by Gemma Malley
But he would. One day. He would redeem himself. He would turn everything around. For her. For Benjamin …
She moved, glanced over at him, then looked away again. Raffy did the same, his cheeks hot as he turned back to Cassandra’s screen, where Linus’s code was all displayed, had been displayed for a few hours now. And as he looked at it, he felt his heart sink just as it had when he’d first clapped eyes on it. Because it was barely code, and certainly wasn’t code that would build Thomas the System he so desired. It was … gobbledegook. It was utter rubbish. No, not rubbish. Gibberish. It was littered with errors, full of weird symbols that meant nothing.
Maybe Linus thought that he wouldn’t notice. Thomas certainly didn’t seem to realise that Raffy could virtually write the System himself if he wanted to, and Raffy was hardly going to tell him. He was happy being underestimated. It was the story of his life. But it put him in a difficult position. Because he knew now that Linus had absolutely no intention of even pretending to build the System. Which meant that Raffy had to make a choice: he could rewrite the code completely, pretend it was Linus’s work, and keep Evie alive. Or he could tell Milo what Linus was doing, and let Linus face the consequences. Or he could pass on the gobbledegook, wait for Thomas to find out, and then watch helplessly as Evie was first starved, then tortured to death.
It wasn’t a choice. It was a joke. He looked furiously at the wall that divided his cubicle from Linus’s and cursed the man for his defiance, his determination, his ability to take all emotion out of a situation. Linus didn’t think about individuals; they were an irrelevance to him, just as his own health and wellbeing was an irrelevance. Which was admirable and impressive sometimes. But was mostly just highly irritating. And right now it was much worse than that.
Raffy drummed his fingers on his desk.
‘Everything okay?’ Cassandra asked.
Raffy glowered at her. ‘Just dandy,’ he said, his voice low.
Cassandra’s face appeared, still very attractive but more maternal now, with fine lines around her eyes and some grey hair framing her face. ‘You’re not happy with the code,’ she said. ‘You can’t be. You’ve been in a bad mood ever since I brought it up and you haven’t typed a thing.’
Raffy shook his head. He was not discussing this with a computer. Especially one built by Infotec. Even more especially since his every move was being watched, his every word being listened to.
‘I’m just envious of the code,’ he said eventually. ‘Just working out how I can improve it. You know, add value.’
‘Right,’ Cassandra said, dubiously. She seemed to peer at Raffy. ‘Really? You’re sure that’s all it is?’
‘Really,’ Raffy said irritably, then, realising that if Cassandra was suspicious, whoever was watching him would be too, he started to scroll through the code properly, trying to look impressed instead of utterly lost.
And then, suddenly, he frowned. Because in amongst the garbage was a line of code that he recognised. Something Linus had used over a year before when he had been teaching Raffy how to dismantle the System, back when they were planning their attack on the City, believing it would change things, that it would make a difference. It wasn’t code. It was something else. It was a language.
Raffy stared at it for a few minutes, but it made no sense; he figured Linus had just put it in because he was bored, because he could, because sometimes coming up with meaningless junk is actually quite difficult. But then, as he scrolled on, he saw something else, another line that stood out to him as though there were a light shining behind it. It was the language of the System but it wasn’t in code that would build anything. It was spelling out words. Words that only Raffy would be able to read. Words that only Raffy would even be able to recognise. They could communicate. Secretly, away from the cameras, away from everything.
Raffy moved his chair forwards and started to read, deciphering phrases and words to create sentences. And as he read, he felt his heart begin to thud in his chest. ‘Your computer has a blind spot,’ the message started. ‘You can communicate with the outside world as well as me.’ As he read on, Raffy felt his eyes widen and his temperature rise. It was audacious, what Linus was suggesting. Impossible. Dangerous. But what hit Raffy most of all was the way Linus was trusting him. When all he had ever done was to prove himself untrustworthy.
He took a deep breath. He was going to repay that trust. He was going to make this work.
‘Cassandra,’ he said thoughtfully a few minutes later.
‘Yes?’ She looked excited to have been called upon; Raffy had to remind himself that she was just a computer.
‘Would you mind doing some research for me? I’m trying to rework some of Linus’s code but I need to see the latest Unix, see how it’s changed over the past couple of decades.’
Cassandra nodded vigorously. ‘I’ll have to go into archive mode.’
‘Whatever,’ Raffy said. ‘Just quick as you can.’
‘It means I have to restart, I’m afraid, but it won’t take me a minute.’
‘Go for your life,’ Raffy yawned.
‘See you in a minute!’ Cassandra closed her eyes and started to close down. Quick as a flash, Raffy typed a line of code. And there, as if by magic, was what Linus had told him about. His very own Trojan Horse. A corner of the screen that Cassandra wouldn’t see, couldn’t see, that couldn’t be reported on, couldn’t be censored. The screen went black, then Cassandra started to reboot. And Raffy waited.
5
She was running, running so fast her heart felt like it was banging its way out of her chest; she was gasping for air but still she ran, not towards anything, but away, away … They could see her. See her every move. They had always seen, always been watching, waiting. But they would not get her. They would never get her. She would run, run until death took her, if that was the only way of escaping them. And as she ran, all she could see was his face. His pinched, knowing, evil face. And he didn’t even know he was evil. He didn’t even know what that meant …
Evie woke with a start, just like she always did, a judder, a gasp, sweat-drenched sheets, the sickening realisation that she was still here, in this place that Lucas wasn’t, the immediate, devastating knowledge that he was somewhere else, that she had no idea if she would ever see him again.
She pulled herself up, got out of bed. It was a huge bed, way too big for her, covered in soft white sheets, softer than anything she’d ever felt back in the City, the Settlement, the two places she’d called home in her life. The two could not be more different: the City, a paranoid world of rules, of labels, of a System that controlled everything and everyone; the Settlement, a place of learning, of building, of freedom of expression, of community – and yet now she was in a place more different still. And all she wanted to do was go home. To Lucas. To Lucas …
Was he still alive? Was the City still there? It seemed impossible somehow, impossible it should still exist now that she knew this place existed also; impossible that Lucas should be alive knowing what Thomas was, knowing what he had done. They had been here for five days; Evie felt like she had counted every second, every minute, every hour as she waited for it to expire. She wanted the weeks to go by, for Linus to fail to deliver his System, for Thomas to starve her, torture her, kill her. He would never return her to the City and death would be infinitely preferable to this no-man’s land, this purgatory of nothingness, of isolation, of imprisonment. Evie had been imprisoned before, not physically but emotionally; back in the City, where the System controlled everything, she had spent her days paralysed, fearful, empty. But then she had experienced freedom, had understood what it felt like to take responsibility, to challenge, to fight, to believe, to hope, and she wasn’t going back. She couldn’t. She would rather die.
At least … She closed her eyes. If Lucas was alive, then she could at least cling on to the thought that he might come. No, not come. They would kill him. That he was safe, then. That he was back in the City, left alone by Thomas
because he was no longer of any interest to him. If Lucas was alive, then the world was not an entirely dark and vile place. If Lucas was alive, then there was still a light glowing somewhere.
Just not here.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again and walked to the bathroom. Her bathroom. Her own bathroom with a shower that jetted warm water over her, soaps that smelled of roses, soft fluffy towels to dry herself with, mirrors to educate her on how she looked. Evie had never seen so many mirrors; they adorned every wall, reflecting themselves back at her, creating walls beyond walls, a thousand Evies trapped behind them, staring at her, pleading with her, take me home …
And there, in the corner, a camera. Keeping watch. Checking up on her. She resented it, loathed it, but it was better than the System. At least she could see it; at least she understood how it worked.
In the City the System had been a terrifying thing; people had believed it could see everything, possibly even their thoughts. It had been all powerful, deciding whether citizens were good or bad, labelling them accordingly and striking terror into their hearts whenever their label changed for the worse. When the System had been destroyed, Evie had thought it was over; she and Raffy had escaped and moved to the Settlement, where they had been almost happy for a year. But that was before they knew the truth, about the City, about the System, about everything. And now they were back in a new prison as Linus built the System again, this time for the whole world.
She got dressed, covertly; she’d quickly worked out how to protect her modesty from the camera, draping a towel over the shower enclosure, wrapping another around her as she got out, getting dressed without removing the towel until the last minute. Thomas assured her many times that no one was interested in seeing her naked – he said it with a sneer, she guessed to humiliate her – but she didn’t trust a single word he said, and anyway, she assumed the worst of people these days. Even Raffy.
Especially Raffy.
Evie slipped on her shoes; then she left her bedroom. In the kitchen area, as always, the table was set for breakfast, which was barely touched; instead there were two empty coffee cups, which she knew had been left by Linus and Raffy.
They were both getting thinner; she noticed it day by day. Even though there was more food here than they’d ever experienced before. She understood why; she had no appetite either, had no desire to eat the food that Thomas presented to them. She longed for the fresh vegetables of the Settlement, food that had been worked for, food that nourished the soul as well as the stomach.
But the Settlement had been destroyed; its people would still be hiding in caves, waiting for Benjamin to return. She wondered if they were still hiding, wondered how her friends were, wondered if they knew the truth about their world.
Evie felt a tear prick at her eye and she blinked it away; she would not cry, not when Thomas would be watching, smiling to himself. Not when Raffy or Linus might catch a glimpse too. She didn’t want their pity; didn’t want them to think about her at all. Because if they did, they might build the System for Thomas. She wanted them to think nothing of her, so that Thomas had nothing to bargain with, no hold over either of them.
She poured herself some coffee and started to drink, planning her day minute by minute, a strategy that she had developed on the first day and which was helping her cope with this horrible, sterile confinement.
And as each day had gone by, Evie had found it a little bit easier. Bit by bit, she had created a routine for herself, of nothingness punctuated by activity, of mealtimes, of particular sitting positions, which now felt familiar, felt almost bearable. She had resisted the screens at first, determined to allow the Watched their privacy, as she would prefer her own. But eventually she had been sucked in; had realised that without watching she would have only her own mind for entertainment and that it would quickly drive her mad with unhappiness and anger. And so she had begun to watch strangers, watch their every move, hear their every thought, read their messages to and from their friends, their loved ones. She saw images, words, people laughing, crying, shouting, sleeping; strangers telling the world everything and nothing, all the time, constantly. They were talking to no one, to everyone, to the wind, to the sky.
They had appeared alien at first; they spoke so quickly, rushed everywhere, used words she hadn’t come across, confronted each other, ignored each other in ways that she found shocking. But gradually she became accustomed to their way of life, realised that they were not aggressive, antisocial monsters, but were people, like her, people with dreams, with fears, with worries, with hopes. And whereas in the City such things were kept hidden from view, here they were shouted out, exposed, communicated. And which was worse? Which was better? Evie didn’t know. Didn’t feel able to judge.
‘Good morning.’ Linus appeared in front of her; he had come to pour himself more coffee.
‘Good morning.’ She forced a bright smile. ‘How are you?’
‘Good, good.’ Linus smiled. Their conversation had been stilted since they arrived here, since they understood that their every word was being listened to.
‘Great,’ Evie replied.
‘You should eat. Get your strength up.’ Linus pushed some cereal boxes towards her, a jug of milk. She frowned, about to protest, then saw something, something in his eye, something that disappeared the moment she’d seen it, making her wonder if she’d imagined it. But she knew she hadn’t, so she chose some cereal, poured it into the bowl in front of her and added some milk.
‘Good idea with the walking,’ he said, adding some sugar to his coffee, stirring it then smelling it before taking a gulp. ‘There are exercise channels if you’re interested. They’re fun, if you’re at a loose end.’
He grinned, then turned and walked back to his cubicle. Evie stared after him. Exercise channels? Was he insane? What next? Watch some of the weird people who talked about nothing but clothes, or hair, or make-up? Did he not know where they were? Did he not get …
Then she stopped herself. Of course he knew. Of course he got it. And he wanted her to do some exercise.
Mentally she made a note to add it to her routine. An hour before lunch. Did he want her to get strong for a purpose or just to take her mind off things? Either way, it didn’t matter. If he wanted her to do it, she would.
Silently she finished her cereal, and then ate some fruit and two eggs just for good measure. Then, just as she had done at this exact time for the past five days, she moved over to the central sofa, sat down and started to watch Frankie.
6
Frankie pulled open her wardrobe. ‘So,’ she said. ‘I’m thinking …’ She moved her hand in front of her and an image appeared of a clothes rack. She flicked through the virtual version of her closet, then chose a black tee-shirt. Immediately it whizzed to the front of the image, presenting itself on a hologram of herself, turning around to show all angles. ‘This.’
She waited a second or two for her watchers’ comments, which flooded the space in front of her eyes in bright yellow, green and orange.
‘Love it Frankie,’ Dib 1 said immediately. ‘Maybe with your black skinnies?’
‘With grey skinnies,’ chimed in Sarah H. ‘Much more flattering. They make your legs look sooooo long.’
Frankie scrolled through the rest of the feedback and grinned.
‘Grey it is,’ she said, flicking through the virtual rail again to pull out her trusty dark-grey moleskins. ‘And … how about these?’
She hit an icon and then moved her finger to pick out the black studded ankle boots. The virtual her strutted around in the proposed outfit. ‘Nice, huh?’
Again she was flooded with endorsements of her choice. But that wasn’t surprising. Frankie was flooded with endorsements every time she made a choice, every time she so much as sat down in a café. Everyone wanted to be her. Everyone Watched her; globally she was number three, after the US president and Emile, the latest boy band heart throb. Until he’d released his latest track, Frankie
had been number two and she was fairly confident she’d return to that position within a month, when the song had lost its sheen. No one was as good as her. No one.
Outfit decided on, she picked out the actual items from her real closet and put them on, applied a slick of lipstick to her wide mouth, and drew some kohl around her dark brown eyes. She stared at her reflection for a few seconds, trying to remember her face before she’d become Frankie, Number Three Watched in the Whole World, when she’d just been Frankie, Watched by some of her friends and family when they could be bothered. Then she quickly looked away. Contemplation didn’t attract Watchers. Nor did vanity. Or doubt …
And anyway, what did any of that matter? She was Frankie. She was on top of her game. Life was good. Life was excellent.
‘And I’m out,’ she said cheerily to the camera in her bedroom. ‘Café Honore here I come.’
As she walked, more and more comments appeared. Some just checking in, some admiring her look, some wishing her a good morning, saying that they’d try and get to the café if they could.
And some would. Some would get there. But not many. Most of her 23,589,704 worldwide Watchers would be at work, sleeping, eating, doing whatever it was they did day to day. Her role was to make them feel part of things, to be their friend, to cheer them up and entertain them. It would make them feel like Paris wasn’t so far away after all, that they were virtually there.