Sequela (34 page)

'It's sex slavery.'

'It's only slavery if you don't get paid for it.'

'And what do I get for it?' Kester's own voice sounded distant to him.

Chen slid her hand down to his shoulder and turned him towards her. She leaned in until her lips were almost touching his ear. He could feel her warm breath on his skin.

'You get to play fuck bingo with the global A-list.'

-o-

It was Thursday, which was reason enough in itself for Kester's malaise. Alexis had continued to avoid him after their meeting on Monday. He knew for a fact that Chen had set her the task of lining up his appointments. They were running a private auction for the first spot. The auction would take place in four weeks' time on the Thursday and the appointment the next day, one week before the second show. Kester suspected that she was involved with setting this up too. He sat slouched at his desk, his Book in front of him, doodling, watching his swirls appear on the wall beside him.

The new viruses he had promised Yule were tested and ready to go, everything was under control, but despite the building full of people, there was no-one to share his success with. Kester's mind wandered back to his own private test torsos, sitting in the back isolation suite, being bombarded with viruses. Something would be going wrong right now. He daren't look at the data. And anyway, who would put their health in the hands of a prostitute, even a high-class one.

'I have Roger Yule here for you, sir.'

Gerald's voice gave Kester a start. He flicked off his design board and turned to the door. Yule had only visited him in his office once before. He preferred that people come to him.

'OK. Send him in please, Gerald.'

'Kester.' Yule started talking before the door had even slid fully open. 'I need to…'

'Welcome…Roger Yule.'

Yule flapped a hand at the door and huffed.

'Roger, take a seat.' Kester drew out the chair on the door side of his desk for Yule to sit. 'What's wrong?'

'Welcome…Roger Yule.' Yule's slow movement confused the door sensors.

They both stopped talking while Yule made his way across the room. Kester made a show of tidying some files that were on his display to take up some time, then sat down.

'Kester, I've got a problem with my screen. I wanted one of your guys to take a look at it.'

'A problem how?'

Yule sneezed and cursed. He hunched as though a bird had dive-bombed him. Holding one hand up to cover his nose, he rummaged in his pocket and took out a handkerchief.

'Guh! I can't see them coming!' he said, cleaning up his face.

'I see your problem. They haven't put out an upload yet?'

Kester glanced at his inbox. It wasn't normal for something as simple as a flu virus or cold infection to present – normally new mutations would be identified and uploads issued before the person even had a tickly throat. They would feel woozy at worst and then it would be over. This must be something different.

'No, no!' Yule was still panting a little from his journey across the room. 'It's my screen. It's stopped working. I've got the flu, for god's sake. Bog standard bastarding flu.'

'Your screen? Have the technicians at Stark Wellbury been in touch?'

'I had to contact them. They had no idea. Christ. Never felt so bloody in my whole life. Must have caught it from that damned Franklin or whatever her name was, came in on a day pass to do some marketing consultancy for us.'

'That's…irregular.'

'She comes in all the time.'

'I mean the screen.'

Kester stood up and walked to the window.

'What is it?' Yule asked.

Kester thought for a moment. This was bad. If the screen had stopped working Stark Wellbury would know all about it, which they didn't. If it hadn't stopped working then it was being blocked somehow and there was only one way Kester was aware of that this could be done. He watched the workers below, moving with insectile purpose across the face of the square, never crashing into one another, diverting from their courses only for physical objects, factoring the central fountain into their routes as if it wasn't there, working around its familiarity.

'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 whether 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.