Sockpuppet: Book One in the Martingale Cycle (49 page)

He glances at the door. How much time does he have? This is precisely not the moment to say what he needs to say – but what else to do, apart from press on forward?

‘Perhaps –’ he says. ‘Perhaps after all this isn’t so bad. Maybe I needed you to see that. We set off on the wrong foot, didn’t we, down on the street? I jumped in, accusing you of –
hrm!
When what I should have done is explain why I was feeling hurt –’

‘OK, look, whatever this is, how about we leave it until—’

J-R holds up his hand, quieting Mark. This thing now demands to be said.

‘– hurt by the idea you might be taking advantage of the situation. Of me. I should have explained what I’ve – well,
ha!
– what I’ve been
feeling.
’

Mark gets to his feet, eyes on the door.

‘Whatever you think you’re about to say,’ he says, ‘it’s better not to say it here. Not now.’

‘No, I’ve been too reticent. I really think this is good.’ He places his fingers on Perce’s monitor. ‘This machine has forced my hand. Mark –’

He stands, too, and takes Mark’s hand between both his own. It’s hot and surprisingly rough. Mark tries to retrieve the hand but J-R won’t let him.

‘That time at Toby’s party –’ says J-R. ‘You took a brave step that night and I brushed you off.’

Mark gently extracts his hand.

‘That was one night,’ he says. ‘I was drunk and I made a dumb pass at an old friend.’

‘I was drunk, too – on Thursday night, I mean, when I kissed that man.’

Mark’s face twists with some hard-to-identify emotion. J-R presses on.

‘I don’t think we got very far – my memory’s hazy, after a certain point. As I say, I was drunk. The ridiculous thing is, this system seems to know more about what happened than I do.’ They both glance at the Alpine cleanliness of the computer’s desktop image. ‘It can see things I haven’t let myself see. It’s given me this chance – here and now – to tell you what I’ve been feeling.’

‘Look, really,’ says Mark. ‘Where’s this going? Perce will be back any second.’

‘That evening – it’s mostly a blur but it seems to have woken me up. I can be honest with myself; and with you.’

‘Back up a moment,’ says Mark. ‘What
is
this?’

J-R steps back and folds his hands carefully in front of him. Takes a breath.

‘This –’ he tries, but his throat is clogged up. He clears it. ‘This is me explaining that I care very deeply about you, Mark. My only regret is that it’s taken me this long to stand up and say so.’

The corner of Mark’s mouth tilts: that half-sympathetic, half-mocking smile.

‘I love you too, J-R,’ he says. ‘You do realise that nothing you’ve said or done in the past five minutes has made any sense?’

‘I’m bisexual,’ says J-R, and as he says it, something unlatches inside him. He’s giddy with it.

‘Oh,’ says Mark.

‘Is that – all you have to say?’ says J-R.

Mark studies J-R’s face for a few seconds, then does the worst thing possible: he laughs. It’s brief and hollow, an awful sound.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry, J-R – but your face! So this is, what? A declaration of love? Or are you just coming out to the first available homosexual?’

That same bitter smile colours his words.

‘God, Mark, please don’t be like this.’

Mark inpsects J-R a little more, then walks past him to sit at the desk.

‘OK, look,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry. But before you take this little drama any further you might want to hear this. I still owe you an answer to your question, from earlier on.’

J-R’s heart is racing, his shirt-back sodden in the frozen air. It’s as though he’s running full tilt; but he can’t move a muscle.

‘My – question?’ he says.

‘You know what you said to me before, out in the street? What you accused me of.’

‘I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—’

‘No. You were right – I should never have used you as my trojan horse.’

‘Mark?’

J-R is shipwrecked, surrounded by the waves of light that crash against the screens to all sides. Mark’s matter-of-factness seems designed to negate everything he just declared.

‘I’d been clawing around for months,’ Mark continues in the same flat tone, ‘trying to find a way to get at Perce. I was working on this one great explosive blog post that would blow Mondan open. I was going to push it out everywhere, before DigiCitz could go fully live. The nationals would pick it up. It would wipe out any lingering trace of confidence in Perce or in this bloody government, before they could take away our right to privacy for ever. They need us to trust them, these people, if they’re to pull off this kind of dirty heist; and they do not deserve our trust. I had to tell everyone, open their eyes.’

These people.
With a sudden illumination J-R realises he’s been looking at the situation precisely wrong. He’s only considered his own anxieties, his own unspoken desires. He hasn’t once asked what
Mark
might want from
him.

‘But Perce,’ Mark said, ‘is Teflon. I lacked the one firm fact I could hang my piece on. All I had was rumour and vapour. Then out of the blue, you pop up with what looks to be a smoking gun, with
data
.’

J-R nods. Everything is so transparent now.

‘So I was to be your
sources close to government
– is that it?’

‘It wasn’t fair of me to play on your friendship.’

‘It was rather more than friendship, as it turns out.’

‘Well, but there’s the thing. No. It wasn’t.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Sorry, but at this point I don’t think you understand quite
what
you’re feeling. The world doesn’t need another weekend queen, J-R. I sure as hell don’t. This has been a crazy week for you and I can see why you’d be doubting everything.’

‘This is the first time in years I’ve been clear about anything.’

‘What you need is time to cool off. Look.’ Mark stands, collects their dossier from Perce’s desk, and takes a few steps towards the door. ‘I’m going to give you this one piece of advice then I’m going to go.’

‘You can’t leave.’

‘Sort things out with Bethany, get back to your day job. I’ll stop making things difficult for you – and you can take the time to work out what you’re really feeling.’

‘I know what I feel – look!’

J-R turns back to Perce’s screen, scrambles for something to double-click, to call back the clarity of those sounds and images – the emotional replay.

‘That?’ says Mark from behind him. ‘You’re using
that
to tell me what you feel? What a customer you’ll make for Perce.’

J-R abandons the screen.

‘Mark—’

‘No.’ Mark is already halfway to the door. ‘Sorry, but I’m not going to be the token poof in your pre-midlife crisis. I’m nobody’s
Get out of jail
card.’

‘But—’

‘I’ll find another way to get at Perce – without going through you. I’m sorry I messed you around – and if I led you on, I’m sorry for that, too. Email me as and when you feel like being a sane human being, OK? And we can have a beer. Until then—’

‘
Mark
–
!
’

But he’s gone.

¶Spotted

Anybody seen that Dani Farr lately?

Nine

Terry Salmon sneaks the underground to 404. She walks by phonelight. Packed above her, a thousand tonnes of muck and bones; the mess of lives from Boudicca to Boris baffle out the world.

One single fleeting bar of signal on Terry’s phone; but how could that signify? No one has her number, no one knows her name. Dani is insulated by Terry, hidden from the shit up above. Nothing makes it through into this tunnel.

Even Grubly can barely hear its own remote song. A tiny slice of location data makes it through the compacted earth. It’s enough.

Dani checks the screen for Gray’s directions, takes a right. Screenlight dances on mossy brick. The walls are sweating in the darkness but Dani’s in a perfect calm. Purpose moves her forward.

Up to now, before she chose any course, made any decision, she crowdsourced. Major and minor decisions alike she outsourced to an aggregate intelligence.
Hivemind: should I take a left or right? Shag this guy? Go out tonight or stream Arrested Development?
A hundred answers she could trust, ignore or laugh at. She doesn’t want to do that now. She’s clear on it.

Maybe Terry’s come on this mission and left Dani at home, asleep on the sofa. Would Dani have this focus? Could her soft arms have dragged a woman into a concrete basement? Would Dani fuck the boy she’s longed for? Terry acts in the world, so much more real than the sliver of white and purple Dani used to be.

Terry walks on through the dark. The weight in her bag slaps a rhythm on her back. Who wouldn’t be her?

¶sic_girl

Come out, come out, Sean, wherever you are.

Ten

Perce made directly for his desk, unlocked a drawer and fished out an ID lanyard and an A4 envelope. He looped the lanyard over his neck, stuffed the envelope into the pocket of his smooth grey jacket. J-R remained standing, pulse moving in his cheeks. He hadn’t budged since Mark left.

He cleared his throat. This manufactured man would think him ridiculous for pressing on, but what other course remained?

‘Mister Perce. Let me assure you, I am going to the Cabinet Office.’

Perce looked around the room.

‘Where’s your snotty friend?’

‘If you think you’ll pass the Fit and Proper test for the Digital Citizen contract –’

Perce grinned in artificial modesty.

‘Bit late for that.’

‘You can’t mean they know about this?’

J-R’s gesture took in the monitor screen where Perce’s supernatural software had been.

‘Funny. Of course they do, son. They know you’re here, don’t they?’

‘How they would know that?’

‘This is what I’ve been trying to tell you. What you just saw is what Bethany bought. It’s what the Digital Citizen
is.
Caveat emptor.’

‘Bethany would not allow this intrusive, inappropriate –’

Surely there had been a time when J-R was able to complete a sentence. Perce wagged a teacherly finger.

‘So you
did
click on it. I haven’t found the person yet who can leave that genie in its bottle. So: me prying? No. This isn’t for me, it’s for you. For the user. I get data, yes, and that’s extremely helpful. But you get experience: you get your life. You only had time to taste it. It can take you over.
Everything About You
, we call it. It’s for everyone.’

‘Anyone can see all that—?’

‘Fuck, no. You set your privacy. You think I’d piss on data protection like that?’

‘But you just tracked a government minister – I saw you!’

Perce snorted.

‘C’mon, we don’t let just anyone do that. I was in God mode. Listen, tell me something. The things you saw in there, when I was out of the room: did your friend not like them? That why he left?’

‘That is not your business.’

‘Exactly,’ said Perce. ‘It isn’t. What we have here isn’t for sharing. This isn’t cat videos or liking a band. This is
you.
You don’t want strangers seeing it, and probably not your friends. You might share tiny slices – some freaks will always want to share every time they take a shit – but mostly it’s for you alone. You got a friend in you. Why not spend quality time with him? Tell me honestly: didn’t you want more?’

J-R was taken up short. The only thing that had broken his digital spell was that Mark was about to see and hear things. If he’d been alone, he would not have wanted it to stop. From such a brief touch, this thing had the potential for profound addiction.

‘Listen,’ said Perce. ‘Fun fact. You want to know who wrote the code behind
Everything About You
? Dani Farr is who. From scratch. She’s that good. All we did is zhuzh it up. Grubly, everything, she wrote. And do you know why? Because she
wants
the network to know her. She
wants
to be in the cloud. This is people, J-R, what they want. I give it to them.’

‘But
you
know. You track everything people do.’

‘No, no. Well, yes, but so are yay many companies. And governments. What I’m doing is way cooler. I’m tracking everything they
feel.
Everything they
want.
Stop and think about the potential of that. Imagine knowing where everybody’s heads and hearts are, round the clock. Soon we won’t be targeting people by income, postcode, all that broad brush nothing. We’ll target their mood. Angry? Here’s
Death Trap II
for PlayStation. Ambitious? Self-help and executive leatherware. Horny? Porn. Highly tailored porn.’

A perfume advertisement scissored around the glass walls of the room, right across the giant screens.

‘What we have here is people’s stories. And when you have the story you can help to write it.’

He agitated for the door, an arm out for J-R.

‘C’mon. There’s someone we both need to see.’

J-R followed, feet barely lifting from the metal floor. As they crossed the sealed bridge to the lift lobby, Perce took another knight’s move.

‘Well, that was a great discussion.’ He clapped and rubbed his hands. ‘Thank you, I really appreciate your time today.’

‘I –?’ attempted J-R.

‘So, what are you thinking now?’

‘About –?’

‘I know this was a whistle-stop, but you get the picture. Could you work with all this?’ Perce placed a hand on J-R’s shoulder. ‘Help us get our message across?’

‘Across to –?’

‘Ha! To Westminster. To the world!’

He punched J-R’s upper arm in muscular chumminess. This glassiness of character: there must be a diagnosis for such a pathology.

‘As in
do you want the job?
’