by Jule Owen
“Or you could make it look so much like a bird that the drone doesn’t even bother with it.”
“That’s a thought,” Mathew says.
Lea continues, “It also needs to be able to carry communications equipment. I want to get it to Dr Russell so she can tell the story of the town and get others to tell their stories. The recording should be simultaneously streamed here, so if the swift is destroyed on its way back home, we’ll still have something to broadcast.”
“Great idea,” Mathew says.
Isaac is leaning over the blueprints. “What about this?” he is pointing at a blueprint for a swift. “It says real swifts are one of the fastest birds and practically unique because they spend almost all their time in flight. This is a hyper-real model of a swift. Visually, on the wing, it would be difficult for an observer to tell it from the real thing, plus as a flying machine it mimics much of the amazing aerodynamic qualities of the real bird.”
“It should have room inside to carry the recording equipment and the wingspan to carry the weight. It should be able to manage it, if we make it simple and light enough,” Lea says.
Mathew strokes his chin, “It would be the most complex thing I’ve ever built.”
Lea slaps him on the back, “Come on. It’s a challenge. Besides, most of the work has been done for you. There’s the blueprint already. Let’s download it,” she hits download, and the plan starts to feel less like a plan and more like something they are going to do.
The template downloads to the Canvas and Mathew opens it and starts to examine it. “The trick is to fit the camera and the recording equipment.”
“But it can be done, can’t it?” Lea says.
“Yes. I think so. Give me an hour and I will tell you for sure.”
Lea beams. “It’s a deal. Isaac and I will go out and get lunch.”
“Hey, what about me?” Mathew says.
“We’ll bring something back for you. Working lunch. C’mon Isaac, let’s leave the master to his work.”
Isaac looks surprised but says, “Okay,” and follows Lea from the room.
They crunch across the snow to the cafe and push open the door. The bell on the top rings.
Oli is serving behind the counter.
“Hello Oli!” Lea says, “What a surprise.”
“In what way?” Oli says. “It’s my Mum’s cafe.”
“I know, but you always used to be in here, and since you got elected to the council as youth rep, you’ve been too high and mighty to serve in a cafe.”
“Lea, you’re full of it,” he says, but he’s grinning. He turns to Isaac, sticking out his hand, “Hi, I’m Oli, we met before, the night you came.”
“I remember,” Isaac says. “Mathew’s told me about you.”
“He has?”
“He said you had it all sorted.”
Oli laughs loudly, and the other customers, sitting quietly with their lunches, look over. “Sorry,” he says, holding his hands in surrender. He pulls a face at Lea and Isaac. “Too loud. You’d think this was a library.”
Lea says, “I think Mathew meant Isaac should talk to you about politics.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of time for that, surely. You’re sticking around aren’t you, Isaac?”
Isaac nods.
“Let him settle in and get used to us all first. Now, what can I get you?”
It is late afternoon by the time they have a working version of the swift. They take it outside and fly it over the hall.
A few passers-by stop to watch them.
“What’s that you’ve got?” one of the residents asks them.
“Just a toy,” Lea says. Catching Isaac's eye, she says, “Best not tell anyone, eh? What we’re going to do is highly illegal.”
Back in the shack, Lea helps Mathew write a routine that will automatically steer the swift down to Yorkshire. At seven o’clock Aiden comes into the room.
“Wa' ay yous god-forbids up ter? Mathew, Isaac, Ju Shen’s outside lewk'n fe yous. You’re late. We need ter bowl ter de 'all. And yous, Lea.”
“We’re not done yet,” Lea says.
“Worever it is yous tinnie finish it timorrer.”
“I’ll take it home,” Mathew says. “Finish it and get it on its way tonight. I don’t want the people of Amach waiting any longer.”
“Wa' is this Amach business?”
Lea stands and takes her Dad’s arm. “Never mind, Dad. Should I help you lock up?”
“Wa' ay yous up ter, minx?” he says, hugging her to him, delighted.
21 Christmas Day in Elgol
The people of Elgol are a diverse bunch and there is no church in the village. Nevertheless, they like to get together for the significant days on the calendar, and the long dark days of the winter in northern Britain especially call out for an excuse for celebration to break the monotony. On Christmas Eve, people of all faiths, and none, gather in the hall to sing carols and listen to Christmas readings from the Bible. Neither Aiden nor Ju Shen are believers, but they enjoy the service and together they herd the young people over to join the rest of the community. Mathew, who feels little seasonal cheer, and finds the idea of Christmas Day without his mother unbearable, suffers through the event, latching his mind onto the practical business of completing the swift.
After dinner, Mathew finishes off the swift in his bedroom. When Ju Shen has gone to bed, he sneaks out of his room and fetches Isaac. Outside, they shiver together in their coats and pyjamas and walk to the polytunnels, where there is a straight clear line out over the valley. Isaac holds the bird, while Mathew uses his Paper to initiate the program. The bird takes flight, soaring out over the moonlit valley and then over the trees. They watch the tiny speck until it disappears.
Mathew looks down at his screen. He can see the swift’s progress marked as a blinking red dot on a map.
“Well, it’s on its way,” he says.
DAY THIRTY-FOUR: Christmas Day, December 2055
The next morning, after breakfast, they open presents. Mathew has 3-D-printed his grandmother a necklace with a silver chain and a miniature silver chrysanthemum. Isaac, with Mathew’s help, has made Ju Shen five small insectibot soldiers for her polytunnels, from a blueprint they found on the Nexus. They guard plants and destroy pests. Ju Shen gives her grandson a paper book, a facsimile copy of an illustrated version of the ancient Chinese Book of Songs. Isaac gives Mathew a wristband which enhances kinetic experience in Darkroom hologames.
“Lea and Aiden helped me,” Isaac says.
Mathew beams at Isaac, admiring the band on his wrist. “It’s awesome.”
Ju disappeared while Mathew opened his present from Isaac. She pokes her head up now, over the edge of the floor, and beckons, catching Mathew’s eye. Mathew says, “I think we need to go downstairs for your present.”
The boys get up. Ju scuttles ahead. They stand in front of the door of the room Isaac has been sleeping in, Mathew and his grandmother beaming at each other, pleased with themselves. It is several moments before a puzzled Isaac realises what is different about the door. There is now a wooden plaque fixed three-quarters of the way up. It is hand-carved and painted and it says, “Isaac’s Room.”
“I thought we should make it official,” Ju says. “Here,” she hands him a small parcel.
He rips open the wrapping paper. It is a set of keys. “The door to the house is hardly ever locked, but it’s a symbolic gesture, I suppose,” she says.
Isaac stares at the keys in his hands. He dare not look up. “Thank you,” he mumbles.
“There’s more,” Mathew says, opening the door, excitedly. “Look in the wardrobe.”
Isaac does as he’s told. The previously empty wardrobe is full of new clothes.
Ju says, “Presents from Elgol’s community. Everyone contributed something.”
“I got you the boots,” Mathew says, reaching down and grabbing a pristine pair of knee-length winter boots. He hands them to Isaac.
“I don’t know wh
at to say,” Isaac says. “It’s so…”
“It’s Christmas,” Ju Shen says. She puts her hand on Isaac’s shoulder, “and you are one of us now. Okay?” She looks him in the eye.
He nods. “Okay,” he says.
As they finish clearing away the Christmas lunch things, Lea comes running from her cabin, clutching her side. She bangs on the door. Ju Shen answers, “Lea! Whatever’s the matter? Is someone hurt?”
“No!” she says, ecstatic. “Nothing’s wrong. Mat, Isaac, you have to come and see!”
“We’re finishing the dishes,” Isaac says.
“Oh, it’s alright,” Ju Shen says. “Go on.”
Lea’s cabin is down the hillside, further into the woods. To reach it, a path has been cut diagonally away from the Elgol track. There’s a garden surrounding the house, now dormant for the winter, polytunnels, like Ju Shen’s, a hen house and a stables with two heavy horses. Isaac wants to stop and see them.
“Oh, them. Dad uses them to pull lumber out of the forest. We don’t have time now. Later.”
They burst into the house. Aiden is sitting on a ladder back chair in the kitchen with a long leather boot over his knee, polishing.
“It's yous again is it? Can't get rid o' yous. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Fitzackerly,” both Isaac and Mathew say deferentially as they pass by.
“It's Aiden, 'ow a gewd couple times do ay 'uv ter tell yous?”
They follow after Lea as she passes through the house to a large studio, with skylight windows and a table, similar to the one in the shack on the plateau.
“I don’t understand a word your father says,” Isaac says.
“Not many people do,” Lea replies.
“Do you?”
“Of course!” she says. “Now shut up and look at this.”
There are a number of files in a folder on the screen. Lea selects one. A video starts to play. It is Dr Russell.
“Mathew! This bird thing came through last night. I don’t know how you managed to get it to us, although in all honesty, I don’t know how you got out of Amach in the first place. It is late here. I got back from finishing my rounds and I found this on my porch. I picked it up and it played your message, of course. I will gather people together tomorrow so we can all record our story for you. First of all, though, before I sign off for the night, I wanted to update you on what has happened here since you left.
“The night you left we set a lot of fires to distract attention. I see now it was the right thing to do because it meant you got away, but for a few days it seemed like a mistake as the patrol was doubled. They cut us off from the barn; you know, the one I told you to tell people to put food in. We watched across the fields as one of Will Cosgrove’s relatives tried to leave food and was arrested. Fortunately, Jan Hasson must have been watching because he did find a way to get us some supplies. He used balloons and airdropped us food and some torches. The water situation is pretty desperate here now and it’s cold. People are getting sick not because of the virus but because of a poor diet and poor water. If there is a way to get the story out, we need it desperately.”
“It worked,” Lea says, triumphantly. “It got there. It recorded. It works.”
By lunchtime they have fifteen more videos, and a coherent account from Dr Russell about what has taken place in Amach. Back in the shack in the town centre, Lea edits the recordings. When she has finished she plays it all back to Mathew and Isaac.
“It’s a bit rough around the edges,” she says. “I mean, I’ll never make a film director.”
“No. It’s amazing, Lea. It’s good. Now what?”
“Well, I reckon we have one shot at this. As soon as they realise what we’ve done they’ll shut down the connection, and probably the server I’ve hacked into. So we’ve got to get it out at once to as many people as possible. I think we should release to Psychopomp this afternoon with a plea to circulate and hack into major websites and place the video there. Meanwhile, we’ll hack the six o’clock news.”
“How do we know they won’t trace us?”
“Well, that’s what I’ll be doing this afternoon. Creating so much confusion, no one will know where this video came from, but if they are smart, they will think it came from Amach itself.”
“Won’t they get into trouble?”
“For telling the truth? Pah! Besides, how much worse off could they be? If they are arrested, at least they will be fed and warm.”
Lea’s call comes through on Mathew’s hacked-up X-Eyte and Studz.
“Yeah,” he says. “We have it on. My grandma is wondering why we’re watching the Canvas. I hope you had it timed to be early in the programme because she’s threatening to switch it off if dinner’s ready before the news is finished.”
“Two minutes,” she says, “Exactly. It’s already flooded the Blackweb, have you looked?”
“Isaac's been pinned to my Paper for the last hour. Hold on, the news is starting.”
The BBC news introduction sequence runs on the small Canvas in the living room area of the house. The news reader announces the headlines: fractures in the Russian lines into Poland due to energy supplies being cut off by the allies; developments in the prosecution of Reagan Faye, the suspected Psychopomp presenter; retreating London flood waters; progress rolling out the new biochip scheme and benefits to those who have them. Then the image flips and Lea’s film starts to play.
“It’s happening! You did it,” Mathew says.
“Let’s hope it plays to the end before they find and kill the server.”
“Psychopomp is crazy with it, Lea. You’re going to be a hero.”
“No one knows who I am, Isaac. And let’s hope it stays that way,” Lea says. And then, “But we’re all heroes.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Isaac says.
“Of course you did,” Lea says.
“Really?”
“Yeah. You survived.”
The whole of the film does go out, and then suddenly the broadcast returns to a studio in disarray and panic. The presenters scramble to their places to continue as if nothing has happened, but now, of course, the country knows what has happened, in Amach.
When Ju Shen comes to tell them they need to help her serve dinner she stands looking at the Canvas watching a report on Reagan Faye. She shakes her head, saying, “Oh, I get it now. Poor girl. Really unfortunate.” She stands watching until the report ends and then switches off the Canvas. “Dinner’s spoiling,” she says.
Mathew is expecting something to happen, apart from the frenzy of comments and speculation on the Blackweb, apart from the Psychopomp report, which he and Isaac watch in Isaac's room after Ju Shen has gone to bed.
Isaac is excited by the impact they have had but Mathew says, “It’s pointless unless it’s covered by the mainstream media, or the government does something. When I see a message from Dr Russell that she is free, I will be happy.”
He goes to bed and lies awake for a long time thinking about his mother.
22 The Walls of Silverwood
Wednesday 14th February 2091, Silverwood
Clara Barculo and August Lestrange are specks alone on an expanse of flat ground. Ahead of them, over the crest of a small hillock, colossal black walls loom up and spread away to the horizon, as far as is visible from their vantage point. Above the walls, glinting in the sunlight, are fantastically tall skyscrapers, diverse in shape, corkscrews, needles and giant orbs on poles. Hanging above them is a strange arc, an opaque black halo, which would be invisible but for its rim.
“What is that?” Clara asks.
“It’s Silverwood,” Lestrange replies.
“It’s huge. And what is the black thing hovering over the top of it?”
“The roof.”
“It’s only half over it.”
“It’s not finished yet.”
“What do they need a roof for anyway?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“Wouldn’
t you?”
Lestrange smiles, “Okay, but you should consider how much you want to know.”
“I want to know,” Clara says.
Lestrange shrugs, “By this point in human history climate scientists have built models that accurately predict the impact of climate change. Unfortunately, scientists fail to formulate a way of controlling the impact of it on the world around them - ironic in an age humans term the Anthropocene, wouldn’t you say? The most farsighted people, like Cadmus Silverwood, saw the way things would turn out, years in advance. He advocated for investment in technologies enabling humans to adapt to their new environment, to survive, and to buy time for them to find a way to reverse what they had done. Cadmus’ wife, Isla Kier, owned some land in Scotland. That’s where, in your own time, Mathew is now. Isla shared Cadmus’ beliefs, and together, at Elgol, they not only established a community, which was a living experiment in survival and adaptation, but also encouraged and helped fund research. After Cadmus’ death, the community he and Isla built continued their work and this city is the extraordinary result. When it is finished this city will be sealed-in by the roof. It will have its own atmosphere, its own weather, cutting-edge means of generating power and light, as well as food production and water capture and recycling. If all the world outside it was desert, Silverwood would survive, which is, of course, the point, because that is what will eventually happen.”
Clara looks around her. The ground is rocky, but there are green plants everywhere and after the last few weeks of floods it is hard to imagine anything less like a desert than England. “When you say eventually, do you mean, like, ten thousand years in the future?”