Gavin Smith - The Age of Scorpio

‘Then why are you here?’

‘The key is for everyone. It is not for the rich and powerful to enslave humanity. The Circle has betrayed all that it was set up to do. It is a tool of tyranny and empire in whatever guise those nasty little ideas have now become.’

‘It’s not practical to save everyone – you know that. We’re taking what we can, the genetic material to—’

‘A slave race.’ Her look was daring him to deny it.

‘That’s not true.’

‘I founded the Circle. Who would know better than I?’

‘Even if what you say is true, we’re the only ones who have the resources to do anything, unless you believe in the Brass City’s paradise.’

‘A half-life.’

‘They claim you wouldn’t know the difference.’

‘The problem is the same.’

Du Bois knew she was right. The processing power they had had access to for centuries, maybe longer, was still limited to a degree. Recording functional human consciousness in its totality required massive amounts of storage, as every molecule in the human brain was the equivalent of a powerful computer in its own right. In order to store a single human consciousness, the structure and function of trillions upon trillions of molecules needed to be simulated, as well as all the rules that governed how they interact. It was the interaction that took up the real space. The random complexities of the human mind ran into thousands of petabytes.

‘And that’s assuming the flesh isn’t corrupt and insane,’ she added. ‘Don’t help them write their filth across the skies, Malcolm. It’s beneath you.’

‘I think it’s the only chance we have.’

‘And I think you’re just too used to following orders. It’s so much easier when other people make our decisions for us, isn’t it?’ She sounded sad. Du Bois didn’t know what to say. It had never seemed easy to him. ‘Do you know when I left?’ Du Bois said nothing, just watched her warily. ‘It was the artists. They kept the great minds, the scientists – though I suspect they will be modified, redesigned to toe the party line – but they wiped out so many of the great artists. Their future doesn’t have any room for beauty and thought, I think.’

‘That’s a lie!’ Du Bois said angrily, but the conversation with Hamad played over in his head.

‘Some of them were my friends. They replaced them with the venal and the petty who happened to be the rich and powerful. They’ll leave the best minds because they don’t make good slaves.’

‘What do you want?’ Du Bois demanded again. He was trying to armour himself with anger. Convince himself that she was lying. The Circle was the grand plan. The best hope for humanity.

‘You to join me,’ she said evenly. Du Bois looked her up and down.

‘Look what you’ve done to yourself!’ he all but spat at her. He was feeling more secure in his convictions now. Comforted in the familiar surroundings of his belief. She was an external threat again.

‘Don’t be so stupid!’ she snapped. Her anger would make it easier.

‘I’m not joining you; you betrayed the Circle.’

‘They have betrayed all of us!’

‘Words.’

‘Fine. You wish to remain nothing more than a violent slave, then so be it. Stop looking for the key or I will kill you. Do you understand me? Don’t make your sister weep for you.’

Du Bois understood her perfectly. The key was in Portsmouth and alive, but she did not know where, otherwise she would have moved her. There was hope.

‘You can go now,’ she told him. ‘I’m not going to sink into the earth or anything like that.’

‘I still don’t know your name.’

‘You never will.’

Du Bois turned and walked away. He glanced over his shoulder. She was still there looking out over the land. There was something about the way she stood that made him think that she was so very tired.

Du Bois made his way quickly back to the bike. Alexia was there, of course. She had not abandoned him and was so relieved to see him. It was only then he realised how terrified he had been.

The amusements were closed, a neon beacon of wasted electricity garishly lighting up the night sky. Beth had done most of her work and was sitting on the sea wall again, watching two armed police officers walk along the front. Nobody wanted to come out and play with all the police around and the island blocked off from the mainland.

‘Excuse me, love.’

Beth was slowly getting used to the mangled cockney of the Pompey accent. With her broad West Yorkshire vowels, sometimes conversations sounded like they were being held in two different languages. This voice was the most Pompey she had ever heard: she had to play it back in her head to decipher it.

‘Yeah?’ she finally said. She didn’t like the look of him. Weasel-faced, lank, shoulder-length blond hair, looped earrings. He looked thin but she was guessing that under the shell suit was a wiry frame. He was leaning on a bizarre-looking cane that looked like it was made out of leather. His mouth moved with the constant chewing movement of the habitual speed freak. It was the eyes, though. She’d seen them before, working the doors. This was a man who didn’t feel anything and so liked violence. A proper psycho.

Two large men dressed much more smartly, in suits and overcoats, flanked the weasel-faced man. Massively built, their pronounced jaws suggested steroid abuse. Beth had seen their like before in the gym.

‘You looking for me?’ the thin man asked. Alarm bells were ringing.

‘Don’t think so.’

‘Sure? Jaime said you was. So did William. You do that to his fingers?’ he asked, sounding casual. If there was anger there, it was because someone was playing with his toys, not because someone had hurt his people.

Beth got off the wall. ‘You know my sister?’

‘Probably be better if we asked the questions, love.’

‘Who are you?’

‘You’re not very bright up north, are you? We’re going to go for a bit of a ride. Have a bit of a chat, okay?’

‘I’m a bit old to get into a car with strange men.’ Beth turned to walk away.

‘I don’t think you want to do that.’

Beth made the mistake of glancing behind her. The big guy on the psycho’s right had opened his coat to show the pistol stuffed in his waistband. Beth knew she should have kept walking but stopped. The man with the gun was trying to look hard but he had to be scared. The city was crawling with armed police and even soldiers. Battery Row was pretty open and he was carrying a shooter.

‘You going to use that here?’ Beth asked. She tried to sound casual, but her hand went into the pocket of her leather jacket, fingers curling around her brass knuckles. She didn’t fancy her chances of crossing the distance before he drew the gun. These guys being mown down by trigger-happy police was little consolation if she was dead.

‘What are you doing?’ Ted was behind her, staring at the psycho.

Beth swore to herself. She didn’t doubt that to run an arcade you needed to be hard, but she didn’t think Ted was anywhere near this psycho’s league, and he was old, fat and really unhealthy. The last thing she needed was to drag him into this, particularly with a gun involved. ‘I asked you a fucking question, McGurk. You know better. You don’t fucking come down here and hassle my people.’

Beth turned to stare at Ted. He was an easy-going guy. This was a new side of him. Fat or not, he suddenly came across as more than capable of defending himself. She wondered how many other people had underestimated him in the past.

‘Hello, Ted, and watch your fucking mouth. That agreement was made a long time ago, and you’re not quite the Jack the Lad you once were, if you know what I mean.’