“Kurt!”
He stepped back out. “What?”
“Thanks.”
~
Kurt drove to Longhampton in a daze. He expected the gate to open as its camera scanned his car. It didn’t.
The Prendicco Finale crashed into the steel at 48mph and its driver felt nothing but darkness.
18
Kurt woke up in his crumpled car oblivious to the five hours that had passed. As soon as he stirred, a horribly familiar voice rang through his in-earphones.
“I know you don’t want to hear from me, hotshot, but I’ve pulled some strings and created a new account for you. You did well to go home and we’re sorry about the mix-up with the gate. Now we need you to continue disguised. A name will be assigned and you will retain your unlimited credit as a gesture of goodwill. We’ll be monitoring your communications and movements closely. It’s imperative that you don’t talk about Kurt Jacobs or go near his family. His body is going to be found in a river and no one will ask any questions. Understood?”
Kurt ripped out his left in-earphone in anger at the message, bringing forth an agony beyond anything he had ever imagined possible. Even through the rage he couldn’t bring himself to remove the other one.
He looked in the rearview mirror at someone who wasn’t himself and saw blood pouring from his ear. Then he realised that Amos would be watching his reflection, probably smiling, so he smashed the mirror with his bare hand.
The door of a battered Prendicco Finale swung open and a man who used to be Kurt Jacobs stepped out. Bleeding from the ear and hand, bloodstained at the mouth and eyes, he stumbled through a bent gate in a $3000 virtual suit and staggered into his Longhampton mansion.
The broken man made it to the fridge where he collected a box of Lexington before carrying it in his good hand to the bedroom. He and the Lexington sat in silence. It was better than cyanide.
~
The comfort of the bed. The decadence of the hot tub. Every sight, every feeling, everything reminded him of Stacy. Everything reminded him of everything. The stupid house from the stupid money from the stupid Seed.
Kurt threw the SycaNews at his viewing-wall to see how they were reporting the day’s events. It sickened him. “Enemies of Sycamore” were being held responsible for Stacy’s death. Kurt expected to be named as a suspect but what followed was even worse: “We believe that Stacy’s killers are also responsible for the disappearance of Seed pioneer Kurt Jacobs, who devoted his life to the betterment of ours.”
Kurt lay without sleeping and breathed without thinking until sunlight came again. He then tried to rewind to see Stacy in the rain, but he couldn’t. His account had been terminated and replaced. Sycamore had taken his memories. All that remained were the hours since he woke up in the car; the scant memories of whatever new man Amos wanted him to pretend to be. He put the SycaNews back on because he didn’t know what else to do. Taking the Lenses out would only have left him in an even more disadvantaged position.
The news was still the same, as Sycamore vowed that they wouldn’t rest until the perpetrators were brought to justice. Stacy’s face never appeared without what seemed to be the new Sycamore logo — a dove holding a sycamore branch.
Kurt had always anticipated the announcement that came next but he had never imagined the circumstances in which it would be made. Amos sat at a grand desk in his office and spoke directly to the camera.
“The cowardice of targeting two young supporters of our common cause goes some way to revealing the type of enemy we are dealing with. This enemy wants to go unseen and until now it has. Sycamore’s commitment to public choice is a cornerstone of our success, but a time comes when public safety must take priority.
“The good people of our great country understand the value of Sycamore — of our Seed and our UltraLenses. The only people affected by a move to compulsory seeding would be those in the criminal underground that has thrived on invisibility and anonymity for too long. Their ability to conduct operations without Sycamore’s services highlights just how far removed from the rest of society they are. Truly, they have something to hide. Had these criminals been seeded and equipped with UltraLenses, our unassailable detection mechanisms would have worked to prevent their heinous acts. Stacy Palamino would be alive, Kurt Jacobs would be safe with his family, and the two would have delivered their report on Sycamore’s positive role moving forward. Instead, tonight our sky will shine without two of its brightest young stars.
“We retain hope for Kurt’s safe return but that hope fades by the hour. Should the worst come to the worst, he and Stacy will not have died for nothing. In Kurt’s honour and Stacy’s memory, Sycamore is solemnly pleased to announce the government’s passing of Bill NTEF-2: Stacy’s Law. Publicly elected officials have welcomed the opportunity to use their mandate to protect your children and their own with the passing of this legislation, which will come into effect on January 1st along with currency digitisation.
“Stacy’s Law requires all persons to receive a Seed and wear UltraLenses at all times. No longer will invisible terrorists plague our country. No longer! From death comes renewal. From chaos comes order. From tragedy comes hope. From despair comes Stacy’s Law.”
Worse than nothing, Stacy had died for a lie. Tears of rage escaped Kurt’s Lenses.
Amos then announced that there would be a memorial rally at 5pm, during which the president would officially sign the bill. Kurt stood up and considered trying to crash the party but then remembered the threats to Sabrina and fell back onto his bed, broken.
~
The government conducted military flyovers throughout the afternoon as a show of strength and to demonstrate solidarity with Stacy and Kurt. When the newsreader said the jets were about to pass over Longhampton, Kurt took one Lens out and went to his door. People on the street were pointing and cheering. He wasn’t sure if they could see him. Everyone was looking into the sky and fawning over the jets that only one of Kurt’s eyes could see.
It was a sign of things to come: a population of perfect consumers impressed, relaxed and controlled by the nation’s collectively-imagined military strength. The jets in Kurt’s right eye left patterned smoke in their wake — the dove and branch symbol of the new system.
Just before 5pm, SycaNews reporters introduced British, Spanish and German news coverage showing masses of demonstrators demanding that The Seed be allowed to launch in Europe. Stacy’s death and Kurt’s disappearance had captured the world’s imagination.
And then came Sycamore’s second rally in 48 hours, this one stupendously well-attended and viewed around the world. Stacy’s Law made wearing UltraLenses compulsory at all times and mandated universal seeding, which would now be offered free of charge for anyone who couldn’t afford it.
The handshake between Amos and the president was greeted with wild applause from an audience who had been worked into a frenzy for the main event by a textbook oscillation between fast and slow music while a mega-screen flashed all kinds of state-manipulating images.
Kurt watched on his viewing-wall, half-heartedly hoping that there would be some kind of protest. He hoped for dissent in the beaten way that people always hoped for things they knew couldn’t happen. It was as though he was praying for something dead to come back to life; something dead like independent thought.
He looked at the herd lapping up the lies behind Stacy’s Law and cheering and begging for more. Indebted by their SycaLotto addictions and placated by the scraps tossed to them by the system, they were consumers and nothing more. He had given them so much with The Seed and this is what they had made of it. But then he thought that maybe all he had done was given them a gun and complained when they fired. It was his fault. He had tried and he had made things worse.
Professor Walker’s words about the moral stuck in Kurt’s head, taunting him. “It’s never “don’t try,”” he had said. Reality had shown that idea up for the mindless optimism it was and hope didn’t sit well with the facts of Kurt’s situation.
Professor Walker and his positive thinking were dead. Stacy was dead. Kurt could never see Julian or Sabrina again.
There was nothing left to try for.
Amos had left a tub of cyanide pills in Kurt’s kitchen. It was a tub of 100, in case Kurt felt the need to kill himself 100 times over. He unscrewed the lid. Once would be enough.
Kurt took his UltraLenses out before taking the pill because he didn’t want to give Amos the satisfaction of seeing him surrender. He pictured Stacy in his mind and prayed against everything he believed in that he would get to see her again in a few minutes. He opened his mouth and brought the pill towards it.
And then, perfectly, an angel appeared. It wasn’t in Kurt’s head and it didn’t look like an angel, but it was bursting through his front door and it was here to save his life.
~
“Minion? What the fu—”
“Shut up, I’m on your side.” Minion saw the pill. “What’s that in your hand?
Kurt saw no sense in lying. “Cyanide.”
Minion knocked the pill to the floor and crushed it with his boot. “He hasn’t won yet.”
“What the hell do you mean he? You’re with him!”
“Was, and so were you. Put your Lenses in and tell me I still am.”
Kurt collected his Lenses from the drawer where he had left them. There were no new messages when he popped them in. He turned around and saw “WANTED FOR MURDER” written above Minion’s head. He clicked the link and the breaking SycaNews headline told him that Terrance Minion was suspected of plotting to kill Stacy Palamino and of kidnapping Kurt Jacobs. It claimed that evidence had been uncovered suggesting he was on the payroll of a rival corporation and was trying to block Sycamore’s international expansion.
“He won’t send anyone here,” said Minion. “They can’t come here. If they came here people would know you were alive and they would wonder why you really disappeared. I know we’re both safe here. For now, anyway.”
“Speaking of what you know… if you knew he was going to kill Stacy, why the hell didn’t you stop him?”
“You want the truth, Kurt? Can you handle it?”
Kurt nodded.
“Fine, no more lies. I never knew she was going to be in the car. I thought he was planning to kill you, not her. I still don’t know why he let you go. You’re a loose end.”
“So you were fine with him planting a bomb as long as it was for me?”
“You were working against us from inside — that made you a legitimate target. But I still felt that you deserved a chance to back out from what you were about to do. That’s why I warned you. You didn’t listen so I stood aside. But then he starts killing women and threatening kids…” Minion was shaking his head frantically and rubbing under his eyes. “And I’m like, “No. I didn’t sign up for this.” So I walked away and now I’m wanted.”
“Did you know he killed the professor?”
“Not until you did. I saw from Walker’s vista that you visited him but I don’t know what you said and I didn’t tell Amos.”
“My nephew says you’re a bad liar, but I’m not so sure. If you didn’t tell Amos then how did he know?”
Minion shrugged. “He probably had someone else watching me watching you. Amos is paranoid like that. You have to believe me. Why would I let them kill Professor Walker? He gave me so many chances.”
An absolute lack of options meant that Kurt did have to believe Minion, but it wasn’t easy. “Whatever you tell yourself, Stacy is dead because of you. You killed her.”
“There’s no use playing the blame game, Kurt. But if you want to… why did you still go through with it even after you saw the mug? Even after I gave you the warning? You knew she was in danger. Was taking Sycamore down more important than her safety?”
Kurt didn’t answer because there was no answer. And then he looked at the floor, because maybe there was one, and maybe he didn’t like it.
Minion took it all as a yes. “But you draw a line with your brother’s kids?”
“A line made of blood. And if Amos crosses it, I’ll turn it into an ocean of his own. They’re all I have left since you killed Stacy.”
“I can’t undo what’s already happened. Seriously, Kurt, what do you want from me? He knows I’m here — that’s a risk I’ve taken to see you. As long as we have these Seeds he’ll know exactly where we are and he’ll know that we’re together.”
That was it: Minion’s chance to prove he wasn’t playing some deranged triple-agent game. “Take your Seed out,” said Kurt.
“What?”
“You heard.”
Minion walked into Kurt’s huge kitchen. “Where’s the sharpest knife, then?”
Kurt pointed to a knife block and Minion selected its smallest and most precise-looking constituent. He sat down on Kurt’s sofa and pressed the blade against his palm.
“Stop!” Kurt shouted, pushing Minion’s knife-wielding hand away. “I just wanted to see if you would do it.”
Minion held Kurt’s gaze and tightened his grasp of the knife. “No, you were right. We have to get them out now so they can’t track us. Remember when I first got mine and I sent you a Glance across the road? We all smiled that day. This thing could have been so good.” He handed the knife to Kurt. “You do me and I’ll do you.”
“You’re insane,” said Kurt.
“One of us has to be.”
Kurt looked down at the knife. The Seed couldn’t be in too deep, could it? After all, a hand is only so thick…
“Waiting makes it worse,” Minion told him.
“At least take some oxy and ice it first.”
Minion accepted the idea and Kurt went to get what they needed. He came back with a tub of pills and two bags of frozen peas.
“Thanks.” Minion applied the ice pack to his left palm. “You should numb yours now, too, though. I’ll take your Seed out right after you’ve done mine.”
Kurt did as Minion suggested. He took a lot of pills because too many was better than not enough when a kitchen knife was about to go digging in his palm. After ten minutes their left hands were numb from the ice. It was time.
“Quick and fast,” Minion instructed. “Don’t mess about.”
There was always a small black square where The Seed had been injected, a micro side-effect that no one bothered talking about, so Kurt knew exactly where to cut.
“I’m going to need tweezers so I can pull it out when it’s in sight.”
Minion kept looking at the wall and shaking his head. “This is sick, man. This is sick.”
“Man up. I’ll be back in a sec.”
“Get bandages, too,” Minion shouted. “And something to bite.”
Kurt came back with the second set of supplies. Minion bit down on a rolled-up towel but he had done enough pills not to feel much. As long as he didn’t look it would be fine.
A minute later Kurt had Minion’s Seed in his hand. “There,” he said. “It wasn’t deep.”
Minion pressed the bandage against his palm and white turned red quicker than he was comfortable with. “How much blood is it before you die?” he asked.
“More than that. Now shut up and do mine.”
They repeated the process with the roles reversed and Minion was almost as efficient as Kurt. As soon as Kurt’s bandage was on, they both fell back against the sofa.
“This is it,” Minion said after a few minutes. “There’s literally no going back.”
“There never was.”
“No, but it’s different now. We can’t stay here. They’ll know what we’ve done and they’ll know that we’re going to run. Which we are. I know a place we can—”
“No way,” Kurt interrupted. “I can’t do anything that puts Sabrina in danger. He said to stay here.”
“Listen, man: Amos promised that she would be fine if you stayed away. We are staying away. Hear me out. What I have in mind doesn’t put her at risk. By the time we’ve given Amos reason to act we’ll have taken away his abili
ty to do so.”
Kurt sat up. “I’m listening.”
“I know somewhere where there are people who want to kill Sycamore almost as much as you do. You want to see Amos go down and I have to clear my name. What we need to do is steal a less conspicuous car — one that doesn’t need a Seed to activate it — and drive until it runs out of gas. Then we’ll steal another car and do the same. Amos knows some of what I know but not everything. The people we need to find have internet that we can use to mess things up. I wrote most of what Sycamore’s systems run on and you know The Seed better than anyone. Together we could pull the rug out from under his feet.”
“How?” asked Kurt. He liked the idea in theory, but that was all it was: a theoretical idea.
“Kurtonite is asking how? Come on, man, back in the day you could get into anything. You were better than me!”
“This isn’t like the games we used to play at college. Sycamore’s security must be the tightest in the world.”
“It is. But who do you think built it?”
“Yeah but you don’t have access anymore. You’re terminated like me and Rocco.”
Minion’s trademark snake-smile broke out on his face. Kurt didn’t hate it like he normally did. “You think I didn’t leave myself a few holes in his system like the one you left in his building? Kurt… I’m almost offended.”
Kurt’s heart quickened. Minion was serious.
“Once we get inside we can lock Amos and his puny security team out. Think about it: we could put whatever we want in the sky before they even realise something’s up. We could access and run footage from your old vista during the explosion and everyone would hear that Amos was behind it. We could show the Orwell Wall in The Treehouse—”
“Orwall,” said Kurt.
“Right. We could show them The Orwall. We could show them everything. Or, if you really want to wake everyone up, we could just kill the servers — disable the Lenses and Seeds all at once. We can blow the lid off this thing. And when we do, people won’t just sit there and talk about it. Birds eat cats when they get the chance, man, and even sheep riot when the dog goes too far.”
Sycamore (Near-Future Dystopia) Page 27