The first of these occurred on Tuesday night with a brutal assault against a gem named Callan (né Bel’Natur), 23, who remains in hospital in a serious condition [UrbanNews.ldn/gem_patron_left_for_dead]. This was followed within 24 hours by the mutilation and murder of Nelson (né Modicomm), 27, who appeared to have been thrown from the roof of an office building in what observers say may have been an act of religious symbolism [UrbanNews.ldn/gem_murdered_by_godgang].
Hopes that an intensive police investigation and increased patrols would prevent further mayhem were dashed earlier today by a violent confrontation in the City between up to sixteen members of what the police have indicated may be an extremist religious sect, and two gems wanted for questioning in connection with a disturbance at an employment centre earlier in the week. This incident resulted in the deaths of the gem Burot (né Biomin), again due to a fall from the upper storey of a building, and two members of the gang, apparently from injuries sustained in the fight [UrbanNews.ldn/two_norms_killed_in_attack_on_gems].
Police sources have indicated that DNA evidence has been secured linking John Senton to all three crime scenes, and that they are now attempting to determine the whereabouts of the other members of the group. They remain tight-lipped about what prompted the initial suspicion that Mr Senton might in fact be a member of the anti-gem godgang. There have been confused reports that he was unmasked by a child resident of the Squats who is rumoured to possess some form of psychic ability. While this explanation does not appear to be tenable, UrbanNews has confirmed that Mr Senton was initially apprehended by gems before being handed over to the police, and that a child was present.
The authorities remain confident that this latest development will have no impact on the security of the European Conference on the Status of Genetically Modified Humans, currently under way in London. The high-profile meeting was thrown into controversy earlier today by the startling conclusions of the Walker Report, intended to provide the basis for determining a permanent settlement for the various classes of genetically modified humans. UrbanNews live feed from the Conference can be accessed here.
James Mudd stabbed open the link on his tablet. George’s battered face appeared on the screen, propped against pillows. The swelling had gone down, but he still looked like a refugee from a pre-Syndrome war vid. The bruises ranged in colour from angry purple to a sickening yellowish tint. Mudd felt a pang of sympathy. But he’d said he was up for working, and work needed to be done.
‘You finished? We have to move fast.’
‘Still going through the Bel’Natur thing. It’s one hell of a scoop, boss.’
‘It isn’t a fucking scoop.’
‘But you said …’
‘They changed their minds. The Walker Report has the whole place in an uproar. All we’ve got now is a head start. We’ve been trailing an exclusive, we’re going to look like muppets unless we can come up with a spin that no one else has. What I think is, you seen the latest from the Squats? About the guy they caught?’
‘Yeah.’
‘It’s the same kid, right? The one you heard about from the UC.’
‘Got to be. There’s been a couple of posts about him on open streams already, I’ve been checking.’
‘Good man. Okay. So far no one really knows about this kid except you, but that won’t last so we’ve got to use it while we can. Here’s our angle: how the Bel’Natur Proposal would deal with the reality of a mind-reader with no gemsign, versus the Walker Report pretending it’s no big deal.’
‘You want us to spell out what they’d do with the kid?’
‘Surmise, George. All we’re doing is surmising. Let’s just go through it. Key points. What’s Bel’Natur saying should happen?’
‘Okay, well, I haven’t read all of it yet, but basically they’re pitching it as a guardianship-type arrangement. All the gemtechs take legal responsibility for the gems they created. That includes education, therapy, health care. They’re supposed to make sure they have meaningful and fulfilled lives, whatever the hell that means.’
‘Go on.’
‘Part of their job will be to make sure gems are productive, so they get them trained, find them work suited to their abilities, negotiate the terms, provide appropriate supervision.’
‘How’s that different from indenture?’
‘The gems get to keep what they earn, after the gemtechs deduct their fees. Those are supposed to cover the cost of caring for them of course, as well as the placement itself. My guess is there won’t be a lot left over.’ George’s eyes and bandaged fingers were moving, flipping through notes on the split screen of his tablet. ‘Gems can apply to be released from the legal protection of the gemtechs if they manage to build up enough of a balance, as long as they satisfy a committee that they can find work and housing, and they don’t pose a risk to society. If they plan to keep on using their abilities to make a living, they’ll have to pay a licensing fee.’
‘So the gemtechs would need to keep tabs on them.’
‘Yeah, the whole thing depends on a shared global database. Mandatory registration of all gems and any offspring, including genome provenance, abilities, gemsigns, everything you can think of. They’d have to stay current with it no matter where they are or what they’re doing, so, a permanent geotag implant to ensure compliance. Kids with no gemsign, like this one we’re talking about, would have to get one applied at birth. Simple gene surgery to get the glow into the hair.’
‘They’d allow them to have kids?’
‘They’re cagey about it, suggest the same kind of committee setup to review and advise, lots about the inherent dangers of unsupervised recombinations. But they’re in a bind because they haven’t come up with anything that gets them back into the business of high-volume manufacture – they say they would expect it to proceed mainly on a voluntary basis. Reading between the lines, I think gems who agree to give up reproductive material for engineering and to be surrogates would get bonuses or have an easier time getting past the release committee, something like that.’
‘So what would the situation be with a kid like this one?’
‘The parent gemtech – or gemtechs – would have automatic guardianship over the children, but they wouldn’t remove them from the biological parents. They’re proposing a transfer mechanism to move gems between gemtechs in the interest of, quote, promoting and honouring family life.’
James Mudd chewed his lip in thought. ‘So more natural kids means more new gems coming into the system, but less control over what abilities they have. If any.’
‘Yeah, but think about it, boss. If random mixing lands you a psychic, which the gemtechs always said they couldn’t create, they’re not exactly going to be complaining, are they?’
‘Nope. And this way you know where your telepathic, telekinetic, what-have-you is and what they’re up to. Not to mention being able to pick them out in a crowd.’
‘Exactly. As opposed to Walker, which says,’ George shook his head. ‘What, exactly? I’ve been scanning through that as well. I can’t figure out what he actually thinks should happen. It’s like a kid who can read your mind is no different from a kid who can play Mozart.’
‘The guy’s spent so much time with them he doesn’t know which end is up any more. Okay, George. Pull everything you can on the kid and start drafting.’
*
Yet another safe house. Yet more dark, cold, unfurnished rooms, reached in a breathless semi-panic after another frantic scramble. And yet more brethren, talking, praying, checking weapons. Ready to stand, ready to fight. Every time they were hurt or threatened their numbers grew.
Losing John was a blow, leavened only somewhat by the arrival of so many reinforcements. He had been a good soldier, clever and brave, full of faith despite a tendency to tolerate some of the soft-headed ideas that occasionally found their way even here, into the heart of the true Church. And yet he had been taken. Mac did not think it a coincidence that the news of his capture was intertwined with
and diluted by the rumours seeping out of the cursed Conference. The Lord was sending a message about what was needed and what was not, about the direction of travel and the destination, showing them what could be accomplished and what must be abandoned, at least by them, at least for now. They were being refocused onto the right target.
Someone had brought a map, a huge antique paper thing over which the city sprawled like a harlot. Mac and two or three others crouched around it, tablets carefully oriented at key locations, magnifying the mazes of streets and alleyways that they would need to navigate. They measured distances, discussed traffic and times of day, checked for closures and diversions.
One of the men looked up at Mac. ‘Are you sure we can find it once we get in?’
‘There’s only the one, brother, and it ain’t exactly hidden away. We’ll find it.’
‘Might still take a while,’ another pointed out. ‘It’s a big place. We need a plan B, in case we run out of time.’
Mac nodded. This was good. This was serious, proper military thinking. No one was taking the mission lightly, or in any doubt about how it would end. ‘Plan B is, we ascend on the spot if we have to. A search might slow things up, that’s true, and at least we’d be heading in the right direction. But we should aim to move fast enough so we can finish the job in the right and proper manner.’
The men all nodded. The one who had spoken first said, ‘How many others?’
‘As many as we can manage. God willing, we’ll smite more than we can bring to witness.’
‘And the deceiver?’
‘The deceiver comes with us.’
DAY SIX
25
The second day of the Conference dawned clear and cold and bright. There was a diamond hardness to the air that made Eli want to throw open the windows, lean out and drink in the frostgilded city; and at the same time to shrink away, slink back under the covers and hope the sparkling blue morning would pass him by unnoticed.
He did neither. Instead he buried himself in his tablet, surfing the streams, hunting for any hint of another overnight calamity. There was none. He noted in passing the further evolution of public opinion, as the core findings of the Walker Report were arrayed against the key requirements of the Bel’Natur proposal. Much journalistic attention had been given to their incompatibility. The streams condemned both as equally distasteful; the Newsbeat analysis featuring Gabriel had generated at least as much outrage as approval. A sense of deadlocked recrimination pervaded the online dialogue, and he wondered, with mingled relief and foreboding, if it had seeped out into the streets, holding the proponents of violence and their potential victims in a tense equilibrium.
Finally he sent the same, single-worded message to Aryel and to Rob.
Anything?
She responded first. All safe, I think. And then Rob: No reports. Eli sighed, rubbed his face and allowed himself to think about a shower and coffee.
He checked again later, compulsively, as he picked at breakfast and fantasised idly about skiving off for the day, leaving them all to battle it out while he walked and thought of nothing. But in his brief absence the stalemate had become punctuated by hints of a possible exit, a third way that might cost less in cash or conscience than either of the presumed alternatives. There was no mention of Jeremy Temple, nor any official line on what was afoot – just the merest suggestion of another solution, attainable via a more palatable set of compromises. There was an inference in an editorial, a throwaway remark from a minor official, a much-reposted socialstream comment. His weariness slipped away as he read.
It is manipulation, he thought. The whetting of appetites, the preparation of a way. Subtle, sophisticated, irrefutable and untraceable. I should mind. I really should.
*
Once again the circle, the prayers, the exhortations to stand for the Lord. Once again the butterflies, and the blessings, and the descent of a calm certainty. Mac took his time, looked each man in the face, called every name. He had made sure to know them all, though there were more now than ever before. He had hardly dared hope that so many would be prepared to trade words for deeds, but events of the past day had done more for their cause than if the abominations and blasphemers and misbelievers had all gathered together to dance on graves on the day of the Lord. His sermon had only consolidated what the streams had called forth. They were ready.
‘This is a great day, my brothers,’ he said finally. ‘We don’t know our fate but we know our mission, and we know today will see it through. In our trust we honour the Lord, in our faith we travel to meet Him. As kings and shepherds once were, so are we now.’
A chorus of amens. There was no need to discuss where they were going, or what would happen when they got there. The plan had been honed and rehearsed in the long hours of the night, carefully calibrated for maximum impact. Tasks had been assigned according to ability; not all would face the ultimate trial. But despite Mac’s portentous words, they knew full well that those spared combat faced almost certain capture.
So they were quiet and grim as they clustered by the door. There was but a moment’s pause as the white glare of the morning flooded in. No grey skies to hide beneath, and more than one man felt a twinge of unease as he stepped forth into the cold blaze of midwinter sun.
Then they split into their groups and slipped away.
*
Felix Carrington was speaking. He gestured from his position at the end of a curved table, one of seven panellists arrayed for debate and inquisition. The other outlier was Aryel. He had come last to his chair, Eli suspected so that he could sit as far away from her as possible. He had apparently not anticipated that he would end up facing the diminutive gem and her outsize dysmorphia, across an empty half-moon of stage. He had attempted to counteract this unfortunate juxtaposition by angling himself towards the audience instead, swivelled uncomfortably so that he presented her with only his profile. Aryel sat motionless, hands folded together on the table, and looked straight at him.
Her direct gaze and his studied avoidance emphasised that he had also, unwittingly, turned his back on the others: the Secretary of State in charge of the health and social services portfolio, the European Federation’s attorney-general, the United Churches bishop and Robert Trench. The discussion was being moderated from the centre by an ageing journalist, a sufficiently uncontroversial and beloved public figure to have satisfied the Conference that he would manage proceedings without bias.
Supposedly. He had a huge following, and Eli thought that the stasis of the streams could easily swing on any hint from him of approval, or reproach.
At the moment there was neither. He was allowing Felix to hold forth on the significance of the murder that had taken place at a Bel’Natur dormitory almost two years previously, an uncensored vid record of which had mysteriously appeared online the previous evening just as Aryel had anticipated.
‘Should it impact on the Conference’s deliberations? Of course it should,’ he said. ‘Dr Walker may have decided it’s of no consequence, but we can see from the streams that the public does not share his opinion. The idea that we shouldn’t do all we can to avoid such a tragedy beggars belief.’
Rob interjected wearily, pointing out once again that Eli had minimised neither the horror of the child’s death nor the importance of preventing future crimes. Felix waved him away.
‘The point is, the public wants to know that someone who could do such a thing is not going to be living next door to them.’
‘The point is, we can’t tell by genetype who might do such a thing. A psychopath could be living next door to any one of us.’
‘Does anyone here actually believe there’s the same chance a normal human being could commit such a crime? Anyone?’ He waved theatrically at the audience.
The room stayed quiet. Eli resisted the urge to put his hand up. He was keeping an eye on Zavcka Klist, also seated near the front. The panellists were free to bring members of the audience into the discussion if their expertise wa
s relevant; he had already been called upon by Rob, Aryel, the Secretary and the cleric. Zavcka looked poised and ready to be included. So far she had not been.
Felix thundered on. ‘Look, I’ve spent my life in this business. I know more about gems than a bunch of academics, and I know there are risks we should not be prepared to take. We’ve seen this week how dangerous and secretive they can be, we are learning just how much they have to hide. People are beginning to wake up to that reality, and this Conference needs to address their concerns.’
He sat back, arms folded in a show of righteous indignation, and deliberately turned to bestow a withering glare on Aryel. He was disconcerted to find her smiling back. The audience shifted and murmured.
The moderator’s face stayed impassive over steepled hands, but he looked at Felix long and hard enough to make him turn around and sit up straight. He then told the delegates that since online rumour and innuendo provided so much of the context for the day’s discussion, they might as well deal with what it had thrown up.
‘One of the matters to which I believe Mr Carrington has alluded concerns you, Miss Morningstar.’
Aryel nodded briskly. ‘I find the rumour less interesting than what it implies,’ she said. ‘The idea that someone has been trying, essentially, to look up my skirt,’ she raised an amused eyebrow at Felix, to a chorus of titters, ‘is offensive, but not surprising. Nor is their petulance at having failed.’
She paused to let the wave of chuckles finish washing around the room. Then she leaned forward, jaw set, eyes still on Felix. The movement accentuated the outline of her swollen back. Once again Eli noted how she took the audience with her, their mood returning to serious along with hers.
‘I make no apologies for protecting my privacy, but I am concerned by the insinuation that privacy is somehow dangerous.’
‘There’s a difference between privacy and secrecy,’ said the Secretary.
‘Indeed there is. How would you characterise a desire not to be illegally scanned by an unauthorised agent?’
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