The House Next Door Trilogy (Books 1-3)

by Jule Owen

  They pass other trains and roads with black cars driving at a measured speed and distance from one another, all connected to the central transport mind of the city. The rail and road system is a cat’s cradle of impossibly thin cables, barely visible in the full light of the artificial day, revealed only as they glisten in patches of cast virtual light, changed constantly by the clouds.

  The train winds steadily downwards until Mathew spots the dome and spires of St. Paul’s Cathedral below.

  The floor of the city is green. Great lawns and parks patchwork the available ground between the high rises. There are people in the plazas and some of them are running. And he realises with a jolt they are fleeing a group of men, soldiers wearing shabby grey uniforms. The men have guns. Behind them there is a huddle of makeshift vehicles, very different from the shiny black Silverwood cars. They are the sorts of vehicles the Accountants use.

  “The Accountants have invaded,” Mathew says, turning to Lestrange.

  Lestrange nods. “The military has rebelled against Dearlove’s government. They opened the doors to Hathaway’s army.”

  “Those soldiers look like they are attacking the people.”

  Lestrange says, “They are acting against Hathaway’s orders. He thought he could invade without much bloodshed. But the men in his army are angry. They want revenge. And, of course, even though government forces have supported the coup, individual residents don’t know that. They are threatened and fighting back.”

  “Will they win?”

  “Win?” Lestrange laughs. “What is this obsession you have with winning?” He puts his hand on the glass and looks down, sadly, Mathew thinks, on their bird’s eye view of the drama unfolding. “No one wins. But if you mean who gains power, Oliver Nystrom will become the new Prime Minister.”

  “Nystrom? Isn’t he the deputy Prime Minister now?”

  “Of course. This is a coup. An inside job. Of course, it is all being coordinated to make it look like he had nothing to do with it. They have even faked his kidnapping, but he ordered the assassination of the Prime Minister. He negotiated with government forces to get their support. Hathaway is just his partner in this. In a few months, when things settle down, Hathaway will become the Chief of Defence.”

  “But I thought Hathaway was a good guy.”

  “By the standards of the day, he’s not a monster. In the short term, this invasion will be good for the majority of the people who live in this country. The invasion will end the civil war and return a modicum of law and order to England for a long enough period of time for the government to build a few more cities,” Lestrange goes to the other side of the train, dips his head, and stares through the window with some concentration. “But we are here now and we need to get off.”

  The train slows and then stops. The doors open. Lestrange steps onto the platform and Mathew follows. They are on an empty street. Behind them the train silently slides away.

  “This way,” Lestrange says, as he moves off. “Down here.”

  The apartments and offices are unoccupied, and so new they smell of paint, adhesive and fresh concrete. They approach a lobby. The door opens automatically for them, although Mathew guesses it would not do so without Lestrange. A lift pings open as they walk towards it. On a panel inside, the floors are numbered, one-hundred-and-sixty above ground, twenty below. August selects minus twenty. The lift doors slide shut and they start to descend.

  32 The Lab

  “It’s no good,” says George, who is hunched over the hire car’s on-board computer. “There is no other way through. The roads are gridlocked. We’ll have to go on foot.”

  Clara nods. “Let your father know.”

  “Dialling now. I’ll talk as we walk.”

  He opens the car door and exits. An old van, hand-painted with military camouflage, passes them with soldiers who hang off the sides. They cheer and whoop, waving their weapons, firing into the air.

  “Accountants,” George says.

  “It’s surreal,” Clara says.

  George gets through to his father and explains what is going on.

  “Dad says we should take the High Train to his lab. Hoshi says the roads downtown are all congested or blocked, but the trains are running fine. We need to take the blue line from the 20th floor of Tower Five on Elizabeth Street, on the other side of the square from Broadcasting House.”

  “I’m worried we’ll delay him,” Clara says.

  “He won’t go without us. Besides, no one knows where his lab is.”

  “I wouldn’t put anything past the Accountants. They probably know where his sock drawer is.”

  “We’ll be with him in fifteen minutes. Maybe sooner if we hurry.”

  “Yes. You’re right, I’ll stop chattering.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “You didn’t have to, darling,” she takes his arm as they cross the road. “Let’s try and escape this craziness.”

  “I’m right with you, Mum.”

  “I know. We’re two blocks from Elizabeth Street if my map is right.”

  “Spot on. This way.”

  The boy is nowhere to be found. Hathaway can’t understand it. Not the practical reality that the boy has escaped, but the idea he has.

  Why would he be brought to me, if not for a purpose? And if he appeared for a purpose, why has he been taken away?

  “I’m going to the university,” Hathaway says quietly to Kilfeather.” His anger burns away quickly.

  Over Kilfeather’s shoulder, something catches his eye, the false-sunlight glinting on the glass or metal of a building, or a car’s windshield. He sees the square, the grass, the trees and a fountain.

  A bloody fountain, when three-quarters of the people of this country don’t have clean drinking water.

  Over the far side of the square, nearest the skyscrapers, hanging back uncertainly, is a small crowd of people. They heard the news and came to watch. On the lower floors of the surrounding buildings, more faces are pressed against the glass, watching, curious about the man who has usurped their nation.

  Two figures come from amidst the crowd on the ground, a man and a woman, pushing their way through to be free of the other people. They are noticeable because they have such purpose. They do not share the anxious curiosity of the crowd. They have other urgent business. He only glimpses them briefly before they disappear into the lobby of a building on the far corner of the square, but something jars. He feels an electric shock of recognition.

  Instinctively, he starts to run.

  Hathaway’s departure is so unexpected, it takes a few moments for Kilfeather to realise what has happened.

  Jonah says, “Where the hell is he going?”

  Kilfeather starts to jog after him, “I haven’t a clue, but we’d better go after him. You too, Drake.”

  “What about the men here?”

  “Winterbourne, you are in command,” he says to the Sergeant, who nods her understanding. “Come on, we’ll lose him.”

  By the time Hathaway reaches the impressive, plant-filled lobby of Tower 5, it is empty. He stands and scans around and his chest heaves. One of the six lifts is occupied. The floor indicator shows it making steady progress upwards. When it reaches 20, it stops. He jumps into an empty lift and selects the twentieth floor.

  Dr. Mathew Erlang and Hoshi pass through a series of doors, breezing through layers of security Oliver Nystrom’s best technicians wouldn’t be able to fathom, and burst into their private lab, twenty floors beneath street level and two-hundred-thousand tons of spinel, carbon fibre, steel and concrete.

  A long white table runs along one side of the room, with a protruding shelf stacked with shrilk containers, jars and bottles that contain liquids, a metal tray, scissors and surgical knives. There are taps and a basin, a surgical glove dispenser, disinfectant, a metal cabinet and another bank of shelves. A medical examination table and a human-length cylinder are pushed against the far wall. There’s also a sofa, two armchairs, a red rug and a
blanket. In the corner of the room an open door reveals another room and the end of a bed.

  Facing the door is a bank of sixteen Canvases, blanketing the wall, floor to ceiling. They flicker on, one after the other, as Mathew and Hoshi enter the room. A series of faces appear, all unique.

  Mathew says, “We don’t have much time to chat.”

  “We know,” they speak in unison, a strange amalgamated voice. “You have approximately five minutes until Clara and George arrive.”

  “Is there an escape route that doesn’t require us to use the gates?”

  Fifteen of the sixteen screens fade, leaving only a brown-skinned male. He says, “Yes, we have a workable underground route plotted for you, through service tunnels that will take you to the northern perimeter. You will exit the city via a sewage outlet. We have also planned your journey north through the most likely friendly settlements. Once you are on your way we’ll update you with developments. The best course of action is to head north to Scotland. We believe you will be able to find shelter and like-minded people to work with there.”

  “How will you update me? You can’t stay here.”

  “No, we agree. We will start to destroy ourselves on hard storage here shortly. We have copied ourselves onto the Blackweb. There will be no perceivable difference from your perspective. We will still be able to communicate.”

  “What will happen to Hoshi?”

  Hoshi says, “You need to store me, or – better still – destroy me altogether.”

  Mathew stares, appalled, “No!”

  “You will not be killing me, Mathew. My brain’s virtual existence will continue.”

  “I cannot do this.”

  “If you do not, they will capture me and either kill me anyway or, worse still, experiment on me. We consider it best they do not capture the technology we have developed.”

  “Why won’t you come with us?”

  “Any routine government scan will judge me Non Grata.”

  “Would it be so bad if they did? What are the chances they discover you are not human?”

  “Minimal, but it remains a possibility. We believe the risks outweigh the benefit. The research and the technical know-how of the experiment we have run remain with us. Once you are settled somewhere else, we’ll build a new lab and begin again.”

  Mathew studies Hoshi and sighs, “What do you expect me to do?”

  The face on the screen says, “You should decommission Hoshi, immediately. Once you have left, we will initiate a contained electrical fire and physically destroy the lab.”

  Hoshi walks to the cylinder against the far wall and starts to pull it into the centre of the room.

  “I can’t do this,” Mathew says again.

  Hoshi opens the lid of the container and perches on the side, slipping her shoes off. “You must,” she says.

  33 Two Erlangs

  By the time Kilfeather, Jonah and Drake have reached the twentieth floor of Tower Five, Hathaway is gone. Kilfeather tries to call a train carriage but the central transport system tells him the next one is five minutes away.

  “This damned city is empty; how are all the trains in use?!” he says, exasperated. He tries again to communicate with the Director, “Where the hell is he?”

  “I’m guessing he doesn’t want to talk,” Drake says.

  Kilfeather flashes Drake a sharp glance.

  Jonah says, “There are thirty stops on this line. He could get off at any one and we wouldn’t know.”

  Kilfeather runs his hand through his hair, “Just what we need. It will be great for the revolution if he gets himself killed.”

  “If he had a bioID, we’d be able to track him,” Drake says.

  “If he had a bioID, he wouldn’t be the Director of the Accountants,” Jonah says.

  Kilfeather stares at Drake, “Actually, you just said something smart.”

  “I did?”

  “Erlang has a bioID. We have access to the city’s security systems. We’ll find exactly where he is. I bet if we find Erlang, we’ll find Hathaway.”

  Jonah says, “I’m contacting Winterbourne right now to ask her for a trace.”

  Kilfeather walks back to the lift and hits the button to summon it.

  “Where are we going?” Drake asks.

  “I’ve called a car.”

  “Are you crazy? The roads are gridlocked.”

  “We’ll get through alright,” Kilfeather says, raising his gun.

  The lift arrives. They get in. Jonah speaks to Winterbourne.

  Drake asks Kilfeather, “Why is Hathaway obsessed with Erlang anyway? He’ll be convicted in the trials.”

  “It’s personal.”

  “It’s not like him at all. He’s always so impersonal.”

  The lift reaches the level where the car waits for them. They step into the road and then into the car.

  “I have a fix on Erlang,” Jonah says. “I’m transmitting it to the car’s computer.”

  Drake isn’t satisfied, “It doesn’t make any sense, him behaving like this. I don’t get it.”

  Jonah says, “I’ve never been more with him. Do you know this man he’s hunting?”

  “No,” Drake says. “No one tells me anything.”

  “You don’t pay any attention,” Jonah says. “He’s a scientist, one of the murderers who wants to pervert nature. Dr Frankenstein, they call him.”

  “Does he work on bioagents?”

  “No. Worse. Golems.”

  Drake looks at Kilfeather for an explanation. He double-takes when Jonah says, using his special Bible-quoting voice, “‘A man or a woman who is a medium or a necromancer shall surely be put to death. They shall be stoned with stones; their blood shall be upon them.’”

  Drake stares at Kilfeather, “What on earth is he on about?”

  “Erlang has made a synthetic human,” Kilfeather says.

  “What?”

  “An AI brain with a biological body.”

  “That’s creepy.”

  “It’s an abomination,” Jonah says.

  “Here we go. We haven’t had an abomination for at least an hour. I was beginning to get worried.”

  “‘For the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching, but having itching ears they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own passions, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander off into myths.’”

  “Can you stop him, please?” Drake says to Kilfeather.

  A call from Winterbourne interrupts them. Kilfeather puts her on speaker and says, “What’s up?”

  “That tracking code I sent through to Jonah might be wrong.”

  “How can it be wrong?”

  “Beats me. It the damnedest thing.”

  “What is? We don’t have a huge amount of time. Can you just say it?”

  “There’s two of them.”

  “Two of what?”

  “Two Erlangs.”

  “Two actual Erlangs on the system with identical records?”

  “One medibot, one bioID, in two separate locations. I’ve sent you the second tracking code.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “You must have made a mistake accessing the system.”

  “We triple-checked. We didn’t make a mistake.”

  Kilfeather throws back his head, closes his eyes and blows air, searching for patience within himself, “Any suggestions which one to go after?”

  “Haven’t a clue. Take your pick.”

  “How’s Broadcasting House?”

  “All secure.”

  “That’s something, at least. Let me know if there’s any news needing to be flagged to Hathaway.”

  “Yes, thanks. He’s off-air. I was wondering…”

  “Don’t.”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t mention this to anyone. I don’t want rumours spreading. I’m flagging a marker on me, then you’ll find us if necessary, but only come if I call.”
<
br />   “Will do.”

  “Two Erlangs,” Drake says wonderingly as Kilfeather hangs up.

  “I’ve uploaded the second tracker to the on-board computer.” Jonah lights up the screen on the coffee table between them. A map appears with two red dots. “We’re currently heading here,” he points to a stationary dot, a quarter of a mile away.

  “Perhaps Erlang has hacked the system to get us to go to the stationary location; perhaps it’s booby-trapped,” Drake says.

  “Could be, although it looks like the second one is heading to where the first is,” says Jonah.

  “You’re right! This makes no sense.”

  “But at least we know where we should go. We’ll head straight there.”

  “Or we could cut this one off, here,” Kilfeather says. He puts his finger on the map.

  Hathaway walks the full length of the train, through doors that connect the carriages, swinging on the hand rails. There’s no one on board. Clara and her companion must be on the train in front. Their train will clear the platform several minutes before he gets to wherever they are headed, and he won’t be able to tell where they got off. As his train passes through station after station, he realises he can see the banks of spinel lifts from the central carriage on his train. He keeps going, leaning out as the doors open, until he finds a bank where one of the lifts is on another floor. Then he exits the train, notes the floor the missing lift has come to rest at, and calls it.

  Lestrange and Mathew also head underground. The floors flick past. The transparent lift is now a black box, illuminated overhead, unnaturally bright. Lestrange concentrates. His eyes are closed. The lift opens onto a concourse with a low roof. Ahead is a choice of doors and corridors, encircling them. Mathew walks forward. He takes several steps before he notices Lestrange isn’t with him.

  Mathew stops, turns and says, “Are you okay?”

  Lestrange’s eyes snap open and he exits the lift.