'Christ, don't you think I have enough to worry about without this?' demanded Temple. 'We're taking orders from all over the world and yet our figures are down. How is that possible? The efficiency of our workforce is plunging. Inside the world's most efficient building. What the hell is going wrong? And now you tell me we have some kind o€ a spy in our midst. Well, you'll have to deal with it. Nothing can screw up this presentation.'
The small chipboard door opened in the basement wall and a troll-like man of around sixty looked out. Snowy bristles sprouted from his eyebrows, nose and ears. 'I haven't seen you before,' said Hegarty, the caretaker, in a high, strangled voice. 'What are you?'
'Who am I?' asked Ben.
'No,' said Hegarty laboriously, 'what are you? Are you a drone or an executive?'
'Oh. Well, I've only just started.'
'Unsullied, eh? You'd better come in, then. Name?'
'Ben Harper.'
'Oh, the troublemaker. I've read the e-mail on you. How did you find me?'
'Oddly enough,' said Ben, 'I thought of the Wizard of Oz. The man behind the curtain operating the levers. Why would this building need a caretaker?'
'Well of course it doesn't, but they couldn't think of another job title for me.' Hegarty's hut was as cluttered as an allotment shed. The caretaker boiled tea. 'All buildings will be like this soon,' he said. 'Self-regulating. Auto-balanced. Remote-logic. If you break wind it'll spray Atar of Roses over you. Sugar?'
'One please. You sound as if you don't approve.'
'You hear anybody say what a great place this is to work? I thought not. Know why? It's no good.'
Ben accepted a cracked, murky brown mug, eyeing it dubiously. 'There are bound to be teething problems.'
'Listen to me: It's no good. The wind changes, the building shifts, the compensation mechanism causes all kinds of leaks. For every action, a reaction. The bigger the action, the bigger the reaction. They haven't allowed for that. Old buildings are lived in, cherished. This one changes people. Causes breakdowns.'
'I'm not sure I understand.'
The caretaker sighed impatiently. 'A building is not just a box made out of bricks. It's organic. Shaped by the needs of the people within. This building responds. People cause disorder, no matter how well controlled they are. The Symax system is responding to human chaos with counterbalancing chaos. Action, reaction. People break down – what happens to buildings?'
'You think it's already started happening?'
'You tell me. People are jumping out of windows. Did you know there are live spots all over the building? Come over here.' He pointed to a narrow air-shaft, cocking his head to one side. Voices carried from somewhere far above. 'You can hear them quite clearly, yet there must be thirty floors between us. Odd, isn't it? There's a gap in the centre courtyard where tiny magnetic tornadoes form. Why? Buildings are like women. Each one has a special mystique.'
'Why did the architect kill himself?'
'Ah, you know about that. Well, fair enough. Carrington Rogers was my partner. This building wasn't really his, of course. Computers designed it for Symax. Optimised his sketches. Wasn't much left of the original plans. He knew it would go wrong, even warned them, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. By that time he'd taken the money, you see. There was no other way out for him. His suicide, my breakdown, the end of all our dreams. I came to work here so I could keep an eye on the place, keep the bosses' secrets safe for them.'
'Do you still have the plans?'
'Yes, but they're all classified. In case of industrial sabotage.' He reached into a battered grey steel filing cabinet and withdrew an amorphous mass of documentation. Maps that consisted of curving dotted lines. Scrawled notes. Clipped articles on the architect and his plans for Symax. He splayed the huge drafting papers across the table. 'I shouldn't be showing them to you, but – ' he smiled, his beady eyes glittering ' – into every ordered system prances the imp of chaos. What do you know about electromagnetic fields?'
Grinning, the old man set a metal company biro on the concrete floor and watched as it started to spin, faster and faster. Finally it shot across the room and embedded itself into the skirting board. At the same time Ben could feel his hair lifting and prickling. He remembered the insects lined in rows at his feet.
'No wonder my watch stopped.'
'It's a vortex, a turbulent area where opposing electromagnetic fields overlap. A modern office building is filled with electrical fields. Every machine you use provides its own forcefield. The only reason why they don't cause havoc is because they're shielded. They have to be. Electromagnetic forces affect brain patterns. In moments of stress they can cause someone's least stable traits to surface violently. Nobody knows the full effects of unshielded mag-force. Symptoms are everything from stress-related stuff like headaches, to terminal disease. Cancer patients have been suing cellular phone companies lately. It's now thought that overhead cables may cause leukaemia.'
'But if these machines are all shielded, how can they cause any harm?'
'I think something must have upset the system's balance.'
'Surely they'll have to evacuate the building until the problem's located?'
'That won't be enough,' said Hegarty. 'Look at this.' He dug out a dusty diskette and pushed it into an ancient terminal hidden behind tea towels. The screen quickly filled with typewritten newspaper files.
'People's Architect' to initiate designs for 'ultimate human environment.'
'Architect warns of hidden dangers in computer-assisted designs.'
'Unshielded electrical fields cause massive electro-turbulence, says top architect.'
'The board of directors know there's a problem, but they have no answers. All they can do is bury their heads in the sand and act like nothing's wrong. These systems are on the verge of being sold across the world. Rogers was concerned that the use of so much electronic equipment might have an effect on human occupants. When the computers "enhanced" his designs, he was worried that they would allow for human error, but not human nature. People are perverse. You try to streamline them and they develop odd behavioural quirks. The computers made improvements which were, by themselves, acceptable. Except that they completely changed the building's electro-radiation levels.'
'Surely someone checked for this sort of thing?'
'Computers checked. Their programs change the pressure, the temperature, the chemical composition of the air, calming when the atmosphere is charged, energising when things are too relaxed. But you can't program people. Every time the computer reacts, they react back and the whole thing escalates. The result is a potential madhouse. And the more electronic equipment that's turned on, the more devastating the effect.'
'But if the building's so dangerous,' asked Ben, 'why aren't we all affected?'
'We are,' replied Hegarty, tapping the side of his head. 'We don't all feel it yet.'
On Wednesday the weather worsened. The wet workforce shook out their umbrellas and entered the building ready for their toughest day. Ben wondered how much longer he could get away with not doing his work, but people were too preoccupied to notice. He sat and shuffled papers, trying to look busy.
'Clark's making everyone go through the night,' said Marie. Behind her, the wall lights glowed like waxing moons as the sensors adjusted to the displacement and warmth and movement of stressed-out humanity. The recycled air smelled musty and bitter. By mid-morning everyone was operating at the double. Phones rang, screens flashed, staff swept past in a frenzy of hyperactivity. The sense of collective unease was palpable.
He had been aware of the humming for some time now, a dull rumble that vibrated in his bones. The very air was shimmering. A maelstrom of electromagnetic activity, caused by every damned machine in the place operating at full capacity. Marie had gone missing. He'd only left his desk for a moment. He checked all the work stations calling her name, and missed her as she passed him heading toward the elevator banks.
Marie stepped into the lift and pressed a lower floor bu
tton just as Ben spotted her. The doors shut and the lift started off smoothly, but suddenly stopped. Inside, the lights began to flicker and fail. The lift walls snapped and sparkled with cobalt streaks of electromagnetic energy. Ben watched the overhead panel to see where Marie would alight. The panel indicator illuminated 34, but when he took the stairs there he found the doors shut. He held his breath and listened. Something weird was happening in the shaft.
He tried to force the doors open, but they wouldn't budge. The entire lift shaft was suddenly filled with electrical fire. There was a sharp crack as it shorted out, and the lift started moving again. Ben pulled Marie clear as the doors slammed open before him with a vicious, deafening bang.
'Where were you going?' he asked.
'I don't know.' Marie rubbed her eyes. 'I had some kind of panic attack.'
Through the open swing doors they caught sight of Clark, whose efforts to concentrate and compose himself were undermined by his left eye, which twitched uncontrollably. 'Harper,' he called, 'my office, right now.'
'Go and get your coat,' said Ben. 'Wait for me in reception. We're getting out.'
Clark ushered Ben into his office and closed the door. 'My staff are falling apart,' he complained. 'Half of them have barricaded themselves in the toilets. The rest have gone mad. It's all coming true, everything Carrington and Hegarty warned the board about.' Then, as if suddenly jabbed with a pin, he started shouting. 'Stress doesn't touch you, though, does it? Because you're not corporate material. You don't fit the profile. You lied to get the job! A teacher, fired for breeding insurrection!' He reached for the nearest telephone and punched out a number. 'Why did you come here?'
'I wanted something with potential.'
'But you've just destroyed your chances. Why would you do that?'
Ben thought for a moment. 'Human nature.'
A huge security guard filled the doorway. 'Escort this man off the premises.'
Ben was pulled from the room. Wary of the tasor strapped to the guard, he went quietly. As they reached the lift he broke into a run, the guard following close on his heels. Suddenly they were confronted by a demented-looking Swan, who forced his way between Ben and the guard. 'Been up to see the boss, have we? Reporting back on the workers? Everything was all right 'til you got here.'
'I've no quarrel with you.'
'So innocent. How do you know what it's like to keep having your quotas raised, to still be working long after your children are in bed?' He furiously poked Ben in the chest. Ben pushed him on to the guard, who immediately grabbed Swan by the tie. As this happened, Ben pulled the tasor from the guard's pocket and fired it, dropping him to his knees like a felled bull.
Swan's eyes widened in surprise. He smoothed his tie into place. 'That's more like it,' he said. 'A little respect for a decent Christian. All hail the Lord.'
The guard's jacket was smoking. 'Christ,' said Ben, dropping the tasor.
Swan turned on him. 'Blasphemer!'
This is not going to look good on my CV thought Ben as he kneed Swan in the testicles and pushed him down the stairs.
The 35th floor was devoid of life. Somewhere in the distance were screams, moaning, the sound of breaking glass. The monitors droned on in the reception area, but the tape of sunsets and dolphins was slurred and distorted. The receptionist was sitting on the floor with her legs straight out, nursing her head like a character from a Laurel and Hardy film. Marie ran to her work station and collected her coat. She tried to telephone the police, but watched on her display unit as the call was diverted to a dead line. She punched out a 9, then 100. 'Hello, operator, I'm trying to get connected to the police. Why can't you? I know we're not under police jurisdiction, that's because the company has its own security services, but surely a 999 call is still – well, yes, it is an emergency.'
She cradled the receiver under her ear, looking around.
Lucy had set fire to a wastepaper bin and was standing on a chair holding it near the ceiling, trying to set off the sprinkler system. One of the other typists was seated at her keyboard printing out hundreds of pages of Z's. Carmichael had over a dozen biros protruding from his back, and lay sprawled on the floor beneath his desk. Everyone else had fled to darker corners.
Clark wandered about his office clutching his face. The muffled cries and scuffles emanating from the floor outside made him look up in a state of dementia.
'You killed him, didn't you?' said Marie as he hoved into her eyeline.
'Felix's report suggested delaying everything while we investigated the problem,' Clark moaned. 'The shares would have plummeted. I didn't mean to kill him. But I – get – these – headaches.'
Marie slowly replaced the receiver. 'What did you do with his body?'
'Put him in a cool place, somewhere off limits,' he replied dully. 'The sensor room.'
'My god, that's supposed to be a sterile area. You left a corpse in there with the building's sensor units?'
'I wasn't thinking too clearly. I'm better now.' The heavy executive suddenly lunged at her, and they fell back on to her desk as Marie desperately cast about for something to hit him with. Grabbing wildly behind her, she smashed a 'You Don't Have To Be Mad To Work Here But It Helps' breakfast mug over his head, which briefly dazed him.
Clark scrambled after Marie as she fought to get away. She rammed her chair at him, and while he was tipped back against the desk rubbing his head she pulled the plastic bottle from the water cooler beside her and flung it at him. From the way he suddenly grew rigid and began grinding his teeth she could only assume that her keyboard, too, was now electrified, and that he was sitting on it in wet trousers.
Marie and Ben stumbled into the building's deserted atrium and made for the main doors. They had been forced to use the stairs down, as people were making love in the lifts. Fights had broken out on every floor. 'I'm sorry I took so long to find you,' wheezed Ben, 'but a gang of bookkeepers ambushed me in Accounts.'
'The system won't let us out,' said Marie. 'These things are locked.'
'What do you mean, locked?' he said stupidly, staring at the steel deadbolts that had slid across the inch-thick tinted glass. He hurled himself against the door but it did not even vibrate under his weight.
'We'll never get out now.'
'What are you talking about? The police, fire, ambulance, emergency teams, they'll all turn up here any minute.'
'No, they won't,' shouted the elderly caretaker. Hegarty was hobbling toward them using a desk-leg as a stick. There was a thick smear of blood on one side of his head. 'The phone lines are all diverted. The entrances and exits are all sealed. The building will deal with the crisis without enlisting outside help. That's what it's designed to do.'
'So what happens now?'
'In an emergency situation – a Code Purple – the system can attempt to restore balance in the building by starting all over again.'
'And how will it do that?' asked Ben, dreading the answer.
'By sucking out all of the air, purifying the structure with scalding antiseptic spray, flash-freezing it and then slowly restoring the normal temperature. The process won't harm office hardware. Of course, it's never been used on humans.'
Ben looked up at the flashing purple square on the atrium wall and listened as the warning sirens began to whine. 'I guess now would be a bad time to ask for a salary increase,' he said as the great ceiling ventilators slowly opened.
ARMIES OF THE HEART
Looking down at the child, he realised he had surprised himself with his own strength. The boy lay face down in the litter-strewn grass, his hands twisted behind his back with the palms up, as if he had fallen to earth while sky-diving. His jeans were torn down around his thin ankles, his pants and buttocks stained carmine. His baseball cap had been caught by the thorns of the gorse bush that hid them both from the road.
His attacker rose and wiped the sweat from his face. It was getting dark. He would soon be missed at home. He had not meant to be so rough. At his feet the boy lay mot
ionless, the focus of his eyes lost in a far-off place. Thin strands of blood leaked from his oval mouth to the ground like hungry roots. An arc of purple bites scarred the pale flesh below his shoulder blades where the cheap cotton T-shirt he wore had been wrenched up. His life had been extinguished four days before his eleventh birthday.
There was nothing to be done for the lad. Readjusting the belt of his trousers and shaking out the pain from his bitten hand, the man stepped away from the cooling body, walking back toward the path that bisected the waste ground. His main concern now was relocating the Volvo and getting home to his wife and children before they started to ask where he had been.
***
'You won't.'
'I will.'
'You won't.'
'I will.'
'You bloody won't.'
'I bloody will.'
'Wait, I forgot what you two are arguing about.'
'She says she'll get in, and I say she won't.'
'Well, we'll just have to see, won't we?'
The venue was five hundred yards ahead of them, a large Victorian pub standing by itself at the junction of two roads. It appeared derelict; the windows were covered with sheets of steel and wood, painted matt black. No lights showed. The tenebrous building reared against the stars like a great abandoned ship. On either side of it apartment blocks curved endlessly off into darkness.
'We should get off the street, man,' said Bax. 'This is not a good area to be seen in.' There were three of them, Bax, Jack and Woody, whose real name was Claire Woodson. There was no-one else around.
'It's okay for you,' Woody complained. 'We're white. We stick out like neon bulbs.'
'Fuck you, Woody. You wanna know something? There's as many white people living here as black. You're just scared of being around poor folks. You wanna hang out with your low-life friends so you can piss off your mummy and daddy. They ain't gonna let you inside, anyway.'
'If they don't,' said Jack, 'Bax and I are still gonna go in, okay? That was the deal.'
Personal Demons Page 14
