It was normal for her to struggle to nod off.
Normal, normal, normal.
Adrenaline was probably still doing a conga line through her body after the day she’d had. Anyone would struggle to sleep.
Normal.
Anyone.
She would drop off at some point, she told herself. The Sleep Centre was too far away for the tech to work. She would be fine, fine, fine. Fine. She would definitely not end up in a room being held down by too many hands, punctured by a syringe.
She rolled over for the fiftieth time, trying to get comfortable on the somewhat musty-smelling bed. Or maybe it wasn’t the bed that was musty. Maybe it was her. She hadn’t washed since this morning and it had been quite a day. There was a shower downstairs next to Moses’s room and tomorrow, she resolved she would use it. Trying it now was out of the question: she’d seen too many horror films and knew that a woman in a shower late at night in a spooky lighthouse was never going to end well.
Yes, tomorrow.
With Ethan on guard outside the door.
She sighed and sat up. There weren’t even any books to read. Stepping carefully over Ethan’s sleeping body, she walked barefoot downstairs to the kitchen and got herself a glass of water.
‘Hello?’
Moses’s voice. They’d left the door open.
‘Is someone there?’
She crept to the door and peered in. He sat up straighter at the sight of her, using his shoulder blades to push himself up. There was a floor lamp next to him, bathing his bed in a cosy glow, but the shadows it cast, and his bald head, made him into a skeleton, albeit one that was trying to have a polite conversation.
‘I remember you. From earlier.’ His voice sounded different this time, not manic and strained but low, thoughtful even. ‘They’ve moved me. But you’re not a guard.’
She shook her head.
‘Who are you?’
‘Thea. I’m one of the patients at the Sleep Centre. Well … I was, anyway. You’re Moses, aren’t you?’
He bowed his head. ‘Yes.’ He looked at his hands and stretched his fingers. ‘So it’s started.’ With a cry of frustration, he kicked his feet against the mattress again.
Thea retreated a few steps.
‘No!’ He took a deep breath to calm himself. ‘Don’t go! I won’t hurt you. See? I can’t move.’
‘You hurt my friend. She’s in the hospital because of you.’
A look of confusion crossed his face. ‘I-I … the guard? I thought I saw a … guard … had to get out … but they gave me these pills …’ He trailed off, his jaw slack, a peculiar glaze to his eyes.
With a shake of his head, he snapped back to Thea.
‘You! I don’t have much time. Only myself to blame for that though.’ He chuckled bitterly. ‘I did it to myself.’
Then he muttered things to himself that Thea couldn’t hear, his head lolling back on the pillows and she wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to people she couldn’t see.
‘It’s in my watch …’ He tried to sit up again but didn’t have the strength. ‘Do I still have my watch? Max wouldn’t bother to take it off me. The truth … about it all … in my watch …’
And he slipped into sleep once more.
Thea stayed rooted in the doorway. There was indeed a watch on his left wrist, but she would have to move closer to him to get at it. Worse, because the left side of the bed was pushed up against the wall, she would have to lean right over him and fiddle with the buckle. While she was doing that he could … she didn’t know … break loose, try to bite off her ear, or jam a knife she never knew he had right into her stomach so the last sight she’d have would be her own insides, hot and shiny, flopping out like fish onto the dusty floor.
How could the truth be in a watch?
Maybe it was a hi-tech one, with an inbuilt Wi-Fi connection that held a kill switch of some sort, something that would stop the whole process over at the Sleep Centre. It was possible. He was Moses Ing, Tech Emperor.
Why were they drugging him? What had he done?
She didn’t give herself any more time to think about it but crossed the room in a few short strides and bent over him, her heart beating fast in her throat. She held her breath, thinking to herself that it certainly didn’t look like a hi-tech watch as she struggled with the battered leather strap.
It came free and she staggered backwards, slumping over and clutching her knees to get air into her lungs and stop the black spots swimming before her eyes.
Just a watch.
A scuffed brown strap, a plain dial with clear black numbers, the kind of watch a grandad wore.
Just a watch.
With a little compartment in the back that opened if a nail was hooked under it.
And in that compartment …
A very small memory stick.
Chapter 29
The building was a blank of mirrors and ageing brickwork, nothing to catch the eye, nothing to stand out.
This was not the police station.
That visit had gone as expected, except with the added discomfort that they’d seen the policeman at the desk keeping order at one of their recent protests. ‘Still painting those placards, Viv?’ he’d said with a chuckle. She had left with some vague reassurances and a promise of a police phone call to Ing Enterprises. ‘Thing is, you know where she is, you see? And she’s an adult. The girl’s probably just lost track of time, that’s all,’ the policeman had said, kindly enough. ‘Youngsters these days.’
Inside the Ing Enterprises building, a sticky-sweet gloss covered every available surface. Vivian half expected to touch something and bring her fingers away trailing thin webs.
She turned to her friend, ‘Ready, Dels?’
‘As ever.’
They had been to the café that morning, the police station straight afterwards and it was now late afternoon. Trying to find a UK address for Ing Enterprises had proved difficult but Thea had told her where she had gone for her preliminary testing and it seemed as good a place to start as any.
They could have done the well-worn routine, though Vivian was a bit rusty at it now. She and Delia had done the old “name and shame” for years. One of them would be in front of the camera at whatever firm they needed to “out” that week and the other would film and whip up the protestors outside. Then it all went on the website and, latterly, Delia’s grandson would post it to YouTube with links to relevant articles.
Vivian had taken a step back from being in front of the camera, but Delia was embracing modernity and had lately taken to doing the filming on her new smartphone. Consequently, they’d recently had rather a lot of films of Delia’s thumb.
Vivian had known that wouldn’t work here.
She had been right.
There was no receptionist. There was no reception. There was just gloss and shine and a few discreet screens set into the walls.
‘Viv? What do we do?’ Delia whispered as she pushed her bright purple glasses up onto her head.
The only man in the room blinked at them confusedly and then turned to one of the screens. In a few seconds it had scanned his face and a doorway slid open next to him.
‘Are we even in the right place?’ Delia looked around anxiously and nearly dropped her phone. ‘Only, there’s no sign and, well, we can’t afford another lawsuit this tax year …’
‘Ms Mackenzie.’
Vivian honestly could not have said from where the woman and her two guards had appeared. One minute there was a blank wall bouncing her own voice around, and the next there was this … creature. She was a creature. Perhaps she had even slithered out from the very wall itself, so glossy and shiny was she. Vivian understood make-up, she understood the pleasure of using a bit of colour and powder to enhance your looks, or, in her case, to stop one from looking as if they’d been recently dug up. But she did not understand this mask that many women these days chose to wear; a mask an inch thick that didn’t enhance, but hid. Why did women these da
ys feel the need to hide?
‘How—?’
‘Facial recognition on entry.’ The woman smiled. ‘But we knew you would be coming.’
‘I won’t be leaving until I speak to someone in charge of the Morpheus trial going on right now.’ Vivian nudged Delia to start filming just for backup, startling her so much that she nearly dropped the phone again.
The woman moved smoothly towards them, her gait almost unnatural, too effortless. Like a robot, Vivian thought. Maybe she was a robot – it wouldn’t be beyond a company like this. Perhaps if you stabbed her silk-clad arm she would bleed blue.
‘We cannot discuss individual trials, Ms Mackenzie.’
‘My daughter is on it!’ Vivian spoke very clearly for the camera. ‘It is taking place on St Dunstan’s Island and I can no longer get in touch with her.’
The woman sighed. ‘You will find your phone has been blocked. Any filming on these premises is rather difficult, I’m afraid.’
Vivian glanced at Delia who was jabbing her finger at the screen of her phone and swearing imaginatively.
‘Ing Enterprises is a respectable and well-established technology company.’ The woman smiled again, baring her neat little teeth. ‘The company pays its taxes in full, has a happy and contented workforce and quietly helps this country, and many others, to smoothly operate a variety of technological systems. It has a charity foundation and a community outreach programme—’
Vivian opened her mouth, but the woman continued without pause.
‘Your ire, Ms Mackenzie, is mistakenly directed and will be tolerated no longer. Please bear that in mind.’
Vivian and Delia were being backed towards the door.
‘Are you threatening me?’
The woman sighed. But she managed to even make that seem benevolent.
‘We do not threaten, Ms Mackenzie. We never have the need.’
She smiled a perfect smile with perfect little teeth. Vivian was about to say something, to take control of the situation, which was oozing out of her grasp like caramel but then they were at the door, which opened for them with an eager whoosh and she was about to open her damn mouth but the guards were in the way and all too quickly …
… they were outside again.
The two women stared at each other.
Delia jerked her head to get her glasses to fall back onto her nose, began to say something, changed her mind and sighed.
Vivian had always liked this bit. Women like her had done what they needed to do to shake society up a bit. They had paved the way for these younger people, and the paving had involved dust and muck and getting your hands dirty. The sheer chaos of it all, the shouting, the protests, running and struggling and the brilliant feeling of doing, of getting something done. Activity. She’d known what to do and where she fit in.
The two of them stood on the pavement, Delia waiting for Vivian to take charge as she normally did.
But it was cold out on the street and it had been a long day and for a moment, all Vivian wanted to do was sit down and get a coffee somewhere where they had huge squashy sofas. And she nearly would have done, but, luckily, the familiar fury came streaking in once more, clearing her mind to a blazing white.
‘So?’ Delia said.
Vivian turned her back on the building and flicked her scarf over her shoulder with a little more force than was necessary.
‘So,’ she said grimly. ‘I think it’s time we were a little more direct.’
Chapter 30
‘So, y’know, curses be upon ye if ye haven’t got my permission to watch this. Okay?’
The same tattooed head, the same voice. It was the man in the bed, but with his batteries in properly: a shine to his eyes, a vigour in his movements, an eagerness as he leant in to the screen, looking at least ten years younger, healthy, tanned.
Thea had immediately powered up an internet-free laptop, one that the guard had been using to watch DVDs, and shoved the memory stick in. She was reluctant to wake Ethan if he was actually getting some rest, but too impatient to wait until morning. Shoving earphones in, she clicked on the first file that came up: a video diary.
‘Obviously filming this for posterity. Once I’ve perfected the tech and the world has been immeasurably improved just by sleeping, I’ll be able to sell this at auction and become so rich I won’t be able to decide which super-yacht to use.’
Someone sniggered in the background.
‘A good scientist always keeps a record. Also, I’m really vain. You’d agree with that, yeah, Max?’
Again the muffled voice.
‘Agreed. So. Tech is amazing, right? We love it. We’re in the Age of the Tech Nerd. Founding member right here, obviously. But more and more, right, I’ve been thinking about the tech we have always had. Yep. That’s right, the human body. And it’s not just amazing this body of ours, it’s absolutely astounding. Particularly, the brain. Final-frontier stuff, man, working out how the brain does what it does.’
He tapped out a little rhythm on his knees. Behind him, Thea could see a living room, a huge floor-to-ceiling window looking out at some city skyline, tasteful furniture in whites and beiges partially obscured by a glass-brick partition.
‘Like the new look?’ He angled his head down so the camera could get a better view of the tattoo. ‘Max doesn’t. Says I look like a freak-show act. Side note: really painful, guys, and illegal in this country, so, y’know, don’t try this at home, kids!’
He leant back in his chair and steepled his fingers.
‘Sorry. Off-topic. I do that – you’ll have to get used to it. Where was I? The brain! Yes! Or more importantly, the dreaming our brain does while we are asleep. Good old REM sleep.’ He smiled and sang softly, ‘Dream a little dream of me. Or don’t. Dream a little dream and start to reprogramme your mind while you do it. Want to quit smoking? We could get you to dream it, embed it in the dream and magically, you can do it when awake. Nightmares? Reprogramme them into something else, or just get you to turn around in the stupid nightmare and stab the evil clown that’s chasing you. Get smarter, in your dream. Learn a language, in your dream. Supercharge your REM sleep. It can be done.’ He paused for effect. ‘I can do it.’
He rested his chin on his hand. The desk in front of him was a mess of paper, sweet wrappers and cans of fizzy drink scattered wildly.
‘Now I can’t tell you exactly how. Patents, y’know. I’m not stupid. Got to create a multimillion-pound company from this, guys; can’t give my secrets away! It’s all down to elves and unicorns, right?’ He smiled. ‘But you can come with me as we test all of this out. It’s complicated and you’ve got to be delicate, y’know? REM sleep is what stands between rationality and insanity. You don’t want to fuck about with that, do you? Currently it’s all wires and huge equipment and not very consumer friendly, not at all. Got to work on that, got to work on it, lots to do.’
A figure crossed behind him in the background, too quickly and too far away to see properly. Max?
‘Sleep on it, that’s what they say. Ha! Thing is – they’re so right! Ever noticed, yeah, how sometimes you’re thinking about something, trying to work it out, and you go to sleep and the next morning you’ve just got it; it all slots into place? But maybe we can boost that, so that while we “sleep on it” we upgrade each and every night, like we’re the tech.’
Thea paused the video. Moses froze with his mouth open as if about to break into song. Dreams. Rory had been right. But Ing Enterprises had never tried to hide that, had they? It was Phase Three, the part that went beyond sleep and started on self-improvement. There was nothing so scary in that, was there?
She pressed play.
‘Meet Ted.’ A man sat down next to Moses, his skin so pale he looked as if he hadn’t seen the outside world for years, but he was smiling like a little child, waving happily at the camera. ‘Ted’s going to be our new flatmate for a while. Our lab rat. You don’t mind being a lab rat, do you, Ted?’
‘Nope!’ He had a reed
y voice and a rash of spots across his chin.
‘Ted here has, of his own free will – it is your own free will, isn’t it, Ted?’ Here Moses grabbed a fistful of Ted’s shirt and raised his arm as if about to punch him. Ted mugged horror for the camera. Then they relaxed, laughing and patting each other on the back. ‘Ted’s going to be hooked up and we’re going to upgrade his mind while he’s asleep. He wants to learn some languages. So we thought we’d start with six. Yeah?’
He high-fived Ted.
‘Now, Ted, for the purposes of truth and accountability I’d like you to say on camera how many languages you can currently speak.’
‘Uh … one. This one. English.’
‘Ted, please hold up your exam certificates for the good people watching.’ He did so. ‘You will note that there are no languages listed there. Now, your degree?’
‘Physics.’
‘Excellent. One more time, you have never spoken fluent French, or Spanish, or Italian, or German, or Russian, or Polish? Right?’
‘Nope. Nyet. Ha! Joking!’ Ted grinned happily at his wit.
‘I’ll cut it down for the purposes of this diary but, if you want to watch the whole thing, I’ll attach another file with all of Ted’s sleep vids and the data we’ve gathered. So Ted, are you ready to get your sleep on?’
Moses came closer so his whole face filled the frame, lowering his voice.
‘Let’s do this!’
Thea liked this Moses. And Ted. They were goofy, clever guys, the kind of guys that no matter their actual age, still dressed like students. She guessed that Moses was in his forties. He had a babyish look to his face but there were fine lines around his eyes. Ted was somewhat younger. The energy from Moses almost fizzed out of the screen and Thea found herself always watching him, even when Ted was saying something.
The picture cut out and a new set of entries played. In these, Moses, jumpy and excitable as a puppy, proudly showed off what Ted could do after three, four, five days of dream therapy. It started off small and they focused on one language at a time, Ted a little uncertain and faltering at the start, but becoming confident and fluent in at least three of the languages by week two.
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