NO SIGNAL

by Jem Tugwell

  Serge double clicked on Sully’s quadrant to see the map of the game controller’s location.

  It was miles from Edinburgh. ‘Merde.’

  They must have caught him.

  He zoomed in on the map and swore again. The controller was in a military base.

  Serge moved the mouse and clicked on the menu. He selected the ‘Retire player’ option, then selected the reason as ‘unauthorised location’.

  He pressed ‘OK’ to confirm the self-destruct.

  Chapter 53

  Clive relaxed back into the car’s seat, rested his head against the headrest and shut his eyes. He needed a few calm minutes to think through the interview approach for Jay Evans.

  His HUD thought he was trying to sleep, and shut all functions down. He concentrated on the rhythm of his breathing, and the darkness of vision. No Buddy, no messages, no streaming news updates. Blissful tranquillity.

  It lasted four more breaths before Ava shouted, ‘Fuck, Boss.’

  He snapped his eyes open. For a fraction of a second he had ordinary, human vision, before his Buddy ran across the bottom of his vision and the screen exploded with message alerts. His TrueMe social media account scrolled faster than his brain could cope with, the words blurring as they sped across the page.

  He clicked a newsfeed and its video loaded.

  A worried newsreader stared at the screen, she gulped and paused, it looked like she could barely believe what she was going to read out.

  Her face changed as she tried to control her emotions. Her eyebrows lowered and her forehead cleared her frown. ‘We have confused reports of an explosion on the steps of Stormont. There were two armed police officers at the scene, sadly it appears that they were killed by the blast as their signals are now red. Despite no other signals being present at the scene, there are unconfirmed reports of a man standing outside Stormont. Social media is saying that the police officers approached the man and then ran. The explosion seemed to come from this man with no signal…’

  The newsreader stopped and her eyes lifted slightly. It looked like she was listening to something being said by her producers.

  ‘We have this footage from an eye-witness. Viewers are warned that the following video shows disturbing images.’

  The video cut away from the studio and to a video shot from someone’s HUD. Two Uniforms, guns raised were talking to a man who seemed to be staring at his left hand. The police turned and started running, but so was the person filming. The view changed to a view away from Stormont, people running, parents scooping up children. The view bucked and jumped with each panicked step and the person’s pumping hands could be seen at the bottom of the screen.

  The view changed again as the person turned to look over their shoulder.

  There was a blinding flash, the police seemed to fly, and the video tumbled and rolled like the person doing the recording had been blown over by a shock wave.

  The man looked like Femi. Clive shut his eyes to try and purge the sight of the explosion catching and ripping into the two police officers. Despite the HUD shutting down again, Clive’s retinas still reported a blinding white shock to his brain.

  ‘Boss, that looked like Femi,’ Ava said. Her voice was unusually quiet and level.

  Clive opened his eyes again. ‘Yes.’

  He’d wanted to find Femi, but not like this. He had dreamt of putting all four gamers onto transport out of the UK.

  ‘Can you get that video on the car’s screen and get to right before the explosion?’

  Ava nodded and threw her HUD at the car’s display and scrolled the video back.

  She pressed play and Clive turned away when the two Uniforms got caught by the explosion.

  ‘Scroll back again. There’s something at the beginning. Go really slowly.’

  This time the video jerked and stepped forward.

  ‘Stop,’ shouted Clive. ‘Look.’ He banged his finger onto the table at the point where the first light of the explosion was visible.

  ‘It’s that game controller. It exploded.’

  Ava leant in and scrunched the corner of her eyes. She jogged the video display, back and forward in time, trying to find the exact moment of the explosion.

  ‘Definitely the controller,’ she agreed.

  Clive stiffened and the colour drained from his face.

  He jabbed a finger at his jaw so hard that it left a mark. ‘Call DSC Bhatt,’ he said.

  The call was answered but all Clive heard was, ‘Wait’.

  He shared the call with Ava so that she could hear through the car’s speakers.

  They could hear someone else talking at the other end of the call, but it was too faint and muffled to catch, even amplified by the car.

  The talking stopped, and Clive thought he heard a sniff. Bhatt doesn’t cry, he thought. Never cries.

  ‘Clive,’ Bhatt said, a small crack of emotion in her voice.

  ‘Ma’am, it was Femi’s game controller that exploded. That means Sully’s might explode as well.’

  Bhatt didn’t say anything, instead, it sounded like the rustling of tissues, then the call muted.

  Clive and Ava looked at each other, not sure they should speculate in case Bhatt suddenly unmuted the call.

  They waited and listened to the rhythmic thrumming of the car’s wheels on road.

  Bhatt’s voice reappeared through the car’s speakers.

  ‘I have a report that the six scientists who were examining Sully’s controller have been killed. They were in a sealed room, but they were all using their iMe to record their findings. The video shows their discussion about the controller getting hot, then they were looking at a message on the palm of the controller that said, “Sully has been retired from the game”. They were discussing what the heat from the controller meant, when the display changed to “Unauthorised location” and I saw a flash of white.’

  Bhatt’s voice broke, but she carried on with a croaky timbre.

  ‘All their iMe signals went red and recordings stopped.’

  Chapter 54

  Bhatt’s message, ‘Conference room next to my office. Urgent’, had binged in soon after the call in the car had ended. The car arrived and Clive and Ava rushed to the meeting room. Clive knocked, and they entered.

  The buzz of conversation stopped, and heads swivelled to stare. A hostility crackled in the air which left them shuffling nervously on the spot.

  This felt like an ambush, not an update briefing. Clive locked his knees to try and combat the jelly that seemed to have replaced his muscles.

  The sensation wasn’t helped when Bhatt snapped, ‘Sit.’

  Clive thought about arguing, but Bhatt’s right hand was up, palm facing him. He took the hint that was really an order, and sat. At least the chair meant his legs wouldn’t fall from under him.

  Bhatt turned to a man in his mid-thirties. She had positioned herself so that Clive couldn’t see or hear what was being said. It hadn’t been a subtle manoeuvre. Clive checked the man’s details on his HUD: Chief Inspector Lance Grannum.

  Ava sat next to Clive, and leaned across to whisper, ‘What’s going on?’

  Clive shrugged and shook his head. Whatever it was, wasn’t going to be good.

  As Bhatt stopped talking, she shifted position and opened a gap so that Clive got a view across the conference room. He saw a familiar face hiding in the corner.

  The way Zoe dropped her gaze when she caught Clive’s eye seemed completely out of character. She should be smiling and saying ‘Hi, Boss’.

  ‘OK. Let’s start,’ Bhatt said in a tone that demanded instant obedience.

  Zoe shuffled behind Bhatt, her body half-turned away from the table, like she wished she wasn’t there at all. She sat at the furthest corner of the table.

  Clive’s discomfort ratcheted up a level. The six other people had taken chairs on the opposite side of the table to Clive and Ava. Now it felt like an inquisition.

  In the window behind Bhatt, Clive could see thi
ck, dark clouds rolling in.

  ‘We’ve had two explosions: one at a military base, one on the steps of the Parliament Building at Stormont,’ Bhatt said.

  They all nodded.

  Zoe couldn’t look at Clive. She seemed to find the top of the table fascinating.

  ‘Which makes this a terrorism case,’ Bhatt said. She paused and looked at Lance, ‘Chief Inspector?’

  The clouds outside deepened and a roll of thunder rumbled through the room.

  ‘Ma’am,’ Lance said. His head bobbed forward in a nod to Bhatt. His hair had a fluffy, cotton-like appearance with tight curls at the ends, and the nod caused the ends of his hair to rock – an added threat.

  Lance looked straight at Clive and pursed his lips in a hard line.

  ‘The case is ours,’ Lance said. ‘You’re both off.’ He waved a hand at the two people to his left. ‘My DI’s will run it. You need to give us everything you have.’

  A shock of disappointment hit Clive like a breaking wave that he hadn’t seen coming. It knocked him over, he went under and resurfaced. He looked at Bhatt for some encouragement or hope, but her eyes told him it was inevitable.

  Lance bent forward and looked right. At Zoe.

  ‘Give everything you have to DS Jordan. She knows PCU, so it will speed things up.’

  Zoe still wouldn’t look at Clive.

  ‘Clive, Ava, you’re back on normal duties,’ Bhatt said. ‘You can leave.’

  ‘But, ma’am, that’s not fair. We’ve done all–’ Ava said.

  A raised finger and Bhatt’s hard eyes told Ava not to push her luck.

  Clive and Ava pushed their chairs back to rise. It was obvious really. Why would they leave it to him when there was a huge, well-funded specialist department?

  ‘Run along, old-timer,’ Lance said, a sneer distorting his face.

  ‘You could be the biggest arse wipe,’ Clive muttered.

  ‘What did you say?’ snapped Lance.

  ‘What? Who? Me?’ Clive said, holding Lance’s gaze. ‘I said “Could be in for the biggest lightning strike”.’ He waved at the deepening storm.

  Zoe still hadn’t looked at Clive, but a smile flashed across her face.

  Lance’s face reddened. ‘No, you said–’

  ‘Clive, Ava, go,’ Bhatt cut across Lance. ‘Zoe will come down after we’ve finished.’

  Zoe snuffed her smile out before anyone else noticed.

  Chapter 55

  Lilou’s route kept her on the edge of the Wye valley, and then past Monmouth.

  For her, the game had become a personal, internal battle. Like with her triathlons and parkour, success wasn’t only about the strength of the muscles in her shoulders or legs. It was down to the strength in her head. She had to block out the fact that her game controller told her that she was still fourth. Last.

  Last. The thought cut her like glass in her shoe at every step. She was behind Sully. Sully!

  She checked her map, touching her finger where the game controller confirmed she was. She traced her finger south and hit a thick, green line with the word A40 on it. It looked like a big road. Lots of cars and lots of risk, but there was a small bridge over it. She smiled at the name, Jingle Street. It reminded her of a Christmas song her brother liked.

  She’d have to go faster, dig deep. She had done it before. She started running.

  ***

  Lilou ran along Jingle Street. The narrow single-track road, with hedges on both sides, was mercifully free of cars. Ahead she could see the road start to rise. I must be close to the bridge, she thought.

  She dropped her head and pumped her arms faster, accelerating. She lifted her head to maximise the feel of the wind rushing past her cheeks.

  When Lilou reached the brow of the bridge she saw that it was still narrow, with a row of little bollards on either side, one side showed red, the other a reflective white. She could see a T-junction ahead, but hedges blocked her view of the road.

  Lilou checked her game controller and laughed. ‘Game position – third’.

  She hadn’t been that far behind after all. Maybe the other two were only metres ahead of her. She had no way to know.

  Her world was condensing down to the map and the controller. She had no idea what her family were doing. No idea of what else was happening in the world.

  The road ahead was still clear. Push on, she told herself. Time to grab second and then first.

  Sprinting across the bridge, she flashed past the last of the bollards, then saw a battered farm van turn off the main road and start gliding silently towards her. Bits of straw blew off in a yellow cloud behind it.

  Lilou twisted away and prepared for an easy parkour jump, up and over the fence. She was planning to roll down the bank and away from the car, but as her hand touched the top rail, it crumbled and split. Not a hard, crisp crack of new, strong wood, but the dusty, feathering of age and decay.

  She pitched forward, throwing her shoulder in an improvised forward-roll. It shot her into a fast and high leap and as her left foot banged back onto the ground, it slipped downhill on the wet grass.

  Lilou windmilled her arms, trying to regain balance, but a hole in the bank caught her foot. Her weight and momentum carried her forward, her body overtook her foot and she screamed as her foot twisted and buckled under her.

  She finished her descent and landed in a sprawl of arms and legs.

  Wincing, she sat up and touched her ankle. ‘Merde.’

  She heard movement above her and tried walking, but her ankle wouldn’t take her weight.

  The movement above her got louder.

  She hopped across a few metres of grass and into some bushes.

  ‘You OK down there, lovely?’ a woman’s voice called.

  Lilou pulled her arms around her legs, trying to be invisible, and wishing the woman would go.

  Chapter 56

  Clive looked around his apartment. He could see nearly all of it from his chair in front of the display wall. The sterile open-plan lounge/dining/kitchen, the door to the small bedroom and en suite and the short corridor to the front door. It was a box to exist in, not his home. Sophia was refusing to communicate at all. Even Harry ignored him tonight.

  Since he had got home, he’d spent the hours preoccupied with two things: game controllers and chocolate.

  Zoe had been gracious and apologetic in the handover of the case to Terrorism. She couldn’t fight a direct order, but it didn’t help. This was an important case. He should be helping, but he was being told to sit and do nothing.

  He flushed red when he thought about it, but the anger faded quickly. Red replaced by black, swirling clouds of depression. They sucked at him, drawing his strength from his body.

  He battled up and out of the darkness, looking for a lift. Looking for his favourite thing.

  The fridge used to hold chocolate. Milky, velvety heaven. The sort that melted into a dreamy stream on his tongue.

  But the Ministry of Well-being and Health set his dietary restrictions and the chocolate had been seized when the fridge was restocked and replaced with rice cakes.

  He glanced at the kitchen cupboard where he had hidden his last illicit bar of chocolate behind his Health Bank bracelet. He could put it on and eat all the chocolate he wanted. No comeback from the Ministry.

  But it wouldn’t help his diabetes.

  ‘Be strong,’ he said, but the cupboard called to him, like it had its own gravitational pull.

  He walked a lap of the sofa and looked at the kitchen cupboard. He sat on his hands. Dug his nails into his palms. He gave in and walked to the cupboard and half-opened the door.

  ‘No.’ He closed the door and went back to the sofa.

  He repeated it all. Again and again. His addiction battled his willpower.

  He had to be strong. He had to think about something else.

  Clive used his HUD to project the TV onto his display wall. He scrolled through bland channel after channel. It seemed like after 23:30, the TV
companies put drivel or news on to send people to sleep.

  Clive’s Buddy seemed to have got the same message as he rolled out another warning banner. ‘You need sleep for optimal health and performance.’ Buddy gave an exaggerated yawn and then pretended to fall asleep on his banner.

  Clive looked up at the display wall at the mention of explosions. This might be interesting, he thought.

  The display wall showed a TV studio. A female presenter and her four guests sat at an elliptical desk so that they could all face the cameras, and at the same time, see each other.

  ‘I’m Katrina Bridges, and welcome to this special edition of Question Hour,’ the presenter said. Her face was sober to match the severity of the image of Femi exploding that rolled across the screen on the wall behind her.

  Clive liked Katrina as a presenter. She usually asked difficult questions, but also let the guests talk. So many others seemed to prefer to talk over their guests, like their opinion was the only one that mattered.

  ‘I’m joined tonight by the Minister of Well-being and Health, Karli Neilson. Shadow Northern Ireland Minister, Conor Mulligan. Leader of the Eco-Socialist Democracy Party, Miles Raven, and Issac Townsend, Head of the New Modelists Church.’

  Clive settled back in his chair. The four guests were arranged for easy identification of their politics for the viewers. Far left was Miles, the ultimate eco-socialist campaigner, then Conor since the opposition party were only a little left of centre. Katrina separated left from right, and then Karli, whose politics were a tiny amount right of centre. Then Issac, way out to the right.

  Conor and Karli could almost be political clones. Their parties were both so close to the centre that they fought hard and dirty over their common ground. If Miles was as far left as possible, the panel was balanced by Issac being just as far to the right. These four were often on TV shows looking for combative discussion. No one from Control Rebellion though, Clive thought.

  The time on the studio’s display wall said 20:00, which meant it was a repeat, but it might still be good viewing, Clive decided, even if it wouldn’t be a good, clean fight.