The Future We Left Behind (13 page)

‘I was going to tell you,’ I said, pathetically.

‘There’s nothing to tell,’ my father responded. ‘Today
is going to be … very interesting indeed. Run around, play detective, find out the truth for yourself,’ he broke off and finally looked up from his screen. ‘See if it makes any difference at all.’ And he grinned. ‘I left something for you on the table by the front door,’ he said. ‘A present for you and Alpha.’

Then he looked back at his screen.

It was hard to know whether he was finished or not, but the seconds passed slowly and he didn’t say anything else so I let myself out.

On the table by the door was the ‘present’: a small anthracite-black case with a gold hinge. I tried to open it but my hands were shaking, and to be honest I just wanted to get away from there, so I put it in my pocket and walked out.

Did my father know everything?

I felt sick and my stomach was knotted into leaden coils. Had he been reading my LinkDiary? Even though it was encrypted?

It was the only explanation I could find for the things he seemed to know.

The thought that he had broken into my LinkDiary made
me angry, but also something else.

Confused
.

If he did know everything, if he knew what I was doing and where I was going, then why hadn’t he told me off, grounded me, or tried to stop me?

I’d lived in such a state of anxiety about him finding out that I had enrolled on the English Literature course, and he had hardly given it a moment’s thought.

He
definitely
knew about Alpha, though – which should have sent him into an incandescent rage.

But he had been calm;
resigned
almost.

Or worse, he hadn’t cared.

That worried me more than anything else: his complete indifference.

An Interview with David Vincent

Q. So, you are perhaps one of the best-known scientists in the world. Certainly the most high-profile. How does that feel?

A
. Feel? Great, I suppose. It’s odd, because history is littered with far greater scientists than me, but I’m who people immediately think of when asked to name one. And it’s flattering, but humbling too.

And in all likelihood utterly undeserved.

Q. The man who saved the world from the bee crisis? Undeserving?

A
. Well, that’s what I mean, really. The bee crisis was a high-profile thing, and everyone was aware of it, so it was inevitable that it would be seen as a defining moment for
me, but it was nowhere near as important as figuring out gravity, or DNA, or the laws of thermodynamics. I guess what I did was just a bit flashier.

Q. It was certainly that. (
Laughs
.
)
Anyway, you are a – how shall I put this – an outspoken opponent of Strakerite doctrine, and especially its place within our schools. What are the problems that you see in Upgradist thinking?

A
. Ah, straight in with a big one.

Well, the problems are simple. You see, Strakerism is built upon an unprovable premise: that we owe our minds, our ideas, even our physical characteristics, to alien creatures; programmers from outer space; gods in all but name.

But it’s nothing more than superstition. And superstition is the enemy of scientific progress, of reason. Science is based on the provable, the measurable and the repeatable. Superstition, on the other hand, requires no tests, no measurements, no proof: just faith.

It is a viewpoint that explains human existence by using a lie. A primitive, childish lie. Humanity got to be the way it
is through many millions of years of the greatest scientific project this planet has ever seen: evolution.

To deny the truth of evolution by natural selection is to deny the very truth of ourselves, and that is incredibly dangerous.

Q. Right, evolution. Strakerites suggest that it’s a theory that stops covering humankind hundreds of thousands of years ago, and that filament networking, the Link and other such things seemed to occur very recently and cannot be explained by evolution. How do you reply to these suggestions?

A
. How does anyone reply to statements that are so wrong? The Strakerites have built themselves a ‘case’ on the flimsiest foundations, always demanding that we show them where ‘x’ came from, or when ‘y’ arrived as a human characteristic, without stopping to think that the alternative they suggest is, frankly, absurd. We have evidence of evolution. We have evidence that the human animal has, for millions of years, adapted to challenges that were flung its way by this planet of ours, and every time our genes have risen to the challenge.

Where, I ask them, is the evidence for these so-called alien programmers? I mean, a single, tiny shred of evidence would do for starters, wouldn’t it? The problem is that incredible claims require incredible evidence, and without that evidence the Strakerite house of cards just falls down.

Why do we, as a race, constantly seek ridiculous answers to simple questions? Why would we rather believe in people from the sky? In gods and ghosts and monsters?

It makes me sad that we have come so far, that we understand so much, but would still rather put our faith in alien programmers than believe the evidence we see around us every day. Strakerites have a habit of ignoring that evidence. And that is why their doctrine CANNOT be taught in schools.

File:
113/47/04/sfg/Continued

Source:
LinkData\LinkDiary\Peter_Vincent\Personal

Alpha was waiting for me at what I was starting to think of as our spot.

I mean how crazy is that? We’d met there once and I was already attaching sentiment to the place.

Anyway, she looked desperately glad to see me and we had an awkward sort of hug; and then I told her about my father and handed her the black case.

She frowned at it.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

I shrugged. ‘Beats me.’

She thumbed the case open and we both stared at
what was inside.

Four small, glass discs laid out on a dark cloth.

Alpha looked puzzled. ‘What on Earth are they?’ she asked.

I’d seen something like them before in a science lesson. We’d been talking about medical advances, and how we no longer needed some of the things that had been important to people in the past.

The lecturer had handed around a set of small glass discs and asked everyone what they thought they were.

No one had known.

Inside the box my father had given me were two pairs of those same glass discs.

‘People used to put these on their eyes,’ I told her. ‘They were used to correct defects in sight, before we learned that our filaments were perfectly capable of adjusting our vision. They were called
contact lenses
.’

A memory surfaced, and I replayed the odd moment in the car when my father looked over at me and his eyes had changed from blue to brown.

Here was the explanation.

He’d been wearing contact lenses.

Just like these.

Alpha looked at me in confusion. ‘What an odd gift,’ she said. ‘My vision is perfect. Yours?’

‘As good as it’s ever needed to be,’ I said. ‘They must be fashion accessories. He’s started wearing them, to change the colour of his eyes, but I wonder why he gave them to us.’

‘I wonder how he
knew
there was an us,’ Alpha reflected. She snapped the case shut and handed it back to me. ‘I’ve hardly slept. But I had a few thoughts on some people we can speak to. If you still want to?’

‘Of course I do. I’ve had a few ideas of my own.’

‘A couple of soys while we compare notes?’ Alpha asked, smiling. ‘My treat.’

‘You’re on,’ I said, pocketing the case that my father had given me.

‘I know a place,’ Alpha said, ‘close to here, but a little off the beaten track.’

‘Let’s go,’ I told her.

A few hundred yards and a couple of side streets later we were standing in front of a gloomy looking little building
on a street of gloomy looking buildings. Weirdly, I’d never ventured off the main beltways and slidewalks, so I had only ever seen the shops and buildings that advertised the new world we were living in: the ones with neon and poured granite; plasteel and plexiglass.

Far from the usual hi-tech, sparkling shops I was used to seeing, these ones looked like they belonged in the pages of a history book. They seemed to have been built of original materials that I had only ever read about.

Concrete and brick.

And the weirdest thing? They were three storeys high.

Not twenty or thirty like the buildings that hemmed this strange little street in on all sides.

In a place where living space was at a premium, where the only way to find new real estate was by building upwards, it seemed inconceivable that this place hadn’t been demolished for more space-effective developments.

It was like stepping into another time period.

‘Welcome to
my
world,’ Alpha said, indicating the row of shops with an expansive sweep of the hand. She must have seen the look on my face because she followed it
with: ‘Not quite what you’re used to, Peter?’

‘I didn’t know there were streets like this left in New Cambridge,’ I confessed.

‘People choose not to see them,’ Alpha said. ‘Some Strakerites even believe that these are the kind of places that Kyle talks about on the tapes – places that have become irrelevant to the upgraded masses.’

I raised an eyebrow.

‘You’ve got to admit,’ she said, ‘they really shouldn’t be here.’

She smiled and pointed to a door handle.

‘So how about this soy, then?’ she asked.

The door opened and there was an odd, metallic tinkling sound. I looked up and saw there was a small metal bell at the top of the door, triggered to ring when it was opened.

‘A Straker-themed place?’ I asked with a laugh, remembering the bell in the Happy Shopper in Millgrove, and how Kyle Straker had thought it out-dated and old-fashioned even then.

Alpha smiled, but it was a bit thin. I guess I was kind of attacking her beliefs by making light of them.

The café we walked into could have been a museum exhibit. My shoes squeaked on boards underfoot, and looking around at the furniture I realised that we were surrounded by wood.

We have a few window frames made out of wood at home, and I know that my father paid a whole lot of money to acquire them, and called in a favour or two to get the necessary permits. To him, I’m sure, wood is nothing more than a status symbol, something to flaunt his wealth and power.

Here, in this weird café on a street that shouldn’t even exist, people sat on chairs and stools made entirely of the stuff; they put plates and cups and cutlery
directly
on to the surfaces of wooden tables. They even walked on wood as they moved about the room.

There was a literal
fortune
in the stuff; but here it wasn’t displayed for people to admire as a luxury item or status symbol, but rather was a practical material to be used and enjoyed.

I couldn’t believe it.

Alpha waited patiently by my side for me to take it all in.

‘What do you think?’ she asked.

‘It’s … incredible,’ I said quietly.

She nodded. ‘Incredible will do,’ she said and marched up to the counter. I followed along in her wake, feeling out of place and out of my depth.

I’d spent my whole life thinking that the world was one way, and then in the space of a day or two I’d discovered that maybe I was wrong. I’d spent too much time believing the words of others, and not enough time opening my eyes and just looking at what was really around me.

It made me feel … well, kind of an ass, if I’m honest.

It was no real surprise that the man behind the counter seemed to know Alpha pretty well. He smiled a big, warm smile and knew exactly what she wanted before she had to order. Alpha held up two fingers and the man nodded, turned his attention to me and raised an eyebrow before looking back at Alpha. She nodded, he shrugged and then he went out the back, returning after a few moments with two glasses of pinkish liquid.

Glasses.

As in ‘made of glass’.

Not plastic, or paper, or some new polymer that all this year’s must-have items were made of.

Glass.

Alpha tried to flash him some cash, but the man shook his head.

‘You brighten the place up,’ he said. ‘That’s payment enough.’

Alpha thanked him and we found ourselves a table in the corner of the room.

The place was small and very busy, but it was a friendlier sort of busy than I’m used to. The air was full of fruity smells mixed with polish and antiquity. There were no tense faces or grudging expressions from people who didn’t want to be pressed in so close to other people.

And no one seemed lost in their own Link activity.

I liked it immediately.

I sipped my drink and was startled to discover that it was probably one of the most delicious things I had ever tasted. Not like a normal soy at all. Sweet, but with a surprising natural sharpness.

‘It’s made with
real
raspberries,’ Alpha explained. ‘Not the
mass-produced GM things that get passed off as raspberries these days, but the real thing. Grown just like they were in the olden days.

‘What is this place?’ I asked her. ‘I mean, what … how …?’

I was full of questions, but Alpha didn’t seem to mind. She sipped her raspberry drink and then started talking.

‘Most people would be as shocked as you are to find out places like this exist,’ she said. ‘To them Strakerites are nothing more than superstitious fools. But whatever you might have heard, Strakerites have a simple belief that underpins everything we do: that this world we live in is not the one that we are supposed to occupy; that every time humanity is upgraded it loses something … 
vital
 … in the process.’

She gestured around her.