Sequela (45 page)

Kester's mind was full of holes. That guilty feeling was back. He put a hand to his head. Why would his mother be proud of him for some drunken speech? What made her bring up his screens again? He needed to find out what he'd said. Cringing, he picked up his Book. Fortunately, some kind soul had filmed the entire thing and it was available on every site imaginable.

As Kester listened back to his speech, punctuated with gulps and drunken roars from his audience, the pieces of his guilty puzzle fell into place.

…that those bastards at Stark don't want you to have screens that work properly. They want to keep you dependent on their stupid technodge…technology. Stupid – that's right – stupid. They think they can sweep aside millions of years of evolution and there not be a comeback. Darwin would…Darwin's fucking rolling in his grave right now, poor bastard. Stupid – we're chucking it all away, all our defences and you know what? If this thing fails, if it really fails we're all fucked. All of us. And the really stupid thing is it doesn't even need to be that way. I mean come ON! You can make screens that work fine with the body. You can do it. It can be done – I've done it. That's right – yeeees! I've made them and I'm going to make sure everyone can have one. Not just you City fuckers either – everyone – EVERYONE! Everyone and their dogs too. That's right Mum, if you're out there, their dogs too…

Kester was shivering. He felt light, empty, like he might pop. He watched the grainy image of himself, standing at an angle on the bar, clutching a bottle as he went on to denounce V and Stark Wellbury's cartel and went into a long nostalgic monologue about the Golden Age of science. Enough.

The smile Gerald had given him. It was a 'what are you doing here' smile. The looks the models had been giving him, the surprised 'hello's from his lab staff, it all made sense. When Gerald had said it would 'all be over soon'…

Kester glanced over towards his apartment and saw Alexis' birthday present, a six foot by four foot elastoplast, wrapped in brown paper, still sitting waiting to be stuck on. There was no apologising for this. His eye flicked up and across the grid of model portraits that catalogued the viral presentations. There was Cherry. The look on her face was defiance, rebellion, focused anger.
Jump before you're pushed
. He picked up his Book and tapped it on the bed a few times, then called John.

With John on his way, Kester took his Book over to his bar and got started organising things. When the door buzzer went he was all set.

'It's not your fault, man,' John said, stepping through Kester's doorway and punching him on the top of the arm. His smile was hard. 'I liked your speech by the way. Thanks for the honourable mention.'

'OK, this is what I've got,' Kester said, turning his attention to the bar. Phase one of his plan. He started to name the drinks he had lined up, filling the surface, four bottles deep. 'Vodka, cider, Quicksilver, dark rum, white rum –'

'Kester, what are we doing here? Killing ourselves?'

Kester's mind flashed to the shelf at the top of the building, to his tiny body falling, labcoat wound around him, tumbled by the air, plummeting like a wounded chick. He shook his head rapidly to dispel the unpleasant thrill.

'Enjoying it while it lasts,' Kester said, watching for a reaction. 'And don't worry – we don't have to finish it all, we're just doing a tasting.'

John shrugged. Kester grabbed him by the arm and dragged him through to his desk.

'Tah dah!'

Kester surveyed the catering display. Crazed automatons – they had sent up everything he had asked for and stacked it high as instructed: roast suckling pig, beef, chicken, turkey, tongue, trotter, kebabs, soup, mousses, cake, broccoli, trifle, crackers, a vat of dhal, fresh halved coconuts, boiled potatoes, mashed potatoes, roast potatoes, a cheese board so large it looked like a scale model of a town.

'Man,' John said, his voice full of awe, and he walked slowly around the table. 'International buffet.' He dipped his finger in a silver bowl of humous and licked it clean. 'You've really lost it, man.'

Kester looked at him, forced a smile and nodded. He couldn't do this alone. It would be no fun at all.

'Let's get stuck in,' John said, finally, with a tentative laugh.

Kester whooped and ran through to the bar. He grabbed at the first bottle he saw. It was a blue liqueur he didn't recognise. He poured two shots and ran back through, crying out as it sloshed out onto his hands.

'OK!' he said. 'What goes with blue?'

Kester didn't hear the doors to his office open. The music was too loud. He didn't see them open. He was wearing a large silver cloche as a hat. He felt a sudden ringing. The lid was a bell and he was the clapper. John had bashed him on the head.

Kester lashed out with his French stick, hitting John in the stomach, and then watched as John's feet staggered about the table in front of him, demolishing whole platters of food. One of John's feet jammed in a chicken carcass. He continued stamping around a bit, coating the chicken in broken meringue and gravy, then he turned and collapsed, his face appearing on the table between Kester's feet.

'Kester!'

Kester could see that John was shouting to him. The music cut off mid-verse.

'Kester!'

'What?' Kester shouted back to the quiet room.

'Kester!' John rolled from side to side, then started to waggle his arms up and down, making a food angel in the mess of the table.

'What?' Kester laughed.

'There's someone at the door!'

'What?'

Kester jumped. He spun around, feet slipping in the food, and lifted the cloche up over his eyes. Panic drained his drunkenness for a moment and he stopped moving. Everything was silent. Kester was out of body, hovering above the tableau: himself standing in the middle of his desk in his labcoat and pants, peeking out from under his polished hat, smothered in food, a limp French loaf hanging from one hand; John lying at his feet, still flapping his arms, shunting piles of destroyed food onto the floor; the sea of opened, tasted and discarded bottles, and the slick of brown muddied drink that covered the floor around them.

Alexis was standing in the doorway with Chen at her side, beyond them, a lab full of staring eyes, open mouths, an audience of surprised sex-dolls. They all stood frozen. Kester responded in kind and stayed still, as if he might be able to stop time until he thought of a clever way out. It was all very bright, like leaving the cinema in daytime.

'Doctor Lowe,' the chirpy voice of the wardrobe assistant rang out. She was looking down at her clipboard as she drew level with the doors. 'I hope we were quick enough. We pulled out all the stops and…' her voice trailed off as she looked up.

'Saffron, thanks. Excellent work!' Kester said, standing up straight and brushing off his labcoat. 'Just leave them there would you?'

'Em, yes, sir.' The assistant smothered a giggle with her hand, tried her best to nod deferentially to Farrell and Chen, then waved at her helpers to hurry up. The racks of pre-unpicked clothes kept coming until there were eight lined up behind Farrell and Chen, at which point Saffron bowed politely and herded her helpers back to the lift.

Kester looked down behind him. John was asleep or passed out. What would John do? Brazen it out.

'I know what you're thinking.' Kester walked to the front edge of his desk. He went to remove his hat, then changed his mind and left it propped back on his forehead. Don't defer to them. Your office; your rules. 'I know what you're –'

'I doubt you do, Doctor Lowe,' Chen said.

Kester tried to read them. Chen looked astounded. She hadn't decided to believe it yet. Kester remembered his old head teacher opening the door on their unattended art class. The look on Alexis' face was changing. She might almost have been impressed, but it was a dark sort of impressed; the sort of impressed you might be as you looked over the edge of a landmark cliff before sliding a body off its lip. He waited for a moment longer. If they wanted to, they could walk away now and pretend they had never seen it. He gave them the opportunity – it was only fair.

They didn't take their chance. Kester took a deep breath and felt a sudden lightness. He wouldn't be pushed. Stick to the plan. So this hadn't technically been part of the plan, but he needed to think on his feet. He would skip to the end.

'Thank you for coming!' He held out his arms to them. 'I wanted to talk to you both. I'm not happy with the way things are going.

'Chen, you've abused your position of authority. I am not your rent boy. You've degraded me and you've degraded the whole company. I'm not sleeping with any more of your dirty little celebrities. Screw your stupid job.

'Alexis…' This was harder. He felt his drunkenness rushing back in, his shoulders rounding, his posture collapsing. 'You…you should have…' He felt his face contorting, closed his eyes and fought it. 'I gave up a good career for this. And you did what you promised – you made me a star. So…well done, I guess. But…' The rest of Kester's speech left him. He looked around the room, looked down at his hands, but the words weren't anywhere. They were lost in the mulch of food and drink. 'It's all gone to shit, Alexis!' Kester put his hands out, as if his situation had taken physical form there around them. 'Look at this mess. My friends are all going to lose their jobs, I've been
ostracised
by the entire scientific community.' He staggered a little and looked round at John. 'Except for John. My reputation is in tatters; I've embarrassed my own mother beyond all belief; I've got fucking stitches in my arse…I mean do I need to go on? This whole thing is a fucking disaster area. Alexis, I'm sorry I wasn't the perfect star you wanted. And Chen, actually I do know what you're thinking, fuck you very much. You've come here to get rid of me. Well don't worry. I'm going to save you the trouble and quit.' He slithered down off the table, strode over to where John lay and started rummaging in his pockets. 'My associate has got the letter right here.' He turned and held the crumpled piece of jam-covered paper out to Chen.

'That would seem rather rash,' Chen said.

Alexis looked at Chen. They were conversing without words. Kester couldn't figure out what they were saying. Alexis raised her eyebrows. Chen responded in kind and shrugged. Alexis cocked her head forward. Chen nodded.

'Kester – in here.' Alexis grabbed Kester by the arm and ushered him into his living quarters. Kester watched her warily as she walked over to the bar. She poured a large scotch.

'Thanks,' Kester slurred.

'This is for me, Kester, you fuckwit,' she said, bringing over a glass of water and handing it to him.

'Oh.'

Alexis looked at Kester long and hard. He struggled to look back at her. Her face was fluttering in front of his eyes like a broken film reel.

'I'm going to try and forget what I just saw,' she said, 'though it might take some doing.'

Kester swallowed. It felt like he had a knot of old boot leather in his gullet.

'And take that fucking thing off your head,' she added, without humour.

Kester had forgotten about his helmet. He reached up and lifted the cloche off his head. He held it in front of him for a moment, then realised it looked like he was clutching a bowler hat and put it down gently on the ground beside him. He could still feel its weight on the crown of his head.

'I thought about what you said.' Alexis turned away from him. 'You were right. And your stupid speech was right too. Yule's going to have your guts for garters but that's not important right now.'

Kester had no idea what was going on. He tried to stay very still. She seemed to be apologising to him, but that was ridiculous. Yes, best to stay still and keep his mouth shut.

'Chen wants to see the screens.'

Nausea. Elation. Nausea again.

'Oh fuck,' Kester stepped to one side and took hold of the bar.

'Kester, she's excited. She's livid that you'd presume to do the research in the first place and the way it came out…perhaps that's my fault…and as for whatever just happened – but forget that. She exploded, but when I told her that everything you said about the screens was true she put all that on hold. I've told her the basics but she wants to see it for herself. We need some good publicity badly, really badly and now, before the show. It may be your fault that we need it, but if you provide the solution as well as the problem this could end well for all of us.'

Kester's heart raced. She wanted to see the screens. He momentarily forgot his predicament and whooped. 'Lex, that's brilliant, but…' An image of his jam-smeared letter popped into his head.

'You know what this means, Kester?'

Kester's mind was going through a mangle. He was quitting. He was disgraced. His mother hated him. His mother was proud of him. He was a prostitute. He was a scientist. He was really, really drunk.

'Well…' Kester stopped almost before he had begun. No. He didn't know what it meant.

'Chen's gone for the deal. No more pimping.' She came towards him and curled her hands around his triceps. 'And if this doesn't mend your reputation with the scientific community…'

Kester laughed. The laugh hung in the air, a wisp of relief. Alexis smiled in return. Kester took in her poise, her angles, her eyes and the mind he saw projected through them, sure as a branding iron. She was beautiful. She could save him.

'Thank you. Thank you so much,' Kester said. He broke out of her hold and hugged her hard, held on as if it would all fall apart again if he let go.

'Kester,' she said, as he clung to her, 'you feel…heavy…just how much have you had to drink?'

He stepped back in as controlled a fashion as he could and thought about it for a second or two. Her exact question had left him already, but the
jist
of it was still within reach so he answered as best he could.

'Yes,' he said, 'but a few hours ago and I'm feeling much better now.'

'Okay…' she said slowly, walking to the coffee machine. 'I think you should get in the shower. Now.'

'I'm sorry, I was angry,' Kester said. He was a teenager who had trashed the house. 'I just needed to let loose for a few hours, that's all. The speech was a mistake.' He gave her a sheepish look that he hoped would prove endearing and removed his labcoat ineptly. He still needed to explain. Everything was muddled. 'I thought it was all over. I failed everyone. I needed to, I don't know. I thought it was all over…um…I got you a present.'

'Kester – just get in the shower.'

By the time Kester got out of the shower, the cleanup team was leaving. John was tucked up neatly in Kester's bed and Chen had gone.

'Are you ready?' Alexis asked.

Kester shook his head and picked up the coffee she had poured for him. He walked into his office and looked around. On his desk, beside a small smear of gravy that had been missed, sat his degree certificate, framed. Beside it lay his Book, a picture message from his mother sitting open – the dog sporting a pair of signed Kester Lowe knickers. Over the back of his chair hung a freshly laundered labcoat. Through the door he could just see the top of his best friend's head, tousled hair sticking out from under the duvet.

He flicked an icon on his Book and a stream of data covered the wall behind him. His torsos. They had been left to themselves. He surveyed the data, squinting against his encroaching headache and the possibility of bad news. Gradually, he admitted a smile to his lips. He took a deep breath and examined his state: legs functioning again, still drunk, but steadily sobering up. His mind felt hyperclear, his body light. Better now than with a hangover. Alexis appeared in the doorway.

'Yes,' Kester said. 'I think I'm ready.'

Alexis led the way through the lab. Kester cast out some embarrassed smiles as he passed the rows of workbenches and was repaid with friendly giggles and a couple of winks. Chen had just exited the lifts and was walking towards the isolation suites. Kester overtook Alexis and rushed to meet Chen with a hearty handshake. He ignored what had gone before, as coached by Alexis.

'Talk me through it, Doctor Lowe,' Chen said as they entered the suite. 'This had better be as good as she says it is.' Kester saw her shoot a warning glance at Alexis. 'I still have your letter.'

'It is,' Kester said as they stood in the decontamination lock. 'This is just a precaution,' he added. 'Cross-infection wouldn't really be a problem.'

They entered the suite. The torsos were laid out in two rows of five in the middle of the room, each in a transparent life-support box. Kester walked over to the work bench at the side of the room and called up a large display on the wall above it. It was divided into eleven sections – two rows of five boxes across the top, one monitoring each torso, and a main summary below.

'Meet the Baldwins.' Kester waved a hand across the torsos. 'They've been wearing my new screen for more than two months now and none of them have shown any signs of damage from infection. If you tap the log icon at the bottom of the screen you can see the viruses I've tested with. I've done airborne, blood borne, water borne; I've done mucal membrane infection, wound infection, ingestion, you name it.' As he spoke, Chen walked round the boxes, regarding each of the torsos, as if she could somehow judge the screens' effectiveness by simply looking at them. 'And now we're onto new viruses.'