NO SIGNAL

by Jem Tugwell

‘I’ve had enough of this,’ someone said behind her and a second later a rude shoulder pushed past her and a man in his fifties ducked under the tape. ‘Those guys are doing nothing. They can serve me,’ he muttered and marched towards the UK only booths. Lilou was tempted to follow, but she was within touching distance of the front of the queue.

  The man seemed to grow in confidence as the glass door to the booth he had chosen slid open, but as he stepped into the booth, the door in front of him snapped shut as did the one behind him. A red light in the top of the booth started strobing lazily.

  Nothing happened for a few seconds. The UK Border staff still seemed to be chatting as the man banged on the glass door. Finally, two staff members pushed themselves off the wall they were leaning against and ambled towards the booth with the same lack of urgency as the strobe light.

  They got to the booth and the door opened. The man stepped forward and he said, ‘Do you know how long I’ve been waiting and you’re standing here doing nothing.’

  The two UK Border staff shared a quick glance and spun the man around, grabbed his arm and frogmarched him off towards a solid black door.

  Lilou was glad she hadn’t copied him and looked towards the front of the queue. Her eye on the prize, she waited.

  The man hadn’t reappeared when a UK Border officer finally ushered Lilou forward.

  ‘I’m Sam, and I’ll take you through the immigration process today,’ the officer said, pushing his lips into a flat, compressed line that Lilou thought might have been a superficial smile. She imagined that he had a checklist to run through, and Sam’s mouth movement satisfied the ‘Greet each visitor with a welcoming smile’ requirement.

  He took Lilou through all the basic dos and don’ts, then a lot of medical questions about her health and the details about what would happen if she overstayed her time limit or ran out of money. All delivered with a passive-aggressive threat born of Border Control and multiple repetitions each day.

  ‘You’ve got a visa for two weeks to cover your stay,’ Sam said. ‘You need five-thousand pounds per week as a minimum security deposit to cover your expenses while you’re here.’

  Lilou gulped. She had no money. Serge had said it was all arranged. ‘I think my firm has already paid,’ Lilou said, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice. She didn’t want to fail the game before it had started.

  Sam looked annoyed and moved his hands around in front of his face as Lilou had seen other staff and the people in the UK Citizen’s line do.

  After some finger pointing and swiping, huffing and with some loud foot tapping, Sam said, ‘Oh, yeah. Here it is.’

  She let out a sigh of relief.

  Sam opened a box from a long pile of identical boxes, and pulled out a thin bracelet-like strap. The black fabric of the strap shone with what looked like embedded metal strands. On the top surface were five buttons. One with a £ sign, one with a simple clock face, one with a little car on it, one with a little ‘i’ in a circle, and the last with a red cross.

  ‘Which arm?’ Sam demanded.

  ‘What?’ Lilou stammered, caught off-guard by Sam’s tone.

  ‘For the iTourist. Which arm do you want it on?’

  Lilou could hear Sam’s frustration at dealing with another slow tourist. ‘Left,’ she said, holding out the same arm she had told Serge.

  Sam placed the iTourist onto Lilou’s thin wrist and centred the five buttons. Next, he wrapped the free ends of the bracelet under her wrist and slid one end along the other. With each movement, Lilou could hear a tiny tearing noise a bit like pulling Velcro apart. Sam pushed and smoothed the ends until the iTourist was tight on her wrist.

  ‘Put your wrist on the pad,’ Sam said, pointing at a shiny section of his desk.

  Sam did something Lilou couldn’t see and the bracelet tightened even more and pulsed twice, sending two static shocks along her arm and making the fine hairs stand up. The iTourist glowed blue and then the light went off.

  ‘OK, it’s working,’ Sam said, and launched into another well-practised speech. ‘You can see your balance at any time by pressing the pound sign button.’ He waited. When Lilou did nothing, Sam sighed and said, ‘Go on then. Press the pound sign button.’

  Lilou pressed and ‘£10,000.00’ flashed up on a little screen in the iTourist that she hadn’t seen before.

  ‘Put your iTourist on the payment pad to pay for anything you want to buy, and the balance will go down. When it gets to six-hundred pounds, it will flash amber. Go to a bank to add money to it. If the balance gets to zero, the iTourist will flash red and you get deported. No arguments, no second chances. OK?’ Sam stared at Lilou, waiting for a response.

  ‘OK,’ she said.

  ‘You press the clock to see how long your visa has left.’ Sam paused, and this time Lilou knew that Sam expected her to press the button.

  The screen showed ‘13 days, 23 hrs, 58 minutes’ before blanking.

  ‘Report to the police if you want to apply for an extension. It flashes amber when you’ve got six hours left. If it gets to zero, it flashes red and you get deported. OK?’

  Lilou nodded.

  ‘Press the car button for a taxi. The screen will show you the wait time. Your taxi will stop in front of you and the door will open. If a car stops and the door doesn’t open, it’s not your cab. OK?’

  Lilou nodded again.

  ‘The little i in a circle is for information. All sorts of stuff: location, health, routes. Press it and follow the prompts.’ Sam didn’t pause long enough for her to play with the button as he said, ‘Final button with the red cross is for emergency medical help. Don’t press it if you’ve got a cold, don’t press it for a pre-existing condition. Even if you didn’t disclose it earlier, if it’s pre-existing you won’t get treatment. If you’re not well, go to a pharmacy, they’ll help, but they’ll charge you. OK?’

  Lilou nodded yet again. Sam passed over a small tablet and got her to click in a long list of places to agree to all the entry conditions. She even had to confirm her shoe size. Why is that necessary? she wondered.

  ‘You’ll get a copy by email,’ Sam said and looked over Lilou’s shoulder. ‘Next,’ he said.

  Lilou stepped forward and crossed a yellow line on the floor.

  She was on the Forbidden Island.

  Chapter 22

  Tatsuko had stood in a similar length queue at Portsmouth docks. She had travelled south through France, and into Spain before catching a ferry from Bilbao to Portsmouth. The Bay of Biscay had been unforgiving and Tatsuko didn’t mind the wait for Border Control. At least the floor didn’t move under her, and it gave her stomach time to stop swishing from side to side.

  Tatsuko said, ‘Left,’ when she got to the question about which arm she wanted the iTourist on. She listened to the same warnings and threats about getting deported.

  She smiled. They had no idea that she was part of the greatest game ever and her progress would be cheered on by thousands of online fans. Deport me? Tatsuko thought. First, you’ve got to catch me.

  ‘Will this thing break?’ Tatsuko asked.

  Her UK Border Control officer wore a name tag that said ‘Rohit’.

  Rohit smiled at the familiar question. ‘You can’t damage it,’ he said with a small shake of his head. ‘It’s designed to withstand cutting, drilling, burning – but all of those things would hurt your arm more than damage the iTourist. You can wear it in the shower, swim in it. It’s safe in medical operations, MRI scanners, everywhere. Worst damage I’ve ever seen is the cap of one of those little buttons coming off.’

  Tatsuko nodded. Good to know.

  When Rohit gave her the tablet with all the boxes to tick her agreement, Tatsuko stopped at one and asked, ‘What does “take part in exercise directives” mean?’

  Rohit smiled. ‘Exercise is good for you, so you’re asked to take part in daily exercise.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Your hotel will give you the details and provide the nece
ssary facilities and clothes.’

  ‘What if I don’t? You can’t force me.’

  ‘No, we can’t force you, but it’s important that tourists have equality with UK citizens. We have to do the exercise, and so do visitors. It would be discrimination otherwise.’

  Rohit smiled and pointed further down the text on the tablet. ‘Also, there’s a heavy daily fine if you don’t, and the hotel will be very, very persistent at reminding you.’

  Chapter 23

  Clive stared out of his flat’s lounge window. The early promise of a blue sky was being reneged on by dark, threatening clouds. A roll of thunder in the distance sounded like heavy booted thugs kicking at his door. He turned from the window as the first fat drops of rain hit it.

  ‘Happy birthday to me,’ he said.

  Harry the Hoover tracked across the floor and bumped into Clive’s foot. ‘Hello, Harry,’ Clive said.

  Harry wasn’t technically a hoover. He was a robotic cleaning assistant, but the name ‘Harry the RCA’ didn’t have the same ring to it. Harry spun away from Clive, tracked left and turned again, trying to work out how to get past the obstruction of Clive’s foot.

  Harry bumped into Clive’s foot again.

  ‘What’s that, Harry? Happy birthday,’ Clive said, sounding like a character from an old Lassie the Dog film. ‘Thanks for remembering, mate.’

  Harry tracked left again and trundled off obliviously.

  Balloons started rising from the bottom of Clive’s HUD screen, fake fireworks exploded, and Clive’s Buddy ran along the bottom of his HUD trailing a ‘Happy Birthday, Clive – 50 today’ banner. Buddy stopped running and starting clapping and jumping up and down.

  Buddy’s cheering stopped and he rolled the banner away. The balloons disappeared and the fireworks faded. The celebrations were over before they really started.

  But Buddy made an unexpected return a few seconds later. This time the banner said, ‘New message: Happy birthday’.

  Clive clicked on the banner, wondering who had sent it. His shoulders slumped as he saw the sender – iMe.

  The message was the standard, cringeworthy birthday greeting. All positive words and upbeat tone. All completely fake and impersonal, merely a function of a computerised calendar and some programming code.

  Clive shuddered at the final sentence: ‘You’ve left the Fabulous Forties, and you’ve lived five great decades, so we welcome you to the amazing and super awesome “High 5’ers”.’

  It felt like the end of something, rather than the beginning of a new phase. A year ago, Clive would have been angry and swearing at the inane labels this society attached to everyone. He was amazed at how many pigeonholes he could be put in. Each category fed into the diversity measurement and tracking, but it seemed like all the labels gave people more and more reasons to focus on their differences, rather than bringing them together.

  At least the sender underneath Buddy’s next new message banner made Clive smile.

  ‘Happy birthday, Clive. See you tonight, Sophia x.’

  The smile stayed frozen on his face. She used to call him darling, not Clive. There used to be three kisses at the end of each message, not one.

  I’m screwing things up with Sophia, he thought, seeing the same downward spiral that had led to his divorce from Mary.

  ***

  The sun hadn’t dared to make a reappearance during the day and the clouds had been biblical in delivering on their threat of heavy rain and thunder. The weather seems really messed up today, Clive thought, but he had the same thought every day.

  He closed the apartment’s front door, pleased to be shutting the workday behind him.

  Not that it had been an especially bad day. The problem was that it was typical. Lots of button pressing and nothing to think about. Nothing to challenge his brain. He knew he couldn’t go on like this. He needed a change, but what could he do? His skill set wasn’t exactly in tune with modern needs. He’d have to talk to Bhatt about retraining before she told him about ‘voluntary’ redundancy and the exciting opportunities outside the police force.

  Harry had been busy all day and the apartment was clean. Clive stooped to give Harry a little pat of thanks as he went into the kitchen.

  He opened the left-hand wall mounted cupboard and pulled down two battered cardboard boxes. Both had ‘PCU Evidence’ stamped on the side. Clive opened the boxes and looked at each of the Health Bank bracelets he had taken from the evidence store. They may have hidden Sophia and his own consumption from FU enforcement, but the evidence was still visible in Clive’s blood and waistline. He’d need to find a better hiding place in case Special Investigator Winter made an appearance.

  ***

  ‘Happy birthday,’ Sophia said, clinking glasses with Clive. She had brightened a little since yet another argument at lunchtime.

  He took a sip of his sparkling, zero-calorie rose water. Some birthday, he thought, grimacing at the taste.

  ‘Did I show you the birthday present I got from my doctor?’

  Sophia shook her head.

  Clive pinched his fingers together to pick up his HUD screen and threw it at the display wall in the lounge. It paused the music it was playing and redrew to show his HUD.

  Clive pointed and swiped his way around the menus until he found the page he wanted.

  ‘Ouch,’ Sophia said, but Clive could see her unsaid ‘and it’s your own fault’ in her eyes.

  In the top right of the screen, his ‘Active FU allowance’ page showed a last modified date of today and the name Dr Dilani Adhya as the author. Worst for Clive was the ‘Valid until date’ which showed ‘Indefinite (Medical advice override)’.

  ‘No alcohol,’ Clive moaned putting down his rose water. ‘And that calorie intake limit means no chocolate. I’d be able to eat more if I had an Excess Consumption Order than on this diet.’

  ‘It’s for your own good,’ Sophia said. ‘How are your levels today?’

  ‘Better,’ Clive said, reluctant to find the positive.

  ‘Show me,’ Sophia said, with a hardness that told him he didn’t have a choice.

  Clive shrugged and clicked to his ‘Health Overview’ page. The screen redrew to show his heart trace, oxygen saturation, blood sugar and twenty other levels.

  ‘Looks better,’ Sophia said.

  ‘S’pose.’ Clive shrugged and clicked a button on the bottom of the page. The display wall redrew to show his deviations to Model Citizen. Green bars showed everywhere on the report. No amber or red. He was within model everywhere and wasn’t using any of his FU allowances.

  ‘You should join me at the New Modelists,’ Sophia said, her voice softening. Her eyes pleaded with him to make the first step.

  ‘Maybe.’

  Sophia looked shocked. ‘Really?’ She smiled and then frowned. ‘What’s changed?’

  Clive looked out of the window again, not wanting to confess.

  ‘My doctor recommended it…’

  ‘What? I ask you again and again and you say no, but your doctor mentions it and you want to go?’ Folding her arms across her chest, she continued, ‘Is she pretty, this Dilani? Is that why you want–’

  Sophia was interrupted by the front door opening. Zoe hurried in, flustered from rushing. ‘Sorry I’m late, Boss,’ she said.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’ Zoe crossed to Sophia and gave her a quick peck before heading to Clive.

  She enveloped him in a hug. ‘Happy birthday, Boss.’

  ‘Thanks, Zoe. But I keep telling you, I’m not your boss anymore.’

  ‘You’ll always be Boss to me.’

  Zoe paused as she caught the underlying tension in the room. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he lied. ‘Please. Sophia?’ Clive tried a lopsided half-smile. ‘Sit down both of you.’

  He headed to the kitchen to fetch the first course, the urgent whispers between Zoe and Sophia chasing him from the room. He tried to push the argument away and thought of chocolate. He picked up the plates, feeling embarrassed t
o serve this for a birthday meal, but what choice did he have?

  Zoe laughed when he put the lettuce and plain grilled chicken down. ‘Reminds me of that pub where the barman offered you whale music instead of beer.’

  Clive chuckled at the memory and sat down. At least then he had a real case to solve, but then the memory morphed into Mary and that belt. He shook the image away and looked at Sophia, but her mood hadn’t thawed.

  ‘How’s PCU, Boss?’

  ‘The same. As always.’

  Zoe nodded in sympathy.

  ‘But Ava showed more of her real self the other day. She’s a tough little cookie.’ Clive recounted the tale of Ava and Brett and Zoe nodded along. ‘How’s your Terrorism-Cyber special unit?’

  ‘Hectic,’ Zoe said. ‘So much to do. It’s like there’s a constant wave of cyber probes and attacks. They’ve got me checking forums and potentially suspicious chatter that all the web-scanning software finds.’

  ‘Anything interesting, darling?’ Sophia asked, brightening for Zoe.

  Zoe shook her head. ‘No, today was a whole load of gaming nerds getting all excited about an augmented reality game.’

  Chapter 24

  Femi’s flight from Rome touched down at Dublin airport ten minutes early, and he strolled through the arrivals checkpoints with barely a pause. He was channelled through the ‘Intra Pan-Europe Arrivals’ lanes and the Border Control staff didn’t show any interest in him.

  Now he stood at the Avis car-hire desk, listening to the clerk’s impossibly fast typing on her console. Each clack of the keyboard was harmonised with a click of her long, bright-green fingernails. She looked up and flashed Femi a smile.

  ‘OK. You’ve booked an automated drive car. Yes?’

  Femi nodded a confirmation.

  ‘It’s cheaper if you drive yourself. No, wait…’ The clerk rechecked her screen. ‘Sorry, the booking says you need an iMe compatible car. That’s right?’

  Femi nodded again.

  ‘OK, that’s much more expensive. As you’re not a UK or Irish citizen, you’ll have to get UK Border Control to link the iTourist they’ll give you to the car. It’s a bit like this one.’ The clerk touched a green bracelet she wore on her left wrist. The colour matched her nails. ‘This is the Irish version, so we don’t have a hard border with the UK. You’ll get a different version.’