Lindisfarne (Project Renova Book 2)

by Terry Tyler

  He forces himself not to think about it, because he needs these trips outside UKC for his sanity. He needs to remind himself of the real England, not this strange, quasi-American version.

  He cycles to his old pub; when he steps inside and shuts the door, he relaxes, and feels free for the first time all week. Microchip notwithstanding. He needs the job, the nutritious food, the company and the flushing lavatories, but he wonders for how long he can give up his freedom. When he is alone in the landlord's bedroom upstairs, he takes a mirror and examines the place where the microchip is inserted, to see how easily it could be removed.

  Is someone watching him inspecting it, at that very moment?

  He wonders if the watchers keep a tally of who jerks off the most, just to amuse themselves. It's the sort of thing eejits like Bateman used to do, back at BDC.

  On Sundays he cycles around the countryside. It's spring; the peace and green make him happy, and wonders what the fuck he's done, giving this up for the sake of a daily shower and three square. Other times, when it's chilly and wet, when he sits by the fire eating out of tins, he knows why.

  Now and again, he meets others out there. It's good to hear English voices, and he asks them what they know; this is what survivors do now. They share news and information. He meets some who have seen Verlander's development, but the sight of the armed guards at the access points is enough to scare them off. Most are too busy staying alive to give much thought to what's going on. He observes the human instinct to make settlements, communities; the people he meets have either got together with others, or are looking for a larger community to join.

  He wonders what happened to Eric Foster. If they got to Cornwall safely, and have found what they were looking for.

  Doyle has not seen Erika Thiessen since his first day of work, when she handed him over to the site manager. The site expands; he can no longer see the entire expanse from his old observation post. He is working on Residential Zone One (Rez 1), each unit the same as the ones above, below and to each side, but from his post he sees white buildings growing wide and tall, spaces for landscaped gardens, fountains and walkways.

  He has not seen Verlander for some time; he finds out, from a foreman, that he, Erika and others in positions of importance are stationed in an old hotel on the coast.

  During the second week of May he receives a message to say that the man himself is on site, and would like to see him.

  He follows a Polynesian man called Hori over the muddy, noisy site to an area covered in protective flooring, where the management cabins are situated. He is nervous; if his Sunday exploits have been monitored, as he is sure they have, is he to be reprimanded for some perceived crime? Given his marching orders?

  Verlander's demeanour gives him some reassurance.

  "How are you settling in?" His smile is particularly bright; he invites Doyle to take the seat opposite his desk.

  "Very well, I think." He remembers to smile back.

  "Good, good. Not to be sniffed at, is it? All the home comforts, eh?"

  "No, it's not. And thanks for the opportunity."

  Verlander waves the sentiment away. "No, thank you." He smiles, and almost winks. "I have good reports! Do you have any questions for me, now you're here?" Another bright, white-toothed grin. "Are you happy with all UK 2.0 can offer?"

  Doyle senses this question does not require a reply. "There are a couple of things I've been wondering about, if it's not too inquisitive of me to ask."

  "Shoot."

  "Okay." He frowns. "If the UK is being rescued, is the same happening elsewhere? What's the situation, you know, with the rest of the world?"

  Verlander's smile becomes closed. "UK 2.0 is my allocated baby, but other countries are being assessed according to their individual levels of collapse and potential for renewal."

  Doyle feels weary. Never before has he met anyone who can say so many words while imparting so little information.

  "Okay. I get that. But who's behind it? Who's financing the recovery? If financing even exists in the way it did." He smiles. "What is money, now? Who is responsible for rebuilding the whole bloody world? Will there be one world government?"

  Verlander looks at him for a while, his face devoid of expression, and twiddles his pen. "I got you wrong. Never knew you were so inquisitive." The smile returns. "The information you're after is mostly classified, I'm afraid. But I can tell you that the rebuilding of Britain is financed by a few philanthropic multi-national corporations."

  "Who?"

  Verlander eyes don't quite meet his. "The names won't mean anything to you. They're the parent companies of vast conglomerates, who care sufficiently about the future of our planet to progress its rebuilding and growth through this new millennium."

  Doyle folds his arms. "In other words, you're not going to tell me."

  Verlander laughs. "We're going to have to watch you, aren't we?"

  "They're huge American corporations, I presume?"

  "The US is the most powerful and wealthiest entity on the planet."

  "But what about the UK government?"

  "They will be allocated positions of prominence in UK 2.0."

  "So the UK is, in effect, now owned and governed by the US?"

  "Whoever is signing the cheques, it won't affect you, the people." He stands up, and places both hands on the desk. "What does affect you, Brian, is my next offer." He moves around to the front of the desk, and puts his hand on Doyle's shoulder. "Walk with me."

  Outside, Verlander hails the patient Hori, who hurries off. Seconds later, he reappears with a small, four-seater, open golf cart. Verlander's smile never falters as he gestures to Doyle to climb aboard, nor as they travel down a dirt track to an area Doyle has not yet visited or observed from his post. The dirt track becomes a wide, paved road. On either side are empty areas of churned earth.

  "These will be car parks, covered walkways," Verlander tells him. They turn a corner, and Doyle gasps.

  The building before him is yet to be completed, but the first section gives him a good idea of how the finished edifice will look. Its stark white reflects the sun, with a smooth, domed roof, the detail of which looks oriental; it is, Doyle thinks, like something from a sci-fi film.

  "This is only the front, the reception area; behind will be bigger, taller, higher. Doors and windows will eventually be glazed with tinted, one-way glass." Verlander winks. "We can see out, but no one can see in. This way."

  He leads Doyle into a light, airy, empty foyer, through a door and across another area of building site to a half-finished corridor. They ascend in a temporary lift that stops at a vast room, divided into large cubicles. Between every group of three cubicles is an empty space.

  "This," Verlander declares, with pride, "is the new data control centre, for the new UK." He smiles at Doyle, and performs one of his wide, hand-sweeping gestures. "We're moving away from the old world's growing trend of the casual workplace." He wrinkles his nose with disapproval. "You know what I mean. Employees working from home or turning up in their leisure clothes, settling down at communal areas with their laptops."

  Doyle frowns. "Isn't that a step backwards?"

  "No. Employees perform better when given structure and a sense of unity with their company. Personalisation of individual workspace will be allowed, of course, with these stations providing both privacy and the facility for controlled interaction. See those gaps between the cubicles? They will feature drinks dispensers and water coolers, with seating. Our data analysts will have the opportunity to choose from a selection of branded workwear options; I've seen the designs, they're pretty special!"

  "Sounds great." It didn't, it sounded bloody awful.

  Verlander smiled. "I can tell I haven't quite closed the sale yet, Mr Doyle! But bear with me, please. Employment throughout UK 2.0 will be a whole package, not just a job. You work hard, you reap the benefits in your leisure time. Of course, we have a long way to go, but getting this particular part of our administrative c
entre up and running is top priority."

  "So what happens here?"

  Verlander smiles. "Here, my friend, is where all information will be processed and analysed for the benefit and progress of the new world."

  "I see."

  "Think you could fit in here?"

  "Possibly." But the thought of going back to sitting in a cubicle all day, watching the clock, fills Doyle with gloom. The 'branded workwear options' he could deal with; he'd never minded jobs with uniforms. Saved finding something to wear each morning. But all the same—

  Verlander laughs. "I still haven't quite tickled your fancy, have I?" He places his hand on Doyle's shoulder. "Look up."

  Doyle looks up.

  Above the room is a balcony, and, higher up still, the building is covered by a tarpaulin.

  "You may not be able to picture it yet, but I can, because I've beheld the vision. When this building is finished, you'll look up and see the sky. The roof will be made of a new type of polymer that reflects light and automatically regulates temperature. No more stuffy offices or air con! You'll be surrounded by greenery, with your working environment perfectly oxygen-balanced for maximum wellbeing. See that balcony? I want you to visualise cafés, juice bars, health and fitness clubs. Moving walkways will take you to your personal living space." He laughs. "Employee accommodation for supervisory positions, like the one I have earmarked for you, are several steps up from Rez 1, I can assure you. Personally sexed up by Erika Thiessen, no less—and, believe me, that's one lady who knows the meaning of the word sexy." He winks.

  Ah. So Verlander wants him to know that he's shagging Erika.

  "Nice."

  "Nice doesn't even go there, Brian. Think wet rooms, interactive media screens, state-of-the-art galley kitchen, atmosphere controlled living and sleeping areas."

  Doyle can't help feeling excited by this. "And all that comes with the job?"

  "It does." Verlander nods. "Valued analysts will not be left wanting. You perform well, you earn more credits. You want clothes, spa treatments—hey, take a lady out for eats—you'll have the wherewithal." He slaps him on the back. "Time you learnt to drive, right? You can buy lessons, join the Credit Plus repayment scheme to own your first motor. Brian, I'm offering you a position with seriously awesome prospects, a luxury apartment, the opportunity to live a real life again, but better than before. One day in the not too distant future we'll have online social networks—we're taking it all back." He frowns. "But still I'm sensing doubt. Can I ask why?"

  Doyle gazes up at the balconies, and imagines those cafés and juice bars. He never liked trendy bars. Preferred old style pubs. "Oh, you know what they say. If something sounds too good to be true, it usually is."

  Verlander moves away, just slightly, and holds up his hands. "Cautious is good. I don't expect a man of your intelligence to accept face value."

  "It's not just a job, though, is it? I'd be dependent on you for a home, the food I eat, everything."

  Verlander shrugs. "Weren't you always reliant on your employer for those things?"

  "Yes and no. I still chose where I lived. No one knew how I spent my money, or my time."

  "Good living comes with a price. I won't deny that. But when you're not working, you're free to come and go as you please."

  "And you'll know all about it, because of the chip."

  "Only if we bother to look. "Verlander laughs. "We only own your soul during working hours!"

  "How will the credit system work? The same as on the building site?"

  "No, no, you'll have much more freedom. It will be deposited in your personal 'bank', but because you'll be out and about, rather than spending your earnings in the canteen and recreation room, you'll be given a debit card, just like in the old world."

  Doyle looks around. "Why me? I've never been head-hunted in my life."

  "Why not you? Okay, fair comment. I'll be totally straight with you. You might have noticed that the population is a bit thin on the ground these days."

  Doyle nods, and they both laugh.

  "You're trained in data analysis. We need only bring you up to speed on our new system, not the principles; this, my friend, is the Stage Two you were waiting for, back in that bunker. You're a young, single guy with no ties, we don't have to wrestle you away from any of the communities that have built up since the fall, but, most of all, you want this. You know you do. You need it. It's your ticket back to civilisation. And we need you." He touches Doyle on the shoulder, gently steering him back the way they came.

  When they return to the site, he reaches out to shake Doyle's hand.

  "Take the rest of the day off with full credit entitlement—have this one on me!"

  Doyle is baffled. "Thank you."

  Verlander sits back in the cart. "Have a think about it. Take your time; there's no hurry. We won't be up and running for some months yet. Your mission, should you choose to accept it—" cheesy grin "—will begin in July, though we won't have all facilities at your disposal for some time. This is your opportunity to be in on the ground floor of the new world. It's an exciting time; be part of it."

  And he is gone. Doyle stares after him for a long time.

  It is only as he walks away that he realises he forgot to ask what the job will actually entail.

  He spends his free afternoon cycling, but this time he looks past the peaceful green of the countryside, and sees only the devastation. Three young people, no older than late teens, pass him on a main road, packs on their backs. They look dirty, weary. In a small retail park up off a dual carriageway, the shops have been ransacked. Clothes and shoe shops look as though they've housed particularly raucous jumble sales, the pharmacy is a mass of smashed glass, the supermarket an echoing, stinking shell. The only goods untouched are the useless, unwanted electrical devices.

  This is the world, now, a world which will grow more desperate, more dangerous, more bleak, as the months and years roll on. He's been offered an escape.

  But he thinks about the chip, and wonders if Verlander is watching him.

  He doesn't make a decision that day. Or the next.

  When UK 2.0 is up and running, the difference between Verlander's new world and that of the daily struggle just to stay alive will be a chasm ten times as vast as any that existed between privileged and needy before.

  He thinks about the Fosters and their friends, and the community they left. The lawlessness. The lack of food, which is the most important issue. No, the only issue, because without enough to eat there is nothing.

  Think again.

  Verlander says he will be free to do as he wishes when not working, but that freedom will be monitored. Every purchase, every outing logged. Every preference known. Nothing about his life will be private.

  Is this too great a price to pay? Then again, was the old world so different? He Googled, he paid by card, never cash, so details of every food and clothes purchase, every hotel, restaurant and cinema visit were fed into that vast data compilation, to be analysed by people like him.

  And he's always fancied a flat with a wet room.

  A week after his interview with Verlander, Doyle seeks out Erika Thiessen.

  (She knows the meaning of the word sexy).

  She smiles as he walks in. "Is it a yes?"

  He feels she has been waiting for him. "How committed am I, if I accept?"

  "Your contract will explain your legal commitment to the Renova Group." She reaches into a drawer and hands him a large manila envelope. "You are obligated to return it within seven days."

  Doyle feels the significance of the envelope in his hands. "You say legal commitment." His voice is nervous; he hears it, hates it. "How does that work, nowadays?"

  Erika smiles. "The Renova Group has its own legal team, bound to enforce the terms of signed contracts." How these will be enforced, she doesn't say.

  Doyle takes the envelope back to his dormitory and reads all twelve pages many times. If he signs, he must not discuss the undertakings of the
data analysis team with outside parties or those employed within other areas of UK 2.0, and neither must he engage in any activity antagonistic to the objectives of the Renova Group of Companies. These specifications must also be complied with during non-working hours. He must comply with the current terms of his employment at all times.

  Current?

  Aha, but the Renova Group reserves the right to 'modify' these terms without notice.

  In very small print, at the end of a long, boring page that some may not bother to read.

  Clever.

  But he's clever, too, isn't he? He used to wheel and deal, back then. Kept one step ahead of both the law and his adversaries.

  Is he more clever than the smiling clown, Verlander?

  For sure.

  This is a contract designed to stamp out the merest hint of anarchy, but Doyle is used to going under the radar. Might be a bit harder with that bloody chip in his shoulder, but, should any anti-Verlander activity be necessary, he is sure he can find a way.

  At the end of the seven days he signs to accept the position of Senior Data Analyst, UK Area, for the Renova Group.

  Even as he does so, he remembers his mother's words, each time she was asked for a signature on something as insignificant as an Amazon delivery.

  "There I go again, signing my life away."

  As he hands over his contract to Erika's assistant, he fears he has done just that.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Vicky

  Spring is in the air. The village is so quiet I can hear myself breathing, and my footsteps along the pavement as I walk in the weak sunshine, round the corner and onto the road out of the village.

  The tide is out and I hear what I know are gulls, skylarks, pied wagtails and lapwings, because Lottie tells me, but I don't know which is which.

  I don't care. I used to be interested when she talked about them, but now I don't care. Perhaps I will again, one day.

  Over the causeway John and others will be on watch, and Heath should be there, too, looking forward to the end of his shift so we can meet at our secret house.