'Kester.' Yule's voice was gaining in depth and edge. 'Can your guys fix it? Stark Wellbury are putting me off.'
'That's…' Kester turned back to Yule and took his seat again, '…a question. But I think there may be another more important question.'
'Well?'
'Why has it stopped working in the first place? I'm going to need to get someone on this straight away. We'll take you into one of the testing suites so you'll be isolated from any other infections. No sex. Come to think of it, we'll need to see a log of your encounters for the last few days – when did the symptoms start to present?'
'I've been sneezing and snotting like this since yesterday lunchtime, but I've felt ropey since Saturday night.'
'For the last seven days, then – do you think you can manage that?'
'Kester.' Yule was leaning forward as far as his bulk would allow.
Kester waited. Yule lifted a hand to his face. What Kester could see of it was turning red. His breathing was laboured.
'I can give you that list.' Yule's voice was breaking.
'Roger, are you alright? Can I get you something?' Kester asked, hoping that Yule wouldn't have a heart attack in his office, then feeling guilty for having thought it.
'Fine, just…give me a minute, Kester.'
Yule took out a clean handkerchief and mopped down his face and neck with it. When Yule leaned back in his seat, Kester noticed that his eyes were red. He was calm for a moment, but when he started to talk again, tears welled up in his eyes.
'You don't need a list, Kester. Look at me. Nobody's this ambitious. The only sex I ever have is with that fucking hole in the back of my office.'
'Lisa? Lisa's a nice –'
'The Pig Port! I'd crush that little girl if I even stepped too close to her. And she'd never…'
'Roger, that's no big deal.'
'Not to you, Kester. I lost my wife because of these stupid power games we play – having to look like you've slept with so-and-so, or that you're so desirable you have a different virus every time someone meets you. My marriage couldn't take it. That's why I had the port installed in the first place – so I wouldn't have to cheat on her to keep up appearances, but she wouldn't buy it, didn't believe me.' He was sobbing now.
'Roger…'
Kester felt the urge to go over to Yule, but stayed stuck to his seat. He realised he was gripping the edge of the desk and tried to let go casually. His mind wandered back to his interview again and his assumption that Yule had paid for the virus he was wearing.
'She'd believe me if she saw me now, huh?' Yule looked up. His eyes were wounds in his pale, bald skin.
'Stay put,' Kester said. 'I'll fix you a drink and we'll sort this out.'
Through in the other room, Kester took his time over finding the scotch, the ice, everything. This was bad, he thought again. Worse. There was only one thing that could block nanoscreens without raising the alarm as far as he was aware. It was a virus called Trojan12. He had designed it on secondment to the Government a few years previously. The virus had been designed for premilitary use – knock out the enemy's screens and a whole world of bio-weaponry opened up for you, bio-weapons that your own troops were immune to. You could wipe out whole cities while you stood unscathed in the middle of it all. You could walk through a crowd and kill one man by laying a hand on him, a bad Jesus.
Of course it was all purely speculative stuff – the US Army were the only other force fitted with nanoscreens and in any case the use of the virus would have been illegal under the Beijing Convention. The project had been mothballed and the client had retained all files and samples. This could only have come from the MoD. He and Dee had talked about using some of the technology in their screen development project if it ever happened, but they'd stopped just short of recreating it. If this was out there for real, it had to be the MoD – he knew for a fact they had live samples sitting in an envirobox somewhere. Some arse had probably put it in a skip or left it on a bus.
'Roger.' Kester handed Yule a large scotch. 'I'm going to look into this myself. Let's take you along to the testing suite and I'll get Gerald to take a blood sample. You can take your drink.'
'OK.' Yule took a deep breath. 'Sorry about…all that,' he said. 'Are my eyes red?'
'A little,' Kester said. 'We'll walk quickly.'
Yule stared at him.
-o-
Blotch strode down the corridor to the media suite. As his mouth rattled through the long Real Church Prayer his mind galloped forward to the broadcast ahead of him. He went to put a hand to his Real Church pendant then restrained himself. No smudges or fingerprints for his broadcast. He must be clean as clean, an example for his congregation. He entered the suite and smiled at the broadcast technician.
Clarke must be serious about promotion if he was letting him finally have a broadcast. Though Blotch's final draft had very little to do with his first, it was still his. Clarke's comments had helped to tone down, clarify. His passion was a blessing, Clarke had told him, but it sometimes got in the way of what he was really trying to say.
The Church's research centre had jumped on the news of the viral attack immediately, before it even hit the big news sites. The timing was perfect. It had worked – it was his and it had worked – and this would be the beginning of the end for Doctor Kester Lowe, for wearing, for V. Maybe even for the exclusivity of screen technology. And more than anything, it would be the beginning of his new career. The gold necklet was practically his. He would soon be a Minister to Mary, a Minister to Jesus, eventually – no, that was too far off. The girl could have whatever she wanted. She'd come through. They may not even need to use the second virus.
The microphone was enormous. Blotch stood on the stage, sweating. When he had seen his fellow Ministers' broadcasts, he had always imagined that the stage stood at the head of a massive stadium full of devoted congregation members. In reality all the broadcasts were recorded in this small room and the stage took up most of the floor space. The rest of the space was taken up with lighting and camera equipment. The only shouts of hallelujah were to come from a set of ten speakers, set around the room. Hard to get yourself worked up for.
'Don't worry,' the technician said to him in a kind voice. 'When we put the lights on it'll feel different.'
It did feel different. The lights were so bright that Blotch could barely see past the edge of his parapet. On the back wall, the projected scene of a mass audience came to life and the roars of the virtual crowd rattled round the room.
'This isn't a recording,' the technician said. 'This is the sound of all your online supporters. The ones that have headsets anyway.'
The noise suddenly meant something – these were live people cheering and shouting for his address to start.
'And we're ready to go when you are,' the technician said.
Blotch nodded and watched him count down on his fingers. The light on the edge of the primary camera flashed faster and faster until it went solid and the technician dropped his hand. Blotch looked up at his audience. He heard a swell in the cheers, which then dropped in anticipation of his words. He drew himself up tall, placed his hands firmly on the front of the parapet and began.
'Today, God weeps. Today we weep with him. We weep for joy, because twenty-five years after our expulsion from the City our necessity will finally become clear to our lost brothers and sisters. And we weep in sadness, because the lens which has provided this clarity has taken the form of a devastating terrorist attack.
'The nanoscreen scheme was sold to us as a way of protecting the key workers in our population-dense Government and financial centre from the proliferation of infection. Today they stand defenceless against nature's battery, diminished by drug use, unable to defend themselves as God intended. But it is God who, in their new condition – stripped, wracked with disease – reaches out a hand and says to them, "Come with me. I will show you the error of your ways. I will make you clean."
'Today, let us set aside questions of wheth
er screen technology is right or wrong, issues of fairness and access, because today God opens his hands to us and speaks not of the wisdom of the gift, but of the abuse of the gift. After all, a gift from man is a gift from God and to abuse a gift from God is a sin of the highest order.
'Abuse. Abuse of technology, abuse of the body, abuse of the soul…'
-o-
'This is ridiculous,' Gaunt said, adjusting the gauze mask over his face. 'We look like a bunch of bloody terrorists.'
The Viral Development Board members, with the exception of Agbabi and Farmer, were seated around a giant mushroom table on one of the less popular levels of the PlayPen. Alexis looked around the table. Gaunt was right.
'I'll second that,' Yule said. Despite his face being covered, it was clear that he was suffering. The outsized boiler suit was tight on his landslide form and large sweat patches had already formed on the bright orange fabric around his armpits.
'Look, it is stupid, but let's get it over with,' Chen said. 'This is the safest place we could meet.'
'Who's minuting this?' Jones asked.
Chen's head snapped towards her, then back to centre.
'First thing's first,' Chen said, 'we need to shut down our less cautious operations.'
'You mean any XC transactions?' Gaunt asked.
'Transactions, buildings access, everything.'
'I've already briefed Gerald,' Alexis said.
Gerald had conducted their extra-City dealings with impeccable delicacy. If anyone could dismantle things without drawing attention, it was him.
'Do you think we might be overreacting a little?' Jones asked.
She looked tiny on her toadstool, pinched in around the boiler suit waist, managing to look good in it, resembling an annoyingly good child with her doll-like posture.
'Extra-City operations are extremely lucrative,' she added.
'We have a new revenue stream to protect,' Alexis said. 'That's why I've got Kester out there now being interviewed, and after that going over security protocols with representatives from the various Pig operators.'
She gazed at the covered faces around the table. It was the most sinister meeting she had ever attended. The masks were acting as windows into people's personalities, allowing their true faces to reveal in the ghostly hoods.
'We've got to protect this,' she said. 'It's potentially our largest revenue stream and it's a legitimate one.'
'Our newest, certainly; our largest, perhaps;' Jones said, 'but it is definitely our most unstable – we have no idea how long this craze will last.'
'Jones, we're way ahead of the game with this,' Alexis said. 'Other companies are on it, but the stuff they've been turning out is frankly unwearable – it's not pretty and it's too similar to the muck you can pick up from the Pigs – people aren't going to want that when there's a better alternative.'
'It's true,' Yule said. 'We're just getting started, but we've already recouped our outlay for everything – the lab, Kester's salary for the next five years, the fashion show.'
'The V Spa?' Jones asked. 'The competition?'
'The competition is making us money,' Gaunt said.
'We'd be fools not to continue,' said Yule. 'We're only just tapping into this. We're getting interest from people who would never even have considered wearing before – people who couldn't see the beauty in the expressions of natural viruses. The media coverage is being kind to us and that's a hell of a lot more than they've granted us in the past.'
'They're being kind to Kester,' Jones said.
'And Kester is ours,' Alexis said.
'Speak for yourself.'
Alexis snarled. It was as well they all had masks on.
'The point is that as long as the public can only see so far,' Gaunt said, 'and as long as they are creaming their panties over Kester, we're OK. As for our clients, they wouldn't know a moral dilemma if they woke up in bed with one.'
'This is all very good,' Chen said, 'but I didn't come here to debate our options.'
'Gerald and his team have always been discreet – I don't see any reason why we can't –'
'I said I didn't come here for a debate, Jones,' Chen raised her voice. She glanced over her shoulder. 'We need to talk about how we're going to wind things down without attracting too much attention. We're not leaving here until we have a detailed plan and one that leaves us on dry land by the end of the month. Gaunt, I want you to brief Agbabi and Farmer.'
Chapter 18
'It's on,' Alexis said. 'You're famous. Even more famous.'
She squeezed Kester's leg as he sat down beside her on the edge of his bed. She was lying on her front, arms hanging over the end of the bed like a teenager. Kester grunted.
'We're under attack,' he said, dropping his head back and staring at the ceiling.
The four days since Yule's screen broke down had been hell. First had come the statements from the various Churches declaring the attack 'devastating' and describing the 'uncontrolled' spread of the virus. Some showed real religious compassion, offering to help care for those affected by the attack, but others were thinly veiled condemnations of City culture. The Church broadcasts were followed in short order by the press with pandemic specials, technology specials, casualty projections and doomsday predictions. Whatever the source, the effect was the same: panic.
Fortunately, the panic had been short-lived. People's pupils had barely dilated when V released a statement, backed up by the MoD, that the virus was under control and could be easily treated. Roger Yule had been by far the worst physical casualty. From the outside, Vs containment of the situation looked easy; inside the building the air was sweat and swears as they figured out the best way to identify all those affected and negotiated with the health clinics to put out the anti-virus. Kester looked down at Alexis. At least their latest crisis had speeded her return to his bed.
'It could have been much worse,' Alexis said. 'Much worse. If anything we've come out of it looking like the good guys – this was no mistake of V's after all, or yours – it was a terrorist attack and we stepped in to sort it out. We've not lost trust, we've not lost face – all your appointments are filled – and we still have a room full of A-listers prepared to bid to bed you first.'
Alexis seemed to be making peace with their situation. Perhaps everything seemed brighter in the face of averted disaster. Perhaps she had enjoyed securing the highest price possible for her champion's services.
'It's nice that you want to pimp me out personally. It's not so bad that way.'
Alexis turned up the sound. There he was, looking bedraggled in front of the cameras, smiling politely as the interviewer asked a multi-claused question.
'They always choose somewhere windy. Why do they do that? I look a mess.'
'You look sexy – your collar turned up like a private detective.'
'I've never designed a bespoke virus without considering how it could be stopped,' windswept Kester said to the interviewer, eye-contact steady, hands visible and open. 'Ethical and safety considerations such as this are priorities for the Institute when agreeing contracts. It's one of the reasons that the Institute has such a trusted reputation.'
'You did well,' Alexis said. 'I like the word "bespoke" – says less "weaponised" and more "small boutique affair".'
'But let's see what they did with it. Whose side are they on?'
The interview cut back to studio.
'So,' the studio presenter said, 'viral designer and heartthrob Kester Lowe saves the day. The MoD has issued the following statement: Without Doctor Lowe's vigilance and quick-thinking, a serious situation may have ensued. While the MoD and the Government as a whole do not share all of the views put forward in Doctor Lowe's statement and do not condone viral wearing, we are grateful for his professional handling of the matter. A full investigation into the attack is underway and we will make sure that those responsible are brought to justice swiftly.
'In the second half of this special edition we talk to top scientists from aroun
d the globe about our dependency on Stark Wellbury nanoscreen technology and the complementary immunosuppressant therapy provided by Doctor Lowe's employers V. Are we too reliant on this one safety net? How has our health ended up in the hands of these two technopharmaceutical giants and is there any way out?'
Kester raised his eyebrows at Alexis.
'But before that, we go live to Bond Street to speak to some Pig-users and get their opinions. Will they stop using the Pigs now security has shown to be compromised so easily or is a quick response like this enough to keep the public's confidence? Does it bother them that the Pigs are apparently happy to trade on the German viral blackmarket? And what do people say to the rumours that this was a religious attack originating here in the UK? We take a closer look at some of the Church broadcasts.'
Alexis flicked off her display and flipped over onto her back.
'What are you looking so smug about? They're going to rip us apart in that second segment,' Kester said.
'They've been squabbling over that stuff for years,' Alexis said with a wave of her hand. 'That's not us; that's a whole different department. Besides, what do you care? If they burned us to the ground would you not emerge renewed from the flames as Kester Lowe Enterprises, clutching your new screen in your hand?'
'You'd have difficulty clutching it in your hand,' Kester said, then scratched his neck, considering the suggestion. With the rush of the show and the fallout of the attack Kester's private work had taken a back seat, but he needed to figure out what to do about it. No doubt Alexis already had a plan. 'You know that is something we need to talk about. I don't know what to do about it. Do I take it to Chen? Do you think it's something the company might be interested in?'
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