Sequela (37 page)

'What a gentleman,' Dee said, sliding onto the low stool opposite Cherry. 'You've bought me a drink.'

Cherry slid the second glass of port across to Dee and watched as she removed her coat, shrugging it off her shoulders so it fell inside out onto the back of the chair.

'Drinking alone at this time of day is not to my taste,' Cherry said and raised her glass. 'Besides, we are celebrating are we not?'

'Celebrating what?'

'The success of phase one.'

'Success? You call that success?'

'You've got the first half of your funding and neither of us have been caught – I call that success. Whether the Church's stupid plan works is neither here nor there to me.' It felt untrue to her. It was untrue.

'To you…' Dee said, then stopped. 'Let's get the rest of this out of the way. The stuff is in the box, like before. Just one this time though, as per the new instructions. And this one is for infecting the people at V, right?'

'Right. What can you tell me about this one? How does it work when the person's wearing it?'

'Wearing isn't really the right term in this case. It's the nature of this particular virus – it has no real visible symptoms, aside from the possibility of moderate weeping of the tear ducts. Standard Mexodrol eyedrops will control that.'

'Moderate weeping of the tear ducts?'

'That's how Kester described it in the literature.'

'Runny eyes?'

'Yes.'

'OK, runny eyes. But what would it do to the people who got it, this virus?'

'Technically this isn't a virus. It's based on an obligate intracellular parasite. It's paired with a specially designed virus which controls and then eliminates the parasite once its job is done so that it can't be passed on.'

'Blah blah blah, when its job is done. What is its job?'

'It makes women infertile.'

'What?'

'It makes women infertile.' Dee held her hands out a little.

'But…' No wonder Blotch had been cagey about this part. 'He seriously expects me to infect myself with this thing?'

'Oh.' Dee sat back a little. 'You're the conduit.'

Cherry stared at Dee. She wasn't sure what else to say. A smile played on Dee's lips and Cherry realised she was being toyed with.

'No problem. I've included a direct-acting version of the control virus. Once you've infected enough people but before you are
sterilised
you administer the virus – cheerio bacterium – and it'll be as if you never had it. That's how it's designed to work, although obviously the control virus normally performs its deletion once the damage is done – it's a population control device, biological spaying. Of course it's designed to be used by people who know they are using it and self-quarantine at a private clinic, or those who are state quarantined. Used a lot in China. There are instructions included, in English.'

'But won't it show up on everyone's screens as an unidentified infection? They'd spot it straight away.'

'No. It's a controlled substance – it's already on the Stark database and flagged as an approved medical therapeutic. The screens will think they are supposed to ignore it – they don't know the infected people aren't in quarantine. Wear it for less than a week and you should be safe.'

'Right, that's…That's OK for me, I guess.'

'Yes.' Dee took a sip of her port, put it down, and then lifted it for another sip. Still staring into her glass she asked, 'You're infecting the models presumably, for the next show?'

'Yes.' Cherry's nerves were fizzing. She felt as if the box could infect her from where it sat on the floor between them, as if the infection were crawling up her inside leg like a line of ants.

'And Kester?'

'What?' Cherry's attention was shredded.

'You'll infect Kester? And that bitch, Farrell?'

'I don't know,' Cherry said, taken aback by the sudden venom in Dee's voice. 'He…the two of them spent some time with the models before the last show, I know that much, but they're pretty busy…and it's not in the brief – Blotch's targets are the VIPs.' This didn't feel right. 'Won't they trace it back to me?'

'No. Not with the amount of shagging that goes on in that place. By the time they realise it's out there, so many people will have it that it could have come from anywhere. And by that point you'll be clean. Getting cold feet?'

'No.'

'Your fabulous new life depends on it right?'

Dee looked like a doll from a horror movie, dead-eyed and painted. Cherry looked down at the table. She could feel Dee's presence growing, as if she were standing up in front of her, shadow stretching across the ceiling of the archway.

'My funding depends on it too,' Dee said, 'so you'd better not get jittery.'

Cherry wasn't used to being faced down. She forced herself to look up to make eye-contact, but Dee had already turned away.

-o-

Dee walked away from the table. Kester Lowe. The walls seemed to bulge as she walked through the bar, the room fishbowling as if she was seeing everything through a spyhole. The dark wood should buckle, bending like that, the whole place splinter around her. She
swiftened
her pace, heading for the staircase that led up to ground level. Doctor Kester Lowe.

Outside, the sky was clear and the air warm. She tried to let it in, let it wash him out of her, wash out the darkness. The sun was already low on the horizon, but its heat was everywhere, leeching from tarmac, bricks, paving slabs. In the City the air would already be cold. The sun wouldn't have lain on the surfaces for long enough to leave any of itself behind. Dee walked with purpose. Her apartment was south of the river, a forty-minute walk from the bar near the Strand. She felt as if there was a thick layer of silicone between her feet and the pavement, as if she were walking slightly raised, trailing behind, above herself, as if she might detach at any minute, be left hanging like a puff of smoke above the pavement as her body walked on without her.

'Kester.'

The name jumped out at her from a passing conversation, shocked her. Two giggling students. She stared at them as they disappeared behind her into the crowded slope of Villiers Street. She took a few deep breaths, blowing out deliberately each time, and felt calmer again as she mounted the steps to the Hungerford Bridge. As she walked across the bridge she tried to clear her mind, letting the early evening scene lift her – the lights of London bringing the skyline to life, picking out landmarks and lighting the river in carnival
colours
.

Her gaze alighted on the bright images flitting across the walls of the Royal Festival Hall. As she walked closer, they slowly came into focus. A band playing, models striding, Farrell, Kester. They were playing footage of the fashion show right across the walls of the building. How could he get away with it? She looked down, swallowing hard, and walked on as if there were a mugger at her back.

Crossing under the arch of the bridges on the other side, she was faced with him again, in billboard form. She moved close to the river and walked on, keeping her eyes on the slow-moving water all the way along the embankment to Vauxhall. It didn't work. He was there too. He should have been destroyed. Why wasn't he in pieces? She could be saying it to him right now –
I told you so Kester
. This ludicrous fame should be his undoing. He should be crawling back to her, ready to finish what they'd started. Worse still, she wasn't the only one who could see through his fraudulent claim to being a hero. The Real Church saw it too and that infuriated her further. They had the perfect opportunity to attack Kester and Farrell personally and they were going to pass it up. He was going to escape again.

She crossed the road and ducked through the back street to Pleasure Garden Mews. It wasn't a real mews. They had hardly finished building the neat low complex of houses when they started building flats on top. She took the lift.

Back in her apartment, Dee took out her Book, flicked on her messages and went straight to the kettle. She did everything with artificial calm, with detached precision. Everything was normal. Yes, everything was fine. Someone should make him pay. Kester's nickname for the second virus popped into her head: Ladies' Choice.

'Hello, dear, it's just me.' Kester's mum's voice came through the house, high and concerned. 'Just wanted to see how you were.' She was a saccharine cartoon bird, cocking its head. Dee folded her arms for a second to stop her hands from shaking, then finished filling the kettle and strode quickly through the flat. 'And I wanted to talk to you about Kester and this Alexis girl – find out what she's like.' Dee picked up pace. 'You know boys – you can't get anything out of them. I wish you two would see each other a bit more, dear.' She hit the delete icon on the wall with her fist. 'He does miss you so.' She slapped it with her palm. It stopped.

Dee sat down in the middle of her couch and put her hands to her mouth.

'You must just love your job, sir,' Gerald said, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking forward onto the balls of his feet.

 Gerald seemed impressed with the competition results. Either that or he was keen to meet the new models. The pictures were compelling.

'I get to choose six from this shortlist?' Kester asked.

'Yes,' Gerald said. 'And they'll wear the headline virus along with a couple of our existing models.'

'Right. And who chose the shortlist?'

'Chen, Gaunt and Yule. I sat in on their deliberations to make sure they kept the balance right.'

'Not Farrell?'

'I think there was a feeling that Farrell may have a conflict of interests, if you know what I mean, sir.'

'And you're here to make sure I don't cause an imbalance in the final line-up I guess?'

'Something like that.'

Kester had the full length photos spread out on his desk before him. There were 18 on the shortlist, nine men and nine women.

'It feels wrong, Gerald, judging people solely on their looks.' Kester cast his eyes across the photos once again. 'I mean on first impressions – I don't like his or her face or whatever.'

'Only way to do it though. These people have put themselves forward to be judged in that capacity, so what are you going to do?'

'But they're all so much better looking than normal. It's hard to choose.'

'OK. This is why I'm here. We need a decision pronto. Let's split it down to make it easier. We need even numbers of male and female models, so you get to choose three out of nine for each sex. Not so hard. Plus, we only have three of each sex who come from outside London and Chen wants at least three overall to go through, so that narrows it down too.'

'Right.' Kester watched as Gerald shuffled the pack of pouts, rearranging the photos into their groupings – male, female and extra-London. He focused on the smallest group first. The extra-Londons. 'You know next time we should get this made into a show and have the public choose.'

'We would have done it this time, sir, if we'd had time.'

'You're calling me "sir" again, Gerald. OK – get rid of spreadeagle and fake-titty lady. Is this one a man or a woman?'

Gerald slid the two rejects from the table and picked up his notes.

'Man.'

Kester made a small surprised noise and continued to stare at the four remaining pictures in the group.

Forty-five minutes later, Kester had only two male models to eliminate.

'I just don't know, Gerald. It feels weird choosing one guy over another.'

'Can I help you with that?' Alexis said as the door slid shut behind her. 'I want to make sure there's something in there that takes my fancy too.'

'I'll leave you two to it,' Gerald said. 'Excuse me.'

'Keep this one.' Alexis pointed to a young Chinese man. 'And definitely this one.'

'Mrs Farrell,' Kester said with a cautious grin, 'we aren't choosing for ourselves but for our clients. I'm looking with the eyes of a sex-crazed celebrity, not with my own.'

Farrell laughed and pulled Kester's chair out from the desk, sitting down on his knee. Her flesh was only two thin layers of fabric away.

'I'm bored of this. Get rid of two of those men for me, will you?' Kester nodded at the photos.

'And what's in it for me?'

Alexis stood up in front of him and leaned over the photos in an exaggerated pose. The fabric of her trousers stretched tight over her buttocks, inches from Kester's face.

'I was thinking,' Kester said as he stood up and bent over her, placing a hand on top of each of hers on the desk, 'we should go to the PlayPen and break the rules.'

'Well, it might be tough choosing between the rest of these models. Perhaps I could take some of these delicious images with me.'

Kester looked down at the table over her shoulder. He saw her point. Eight pairs of beautiful eyes fixed on him like searchlights as he slipped a hand round and down the glide of her hip.

The buzzer on Kester's desk went and he growled.

'It's Gerald, sir. I have a message from Byron Gaunt saying he's sent over your "pimping rota" – said you'd know what that meant – along with an update on the pre-show auction clients.'

'Thanks, Gerald.'

Pimping rota. He tensed. Alexis slid out from underneath his arms and walked to the window. He followed her with his eyes. Had they been calling it that? Joking about it? He could feel his form filling up with repressed energy, his body tightening. By the time Alexis spoke he was buzzing with rage.

'Kester –'

'No, Alexis,' Kester said. He spoke as if to a dog, surprising himself.

'No?' Alexis' head snapped round. Her face was hard. 'Gaunt's just goading us.'

'Goading us.' Kester's voice sounded unfamiliar to him, shaky, as if his throat were constricted. He sat silent for a long time.

'Kester…'   

'I won't do it.'

'Won't do what?'

'I won't be Chen's whore.'

Kester's anger was many-edged, directed not just at Alexis, but at everything in the room, the building, himself. Kester suppressed a snarl. He had thought she didn't like the idea of the "pimping rota" any more than he did, but they had been joking about it behind his back. And she had set up all the appointments, the auction, everything – hadn't had any problems with that.

'It's just for one week. Then we'll talk to the Board. They won't pull this stunt again.'

'Won't they?'

Alexis turned back to the window and folded her arms. Perhaps it did bother her. She hadn't dismissed his question as she normally would have.

'How can we stop them?' If he didn't push her, this would be the end of it. 'You've met Chen, right?'

Alexis rocked her body from side to side a little. She was struggling with something. Eventually she turned back to him.

'We'll make it worth their while not to.'

Kester sighed. This was the start. She was going to talk him round again. He would leave the room quite happy and wouldn't realise what had happened until he was servicing some honking millionaire.

'Your screen is ready for in vivo testing. It works, doesn't it? It's going to work.'

'What?' For a second Kester failed to see the connection. 'Are you serious?' He
scrutinised
her face. She couldn't joke with him about this.

'That's your bargaining chip. Take it to the Board. Chen's got the brains and the balls to take it on. I didn't want to suggest taking it to her before the first show because, to be honest, I didn't want it eclipsing my big moment – your big moment. But now…perhaps it's the right time.'

'And Stark?' Kester checked himself – why was he the one objecting?

'Come on, Kester, screw Stark. The drugs we make here are only under
licence
until the end of March, then what happens? Stark Wellbury keeps its half of the pie and everyone else rushes in to take a bite of ours. And once it's properly proven that the long-term users' immune systems are shot and they don't even need the drugs any more the market's going to shrink even further. We'll be screwed. Chen not only needs this, she's been actively searching for it – for something this big. The viruses are big, but they're not big enough to fill the hole left by the drugs.'

'But what about Farmer? The ethics department? Farmer's a shareholder at Stark Wellbury isn't he? And he sits on the London Board of Health. We'll never get a licence to produce the things.'

'So what was the point in developing them, Kester? Did you think you'd magically get a licence on your own, make your fortune?'

'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.