by Jem Tugwell
He put his hand on the top of the door and pushed the self-driving car. It rocked alarmingly. ‘These are too high. The weight’s in all the wrong places.’ He pushed on the door, and the plastic flexed easily. ‘Built as cheaply as possible. They have no strength and no crash protection.’
He walked back to Zoe and took her by the elbow. ‘This is made of expensive and immensely strong composite materials. It’s built to go 250mph, so at the speeds we travel at, it’s not stressed at all.’ He threw a dismissive nod back at our car, ‘That’s always at the limit of its engineering… dangerous piece of crap.’
‘They don’t crash, and your car puts everyone at risk for your selfish pleasure. And it runs on petrol – it’s dangerous.’
‘Zoe, please trust me.’
With obvious reluctance, Zoe got in. I settled into the sumptuous interior in the front passenger seat. It was almost sensual, and I couldn’t resist running my hand over the shiny carbon fibre and soft cream leather. The detailing, with intricate red stitching, was perfect.
Esteban got in and smiled at Zoe. ‘OK?’
She shook her head and said, ‘Still no signal.’
He pressed a big red button on the steering wheel, and the engine shouted into life, then settled into a crackly burble. ‘You’re going to drive?’ Zoe sounded terrified.
‘Too right,’ Esteban smoothed the sides of his short moustache and pulled his hand down to flick the end of his goatee. ‘All seat belts on?’ We started moving, and Esteban floored the throttle, pushing me back hard into my seat. The rear of the car wiggled as the tyres struggled to find grip, stones kicking up, thumping into our car.
The digital readout on the car’s dash blurred as the speedo tried to keep up with the car. In only a couple of seconds we were doing 90mph. More than twice the speed limit. ‘Esteban…’ I tried.
‘Not now. I need to concentrate.’
He looked at one with the car, calm and serene as it went around a sweeping bend at 120mph like it was on rails. On the straight, Esteban continued, ‘It’s why we have self-drive cars now. People were too lazy to drive properly. You must concentrate and be aware to drive, but everyone wants to be somewhere else, talking to someone else.’
I was expecting my iMe to flash all sorts of warnings onto my HUD: excess speed warning, extreme danger, excess G-force warning, but it stayed with ‘No Signal’. The risk levels would probably use five years’ worth of FU’s in this one trip. I was pinned to my seat as we went around another corner.
I glanced at Zoe to check she wasn’t too scared. The worry in her eyes conflicted with the huge smile of excitement she wore. She was gripping the seat hard. I could see that her fear was still there, but she was enjoying it.
When I looked back at the road, I could see a flock of cars travelling in our direction. All bunched at the minimum safe-braking distance as if they were lonely on their own. The cars coming the other way were much bigger now, so I expected Esteban to slow down, but he moved the Ferrari into the middle of the road.
‘I love this bit,’ he said.
I braced against the seat as we approached the cars, but they all braked, swerved and pulled off the road, like the parting of the waves. The Ferrari drove through the gap unhindered, the sound of the engine bouncing back at us off the cars as we flashed through.
‘What happened?’ I asked when we were past the cars and back on an empty road.
‘They all have collision avoidance software. If you drive straight at them, they all chicken out and move over.’
‘What about speed cameras?’
He winked at me. ‘They don’t work anymore.’
Same as the CCTV we needed, I thought.
‘What about getting reported?’
‘We don’t have a signal.’
‘But the people?’
‘We’re gone before they look up from their HUDs.’
As we approached a small village, Esteban braked, and the speed bled away from the car faster than I could imagine. We crawled through the village at 15mph, slower than a self-drive car would have gone.
‘I thought you’d charge through here.’
‘No, man. Out on that road, in this car, 120mph is safe. There’s good grip and visibility. I know the roads.’ He slowed some more to give a woman with a child and dog some extra room. The child beamed and pointed but his mum covered his ears to protect him from the noise. ‘I know what all the press say, but speed on its own isn’t dangerous. It was simpler for the politicians to drop the speed limit than get people to drive properly. Easier to get the car to drive slowly, even if they do have bugs.’
I was reflecting on his logic when he stopped and gave each of us a black hood. ‘Put these on, the location of my home is private,’ he said. I ignored a flash of unease and put the hood on. I was pushed hard into my seat again and enjoyed the thrill.
***
‘Take the hoods off now,’ Esteban said.
I blinked at the sudden daylight. We had stopped outside Esteban’s home. A unique piece of architecture, all angles and splashes of colour mixed with glass. It was nothing like the boring uniformity of my flat. A long drive, set out like a French tree-lined boulevard, led away from the house.
‘So, despite all the warnings from the government, you’re both still alive,’ Esteban said.
More alive than I’ve felt in a long time, I thought. Life outside the Model Citizen was intoxicating. It took me back.
Zoe still wore her smile – maybe she agreed with me for once, but her hand still tried to use her HUD. ‘I can’t get anything to work.’
Inside the house, Esteban removed his collar and rolled his neck.
‘Beer?’
‘I can’t. I have an Excess Consumption Order.’
Esteban shook his head sadly. ‘Fuck that shit,’ he said. ‘Your iMe won’t work inside the house. It’ll never know, and the alcohol will be out of your system by the time you’re back on-grid.’
My HUD still had a blank screen with an ‘Unknown Error’ message, but I wasn’t sure.
‘Don’t do it, Boss. When I had no signal on a girl’s trip to Spain, my iMe still logged everything and synced when we got back,’ Zoe said.
‘That’s not the same. Abroad you’re in roaming mode. You’re out of range, but the system still works. Here, it’s like your iMe is broken.’ Esteban took our collars off, and I enjoyed the cool on my neck after the heat and weight.
He handed me a beer, and I took the frosted glass that must have been straight from the freezer. I twirled it, catching the sun in the golden liquid, savouring the moment. My first beer in two months was gloriously cold and refreshing. I took a second sip and wiped the froth from my mouth. Sign me up for off-grid living.
***
Esteban lived as a self-styled nemesis of the Model Citizen. His appliances were all older models, too old to be connected to iMe. Too old to tell tales on him. His technology was there to help him, not control him. An antique iPhone charged on the side table, with its cable disappearing from sight. His bar was stocked with different whiskies. He had leather chairs, red meat and cheese in a fridge with a handle, and red wine breathing in a decanter. Zoe looked appalled.
He lounged on a big corner sofa, legs up, both arms stretched along the back. Zoe and I took the armchairs facing him. He could look past us and through the huge windows to the uninterrupted view of trees and fields. ‘So, just because I have no signal, you think I killed Karina,’ he said.
‘Well, you’re the only person unaccounted for at the time.’
‘I know that’s not true.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ask Art,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I was at a quiet dinner with a few friends.’
‘Give me some details and names so we can check,’ I said.
He started, but Zoe wanted to make notes and looked lost without her iMe. Esteban gave her a pen and paper. She stared at them before opening the pad. She scratched awkward shapes, struggling with the unfamiliar
action.
‘Tell me about the neck collars we wore.’
‘I designed the first Suppressor in the beginning. As a test case for the system.’
‘What did it do?’
‘You’ve seen already.’
‘May I?’ I gestured at his collar and picked it up when Esteban nodded his approval. It was lighter than the one I had worn, made of some composite material.
‘I’ve made improvements over the years. The first one was a clunky old thing. Yours are the third generation.’
‘So iMe knows you have them?’ Zoe asked.
‘Of course they know.’ Esteban leaned forward, more animated. ‘Every time I use it, alerts go off. Same as you – they know you’re off-grid now.’
‘But they said it’s impossible,’ she continued.
‘They have to say that.’
‘But they should’ve told us.’ I felt aggrieved. They were obstructing the investigation.
‘They can’t. Their power is based on iMe’s infallibility.’
‘Are there other Suppressors?’ If there are, we’ve got a real problem.
Esteban shrugged. ‘I don’t know… I made mine when I was at iMe, and it was extremely hard, even with inside knowledge of the technology.’ He looked past us again at the view. ‘I only have these few.’
Something in the way he said it made me doubt him. If he can make these, he could make more. ‘You could be making them and selling them to whoever wants to hide.’
‘I could…’ He had a distant look in his eye. ‘There would be plenty of buyers.’
22
DI Clive Lussac
As Esteban had promised, the alcohol had been out of my system before I was back on-grid, but I’d slept badly.
I acknowledged the insistent Buddy on my HUD who kept giving an exaggerated yawn and then pretending to fall asleep on his banner that said: ‘You have had insufficient sleep for optimal health and performance’.
‘I’d sleep if I could,’ I shouted, but the churning guilt over Karina and thoughts of living without being monitored the whole time consumed me.
It was good that the NHS was working well now. People were living longer. But were they living better? Was I? My marriage was over, I was living in a tiny flat on my own. I didn’t want my life always to be in perfect focus. I wanted to forget how I had got myself into this mess. I needed a drink and comfort food when I got home.
I had tried a Purge club once, but what was the point in consuming, just to vomit it back up? I had to keep it down to get the alcohol charge in my bloodstream, the buzz from the caffeine and sugar. Purging didn’t give you those – just a terrible after-taste and a sore throat.
It would be light outside now, so I told the house to go into heat recovery mode. The windows cleared the blackout image and let in the promise of a warm day. I shivered from the lack of sleep and enjoyed the windows magnifying the sun’s weak, early morning heat as I stood in front of them.
My dismal flat was so small that it only took a few big paces to get around it. I could easily have kept the flat neat all the time, but I couldn’t be bothered. Instead I binge cleaned: left the flat to get dirty over a few weeks, then I’d feel guilty and tidy up in one sustained blitz.
I looked at the message Sophia had sent last night for the 100th time: ‘Don’t worry. I thought you looked nice. x’. I was sure I was reading way too much into the x at the end of the message, and I decided to sort the flat out. I shuffled around, picking up clothes and removing the shoe I used to trap the floor-cleaning robot in its charging dock. It emerged as tentative as a vampire stepping into the sunshine. It rotated left and right, scanning for obstacles and headed off to work. It always vacuumed and washed the kitchen first. I followed it.
‘Two sausages, eggs, tomato and mushrooms, bread,’ I said, then added ‘cancel’ before the fridge could respond. It was fun to order the breakfast I wanted, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear the denial. My Excess Consumption Order ended at 6pm. One more crappy day, and I was planning a party for tonight. A solo, hedonistic party.
I tapped my jaw to make a call. ‘Oscar, my friend. How are you?’
‘Good, Clive. You want your stuff?’
‘My Order is over today.’
‘Sweet, come on up.’
***
I stood in the lift, with its walls of mirror and looked down. Denial was a wonderful thing, and mirrors never gave good news. With my usual hollow gesture, I touched the glass where it said fifth floor.
‘Trips of two storeys or less are reserved for disabled users. Use the stairs and feel better,’ the lift said.
‘Can’t make me.’ I touched for the eighth floor, and when the lift arrived, I stepped out and then straight back in, making the lift think I was a new passenger and pressed for the fifth floor. My little trick only worked because ours was on an old software version. The new ones checked that the same person hadn’t got back in.
Six doors along the corridor I stopped at Oscar’s, and he opened up. He was sweating and smiling, in the glow of his mid-twenties and his perfect physical condition. His blue exercise gear clung to every muscle in his chest and arms. I avoided looking down. I’d made that mistake before and knew that his black leggings hid nothing either.
‘Done 150km this morning,’ he said, waving at his static exercise bike. He shot me an accusing look. ‘Did you use the lift again?’
‘I might have.’
‘I keep telling you it’s only two storeys. It would do you good.’
‘You know me…’
‘Yeah, too well, if the lift let you travel two storeys then you’d use the stairs instead.’
‘Exactly… I shouldn’t be forced to exercise.’
‘Whatever.’ He shook his head with a half-smile of exasperation. ‘Your stuff’s over here.’
Oscar went into the kitchen and lifted two bags. I heard an encouraging clink. Two months of Oscar’s alcohol allowance in one bag, chocolate in the other. I do love health freaks. I approved a payment on my HUD and took the bags. Party on.
‘What are you saving for now?’ I asked.
‘A new bike.’
‘For an exercise park?’
‘No, why risk falling off? Another internal one.’
‘But I thought that one was new.’
He shrugged. ‘Yeah, but there’s a new model out, so…’
‘And you pay for it by being a drug pusher to an old policeman. Very modern… See you soon.’
‘You’ll be sent to a Health Reorientation Camp if you carry on like this.’
He was right, but even so, I broke off a tiny piece of chocolate. I couldn’t risk a big spike in my blood sugar, and I’d have to eat less today to stay inside the Excess Consumption Order, but I couldn’t resist letting the chocolate melt slowly and deliciously over my tongue.
23
DI Clive Lussac
‘So why didn’t you tell us that Esteban had Suppressors when we were here before?’ I asked, comfortable again in one of Art’s office chairs.
Art said nothing, and the only noise was the cherubs spitting water into the fountain. ‘It’s protected by a non-disclosure agreement, but let’s just say it was part of his settlement package.’
‘Settlement for what? Leaving iMe?’
‘I can’t give you details.’
‘I could get a subpoena and force you to tell us.’
‘You can try, but everything related to iMe, including Esteban’s behaviour, is protected by an absolute exception in the Official Secrets Act.’
We were pressed up against Art stonewalling to protect himself again.
‘Could Esteban be making and selling Suppressors?’
‘Maybe.’ Art shrugged and spread his hands as if to say, ‘How should I know?’ He smiled.
I wanted to smack the smugness out of him, but I dug my nails into my palms to suppress the urge. ‘I could arrest you for obstructing our case.’ I said, settling for a verbal slap.
Art lea
nt back in his chair and steepled his fingers. ‘Don’t challenge me, Inspector. It wouldn’t be a fair fight.’
I let the silence drag, looking straight at him. ‘Maybe, but I’m investigating a murder and a disappearance.’ If I was going to get fired, I might as well go with a fight. ‘Do you have a Suppressor as well?’
If I hoped that this would throw Art off-guard a little, then it failed. He stood and went to the door. ‘I’m done,’ he said, locking his gaze to mine.
He held his hand out to shake mine which surprised me, but, as I took his hand, it clamped hard, crushing my fingers. He was much stronger than I thought. Art moved his face close to mine, and I could see a small nerve jumping near his eye.
‘Be extremely careful how you go, Inspector.’
***
After the meeting, Zoe and I both headed for the toilets. I left with a shudder – I couldn’t get comfortable with the new vacuum tube urinals. Sure, the suction took all the liquid away with zero chance of embarrassing drops on your shoes or trousers, but it felt a bit perverted.
Zoe wasn’t done so I loitered outside. That felt weird as well, so I paced away from the toilets and back again.
A call buzzed in my head and I checked the caller ID. ‘Mary, it’s a bad time–’
‘The divorce demand is still in your checkout basket, Clive.’ Her voice was a little shriller than normal. It always was when she was annoyed with me.
I didn’t reply. Instead I watched Art coming along the corridor towards me, Manu Ameobi and Emma Bailey flanking him, half a pace behind.
‘Sorry. Need to go…’ I caught Mary saying ‘get it done’ but didn’t focus on the rest of the verbal stream that came at me as I pressed my jaw to hang up.
‘Trouble, Inspector?’ Art asked. The warmth of his sincerity blew across me like a glacial wind.
‘Just my soon to be ex-wife.’
‘Messy divorce? Shame.’ He walked off, tutting in mock sympathy, enjoying my discomfort.
Manu and Emma walked past, both looking a little embarrassed. I wasn’t sure if they were sympathetic for my divorce or apologising for Art’s manner.