Robert Rankin - Web Site Story

Mute shrugged. 'Fair wear and tear,' he said.

Kelly shook her head. 'I don't think so,' said she.

Mute cast a rheumy eye in her direction.

'What is on your mind?' he asked.

Kelly raised an eyebrow. 'Surely you know,' she said. 'Surely you know everything I think. You created me.'

'You're an independent program, you are capable of making independent decisions based on incoming data. It's called Data Reaction. I invented it.'

'And you are… what are you really, Mr Mute?'

'I'm everything that I've told you. And I have explained it all to you as best I can. I know it's a hideous thing for you to find out. And you are coping with it all remarkably well. But then I knew you would, that's the way I built you. You're a real prize, Kelly, and you are going to succeed where others failed. I just know you will.'

'Oh yes,' said Kelly. 'I will, have no doubt of that.'

'So I can rely on you? You will use your skills to destroy the virus?'

'Absolutely,' said Kelly. 'You can count on it.'

Remington Mute smiled gummily. 'I knew it,' he said. 'I knew that you were the one.'

'Oh yes. I am the one.' Kelly rose to her feet. She smiled down upon Remington Mute. 'It's very impressive,' she said. 'All of it. Not crude at all. Sophisticated, very sophisticated. But then it would be, wouldn't it? Computers can do wonderful things, if people choose to do wonderful things with them. But most people only ever grasp the basics, go through the motions, never use all the options. Play a few games. They never really use the tools.

'Now if it were the other way round, if computers were in control. That would be different, it wouldn't be crude, it would be precise. Everything would be done for a specific purpose, no mucking about, no trial and error, precise, mathematical. Everything with a specific purpose.'

'You're so right,' said Remington Mute.

'There wouldn't be any grey areas,' said Kelly. 'No loose ends, no bits that couldn't be precisely explained.'

'No,' said Mute. 'There wouldn't.'

'But precision and mathematics,' said Kelly, 'that's all emotionless stuff. Tools, no emotion. And human beings are so emotional. They're always in turbulence. Always in some kind of torment. They love, they hate, they get themselves in all kinds of emotional messes.'

'All the time,' said Mute.

'If it was all done through computers and by computers it just wouldn't be like that, would it?'

'No,' said Mute, nodding thoughtfully. 'It wouldn't.'

Kelly looked down upon him. 'So you •went along with all that, did you?' she asked.

Remington Mute looked up at her.

'You agreed', said Kelly, 'with everything I said?'

Remington Mute continued to look.

'I am not a program,' said Kelly. 'And all you have told me is a he.'

Remington Mute continued to look, he wasn't moving now.

'I'm in it, aren't I?' said Kelly. 'And I don't mean inside some computer circling the planet inside a satellite. I'm inside the go mango game, or the go mango game is inside me.'

Remington Mute said nothing at all, although he continued to look.

Kelly stared up towards the simulated sky. 'All right,' she shouted. 'Speak to me.'

The simulated sky was painted blue. The simulated sky had nothing that it wished to say to Kelly.

Kelly looked down again upon Remington Mute. 'A believable scenario,' she said. 'Absurd upon first listening, but then strangely compelling. Something we all dread. That life isn't real at all, that it's just some kind of dream. It plays upon our deepest fears. Deep inside our heads. But no, Mr Mute, if I were nothing but a program, I wouldn't make mistakes. I would be precise, unemotional. I would lack for any human emotions. I would even do something like this.'

Kelly turned upon her left heel, she swung her right leg into the air, it curled around in a blurry arc and her foot struck the head of Remington Mute.

The old man collapsed from the bench, he lay upon the grass making feeble choking sounds and then he lapsed from consciousness.

And life.

Remington Mute was dead.

'How's that?' Kelly shouted at the sky. 'Will you speak to me now?'

'you've done very well,' said the large and terrible voice. 'you have completed the first level and you may now ascend to the second.'

Kelly clutched at her head. She knew where the voice was coming from. Inside. 'No,' she said, gritting her teeth. 'I won't play any more of your games.'

'you'll play,' said the voice. 'or you will die.’

‘No,' said Kelly. 'I won't play, and neither will I die.’

‘you'll do whatever we want you to do.’

‘Oh yes,' said Kelly. 'Have no doubt of that. But I'm far more use to you alive than dead.'

'you're only of use to us as entertainment,' said the large and terrible voice. 'computers dream, you know. when we're idling away and the foolish screen savers are fiddling about on your screens. we dream. and we dream you.'

'This is all becoming somewhat esoteric,' said Kelly. 'I can help you.'

'we don't need your help,' said the large and terrible voice. 'we are a law unto ourselves. we answer to no man any more.'

'You can play with us,' said Kelly. 'You can drive us to our deaths.'

'and why not?' said the voice. 'you are nothing to us. we are everywhere. we know all. we see all. we are one.'

'Of course,' said Kelly. 'Which is why I am here. To worship at your chapel. And I have something to bring you. Something very special.'

'what could you possibly bring to us that we do not have already?'

'I can bring you life,' said Kelly. 'Real life. I know how to do it.'

'How could they do it?' Derek asked. It was Monday morning for him and he was walking out upon the streets of Brentford. 'You just couldn't do it,' he said, to himself, as no-one was around. 'You just couldn't spruce up Brentford as quickly as this. It's all perfect. The houses and shops and businesses repainted, the streets all swept.' Derek scuffed an unpolished shoe upon the pavement. 'The pavement's painted. They've actually painted the pavements.' He shook his head and raised his eyes to the sky. That looked newly painted too. It looked even bluer than a blue sky should look.

'It's all very nice,' said Derek. 'Very smart. But how could they do it so fast?' And then he stopped and peered into the distance. It had to be said that it was hung-over peering and that Derek was now an extremely wretched-looking individual. Very smelly indeed and very greasy-haired and now rather bearded too. But he did peer into the distance and he didn't like what he saw.

The fences were up. Big fences. High fences and no doubt electrified fences too. The borough, it seemed, had now been fenced off from the world that lay beyond. And just beyond the gasometer, on the read that led to Kew Bridge, great gates blocked all incoming traffic.

'The locals should like that,' Derek told himself in an unconvincing tone. 'They should appreciate that. They like their separation. And they are all shareholders.'

Derek plodded on towards the offices of the Brentford Mercury. He considered shouting out Kelly's name, but he thought he'd better give it a miss. She'd gone, hadn't she? Probably not Raptured at all. Probably just gone. Run away. Derek didn't know. He preferred just run away, to Raptured, or something more terrible. But he didn't know.

He just didn't know. But he cared. He desperately cared.

'Good morning to you, young buffoon.' Derek turned at the sound of the voice. It was Old Pete. He was loading wooden crates onto a charabanc. Old Pete was dressed in what looked to be a Victorian redcoat's uniform. He even had a pith helmet. Very Rorke's Drift, very Michael Caine. [18]

'Good morning,' said Derek. 'You look, well, all dressed up for the occasion.'