The Raft: A Novel (42 page)

“Shen?” I say.

He turns to me. There is fear in his eyes.

“What’s going on? What are you doing here?”

Shen says nothing. He turns back to the window.

“I don’t know what to do,” Shen says.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s coming. I tried to block my mind,” Shen says. “I tried to not let him in, not let him find us. I couldn’t. He’s too powerful now. He knows where I am. He’s walking down the road.”

He is talking about Quon. I look out the window. I know Quon is not there but I stare at the landscape anyway. There is nothing out there but slow moving clouds. The flowers on the arch are flapping in the wind. A set of bells jingles. Everything looks normal.

“Why is he coming?” I ask.

“You know why he’s coming,” he says.

He is right. I do, but I do not want to think about it.

“How long will it be until he gets here?”

“He’ll be here by tonight,” Shen says. “He’s walking down the highway.”

Mother enters the room.

“Is everything all right?” she asks.

I turn and force a smile. “Fine, my love,” I lie. “Everything is fine.”

“Okay,” she says. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”

She leaves. I am glad she has left. I do not like lying to her, but I have no choice. It would not help to scare her.

“When he comes,” Shen says, “I want you to take Mother and the children to the back room. I want you to lock it. Don’t open the door for any reason. Do you understand? Not for anything, no matter what you hear.”

I put my hand on his shoulder.

“I compute,” I say, and he smiles. “What about you?”

Shen sighs and gets up to draw the curtains.

“Just promise me,” he says. “Promise you’ll do as I say.”

I promise.

Fast-forward

Stop

Play

I have no appetite. I look at my family sitting around the table. Wife is eating her food as carefully as she always does. My children fight over the parts of the meal they like and those they dislike. Shen sits at the other end. He has not eaten anything. He is pushing his food around with his fork, daydreaming into the plate.

“Shen,” Wife says. “You should try to get something down. Even a little.”

Shen looks up at her and smiles.

“You’re right,” he replies. He spears a potato and puts it in his mouth. He pretends to enjoy it, for the family’s sake. He is a good man. I want to help him but I feel powerless. I hope he knows how much we care about him.

His pretence helps me to eat my own meal. It is a cut of beef, some rice and baby potatoes in garlic butter. My wife is a good cook. She takes good care of us all. Tonight, I fear for her. I fear for us all. I am trying to remember when last I told her I loved her. Whenever it was, it was too long ago.

“I love you, my darling,” I say to her. She looks surprised. My words have come out of nowhere.

“I love you too. Now eat up. I have made dessert.”

I feel better. Everything will be all right. Tomorrow will come, and everything will be all right.

Shen jerks up in his chair. His eyes are wide. Fear floods through me. The rest of the family are as startled by his action as I am. He looks at the front door and then he looks at me.

I know what this means.

I do not want to know, but I do.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“He’s here,” Shen says. He signals to me and I get up from my chair.

“What is going on?” Wife says. She is rightfully alarmed. “Who is that?”

“Come on. Everyone, leave the table. Come with me,” I say. The family does not respond immediately. My children look scared. I raise the volume of my voice. I make it as hard as I can. “Everyone! Come with me.” Still my family looks at me.

“Go!” Shen yells and finally they spring up. Wife’s chair crashes to the floor behind her.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I wave my arms, ushering them out of the dining room. I turn to glance at Shen. He looks back at me, and then I hurry towards the rear end of the house. I enter the back room with my family and close the door behind us. I put my finger to my lips. My wife and children are sitting on the floor. She is holding the two of them in her arms. They are confused. They are very frightened.

I look through the small window in the centre of the door. Shen approaches the front door of the house. He waits in front of the door for a moment, composing himself.

He slowly opens the door.

Quon is standing outside. I cannot see him properly. It is too dark.

“Hello Shen.”

“Hello Quon.”

There is a pause.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Quon says. Shen is silent. He steps away from the door. Quon enters. He is a tall man. He’s wearing a long black coat, black boots, a black hat and black leather gloves. Shen closes the door behind him.

Quon stands near the door and looks around. “So this is where the esteemed captain now lives,” he says. “It’s quaint.”

Shen walks past him and goes to the coffee station in the corner of our small sitting room. “So you’re a murderer now, are you?” he says.

I begin to feel an increased amount of fear.

“Don’t be so sensitive.” Quon pulls off each of his leather gloves slowly. “Death’s overrated. We’ve all done it.” He steps slowly towards Shen. His black boots clap on the wooden floor. “They’ve probably all woken up in Chang’e 11. On their way to somewhere better. Some place better than
this
hole.”

“You know they haven’t gone anywhere. They’re dead. And you killed them.”

“Are you making coffee? I’d love a coffee.”

“So you’ve come to take me too. I’m surprised you haven’t sent one of your ‘subjects’ to kill me for you. It would have saved you the walk.”

“Hm. I still like doing some of the dirty work myself. It keeps me humble.”

“It keeps you interested. Because you’re bored.”

Quon walks slowly around the room. He looks at pictures of our family hanging on the walls.

“This is your family now,” Quon says. “Shen, you outdid yourself. They look very loving. Fine craftsmanship, old friend. Oh! Are they here? They’re here, aren’t they?” He looks in our direction. “You have a lovely home!” he shouts.

“We
were
friends, Quon. Do you remember that?” Shen says.

“Friends,
” Quon says. He is grinning. “Grow up, Shen. There’s no such thing. We used each other because we were insecure and powerless. That’s all. That’s all a friendship is—prostitution. But yes, you’re right. We have gone our separate ways, haven’t we? We could have gone the
same
way, but then you’d be my competition, and I’d be here anyway. How’s that coffee coming?”

Shen switches on the kettle and turns over two cups sitting on a silver tray. He looks calm. I wonder if he has a plan. I hope he has a plan.

“Sugar?” Shen says.

“One,” Quon says.

“Milk?”

“Black.”

They say nothing for almost a minute. I look back at my family. They look as afraid as they looked five minutes ago. I turn back to the small window in the door.

Shen gives a cup to Quon.

Quon takes it and sips. “Mind if I …?” he says, pointing to the couch.

Shen says and does nothing. Quon sits down. He puts one hand over the back of the couch and crosses his legs. He sips his coffee again.

“But they weren’t your only little project, were they, old chap?” Quon says. “I know what you’ve been doing, Shen. And frankly, I disapprove. Taking memories from me and trying to give them back to the good folk of earth. You’re making a real mess of it too, aren’t you? Memories all over the place. Seriously. What were you hoping to accomplish with all that? We’ve got people thinking they’re all kinds of other people! It’s quite hilarious to watch, actually.”

Quon drinks his coffee. “You know what I’ve learned,” he says. “People are so well-acquainted with suffering they build nests in it. They eat their suffering like food. They drink it. They breathe it. And they wouldn’t have the slightest idea of what to do with Utopia. Does that sound like a bunch who deserve such a thing?

“I’ve seen their minds. I’ve swum through their dreams and their fears and their self-sabotaging desires. There’s nothing there worth fighting for, believe me. They’re egotistical enough to think natural selection is unfair. Humans intrinsically believe life is cruel. Every wreck wants a chance to stick around longer than he’s meant to—clog the world with his ineptitude. So why should life pander to a breed that cannot get it into their heads that the strong
need
to survive and the weak
need
to perish? I’ve seen their selfish little plans for a better world. I mean, this is a bunch who think you can cure famine by feeding people! It’s absurd. You cure famine by letting them starve to death. It’s basic maths. Something you’ve never been particularly exceptional at, have you, Shen? More of a handyman, really. A hired wrench.”

“It’s funny you should talk about selfish plans,” Shen says.

“Oh, I didn’t say I wasn’t selfish! That would be a lie. I’m just your average man. Regular Joe with a few inside tips. But if those are the rules—and it’s seems they’ve always been the rules—I’m just saying it’s hypocritical to make such a fuss.”

“They’ll figure you out. You can’t sustain it.” Shen pauses and adds, “Mathematically. The numbers don’t add up.”

“They don’t, do they? You’re right. I’ve got all these … people under my control, I know everything there is to know, and there’s still something missing. Something
not quite …
right. Hm. Well, maybe that’s why I’m here. Why I made this trek into the nowhere to find you. Because
you’re
the piece, Shen. You’re that thing I’m missing. Maybe
you
can help an old friend out.”

Quon puts his cup down on the table beside his couch. He stands up. Shen doesn’t move. “I should have been the captain of Chang’e 11,
Captain.
That’s why you were the last to come out of the simulation. You were the weakest. Didn’t have the guts to take your life. Or maybe it’s because you’ve always been so self-righteous.”

Shen smiles slightly. “Well, that’s at least encouraging,” he says.

“What?”

“That you still have no idea what I’m thinking.”

Quon guffaws.

Shen grins and says, “You know what’s even funnier?”

“Oh, go on.”

“That you’ll
never
know what I know, Quon. Even if you kill me.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I’m erasing my memories … as we speak.”

Quon whips a hand inside his pocket, pulls out a knife, and stabs Shen in the chest. He holds the knife in the chest and twists the blade. Shen gasps.

A powerful surge of energy passes through my brain. My mind floods with new memories. Shen’s memories. His entire life fills me up. I see him when he was a boy. I see him marrying his wife. I see the interior of Chang’e 11. I see his plan. I see everything.

I lose my balance and stumble backwards from the door. I panic. I struggle to control my thoughts. My wife and children scream.

I hear Quon’s boots clapping on the floor. He is walking around the room. I do not hear Shen. I want to run out. I should try to save him. I should do something. My wife is holding me in her arms. She is holding me down so that I do not go out there.

Quon’s voice: “Thank you so much for having me! I’d better be on my way! Sorry about the mess! And if you’re ever in the area, please, stop by!”

The boots clap again. He is moving away. I hear the front door of the house open and then the door shuts. The house is silent. All I can see is my wife and children. They are sobbing. Shen is dead. I struggle to believe, but I know it. I have his memories but there are no more. His memories ended with the twist of that knife.

Shen is dead.

Stop

A ride

T
here was another white flash of light and I was back in the conservatory. The metal hand on my head unclamped. I looked down at my hands. They were shaking. Gideon was hunched in front of me. The robot father was still in his armchair.

“Mr. Kayle,” Gideon asked. “Are you all right?”

I put a hand on my forehead to quell the images still spinning in my mind.

“Have some more tea, Kayle,” Father said. “It will soothe you. I’m terribly sorry. Really. I know that wasn’t easy. I know from my own experience. It is a tragic memory. One I have had to keep all this time, just for you.”

I stood up and felt the blood rush to my head. Gideon urged me to sit back down, and I did.

“So you see,” Father said. “You see now.”

“What did you see, Mr. Kayle?”

I had no way of explaining it to Gideon. I struggled to find the words. He handed me the cup of tea, I gulped it back, and then he took it and returned it to the table.

“Quon is a dangerous man. Dangerous and very, very powerful,” Father said. “I know this because Shen told me, but I also know this because, before he was killed, he uploaded his memories to me. Everything he had in the deepest recesses of his mind. I have been keeping them safe. Quon doesn’t know I have them, and because I am not human, hasn’t thought to take them from me.”

I finally regained myself. As soon I did, I began to rummage through everything else I remembered. The Blue Caribou. The commune. The New Past. Moneta and Jai-Li and Anubis.

“The New Past,” I said. “The Bodies that control the communes—they’re all being controlled by Quon.”

“I imagine so.”

It made sense. Until then, I had always been suspicious of the speed and efficiency with which the New Past had orchestrated their regime. Within months of Day Zero, there had been groups all over the world, collecting people and separating them from each other.

“Quon separated us from each other to prevent us from rising up,” I said.

“Correct.”

I thought about those nights of interrogation. The plugs on our heads, the rumbling grey machine that formed its reports, the Age of Self scripts we’d been forced to learn.

“But I don’t understand. In the communes, we were told our separation would initiate The Renascence. The Age of Self scripts were instructions for us to acquire collective consciousness … but they were really doing the opposite. They were
preventing
us.”