‘I get it, Mum. So what’s the big secret?’
‘If I have your word …’
She half-smiled as he mimed zipping his lips. ‘I argued against it, but on Joe Villabona’s advice, Audrey’s established a secret task force to organise protests against Commdat. What will look like a spontaneous uprising of public indignation will actually be engineered by Farront.’
‘Is that legal?’
‘Probably, but it’s unethical.’
‘I don’t get it,’ said Tal. ‘How come Villabona has so much influence? He hasn’t even been with your company that long.’
‘Joe’s done a great job of selling himself to Audrey as an expert on the youth market – and to be fair, he does know what he’s talking about. More importantly, he negotiated Carter Renfrew’s association with Farront, including the unconditional guarantee of exclusive access to all of the research findings before publication. This could be a huge advantage if Renfrew comes up with valid data that can be used to refine the Excelsior artificial intelligence and develop future products and services.’
‘I get the feeling you don’t like Villabona much.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s irrelevant whether I like Joe or not. I have to work with him, however stressful I find it. On the surface we get on well, but that’s to keep up appearances. In person Joe’s charming, cooperative, and always says the right thing, but I get the strong feeling he’s following some hidden agenda. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. For one thing, I’m positive I don’t have his support as far as my promotion’s concerned. In fact, I think he’s subtly undermining me, and given Joe’s influence on Audrey, it could be a serious problem.’
‘What can you do about it?’
‘Not much. Rob may come up with something I can use to put a dent in Joe Villabona’s golden-boy image.’
His mother’s ring tone sounded. Checking her iZod, she said, ‘It’s Victor calling.’
While she spoke with Victor O’Dell, Tal filled a bowl with cereal and poured himself a mug of coffee.
She finished the call and sighed. ‘It sounds like Victor has beaten Joe to the punch. Audrey will be in a foul temper this morning. She was so sure that Victor would endorse Renfrew’s research on his website and in his science blog. She couldn’t have been more wrong. He called her at home last night to say that not only is he refusing to give his endorsement, he believes Renfrew’s methods are so potentially dangerous that he intends to actively campaign against the program, starting today. When he spoke to me, Victor was on his way to a demonstration.’
Tal tried to imagine the ancient Mr O’Dell in the middle of a noisy mob, surrounded by riot police. ‘Isn’t he a bit old to be at a demo?’
‘Victor certainly doesn’t think so, that’s why he’s headed to Braidworth High.’
‘You’re kidding! The demo’s at school?’
‘It should be on the news.’
At her spoken command, the kitchen’s paper-thin flat screen was filled with vivid extreme-definition images. A crowd of people milled around in front of Braidworth’s entrance gates, many holding up flashing electronic protest signs. One of the swooping air cams focused in on a demonstrator’s T-shirt bearing the words: ‘Carter Renfrew = Voodoo Science’.
‘There’s Mr Babbage,’ said Tal through a mouthful of cereal, ‘and beside him is Ms Ingram. And that guy with the droopy moustache is Mr Marsfield, the laziest teacher in the school, maybe in the entire world.’
The crawl along the bottom of the picture advised: TEACHERS JOIN PROTEST AGAINST TODAY’S APPEARANCE OF FAMED PSYCHOLOGIST DR CARTER RENFREW AT
BRAIDWORTH HIGH. AT ISSUE IS THE USE OF TEENAGE SUBJECTS IN RENFREW’S RESEARCH PROGRAM TITLED ‘GOT TO BE CONNECTED’. ‘DANGEROUS CHARLATAN,’ DECLARES SPOKESPERSON FOR ACTIVIST ORGANISATION BRAINSAVE. DR RENFREW THREATENS LEGAL ACTION.
‘Volume,’ said Tal. The volume came up, filling the room with a buzz of voices and shouted slogans in hyper-realistic Encirclesound. Over cries of ‘Protect our children!’ and ‘Renfrew scrambles brains!’ someone yelled, ‘Boycott Farront! Boycott Farront!’
‘Oh God,’ said Tal’s mother, ‘that’s all we need. If a campaign to boycott Farront takes off, the company’s in real trouble.’
Tal finished his cereal and gulped down the last of his coffee. ‘I’m outta here. This is too good to miss.’
‘Try not to get arrested,’ she called as he left the kitchen.
He put his head back inside to say with a grin, ‘I’ll try.’
Rick’s white-hot rage at Maryann Dodd’s success in having him blamed for something he hadn’t done had dwindled to simmering resentment. What he mostly felt now was boredom. Of course he didn’t have his useless comm, but he had hoped the psychiatric wing of the hospital would provide a TV screen, even a radio, to pass the time. No such luck.
The two cops who had brought him here yesterday had been quite nice. The grey-haired one had clapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘Women! You know the old saying, son: Can’t live with ’em. Can’t live without ’em.’
When Rick had pointed out that he could live without Maryann Dodd very well, the younger cop had said very seriously, ‘Don’t say anything like that to the doctors or anyone else. You might be joking, but they’ll take you at your word.’
When Rick was admitted, he’d been given cotton pants with a drawstring at the waist and a shapeless T-shirt several sizes too large. Then he’d had a preliminary interview with a doctor who’d given him a quick physical examination and asked him a lot of questions about what he thought and felt. She’d listened to his answers with close attention, then handed him over to an orderly, who locked him in a small white-walled room with nothing in it but a bed jutting out from the wall, a metal wash basin and a metal toilet bowl with no seat.
Later he’d been taken out for more questions, given stew for dinner – an orderly watched Rick eat it with a plastic spoon – and then a nurse had asked him if he wanted a pill to help him sleep. Later he was sorry he’d said no, as the light remained on all night. He occupied himself looking for the lens of the camera he was sure was watching him, and at last located it. The metal door had an observation window, and he was aware from noises outside in the hall that he was being checked regularly.
Things were looking up this morning, as Rick was having a late breakfast with Dr Stein. The psychiatric facility at the hospital was decorated in soothing colours. Rick sat with Dr Stein in an interview room that had walls of the palest of pale pinks. The table and chairs were ivory white; the floor tiles a dusky rose colour.
Looking at the toast and honey and the glass of milk in front of him, Rick said, ‘Can I have coffee? Milk’s for little kids.’
Dr Stein shook his head. ‘Coffee’s far too stimulating,’ he said lightly. ‘At least, that’s the theory.’
‘Don’t I need stimulating? I reckon they’re saying I’m depressed.’ He added bitterly, ‘And who wouldn’t be? Maryann flat-out lied when she said I hit her. She put on an act, screaming and carrying on, and everyone believed her.’ His anger flaring up, he almost shouted, ‘She’s a bitch!’
‘Now you’ve brought up the subject, let’s explore exactly how you feel this morning.’
Embarrassed by his show of temper, Rick made an attempt at humour. ‘Jeez, even I could be a psychiatrist. Nothing to it. All you have to do is keep asking people how they feel and look interested, whatever they say.’
‘You’ve summed up my profession,’ said Dr Stein, grinning, ‘but let’s keep it our secret.’
He flipped open a tiny camcorder, recited Rick’s full name, the date, time and location, then said to him, ‘To begin with, how did you sleep?’
‘Not well.’ He sent Dr Stein a beseeching look. ‘Can you get me out of here? There’s nothing to do, and I don’t belong with mad people, anyway.’
‘The admitting doctor’s report makes it clear she found nothing to indicate you should be held for long-term treatment. If my asse
ssment confirms, as I expect it will, that you’re not a threat to yourself or others, there should be no problem having you released into your grandmother’s care. Naturally there’ll be a condition you are not to contact Maryann Dodd or any of her friends involved in the altercation.’
‘I can’t contact anybody. I’m a disconnect, remember?’
Dr Stein nodded. ‘Okay, let’s talk about that, and then we’ll go through exactly what happened yesterday.’
‘Aren’t you going to ask me how I feel about it all?’
‘Funny,’ said Dr Stein with a laugh, ‘I was about to ask you that.’
SIXTEEN
When Tal arrived at school, the demonstration outside the front gates was well underway. Looking around, he could see that the demonstrators now had a considerable audience made up of local residents, teachers, parents and students, all keen to see the show.
He could hear the whoop-whoop of media helicopters high overhead getting long shots and district views. Medium shots and close-ups were handled by the ten or so air cams, which hovered then dived to capture images at the radio command of their operators. Media vehicles were parked haphazardly along the edge of the road, their satellite dishes beaming pictures to anyone in the world interested in what was currently happening at Braidworth High.
Several air cams circled Victor O’Dell and his companion, a plump young woman with an explosion of frizzy brown hair, who was assisting him onto a makeshift platform to join Babbage and Ms Ingram at the front of the crowd.
Tal was impressed by Victor O’Dell’s celebrity status. He was obviously highly regarded. People whistled, clapped and stamped their feet, and someone yelled, ‘O’Dell rules!’
Once O’Dell was securely seated on the only chair on the platform, Babbage stated the obvious, saying, ‘Victor O’Dell needs no introduction.’ Applause from the crowd. ‘His presence here today is testament to the concern he feels about unregulated research.’
‘Let’s hear it from Victor!’ a demonstrator shouted. O’Dell shook his head and indicated that Babbage should continue.
Babbage, his amplified voice spreading out across the surrounding streets, said, ‘Barbara Ingram and I don’t often agree, but in this instance we’re in perfect accord. A school is a place of learning, not a source of psychological cannon fodder.’
He paused, and obediently the crowd roared agreement, with only a few dissenting interjections. One was from a well-dressed woman near the front, who called out, ‘Carter Renfrew is a respected doctor. And you? A couple of second-rate teachers.’
Another came from Tal’s least favourite teacher on the staff, Mr Marsfield, who shouted, ‘Science rules! Kids don’t!’
On the platform, Ms Ingram took over. ‘Renfrew’s research for his project, Got to be Connected, employs untried testing methods,’ she declared, speaking so loudly that her radio microphone blurred the sound. ‘Our students are not guinea pigs to be used in hazardous experiments by Carter Renfrew for his personal glory!’
The crowd again roared approval and those with electronic placards scrolling brilliantly coloured slogans on both sides raised them high and shook them for emphasis. Tal noticed that ‘Got to be Connected = Gotta B Disconnected’ and ‘BrainSave Saves Brains’ were favoured messages.
Allyx, who with David had come up behind Tal, put her arms around his waist, gave him a squeeze and said, ‘I gotta be connected to you.’
David groaned. ‘Oh, please, none of this mushy love talk. Let’s get serious here. If this demo goes for long enough, I’ll miss Ingram’s class.’
‘Don’t tell me you haven’t done your English homework again,’ said Allyx.
‘Okay, I won’t tell you.’
‘You’re out of luck, David,’ said Tal. ‘Here comes the principal and the cops. I’d say English is definitely on.’
Mr Constanza bustled out of the school gates, chanting, ‘Excuse me! Excuse me!’ He pushed his way through to the rickety platform. He was followed by four uniformed police officers with officially impassive faces.
The principal had trouble activating his radio microphone, but eventually got it working. ‘This demonstration is over,’ he bellowed. ‘I’m ordering you to leave the area around the school property, or be arrested –’ he paused to indicate the police officers – ‘and charged with trespass or loitering.’
‘You can’t do that,’ someone yelled back. ‘We know our rights.’ The crowd rumbled agreement.
‘Down with Renfrew,’ someone else shouted above the racket.
Cheers and claps were followed by a distinctly young voice calling, ‘Down with Principal Constanza!’
Laughter rose from all sections of the crowd. As if this were a signal to leave, people began to disperse.
‘Teachers will supervise an orderly return to scheduled classes,’ boomed the principal. ‘All students must go to their appropriate rooms without delay.’ When this command had no appreciable effect, he said emphatically, ‘At once. Immediately.’
‘Good luck with that,’ said David. ‘I can’t see anyone rushing to go anywhere.’
Realising that it would take some time to shepherd students through the gates and to their various subjects, Tal went over to say hello to Victor O’Dell. He found him concluding an impromptu interview with a TV reporter, watched by several hovering air cams. Tal arrived as he was saying, ‘… and death threats sent to my website this morning won’t shut me up.’
One camera swept in for an extreme close-up, while the reporter, a gangly man with a lumpy, earnest face, tried to hide his delight at this exclusive scoop. ‘Death threats, Mr O’Dell? You’ve actually received death threats?’ He added hopefully, ‘Are you saying that Carter Renfrew is behind them?’
‘I have no idea who’s making them, but I have a forensic cyber master tracing the sources.’ He flashed his chalk-white teeth in a grim smile. ‘The moment I have hard evidence, I’ll splash the name or names all over the internet. Now, young man, no more questions.’
The air cams swooped away to take shots of the slowly depleting crowd. Victor O’Dell took Tal’s arm. ‘Nice to see you, Talbot. I’d appreciate it if you’d help me to my vehicle.’
‘You drove here?’ said Tal, thinking O’Dell was way too old to get behind a wheel.
‘Marcia was my chauffeur,’ he said, indicating the young woman who’d helped him onto the platform. ‘She’s my neighbour’s daughter, in between jobs, so it suits us both. I still have a valid licence, but I have to admit my driving’s not as sharp as it used to be, so I use Marcia when she’s available.’
As they walked slowly towards the car where Marcia was waiting, Victor O’Dell said, ‘What do you think of that fellow, Joe Villabona?’
‘You’re the second person to ask me that. Rob Anderson had the same question. I said he seemed okay.’
‘Did Anderson tell you Villabona appears to have no past to speak of? Yes? Well, it might mean nothing more than he’s worked in some secret capacity for the government, but I don’t like mysteries. I’ve warned Grace to take care what she says and does.’
‘Why? Because of the promotion Mum hopes to get?’
‘There’s a lot of official interest in the communications industry since the scandal broke about Tacitcomm’s deceptive marketing and outright fraud. Villabona could be a government plant, investigating Farront from the inside. Grace doesn’t want to get caught up in anything like that.’
Marcia had a friendly, gap-toothed smile. ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘good one, Mr O’Dell. I’ve been watching your interview live on my comm. How come you didn’t tell me about the death threats? I’d have been super careful driving if I’d known.’
He shrugged. ‘I often get threats, frequently with graphic details of what’s going to be done to me. Talk is cheap. Mostly they’re not worth worrying about.’
Marcia opened the passenger door so that Tal could help the old man into the seat. Before the door was closed, he leaned forward to say to Tal, ‘Tell Grace that after
I spoke with her this morning, Joe Villabona called on Audrey’s behalf and asked my price. How much money would it take to shut me up?’ He gave a cackle of laughter. ‘I won’t pollute your young ears by repeating my reply.’
Tal went thoughtfully back to Allyx and David, who were waiting for him by the front gate. Tal had been mildly interested when he and Rob had discussed the idea that Villabona might have protected status. But this new suggestion that he could be undercover for the government was alarming because of the implications it had for his mother.
As they joined the last of the students straggling onto the school grounds, David said, ‘I’m thinking of volunteering for Dr Renfrew’s program, mainly for the money. Things are a bit tight at home. How about you?’
‘Wouldn’t do it,’ said Tal. ‘It’s messing with your mind.’ Allyx nodded in agreement.
‘Why do you think that? Just because the Cabbage and Ingram say so?’
‘I know they’re teachers, but they could be right,’ said Allyx.
‘Nah,’ David replied derisively. ‘That lot wouldn’t know their arse from their elbow.’
Petra caught up with them. ‘I missed all the fun,’ she grumbled. ‘My mother had me writing these stupid apology letters to Constanza and Ingram. Omigod, hand write them, then deliver them myself, would you believe! What’s wrong with an email? I asked her. She went ballistic. You’d have thought I’d suggested texting the apologies.’
‘Texting sounds fine to me,’ said David.
‘Not to my mum, it doesn’t. So here I am, putting down that I’m really, really sorry. I mean, what more can I say? But surprise! That wasn’t enough for Mum. She wants me to totally grovel.’
‘I know a website where you can buy apology letters,’ said David with an evil grin.
‘Oh, shut up!’
‘How are you going getting your iZod back?’ Allyx enquired.
‘I’m waiting until tomorrow, hoping Mum’s softened up a bit by then.’
Tal snorted and said, ‘How likely is that?’
‘It’s not,’ Petra admitted, ‘but I can’t stand missing out on everything. I’m getting to know how Rick feels, and I hate it.’
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