father stood poring over the sprawl of paper on his leather-topped writing desk. Dark bags sagged beneath his eyes. ‘We have to delay the test.’

  ‘It’s not like we have a choice, is it? You heard what he said this morning – we’re out of time.’ Edward’s nineteen-year-old brother, James, was fiddling with the wires behind their invention; a row of four, eight-foot tall, oval tanks that filled one half of the room. Interior lighting shone through their clear blue doors, spilling a cooling glow across the floorboards. ‘Look,’ he added, as lightning lit up the white plastic tanks beside him, ‘all we need is a few minutes, let him feel the heat of the fire, try some magic… maybe even take a peek outside —’

  ‘James!’ Dad slammed his hands on his desk. ‘We’ve been over this! The door stays shut. No one goes outside until we’ve had a chance to reprogram the ports.’

  A knock on the front door was barely audible beneath a sharp clap of thunder. Dad’s eyes shot to the doorway. Only then did he notice Edward standing there. ‘Son,’ he said, surprised. ‘Sorry, I hadn’t seen you.’

  ‘We’re not going, are we?’ Edward asked, although he already knew the answer; their first holiday in years – to Windermere, their log cabin in Cumbria – was cancelled. With the way things had been for the past three years, why now had he suddenly believed they’d spend some time together?

  ‘Sorry,’ said James, before glancing at Dad, ‘we’re both sorry, aren’t we?’

  Dad sighed. ‘Of course I’m sorry. I know this holiday was important to you, Edward.’

  ‘Important to me? But not to anyone else then, is that it?’

  ‘You know that’s not what I meant.’

  ‘Isn’t it? It’s Mum’s birthday, but you’d rather be up here, as always.’

  ‘Edward, your mother and Windermere mean more to me than you know. Later, I’ll even show you.’

  ‘How about you show me now by going downstairs and telling whoever’s there to get lost?’

  ‘Can you be serious, please? That whoever is the person funding our research.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So,’ said James, ‘if he doesn’t like what he sees then we’re out of a job.’

  ‘Well, good!’ Edward rolled his eyes, frustrated that he hadn’t found the right words. Well, good would simply have come across as obnoxious, but there was more to it than that. For three years Dad and James had been absent, always working on their invention, Extropia: a state-of-the-art, virtual reality computer game. He’d been too young to get involved when they’d first begun designing it, so Dad had said. And over time it had become nothing more than a symbol of the division in the family: him, and them and their work.

  More knocks on the door, louder, faster. Whoever was getting irritated.

  Dad snapped, ‘We simply haven’t got time for this. We’ve got work to do – and that’s the end of it!’

  ‘Fine,’ Edward replied, glaring at his father before turning to run down the stairs. He skipped over the landing and started down the second set of stairs, determined to see who could be so important. He stomped across the Persian rug in the living room and swung open the door. ‘Hello, Mr…?’

  The man on the other side of the door stood grinding the dying embers of a cigar into the driveway tarmac with a shiny black shoe. His grey hair was thinning and his belly threatened to poke through between the stretched buttons of his shirt. Behind him, rain streamed down the blacked-out windows of a limousine.

  The man looked up. ‘Where’s your father?’

  ‘He’s just coming down,’ Edward muttered, suddenly more uneasy than resentful.

  James gently pushed him to one side. ‘Mr Vanderboom. Please come —’

  Before James could finish, Vanderboom barged past them to the centre of the living room, where he watched impatiently as Dad hurried down the stairs.

  ‘Mr Vanderboom.’ Dad strode to meet him. Edward would have expected him to offer a handshake, but his hand stayed by his side. ‘Your assistant explained you had to take a last minute visit to your doctor. I hope everything’s okay?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ growled Vanderboom. ‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’

  Dad took a deep breath. ‘I’ve tried to warn you about rushing things —’

  ‘Rushing things? It’s been three years!’

  ‘And it could take three years more! This technology is far more complex than anything that has come before. Gone a
re the times of audio and video signals received and interpreted by the brain. This isn’t even virtual reality. This is alternate reality – the implantation of the mind directly into a whole new environment.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Founder, I’m sure,’ replied Vanderboom. ‘Spare me your self-adoration. Your results speak for themselves. So far, my fifty per cent share in the profits is equal to nothing. And it has cost me millions! It’s time to show me what Extropia can do or…’ Vanderboom’s words tapered off as the lights in the room cut out.

  For a moment no one spoke, as if the darkness had cast a spell of silence. Edward stood away from the three men with his arms crossed, hoping that someone would sense his growing frustration, but knowing already that no one would.

  ‘Are you sure the electrics in this… museum of a house can cope?’ said Vanderboom as the lights flicked back on.

  ‘My house is fine,’ replied Dad. ‘The storm, on the other hand – who knows what damage that could cause. We have to delay the test!’

  ‘Let me be clear. Our contract clearly states that after two years – almost a whole year ago – I have the power to seize this research and take my investment elsewhere. So, for the last time, the demonstration is tonight, or never!’

  ‘Mr Vanderboom, please. Testing this technology before it is ready is simply dangerous!’

  ‘Well then, if it really is so dangerous then there is nothing left to discuss.’

  ‘Look, Mr Vanderboom, sir.’ James stepped forward. ‘It’s not dangerous, my father will monitor the test while you and I jump…’

  ‘Jump?’ Vanderboom interrupted.

  ‘I mean, while you and I enter the game. The trouble is,’ James feigned a laugh, ‘my father just doesn’t want to show you an unfinished product. I’m completely confident that what you’re about to witness will prove your investment to be the best decision you’ve ever made.’

  ‘Really?’ Vanderboom locked eyes with Dad. ‘What will it be, Mr Founder?’

  Dad glanced at James, took a deep breath, and then nodded.

  So it really was happening, thought Edward. Despite the storm. Despite the fact that it was Mum’s birthday. He rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, ‘You waited three years and you couldn’t wait another week?’

  To his shock, all three heads spun around. He hadn’t realised how loudly he’d spoken. He unfolded his arms, embarrassed. ‘Sorry, I …’ He didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Edward, perhaps you should watch some TV in your room?’ Dad’s eyebrows were raised in such a way that made it clear this was more than just a suggestion.

  ‘Yeah, whatever,’ replied Edward. Then, under his breath, but loud enough for all of them to hear, he added, ‘I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your precious test.’ No sooner had he said it than he wished he hadn’t.

  ‘Edward, that’s enough,’ Dad said in a half-raised voice.

  Edward started towards the stairs but something stopped him. Dad just didn’t seem to realise, or didn’t care, how much he’d been looking forward to spending time with them. And maybe Edward hadn’t realised either. How long had it been since they’d been able to spend time together without Dad being distracted by his work? He shook his head, gritting his teeth as he tried to hold himself back. But he couldn’t. ‘That bloody game has ruined everything! I hate it!’

  ‘Edward!’ yelled his father. ‘Not now! Please!’

  Edward glared at his brother, the one with whom he still felt some kind of instinctive bond. If anyone would be on his side, it was James.

  James stared back, his face full of guilt. His lips opened and closed as he stumbled on his words. Then, ‘We’ll make it up to you, I promise.’

  Edward turned and marched up the stairs, his cheeks burning with the sense of betrayal and humiliation. Voices called after him as he reached his bedroom, but whatever they had to say, it was three years too late. He slammed the door and lay down on his bed.

  Footsteps passed by on the landing as his father’s voice faded in and out of range. He flicked on the TV and selected Photos, then Family, then Windermere. A photo appeared of his father smiling, sitting by the lake with a fishing rod in his hand. On either side and hugging him were James and Edward, fifteen and eleven years old respectively. He quickly skipped to the first of his mother. She was in the kitchen, the wooden chalet walls on either side lined with rustic kitchen cupboards. He remembered catching her by surprise that day. She was facing the stove with her head turned towards him, the black hair that she had passed on to both her sons tied in a bun, a big smile on her face and wearing an apron decorated with giant cupcakes.

  It was one of his favourite photos and the last one of her looking well, before the cancer took hold. For a while he lay still, gazing into her eyes, trying to remember how things used to be.

  Something rumbled upstairs. Whatever their test entailed it must have begun. A flash filled the room, followed instantly by a crash of thunder. He walked to the window. Outside the rain sparkled in the street lights, hammering on the roof and drowning out the strange sounds from above. Already he regretted the fight with Dad. Dad was on the verge of losing his job. How could he have been so insensitive? Vanderboom was the one he should have been angry with, not James and Dad. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he’d say sorry.

  Another rumble rocked the walls like an earthquake.

  That couldn’t have been the storm. He turned to the door and called at the top of his lungs. ‘Dad? James? Is that you?’

  All was quiet again save for the plummeting rain. He jumped as the picture of his mother cut to static. Grabbing the remote, he flicked through the channels. Nothing but electronic fizz. The light bulb began to whirr, growing louder before it popped, leaving the room in darkness.

  A pair of feet rushed past on the stairs. He put his hand to the doorknob, anxiety building in his stomach. What if everything was fine? After everything that had happened, Dad wouldn’t tolerate an unnecessary interruption.

  Another bang shook the house.

  He yanked open the door and popped his head into the corridor. Footsteps running through the living room made him look downstairs. The front door slammed.

  ‘James?’ he called to the attic. Still there was no reply. He started running, two steps at a time, stopping only to catch his breath as he reached the closed door. ‘James? Dad?’

  Silence.

  He pushed open the door. The computer on his father’s desk displayed four blinking words in large red letters.

  ALERT!

  Tartarus Protocol Corrupted

  Sparks flew from the cables that snaked between the computer and the tanks. Two of the tanks were empty, their overhead lights flickering onto the white plastic lining below. But it was what was in the other two that left him frozen and unable to breathe.

  Both tanks were filled to the top with the same thick blue liquid. And inside he could see them, part-lit under the flickering spotlight, their bodies warped through the curved glass. Their arms dangled to the front and their feet hung a foot above the tanks’ floor. Their eyes were closed.

  ‘Dad? James?’ His wide eyes darted from tank to tank, praying for any sign of life. ‘Wake up!’

  But as he ran to them, he already knew; they were dead.

  1

  Greywell

  Through the auto-tram windows, the plain streets of Greywell passed in a blur. Edward had barely slept, settling for just a glass of milk before leaving the house. His foster parents hadn’t seemed to notice. Why would they? he thought. Just like everyone else, they had no idea what day it was.

  The auto-tram reached the schoolyard and he walked with his head down all the way to the classroom. Several students sat in a huddle at the back of the class around the richest kid in school, Simon.

  ‘Hey, Edward.’ Freya, a pretty, blonde girl waved him ove
r. ‘Come take a look.’

  He really wasn’t in the mood. But in hesitating, he knew he’d lingered for too long, so he ambled over. Simon swiped his fingers back and forth on his VirtuaCorp DeskTop, a touch-screen computer that doubled as a notepad and a desk. Seconds later, a holographic projection appeared. Everyone gasped as they saw what it was: a VirtuaPort. Edward sighed. The damn things were everywhere.

  ‘Seriously?’ exclaimed Freya. ‘I didn’t realise they were even out yet.’

  ‘My father got me one, for my seventeenth,’ said Simon, lapping up the attention. ‘It’s already on its way.’

  Liar, thought Edward. ‘Freya’s right. I read yesterday the first ones won’t be available for public purchase for another month or two.’

  ‘Er… Not available for public use,’ Simon’s henchman, Josh, repeated in a robotic voice.

  Simon turned, a menacing look on his face. ‘Yeah, what do you know?’

  Edward gazed back, unintimidated, wondering only why he’d bothered coming over at all. ‘They’re not all that great, you know.’

  ‘Get lost, will you?’

  Already walking away, he heard Josh add, ‘Yeah, get out of here, Holloughby.’

  He glanced back, enough to see that Freya was watching him. Pitying him, he knew, and he wished he’d just ignored her in the first place.

  He slumped into his usual seat in the second row and swiped open his favourite magazine, Programmer’s Source, hoping it might distract him from his misery. The headline, VirtuaWorld Opens greeted him, and he swiped it closed, injustice seizing up his chest.

  How easy it had been for Vanderboom to take it all for himself. Do away with Dad. Create a new VirtuaWorld. Mass produce the ports and ready them for public release. And how dare Vanderboom choose today, of all days?

  ‘HoloDisplays away, please. Quickly.’ An unfamiliar man stood at the front of the room, dressed in a black shirt and suit, his black hair neatly tied in a ponytail. The man waited while the students scuffled back into their seats and the excitement of Simon’s VirtuaPort dissipated. ‘I’m afraid your physics teacher, Mrs Marven, is unavailable. My name is Mr Hound.’