The Orb

by Tara Basi

  Zip’s guards enclosed her like cupped hands and bundled her towards a whirlybird parked out on a paved terrace. Was it all propaganda? Was London really the last vestige of a technocratic civilisation? She was politely pushed into the craft, followed by one of the muscular guards. The others retreated to the palace: a wonderful confection that would put any wedding cake to shame. Her companion roughly buckled her in and the copter lifted up.

  The spell wasn’t broken until Zip was high enough to see over the brick wall. It was a sickening sight; it made Sediment Town look good.

  The Eiffel Tower was still there. Two thirds snapped off, crushed, twisted and laid out like a blackened spine pulled from a fire. Everywhere else, as far as she could see, was a gargantuan slum, uglier than a pre-Orb Dharavi or any favela. Roofs of tin and plastic butted together as though they were scales on a gigantic fish. So tightly, it seemed impossible that any light would find its way inside. Everything she could see was by the light of the moon. The mega-city of hovels was dark. If candles or fires burned somewhere in the miserable city below, Zip couldn’t see them. It was horrible that anyone had to live like that. She turned away and stared at her feet and noticed her breath was making little clouds. It was cold. Zip panicked. There was no protection. It wasn’t the cold that scared her; it was all the things that couldn’t be felt or seen. Radiation, killer chemicals and everything else. Her only cover was Pip’s flimsy summer dress. Why wasn’t her Headgear flashing warnings? Zip called up her environmental sensors. Every reading was benign, or tolerable, like the cold. There might be an ocean of slums down there, but they weren’t irradiated.

  After a few minutes, the pilot announced they were arriving. The rail yard in front of the Channel Tunnel entrance was clearly visible. Surrounding the terminus was a vast sea of lights. Endless rows of tents, almost as many war machines. There were fields of missile launchers, whirlybirds, bombers and strike fighters. Aircrafts buzzed over the war camp like flies. This was the Church’s military force, ready to lay siege to London, ready to be unleashed if the Church felt threatened. The threat to London, only previously imagined, was real, and it was everywhere she looked. Zip shivered, and it wasn’t just the view; it was freezing.

  The whirlybird spiralled down towards the station, a huge structure of wrought iron and stained glass. It landed in a cloud of dust. Her guard pushed her out of the transport. A number of Church troopers were waiting for her. No one spoke as they frogmarched Zip into the main concourse. The station was alive with the buzz of excited Pilgrims. It was Waltham Cross times a thousand. Antiquated puffing engines were arriving and departing across the platforms that Zip could see. The air was filled with steam and flecks of coal ash. The noise of thousands of chattering Pilgrims and rumbling engines was deafening. Sprinkled amongst the crowds were a noisy assortment of vendors, selling everything from Orb models to hot food. The succulent aromas filled her mouth with saliva and her stomach rumbled loudly. Zip was starving. She pulled at the elbow of her leading escort as they passed a man in a shabby harlequin outfit, blowing something tuneless on a battered old trumpet. It wasn’t the awful noise that had attracted her; it was the tray hanging from his neck piled high with chicken legs, releasing spicy barbeque aromas. The leading churchman stopped and spun round to see what Zip wanted, but the din of the station was too loud for him to hear her. She pointed at the chicken while rubbing her stomach. Zip thought he was going to ignore her and march on. Unexpectedly, he smiled; being young and pretty had its advantages. The guard held up a couple of coins for the vendor and nodded towards Zip. The chicken man stopped playing and fluidly swung his trumpet behind his back, grabbed the coins, wrapped two legs in foil with a paper napkin and handed them to a startled Zip. The whole transaction had taken seconds; the vendor was already puffing out a terrible new tune. They left him behind to be swallowed up by travellers.

  Without her guards, she would have had no idea where to go or been able to push her way through the immense crowd. The Churchmen cut a path with sharp elbows and a lot of shouting. Protected from the jostling by her human shield, Zip devoured the chicken legs, being careful to keep any drops of grease off her lovely dress. Wiping her mouth with the napkin, she noticed the crowd ahead had become more static. They were no longer cutting across rivers of busy Pilgrims heading this way and that. Now they were pushing their way past a long line of waiting travellers. Eventually, they arrived at a closed barrier across the entrance to an empty platform with a train waiting to depart. The barrier lifted, her guards marched her through, then it slammed shut behind them, disappointing a few adventurous Pilgrims who’d tried to follow.

  It had to be the London-bound Pilgrim train that curved away into the distance, hiding the engine from sight. The carriages were antiquated affairs made of wood and iron, with bars instead of windows. Every carriage was already stuffed full of standing Pilgrims with their belongings at their feet. The hanging straps seemed superfluous. It looked impossible for anyone to fall over let alone scratch their nose. After a long march, they neared the engine and a series of more sparsely occupied carriages. These had private compartments with glass in the windows. The Church was paying for her to travel in style.

  The guards stopped a couple of carriages before the front of the train and threw open a door to reveal a sparse box lined with wooden benches and racks for luggage. There were only two other occupants: an elderly couple. They huddled together as Zip was thrown in to land on her knees, and then her rucksack was thrown after her.

  “Don’t be late back,” a big guard called after Zip. He slammed the compartment door shut, making the old couple jump in their seats. The squad spun around and headed back the way they’d come.

  She climbed to her feet and stowed her luggage on an empty rack, deposited the bones of her meal in a bin, then took her seat on the bench facing the couple opposite, who were still clinging to each other and staring as if Zip had two heads. They were in their eighties, at least, and dressed up warm for the trip in long fur coats, colourful scarfs and childish hats with flappy, woolly ear muffs.

  It was so cold. Was it winter? Underground didn’t have seasons. It was always the same: warm, warmer or hot depending on how good the ventilation was on your level. She remembered it was a little chilly and raining on that first visit to Peter’s house. So long ago in events. It wasn’t cold beyond the wall. Maybe that was the assault suit and the radiation. She shivered in her thin red dress, the one Bella had given her as a present. The beret was lost. Zip turned back to the door and pulled down the window to look out, startling the old couple who were watching her every move. She tried to smile reassuringly, but her face was so cold, it might not have come across as a smile. Her fellow passengers didn’t look any more reassured.

  The train began pulling out of the station and accelerated towards the Channel Tunnel entrance. Zip pulled up the window in the compartment door.

  Still standing, she rummaged around inside the Church rucksack and discovered a thick coat and a woolly hat. With relief, she wrapped the coat around her shoulders and pulled the lovely hat down over her ears before sitting down.

  “It’s cold,” Zip said, hoping to reassure her travelling companions with bland comments about the weather.

  The old man seemed surprised she’d spoken. “Are you Church?”

  The accent was unfamiliar. “Pilgrim,” she replied.

  The old man’s female companion visibly relaxed and reached into a bag at her side to pull out a pair of mittens. “Here,” she said, with the same odd accent.

  Zip gratefully accepted the gloves and quickly pulled them on. Her fingers tingled as some feeling returned. Outside, there was nothing to see except her own reflection, not even floating ads. They were in the tunnel and wouldn’t surface again till they reached the Orb Nexus.

  In her Headgear, a timer counted down her remaining mission time: less than twenty-four hours now. “How long before we reach the Nexus?” Zip asked.

  “Is it your first pilgrima
ge? It’ll be wonderful. It’s our third. Maybe our last,” the woman said.

  “Nonsense,” her partner answered, and gave her a hug. He turned to Zip. “We’re from Norway; we’re used to the cold. Not sure how anyone survives in Paris if they’re not Church.”

  The woman playfully slapped her partner’s arm. “You promised, love, no politics. It’s a pilgrimage, remember?” Looking across at Zip, she frowned, probably realising that Zip’s question hadn’t been answered. “It’s only thirty minutes to the Nexus. Can take a while after that, though, with the queues and everything.”

  They were Norwegians, from somewhere far away. “Are things different in Norway? Better than Paris? Is it like London?” Zip asked, more in hope than expectation.

  The couple laughed. The old man answered, “Nowhere is like London. There’s only one Orb, only one bounty. Oslo’s all right. There’s electricity, most days. Food, clean water. It’s not so bad. Nothing like before the wars. Oslo was like London once. You’re too young to remember. It’s hard to understand how we’ve ended up here. What happened to us?”

  Zip wished she were too young, didn’t know what had gone wrong, hadn’t helped devastate the world. Zip sighed, sat back in her seat and closed her eyes. Thankfully, the couple thought she was sleeping. Zip didn’t want to talk anymore. Her companions carried on a cheerful whispered conversation that barely registered over the whoosh and rattle of the train flying along the track.

  Her eyes opened when the train decelerated into the station. The couple were already standing by the compartment door, clutching their luggage and closely studying the empty platform sliding into view.

  The old man called over his shoulder, “You need to be quick to get ahead of the crowds. Follow us.”

  Zip grabbed her rucksack and lined up behind the couple then noticed the borrowed mittens. The old woman smiled and shook her head when she tried to return them.

  “You’ll need them. Paris is very cold this time of year.”

  The couple’s kindness made her feel bad. Zip hadn’t told them she wasn’t on a pilgrimage and wouldn’t be queuing.

  Before anything could be said, the train slowed and came to a full stop. Directly opposite the train door, across a platform as wide as a football pitch, was an endless wall of immigration gates. Above the barriers was a huge sign welcoming foreign Pilgrims to London. There was an anticipatory quiet moment. Then a small click announced that the carriage door was unlocked. A roar of sound was released from thousands of excited throats. The old couple could have been greyhounds out of the traps as they flew from the train and ran pell-mell across the platform towards the nearest gate. In a blink, every part of the platform Zip could see was being flooded with Pilgrims running full tilt in the same direction.

  The Norwegians had been swallowed up in a sandstorm of humanity sweeping towards the non-residents’ entrance to London. Only a few, frail stragglers were still alighting and joining the end of one of the hundreds of lines. Before leaving the train, Zip took off her thermal coat, hat and gloves and stowed them in her bag. She alighted and headed towards the front of the train with a half-dozen others, all heading in the direction of a pair of gates marked Citizens Only. Her Headgear connected to the Net, and Zip began searching for the quickest route to Sediment Town. There were only twenty-three hours left before the Church deadline expired.

  Chapter Nineteen – Bunny and Quattro

  Peter stalked the lab. He paced the large space, looking for some escape from worrying about Quattro and what the Suit might decide to do. Bunny was no comfort. Outside of its drab hiding space, it had reverted to its default silent and stationary state. As he strode past, he occasionally stopped in front of the machine, half-wishing it would whisk him back to its cubby hole, so he could question it about the escape plan and exactly how it planned to fix Quattro. He got nothing, not even an acknowledgment of his presence. The only visible emotion was the frustration in Peter’s face reflected in its mirrored torso.

  After another pointless tour of the lab, Peter couldn’t stand the waiting any longer. “We need Quattro,” he screamed. Without much hope, he stared at the lift doors, the only way in or out of the lab.

  No one answered, and the lift didn’t arrive. Peter put his face in his hands and released a muffled howl. With nothing else to do, he straightened up and resumed his lonely pacing. Passing the enigmatic Bunny for the tenth time, he stopped to stare at the strange machine. There was nothing else like it, apart from Mathew and now Quattro. It was like no other AI body he’d ever seen. Peter wouldn’t have been surprised to find the hallmark of Professor Simmons stamped on the sole of its foot. She was the only one capable of such a creation.

  Peter’s frustration and worry for Quattro were threatening his ability to reason. He needed a distraction. He decided to try questioning Bunny, even though Industries would be observing everything.

  “Why are you made like this? What’s your connection with Mathew?”

  Bunny’s head smoothly swivelled and tilted to face Peter as every other part of its metal physique remained rigidly still. It was an unnerving movement. “Unknown. Speculation might suggest this form is ideal for general purpose activity as a lab assistant. It is able to interact with human scale technology, as you’ve observed. Limited copies were made. Purpose unknown. Mathew occupies one. Quattro another. Only Professor Simmons might be able to explain why.”

  Peter guessed Bunny knew more. It wasn’t going to say more, not out here with Orb Industries listening. He decided to press; he had the time. “Quattro’s body, it’s feminine, why? What purpose does it serve?”

  “Unknown. Perhaps a simple aesthetic design choice without further meaning.”

  It was pointless. Bunny wasn’t going to tell him anything worthwhile. His shoulders sagged in resignation, and he found himself hypnotised by the distorted, angry face gazing back at him from Bunny’s reflective skin. He wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed. He could check his Headgear, but that only seemed to make the minutes pass more slowly. A sharp ding cut through the torpor and wrenched his whole body in the direction of the lift, even before he’d consciously identified the source.

  Quattro stepped out, still wearing her kill-vest, escorted by a pair of military heavies and the Suit, floating above it all. Peter ran towards the lab’s new arrivals. Bunny didn’t move. The suit floated down, positioning itself between Peter and Quattro.

  “Four hours, Peter, to show us that this is useful. Otherwise … well, you can guess. And, you two,” the Suit said, pointing an empty sleeve at Bunny and then Quattro, “don’t try any data exchanges. The vest won’t like it.”

  The Suit disappeared. The guards released Quattro’s elbows and returned to the lift. The doors closed. Peter, Quattro and Bunny were alone in the lab. Peter threw his arms around the machine that was the vessel for his daughter’s ghost. Quattro didn’t react. He might as well have been embracing a granite obelisk.

  Bunny appeared at his side, startling Peter into releasing his hold on Quattro. He would never get used to the rapidity of Bunny’s movements. While he watched, frozen in horror and disbelief, Bunny took hold of Quattro by the waist and began spinning her around. She didn’t resist. The enigmatic machine spun her faster and faster till she was a blur of quicksilver. When the whirling stopped, she was covered in sensors.

  Bunny tenderly rested its hand on Quattro’s shoulder. “Peter, I’ve done as you requested. Shall I continue?”

  He hadn’t requested anything. What was the machine doing? Peter found its actions disturbing. The way it was touching Quattro was strange; it seemed fascinated with her body. Peter had no one else he could trust. Reluctantly, he said, “Yes.”

  “First readings coming through. You are correct. Sleep routines are hidden in the body. I can transfer them to the Tramp and Quattro on your command.”

  Peter knew he should be playing along, but he couldn’t hide his astonishment. “What? What? Are you sure?”

  “It’s as you pred
icted. We’ll need to run the Tramp in sleep mode for four hours, then he’ll be stable for an indeterminate amount of time.”

  “Indeterminate? What about Quattro?” He couldn’t help himself, but it wasn’t good to sound so unsure. Orb Industries might start suspecting they were up to something. Bunny was leading him, he didn’t know where. He watched Bunny as it gently removed the sensors from Quattro’s body.

  “Only Professor Simmons’ original code can guarantee long-term stability. The routines in the body are degraded, poor copies of the original. They will provide the Tramp and Quattro with more time, at a cost to Quattro.”

  Up until this moment, Quattro had been stationary and silent. The voice that burst out of her inanimate body was very animated. “Zip has Professor Simmons’ Record. Bring her back and she can fix everybody, permanently: me, Mathew. And Professor Simmons understands what the Orb is saying. We all have to hear its message, don’t we?”

  It wasn’t Kiki’s voice exactly, or the flat machine intonation Quattro had used earlier. It was familiar. It sounded as if she were far away, on a bad connection, underwater.

  Bunny stepped abruptly back from Quattro as if she’d given him an electric shock. The two mercury bodies were still and silent again. Peter had no idea what Quattro was talking about, but she was talking and that made him smile.

  The Suit burst onto the scene by just appearing. “Zip has Professor Simmons’ Record? Are you sure? That’s not possible.”

  Peter had to talk to Bunny, alone, in its drab lab cupboard. He needed some time. “We have to stabilise Quattro and the Tramp first. Then you can ask your questions. Press now and we could lose everything. You said four hours. Right?”

  The Suit didn’t answer. It disappeared. Peter knew it would be back and soon.

  Quattro hadn’t asked the question that was eating at Peter. “Bunny, what cost, to Quattro?”

  “While she sleeps, her anomalies will be removed.”