by H. R. Moore
‘So you’re saying we need to make mental health even more of a priority than it already is?’ asked the chancellor.
‘I’m saying we need to make humans the priority, and what it is to be human,’ said Lulu. ‘Yes, we need to tackle the mental health situation, but to do that, we need to understand what’s causing it. And I don’t think so much tech, across every part of life, is healthy.’
‘I’m not sure that reducing tech would be a very popular route forward,’ said Tina, a little smugly.
‘How do you know?’ said Lulu. ‘Have you ever looked into it?’
Tina shook her head before skilfully changing the subject. ‘It’s a very interesting niche view,’ she said, with a well-practiced but plastic smile. ‘Speaking of which,’ she went on, turning back to the other ministers, and effectively shutting Lulu out of the conversation, ‘did you hear the ridiculous proposal about identity security put forward in the Commons by the opposition on Tuesday?’
* * * * *
‘I miss the days when you could just jump into a helicopter. So much more of a thrill,’ said Guy, flippantly, as he stared out of the window to nothing but blackness, as his car flew through the hyperloop. The hyperloop infrastructure had finally been finished, allowing high-speed travel all across the country, through a network of both above- and below-ground depressurized tunnels. Guy’s car would self-navigate from Edinburgh to Oxford, where they would pop out of this tunnel, drive across the hyper-hub, and then enter another tunnel between Oxford and Plymouth, where he was ultimately headed.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Benji pointedly, ‘and anyway, it’s extremely fuel-inefficient.’
‘I know, I know.’
‘And this is pretty quick.’
‘The view’s not the same though.’
‘No. Do you remember those flying drone cars from the early days? The ones that used to hop across cities?’
‘I loved those. It made getting across London an absolute dream.’
‘But they were ludicrously expensive, and they were noisy, and distracting.’
‘And then some kid brought one down in New York.’
‘With a slingshot wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah. He was protesting about the growing inequality tech was causing, if I recall correctly. And then demand hit the floor and the company went bust.’
‘Probably for the best,’ said Benji, reflectively, silence settling between them as they both remembered those days.
‘Walk me through the details then,’ said Guy, taking a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge. Autonomous cars had no need for human input, so the whole internal space had been redesigned for maximum space and comfort. Most people didn’t own their own car, but hired one when they needed it. This meant that the ongoing servicing and maintenance was someone else’s problem, and you could choose the most appropriate vehicle for what you were doing each day. If you were going on a long journey, you could even hire a sleeper car, which came equipped with beds.
‘They raided one of the factories just outside of Exeter,’ said Benji, flatly.
‘Which one?’
‘Assembly twelve. They do domestic robot servicing.’
Guy started at this revelation. ‘Thomas’ parents work there. I saw him earlier. Are they all okay?’
‘I don’t know. There were people working over their hours, including his parents. They were all taken in for questioning. Apparently they said they were within their annual hours limit, and that they planned to do less work towards the end of the year to ensure they came in within their overall allowance. The problem is, they hadn’t clocked in.’
‘Shit,’ said Guy, taking a swig of his water. ‘Get word out to all the factories, in fact, to all the workers we help. Extra hours are off the table for everyone until further notice. And everyone should be clocking in, with no exceptions. Issue a reminder to the whole company, reiterating the policy. Point out that we remind people to do this every month. Say it’s come to our attention that some people may not be clocking in, and that we want to ensure fair working hours and fair pay for everyone. All the usual stuff.’
‘What about the workers who were questioned?’
‘I don’t know yet. We need the full details before deciding what to do. And I need to speak to Thomas’ parents as soon as possible.’
* * * * *
Guy passed through the last security checkpoint before reaching the inner sanctum of Cybax’s top-secret military lab at the dockyard in Plymouth. It was grey and inconspicuous, fitting in perfectly with the old military buildings there. On the outside, the place had preserved the rundown feel of the late 2010s, when funding for everything had been an issue, and you could barely get a free pen out of any government institution, let alone state-of-the-art tech. Everything inside was equally drab, with ripped chairs, horrible plastic flooring, and strip lighting, up until the point where he reached the Cybax lab that is, where the world exploded into an exciting array of brand-new technology, vivid colour, and dynamism.
Guy reached the end of the corridor and looked through the glass viewing window to take in the activity going on beyond. This was where the crème de la crème of the engineering world amalgamated; or at least, those with no objection to the military and developing hostile tech. They were working on an array of projects, from detection systems, to cloaking systems, to new ways of facilitating the high-speed deployment of resources, and, of course, the new cyborg suit, which the soldiers loved because it made them think they were Iron Man.
It was a sensitive area to be in though, and there was a dangerous groundswell of opinion wishing to scale back the military. Many thought the huge disparity between the tech of the Western world and the tech of other countries unfair, pointing to this as a perpetuator of the seemingly never-ending conflict around the world. They used Israel and Palestine as an example, as Palestinians were often killed by advanced Israeli weapons systems, the Palestinians still using tech from the 1990s, with nothing more than a few rockets to send. Although those on the other side of the argument wondered why the Palestinians sent the rockets in the first place. They would certainly be destroyed before they reached Israeli soil and therefore would do nothing but invite retaliation.
‘People have no idea what we do to protect them from attack,’ said Rebecca Archer, the defence minister, joining Guy at the viewing window. She was tall and slim, with short, greying brown hair and blue eyes. She was in her mid-fifties and had a ferocious energy about her, even if her features were a little worn and weary, the result of a job that brought no thanks and endless problems.
‘More opposition?’ asked Guy, turning his head, with an expression of concern.
‘I’ve just got off the phone with the chancellor and he thinks he might have to make a big deal of reducing our funding a bit to try and calm things down.’
Guy looked concerned. ‘Are we going to have to shut down any of the programmes?’ he asked, his brow furrowed.
‘Heavens no!’ she exclaimed. ‘He’ll find some other way to siphon money to us; it’s not like there’s any shortage, but we’ll need to be careful about keeping some of the new stuff quiet.’
‘It’s amazing,’ said Guy, turning back to look at his engineers. ‘People barely flinched when they heard about the cyber sorties Russia carried out in the early 2000s. Election rigging? Never mind! Cutting internet cables? I’m sure there are some more somewhere; the state will sort it out. Pay for security? Good Lord, no! People don’t seem to realise that Russia, China, they have advanced technology too, and those sorties have transformed into full-blown cyber warfare.’
‘I know,’ she replied, shrugging. ‘But I suppose the success of our secrecy is also part of our undoing. Our infrastructure is under constant attack, but the less we publicise that fact, the more people feel like we’re exaggerating the risk every time we ask for money.’
‘At least the risk is reduced now.’
‘Indeed. People largely generate their own energy, they
grow a lot of their own food using hydroponics, or at least, your robots do, but if they took down the internet, can you imagine what would happen?’
‘I dread to think,’ replied Guy, feeling a little guilty about the drive towards connected everything, with most homes relying on connected devices to run their lives, most notably, their humanoid butlerbots. If Russia managed to take control of individual butlers, they could do whatever they wanted within a person’s home, office, or anywhere the butler was, and they were everywhere. They had an offline mode, activated either remotely via software, or via a physical switch, but by the time anyone had realised what was happening, it could well be too late.
‘You know there’s a suspicion that Russia’s trying to sabotage the colony on Mars?’
‘I know, I heard. But the idea of Mars as some kind of apolitical utopia was always a bit far-fetched.’
‘They’ve done everything they can to be inclusive.’
‘Inclusive on their terms,’ replied Guy. ‘With Western norms and values. It’s a Western-run corporate programme; of course the Russians were going to be suspicious, not to mention jealous. Same old problems in a brand new setting.’
‘Did you just come here to depress me, or is there something else I can help you with?’ asked Rebecca. ‘I hear you’re in a bit of a pickle.’
‘I am?’
‘Oh come on, don’t be coy. We’ve worked together long enough not to play games.’
Guy sighed. ‘The Rottweiler raided one of my factories while I was launching my new charitable venture.’
‘Ha! The Rottweiler? She’d love that name; I might have to tell her.’
‘You know Iva?’
‘We studied together at University.’
‘Small world. Which one?’
‘Plymouth, actually. We were both on track to be engineers; me electronic, her acoustic, but she changed her mind entirely in the last year. I was good friends with her and her boyfriend. We did pretty much everything together, although he was a couple of years ahead of us so left before we did. In fact, I think he went to work for your father. He died suddenly, shortly before we graduated, and that changed her. She went to study at Oxford and then opted to be a bureaucrat for some baffling reason. I joined your father’s company here in Plymouth and don’t seem to have ever managed to leave.’
‘Apart from now you run the show.’
‘Please! I’m not that naïve. We do it together.’ She paused, letting the past fade back into the recess of her mind. ‘Now, how can I help you? I assume that’s really why you’re here?’
Guy gave her a rueful smile. ‘Did she try to get into this facility?’
Rebecca replied with a knowing look. ‘She called me and asked for entry, but I told her, in accordance with the secrecy laws, that for the good of the nation, I couldn’t let her in.’
‘Is that why she hit the factory in Exeter instead? Or was that planned too?’
‘I have no idea I’m afraid. She wouldn’t divulge her plans to me.’
‘But she didn’t hit any of the others, so maybe she went to Exeter out of frustration because she couldn’t get in here, rather than strategy.’
‘Why?’ asked Rebecca, alarmed. ‘Do you have something to hide in Exeter?’
Guy looked up sharply, smiling his usual easy smile to cover the near slip. ‘No, of course not. Not as far as I’m aware anyway. I think the clocking in system had a fault that the bots couldn’t fix, so they were waiting for a human to come and have a look. To be honest, I’m entertaining the idea that maybe Iva sabotaged the system herself; they rarely go wrong. But if it was a chance hit, she can’t have done. Anyway, enough of that. Let’s talk about our new full soldier suit. How do you think the trials went?’
* * * * *
As soon as Guy finished with Rebecca, he pulled his smart glasses from his pocket and thought, phone Benji, his mind full of frustration.
‘Hi,’ said Benji, then waited for Guy to speak.
‘We need to move the setup in Plymouth to somewhere nobody would expect.’
‘What? The beauty of Plymouth is that it’s hidden in plain sight. If anyone sees it, they won’t suspect a thing.’
‘Iva knows something’s going on here. She’ll gain access eventually, so we have no choice but to move it somewhere else.’ Guy recalled the pain they’d gone through to establish the setup in Plymouth, and didn’t relish the thought of going through it all again.
‘Where?’ asked Benji.
‘Shrewsbury,’ said Guy, off the cuff.
‘Too small,’ Benji fired back. ‘We’d be detected in two seconds flat.’
‘Fine. Where do you think?’
Benji thought for a moment. ‘Watford,’ he said, finally. ‘It was our second choice for a base last time, and I don’t think factors have changed wildly in the meantime.’
‘Fine. Make it happen. But make sure the security is tight.’
CHAPTER 5
Guy walked over the lush green golf course, the oldest golf course in the world, no less, towards the beach. He stood at the railings overlooking the sand and smiled as he recognised Lulu’s familiar figure jogging back towards the town. She reached the ramp and looked up to see who was standing above her.
‘Jesus!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is nowhere safe from you?’
‘It would seem not,’ he said, amused. ‘What brings you to St Andrews?’
‘I’m surprised you don’t already know,’ she shot back, leaning over a little and catching her breath after her run.
‘I’m not omniscient,’ he laughed, ‘and there are privacy laws aplenty limiting the data I’m allowed to look at for personal use,’ he said, light-heartedly.
‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’ she asked, flippantly, pushing against the railings while she stretched out her calves. ‘I’m meeting a client. He’s been buying my art for years and wants to commission a new monster of a work for the side of one of his office buildings.’
Guy raised his eyebrows. ‘You do that kind of project?’
She grinned. ‘It’s not really my thing, but if it’s the right project, I’m always open to a new challenge.’
‘Shall we walk?’ he suggested, indicating back towards the town.
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I’m staying at the other end of North Street. You can walk me there.’ They walked in silence for a few moments, the sound of the waves all that disturbed the early morning silence.
‘Thanks for inviting me to your party,’ said Lulu, reluctantly interrupting the tranquillity. ‘I had a good time, although I’m not sure I managed to inspire change among the ministers you left me with.’
‘That lot don’t want to hear anything other than that they’re doing a wonderful job and everything’s fine,’ Guy laughed. ‘Eric’s okay; he realises the world isn’t perfect, but then he’s the one at the sharp end of the mental health problems.’
‘I bet they give him a hard time around the cabinet table,’ said Lulu. ‘They’re so smug and self-satisfied, it’s like they can’t admit to themselves there’s a problem.’
‘It’s true, they can’t, and they feel like they’re at the top of a mountain looking down. Like there are other countries and other political parties clawing their way up, trying to suck them back to the ground. They think that if they stamp on enough fingers, the issues will fall away and they won’t have to worry about them. That’s if they can even admit the issues exist in the first place.’
‘It’s amazing how far we’ve come, but how little we’ve learned,’ said Lulu, shaking her head. ‘This is the way we do things around here; like it or lump it, we’re too scared to change.’
‘We need someone inspirational to come along and lead the change,’ he said, ‘which is also like it’s always been. We just need one person determined enough to make it happen.’
‘Yeah, but who?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Guy. ‘Why not you?’
‘Ha!’ laughed Lulu. ‘I’m not cut out to
be a politician. I couldn’t play a long game if my life depended on it! I’m impulsive and impatient and definitely not meant to lead a political movement. What about you?’
‘I’ve thought about it,’ said Guy, reflectively. ‘But I don’t want the limelight, and, unfortunately, leading a political movement involves a great deal of limelight chasing. Anyway,’ said Guy, ‘the ministers probably couldn’t get past how starstruck they were at meeting you to have a proper political conversation.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I’m not! Eliza, in particular, is a massive fan. As is anyone with any taste, of course.’
‘You actually like my work? Despite what it represents?’ she asked, sincerely, taking his arm as they wondered along the deserted street.
‘No. I like it because of what it represents,’ he replied.
‘I just find that so hard to believe,’ she said, honestly.
‘Why?’ asked Guy, snapping a little. ‘Because I was born into a wealthy family and took over my father’s business? Therefore I must revel in the status quo. I’ve done more to try and make things equal than anyone else I know.’
‘Like what?’ she asked, genuinely interested in the answer.
‘We lobbied to make fresh, healthy food subsidised in supermarkets, and free in large workplaces.’
‘Very noble,’ she teased, ‘especially as you integrate your robots with those supermarkets, so you get both data and commission on every purchase made.’
Guy rolled his eyes. ‘We made robots to give everyone annual health checks in their homes, free of charge, not just those who are happy to have data chips in their hands, but everyone. We’ve reduced rates of things like prostate cancer considerably by detecting cases far earlier than in the past, because people used to be too embarrassed to go to the doctor. And we’ve helped people lose weight by installing a personal training and healthy food programme in the butlers.’