Conscious

by Vic Grout

  *

  The smart woman stood on the grass lawn, facing away from a curved white wall. Her business suit had changed from grey to cream but was otherwise identical to before. She was joined by the uniformed man, emerging from the building behind her. As he approached, she turned and opened her eyes in question. He half closed his own in anticipation of what he did not want to say or she to hear.

  “Ma’am, we are going to have to talk to the Europeans.”

  *

  Almost no-one seemed to have remembered – or even cared – that it was New Year’s Eve. Certainly The Desk had given it little thought until Aisha overheard a couple of the technicians discussing plans for the rest of the evening. Originally, the traditional fireworks display had been intended for the Place de Brouckère but there was little doubt that this would be cancelled. It was dangerous enough outside anyway without any attempt to use timed explosives in the name of entertainment!

  The Belgians, however, were a resilient people. Brussels had seen its share of horror over the years. The terrorist attacks at the airport and elsewhere in the city were still fresh in the minds of its occupants and the New Year’s Eve celebrations themselves – including the light-show and fireworks – had even been cancelled in 2015 as a security measure. Rather than cower in fear, a spirit of determined resistance had sprung up in Brussels, as in other European cities. They would be sensible, yes. They would take precautions, indeed, but they would not be driven into hiding. Whatever the threat was, whoever was behind it, they would present a brave face to it and the world.

  So instead, a plan emerged on social media, and on the mainstream news when they became aware of it, for something like an urban party as an act of defiance. Place de Brouckère was simply too enclosed and too small for this and there was too much technology – and its associated danger – all around. It was quickly agreed that the Parc de Bruxelles would be an altogether better location. The authorities were distinctly less than enthusiastic and, at first, threatened to arrest those congregating in groups anywhere in the vicinity of the palace, parliament or theatre. However, recognising in short time that they lacked any organised strength to prevent it (public services were way beyond breaking point) and realising that there was to be no stopping it, they eventually gave it their limited support and even made some practical arrangements to minimise danger: the power grids were switched off in the area and a rudimentary temporary lighting system was hastily sent in, powered by stand-alone generators. All public wireless networks were disabled.

  Aisha announced suddenly that she was going to the party. She needed fresh air and a change of scenery; she also sensed the city’s defiance and wanted to share in it. Jenny, after a short debate within herself, agreed to join her. Bob had not yet given up on something useful coming from the network analysis so, despite some rugged attempts at persuasion, he elected to remain.

  Andy surprised them somewhat by also deciding to stay. At first, he was slightly elusive as to why and Aisha was both disappointed and upset. Eventually he had to concede the real reason. His leg, injured in the accident in London, was causing him more problems that he had disclosed to anyone: walking any distance was difficult and painful. Aisha took him aside and hastily inspected the wound, which had clearly deteriorated through the day, since she had last seen it that morning. She was annoyed and concerned in quick order and her initial reaction was to stay with him. Andy’s promise to have it properly treated and dressed while she was gone, together with his threat to go out himself if she did not, eventually persuaded her.

  “You are an extremely pig-headed man,” she snarled at him in a mixture of annoyance and affection.

  *

  Aisha and Jenny left the control room – with two uniformed guards, summoned for that purpose – shortly before 10:30pm. It took quarter of an hour to reach the open air. They were guided along passages, up flights of stairs and through a series of doors of gradually decreasing security until they finally emerged onto the street through what appeared to be the entrance to a residential block near to Maelbeek Metro station. Their escorts would have preferred to accompany them to the park itself but their offer was refused. Instead, they were to return to the same spot at 1am to be guided back to the control room, or to their hotel, depending on where the others might be by that time.

  Parc de Bruxelles was about half a mile away and, already, a steady stream of people was moving in that direction. Faces were mixed. Some looked sad, others grimly determined; many at least feigned a lighter expression; a few were even boisterous. Everyone was doing their best to avoid immediate sources of danger but accidents were happening nonetheless. As they stepped from the doorway, they found themselves in the company of a group of about a dozen men in their twenties and thirties, most carrying cans or bottles and already clearly somewhat the worse for wear.

  “Sorry, pet,” slurred the lead man, as he swerved to avoid Jenny.

  “No problem.”

  “Ah, English!”

  “Yes.”

  “Us too. Stag trip from Leeds. Not sure when we’re going home though now all this crap’s happened! Where you girls from?”

  “London.”

  “Never mind, not your fault!” quipped another, with a self-congratulatory laugh like a braying donkey.

  You can join us if you like, girls,” suggested a third, wearing sunglasses against the merciless glare of the Belgian night sky.

  “Oh, joy!” whispered Aisha to Jenny, who returned the faintest of smiles.

  Most of the group, although fairly lubricated, were sociable enough but there were perhaps two of three of their number who seemed distinctly less friendly. One, in particular, shaven-headed and tattooed and noticeably drunker, glared at Aisha as he barged quickly past. Despite the cold, he wore little more than a white t-shirt – with a thick red cross of St. George – above the waist. It was quickly clear, as they walked on, that his displeasure was not reserved solely for her: about half the population of Brussels appeared to fall short of whatever his personal expectations of a human being might be.

  Parc de Bruxelles had been re-landscaped somewhat in late 2016. Some of the parallel paths had been lost and the tree cover increased: new techniques had been used to plant mature trees, which were now flourishing. The result was a reduction in horizontal visibility across many areas, which now suited Aisha and Jenny well. Entering the park, they detached themselves from the group as quickly as they could, reducing their pace and falling behind as they approached the central fountain. The stags continued to display their rutting prowess, by attempting to push each other into the water, swearing loudly as they did so, and generally maximising the annoyance they could cause to the greatest number of people. As they staggered around the pond on its right, Aisha and Jenny took the left path and lost themselves in the crowd.

  *

  Andy was away in the facility’s medical centre. Bob remained in the control room, staring at the central display screen. Stephen’s team and numerous technicians fluttered in his peripheral vision. He gazed at the sea of red, which covered the world map, then at Hattie’s various displays. Her ‘scopes showed no change in the PDN now almost saturating the network and she still read S = 0.741. Bob glanced at the clock display, which flicked from 22:59 to 23:00 as he watched, then back to Hattie. As he did so, her digits changed to:

  S = 0.742

  Bob watched both Hattie and his smart-watch. Her display remained at the new value for nearly a minute this time before reverting to S = 0.741. This was the longest ‘blip’ yet but he was no closer to understanding what it meant. He sighed a resigned sigh. At that moment, Andy reappeared – his leg now visibly bandaged and padded under his jeans – and hobbled a few steps down into the control room. Seeing Bob several units away, he stopped and shouted.

  “Coffee? I’ve just found a nice little canteen, on the way back from the medical room, no-one mentioned to us: seems to be free!”

  Bob nodded slowly in defeat.

  “Have
they got any beer?”

  “I didn’t look; they might.”

  “Coming,” he grunted.

  *

  In Parc de Bruxelles, people were trying their hardest to party. Some makeshift stalls had appeared selling food and drink, powered by local generators supplied by the authorities. There was little light but just enough for safe navigation of the open areas and there were small groups dancing to different pockets of music. A few drones were in the air: some taking aerial photographs; others, it seemed, just for the entertainment of being flown. Between the vast areas covered by trees, however, things were distinctly gloomy and these regions were serving as a retreat for those with more secretive or romantic ambitions. Some, hidden beneath the heaviest cover, seemed particularly determined to take advantage of what might – they obviously felt, for many of them – be their last night on Earth. As always, the drug-sellers and other casual hawkers of just about anything the flesh might desire were plying their trades. There was a crude, dark, almost beautiful elegance to it all: something like the simplicity of an earlier, less-technological time.

  And yet these were the hardy minority. Most citizens had chosen to stay at home, where they felt the danger to be minimised. That this was no absolute guarantee of safety was evidenced by the occasional flash, explosion or collective cry in the distance. Perhaps 100,000 people – certainly no more – were in the park itself or milling around its edges. Away from the immediate area, the streets of Brussels were close to deserted. Other than the partiers, only those with a call such as outweighed the peril had ventured out.

  At around quarter to midnight, greater numbers of people started to gravitate from the periphery towards the park’s central walkway. A temporary digital clock display had been erected at the mid-point for the countdown to the New Year. As pockets of people ebbed and flowed, to their disappointment, Aisha and Jenny found themselves accidentally reunited with their rowdy compatriots. The crowds around them now were too dense for a subtle withdrawal.

  “Yo! London girls!” Either Donkey or Sunglasses shouted: they could not tell.

  They smiled.

  Drunk St. George scowled.

  *

  In the main control room, Andy and Bob returned from their coffee. Bob looked at the clock; it was 23:50. Too soon for a New Year call to Jill really but it was likely to be difficult tonight so an early start might be advisable. He had managed briefly earlier in the day but not without trouble. Although the 4 & 5G in the air was PDN free, the core switches were pretty screwed. He made four attempts this time without success before hearing the call tone at the other end. Jill answered quickly.

  “Hello?”

  “Happy New Year, Sweetheart!” He tried to sound as cheerful as possible.

  “Bit early, aren’t you?”

  “Only by a few minutes.”

  “More like an hour and a few minutes. We’ve just had a late dinner. Chris and Heather have just got Ben off to bed. He’s not sleeping well at the moment: all the noise is keeping him awake.”

  Bob slapped his hand theatrically to his forehead. Idiot! Of course, Europe was an hour ahead of the UK. It was not yet eleven there. In the general confusion and madness, he had overlooked the obvious point that his family back in London would be in the old year for another hour. Further west, of course, it would take them even longer and, to the east, other countries had already been seeing in the New Year at different times through the afternoon.

  Oh. My. God!

  “Aaaah, sorry, Sweetheart. I’ll call you back later,” he stuttered apologetically and closed the call abruptly. Andy eyed him with concern across the table.

  Bob spun back to one of the smaller displays and opened the spreadsheet into which Hattie had been dumping her readings throughout the afternoon. It was a huge file but he quickly queried it to strip out the constant values. The few lines that remained showed the several points during the afternoon and evening when the S Parameter had varied. His eyes widened in disbelief – then something approaching horror. He turned to Andy.

  “Look!”

  Andy shuffled over. “At what?”

  “These times; the times when the S value changed today. When it went up then down again: the ‘blips’.”

  “What about them?”

  But there was no time for explanation. The clock showed 23:58.

  “Stephen!” Bob bawled across the chamber. Stephen came running.

  “Call Aisha!” Bob barked at Andy. “Tell her to come back. Tell them to get out of there! I’ll try to call Jenny.”

  But neither of them could get through on mobiles. They tried both of their tracking apps instead but these were not working either.

  *

  Engulfed as it might be in its own share of a worldwide catastrophe, Brussels was still a very international and multicultural city and, even under normal circumstances, this was never more evident than at New Year. This year, many people of nationalities with different calendars had even chosen to join in. Neither Aisha nor Jenny had heard a multilingual countdown before. As the temporary digital clock flashed past 23:59, shouted numbers in various tongues could be heard competing to call in in the New Year. The good-humoured contest swayed in many directions as different groups struggled for supremacy.

  “Fünfzig.”

  The crowd pressed ever more closely together. Some joined hands or curved arms around others’ backs.

  “Forty.”

  People began bouncing at the knees. The whole park took on the appearance of a sea, formed of thousands of tiny waves and swells.

  “Tredive.”

  Smiles formed on even the grimmest of countenances.

  “Twintig.”

  Still everyone strove to shout louder than their neighbours.

  “Nineteen. Dix-huit. Dix-sept. Sedici. Penkiolika.”

  The excitement approached a level of euphoria.

  “Catorce. Trece. Twelve. Elva. Ten.”

  The stags were determined and began to win the volume battle in their immediate area: not much else could be heard.

  “Nine. Eight. Siedem. Six. Five.”

  People raised their phones, tablets and watches to take photos.

  “Four. Three. Two.”

  People prepared to call distant friends and family.

  “One.”

  A few individual fireworks and flares were set off.

  “Zero!”

  A huge cheer erupted across the whole park in a tingling show of defiance. Brussels would not be beaten! Belgium would not be beaten! Europe would not be beaten! The world would not be beaten!

  “Happy New Year!” “Felice Anno Nuovo!” “Happy New Year!”

  People embraced and called loved ones.

  “Onnellista Uutta Vuotta!” “Happy New Year!” “Happy New Year!”

  Sunglasses hugged Aisha. Donkey embraced Jenny.

  “Happy New Year!” “Happy New Year!” “Happy New Year!”

  And then everyone’s mobiles stopped working.

  PHASE FIVE: COMPLICATIONS

  Chapter 21: God for Harry!

  Near silence fell within seconds. Only the very few without mobile technology in view (theirs or a near neighbour’s) were unaware of what had happened; but even these realised quickly that something was amiss. Isolated cheers and snatches of song could still be heard in small pockets for a short while; then these also faded away and were replaced by the low, dense murmur of confusion, which spread across the entire park.

  Exactly what happened varied from place to place, from device to device and from person to person. Just as when It had found Its wireless capabilities two days before, the visible effects of Its new powers were inconsistent and unpredictable. Some phones, tablets and watches flashed or vibrated; some randomly opened and closed apps, took photos or played or displayed unknown material; some locked or switched off and some did all, some, or none of these things. Most people still managed to send or receive calls or messages; but many were unable. A few had small shocks or
other unpleasant side-effects. Some tried to turn their devices off and found that they could not. A few panicked and ran, fearing worse to come – but fled, unwittingly, into greater danger away from the park; most remained, rooted to their places, wondering what could have happened.

  It was the same story for Jenny and Aisha: their mobile devices, in fact, were both completely useless. Jenny gazed in wonder at her smart-watch, Aisha with similar disbelief at her phone. Neither of them could send or receive anything – anything they wanted to, that was: as Aisha looked at her screen, an image appeared of a man something beyond middle-age.

  “That’s my brother!” cried Jenny in astonishment, looking across her. “How have you got that?”

  “I have not,” answered Aisha. “I have never seen it before.”

  Several drones dropped from the sky; some fell harmlessly into open spaces, but others found groups of people and caused injury. The stags nearby stood in dumb confusion. Around them, the general murmur increased.

  *

  Jenny leaned in to speak quietly to Aisha but found she had to raise her voice more than she would have liked, to be heard above the escalating chatter.

  “So, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Aisha nodded. “It would appear that It has taken control of the mobile networks, the 4 & 5G.” A drone crashed into the pond with a loud bang and splash, and was quickly swallowed by the water. “And who knows what else?” she added, nervously eyeing both sky and water.

  “Bob did say this might happen; and I thought he might have a point,” suggested Jenny.

  “So did I, to some extent,” said Aisha, also more loudly than she intended, and with an element of wounded pride. “I could tell somehow that It was in a new learning phase. I was not sure what but I suspected something was about to happen; it seems like a natural progression of Its development: almost part of the plan, if you like. This doesn’t surprise me,” she concluded firmly.