'I'm not an idiot, Alexis. I know –'
'Or you'd give the plans to the people – let them build their own? Come off it. We'll just do it. You make the things, we get it all planned out and we release the details pending licence. They won't be able to stop us then.'
'What?'
'Release the details pending licence – I've seen it done before. You want to influence Government so you make sure everybody knows you've created something "good" and something that they want. Put the Government in the position where they can only say yes, where they're under pressure to give it the go-ahead.'
'But with what proof it works? How do we get together a trial of that size without alerting anyone?'
'Staff – everybody at V – how many employees do we have? Even for drug development you only need a few hundred test subjects minimum for phase one and two development – we're well above that. We could have a whole building full of people living, working, using these things – no-one's going to be able to ignore that.'
'Alexis…' Kester felt a smile building.
'You know this is the only chance you'll ever get to make these things – actually make them and release them. We've got the infrastructure, the test subjects, the money – things you just didn't have at the Institute – you were never going to get funding from anywhere legitimate to develop rival screen technology – Stark is everywhere. Sure you could just rock up, whop it out and wait for the highest bidder, but it looks like you've got problems with that.'
Kester snorted.
'We've already got everything you need here, Kester. Let's do it.'
Kester felt light in his chair. He reached out to his Book and tapped an icon, looked up at his wall to see the streams of data coming in from the torso testing. It could happen. It could finally happen and he was objecting. He laughed.
'You'll talk to Chen?' he asked.
His Book beeped.
'Who is it?'
'Just Gerald.'
'I'll talk to Chen. Don't worry about it. She'll go for it. I guarantee it. I'll be over later.'
Once Alexis had closed the door, Kester walked into his living quarters, clutching his Book close. He looked again. Couldn't be. It was a message from Dee. Can I come and see you? He went straight to his bar and took a beer from the fridge. Another beep. Gerald. We need a final decision. Kester held the beer to his forehead for a few seconds, then walked back into his office. Later came and went. Alexis didn't come.
The competition winners' pictures were released the next day, Saturday, around the time that Kester got another message from Dee. Let's meet up. He deleted it.
On Sunday her message interrupted his appointment to view the Vspa plans. Can I see you? He waited a few hours, then deleted it.
Just after lunch on Monday, as he was calling Alexis to ask her if she had spoken to Chen, another arrived. Shall we get together this week? Alexis hadn't spoken to Chen. He spent forty minutes examining the wording of the message, then archived it.
On Tuesday, Kester was inspecting how the two new viruses had presented on their last test subjects when the message arrived. I need to see you. He archived it. Later, back in his living quarters, he took to his bed with a glass of red wine, opened up the two archived messages and compared them until he had finished the glass.
Wednesday's arrived late at night, just when Kester had stopped expecting it and had retreated to his private isolation suite to check on his torsos. He was flicking through pages of splendid data on his Book. It was working. It was working and there was nobody here to share it with. Alexis had declined his invitation to come up, perhaps aware that she couldn't be in the room without admitting that she hadn't yet spoken to Chen. He held the edge of his Book to his forehead and pressed until it hurt, gritting his teeth. Beep. I need to see you. Kester sat at his desk, the message open on his Book beside him and went over the data again. He talked as if Dee were there. He told her how well it was all working, how it worked and what the potential pitfalls were. Then he took to his bed with a bottle of wine, opened all the messages up and compared them until he had finished the bottle.
And, already, it was Thursday. Tomorrow the competition winners arrived and from then on in it was going to be hectic. Even more hectic. Two weeks until the show. This week entailed sorting the models out, training them, preparing for the auction, the auction itself and finally Kester's first appointment. Everyone was in perpetual motion, moving between offices, talking and walking in the corridors, never still. Kester found himself at the centre of it all, sitting at his desk, the eye of the storm. He was ready for the models. All the viruses were ready and allocated. Until the models arrived there wasn't much to do. His outfits were all chosen, his photoshoots done. The next slew of interviews didn't start until next week. But he knew that his feeling of calm was misplaced.
He looked through the glass wall that faced on to the lab. White-coated, white-masked lab technicians, bench upon bench of them, filled the room, test tubes in a rack. All working on new viruses – viruses that he would be expected to present to the Board before long. But he couldn't bring himself to care about them just yet. Shutting them out was the way to do it, he reflected as the window misted up before him, becoming a solid wall. What was he going to say to Alexis? He wouldn't know until he heard her voice.
'What?' Alexis' voice slammed down the line.
'We need to talk,' Kester said. It wasn't a great start.
'I don't have time.'
'Have you spoken to Chen yet?'
'No.'
'You said you would.'
Silence.
'If it's going to work, if we're going to bargain with this, we need to get her agreement before the appointments start.' Kester could hear himself turning teenage. He could feel how annoying he was being.
'Look. I'm on top of it, but right now you're a commodity I'm trying to sell. I can't think about anything else. I'm pleased for you that you have time on your hands to ponder your future, but I don't so if you're short of something to do go and fuck one of the models or something. Keep your mind off it.'
'On top of it? So what? You've spoken to her? You've set up a meeting? How are you on top of it?'
'Kester, drop it. When I've got something to tell you I'll let you know.'
'Oh piss off, you're not going to do it, are you?' Kester said, but she was already gone.
What an idiot. She had him dancing to her tune just like everyone else. The screens were just a convenient tool. Why would she take the screens to Chen? There was nothing in it for her. All she wanted him to be was her little celebrity puppet. She didn't want him to steal her fire with real science, for her triumphant fashion parade to be put in the corner by his screens. She had said as much herself. And why wouldn't she want him to sleep his way up the A-list? It all reflected well on her; he was hers to lend. She would never take it to Chen, even if it meant pimping him out every day of the week. How dare she use his screens to control him.
Beep. Kester's screen.
I need to see you. Come on Kester, can we just meet up?
Kester leaned forward on his desk and pressed his forehead onto the heels of his hands. He read Dee's message again. I need to see you. Come on Kester, can we just meet up? He picked up his Book and flicked to his appointments. I need to see you. Come on Kester, can we just meet up? His day was completely empty. I need to see you. Come on Kester, can we just meet up? He could see it sitting there in each half hour segment of his calendar: call Dee, call Dee, call Dee.
How about now? he typed. He hit send and waited.
Dee's reply was preternaturally quick. With one hand Kester messaged her to tell her which entrance to go to; with the other he started tidying his apartment. He hadn't thought this through. Chucking his Book on the bed, he straightened the covers and went to check the bathroom. By the time the door buzzer went, the place was reasonably tidy by his standards. Though it would look a mess to her. He should have called for an emergency clean.
-o-
Dee gave Kester a brief smile when he opened the door, then crossed the threshold and slipped past him before he had a chance to say anything. He let her wander around his living quarters, busying himself with the drinks machine, unsure how to begin. Having passed her a coffee he leaned against the side wall of his apartment by the bar, watching while she chose her seat with apparent care.
'So,' Dee said, finally, 'I saw you on the news.'
'You did?'
She had made herself small on the couch, hands cupped around her mug. The room seemed to bend around her. Her face was colder and paler than usual. Kester tried to read her, but she seemed as if she had risen above expression. It was as if this was what her face had always been working towards and she had finally perfected it.
'I saw the fashion show. Just bits of it.'
Kester nodded and took a sip of his tea. She had cut her hair so that it swung just free of her shoulders. It was still glossy, straight, black, but the free swing of gravity made it look heavier and thicker.
'It was pretty wild.' She breathed in, expanding, then breathed out again, becoming smaller even than before.
'Are you cold?'
'No, no…a little.'
Kester got up and touched his Book, adjusting the thermostat. His heating came to life with a small rumble.
'Did you choose all this yourself?' Dee put a hand out to the apple-green leather and stroked it as she looked around the room. Her eyes rested on the carved oak four-poster and stayed there.
'Yes,' Kester said.
'Is that real?'
'A real bed? No, that one's just for show. I have bunk beds round the back.'
Dee looked confused for a second and then laughed.
'Kester,' she said. Her smile didn't last, but it left an impression on her face, a warm hand pressed on frost. 'Still not taking things too seriously then?'
'It's hard to in this place. I should show you…'
He stopped himself. No he shouldn't. He should not show her the exchange booths on the eighteenth floor, with their rack of cartoon character sex-toys. That would be an extraordinarily bad idea. What he should show her was his private lab, his screens, but not yet. He wasn't sure how she would react. It had been her idea too. He should wait until he knew how fully he was forgiven.
'Show me what?' There was a smile again, but this time a suspicious one.
'Oh, just, there's loads of crazy stuff. You've heard of the PlayPen right?'
'Heard of it – you know I've heard of it. You said you have a pass.' Dee looked eagerly to the window, though it was frosted over. 'Is it far from here?'
It was the first time she looked real. She knew he had a pass. So she had been reading his messages, even if she hadn't been replying.
'No, it's really close. Walking distance. I've missed you, you know.'
The last words took him by surprise. He wasn't even sure they were true. It was like they were programmed in, the natural response of a man to an estranged lover who has come back to him, if they could ever have been called lovers. Had she been expecting it? he wondered. She didn't react straight away. Then she looked like she was making a decision, changing her mind about something, changing it back, an angel, a devil, flitting across her features.
'With all that excitement going on? I doubt you have,' she said, her smile confined to her lips. 'Like I said, I saw the fashion show. It all looked amazing. Those women. And the guys – foof!' She blew a breath up from her mouth, catching her fringe and sending it spraying up for a moment like a crest. It landed out of place and she shook her head until it settled as it should.
'Tell me about it. The models are crazy though. Trust me – you wouldn't want to if you could.'
'I don't know – that tall guy with the black hair, the one wearing the face-paint virus.'
Kester's body suddenly remembered soft suction, the low vibrations of a male voice transmitted through flesh. He shifted in his chair.
'I can introduce you.' He laughed nervously.
'This is horrible,' Dee said. 'Shall we get drunk?' She nodded. 'Let's get drunk.'
'Drunk? It's just gone midday!'
'I thought you kept whatever hours you liked out here in the City,' Dee said, putting her mug aside. She sprung to her feet, invigorated by having a purpose. 'Besides, this is just all too weird. I need a drink.'
'Fair enough.'
Dee had already located the bar and had picked up his ornamental glass Bond's cocktail shaker.
'Nice. Hey I know some tricks –'
She pretended to throw it, then laughed harshly at Kester's reaction. He laughed uneasily. Perhaps it was a good idea to get drunk. He wasn't sure what was happening, but it was bound to be easier with a few down him.
-o-
'Stop laughing,' Dee said, pressing her lips together in a serious face, then corpsing.
'I'm not laughing,' Kester said. 'Anyway, you're allowed to laugh.'
'But you're not allowed to be drunk!'
'Shh!' Kester said loudly, drawing sharp glances from the other people queuing for the PlayPen. 'Good thing we're not drunk then.' He smiled and nodded at a man in the next queue across, who was still staring.
At the front booth Kester grinned at the operator. 'Morning,' he said.
'Afternoon, sir,' the operator replied.
'Yes, afternoon. Listen, if I slip a couple of hundred onto your card do you think you could get us the top floor?' Kester winked. 'For private use. My company's fitting it out for –'
'Doctor Lowe, that won't be necessary. It will be cleared by the time you get there.'
Kester giggled. The operator knew who he was. He had hardly been out in public since the last show, had thought the myriad strange looks from passersby figments of his conscience.
'Are there, eh, cameras up there?'
'Not for private…functions.' The operator smiled.
'Brilliant! That's awesome, thanks.'
The top floor of the PlayPen was a perfect glass lozenge. There was nothing up there yet, just a large round padded platform in the centre. The furnishings for the show were being put together off-site and weren't due to be brought in until Monday. The previous occupants had just vacated the space – until recently it had housed a special play installation designed by a well known East London artist. Though it was shorter than the surrounding buildings, it offered a perfect view of their top floors. A block away, the towering Stark Wellbury building was just visible as it began its decon cycle, the red intensifying second on second.
Dee walked unsteadily to the wall and pressed her hands up against it, staring out at the spectacle.
'Do you remember?' she asked.
'I remember.'
Kester looked at the controller the operator had given him for the lighting and swiped a finger across the colour pad. The glass faded up to a transparent green and Kester watched as Dee's skin took on the otherworldly glow from his memory. He walked over to join her, turning and leaning beside her, his back to the glass wall. She stepped over and put her arms clumsily around his neck, leaning in against his chest. After a moment she lifted her face to his. It was a seeming invitation, but her body was stiff in his arms. Here he was again, trapped against glass. He thought of Farrell. Was this what he had intended, he wondered. He kissed her tentatively. Why take her to the top floor if not?
'Is this OK?' he asked.
She nodded, avoiding eye-contact. He looked down at the controller. He flicked it to black and they were enveloped in a solid room of dark. He reached out his hands and felt her form.
'Better?' he mumbled, as he slipped his hands under her jacket.
She kissed him in reply, putting a hand to the back of his head and gripping his hair until it burned at its roots.
The air was warm, body temperature, and the darkness thick around them, making their movements slow wrestling. They might have been wrapped in a dense velvet blanket. Every hand she laid on him felt as if it would curl up any moment into a fist. Her caresses were
heavy, unfamiliar, anonymous. Her nails pressed into him frequently. They made their way pushing and pulling and turning across the floor, trusting with each step it would still be there, until they reached the edge of the platform, very nearly passing it by completely. They climbed on separately, then she found him with a firm hand around his wrist and pulled him over. She was ready for him, or had turned up ready. He dismissed the notion – that was only done by wearers who couldn't afford the luxury of endless foreplay. Then he thought of nothing, just felt, retreated low into his body, wordless, absent and there was only sex.
Kester lay eyes open on the platform, revelling in his blindness. The profound darkness was calming. It made it impossible to think of anything. He might have been alone, completely alone, non-existent.
Beep. The light from his Book shone through the fabric of his jacket, dissolving the illusion. He left it in his pocket, but its rectangle of light had opened a portal for everything else to come rushing back in.
Kester's head was beginning to hurt. He had drunk too much, not enough. He closed his eyes. Dee had forgiven him, then, but something wasn't quite right. This wasn't the sort of forgiveness he needed. Things were complicated again, still. There was Farrell. The thought of her brought a gush of defiance.
'My screens are working,' he said, half to himself, a consolation.
'Screens?' Dee's voice came. He was not alone, was not on his bed with his eyes shut. He wished it was Alexis by his side and not Dee. She didn't fit.
'John told you about them?' Kester asked.
'No.' It was a small no, scared of itself.
'Viral screens. No drugs. Like we always talked about. It works. They work. I'm torso testing them now.' His answer was tired. He couldn't be bothered explaining more. It was the wrong time.
'The company –'
'I've done it in my own time. I did it.'
For a long time, Dee didn't reply. The dark was shaking.
'Kester, that's…' She had moved, was sitting up. 'That's amazing.'
She was upset. Kester closed his eyes. What had he done now? She was pissed off because they were supposed to have built the screens together. Or maybe it was too soon. He breathed slowly for a few minutes. He wished again he was in his own bed, was close to his shower.
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