by Liam Brown
Alice shrugs. ‘Xan made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Not to mention an opportunity to funnel my skills into something that’s actually worthwhile for a change. I want to make a difference, David. Not spend the rest of my life chasing narcissistic D-listers. No offence.’
I shake my head. ‘But what about everything you said? You’ve hated MindCast since day one. And you despise social media. You don’t even like computers for crying out loud. And what about your writing? Please don’t tell me you’re doing this just for the money?’
At this she does look up, her face twisted in a sharp scowl. ‘I really don’t think you’re in a position to judge my financial choices.’ She sighs, softening slightly. ‘Look, I’ve been treading water for almost a decade now. Doing something I hate just to keep from going under. Meanwhile, my own writing’s going nowhere. Even if I did have the energy to finish my novel, who would read it now? That world is dead and buried.’
I feel my eyes beginning to sting. ‘But what about our book?’ I ask in a small voice.
‘I quit,’ she shrugs. ‘Xan helped me pay the advance back in full. Hey, don’t look at me like that. I just couldn’t do it. Even with access to your every thought, I couldn’t make it work. I couldn’t pull it together. I’m sorry.’
‘But you said … you said you were almost finished?’
‘I know. And I was. In fact, the book will still probably come out. I let my publisher hang on to my drafts and research. They’ll probably just assign it to another writer. Maybe it’ll even be a real writer this time, not some washed-up hack like me.’ She smiles sadly. ‘Hey, look on the bright side. At least this way you’ve got an ending now.’
‘Oh great.’ I stare around my mirrored cage in exaggerated disbelief. ‘So this is how my story ends? With me as a prisoner? As a human experiment?’
‘No, dude,’ Xan cuts in. ‘As a hero.’
I scan his face for signs of snigger, a punch line. His eyes are shining though.
‘Are you fucking crazy?’
‘I’m totally serious. Like I said before, we’re doing important work here. I’m not just talking about therapeutic applications either, although as you’ve experienced first-hand, we’re clearly going to revolutionise mental health care overnight. No, I’m talking about bona fide, Nobel Prize, world-shuddering shit, Dave. Pick any challenge facing humanity, anything at all, and there’s an opportunity for this new technology to be part of the solution. Crime? Terrorism? We’ll know what people are planning even before they do. Overpopulation? No problem. We could keep people living in wardrobes and they wouldn’t care. They’ll think they’re in a palace. Starvation? We can transform a crust of bread into a three-course dinner. Water into wine. No one need ever be hungry again – or bored or lonely or isolated for that matter. We’re talking about creating a limitless universe inside each and every person’s head. A truly inclusive utopia for all. A virtual heaven, right here on Earth.’
‘Oh right,’ I sneer. ‘So you’re going to convince everyone on the planet to undergo brain surgery just so they can live in a virtual world? Good luck with that.’
‘Are you kidding? We’ve had literally millions of people sign up for the second season of MindCast. Seems everyone’s just dying to share their thoughts with the world. Everyone wants to be the next you, Dave.’
‘Second season?’
‘Why not? Only this time there won’t just be one star of the show. There’ll be hundreds. Thousands maybe. And after that, who knows? You were always just the pilot, bro. A showcase for what’s possible. Or rather, what was possible. You see the M900 chip is already looking as clunky and outdated as the first model of the OptimiZer band. Call it Moore’s law or whatever, but the breakthroughs are coming in days rather than years. Only this morning, Paul was telling me about his research into genetically modified brain parasites. Apparently he’s been working with this really nasty variety of amoeba. Usually they live in warm rivers and springs, where they occasionally make their way up people’s noses and proceed to eat their brains. Anyway, he seems to think that with only a tiny adaptation we’ll be able to reprogram them to deliver a nano-sized version of the chip. Imagine that. Instead of invasive surgery, MindCast becomes as simple and harmless as a flu vaccination. A quick spray up the nose and that’s it, boom, you’re plugged in for life. Once the costs come down, and they will, there’ll be nothing stopping us from implementing universal coverage within a generation. We could give it to children along with their MMR jab. The second a baby takes their first breath. Just think of the possibilities …’
I think back to the attack in my old apartment, something Edward Corvin said.
How long do you think it’ll be before MindCast goes mass market? Before it’s mandatory? Before we’re implanting chips at birth?’
I once again picture a baby’s head clamped in a surgical vice, a trail of wires snaking out from the back of its skull.
‘The sheep was right.’
‘Oh, please,’ Xan snorts. ‘That sheep was an Oxford-educated fraud rebelling against his rich daddy. He’s about as Marxist as Ronald McDonald.’
‘Sorry. I forgot you were such a philanthropist. So I suppose you won’t be taking advantage of that “universal coverage” to sell universal advertising space?’
For the first time since I’ve been here, Xan’s smile falters. ‘Really? I show you the greatest evolutionary tool since the Internet and you’re going to argue about how it’s funded? Sure, we might choose to align ourselves with a couple of likeminded commercial partners to ensure we remain financially viable. But this has never been about adverts.’
‘It’s about saving the world,’ Alice says, finishing his sentence. ‘And you can be part of this incredible opportunity, David. Don’t you see? This isn’t a product. It’s a movement. And you can be at the head of it. A global ambassador, spreading the word.’
Xan nods in agreement. ‘You either ride the crest of the wave, or you drown in it. So what do you say, buddy? Are you with us?’
I look from him to Alice, a pair of pulpit preachers, each of them ablaze with the same breathless righteousness. ‘Do I have a choice?’
Xan and Alice both turn to each other and laugh.
‘There he is,’ Xan says, the smile returned to his face. ‘There’s the guy we all fell in love with all those months ago. I knew you’d see sense, bro.’
He takes his phone out and stabs at the screen. Seconds later, the glass between us peels back.
Tentatively, still not quite believing I’m free, I begin to walk forward towards the doorway. As I draw closer, I can see that Xan and Alice are standing in a long glass hallway. With a jolt, I realise I must be back at MindCast’s headquarters. I wonder if the van took me straight here. If there even was a van. At what point did it all stop being real?
‘Man, we’ve got so much to talk about,’ Xan is saying. ‘But first, why don’t you grab a few hours of shut eye? You’ve had a heck of a few days. We’ve already got a room made up for you in one of the offices back here. You could probably do with a shower and a change of clothes too. No offence.’
It’s surprisingly dark in the hallway, and looking up I’m able to make out a dim sliver of moon through three or four floors of glass. It occurs to me I have no idea what time it is, let alone the day.
As I reach them, Alice rests a hand gently on my shoulder. ‘You know what, I’m pretty much wiped out myself. I might have a lie down with you. If that’s okay?’ she smiles, a look in her eye I’ve never seen before. I watch in surprise as she slowly runs her tongue across her bottom lip.
‘That’s a great idea Ali,’ Xan says. ‘Although you two love birds better get some sleep too. After all, we’ve got a big day tomorrow. We’re going to change the world.’
He turns to me, laughing, his hand reaching for my other shoulder. He squeezes it affectionately. ‘Seriously though, I’m glad to have you on board. You’ve totally made the right decision. You won’t regret it.’
&nb
sp; I nod.
‘Oh, I know I won’t.’
And with that, I shrug them both off me, take a step backwards, and punch Xan as hard as I can.
Alice screams, while Xan doubles in two, his face streaked with blood.
‘Wait,’ he splutters. ‘Come back.’
But I’ve already started to run.
The corridors are a maze. Within seconds I’m lost and out of breath, gasping for air as I sprint onwards into the darkness, desperately searching for a way out. It’s no good though. Every office I run through looks the same. Every set of stairs just like the one before. Not far behind me, I hear the slap of Italian leather on a glass floor, along with the occasional unintelligible shout.
Xan.
I keep running.
Up ahead I reach a set of double doors. I dive for the handle, but the door won’t budge. I search desperately for something to open it with, but find only the tongue scanner. After prodding uselessly at the buttons for a moment, I abandon the doors altogether, heading back down the corridor and up another flight of stairs. Suddenly there’s an explosion of sound, a deafening high-pitched wail that cuts through the air, forcing my hands to cover my ears. An alarm. Seconds later, the corridors are lit up by a dim red light that strobes on and off in time with the siren, transforming the staircase into a stuttering zoetrope. Xan sounds closer now, his footsteps joined by others. I hear the static crackle of security guards’ radios. The bark and snap of Dobermans’ jaws.
I keep running.
At the top of the stairs I find myself in another corridor. I barrel forwards, not stopping to check where I’m going. I can no longer see the moon above me. I can’t make out the sky at all, the security lights blinding me to everything but my next step forwards. I take another set of stairs, then another, but they are all heading in the wrong direction:
I am travelling higher and higher inside the building, further and further from the exit, from freedom. But still the alarm rings out. Still the red light strobes. Still the footsteps pound, the radios buzz, the dogs bark. I pass through more corridors, more offices, more stairs, my chest burning, my legs cramping. I feel like I’m going to vomit again, or pass out, or both. I do neither though, fear motivating me to keep running keep running keep running keep running …
At the end of a long corridor, I reach another set of double doors. I fumble for the handle, more in hope than anything else. To my surprise, this time the door swings back. Without hesitation I dive through. And then I freeze.
On the other side of the door, I find myself standing at yet another identical corridor. Glass ceiling, walls, floor. Though it is difficult to make much out with the red light flashing overhead, it looks like it leads on to another set of featureless offices, and beyond that another set of stairs. It is not the offices or the stairs that have brought me staggering to a stop, though. Rather, it is the open doorway that lies a little further up the corridor, something disturbingly familiar about the sterile white light that is spilling out of it. Though I don’t want to look, I find myself edging forwards. As I draw level with the doorway, I take a deep breath and poke my head inside.
Even though I already know what I’ll find, it’s still a shock to see the mirrored room again. My sleeping bag still rolled out in the corner. The camping stove still surrounded by empty wrappers. As impossible as it seems, I have come full circle. I have run all the way back to where I started.
It’s then that I hear it.
Underneath the other sounds, the alarm, the footsteps, the radios, the dogs, there is something else. Something low and metallic, like the crunch and grind of distant cogs and gears.
Backing away from the mirrored cage, I hurry down the corridor and into the nearest office. Sliding behind a standing desk, I push my face to the far wall, cupping my hands to my eyes. It’s difficult to make out anything at first. The office seems to be positioned deep within the orb, surrounded by a dozen or so other rooms. From where I’m standing it’s impossible to make out either the sky or the courtyard below. I keep staring out, even as the approaching footsteps grow louder, closer, until finally, I spot a flicker of movement high above me. Suddenly there’s another movement, closer this time. I watch with a mixture of horror and amazement as a staircase a few rows over begins to shift, dropping down a floor so that it leads to another doorway. Meanwhile, the office it had originally been connected to also begins to move, rotating until it joins onto another corridor, which in turn has latched onto a different set of stairs. The whole building is alive, I realise. Turning. Twisting. Reshuffling itself constantly, like a glass Rubik’s Cube. Tricking me. Trapping me.
I turn to leave, only to see that the doorway I entered through is no longer there.
With a jolt, I realise the office I’m standing in has changed position too, turning so slowly that I didn’t notice it moving. The security guards are so close now that I can make out odd words and phrases crackling from their radios, Xan’s voice echoing and distorted:
… Capture … Third floor … Alive …
I begin to panic, my hands sliding over the smooth surface where minutes earlier there had been a door. I scan the room, looking for another way out. There’s nothing though. I’m sealed in.
Dogs snarl.
Boots stomp.
Gears grind.
This is it, I think to myself. This is where it ends. In a soulless, minimalist workspace surrounded by orthopedically optimised chairs and neon coloured exercise balls. Then I have an idea. In the middle of the room is a low coffee table, a slab of glass mounted on a steel tripod. I take hold of it by one leg. With an immense effort, I drag it across the room, before hoisting it up into the air. I pause for a second. And then I launch it at the glass wall.
The table bounces straight back off, forcing me to dive out of the way. To my despair the glass remains intact. There’s not even a scratch. I lift the table, and again hurl it with all my might. This time it connects well. There is a satisfying crack as it strikes the glass, the pane instantly fracturing into tiny cubes, like a disintegrating iceberg. I swing my leg out, aiming a single kick at the pane, and the entire wall explodes into a million granular pieces, leaving nothing but an empty frame. Stepping over the carnage, I dash through to the next office, which is identical in layout to the one I’ve just left. Again, I heave the coffee table from the floor. This time the wall gives at the first attempt. I step through to the next office and repeat the procedure again and again. Even with the rooms pivoting and rearranging themselves around me, they can’t stop me. I fling myself onwards, bursting through each room in a blur of sweat and broken glass.
At last I reach an office that feels different. Even with the red light flashing above, I can see I have come to an edge. To the end. I press myself to the glass. Far below I am able to make out a dozen or so torchlights sweeping the darkness.
Security guards.
Behind me, the footsteps are so loud they almost drown out the alarm.
They’re almost here.
I step back from the window and scan the room. This time there is no coffee table. Searching around for something I can use instead, I manage to wrench loose a water cooler from its base, using the last of my fading strength to charge at the far wall. On the third strike, the glass shatters, sending a shower of crystal cubes dazzling through the night air, onto the courtyard below.
I stick my head through the empty frame, surprised at the height of the drop beneath me. I must be twenty floors up. Down in the courtyard, the torchlights have converged into a single point, all aiming up at me. I ignore them, leaning further out of the building. The air outside is noticeably cooler, though beads of sweat continue to drip from my hair and into my eyes. Wiping my face, I reach out a hand, trying to feel for something to grip on to. It’s no good though. The walls of the building are completely smooth.
The security guards are almost here now, the dogs and the boots and the radios just behind me. I can hear them just beyond the door. I only have minutes l
eft.
Seconds.
Peering up, I spot a thick steel cable high above my head. I stretch up onto tiptoes, but it’s too high to reach. I put one foot onto the frame of the window. And then I stop. I’m too late.
They’re here.
Very slowly, I turn around to face the door.
There is no army of security guards, though. No snarling dogs or crackling radios. It’s just Xan.
‘Come on, David,’ he says. ‘It’s time to go.’
I turn my back on him.
And then, without a word, I jump.
Though the orb is still flashing a furious red, I can no longer hear the alarm. I can’t hear anything. In fact, it is curiously silent up here. A light breeze is blowing, and my shirt flaps open, sending a chill through my bones. Worried that a strong gust will be enough to dislodge me, I tighten my grip around the cable, using my momentum to swing my legs up and coil myself around it, so that my head is hanging upside down. Down in the courtyard the torchlights have scattered apart, the guards below seeming to dash in skittering circles, like startled fireflies.
I look away. Beyond them, there is something else; a giant screen standing roughly opposite the entrance. Tilting my head, I am able to make out a familiar silver logo in the corner of the display. Above it, there is a picture of me dangling from the glass orb. The image zooms in to show my blanched knuckles, as one by one my fingers peel loose and then I plunge in slow motion, pirouetting silently through the darkness. I see my body, broken and bleeding on the cracked cobblestones, then stiff and pale, wedged awkwardly into a coffin. I see my mother’s face, her mascara running down her cheeks. I see my father’s disappointment. Nadeem’s indifference. I see the world disappear as I’m lowered into the ground and covered in a blanket of soil. I see myself on the cover of a thousand newspapers and magazines.
While all of this is playing out – my deepest fears, my darkest premonitions – the counter in the corner of the screen continues to rattle ever higher. More than a billion people are watching. In spite of everything, I can’t help but feel a swell of pride. They’re my highest ratings yet.
