Крис Бекетт: The Holy Machine

He turned a corner and pulled up abruptly.

‘Right, get out now,’ he said.

Claude produced a wad of banknotes.

‘Ten thousand if you get us to the airstrip!’

Tojo produced a handgun and pointed it at Manolis’ head.

The driver grinned mirthlessly.

‘You don’t seem very ill to me!’ Then he shrugged. ‘Okay, ten thousand drachmai. But make sure everyone can see you pointing that gun at me.’

A lump of brick smashed a hole in the windscreen and sprinkled my suit with glass.

‘And keep the safety catch on,’ Manolis added through gritted teeth. ‘I won’t get you to the airport if you’ve blown my head off.’

He was sweating profusely. The Illyrian civil servants were sweating too. All three men were muttering a stream of obscenities in their respective native languages.

But as for me, oddly enough, for one so frightened of so many things, I felt completely unafraid. More than that, I actually felt elated. There was, I could see, a real possibility that the car would be stopped and we three Illyrians dragged out and beaten to death. But that prospect was quite eclipsed for me by the wonderful and unfamiliar feeling of really being alive.

Somehow we got through the town and on to the airstrip where the Illyrian Air Force helicopter was waiting with its rotor spinning, the unblinking, black-and-white Eye of Illyria painted on its side. Another helicopter, this one a ferocious gunship, was hovering overhead to ensure that no one interfered with our departure.

Soon we were safely on our way home above the Zagorian mountains. The helicopter crew filled us in on the day’s events.

More than twenty thousand guestworkers had come out onto the streets. They had demanded the usual things: religious freedom and full citizenship of Illyria, where they formed the majority of the population but continued to be treated as foreigners.

The police had ordered the demonstration to disperse under the Prevention of Bigotry Act. The crowd had refused and a riot had ensued in which shops were looted, vehicles burnt and several robots damaged. This was when a group of Epirote demonstrators had run amok and been shot by police machines.

Tojo snorted: ‘Their demands are ridiculous. Illyria has always made clear that it is a state for scientists and intellectuals, and that full citizenship will only be given to those who are properly qualified…’

He went on, his voice becoming louder and shriller. ‘Squippies came to Illyria out of choice ! They know the rules! They’ve got no business trying to change them.’

He gave an angry snort. His face was all blotchy with emotion and his lip was trembling.

‘But what’s the point? They’ll never listen to reason. The sooner the entire guestworker population is replaced by robots, the better.’

‘Very pricey though,’ observed Claude with a shrug.

‘A price worth paying!’ snapped Tojo, ‘Really Claude, it is just absurd to talk about price!’

We were near the frontier. I looked down at the mountains and fancied for a moment that I saw a tiny single figure far below, struggling southward into Epiros across a snowfield. Oddly jerky movements it seemed to me. Was the figure human, or could it be…?

But I was distracted from taking a second look, by Tojo breaking down into convulsive sobs.

A young paramedic was in the helicopter and he administered sedation.

We crossed into Illyrian airspace in silence, but for the gradually subsiding sobs of Tojo as he settled into sleep, and the thrub-thrub-thrub of the helicopter blades.

Claude glanced at me.

‘The Reaction was bad in Japan,’ he said gruffly, by way of explanation. ‘Public beheadings, torture… you know. It reminds him.’

Needless to say, when I got home, Ruth was beside herself.

‘I told you shouldn’t go to the Outlands! Don’t you realize what this does to me? The squippies have gone crazy! In Illyria , George, even in Illyria – and there you were in Greece ! Don’t you ever think of me? Don’t you ever think of me at all?’

A few little tears came starting from her eyes.

‘They were down there in the street George. Banners! Chanting! Crosses! Just like in… just like in…’

She didn’t like to say the word – or at any rate affected not to like saying it – so I said it brutally for her:

‘Yeah, yeah. Just like in Chicago.’

‘All over town. Even here in Faraday, George. You don’t seem to understand what this means… I’ve been on the net all day. I’ve mailed our assemblyman, and the President, and the Police Department, and… and… This mustn’t be allowed George. It’s got to be stamped out. And you go to Greece !’

The TV was on in the corner. I picked up the remote control and starting flipping to and fro across the day’s news. I was tired, and hungry, and very shaky, beginning to get the delayed shock reaction to my close shave back in Ioannina.

‘Get me a dinner, Charlie,’ I called to the robot, ‘I don’t care what it is. And a couple of beers while I’m waiting.’

I settled into an armchair. The X3 trundled mutely to do my bidding. His antique speech mechanism had seized up recently and we’d not been able to find anyone who could fix it.

‘Are you listening to anything I’m saying, George?’ Ruth demanded. ‘I’ve been half out of my mind and you don’t seem to care. In Greece, George, you were in Greece when the Greek squippies went crazy.’

I pulled the top off the first can of beer and let the TV settle on real-time news.

‘… all around Illyria, sabres are rattling ’ a commentator was saying, ‘ The Islamic Republic of Albania has officially declared war. The Holy Autochthony of Epiros has suspended all contacts. The First Hearer of Herczgovina has called on all children of Light to suspend their differences and obliterate Illyria, which alone of all countries in the world is purely made of Darkness. The Pope has sent a message of condolence to his erstwhile bitter enemy, the Patriarch of Constantinople. Even the First Elect of America, Elisha Jones, has expressed his outrage, though of course Catholics, Muslims and Orthodox Christians, just as much as unbelievers, are persecuted under his own Protestant rule… ’

Image after image showed angry crowds, angry religious leaders, in the diverse trappings of their faiths…

Then there were reassuring images of Illyria in readiness: jets marked with wide-open eyes streaking across the sky, Goliath fighting robots, three metres tall, patrolling the frontier, armed speedboats streaking across the mild blue sea with Illyrian flags fluttering behind them…

And then: more crowds, flashbacks to earlier that day in Illyria City itself.

I was shaking badly now. When Charlie brought me my meal I could barely hold it.

‘You see?’ Ruth demanded, pointing at the screen, ‘You see?’

I exploded then. ‘For fuck’s sake Ruth, just leave me alone for five minutes will you!’

She burst into tears and ran off to her room.

‘You never even asked me what happened to me today!’ I shouted after her, ‘I’m the one that was nearly killed, not you! Me! Me! Me!’

I felt a strange dull ache behind my eyes.

Hungry as I had been, I found that when it came to it I couldn’t bring myself to eat, or to follow what was happening on the TV screen, or even to sit still in one place. I grabbed my jacket and went out, heading for Lucy, through subways crawling with security machines and streets still littered with debris.

‘How are you George? It’s nice to see you! Would you like a glass of wine, or some coffee or something?’