NO SIGNAL

by Jem Tugwell

  Clive saw blue lights strobing into the library and Lance’s team arrived.

  He watched the shambles of the arrest.

  ‘Lance even cocked up Miles’ arrest,’ Clive said. ‘And that was the easy bit.’

  Zoe seemed lost in silent thought.

  ‘What?’ Clive asked.

  ‘Miles was completely wrong to use bombs… and kill.’ She paused, seeming reluctant to say it. ‘But that doesn’t mean we don’t need to change. We do need a future.’

  ‘Of course we do,’ Clive said, but he had no belief that politicians would even try to deliver it.

  ***

  Part of Clive’s Employee Wellness recuperation and grief counselling plan involved him ‘avoiding the inherent stress of the work environment’. In reality, it meant him staying at home and watching a lot of old films. And a lot of news.

  One of his favourites was Miles’ arrest. Not only for Ava.

  Lance’s team’s arrival was captured by the news crews in all its glorious detail.

  Clive had saved it so that he could play it again and again.

  Miles was in the centre of the library, surrounded by a crush of his supporters. Maybe fifteen deep and encircling him. When Lance and his team arrived, Miles’ supporters linked arms and refused to move. They were a moat around the castle, there to block an invasion and protect their king.

  Lance and his team tried pushing and shoving, cajoling and threatening.

  Lance’s face was vivid red by the time he got to Miles.

  ‘Here are the fascist puppets of our criminal government,’ Miles shouted.

  The supporters jeered and pushed back, sending Lance stumbling to the floor.

  That brought a loud cheer from the supporters and a laugh from Miles. ‘The puppet fell over.’

  The supporters launched into a repeating chant: ‘He fell over. He fell over.’

  Lance recovered his balance. His anger blazed from him and he launched a swinging punch into Miles’ face.

  Clive pressed pause as Lance’s fist landed. ‘Double red notice, Lance.’

  ***

  A few weeks later, Clive’s duties involved sitting in a car on a round trip to Birmingham.

  Lilou was due for deportation to the place of her entry into the UK. She was headed for a state funded flight back to Berlin and then was on her own.

  The courts had said she had no case to answer, that she was a victim of Miles’ deception. A victim of self-harm. The prosecution had also tried for a conviction for damaging the property of the UK Border forces, but her defence lawyers had been sent a recommissioning and recalibration report of her iTourist. It had come off her severed hand with no issues and the report confirmed that it worked perfectly. Some tourist was probably walking around the UK with it on their arm now.

  When they arrived at the airport and the UK Border Security officers took Lilou away, the door of the car closed, and Clive burst into tears.

  All he could think of was Ava, and the time they dropped dozy Brett at Gatwick’s East terminal after he overstayed his time limit.

  Chapter 86

  Clive was lounging on his sofa, looking at his display wall watching Julia Roberts kicking ass in Erin Brockovich. He’d seen it so many times that he knew the story by heart. He pressed pause.

  All he could think about was chocolate. Again.

  Winter was still threatening him, and his restricted duties gave him too much spare time. Being at home didn’t help. There was no legitimate chocolate in the fridge, but the contraband chocolate was still hidden in the cupboard. He was within Model, but he held himself back. He was trying to be a better Clive.

  But why bother? On one side, the government and Issac were clamping down more and how soon would it be before they turned people off? On the other, the calls for a ban on meat and dairy production to ease global warming were deafening. That meant no steak, but worse no milk. No milk meant no real chocolate.

  Mmmm, chocolate, he thought.

  A bing broke his daydream and Clive groaned as he looked at the message his Buddy rolled out: ‘Your next self-healing course is available to view’.

  He knew that as he was technically at work, and had ten minutes grace in starting the course. Six more of these videos and he would be back at PCU. Then he could sit around and do nothing in the PCU office rather than at home.

  Clive clicked on the message and his display wall redrew to show a face. The man was bald, but with a huge beard. It made his head look like it was on upside down.

  ‘Please pay attention,’ the man said. ‘This self-healing course uses proximity scanning and eye direction monitoring from your HUD camera to ensure that you are fully engaged with the learning programme. Please blink twice to confirm your acceptance.’

  Clive blinked twice and the screen changed to a picture of bars and bars of chocolate.

  ‘Welcome to Food Searches Us Out,’ the man’s voice said. ‘In the old days, humans spent the majority of their time searching for and preparing food. Now modern life has plentiful food and iMe’s learning software adjusts your diet to keep you in optimal health. This benefit requires little effort on your part. It’s all done automatically. It frees our time, but that can present different challenges in the form of cravings. When we crave food, it is usually due to our emotional state, rather than actual hunger. Think back to your own cravings. Do they appear when you are bored, anxious, or depressed? Your cravings are nothing more than your brain trying to self-medicate…’

  Clive sat through the rest of his self-healing course. It all made sense, but…

  He stifled a yawn. He shouldn’t be tired at eleven o’clock in the morning, so he headed down the hall to the bathroom. He ducked down to the sink and splashed water on his face.

  Better, he thought and reached for the towel.

  He rubbed his face dry and looked hard in the mirror. His skin was red from the towel and he thought he saw Ava staring at him. His eyes dropped to his body and his favourite ‘Spirit of a Honey Badger’ T-shirt.

  Was he really a honey badger anymore? Was he ferocious? Fearless?

  No. He was choosing to eat salad and avoiding chocolate unless he cowered behind a bracelet. Watching bloody self-help videos.

  Worse. He was seeing the validity of the arguments in the self-help crap.

  He was whipped. Broken. No fighting spirit left. He was a puppy rolling on its back and begging for a tummy rub.

  He needed a Spirit of a Gerbil T-shirt.

  Clive’s face reddened more, and he curled his hands into fists.

  Bang. Bang. Bang. He rained punches on his head.

  ‘What the fuck have you become?’ he screamed.

  Clive ran through his bedroom, along the corridor and into the kitchen. He yanked open a cupboard door and pulled down a Health Bank bracelet. He sneered at it and tossed it into the sink.

  No more hiding.

  He reached to the back of the cupboard, fingers darting around to find it.

  There.

  His hand touched thin packaging, he could feel ridges and indentations.

  He pulled the bar of chocolate out and stared at its perfection.

  Clive’s long thumbnail sliced a cut through the packaging three rows of blocks back. Six cubes of heaven.

  After some frantic tearing the cubes were naked. Two went into his mouth.

  ‘Arghh…’ Clive said, and his knees almost gave way as his taste buds exploded.

  Clive’s Buddy ran out, waving his finger at him in rebuke, and unfurled another banner: ‘Freedom Unit violation reported to the Ministry of Well-being and Health’.

  He ignored it, and pushed the four remaining cubes of chocolate into his mouth, savouring every delicious morsel.

  ***

  Clive licked the last of the chocolate from his fingers. He felt warm and snug, comforted by its creamy perfection. Momentarily at peace.

  Until his Buddy jogged onto his HUD, trailing an ‘Urgent New Message’ banner. Clive clicked on
the banner and his Buddy threw the message text onto the HUD.

  ‘Sender: Special Investigator Winter, Freedom Unit Enforcement, Ministry of Well-being and Health.’

  ‘Subject: Health Reorientation Camp joining instructions.’

  ‘Message: A car will pick you up at 05:30 tomorrow and take you to the Dartmoor Health Reorientation Camp…’

  Clive’s legs collapsed under him, and he dropped his head. He let out a long, ‘Nooooo.’

  The high from the chocolate had evaporated, nothing more than a transient sugar-rush. The self-help beardie had been right, his act of defiance was a simple act of self-medication. It didn’t solve anything.

  He looked around his kitchen. He was alone. No Ava, no Sophia and worse, the continual presence of his nemesis, the Model Citizen.

  He was controlled.

  Energy surged through Clive, ‘But no more,’ he screamed.

  He jumped up and ran to the nearest drawer. He yanked it open and grabbed a large knife.

  ‘Shit, more health and safety bollocks,’ he said. Every knife he had was blunt. The baby training knives his parents used at mealtimes were sharper. He tried anyway, testing the edge of the blade across his wrist. It left a thin white line that faded as the blood returned.

  Even when trying to end it all, he was controlled.

  He pushed his right thumb into his mouth, and nibbled at his nail. Shaping it into a crude, but sharp point.

  Issac’s words replayed in his head – We can turn the unworthy off.

  Clive grabbed the back of his neck with his left hand, feeling for the bump where the iMe was. He didn’t care if it killed him, it was coming out.

  He brought his right thumb up and jabbed the point of his nail into the soft flesh. He pushed and hacked and broke the skin.

  Blood oozed down his neck.

  He worked his thumb deeper, then pulled it out. Now that knife should be of some use. He grabbed it and pushed the blunt corner into the opening his nail had made. He used it as a lever, tearing the skin, forcing the blade in.

  Bile started to rise in Clive’s mouth, and despite shivering, sweat appeared on his brow. He had to stop and wait for a wave of dizziness to pass.

  Clenching his jaw tight, he pushed the blade again, working it back and forth. The skin deformed as the knife made progress, outlining the shape of the blade.

  It reached the centre of his neck.

  The angle of Clive’s wrist changed, and he started pushing the blade down, battling the pain and waves of nausea.

  He gagged. Then again and a mouthful of vomit escaped he mouth and splattered onto the floor.

  The knife was just above the iMe, he was sure. He paused, scanning the room, but saw nothing to change his mind, and pushed harder down.

  The blade touched something metal. He thought he heard a tiny ‘fut’ of an electrical short-circuit, and Clive’s HUD flashed a blinding white. Pain exploded in his neck and spread like surging, breaking waves. It enveloped him before he collapsed.

  ***

  Clive unpeeled his right eye. His whole body hurt, every nerve ending was in rebellion, firing pulses that swamped his brain.

  He tried to lift his hand, but couldn’t.

  ‘Don’t,’ a gentle voice said. ‘Try and stay still.’

  His eye rose, millimetre by agonising millimetre. ‘What… Where?’

  It was all he could manage.

  ‘You’re in… hospital. You nearly died, but Harry saved you. He came out to clean up your vomit and his sensors picked up blood. He messaged for help.’

  Good old Harry. His only friend.

  But maybe, not. ‘That you, Zoe?’ he croaked.

  ‘Of course. You’re such an idiot.’

  He listened for another person, a hint of their breathing. He sniffed, willing for a trace of a familiar perfume in the air. ‘Is Sophia here?’

  ‘Sorry. No.’

  Clive didn’t have any time to think about what her absence really meant before he heard a door crash open and a voice he couldn’t help recognise – Special Investigator Winter, full of righteous anger. ‘Inspector, you missed another appointment, but getting locked up in a psychiatric hospital doesn’t get you off the hook.’

  Clive glanced at his right hand and saw that he was strapped to the bed. Winter crowed in over him and laughed.

  Clive curled up his middle finger and jabbed it up as much as the straps allowed.

  ‘Winter, I see you got my application to join Control Rebellion.’

  With thanks…

  To Rax, James, Georgie and my family and friends for all their support.

  To Oonagh for the dreams about pirates.

  To Amanda, my editor at Let’s Get Booked.

  To Abbie at Pilcrow Proofreading.

  To the TrashFiction crew for all the support and jokes.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading No Signal. I hope you found its blend of thriller and near future both plausible and thought-provoking. Real life provides so much inspiration for fiction and I would love to hear your views.

  If you enjoyed the story, I’d be extremely grateful if you would write a review. Getting feedback from readers is extremely rewarding and also helps persuade others to pick up one of my books for the first time.

  For news about the next in the series, please visit me at my website – www.jemtugwell.com or join me on Twitter @JemTugwell and Facebook @JemTugwellAuthor.

  All the best,

  Jem

  Read PROXIMITY, the first book in the iMe series.

  Leading the trend in speculative crime thrillers, Jem Tugwell’s thrilling and thought-provoking debut sits alongside Black Mirror and The City and the City in an unsettling exploration of our near future.

  DI Clive Lussac has forgotten how to do his job. Ten years of embedded technology – ‘iMe’ – has led to complete control and the eradication of crime.

  Then the impossible happens. A body is found, and the killer is untraceable.

  With new partner Zoe Jordan, Clive must re-sharpen his detective skills and find the killer without technology, before time runs out for the next victim…

  Buy now: Kobo, Google, Apple, B&N