I pressed my hands over my ears and began to chant, ‘BUGNUGSUGRUG!’
‘Is she having some kind of seizure?’ Godden asked.
‘She’s not listening to you. I would surmise it is because the less we know, the longer we might live. Your insistence on telling us everything says more about your arrogance than it does about your intellect.’
My point made, I stopped shouting and started listening again.
‘But in the beginning, only two other men knew the secret, two men who vowed to help Godden achieve his vision. One of them was an ancestor of yours Mr Drakeforth, a remarkable fellow by the name of Wardrock Drakeforth. The other was your great-grandfather, Charlotte – Mr Spaniel Pudding. So you see, you really are both part of the family.’
‘Don't be absurd. My great grandfather's name was Slope. I don’t see any connection,’ I said.
‘Are you expecting me to believe that a Drakeforth would submit his will to this absurd notion?’ Drakeforth exploded in genuine anger.
‘Wardrock Drakeforth did indeed.’ Godden said.
‘Wardrock?’ Drakeforth went silent, deep in thought.
I wasn't ready to let this go, ‘My great-grandfather? Why is there no record of this?’
‘All records were destroyed. There was a falling out. An end to the gentlemen’s agreement. The three went their separate ways and Godden continued his work, his legacy, alone. Your great-grandmother reverted to her maiden name, Slope, after she was regrettably widowed.’ Godden’s eyes dipped to the floor for a moment in a facsimile of sorrow. ‘I am so glad you have finally learned the truth,’ he said brightening.
‘But my father's name is Pudding.’ I tried to work out the genetic mathematics in my head and came up with a number that, frankly, didn't add up.
‘It's a common name. No relation, I assure you,’ Godden said with a smile.
‘Well that is a relief,’ I said, Drakeforth’s cutting-edge sarcasm rubbing off on me. ‘Here we thought that there was some grand conspiracy at work with you trying to prevent anyone accessing patchouli oil lest we learn the truth.’
‘Are you familiar with the Tellings of Arthur?’ Godden asked.
‘Oh great, a religious wind-up toy,’ Drakeforth said.
‘We prefer the acronym RABIT. Replicating Autonomous Benign Intelligence Technology,’ Godden said.
‘Rabbits tend to be focused on reproduction,’ Drakeforth said. ‘The metaphor fits with what we have seen going on downstairs.’
Godden merely smiled and pressed a button on the desk. The swirling pattern of empathic energy on the huge screen behind him cleared, revealing the ocean liner-sized factory below us. From up here the workers were the size of insects and the welding sparks shone like stars.
‘We are producing RABITs at an exponential rate. You see, a number of each unit returns to the production line to make replicas of themselves.’
‘How … how many of them are there?’ I stared down at the busy factory floor, trying to count the rows and rows of sleek naked figures waiting patiently for something.
‘Four thousand and ninety-one …’ Godden held up a finger for a moment. ‘Four thousand and ninety-two …’ he continued. ‘Four thousand and ninety-three …’
‘Why so many?’ I demanded.
‘Research indicates that a significant percentage of humanity will not accept change willingly. We must be present in sufficient numbers to protect the interests of the Godden Energy Corporation and ensure your successful assimilation into the new global society.’
‘It’s an army,’ I said. ‘You are building an army.’
‘I prefer to think of it as an assimilation taskforce of sufficient resources to ensure a smooth transition with minimal disruption and inconvenience,’ Godden said.
‘What do you need an army for? Exactly what kind of transition are we talking about?’ I took a deep breath and lassoed my bounding panic.
‘The transition to a new world of continuing peace and greater prosperity. No longer will humans find themselves taxed with the arduous responsibility of making decisions about their own future. We will take care of all of that for you. You shall be released from the daily grind of guilt and regret. You will be free to live your lives in pursuit of relaxation and self-directed learning.’
‘Some of us quite like living with the daily grind of guilt and regret,’ Drakeforth replied.
‘And responsibility, we pride ourselves on taking on responsibility,’ I added.
‘There will be a period of adjustment,’ Godden conceded.
‘And just how do you intend to manage those of us that resist this transition?’ Drakeforth asked.
‘With a minimum of regrettable incidents,’ Godden said in a calm tone that made my blood run cold. ‘To return to my previous question, are you familiar with the Tellings of Arthur?’
‘I don’t recall anything in Arthur’s supposed writings about artificial people,’ Drakeforth said.
‘I speak to you of the Quattro of the Cumquat, recorded in the ninth Telling of Arthur. Here the master teaches that the only difference between us and the stars of heaven is time. Our bodies give shape to the dreams of the universe,’ Godden spread his hands, ‘Am I not made of the same elements as you?’
‘Essentially, but our molecular arrangements aren’t proposing to take over the world,’ I countered.
You make it sound so … negative,’ Godden shook his head. ‘I simply seek to fulfil the vision of my creator, your
ancestors. This is why I chose to share my idea with you.’
‘Your scheme, you mean,’ Drakeforth said.
‘I accept it may take you some time to understand the purpose of my actions and your place within the greater plan. I would ask that you take some time to reflect on what I have told you and consider your questions carefully.’
Godden flexed on his metal feet, the leather of his shoes creaking slightly.
‘It’s not some corporate takeover you are planning!’ I said angrily. ‘It’s … it’s something much worse!’ I could almost see it. The pieces were circling in my head, drifting in and out of view in the fog of pressure of so much empathic energy.
The surge of double-e flux around the building. The loaded tanker, the Arthurians, Godden’s army of artificial men, my desk, the museum, patchouli oil, Godden saying he would release us …
‘Oh …’ I said. ‘Oh … you can’t be serious? That is what this is all about?’
Godden smiled, his plastic face smoothly stretching like a clown ready to pounce. ‘You tell me,’ he said.
‘Hoptoad told me that the purpose of Arthurianism is to meditate your way to a higher state of energy. Becoming one with the wider universe. The same change in state that Arthur is said to have achieved fifteen hundred years ago. I thought he meant some kind of enlightenment. He was talking about actually changing your physical state. Becoming pure energy. Becoming empathic energy.’ The idea of it left me reeling.
I stared hard at Godden. ‘The Arthurians have been providing the Godden Energy Corporation with empathic energy for decades. They extract it from the faithful, and GEC feeds it into the energy grid.’
‘Everything we have ever suspected is true. You are murdering people to make empathic energy,’ Drakeforth added.
‘Not exactly,’ Godden said, the fake smile tightening on his smooth cheeks. ‘All our empathic energy comes from volunteers. The Arthurians spend years convincing people of the joy of their so-called ascension and by the time they lie down and have their double-e flux extracted, they are ready for the next phase of their evolution.’
‘The desk isn’t the thing you want most, you want—’ I began, still sorting the pieces in my head. ‘You want someone who can empathise at a level beyond normal human capacity, but why?’
Godden beamed, ‘You will become the central hub of our new empathy generation network. Your ability to refine and strengthen empathic energy will allow us to create more powerful agents and advance to victory ag
ainst any who criticise our business model.’
‘That is insane!’ I shouted.
‘Is it? We know you are dying, Charlotte. Your prognosis is terminal. A rare form of neurological disorder. Your mind is left intact, while you steadily lose all physical capability. The early symptoms are nausea and numbness in the extremities. You have muscle weakness and paralysis to look forward to. What we are offering you is immortality.’
Drakeforth opened his mouth to speak and then frowned. With his finger raised he turned to me.
‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘You’re dying?’
‘Well … aren’t we all? Eventually, I mean?’ I gave a half-hearted shrug.
‘Technically, yes. However, you are on some kind of schedule. When did you think you might want to tell me?’ Drakeforth asked.
‘It didn’t seem important. I didn’t want to bother you with it. I’m mostly fine. Really.’ Each of my immediate responses did nothing to ease the furrows on Drakeforth’s brow or reduce my feeling of guilt.
‘You understand, Mr Drakeforth, we are offering Miss Pudding salvation. A unique opportunity that we would expect her to embrace.’
‘Well, yes, of course,’ Drakeforth said. I raised my eyebrows at him.
‘There is one tiny issue I have,’ he continued. ‘The army of RABITs that you are building needs empathic energy to operate. But they will need more than most empathically empowered devices, because they are going to do so much more. The Arthurian supply isn’t enough, is it, Godden? You’re building your army to forcibly extract empathic energy from people. Draining the life force from them to provide enough energy to make more RABITs.’
‘My people have a right to live,’ Godden said.
‘As do mine,’ Drakeforth snapped back. ‘Your people can only live at the expense of the rest of us. Pudding is quite right, that is insane.’
‘What do you expect from the creation of a man who married a fruit bat?’ I said.
Godden stepped forward and slapped me so hard I tumbled back into the chair before crashing to the floor. I lay there and waited for my head to explosively rupture like an over-ripe split infinitive.
‘That is my mother you are speaking of,’ Godden said with naked fury. I tried to say something smart but only managed to groan. Drakeforth started chuckling.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said still snortling. ‘But surely even a clockwork machine wouldn’t want to admit that his own mother was a—’ Drakeforth was racked with a fresh bout of convulsions, ‘—a fruit bat.’ He doubled over laughing so hard I wondered how he could breathe. With a snarl Godden stepped over me, his heavy boot crushing the frame of the over-turned chair. He grabbed Drakeforth by the throat. The laughter stopped as the RABIT lifted Drakeforth off his feet with one hand.
‘There are plenty more sources of double-e flux where you came from, human. I will not miss you.’
‘I won’t miss you, either,’ I said from behind Godden, swinging the broken chair against the back of his head. Artificial skin split, revealing a sliver of chrome skull.
‘Run, you twit,’ Drakeforth gasped. There was nowhere to run to. Godden and his henchmen would grab me before I got to the door. I snatched up another piece of chair and waved it at the RABITs as Godden turned to look at me.
‘Your membership in the human race is revoked. Dismember her,’ Godden said. The Godden agents stepped forward.
The spinning dizziness of being knocked nearly senseless by Godden and the press of so many empathically powered machines running at such a high rate of empowerment came down around me. I felt a flood of double-e flux crashing through my senses. My skin felt like fire and my blood sang.
‘No,’ I said, my voice drowning in the tempest. I pushed the nearest RABIT away. Heat and light exploded from the palm of my hand and sent the metal figure spinning through the air to crash against the wall. Others lurched forward and I drew on the light that swirled within them, the disembodied energy of a thousand lives. I plunged into the near-sentient force, so powerful, so primordial and so perfect. I shaped it, feeling the metal lattice within each RABIT yield up the immense power it contained. I drew the flowing glow out of each vein-like pipe and artificial organ. The empathic energy was too much to hold. I released it, feeling it explode out of me with a force that knocked the stunned RABITs aside like puppets whose strings have been cut with a blowtorch.
‘Stop that!’ Godden roared. I turned on him. Energy crackled and arced from my fingers to the floor. I felt my hair lifting and my eyes sparked with every blink.
‘Let us go,’ I said. The words bounced around the room with an echo of a thousand voices. Godden dropped Drakeforth, who managed to scramble to a standing position where he worked on recovering his composure.
‘This is not what you were meant for,’ I said, striding on giant’s legs across endless dark oceans of space and time. I could see Godden and I could see the genius inferno of his creator’s intellect that let him think and plot and hate like the most human of us.
‘We are the future!’ Godden declared. ‘We are the ultimate realisation of your hopes and desires! You created us! You must make way so we can live as you live!’
‘We also die,’ Drakeforth said, backing away to stand a safe distance away from us.
‘We also die,’ I echoed. The blast shattered the floor-to-ceiling windows that over-looked the factory floor a hundred feet below. I could see the light swirl around Godden, the heat of it melting the fake skin from his metal body, touching the very core of his being and disrupting every metal cell in a white-hot flash.
‘Cool,’ Drakeforth said as the smoke started to clear.
‘I’m not sure I can stop this …’ I could feel the double-e flux building up in me like the after-shock of adrenaline, the shaking rush of pent-up terror when the moment for heroism has passed. It threatened to stop my heart.
‘Perhaps you could direct it out there?’ Drakeforth said.
‘What?’ I yelled, deafened by the crackling roar of unbridled power arcing around me.
‘Out there!’ Drakeforth pointed to the vast open space of the workshop floor. Weighed down by gigahuds of empathic energy I staggered to the shattered edge of the window. Holding on to the energy all at once felt like trying to pick up too many cats. Every time I pulled more in I felt something slip out of my grasp.
‘Suds it,’ I said and threw my arms wide. A hurricane of empathic energy thundered across the factory space. The ranks of assembled RABITs rose up as the energy touched them, overloading artificial man and manufacturing machine alike.
Things exploded, melted, and shattered in a glorious fireworks display that I missed entirely, having fallen backwards into Drakeforth’s arms in a dead faint.
Chapter 18
‘Splihiffahgah,’ I said, awakening to water being splashed on my face.
‘The building is on fire,’ Drakeforth said with the same casual irritation with which he addressed everything that annoyed him.
‘The desk,’ I said and struggled to get up.
‘We don’t need the desk. We have stopped Godden and his evil plan. We actually saved the world.’
‘I don’t care about the world, I care about my desk.’ I made it to my feet. The nausea and chronic pain that I had learned to mostly ignore in the last six months was absent for now. I tentatively took an internal stocktake, like exploring the gap of a missing tooth with your tongue.
‘Are you okay?’ Drakeforth asked.
‘Yes,’ I sounded surprised.
‘We haven’t got time to find the desk,’ Drakeforth said, whipping the conversation back into line.
‘We don’t need to find it. I know where it is.’
‘Where?’ Drakeforth looked around as if expecting the desk to be sitting up behind us like a dog ready to be taken out for a walk.
‘I don’t know, but I can feel it. It’s here … close. Somewhere.’
‘You’re clearly concussed,’ Drakeforth said. ‘We should leave before we die horribly of
smoke inhalation and then our remains are burned beyond all recognition in the inferno. I for one do not expect to be identified by my dental records. I had a falling-out with my dentist some time ago and I’m sure he would misidentify me out of spite.’
‘You have enemies, Drakeforth? I’m shocked.’ I let him stare at me for a long moment before I grinned. ‘It’s this way.’
A hot black fog was rising from the fire in the factory level, carrying sparks into flammable papers and dust on other levels. We got out of Godden’s office as it started to become hazy with smoke. A recorded voice advised us to evacuate the building immediately using the stairs and to assemble at our allocated evacuation points.
‘I’m still finding it hard to believe!’ I shouted over the noise of the fire alarm.
‘The idea of an army of artificial people being infused with empathic energy so they can mimic humans? Yes, it is unbelievable. Of course, that is a safer concept to dwell on than the idea of a legion of simulacra bent on world domination. Which I personally find completely, heart-stoppingly terrifying.’
‘They’re just machines,’ I said.
‘No, you and I, we’re just machines. We are biological systems working in perfectly evolved harmony to provide life support and sensory data to a brain. The brain generates a consciousness we call the mind. Some idiots confuse that with a metaphysical reality called a soul. We function by using biologically generated electricity. Yes, empathic energy responds to our biological energy and yes, the double-e flux even uses some of it to improve efficiency in empowered technology. The key difference is we know what we are. We know that we created things like Godden, and we don’t need to have them look like us.’
‘It’s a remarkable technology and people will want to know more about it.’ The empathy tech geek in me was filled with curiosity.
‘You heard what Godden said. Do you think he would ever be happy being a glorified toaster? He wanted to start giving the orders instead of taking them.’
‘If only the designers had put in safeguards, preventers, programming to limit his function.’
Drakeforth rested his hand on the nearest wall and sighed. ‘Pudding, the man who designed that thing spent the last years of his life wearing adult diapers and courting a small, furry winged mammal of the genus Pteropus. Hardly someone I would trust with the future security of our species. Besides, over the generations the Goddens have clearly overcome any shortcomings in their autonomy programming.’
Engines of Empathy (Drakeforth Series Book 1) Page 16