by Seth Rain
The Rogue Watcher
Humanity Series - A Prequel Novella
Seth Rain
Copyright © 2019 by Seth Rain
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Published by Human Fiction
Copy editing: Jane Hammett
Proofreading: Johanna Robinson
Cover Design: Damonza
Created with Vellum
Book One: The Warm Machine
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‘April is the cruellest month…’
From ‘The Wasteland,’ by T.S. Eliot
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
The Warm Machine
Read Chapter One of The Warm Machine
Buy Book One: The Warm Machine
The Rogue Watcher
One
Being one of the 144,000 Chosen was tough to live with. Believing he had no free will, that his life and death were mapped out for him, was impossible to live with. So he didn’t believe it. He chose not to. Even if the AI had proven otherwise.
Gripping a bottle of whisky in one hand, Scott knocked on the door with the other.
No answer.
He opened his hand and read his tattoo, the date he would die: 22.04.
He didn’t know the year. Some said the AI didn’t know, but that couldn’t be true. The Watchers said this left room for people to believe in free will and enabled the Chosen to live their lives to the fullest, but that made little sense. Scott thought it was a cruel joke.
He knocked again.
Nothing.
Taking a step backwards, he scanned the hallway then checked the number on Craig’s door. Sixty. He was in the right place.
‘Craig,’ he called out, then knocked again. ‘You there?’
Craig found living with his date even tougher than Scott did. He hadn’t said so, but Scott saw the fear in his eyes.
Scott checked his watch. Six minutes after midnight. He was late. He turned the handle and opened the door, then stepped inside.
Craig’s apartment was cold, the window open, the curtains billowing inwards, rain tapping against the metal fire escape.
‘Hey?’
Scott walked inside and over to the open window. Manchester was wide awake with the sound of self-drivers, drone sirens and raised voices. The wet street reflected the white fusion street lamps. Between two buildings on either side of Piccadilly Gardens, a holographic hoarding advertised clean fusion power: a camera panned across the rainforest, rising to the sun, the image blazing bright yellow then hot white. Fusion Corp – it was only in London for now, but Manchester would soon follow.
Scott leaned out of the window and felt rain against his face. A high-speed train fled across the bridge to the east of the city. Movement below caught his eye. He’d recognise them anywhere. It was a Watcher, striding along the pavement, his long grey coat flapping behind him.
He’d promised Craig he’d be there, that nothing would happen to him on his date. Before he’d worked out what he should do, Scott was climbing through the window onto the fire escape and down the ladder to the platform below.
Scott noted which way the Watcher turned at the junction. After climbing down the last few rungs, Scott dropped to the tarmac and ran to catch up.
The main street leading to the Northern Quarter was busy. Self-drivers shushed along the wet street; people came and went in and out of bars and fast-food restaurants. Scott jogged, looking for the Watcher, sidestepping a holographic woman advertising a good time. A man, standing in the doorway of a burger place, watched him walk past and stopped chewing. Sometimes Scott thought people knew he was Chosen, as though it wasn’t just written on his hand, but in his expression, his demeanour. He considered asking if the man had seen Craig or the Watcher, then thought better of it.
An Omni-taxi splashed through a puddle and pulled up beside him. The door opened with a hiss and a digital voice asked if he required assistance. Scott ignored the taxi and stepped onto the road in front of it, pushing past two men arguing on the tramlines.
The Watcher crossed the street, heading for a bar. Scott followed. Above the entrance, a red hologram shimmered: the Rapture Bar. Rain fell through unfurling angel wings. Scott nodded at two giant men standing in the doorway and they nodded back at him, one of them gesturing for him to enter. A row of booths and tables ran along the left-hand side of the bar. Scott eyed each one, searching for Craig or the Watcher and finding neither. Someone was playing guitar at the far end, and a crowd of people jumped and swayed to music fuelled by thumping drums. To the right, customers queued five deep waiting to be served. Most wore holo-masks, fizzing with delayed expressions and lip movements, each taking on the appearance of a celebrity.
He reached the dancing crowd and scanned the heads, but there was no way he could pinpoint Craig or the Watcher among so many people. Familiar faces passed by, left and right, each a shifting combination of real and digital.
Someone grabbed his wrist. ‘This way,’ a woman said.
Scott stared at her mask – an image of someone he recalled but couldn’t place – then at her hand on his arm.
‘Come with me,’ she said, her mouth serious, her real eyes dark behind the holo-mask.
She led him into the crowd, pushing her way through. He followed her behind a tall stack of speakers. She glanced at the crowd, then at the band, before opening a door Scott had not noticed. She pulled him inside and the door closed behind them, muffling the drums and guitars. They made their way along a corridor illuminated by a strip of violet light.
‘In here,’ she said, showing him inside. The music was different here: a throbbing dance beat repeated over and over. Mint-coloured rays of light coalesced to form a hologram of a woman standing on a table wearing a red dress, who danced, her eyes fixed on Scott.
‘You’re Chosen,’ the woman in the mask said, not as a question, more an accusation.
Scott stared hard at the stranger. ‘Who are you?’ He held his hand close to his chest. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Listen to me. I can’t tell you everything I know – there’s no time.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But you must stay away from him.’
Scott’s brow furrowed.
‘Do you understand?’ she asked.
Scott swallowed. ‘The Watcher?’
She nodded.
For an instant Scott saw through her mask and caught a flash of her real eyes, mouth and lips.
‘Leave now,’ she said. ‘Forget about that man. Forget all of it.’ She reached out for his arm again. ‘You must leave Manchester and head north.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he said. ‘He’s looking for someone I know.’
The woman shook her head. ‘No. You have to leave.’
The holographic dancer stooped in front of Scott and asked if he wanted her to take off her clothes. She nodded to a cash-slot and a menu that popped up beside her.
‘It’s your friend’s time,’ the masked woman said, ignoring the dancer. ‘You can’t change that.’
‘Do you know where he is?’ Scott asked.
&n
bsp; She shook her head. ‘It won’t change anything.’
Scott took a step backwards. ‘Tell me who you are.’
‘It’s not important. I know who you are – that’s all that matters.’
‘I’m leaving,’ Scott said, reaching to open the door.
‘You can’t stop it,’ she said. ‘You have to leave now – for good.’
‘You keep saying that, but I can’t go anywhere. I live here.’
‘Your wife,’ she said, her eyes flitting around, unable to stay fixed on his, ‘will be safer if you’re not around.’
Her mention of Rebecca made him clench his fists. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘You’ll be important, Scott.’ The woman’s face hardened into a determined expression. ‘We’re on your side. And when the time comes, someone will come for you. But for now, you must leave. Otherwise they’ll find you.’
‘You’re not making any sense. Who will find me?’
‘I can’t tell you. I should leave, and you should too. If you find him, that man will know who you are and he’ll come after you on your date. Your wife will be in danger too.’ The woman opened the door and took a step outside before stopping. ‘Free will – it’s real, Scott.’ She pointed to his hand. ‘Choose to live.’ Her expression softened. ‘Whatever happens from this point on, choose to live.’
‘What about Craig?’ Scott asked.
She shook her head. ‘It’s too late for him. But there’s still time for you.’
‘You make it sound like it’s the end of the world,’ he said.
‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s not the end of the world.’ She sniffed, her mouth a straight line, ‘only humanity.'
In the moment it took Scott to glance at the tattooed date on his hand, she was gone.
‘Wait,’ he said, chasing after her.
In the corridor a young couple kissed and fumbled, blocking his exit.
‘Wait! Hey!’ he shouted after the woman, but she’d opened the door and disappeared into the busy bar.
Two
The day he met Craig, Scott sat at the bar, reading the banner moving across the bottom of the news broadcast on the holo-screen. Three more Chosen, dead on the dates predicted.
He took a box from his pocket and pulled out a deck of cards. He shuffled them and slid them back into the box before placing it on the bar.
He reached for what was left of his whisky and downed it in one.
Someone took the stool beside him.
Scott knew the body language needed to communicate a desire to be left alone and did all he could to make this clear.
‘Another three dead,’ the man said, pointing at the holo-screen.
Scott nodded.
‘Another drink?’ the man asked.
Scott sighed and focused on the newcomer. He was a well-built man in a red hoodie and baseball cap.
‘No thanks,’ Scott said. ‘Think I’m done for the evening.’ He pushed back his stool, ready to leave.
‘It’s a bitch, huh?’
Scott watched the holo-screen.
‘It’s okay.’ The man showed Scott his left palm. ‘I’m Chosen too.’
Scott stared at the man’s date – 04.01 – and nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’
The man closed his hand and shrugged. ‘What can you do?’
Scott had only met a handful of others, but each time he had, it made him uncomfortable, like meeting a distant relative with whom he was expected to feel some innate connection.
Scott stood, took his pack of cards from the bar and pushed them into his pocket. ‘See you around.’
‘Bye, Scott.’
He paused. ‘Have we met?’
‘Sorry – I’ve seen you in here before and heard the barman say your name.’
Scott glanced at the barman who was busy stacking glasses.
The man nodded at Scott’s hand. ‘Can I see?’
Scott showed him.
The man tilted his head to read the date. ‘The twenty-second of April. Two months away.’
Scott raised an eyebrow.
‘The cruellest month,’ the man said.
The phrase was familiar but Scott couldn’t think where he’d heard it.
‘It won’t be this year,’ the man said. ‘I know it! Please, let me buy you a drink.’
Scott checked the exit. ‘I need to get back,’ he said, already working out his escape route.
‘No problem.’
Scott hesitated. The stranger turned to the bar and the holo-screen, his face long, his shoulders pushed forward. Something was stopping Scott from leaving. Maybe there was something in this other man being Chosen too.
‘Maybe one more,’ Scott said.
The man’s face brightened and he asked the barman for whiskies.
‘Craig,’ the man said, offering his hand. ‘Do you believe it?’ he asked. ‘The AI?’
Scott shook the man’s hand, and sipped his whisky. ‘It’s been right so far.’
‘Do you know any other Chosen?’
Scott shook his head.
‘The Watchers,’ Craig whispered, using his glass to gesture at the holo-screen. ‘How do we know they’re not killing people on their dates? To prove the AI is right?’
Scott stared into his drink and swirled the ice. ‘We don’t.’
‘It’s a paradox,’ Craig said. ‘Issuing the dates means they come true.’
‘Maybe,’ Scott said. ‘But the dates have been right – every single one of them.’
Three
Scott considered following the masked woman into the bar, but what sounded like a heavy door closing at the other end of the corridor made him walk the opposite way. He followed the violet light running along the ceiling until he reached two doors. Behind the right door was a stairwell; he closed it. He opened the other one. It led to an enclosed space at the rear of the building. A young couple along the corridor laughed loudly. He stepped outside and the door closed behind him.
He peered around: a row of bins, dark doorways and a narrow alleyway that opened on to the street at the front of the club.
He scanned the skyline before checking the door he’d come through. Someone shouted from the far end of the alley. A group of men and women holding banners and placards passed by. Protesting was pointless, but that obviously hadn’t stopped them trying.
Moving faster than the cloud, but in the same direction, was a formation of drones, their lights flashing green. A sound caught Scott’s attention. He turned. It was the Watcher.
The large man stood still, his head bowed, his coat flapping about his legs.
Paralysed for a second, Scott clenched his fists. ‘Where is he? Where’s Craig?’
The Watcher didn’t budge, only stared at him.
‘Hey!’ Scott said, raising his voice, taking several steps closer. ‘Where’s Craig?’
As if mildly curious, the Watcher raised his head.
Scott waited, but the other man was silent. A breeze raced through the alley, lifting curls of spray from the wet ground.
‘Where are the birds?’ the Watcher asked.
Scott glanced up at the sky. ‘What?’
The Watcher tilted back his head to look up. ‘The birds. There was a time birds filled Manchester’s skies. The drones scared them away.’
‘What have you done to Craig?’
The Watcher walked towards Scott.
Scott stepped backwards, staring at him. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with a thin face darkened by stubble and long wet black hair. The Watcher stopped and reached into his coat pocket.
‘Wait!’ Scott said. ‘What are you doing?’
The Watcher, focused on the revolver he held, appeared confused. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It is not your time.’ He held the weapon in one hand and pushed open the cylinder with the other. He took a bullet from his pocket, threaded it into an empty chamber, spun the cylinder and clicked it back into place. Rotating the gun in his hand, he offered it to Scott.
Scott took anothe
r step backwards. ‘What are you doing? Why are you giving me that?’
The Watcher, his eyes dark, his mouth downturned, kept coming towards Scott, again offering him the revolver.
Scott stared at the weapon, then at the Watcher, who grabbed Scott’s left hand. ‘I know you’re Chosen,’ the Watcher said, staring at Scott’s date.
Scott snatched his hand back, stumbling as the man released him.
‘Where is Craig?’ Scott asked again.
‘He died for you,’ the Watcher said, his eyes narrowing.
Scott couldn’t move.
‘For you,’ the Watcher said again. ‘It feels as if you’re choosing, doesn’t it? Every moment of every day, it feels like you’re making choices.’
Because of the look in the Watcher’s eyes, Scott knew what he’d done. He walked past the Watcher, knowing what he’d find on the other side of the bins.
‘It’s a good thing,’ the Watcher said, his words echoing in the enclosed space.
Scott knew what would be hidden there.
‘By His wounds, He has healed you,’ the Watcher said.
A rat scuttled from behind the largest bin. Scott could hear voices, music, the whisper of another drone flashing by. He walked to the bins then stopped.
Craig was slumped against the wall, motionless, blood on his shirt.
Four
Scott exhaled.
‘It’s over,’ Rebecca said. ‘Midnight. It’s done.’
Scott sat back in the chair. ‘I have another year.’
‘At least,’ she said and sat on his lap. ‘I’ve told you, you’ll die an old man. So old, when it happens, that you won’t even know it’s your date.’