by Gemma Malley
3
‘Hi, how are you today?’
Raffy stared at the screen uncertainly. It had taken him a week to adjust to this place, to accept that he was really here, that he wasn’t going to wake up from this hideous nightmare, back in the Settlement, or Linus’s cave, or even the City … But now he was ready to get on with stuff. And first he had to figure out how to use the computer.
He remembered Linus telling him about a computer he’d ‘met’ at the Informers’ camp on the UK coast, before they’d known that the rest of the world was thriving, before they realised that they had all been pawns in Thomas’s little game. The computer, Linus had told him, his brow furrowing, made no sense. It had told him it was made a few years before, that it had been made in the US. And Linus had searched for other explanations, a satellite civilisation that had somehow continued to develop technology secretly. Had he suspected the truth back then, Raffy thought now as he wondered whether he was expected to reply. Did he wish he had?
‘Can I help you with something?’ the computer asked in silky, flirtatious tones that made Raffy self-conscious until he reminded himself that it wasn’t a real woman, that Thomas had probably programmed the voice himself. ‘Would you like to ask me any questions?’
Raffy pulled a face. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Actually, yeah. How do I get out of this place?’
‘Getting out of this apartment is impossible without the key and codes to the seven doors between your cubicle and the outside,’ the computer said silkily.
Raffy took a deep breath. ‘Do you have a face? It feels weird talking to a blank screen.’
‘I can have a face if you would like me to. Do you have a preference?’
‘A preference?’
‘Young, old, male, female, attractive, unthreatening, blonde, brunette?’
‘You’d look weird if you had a man’s face and a woman’s voice,’ Raffy said.
‘You can change my voice too, if you’d like.’
Raffy considered this, then shook his head. ‘No, I like it,’ he said. ‘Tell me what’s happened to Benjamin then.’
‘Your friend Benjamin went to autopsy under Regulation 5:6:p and his remains were incinerated yesterday morning. His ashes are in locker room 6b.’
Raffy felt tears pricking at his eyes and forced them away. ‘Just like that,’ he said. ‘Like he never even came here. Like he never existed.’
‘Is that a question?’ the computer asked. ‘I am in start-up mode at the moment. If you would like me to switch into conversation mode, please just let me know.’
‘No, you’re okay,’ Raffy said heavily. He wasn’t ready to discuss the point or pointlessness of life with a computer. Particularly not one that was built by Infotec.
‘So you work for Infotec,’ he said, suddenly suspicious. ‘Is Thomas listening to all of this?’
‘I was made by Infotec; I am a computer; I work for the person using me,’ the computer said. ‘But there is a record function, which is operating at the moment, feeding through to a computer being used by Milo Gant. The cameras in this room are also being monitored by Mr Gant. Does that answer your question satisfactorily?’
‘He hears what I say or he sees a typescript?’
‘The feed records a typescript; the camera records your voice.’
Raffy digested this. ‘I can’t get away with much then,’ he said eventually.
‘Would you like to configure me instead?’ the computer offered, helpfully. ‘You can give me a name, choose a background colour or image, font type, search program, navigation bar, multiscreen hologram, and build your Watch List.’
‘Watch List?’ Raffy frowned.
‘Who you’d like to Watch,’ the computer explained. ‘I suggest you start with the top ten and go from there, if you’re new to the Watching system.’
Raffy nodded slowly. ‘I thought I wasn’t connected to the mainframe,’ he said.
‘You have viewer rights. You cannot send messages, or be Watched yourself,’ the computer said. ‘At least that’s not strictly true. You can send messages. Try to, anyway. But I am duty bound to send any outward communication to the Infotec Hub to be … considered.’
‘You mean censored?’ Raffy asked.
There was a pause. ‘Best stick to watching,’ the computer said eventually. ‘So, would you like to start by giving me a name?’
‘A name?’ Raffy let his head fall back against his chair.
‘I can suggest some if you’d like. Give me a starting letter and I can give you a list of names to choose from. Maybe you could choose one from a favourite book?’
‘A book?’ Raffy asked, sitting up suddenly. Back in the Settlement it had always been Evie who was into books. She’d loved them, had joined a literature class with a guy called Neil. A guy who Raffy had punched because he had something Raffy didn’t, because Evie listened to him rapturously, because Raffy was a stupid, jealous imbecile. And Neil hadn’t even punched him back. He’d forgiven Raffy the next day, had offered to teach him, too. And Raffy had been so mortified he’d taken him up on his offer, had chosen a book from the Settlement library at random, promising to read it. And he had, some of it anyway; it was an old book written in a strange language, a weird book, full of stories of war and loyalty and deception. Benjamin had laughed when he’d seen him reading it, had told him he hoped he took the good from it and not the bad. The truth was, Raffy hadn’t taken much from it really; it had confused him more than anything. But there was one story that he’d really liked, a story that he still thought about sometimes. ‘No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll call you Cassandra.’
‘Cassandra?’ the computer asked. ‘The doomed soothsayer?’
‘No one listened to her,’ Raffy said lightly. ‘Maybe they’ll ignore you, too. How do you know that story, anyway? I thought you were in start-up mode. Does that include knowing about the Odyssey?’
‘I know everything,’ Cassandra said simply, no arrogance in her voice, no self-congratulation.
‘Everything? Are you sure?’ Raffy asked.
‘I have never been found wanting so far,’ Cassandra replied.
Raffy considered this. ‘Okay then,’ he said. ‘In that case, Cassandra, let’s get to work, shall we? I want you to show me the world. Everything you can. I want you to fill me in on what’s happened in the past twenty-five years. I want all the facts. And then I want you to tell me how you work, all about the technology platform you’re built on. Got it?’
A woman’s image appeared: young, blonde, beautiful. ‘Got it,’ Cassandra said, winking.
Raffy held her eye for a few seconds, then shook his head. He needed to focus, not to be distracted. ‘Twenty years older, please,’ he said, his voice deadpan.
‘Really? You’re sure?’ Cassandra sounded plaintive, disappointed; it made him think of Evie, think of every time he’d disappointed her.
He cleared his throat. ‘Definitely,’ he said quickly. ‘Actually, on second thoughts, make it thirty.’
The apartment was big. Too big. Particularly with just the three of them rattling around in it. Raffy felt Benjamin’s shadow everywhere and he longed for his mentor to still be alive, to walk over to him, those serious eyes looking right into his as he proffered advice that was always so welcome, so exactly right. Benjamin had been a good man, but he also knew what it was like to not be good; to feel anger, resentment, jealousy and envy. He knew what it was like to inhabit dark places, to allow the demons within to have free reign. He got it; Raffy could see it in his eyes. Had seen it in his eyes.
He missed him. Missed him more than he would admit to himself. Missed his very existence, not just his presence. If the world could forgive Benjamin, if Benjamin could be reborn as such a wise, just man, then perhaps Raffy could, too. Perhaps there was hope after all.
But for the time being, there wasn’t much of anything. Linus may as well have been living somewhere else for all Raffy saw of him. He shut himself away in his little cubicle from morning until nigh
t, only emerging for comfort breaks and, occasionally, to eat. When he did emerge, he was monosyllabic, gruff; the only sentences he managed were platitudes that meant nothing. Bide your time. Be patient. Let’s play the long game.
The problem was, it wasn’t a game, not anymore, and Linus didn’t see that. He was so used to being several steps ahead of everyone that he couldn’t deal with the fact he was now miles behind. Thomas had won the game; now it was real life. Now, if he didn’t build Thomas the System he wanted, Evie was in danger. Raffy would put up with many things, but he wouldn’t jeopardise one hair on Evie’s head, and he kept trying to make that point to Linus. But he hadn’t got through. At least he was pretty sure he hadn’t.
He sat down heavily at the table where food was laid out, just as it was for every meal. Fish tonight, with roasted vegetables and couscous. Cassandra had told him what it was all called, told him how it was made. She hadn’t been allowed to tell him exactly where they were in this place called Paris, or what else was in this building, but as soon as he asked her questions she was able to answer, she got super excited, rattling off a million facts about aubergines, about modern farming, about nutritional values and health measurement. She’d also told him the history of Paris, about how it had been a cultural centre before collapsing in the early twenty-first century, and how Infotec had rescued it, moving their head offices there when London had been destroyed, rejuvenating this great City and turning it into the capital of Europe. In many ways, capital of the world, now that there were no language barriers.
‘That’s what Infotec has programmed you to say, right?’ Raffy had asked, his left eyebrow raised pointedly.
‘That is fact.’ Cassandra had pouted. ‘It’s in the history books. On Infopedia. I don’t know why you’re so suspicious of everything. There’s no need for suspicion anymore because everything is out in the open. There are no secrets, no closed doors.’
‘The door to this apartment is pretty closed,’ Raffy had retorted, after which Cassandra had gone silent for a bit.
It had taken Raffy a while to get used to talking to a computer. But now, as he sat at the table, eating on his own, just like he always did, he was almost tempted to open up a hologram and have her sit on the table to keep him company. Evie had worked out some kind of rota so that she ate whilst he was working, then disappeared into her room when he ate, so the only time he ever saw her was through the glass door of his cubicle. He would watch her lying on the sofa, looking at the various screens, her nose wrinkled in irritation, or pacing around the apartment, gazing mournfully towards the opaque windows. And every time he saw her he longed to rush out, to tell her how much he hated himself, how sorry he was, how determined he was to make things right. But he didn’t; he knew the look of scorn that he would be greeted with, knew that she would regard him coldly before walking away. And she’d be right to. What use were words? If he was sorry, he had to prove it. If he wanted to redeem himself, then he’d have to find a way.
Which would also mean finding a way out of this prison.
He looked over at Linus’s cubicle, contemplated trying to talk to him, find out if he was plotting anything, if he knew anything Raffy didn’t know. But he knew there was no point. Linus knew nothing. There was nothing to know. They simply had a choice: deliver the System or die. Probably painfully. Almost certainly after watching Evie being tortured. And now that Benjamin was gone, that threat was even more pressing.
Of course, to Linus there was no choice; he would choose the latter every time. And he’d be right to. The System would destroy lives, just as it had done in the City. The System was evil; it could not be recreated.
Raffy knew all this. He knew that Evie would hate him if he even tried, that if she was going to love him again he had to show her that he had changed, that he could be noble and self-sacrificing and team-spirited.
But he also knew that he’d do anything to keep her safe. Even build Thomas his System.
Heavily, he picked up his fork and started to eat.
4
‘So you like Frankie, do you?’ The door opened suddenly and Raffy swung round to see Milo striding towards him, his glossy hair pushed to the side, his eyes and teeth shining as they always did, his dark suit and white shirt hanging beautifully off his broad shoulders.
‘I was just …’ Raffy started to say, awkward suddenly. It had been Cassandra’s idea for him to watch Frankie; his computer had insisted that through Frankie he would learn all he needed to about the world. And since the alternative was desperately watching Evie every time he was able to glimpse her through his glass door, he’d reluctantly agreed. And actually Frankie was almost diverting in her own way. But she was Milo’s girlfriend and it felt a bit weird being caught in the act. Luckily Milo didn’t seem to be too upset; in fact, he grinned.
‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘Everyone watches her. That’s the point of her. To be watched. I’d be insulted if you didn’t. But she’s quite something, isn’t she?’
Raffy shrugged. ‘I guess,’ he said noncommittally, not wanting to flatter Milo by saying anything nice about her, but not wanting either to tell him that Frankie was, to him, just something to distract him from his desperate need for Evie, his self-loathing, his devastating regrets. Fortunately Milo didn’t care.
‘Quite something,’ he breathed, staring at her for a few seconds. ‘And all mine.’ He folded his arms and stood, his legs shoulder-width apart, as he stared at the screen proprietorially. Then he turned back to Raffy. ‘Of course, she’d be nothing without me,’ he winked. ‘But no one needs to know that. It would ruin the magic, don’t you think?’
Raffy didn’t know what to say, so he just shrugged again.
Milo’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘So,’ he said. ‘You’ve had a while to acclimatise. Ready to do some work now?’
Raffy nodded. ‘I guess,’ he said. ‘I mean, I don’t really have a choice, right?’
Milo considered this. ‘Everyone has a choice,’ he said. ‘But you have chosen to work for us. And now that you’ve made that choice, it’s incumbent on you, for your own health, sanity and satisfaction, to do a good job. That turns this into a win-win. Makes us all happy. And happiness is no bad thing, Raffy. You should try it some time.’
He was smiling again and Raffy wondered how much Milo believed his own words.
‘I wouldn’t know much about happiness,’ he said carefully. ‘You know, having been born into the City, into a country that doesn’t exist apparently.’
Milo scratched his chin. ‘What’s happened is in the past, Raffy. We can’t change it so we would be foolish to dwell on it. It’s done. It’s old news. What’s ahead, though … That’s up to us. How we approach it, that’s up to us too. We can choose how we look at the world: through a screen of resentment, or through a screen of optimism. It’s time to draw a line in the sand, Raffy. This world, the real world, you’re in it now. It could all be open to you. You’re young; you’ve got everything to play for. Do your job, do what we are asking of you, and you can be part of this world. You and Evie can make a life for yourselves.’
‘Me and Evie?’ Raffy raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think so. Not anymore.’ He managed to keep his voice light, even though inside it was like someone was stabbing him over and over again.
‘Okay, so then you and someone else. Someone who appreciates you. Someone who wants you to be happy. Look around. Plenty of pretty girls you can watch. In your own time, of course. When you’ve done your work.’
Raffy forced a little smile. ‘Of course.’
‘So,’ Milo said, looking pleased with himself. ‘You have just been sent Linus’s first batch of code. You will review it, improve it where you think it can be improved, and you will search it for bugs, for errors and any other problems. Two heads are always better than one, aren’t they. And whilst you’re not the genius that Linus is, you have more to lose from things going badly, more reason to check that Linus is really … focused on the task. Do you understand?’
>
‘Sure,’ Raffy said.
‘Good.’ Milo reached his hand out and put it on Raffy’s shoulder. ‘It’s good to have someone with your energy as part of the team, Raffy,’ he said. ‘You’ve got promise. You could really have a future here. Remember that. See this job as an audition. See it as a gateway to a real future. I was like you once. And look at me now.’
‘You were like me?’ Raffy asked uncertainly. ‘You mean your father was murdered by a corrupt regime, you hated your brother for pretending to be someone else, not knowing he was doing it to protect you? You mean that you betrayed the people you loved and then got kidnapped by the very person who was responsible for all your pain?’
Milo looked at him quizzically. ‘What?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ Raffy said. ‘Just making conversation.’
Milo cleared his throat. ‘Okay then. So, head down. Work hard. Yes?’
Raffy nodded slowly. ‘Absolutely.’
‘I know you will,’ Milo said, squeezing Raffy’s shoulder. ‘Good man, Raffy. And we’ll need the code back the day after tomorrow, when the new batch should be arriving. See you then!’
He turned and left as abruptly as he’d arrived, his smart, shiny shoes clipping across the apartment; he didn’t acknowledge Evie, who was pacing around the sofa as he left. But he did turn, and smiled when he saw that Raffy was watching him, gave a little wave, then opened the door with a flourish of his wrist, and disappeared.
Raffy stared at the closed door for a few minutes, then let his eyes move back towards the sofa where Evie was now sitting, her eyes glazed. Her face was expressionless, but Raffy could read it, just as he had always been able to read it when they’d glimpsed each other in the City, or, rather, when he had glimpsed her. He’d made a point of glimpsing her whenever he’d had a chance – in the street, at work, at the weekly Gathering. He used to dream of having her with him all the time; even a few months ago he’d probably have jumped at the chance of being locked in a prison like this if she was with him, away from everyone else, his and his alone. Only now that he had what he thought he’d wanted, he realised that he had nothing. Because she no longer loved him. Because he had hurt her; because his jealousy had pushed her away not brought her closer; because he had let her down. Just as he’d always known he would. Just as he’d always been so afraid of doing. And now, as he looked at her, he could see her desperation, could feel the hollow building inside of her and it made him ache. Because he could no longer fill it. Because he could no longer give her what she wanted, could no longer bring her the happiness or joy she so deserved.
