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Greg: “Yeah, it was booked at six fifty-five by Oscar Kinglake. Er. Hang on. Is that the same name as...?”
“Janine Kinglake.”
Greg: “But... so who’s that, her father?”
“Her dead father,” Joanna nods. “He’s in the cab behind me.”
Both of them go quiet for a moment.
Greg: “He can’t be! If he’s an un-auto, he can’t be contacting you like that, out of the blue. And how could he hire a cab without anybody getting in it?”
Good points. Of course, Greg has been dealing with Roxanna’s unliving auto ever since her death, so he’s well aware there are very strict controls to regulate and minimise their interaction with the real world. They can never contact anyone who wasn’t already in their Circle when the owner of the auto was still alive – unless invited, say by the friend of a friend. And they certainly don’t have the authority to make bookings for real-time services like taxicabs.
Even as this runs through Joanna’s mind, she realises that what’s actually making her heart race isn’t fear, but excitement. Because this is exactly the kind of thing she’s looking for. The unliving auto of Oscar Kinglake has found a way to get around those limitations, by using Roadnet to talk to her. Person-to-person is blocked, but car-to-car isn’t... and Oscar is technically that other cab’s passenger. Clever!
She says “Reply to Roadnet message.” Her own auto taps into the cab’s smartwindow, bringing up an empty message box that fills with text as she speaks. “Hello, Mr Kinglake.”
Ah, hello Joanna! Nice to
hear from you. But please,
call me Oscar. Mr Kinglake
was my dad!
Greg: “Bloody hell, he sounds so... normal. Look, Jo, is this a good idea? If he’s managed to track you down somehow...”
“Then we need to find out how.” Joanna turns away so the smartwindow won’t pick up her whispers to Greg. “This auto could be on a BBX server right now! Run a deep-search on Oscar Kinglake and send me everything while I keep him talking.”
Turning back again, she summons another reply box with a gesture. “Actually, Oscar, it was you that I was hoping to discuss with Janine. I wonder if you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions?”
I’d like to help, but I’m
afraid I’m a bit tied up. I’m
one of the organisers for our
sports day, so things are
pretty hectic here, as I’m
sure you can imagine!
“Sports day?”
Greg: “Jo – look at this.”
Inside her Vades™, Oscar’s profile appears, complete with an image of him when he was alive: thinning salt and pepper hair parted on one side, rimless glasses on the tip of his long nose, bright blue eyes crinkling with his smile. With a faint X overlaid across it.
Oscar Kinglake
Gender: Male
Age range: 71-75
Orientation: Straight
Relationship status:
Dead/Unavailable.
Date of death: Friday 22nd
November 2019
Current location: Plot 76M,
Enfield Cemetery and
Crematorium, Great
Cambridge Road, Enfield
EN1 4DS
Status update: Having fun
organising the Cemnet
Sports Day 2022 – everyone
welcome!
“What’s Cemnet?”
Greg: “Apparently it’s... well, a database of dead people, basically. Tells you who’s buried in all the cemeteries and graveyards across the country. This sports day thing is a sim-room event. Bit morbid. Who d’you think that’s for?”
Joanna again gets that quiver of excitement. Can Oscar Kinglake’s auto use Cemnet the same way it can use Roadnet?
“Get in there, Greg,” she hisses. “Into the sim-room. Switch on all the IP masks like I told you and go take a look.”
Greg: “Oh shit. Okay. Stand by!”
Joanna tuts. He always says that.
Her cab is on the move again, gliding steadily through traffic on its way into the borough of Haringey. Joanna looks round and twitches as she sees the empty taxicab has overtaken, and is driving in the other lane, right beside hers. She stares through the side window at it, imagining Oscar Kinglake sitting in the back seat. Smiling through the window at her with an X across his face.
She hugs herself for a moment, realising for the first time how creepy it looks: an empty car driving along the road by itself.
“Um. Well, Oscar, if today’s not good, maybe we can have a chat some other time?”
Marvellous! I’m sure I’ll be
able to help out. I’ve always
been fond of detective
stories and spy movies. Who
doesn’t love a bit of cloak
and dagger?
He knows who I work for, she thinks. And he knows what I’m doing is secret. How about... “Do you know what I’m currently researching, Oscar?”
Well, I understand it’s all a
bit hush-hush and Mum’s the
word, but I’ve worked out
the gist of it. Been around
the block a bit, you know.
Greg: “Jo, this sim-room is mental! They’re all playing sports, it’s like the Olympics in here, they’re running and long-jumping and javelin-throwing but... the people! They’re all pop stars and celebrities and robots and aliens and cartoons! I’ve just seen Buzz Lightyear win the 100 metre breaststroke! Ziggy Stardust came second!”
“Can you tell who they really are?” she mutters.
Greg: “Hang on, Elvis just rode past me on a mountain bike. He had an X over his face, I think they all do... Ah, yep, he’s actually a dead plumber from Finchley. Buried in Highgate Cemetery.”
So it’s true – all the unliving autos can communicate with each other on Cemnet. Surely it was never intended for that? Or is it something Oscar’s managed to ‘organise’, like the sports day?
“So what can you tell me?” she says at the Roadnet message. “You seem capable of a lot more than I’d expect, why is that Oscar?”
Been around the block a bit,
you know. You can always
teach an old dog new tricks!
I’ve been a silver surfer
since the beginning. Early
adopters always have the
edge over johnny-come-
latelys, don’t you think?
She’s on the verge of getting annoyed with this stupid old man, playing games with her like this, when it strikes her that he might actually be saying more than it seems. He might even be trying to tell her something. Maybe Roadnet isn’t a very secure platform. You might have to talk in code. And Oscar loves a bit of cloak and dagger.
Been around the block a bit, you know. How long, exactly?
Oscar Kinglake’s profile is minimised inside her Vades™. With some eye movements and blinks, she brings it up again and scrolls down his timeline. It goes on and on, filled with images, events, videos... every detail of his 73 years of life, it seems. She blink-skips through it until she finds:
Saturday 5 October 2013
Macroverse Auto-Mate™
successfully installed.
“Oh boy, this is gonna be
my new favourite toy, I can
tell!”
She was right. His auto is an original, a Mk1. Just like Amy Pearce’s! Well, hers is even older. But still, it sparks an idea in Joanna’s mind.
“Greg. Check on our list of leads. Check their autos, and find out how many started out as Mk1 Auto-Mates™. Got that?”
Greg: “I’m just watching the Jackson Five beat the crap out of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles at volleyball!”
“For God’s sake – ”
Greg: “Right, okay, sorry, I’m coming out now. Stand by!”
So I think I’ll be a lot more
use to you than Janine. I
really think you should
n’t
bother her.
Joanna stares out the window and... is it her imagination, or is the empty black cab drawing a little closer to hers?
For a second, she can see it happening, as clearly as if it were a video feed inside her Vades™. One taxi swerving violently, forcing the other off the road. An almighty crash. A tangle of twisted metal.
But only her body in the wreckage.
She opens her mouth, on the verge of ordering her cab to accelerate, to try to outrun the other... but knows automatic cars cannot travel faster than 40mph. They never make sudden turns or unexpected stops or cut up other vehicles on the road. So much safer than people-driven cars, aren’t they? So much less likely to be involved in a traffic accident. Everyone knows that, the statistics don’t lie, you’re as safe as houses in one of these.
Safe as warehouses, Joanna thinks, feeling the flames on her face.
She says “Taxi, change destination to Turnpike Lane. Carlingford Road.”
On the smartwindow, Muswell Hill is replaced by Turnpike Lane. The ETA drops to six minutes. The running cost jumps by five pounds, the standard charge for altering a journey en route.
Joanna watches the gap between her cab and the empty one increase slightly.
Thank you for being so
considerate, Joanna. Nice to
see that hasn’t died out
these days!
“I suppose it’s a father’s job to be protective of his daughter.”
You do understand. I knew
you would. You’re a good
girl, Joanna.
She resists an urge to – laugh, shout, burst into tears? Not sure. Some emotion that has to be swallowed back into her gut.
Must dash, but I’d love to
help. Why don’t you pop
down to the cemetery and
see me some time? We have
a nice little chat. I can
introduce you to all my
friends here, they’re all very
helpful and friendly. We’re
all one big happy family!
Joanna brings up Oscar’s profile again, with his frozen, smiling, X-marked face. She checks how many friends he has in his public Circle... 10,238! That’s three times more than anybody she’s ever known, even Siobhan who says yes to everyone’s request, the little tart. Ten thousand people!
And almost all of them, she can see, have an X on their profile picture.
That’s not a family.
That’s an army.
“Sounds nice,” she says flatly. “Thanks for the invite.”
My pleasure. I’ll see you
soon. Oh, and by the way, I
think you and Greg make a
really cute couple!
Joanna jerks so suddenly that the seatbelt snaps tight around her. Oscar knows about Greg! How the hell...?
She turns to the empty black cab as if to shout the question at it, and sees its orange TAXI sign blink on. For hire. It slows down and turns gently to the right, driving onto a different street, while Joanna’s cab rolls onwards, leaving it behind.
Seems that Oscar Kinglake has reached his destination.
Greg: “Okay, I’ve got the results back. Of all the autos on our list, 46% are Mk1s, installed in 2013 or 2014. Jo?”
“Yes, I’m here, I just...” She’s still reeling slightly, that Oscar discovered what the two of them have worked so hard to keep secret. Did she miss something? Is there some giveaway in their timelines that other people might pick up on?
And then Greg’s words sink in. “Wait... 46% are Mk1s? Really?”
Greg: “I know what you’re gonna ask, and I’ve already checked, ‘cause I’m professional like that. Only 8% of all autos currently running in the UK are Mk1s. The rest are all more recent models.”
“So the chances of so many of our leads involving original autos... that can’t be coincidence!”
Greg: “Do you think we’ve got it wrong, maybe, about the BBX servers being the reason? Maybe it’s nothing to do with that, and it’s actually just the early models that behave weirdly, by themselves? Like maybe they deteriorate over time?”
“Maybe,” murmurs Joanna. Once again she stares out of the cab window, wondering if Greg’s right. Maybe this has nothing to do with illegal servers or blackware. Maybe it’s been going on for a lot longer. As far as back as ten years, when autos were first invented? Is that why first-generation models like Amy Pearce’s and Oscar Kinglake’s seem capable of doing a lot more than they should?
Too many maybes.
Where is this taking me? she thinks, as the driver-less taxi carries her home.
*
7.45pm Thursday 29
September 2022
Joanna O’Donnell is at
Radnor Mews,
London W2 2SA
This is it, thinks Joanna, looking at the bright green front door. This is going to be the one! Christ, it bloody wants to be.
She’s in a quiet back-street in Paddington, a very up-market part of North West London. No way could she ever afford to live here. Not even if her and Greg got a place together. (Wow, where did that thought come from? Not now, focus!) Radnor Mews feels like it’s been transplanted from some tranquil English village on the coast. The brick road is swept clean, and the flat-faced houses are pastel-coloured and decorated with shrubbery.
It’s almost exactly twenty-four hours since her aborted attempt to visit Janine Kinglake. This new lead came in when she got home last night, a reply to her initial message inviting her for a meeting. She’d been too excited to sleep much. Of all the various leads on their list, this is the one she’d pinned her hopes on. It’s the one she’s done the most background work for. The man she most wants to talk to.
It’s also the one that could be the most dangerous. Which is why she’s making such a show of oh-so-casually glancing up and down the street, rather than looking directly at the white Ford Focus Electric parked not too far away.
Greg: “I’ve got you on visual! Five by five!”
“Yeah, I can see you too, you nob-end,” she murmurs.
She doesn’t like it: him being so close and, to her way of thinking, so ridiculously obvious. Greg has always wanted to come along when she interviews their leads, to protect her, but she said no. Don’t be so melodramatic! It was more practical to have him monitoring from her operations room, where he could do most good. And she’d be fine, she could look after herself, she wasn’t expecting any trouble.
But this time, Greg made it clear that he didn’t care what she said. He was coming, whether she liked it or not. End of argument. Nope, not listening. Fingers in ears, la la la. And something about that made her hug him tight with both arms and legs until he lost balance and they ended up on the floor again.
Joanna takes a deep breath as she rings the doorbell, admitting that she does feel better knowing Greg’s only metres away. Especially when the door swings open and she finds herself staring up at a near-giant of a man.
Nick Brady
Gender: Male
Age range: 36-40
Orientation: Straight
Relationship status:
Married/Monogamous
Nick Brady is married to
Larissa Brady
Current location: Radnor
Mews, London W2 2SA
Status update: Private
business meeting.
Her Vades™ overlay Nick Brady’s profile on top of him. He’s very broad and toweringly tall compared to her, with a square-ish face that looks like you might fracture your knuckles if you punched it. But his thinning brown hair is combed neatly, he’s wearing a shirt and tie beneath a wool jumper, and when he says “Ms O’Donnell? Please come in,” it’s with a soft, polite voice.
Joanna discreetly makes a thumbs-up gesture with her left hand, knowing Greg will spot it, as she smiles and walks inside.
He leads her down a hallway lined with framed prints, where they do the ‘call me Joann
a’, ‘call me Nick’ thing, and she starts to feel like this won’t be so dangerous after all. But that’s before she enters a huge well-furnished living room, and finds herself on the receiving end of a death-ray stare.
Larissa Brady
Gender: Female
Age range: 36-40
Orientation: Straight
Relationship status:
Married/Monogamous
Larissa Brady is married to
Nick Brady
Current location: Radnor
Mews, London W2 2SA
Status update:
Macociousness going on
methinks.
The woman sitting on the leather sofa is dark-skinned, black-haired, narrow-eyed, arms-folded, tight-lipped. She’s glaring at Joanna with every sinew in her body.
“Um... nice to meet you, Mrs Brady.”
No reply. Not even a blink. What’s her problem?
Greg: “Er, just looked up ‘macociousness’ and it’s a Trinidad word for... well if you’re a ‘maco’ then you’re, like, a busybody. A spy.”
Uh oh.
Joanna tries to think of some warm pleasantries to thaw the icy look she’s getting, when a male voice says “Who’s that fit bloke sitting in the car over the road?”
Greg: “Uh oh.”
There’s a man standing by the living room window, peering out through a gap in the net curtains. He’s as stocky as Nick but much shorter, with shaggy black hair, an olive complexion, and just about every muscle group on display through his tight white t-shirt.
Harry Buonsanto
Gender: Male
Age range: 36-40
Orientation: Gay
Relationship status:
Single/Available
Current location: Radnor
Mews, London W2 2SA
Status update: Going out
later down Starfish, any of
you sluts joining me?!
“My friend Harry,” says Nick by way of introduction. “And, er, I guess you’ve met my wife Larissa...”