Authors: David Wingrove
‘Thanks. I will.’
The hopper was waiting for him on the roof, as he’d asked. There was no sign of the steward. Then again there was no reason for him to be there, only…
You’re getting paranoid…
Maybe, but they had been warned only last week. Industrial espionage was on the up. Yes, but the man worked for Bellini’s, and Bellini’s were a top-class establishment. They’d
have double-checked his credentials before hiring him. Jake relaxed.
Even so, you had to be careful what you said and to whom.
He fingered the chip that was in his pocket. Carl, for instance, was extremely open in giving him his chip, especially as it was being handed on to someone he’d never met. It showed trust.
Only trust wasn’t a strength these days. In some circles it was seen as a distinct weakness.
As the craft lifted and banked out over the river, Jake looked out to his left. He loved this sight, especially at this time of the day, with the sun turning the river into a snaking coil of
silver and gold. He was looking back, past the enclaves, towards the poor districts. From this high up you could see the enclave walls, their creamy marble almost Mediterranean in the sunlight.
Like a fortress within that ancient sprawl.
Slowly they climbed. It was only five minutes to his apartment, but he wasn’t in a hurry. It was hours before his guests would turn up.
Across from him the new-builds began to climb the sky, endless needles of dark glass that surrounded the central ‘hub’ built in and around the ancient heart of the City.
Like
something from the datscape
. The Hinton building lay in the shadow of two other massive buildings, on old Eastcheap, its H-shaped structure adding a faint tinge of green to the blacks and greys
and whites of the nearby buildings.
It wasn’t the biggest, not by a long way – that was the great pagoda-shape of the China Construction Bank – but it was getting a reputation as the best. In these harsh and
unforgiving times Hinton rarely got it wrong, and Jake and the hand-picked team of
logins
he worked with were almost entirely responsible.
Hence today’s ‘immersion’. For if they were to maintain their steady climb to the number one spot, then they had to recruit the best and give them the best training
possible.
Jake had bought his penthouse apartment in direct line-of-sight to his place of work. Every morning he would wake and go out onto the broad balcony and look across at it before breakfast with a
kind of possessive fascination. Mind, it was hardly surprising. Hinton had recruited him at fourteen from among thousands of eager, fresh-faced applicants. They had sent him to their academy in the
wilds of Cumberland. There he had begun the intensive training that had led to this, first as a ‘runner’, then as a ‘board-man’ and finally as a
login
– a
‘web-dancer’ as they sometimes called them.
It had been an exhaustive education and he had come out of it with Firsts in History, Economics and Political Science. The world had been his oyster – provided he stayed with Hinton.
Jake took out the tiny black and silver-blue chip Carl had given him and studied it a moment. A tiny hologram of Carl’s smiling face looked up at him from an octagonal inset at its
centre.
It was flattering of Carl to offer him work – especially work in the media – but he enjoyed what he did far too much. In fact, some days he would simply stop and laugh aloud to think
that they paid him so much to do the thing he loved.
Not that his bosses didn’t know that, but they pampered him anyway, keeping him ‘sweet’, giving him whatever he wanted.
Which was why he had his own entry pad to the Market, located in his apartment: a vaulted box room they’d had specially built. It was intended to be used only in emergencies, but he went
in there sometimes, when something was troubling him.
Tonight, however, something else dominated his thoughts.
The permit… Should he tell her tonight, when everyone was round and ask her to marry him? Or should he wait until they were alone?
Of course, if she came early he could do it then.
As the craft set down on the roof of the private apartment block, Jake leaned forward, thanking the pilot.
‘Cheers, Sam. Put me down for two flights, will you? I’ve had a very good day…’
‘Thank you, sir. And have a good evening.’
‘I will… I most definitely will.’
He stood back as the craft lifted away, then turned and made his way down the single flight of stairs that led to his apartment.
As ever, everything looked spick and span. The panoramic glass windows gleamed, not a speck or a fingerprint on them. Jake liked that. He was a highly meticulous man. He didn’t like mess
or clutter. It got in the way. The only ‘mess’ he liked was inside, in the datscape. That was a mess he revelled in.
They were four hundred and fifty feet up here. Fifty floors, give or take. And the view was spectacular. He never tired of it.
‘Trish… give me news,’ he said, speaking to the air. ‘Non-Market specific.’
At once the big screen on the wall behind him lit up. He turned to face it.
‘Afternoon, Mister Reed…’
‘Hi, Trish… How’re David and the boy?’
Trish was Jake’s filter avatar, his very own AI, programmed to keep Jake’s diary, run his apartment and field all calls.
Part of her job was to trawl the media for items that were specifically to Jake’s taste or that he’d find of interest. She didn’t really exist, but it made it more pleasant to
pretend she did. Jake had given her a husband, a young child, and a two-bed in one of the orbitals. He’d made her his own age, twenty-six, but there any similarities ended. Jake was
‘exec’ status, Trish wasn’t. She was ‘service’.
‘They’re fine, Mister Reed.’
‘Good… so what’s been happening?’
‘First up is the new manned mission to Mars.’
As he spoke, the screen showed the massive
Shenzou 41
rocket thrusting its way up into the clear North China skies on a plume of fire and roiling smoke. The bright red craft had a large
gold star facing four smaller ones painted on its flank. Inside, its crew of twelve – six males, six females – smiled broadly and gave a thumbs-up for the watching cameras.
‘You think they’ll beat the Americans there?’
‘The Chinese say it doesn’t matter. There’s room enough on Mars for everyone.’
‘They say that now… Next?’
The image changed, showing the British Prime Minister, the Right Honourable Andrew Isaiah Yates, addressing the House of Commons.
Trish gave commentary.
‘As you can see, the PM forced a new package of vagrancy laws through parliament last night in a lengthy late night sitting. At the same time he announced yet another crackdown on the
“unprotected”.’
Again the image changed, showed the Security forces, ‘suited and booted’, in full riot gear with truncheons drawn, charging a line of stone-throwing citizens while water cannons
fired over their heads. Buildings were burning, and in the air close by a number of massive police hoppers shone their searchlights down on the masses. The air was full of the pop-pop-pop of
gunfire.
Just another night in the suburbs.
‘Next…’
The image changed, showed what was clearly the avatar of a beautiful woman. Naked and full-breasted, she held a bright red apple up to the camera and smiled. Behind her, perched on the open door
of a black iron-barred cage, was a massive jet black crow. There was a small coin in its beak, while its golden eyes stared out from the screen in a challenging, almost threatening fashion.
Music played quietly in the background.
‘On the media front, diva Eve Adams is releasing a new album, her first in four years. It’s called
Crow-Nickel
, and will be available in all formats from today.’
Jake smiled. He liked Eve Adams. ‘It’s a dreadful pun… Old stuff or new?’
‘New,’ Trish answered. ‘But as you’ve noted, the album’s a kind of personal chronicle. Adams says the songs reflect what’s been happening in her life.
It’s fairly dark…’
‘But then so is her life… Next…’
A new image, this time of a grey-haired African, shaking hands with a smart-suited Han. Behind them was what looked like a massive chemical plant.
‘What’s this?’
‘It’s a big new deal…’
‘I thought I said non-specific…’
‘You did. But I thought this one would interest you. That building in the background… it’s a drilling station.’
‘I don’t understand…’
‘It seems they’re going to tap deep into the earth’s core,’ Trish went on. ‘Into the magma itself…’
‘What are they looking for? New energy sources?’
‘That’s just it. What they say they’re doing is generating oxygen.’
‘Oxygen,’ Jake laughed. ‘Air, you mean?’
‘That’s right. It seems the atmosphere’s been depleted these past twenty years, and they want to do something about it. It’s a pilot scheme…’
Jake stepped closer, trying to make out the details. He’d not heard of anything like this before, and for the Chinese to be doing it seemed strange, to say the least.
‘Next.’
‘A personal one this time…’
The image changed. Seeing who it was, Jake grinned.
‘Hey, that’s Hugo…! What the hell is he doing?’
‘It’s a charity show… for the Campaign For Legal Representation. He’s written a new piece, for electronics and orchestra. They’re going to perform it next
week.’
Jake was in two minds about Hugo’s charitable activities, but he kept that to himself. If Hugo wanted to be a liberal, let him be one.
‘I’m surprised he didn’t say…’
‘You’ve been busy,’ Trish said, as the image faded, the pixels breaking up like the dissolving pieces of a puzzle.
The screen was now filled with the image of a windswept field of grass of that perfect shade of green Jake found most relaxing. The same green that, in the datscape, represented
‘liquid’ cash.
He smiled. ‘Thanks, Trish… We’ll speak later.’
‘Sure thing, Mister Reed.’
Jake turned away. He ought to have been speaking to the chef, sorting out the menu for tonight, only he didn’t feel like it.
No, what he felt like was seeing Kate. Only Kate had things to finish off.
He walked through, into the bedroom, then stretched out upon the low, Japanese-style mattress.
The room, like the rest of the flat, was minimalist. Jake didn’t see the point of surrounding himself with things when you could hire whatever you wanted and have it delivered at a single
command. Why keep things when someone else could store them for you?
And by now, on what he was earning, he could afford to have things shipped from anywhere. Almost anything he wanted. Jake closed his eyes. The session today had been exhilarating. He
hadn’t enjoyed anything quite so much in ages. Anything ‘outside’ that was.
So maybe he’d do some more, after all. Take up Carl’s offer. That is, if Hinton let him.
He closed his eyes. Found himself thinking about China.
There was a Chinese painting on the wall. It had been here when he’d moved in and he hadn’t bothered to have it removed. As far as he knew, it was an original, on loan to Hinton
Industrials from one of their clients.
He spoke to the air.
‘Trish… what is that painting?’
Trish knew without asking which painting he meant.
‘It is Emperor Hui Tsong’s copy of
Lady Kuo Kuo’s Spring Outing
. The original was by Chang Hsuan in the eighth century.’
Jake rolled over and looked at it. It was very pretty. The stylized horses, the faint pinks and lime greens of the ladies’ skirts, the whole thing, in fact, demonstrated a highly delicate
sensitivity.
‘Have you told me this before, Trish?’
‘Several times.’
‘When I was drunk, you mean?’
‘I wouldn’t wish to comment…’
But there was the faintest hint of amusement in Trish’s reply that implied that he had indeed been drunk. As you’d expect, perhaps. Jake had, after all, programmed her himself.
Oxygen generators… now what’s that all about?
The latest space launch did interest him, however. Since the space race had begun again in earnest thirty years back, it had been a matter of national pride. As a student at the academy, he had
had pictures of astronauts on his wall. Americans, Russians, Chinese, Europeans, including one or two pure-born Englishmen. Those were the new heroes. And when he’d graduated at eighteen, it
was an astronaut he’d really wanted to be, not a
login
.
Logins
… sounded so prosaic. And so unreal, from what he’d heard. But he knew better now. This world of theirs depended on
logins
. Without them things would grind to a
halt. Astronauts, romantic as they were, were a luxury.
Hugo, of course, thought otherwise. He thought them the saviours of the world. Or, at least, the pioneers of new and better worlds.
Jake, however, didn’t believe that. He thought it was a lot of sentimental bullshit. He’d seen first hand what really happened. Seen how the moon-based ore companies had trebled and
quadrupled their profits these last few years.
Brave New World, my arse, he’d say. It’s the new Klondyke.
There were colonies on the moon already. The Chinese had six, the Americans four, the Russians a further two. The EU had built one, but there’d been an accident and they’d all died.
And now there would be colonies on Mars.
Jake stretched, relaxing, wondering what it was like up there.
And after Mars?
Jake felt a faint vibration in the tiny insert behind his ear. He sat up.
‘Kate?’
There was a moment’s silence, then Kate’s voice filled his head.
‘Hi, sweetheart… I’m incoming… I’ll be there in five…’
‘Thought you had things to do?’
‘I did. But I cancelled them. You sounded needy.’
‘Needy?’ He laughed. ‘I could have sent for one of the company women.’
‘Over my dead body.’
He smiled at that. ‘See you in a bit.’
‘See you.’
They cut contact.
Jack sat there a moment, wondering just how he was going to play this. Should he tease her? No. It was too big a thing for that. Well then, maybe he’d just hand her the sealed packet the
permit had come in.