Fairweather

by Jones, Raya

  It was barely past midnight. People were still up and about enjoying each other’s company, the nocturnal sea air, and the sight of twinkling stars above and twinkling lights on the distant shore. Seeking a secluded spot, I crossed the upper deck and reached the bow. It was cordoned off. I stepped over the rope. Standing by the starboard rail, I called Fred. His voice spoke sleepily in my earpiece, ‘Oh it’s you. Are you dead yet?’

  ‘No, not yet, Fred.’ I grinned at the dark waters, happy to hear his voice.

  ‘You will be when I lay my hands on you. Do you know what time it is over here? What’s the urgency? Well? I haven’t got all night, it’s almost morning!’ I listened to his rant against the backdrop of the waves lapping against the hull, feeling safe again. When he paused to take a breath, I said, ‘I just called to say how much I’ve loved living with you. I’ll be dead in 23 minutes give or take.’

  ‘How can you be so precise? Don’t tell me there’s a clock on the wall.’

  ‘There’s no wall where I’m looking. In about 20 minutes the Clearwater will enter Inverness teleport field.’ I heard a rustle nearby and turned sharply, but it was only an android deckhand. ‘The pentagram will get me.’

  ‘Or androids,’ he said.

  Startled, I turned around again. The android was gone. Fred was saying, ‘Hold on a moment, I’m checking something…’

  I glanced around for androids, and saw Surtr advancing along the deck.

  Fred’s voice came back, telling me that he received a memo about what happened at the chalet the previous night. According to the memo, a freak malfunction in the resort’s management system had caused maintenance androids to attack us. It meant that Mandy was nearby and knew—or at least the sprite linked to her knew—where I was. Now Fred mobilised his undercover agent in Inverness to execute one of the scenarios he had prepared. His man will offer the pathfinders a free ride to Ground Zero in exchange for helping him to load some black-market cargo.

  Fred had plans for every contingency except for me travelling with Wye Stan 8, and I didn’t tell him about that. He said, ‘You just get your arse here. Don’t fret about androids anymore. Wye Stan is watching over you.’

  ‘Which one?’—‘There you are!’ called Surtr, arriving at the bow.—In my ear Fred spoke, ‘The one who needs you so badly he doesn’t even let his own clone know that he’s already disabled the protocol you planted in the andronets.’

  Realising that I was on the phone, Surtr strolled over to the port side to give me privacy. He leaned against the rail, looking at the biodome of Inverness. When I came to stand next to him, he said softly, ‘I love the smell of the sea. This is so romantic.’ He laughed at my scowl. ‘Don’t worry. You’re not my idea of a romantic partner. I was thinking about Miranda. But she won’t be seen dead incognito on a common cruise like this. It will have to be a grand state visit.’

  ‘The twinkling stars will be the same.’

  He nodded, musing, ‘You know, there are far too many androids on this ship and not many passengers, and yet they told us that all the cabins are taken.’

  Heavy footsteps approached behind us, accompanied by the captain’s loud voice, ‘Hey, you there! Which part of “no passengers beyond this line” didn’t you understand?’

  I turned to him. ‘The part that has only a knee-high rope by way of a barrier. It’s a safety violation. If you need to keep passengers out, you must erect an effective barrier.’

  ‘Are you going to pull your badge on me, Jexu Jiu?’

  There was only one way he could know that identity. ‘My tribal name is Al.’

  ‘Mine’s Gunnar, but being Al doesn’t make you my crew. Unless you’re here on official business, get back behind the line. You too, Mister Shakespeare.’

  I opened my mouth—

  ‘Get everyone off! Abandon ship! Now! Do it, do it now!’ my voice was yelling. Gunnar spoke into his wrist, and a siren started to sound. He broke into a run and disappeared. Later he told us that he acted on the strength of my warning alone. He astonished himself by trusting the legend of the Unborn Other, which he used to dismiss as twaddle. There was no reason to abandon ship. There was no indication that the Coastguard system had failed to recognise the Clearwater signature. The automated warnings didn’t register on the ship system. The message that a torpedo had been launched didn’t register either. Yet by the time that the ship sunk in flames, everyone was safely in lifeboats, shaken but unharmed.

  The lifeboats brought us to a beach near town. The night sky became full of activity. Emergency services landed, and the survivors were summoned to report to a central point so that everyone could be accounted for. News teams arrived. Seeing the swarm of media drones overhead, Surtr activated his veil. I too glanced up nervously, irrationally expecting the swarm to take on a pentagram formation.

  It didn’t.

  We tried to slink off the beach, but throngs of local people were coming down. Our behaviour was attracting the interest of security guards. We turned back and tried to blend into the night by keeping away from the crowd. ‘Best remove your veil or they’ll arrest us on suspicion of terrorism,’ I advised.

  ‘There are no terrorists,’ he said, removing his veil. ‘Cy military makes up those stories to keep citizens under control.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘So you’ll know.’

  Gunnar found us at the edge of the beach. I asked him to keep the ‘Other’ story for the elders’ ears only. ‘We were never on your ship, right?’

  ‘Thanks, Al. But there will be an inquiry. I’ll have to explain how I knew to abandon ship.’

  ‘The inquiry will discover that a tragedy was averted thanks to the alertness and efficiency of their coastguard who noticed the glitch in the system in the nick of time,’ I said.

  Surtr couldn’t stand it. He burst angrily, ‘Alertness and efficiency? From what I’m hearing, it’s complacency and neglect! I’m going to…’ I interrupted sharply, ‘Do what, Shakespeare? The story will be like I said.’

  ‘Okay, I guess so. You’re right.’ He gave in, but couldn’t resist reassuring the captain, ‘You’ll be duly compensated.’

  I told the bemused Gunnar, ‘He speaks like royalty but he’s harmless. Mister Wye Stan Pan, I’ll explain the facts of commoner life to you.’ I walked away slowly, making sure that Gunnar could hear me tell Surtr that Clearwater couldn’t claim compensation for the lost stolen goods.

  ‘What is the man supposed to do?’ asked Surtr when Gunnar was out of earshot.

  ‘Survive. People are good at that.’

  ‘I don’t understand why we tolerate that tribe in my territory. They steal from me.’

  We left the beach. I led in the opposite direction to the urban biodome, following a path between industrial yards. I strode rapidly so that pentagrams won’t have time to form on nearby surfaces.

  Surtr kept pace. ‘Do you know where you’re going in such a hurry?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Since I wasn’t forthcoming with information, he downloaded a regional schematic to the palm of his hand. ‘There’s nothing out here except for warehouses and wilderness ahead.’

  When we were out of teleport range I slowed down and suggested that he called a taxi for himself.

  ‘I’m with you all the way. This is getting more riveting by the hour,’ He grinned. ‘I’d better install the cover story you want.’ He turned the Luciolite ring. A miniature display appeared in the palm of his hand. His fingers manipulated slender ribbons of codes, deftly distributing chains of commands throughout his galactic empire. ‘Done! It’s good travelling with you. You’re untouchable.’

  I quickened my pace to get in front of him.

  He caught up with me in few easy strides.

  By the time we reached the people’s yard, the pathfinders had left the vicinity. They took the ride to Ground Zero offered by Fred’s man. Mandy was with them. Women who worked in Torquay Bay and knew Fred and me told me now that they talked with
her a few days ago. That’s how she found out I was in the area. She was still convinced that I was an assassin after her. Mandy must have wished me dead, and the sprite did the rest. Mobilising the resort’s maintenance androids, picking up my phone signal on the Clearwater, and manipulating the coastguard systems, was far more sophisticated than steering demolition robots in my direction. The sprite was evolving.

  When I finally confided in Surtr about it, he disclosed that a parasite configuration had appeared from nowhere when Fred and I were held in Cy City. It lodged within the local mainframe, and displayed sporadic bursts of activity that Wye Stan 7 couldn’t decode. My theory of a linkup between Mandy and the sprite made sense.

  For the moment I was safe, but didn’t want to be caught out. We changed into non-nano clothes and shoes we bought from the people, packed away all our hi-tech gear and posted it to await us in Pheonix-3. Surtr kept his ring. If he were offline for too long, Cy military would assume that he’d been kidnapped or worse. ‘Would you risk a war?’ he asked rhetorically. I saw my chance, ‘It’s either war or you make your own way.’ He shook his head, ‘Nice try but you must be with me when I meet Gertrude in Ground Zero. It’s the dream.’

  ‘She’s not Fairweather.’

  ‘That’s why I need you there.’

  He was nervous about meeting her, I realised.

  My plan was to leapfrog towns by local public transport that accepted cash fares. The journey normally takes two or three days. But this was the day after the Clearwater Disaster. Cy Land was on high security alert, unaware that the terrorists they feared had been fabricated by their own military. Bus operators turned away passengers. Without IDs.

  We started a tedious and uncomfortable journey that took a fortnight.

  We hitchhiked or bartered for rides with traders of the alternative economy, and slept rough. Our bodies developed sores and allergic rashes, our unwashed clothes stunk, we had bouts of diarrhoea, and most of the time we were either too cold or too hot. Yet, the incognito vice-president of Cyboratics took to the low road in high spirits and without complaint. He keenly observed and eagerly conversed with nomads, lowlife migrants, and shady traders. People took an instant liking to him. Occasionally he asked people to sleep with him, and nobody refused.

  He embellished the Shakespeare identity with flourish. He was on a pilgrimage and had made a vow that required him to travel like this. The story went down well with pathfinders. When people asked about me, he’d say that we met on the road. I said nothing.

  Surtr observed that I became morose and ill tempered. I snapped that it was fine for him since he had the ring. He kept it hidden in his shoe, and daily went online in toilet cubicles, whereas I suffered withdrawal from cyberspace. At times I felt that the only thing keeping me sane was the memory of how Fred asked me, on that hike in sleepers and house clothes, whether I could go on like that.

  I thought a lot about Fred during the journey with Surtr. The more I thought, the more I realised that Fred had prepared me for everything that was happening.

  Not all the rides kept us on track to Ground Zero. We zigzagged across continents. Entering a vast desert territory owned by Phyfoamicals, we made better progress for a while, since the local buses accepted cash. We crossed the ocean with a freight plane, and were at last on the last leg of the journey.

  But a hundred miles from Ground Zero, all civilian traffic to the crater was suspended due to heavy fighting that had started when the Phoenix militia tried to disperse the Gathering. Just as Fred anticipated, this time the pathfinders came prepared for war. Local gangs joined forces. Apocalypse Day came and went, but the hostilities continued. The violence escalated. On the media, analysts started to talk about the biggest uprising against corporate society since the consumer riots that had brought about the creation of the CSG.

  Surtr and I watched the news in a dismal diner in the shadows of chemicals factories. ‘They exaggerate,’ Surtr commented, meaning the journalists, ‘we’re not worried.’ He meant Cyboratics, who didn’t have a stake in Ground Zero. He was worried sick. He had to reach Gertrude before Phoenix troops pissed her off and the sprite retaliated with some spectacular mishap that could change the course of history.

  The diner catered mostly for strays like us. Men with gang tattoos came and went. They glanced at us too much for my liking. When Surtr got up to check on his empire from a backyard toilet, I insisted on coming along.

  Three gangsters waited for us outside. Bystanders beat a hasty retreat.

  The gangsters made sure we saw their guns. A large black man stepped to stand next to me, and another man flanked Surtr. Their leader stood in front of us. He was a thin white man, about my age, his shaven head covered with a spider-web tattoo draping to his face. He told us that his name was Tarantula and that our transport was leaving in half an hour. It was our lucky day. We want a ride to Ground Zero, and Boss Mildred is recruiting for the Holy War.

  Surtr replied that we were pilgrims and it wasn’t our war.

  ‘It’s your war now, pilgrim. Consider yourselves soldiers of the free world. You’ll get your guns in Ground Zero. We have to collect them off dead pilgrims first,’ said Tarantula, and all three of them laughed unpleasantly. They reminded me of the boys in Boss Ben’s place.

  Surtr argued that they could put guns in our hands but couldn’t make us fight. I told him that they didn’t have to. When Phoenix troops see us holding guns, they will make us fight.

  Tarantula concurred, ‘You’ve got it. Now move!’

  ‘Not on your Nellie,’ I told the gangster.

  ‘What’s a Nellie?’

  ‘You can’t make me.’

  Tarantula nodded to the big man beside me, who took the cue. I did too. The man barely moved before I threw him down to the ground with a manoeuvre that Fred had taught me. The third man immediately drew his gun, but Tarantula told him to cool it. I stood back with folded arms, waiting. Surtr stood very still.

  The man I had thrown down scrambled up to his feet, cursing, and was about to lunge at me. I told him stonily, ‘You lay one finger on me and there’ll be worse consequences.’ He hesitated long enough for Tarantula to tell him to cool it.

  I told Tarantula, ‘I don’t fight.’

  ‘What do you call what you just did?’

  ‘Judo. I don’t touch guns. My mother was shot in the head working for gangsters in the Edges. That’s why you can’t make me hold a gun.’

  ‘You mean Yoko? It is you! Al, I’ve never imagined you coming back!’ He told his men, ‘He’s the boy wizard who killed Boss Ben.’

  They stared at me in awe.

  Surtr stared at me weirdly.

  I stared at Tarantula, narrowing my eyes to mask my bemusement.

  My stare made him nervous. ‘You as good as killed him,’ Tarantula insisted. He was there. Boss Ben had him guard the booth into which I went, so Tarantula knew that I didn’t return and sneaked away. Everyone knows you can’t override the automatic return on a visitor pass, but somehow I did it. It was wizardry. When I failed to return, Boss Ben started to yell that Phoenix stole his boy. His outburst gave the town guards an excuse to zap him. That’s how I caused his death. An OK exec had entered the booth after me, and Tarantula overheard him give orders to pick me up as soon as I returned. ‘We reckoned they were after you for something Yoko did. Did the OK man get you?’

  ‘No,’ I said. Yes he did, I realised.

  Tarantula let us go after that.

  We decided to walk to Ground Zero, however long it took. When nobody was in sight, Surtr slipped the ring on to get our bearings. He was in high spirits. ‘My brother the wizard, fancy that. I didn’t know you are also a martial arts expert.’

  ‘Fred taught me everything I know.’

  He taught me how to bluff. That judo move was the only one I could do. If the man went for me again, I would have been the one to suffer worse consequences.

  A moment later I couldn’t contain myself anymore. ‘The bastard, he knew who I
was all along,’ I blurted, enraged and astonished that it disturbed me so much to realise it. It felt like a betrayal.

  Surtr reasoned that Fred could have picked me up in the lounge. I ranted, ‘Didn’t he? Who put SocServ on to me? He picked me up alright but he delegated. He planted me in the CSG like some seed, some weed...’

  ‘Steady on, Al. You are reading too much into this. Perhaps he wanted to rescue a child from a paedophile gangster, and when he saw you were safe he didn’t need to do anything.’

  ‘Whose side are you on?’

  ‘I’m changing my mind about him.’

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘Last night. I think he was genuine when he said you’ve brought him back to the light. When you watched the dawn together.’

  The only way Surtr could know about it was through the Harvey sprite. ‘So Version 7 finally let Harvey run its course.’

  ‘No, Al, he finally decided to share it with me. He heard Harvey’s story to the end on the very first day.’

  I had designed Harvey to self-delete after telling my story to its completion. Wye Stan 7 disabled the self-delete right away, and deliberately kept my sprite alive in his personal space. Why? A shiver ran down my spine. I didn’t know what to make of him. I gazed at the younger clone. He has to relearn his skills and to be told his own memories after every birth, but he’s hundreds of years old.

  Wye Stan met my gaze steadily. ‘I must show you something. We might not get a chance later.’ He took the ring off his finger and slipped it on mine, speaking quietly and precisely, ‘Give it a moment to recognise you, then tell it your name, any name, and it will attach it to your bio-signature. You’ll be able to see Cyboratics the way I see it.’

  The ring made my finger tingle. My head reeled. ‘Why?’

  ‘So that you’ll see how I see it. Later I’ll show you how to access the system whenever you want to check us out.’