by Paul Watson
Amy sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the crutches over to her, leant forward, rose and left the ward.
After bad days at work, Amy sometimes presented Jamie with a full analysis, often including her opinion on the presumed thoughts of others. Jamie would advise her to stop thinking, do it and don’t worry. Amy would retort: ‘You should do that, you’re the one who doesn’t sleep at night.’
On this occasion, she took Jamie’s advice, shut out the fleeting debilitating thoughts and instead looked behind her down the corridor. Amy had already walked a long way; it had been easy.
The group made their way to the police car, and Amy got in the back. Frank sat in the front passenger seat.
‘Janet,’ Rob said. ‘Thanks for all you’ve done, but please stay away from this one, I’m taking a big enough risk by taking Amy with us.’
‘No problem Rob, I’ll stay out of the way.’
Rob got into the driver’s seat, and the car pulled away. Janet knew their destination so didn’t need to follow.
The traffic on the motorway was heavy, and lane discipline was poor; cars zigzagged in a futile mission to cut seconds from journey’s that had lasted hours. Occasional pockets appeared in the seventy mph traffic jam, but any drivers that got above seventy soon pegged it back when they saw Rob in the rear-view mirror.
The traffic was no better in town; it was never better. The police car arrived outside the theatre at about 2100 on Sunday evening, halfway through a show.
Rob and Frank entered the theatre and spoke to the woman in the foyer, a different lady from Friday.
‘We’re looking for the man that does the lighting.’
‘I’m ever so sorry sir,’ said the woman. Someone killed Bob Simpkin on Friday night. ‘We had to cancel all the shows yesterday, and we’re getting back to normal now.’
‘We know all about Friday night, but I don’t mean Bob Simpkin; I’d like to talk to his assistant. The man who shared that office with him.’ Rob pointed at the door in the foyer marked: ‘Staff Only.’
‘Not seen him over the weekend. You can have a look around.’
There was another crew in the lighting room; they wore branded T-shirts.
Rob knocked on the door; a head popped out. ‘Sorry, we’re busy; can we talk later?’ a man with short cropped hair and a ginger beard said.
‘Won’t take long, can’t the other guy deal with it for a minute?’
The man with the beard came out and shut the door, ‘OK how can I help?’
‘How long have you been working here?’
‘We came in today; we work at one of the other theatres, but we got pulled in because of the situation on Friday.’
‘Who showed you around in there? We’re looking for one of the lighting men, the one that’s not dead.’
‘No-one showed us around; it’s all standard kit; the lighting assistant didn’t show up this morning; that’s why they called us in.’
‘OK thanks, we’ll let you get on with it.’
Rob and Frank returned to the foyer. ‘Let’s check in his office, before we leave.’
‘Could you get this door unlocked for us please?’ Rob said to the bar lady.
‘Sorry, we’ve not been able to find the keys for that room, someone wanted to get in there earlier.’
‘So, Frank, do you think we’ve got grounds to force entry?’
‘Dunno.’ Frank smashed his size twelve into the door, shattering the lock.
‘Looks like he’s moved stuff out. I guess we should seize what’s left.’
Amy sat in the police car, watching the people pass by. A grey Volkswagen Golf pulled up and parked on the double yellow lines, outside the theatre, with its nose up against a lamppost. Amy recognised the driver from the CCTV tape; it was Taylor. Taylor got out of the car and walked towards the theatre doors.
Amy phoned Rob. ‘Taylor’s on his way in Rob, through the front entrance; he’s parked outside.’
‘Thanks Amy,’ Rob turned towards the front entrance and glimpsed Taylor walk into the theatre, spot him and Frank, and walk straight back out again.
Amy watched Rob and Frank chase Taylor towards the Golf. She pulled herself through the gap between the front seats and sat behind the steering wheel. Rob had left the keys in; Amy put her right foot on the clutch which was awkward, turned the ignition and released the pedal.
Taylor got into his car, but before he could start the engine, the police Astra rolled towards his rear bumper and wedged the Golf against the lamppost. Amy locked her doors.
Taylor jumped out of his car and pulled at Amy’s door handle, but he gave up as Frank reached him; Taylor ran down the road but didn’t get very far. A white Fiat 500 hit Taylor at low speed and knocked him to the floor. Taylor was down for a few seconds but limped to his feet. He ended up on the bonnet of the Fiat again as Frank slammed him down and cuffed him.
Ten minutes later, Taylor and Frank left for the station in a police van.
‘Sorry,’ Janet said to Rob.
‘Don’t apologise, but you’ve scratched your car. I’ll give you a hand getting that sorted out next weekend if you like.’
They approached Amy who was still behind the wheel.
‘You were a little vigorous on the clutch there Amy, a good job you’ve not got a police license, or you’d get points for that.’
‘I find you funny Rob, but it hurts when I laugh. Shall we have a look at Taylor’s car?’
‘Do you want to? I want this day to end.’ Rob got Amy’s crutches out of the back of the car and opened the front door. They crossed over to the Golf; it had the keys in the ignition. Rob pressed the VW sign on the rear of the vehicle, it clicked, rotated and became a handle.
‘Clever Germans,’ Rob said.
The boot was empty; they had a look around the rest of the vehicle: about fifteen years old, scratched paint and worn carpets and upholstery.
‘Maybe he emptied it and came back to get the rest?’ Janet said, as the trio traipsed back to the office in the theatre.
‘We’ll take the computer, may as well leave the screens.’
‘What about that, anything in it?’ Amy pointed to a cardboard box on the ground. Rob stooped to investigate.
‘I’d say so; petty cash in here, a few thousand pounds worth.’
THIRTY-NINE
‘Max will be more than ok,’ Julia said. ‘He is already immortal, but he can be so much more, we all can.’
‘Max can never die?’ Mike said.
‘None of us ever die. Human genes get passed on, mixed, recycled, a few mutations here and there. Humans are all immortal.’
‘But our genes aren’t who we are,’ Jamie said.
‘How would you define “who we are”?’
‘The bit that decides, the bit that thinks.’
‘I agree with you. Humans were originally vessels for genes, driven by impulses to breed, eat, and fight, but our superior cognitive powers and abilities to cooperate changed that. We’re a phenomenon; the pinnacle of biological evolution on Earth.’
‘But a part of us has nothing to do with eating, drinking and sex. What about great works of art, books, philosophy?’
‘You’re getting to the point Jamie. Human inquisitiveness is from the Jungle, the chimps have it too, but it’s taken us to where we are. The individual human need for importance drives us; few of us succeed, but without it, the species would suffer. The works of art, great literature, they’re all driven by this need for importance, and use our spare cognitive capacity. Alas, our need for importance also has all kinds of unpleasant side effects, and you’ve seen more of them than me on the streets you patrol. Civilisation has reached the stage where keeping biological organisms alive is becoming trivial; there are 7.6 billion humans. Time to move on to a new challenge. At PKL, we’re creating the first step in the next evolution; the Genesis, as Law’s called it.’
‘Can you spare us any more of this and get to the point please,’ Mike said.
‘
Jamie’s almost figured it out, I can see it in those green eyes; you’ve got to figure everything out for yourself or you never understand; I’ll come back in a minute Jamie, I need to pop to the bathroom. When I come back, you’ll have figured out the rest.’
Julia left the room.
‘Julia likes the younger man,’ Mike said. Mike’s minder grunted a laugh. ‘Go careful Jamie, don’t impress her too much.’
Julia returned five minutes later.
‘Well Jamie?’
‘You’ve copied Max’s memories and mapped his way of processing information and communicating to the computers in this building. The part of him on the computer is no longer worried about eating, drinking or sleeping.’
‘Correct, go on please.’
‘You’ve left Max hooked to the machine, so you’re interested in the way the backup between the human brain and the computer brain work, like syncing your offline files when you get a connection.’
‘Superb. I like you Jamie; you observe, do a logical test, and draw a conclusion; I guess that’s why you’re the ones that got here first.’ Julia flicked her blonde hair, which she’d taken out of its ponytail, and it fell to her shoulders.
‘So now you know you can copy the human brain to the computer, you’ll be testing it the other way. You’ll give the computer experiences and copy it to Max’s brain.’
Julia fixed her hair back into a ponytail. ‘Jamie, you’ve done well, but no, that’s not part of the test. Copying a computer to a human brain is beyond our technological ability. The human brain remembers things by growing; neurons send the electrical signals through different paths. We’re not able to grow Max new neurons yet; in a few hundred years or sooner, who knows? The reason he’s still connected is that he’ll die if we disconnect him, and as a Doctor that’s unthinkable for me.’
‘Did you forget your medical training when you redecorated the upstairs office?’ Mike said.
‘Laws wanted to kill me, and, as you said, I acted in self-defence. We want to discover how the computer copy of Max interacts first with the outside digital world and then with other copied humans. We started the test earlier today by giving computer Max limited internet access. In the late afternoon, we turned off the access after we found Max accessing banking information, mobile communications and drones.’
‘That’s how I watched the car chase in Ireland this morning. Max streamed it from a drone before the police helicopter arrived on scene.’
‘We disconnected from the internet; it seemed the artificial Max was trying to help his Dad in the real world and get our man over in Ireland captured. At about 7.00 p.m. Max breached the overrides, and the connection reopened; he’d connected into the TV coverage of the World Cup final and manipulated the video replays. We disconnected the hardware from the fibre. When we get the new shipment of drugs back in the morning, we’ll be able to control Max’s disconnection from the machine, I’ll disappear, and you can write up this mess.’
‘You’ll disappear. And leave all this?’
‘We’ve got another industrial unit, in a better location. I’ve already copied the data, so Max has another brother, an artificial twin. I’ll continue the work from the new location; the best thing for Max, is to let our man get the Reflux drug back over here as soon as possible. Will you make the call now?’
‘Give me the phone,’ Mike said.
‘Use this one here. Julia wheeled Mike to a desk with a landline on it.’
Mike punched Amy’s number into the keypad. ‘Hi, Amy, how are you doing. Me and Jamie are OK, nothing much here. We will stay over tonight. Jamie’s phone is dead, but he’ll call you later when he gets a charge. OK, take care.’ Mike replaced the receiver.
‘Thanks,’ Julia said. ‘Now I wasn’t honest with you. We’ll do our best to make sure Max is all right, but I want to do a second stage experiment before we leave this facility. The new centre doesn’t have the medical room or any of this kit. I need to copy one more human brain, so we can study the interaction between the two. Eventually, people will pay to join the collective and live forever, a few millionaires, rich dictators perhaps. What an opportunity for you Jamie; fascinating how you and Max will interact.’
‘And afterwards you’ll release me too?’
‘Yes.’
‘No problem. I’ll play along, what time will the drugs arrive?’
‘They’re coming into Liverpool at 5.30 a.m. With no problems, we should be ready to get started about 9.00 a.m. I’ll even cook you breakfast. It’s best if you get sleep tonight Jamie, it’ll make things easier. Max has done so well because he went under early in the day and he’d eaten something too.’
‘Got anything more comfortable than this wheelchair?’
‘We’ve got a ready room next door for you. The memory foam mattress is better than those you’d find in the best hotels; you could fly to the moon on it. Mike, your sleep may not be as good, I’m not leaving you both in the same room. We’ll take Mike back to the office block.’
‘I’ll cope.’
Mike’s minder wheeled him to the lift. Jamie’s guard pushed him through another door and into the ready room.
The room appeared more like a dentist’s surgery than a hospital ward; Jamie’s overnight accommodation gleamed. There was a bed with crisp white sheets and a machine by the side with a lamp and facemask on it. The digital display on the device showed 10.00 p.m.
‘You’re the first occupant of this room,’ Julia said. ‘I’d hoped there would be more soon, but looks like there will be a little delay before I bring you company. I might even join you soon if things go well. Hope you find it comfortable enough; if you have any problems in the night, call me using the bell. I’ll come and look after you myself. Do you need a sedative?’
‘I’ll be ok thanks.’
‘I’ll give you a mild one to get you to sleep and to protect us while we get you from the chair to the bed. Mackey told me about the damage you did earlier at the construction site. It’ll be a mild dose as I don’t want it to interfere with the procedure in the morning.’
Julia took a needle and a swab from a drawer in a unit next to the bed. She wiped Jamie’s forearm with the swab, inserted the needle into his vein and delivered the payload.
Jamie lost consciousness and dreamt.
Jamie ran through a field of wheat, cut short, harvest time. The sun shone as it had all summer, but the air was fresher, it was early morning, and it had rained for the first time in months. Jamie touched the soil at the base of the cut wheat; it was soft but not muddy, a few crumbs stuck to his hand and he tasted them, they had the texture of butter or clay. Jamie inhaled an aroma of custard tinged with mustard.
Jamie reached the rocky steps; he bounded up to the coastal path above the cliffs. The air cooled, and the sky darkened. It was still morning, but a bleaker one; the clouds tumbled, rumbled and churned. There was no rain, not yet, but it was coming, and it would stay; the end of summer approached.
Jamie noticed a fisherman, down below on the beach; Jamie jumped from the cliff, soared a little, and executed a perfect landing next to the fisherman.
‘Hello,’ Jamie said.
‘Hi Jamie. You took your time, I’ve already filled the bucket.’ The bucket was a clear plastic with the picture of a smiling crab on it. You pull in the next one. The fisherman handed the line to Jamie.
Jamie pulled and heaved.
‘It’s stuck.’ Jamie carried on and felt a little sick. He tried to speak but couldn’t; Jamie couldn’t pull on the line; he couldn’t see.
And then he saw.
Jamie woke in the ready room with his arms tied to the rails on the side of the bed, but his legs were free. He pulled against the ties, but they didn’t yield. The clock on the lamp unit showed: 03:00 a.m.
FORTY
At the same time above the Irish Sea, a few pinpricks of light punctured the black canvas; Roberts sat on the deck, in his shirt sleeves in the twenty degree heat. He’d purchased a cabin down below
, but his neighbours were having a tricky time.
It sounded like the dad had food poisoning and was dry retching into the toilet bowl. The wife had lost patience and took the kids outside for a walk.
Left alone, the dad seemed to calm himself.
The wife came back to check on the guy every half hour, and that started the whole episode up again; Roberts suspected that the guy just wanted peace.
It was in search of peace that Roberts had climbed to the upper deck. The deckchair was better than the mattress in his cabin. He’d tied his rucksack to his arm, using spare laces, that he always carried. Roberts had fixed the laces through the bag’s carry loop, to deter any passing dippers; it was unlikely this time of night and would be unlucky for the thief who tried.
Roberts had slept under many stars, and on balance, he preferred the view in the Northern Hemisphere. Roberts pictured Orion and stared at the brightest star, just below the belt; he couldn’t remember its name. Then he gazed at the red glow above the belt: Betelgeuse; how could he forget that name?
The red giant faded as his eyes closed. Roberts heard a distant hum from an outboard motor as he drifted between wakefulness and sleep; a smaller boat, perhaps an inshore lifeboat on a call? The noise vanished after a minute or two and Roberts slept.
He awoke thirty minutes later; a hoist lifted his arm into the air, like a salute. His drowsiness wore off as his deck chair slammed into the bulkhead. A red painted steel hook, snagged in the top loop of the rucksack, dragged him and the chair backwards. Roberts stared up and watched the rope rising to the sky, not to the stars but the overhead pulley.
The lace was thick and tightened around his wrist as the hook got higher, cutting the blood supply to his hand. Roberts wished he’d bought a cheap bag, so that the top loop would rip out, but that wasn’t his way. The stitching was strong enough to take his weight, and he rose from the floor. Roberts ascended and tried to jiggle the loop free from the hook. He cleared the bulkhead and dangled in fresh air, his full body weight pulling the loop down into the hook.