The System (11 page)

But it hadn’t happened. Every so often someone was found asleep under a bench; every so often the old and confused wandered in with no barrier to stop them. But mostly things stayed pretty much the same. Same people, same activity. And it was about the only place she was sure she could get into.

‘Bad idea. Very bad idea. Turn left here, then right, straight away. It’s a small road with no cameras. Run down to the bottom and there’s a tiny alleyway on your left. Turn onto it.’

Resentfully, Frankie read the message in front of her eyes.

‘Why should I listen to you?’ she asked. ‘Assuming you’re who I think you are, you’re the reason this is happening to me.’

‘I’m not the reason. Infotec is the reason. I’m trying to help you. So please, turn left.’

Frankie hesitated, then, hearing footsteps behind her, she did as the stranger told her, keeping her head down. When she got to the alley, another message appeared immediately.

‘Go into the café on your right and ask to use the bathroom. It’s in the courtyard behind. You need to jump over the back wall, and there’s a path. Follow it.’

Frankie paused again, wondering what the hell she was doing, then reluctantly followed the instructions. This time the chip allowed her into the café; evidently it was less fussy about its clientele. She ran through it mumbling something about ordering a coffee, and escaped into the courtyard. The wall was five feet tall and not the easiest thing to get over in super skinny jeans that didn’t give much at the knee, but she managed it after a few attempts and staggered down the path that greeted her. She was hot now, hot and angry.

‘Where the hell are you taking me?’ she demanded.

‘You don’t recognize it? Turn left at the bottom of the path and wait there for a few minutes.’

‘Wait? For what? For Milo’s friends to come and pick me up?’

‘No, for something else. Someone else. Just wait.’

‘Just wait? No please this time?’ Frankie asked, her eyebrow raised. Who was this joker, she wondered to herself. And how did she end up taking instructions from him?

She stopped for a moment and caught her breath; the truth was that it was a relief not to be running, just for a short while. But as she stood there, the enormity of what had happened, what was still happening, started to overwhelm her. She couldn’t trust this stranger. It was his fault she was in this mess. She had to get away, had to find Milo, explain herself. Those men had to be a mistake on his part; he couldn’t have known what they’d do to her. It was all a big mix-up and by running she was just making it worse. By running, she was getting herself into serious trouble. She was going to get out of here. She was going to go to Infotec’s offices and straighten this mess out.

But just as she started to move again, she heard someone behind her, heard a voice say ‘Frankie?’, and it made her freeze. It was Jim’s voice; he touched her lightly on the shoulder and she nearly jumped three feet in the air.

‘Jim?’ She turned, saw him looking at her uncertainly. ‘Jim, thank God you’re here. Look, things have got really weird. I need to get in touch with Milo …’

‘No, you don’t,’ he said firmly. ‘Here, have some water.’

He pressed a bottle into Frankie’s hands; she took it gratefully. ‘Jim, we need to get out of here. There’s been this huge mix-up. Milo – he …’

He clasped her arm. ‘Frankie, you’re shaking.’

She looked down; sure enough her whole body was trembling.

‘How … how did you find me?’ she asked, falteringly.

‘I got an anonymous message,’ Jim said. He looked at his watch. ‘When did you last update your status?’

‘My status? Are you kidding me? I don’t have a bloody status. Some bitch has taken it.’ Frankie’s voice started to wobble as she talked.

‘You have a new chip, and that means you are registered on the mainframe, so you need to update your status. Quickly,’ he said. ‘Do it now.’

‘You’re serious? You, the phobic updater, are telling me to …’

‘Just do it,’ Jim cut in. ‘Say something apologetic. Something meek. Just in case.’

Frankie raised an eyebrow. ‘Meek? I don’t even know what that word means.’

‘Don’t joke,’ Jim said. ‘Not now. Say you’re thinking things over. Coming to your senses. Something like that.’

Frankie opened her mouth to tell him where to go, but realised she didn’t have the energy for a fight. ‘Fine.’ She opened a hologram keyboard, talking the words as she typed: ‘“Walking around, thinking things over. Have acted rashly. Am really sorry.” There. That meek enough for you?’

Jim nodded. Then his expression changed, became sadder. ‘Frankie, I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. But right now, we have to get you somewhere safe. Look, I brought you these.’

Frankie frowned as Jim took some clothes out of a bag. Jeans, a sweatshirt, trainers.

‘You’re joking aren’t you?’ she asked incredulously. ‘I’m not getting changed. I’m not wearing this stuff.’

‘I’m afraid you are, Frankie,’ Jim said, his voice low. ‘You have to understand, you’re in danger. Everything has changed. So you need to put these on. Do you understand, Frankie?’

She nodded vaguely; she didn’t understand, not at all. But something told her to do as Jim said. ‘Turn around,’ she said quietly, then quickly pulled on the clothes. ‘There’s a hat in there too,’ Jim said. Frankie took it out; like the clothes, it fit her fine but felt utterly alien. Still, she supposed that was the point. Jim took the other clothes and put them in the bag, but she refused to give him her leather jacket.

‘Fine,’ he relented. But give me your hand.’

‘Another chip?’ Frankie asked. Jim nodded. She gave him her hand and winced as he took it out and replaced it with another one.

‘It’s a blank one,’ he said, noticing the flicker of disappointment on her face as he put it into her palm. ‘It just connects you to the mainframe, allows you to walk around. And now that it’s active, you have to update like any other chip, otherwise the mainframe will be alerted and … Well, you don’t want that. Just keep your updates simple, nothing that will attract attention, And do it regularly, okay?’

Frankie looked at him mutinously. This wasn’t Jim’s fault, she knew that, but he was here. ‘You carry spare chips with you?’ she asked, her tone sarcastic. ‘What are you, a secret terrorist in your spare time?’

Jim managed a rueful grin. ‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘But I know some people.’

Frankie stared at him. ‘What people?’ she demanded.

‘People,’ Jim said. ‘Just people. People who can help you. Come with me and you can tell me what’s happened. Please?’

‘I suppose,’ Frankie said, her tone still dubious. ‘So where are we going? Who are these people you apparently know? What’s going on, Jim?’ She felt tears pricking at her eyes and did her best to blink them away.

Jim took a deep breath. ‘Look, we have to keep moving. Make it as hard as possible for them to keep track of you. I don’t know where your chip comes from; it might be a six-foot man for all I know. If the biometrics don’t add up, the mainframe will notice a discrepancy soon enough. So we’ll get you another one soon. And in the meantime, we need to keep moving. I’ll explain more when we’re …’ He hesitated, looking around nervously. ‘When we’re where we’re going,’ he said eventually.

‘And where is that, exactly?’ Frankie asked, pushing her hair back and pulling her hat down. But Jim didn’t answer; he just waited for her to follow him.

‘We walk quickly,’ he said. ‘But not too quickly. Pretend we’re talking to each other. Make sure you smile a lot. We’re sharing a joke. Okay? Now, just wait here one second …’ He ran off and immediately bumped into a group of girls, who shouted at him. He apologised profusely and ran back to Frankie. ‘Okay, and we’re walking again.’

Frankie stared at him uncertainly. ‘What was that all about?’ she asked.

‘The chip I just removed from you,’ he shrugged. ‘Infotec will be following those girls for at least a few minutes, giving us a chance to disappear.’

‘I see,’ Frankie said, her brain trying to process this strange world she seemed to have fallen into where no one was what she thought they were.

‘Good,’ Jim said, then walked towards the main doors and out into the road. ‘This way,’ he said, tugging her arm. ‘Remember. Smile. And stay with me whatever happens.’

Frankie had thought she knew Paris; thought she knew every road and café, no matter how off the beaten track it was. But as she walked with Jim, down alleyways she’d never even noticed before, she realised that there was a whole underbelly she’d never encountered: tiny roads with barely one camera covering everything, no screens, no personalised adverts jumping out at her as she walked. It felt like she’d gone back in time; the feeling was enhanced by the fact that she had no communication with anyone. Well, no one except the stranger, anyway, and even he had gone pretty quiet. She kept checking her instinct to update her Watchers, to make little wry comments about what she was doing, what she could see. And it made her realise how little she ever really observed her surroundings, how little thought she gave to her environment, to her thoughts, to her life. Instead, she had spent her days viewing everything through the lens of Watcher numbers, reducing every event to a sound bite to be sent out into the ether and read by people she’d never met. Now, for the first time in a very long time, she was really here, in the present, experiencing, looking, seeing. And in spite of her anger, her fear, her indignation, she realised that it felt good.

‘This chip,’ she said. ‘How can it be blank? How come there aren’t messages? For the person it belonged to, I mean. And where are they? How come they don’t need their chip anymore?’

Jim frowned. ‘As far as I know, your chip will have been wiped clean of everything except its code, which is what connects it to the mainframe. There’s no address book, nothing. Every time anyone sends a message to someone else, it’s recorded and makes it easier for someone to join the dots. So it’s better if your chip is empty. And better if you don’t try communicating with anyone. Okay?’

Frankie digested this.

‘So the mainframe thinks I’m whoever this chip belonged to before?’

‘It should do now, yes. But these clean chips usually come from people who have died, or sometimes they’ve been smuggled out of one of the chip manufacturers. Either way, the chip is an anomaly and will soon be ringing bells somewhere. That’s why we keep changing them.’ Jim caught Frankie’s expression and stopped walking for a moment. ‘You’re still the same person Frankie. You just don’t have your chip anymore. It feels like you’re naked, I know. But you’ll get used to it. And hopefully soon you’ll get your own chip back. Okay?’

Frankie bit her lip. ‘Okay,’ she said, as Jim started to walk again.

Eventually Jim ducked under an archway into a little cobbled cul-de-sac, then into a café where, to Frankie’s distress, the chip reader emitted the same low beep she’d received before, only this time the waiter saw Jim and ushered her in anyway.

It was a tiny café with room for just three tables, all decked out in old Parisian style with red checked table cloths and a zinc-topped bar. The lights were dim and the blinds at the windows let in minimal light. Jim and the waiter conferred silently, then the waiter nodded and walked towards Frankie. ‘Hold out your hand,’ he said.

Frankie stared at him, but she did as she was told. Deftly he took out her chip yet again and pressed a new one in.

‘Now you need to go for a walk for a few minutes and return via the other entrance around the back.’

‘But …’ Frankie frowned. ‘But why?’

‘Because Infotec can backdate its tracking,’ Jim said. ‘They will have had every camera searching for you, every Informer looking out for you. We can’t afford to take any chances; once they home in on this chip, they’ll be here in minutes to take you away. We have to stay a few steps ahead. Even with a new chip they’ll have historical tracking and camera footage that they’ll study. You have to be caught on camera walking away because they will know soon enough the time at which you swapped chips, then, if your new chip doesn’t move away, they’ll put two and two together, check the cameras, find us on it, and they’ll raid this place. So. Say goodbye to me, look at me like I’m giving you directions, then rush off, okay? Pierre here will deal with the chip. We want them hunting in as many different directions as possible.’

Frankie did as she was told, taking a convoluted route along several streets and alleyways before arriving at the back of the café, where she slipped inside a tall door that opened in front of her; Jim was waiting there. ‘Come on, downstairs,’ he said.

Frankie hadn’t realised there was a downstairs, but Jim quickly opened a door that revealed a stone staircase down. Tentatively she followed him, the door clunking firmly behind her as she made her way down the steps. At the bottom was a small wine cellar with another door to the right; Jim opened it and walked through, beckoning for Frankie to follow him.

‘Where are we?’ she breathed as she found herself walking into a small room with stone flooring, stone walls and two low sofas covered in cushions. A small gas light flickered in the corner and a man sat at a table under a tiny window, which let in a dim glow of light. There was a small pile of vintage books by the sofa, a large blanket folded up behind them and an old-fashioned rowing machine in the corner.

The man looked them both up and down, then stood up. He was tall, but his posture seemed stooped; he was in his sixties, his face grey, his eyes watery. ‘Jim,’ he said. ‘Good to see you. So this is Frankie? Or rather,
was
Frankie, should I say? I don’t think I’ve ever met a socialite before.’ His voice was gravelly, dry; Frankie regarded him uncomfortably.

‘I’m still Frankie,’ Frankie said pointedly. ‘And for the record, I’m not a socialite. I’m a blogger.’

The man smiled. ‘I see.’

His expression was incredulous, his tone patronising and Frankie bristled. ‘Do you?’ she demanded. ‘What is this place anyway?’ She could feel her anger building up, her frustration, and she needed to vent it. She rounded on Jim. ‘Where have you brought me? What am I doing here? We should be at Infotec, demanding my chip. We should be telling someone what Milo did. We should be shouting from the rooftops that the girl running around in my clothes is not me.’