Authors: David Wingrove
This – the ‘processing’ as it was called – was the part Wang liked the most and Jiang the least.
Jiang Lei sighed, then gestured for it to begin. The prisoners had all been given numbers, from one to one hundred and thirteen. It wasn’t a big batch – Jiang had processed more than
six hundred in a morning before now – but if he was to do it properly it would take him a while.
‘Number one!’ Wang yelled, moving towards the front of the queue, his manner threatening now, his face suddenly ugly with rage. ‘Present yourself!’
Unnecessary
, Jiang thought, looking down at the image on the screen of his slate.
So totally unnecessary
.
He read the brief summary.
Miss Jennifer Oatley. Twenty-three. Unmarried. No children. No political affiliations and no criminal record.
So far, so good. He looked up, studying the young woman, seeing at a glance just how frightened she was. She hadn’t a clue what was going on.
What if it had been the other way round? What if the West had taken over China and this was one of his daughters? Little Mei, perhaps. How would
he
have felt?
But he knew he was only tormenting himself. It had to be done, and if
he
hadn’t done it then some other bastard – someone with far less tact or sensitivity – would have
been doing it.
Or maybe not bothering at all. Maybe just rounding them up and ‘dealing’ with them, like they had in the Middle East.
Jiang sighed. It was going to be a long day.
‘Miss Oatley? Miss Jennifer Oatley?’
He could see how surprised she was that he spoke such perfect English. Most of them were. But then most of them hadn’t been to Cambridge, like he had. Most of them hadn’t had the
education.
Which was another reason why he was here. Because of a friendship he had made, years ago, in another part of this tiny island. In Cambridge.
He began the questioning. Have you a boyfriend? Have you ever taken drugs? Have you any debilitating diseases? What do you think of this and that and…?
Etcetera, etcetera…
Most of it, of course, was already on file. That is, if they were over twenty-two. This one was borderline. She’d been only one year old when it all fell apart, and had known no other
world. But some of them…
They didn’t know just how much Tsao Ch’un knew about them. How, when it had all collapsed, he had hung on to their records, making copies of whatever he could get his hands on,
storing it all, waiting for the day when it would be used to screen new citizens for his continent-spanning cities.
All of which ought to have made the job easier. But people weren’t just good or bad, healthy or unhealthy, political or non-political. People were complex, and Jiang welcomed this part of
it – the making sure – as much as he loathed its consequences.
It even made good sense to him not to let some in – to bar them and make life better for the rest. Murderers and rapists and the like – what right did
they
have to a new
life?
Only it was rarely that straightforward, much as Wang Yu-Lai would have liked it to be.
They had taken this batch in a single raid, four days back. More than forty they had ‘processed’ there and then – away from the others, naturally. It didn’t pay to panic
them, after all.
There were certain categories that Tsao Ch’un didn’t want. Criminals, the overtly religious, political agitators, so-called ‘ethnics’, Japanese, and the old.
All the rest were potential citizens. But not all of them were suitable.
Tsao Ch’un had set one simple and far-reaching criterion – would they make a good citizen? In that regard, any anti-social tendency was discouraged. They most certainly didn’t
want
difficult
people.
That was why they put them in the camps. To watch them. And to question their friends and neighbours, because who, after all, would know them better?
Jiang finished his questions and, nodding to the girl, indicated that she should go through to the cabin on the right, where two clerics sat at a table. He pressed his electronic seal against
the face of the slate, then keyed the next entry.
She had got through. Providing the medical showed nothing serious, she would be a citizen within the year. After she had been ‘inducted’.
‘Number Two!’ Wang bellowed. ‘Move up! Quickly now! We haven’t got all day!’
Jiang Lei looked to Wang Yu-Lai and groaned inwardly. Maybe not all day, but it was going to be a long session. He could sense it.
He touched the slate, changing the image.
‘Mister Andrew James Stewart. Forty-seven,’ it read. ‘Widower. No children. No political affiliations. One conviction for Drunk & Disorderly.’
That’s what it read, and the image matched the man standing in front of him, his identity confirmed by fingerprints, DNA and retinal scan. Only he claimed to be someone else. He said he
was Arthur Hillman. Fifty-two and single.
So why was he lying?
Jiang had a good idea even before he asked. Knew because he’d seen this time and again. The man had taken on someone else’s identity. Someone who had died in the troubles that had
followed the Fall. There were countless reasons why, but most just wanted a fresh start, away from authority, and a new identity gave them that.
‘Mister Stewart…’ he began.
‘That isn’t me!’ the man protested, taking a step beyond the black paint line that was drawn just in front of his feet. ‘I’m Arthur Hillman. I…’
Wang rushed across and, slapping the man, pushed him back, shouting at him.
‘Be quiet! Answer only when you are asked a question!
Understand?
’
Jiang waited, watched the man glare at Wang, then look back at him.
‘Mister Stewart,’ he began again, ‘I would advise you to give up your pretence. My Master is all-seeing. He knows when you were born and when married. And he knows of your
sorrows. He knows, for instance, how your wife died in giving birth, and how the child subsequently died. So please do not even think of continuing this deception. It would only be to your
detriment. Now… speak clearly to me… you are Andrew James Stewart, is that right?’
As Stewart confessed, Jiang looked past him, seeing how the others were surprised and yet impressed by his detailed knowledge of their ‘friend’. Such knowledge proved a powerful
tool, and after over twenty years of being ‘off the radar’, most were frightened by it. They had got used to being free and unwatched. But now the eyes were back.
Literally so
, Jiang thought, looking at Wang Yu-Lai and seeing how the odious little shit was rubbing his hands together, enjoying this. Enjoying their misery, their suffering and
doubt.
Leniency? Jiang sniffed and, out of a sudden pique, changed his mind from the previous evening and passed Stewart as a potential citizen, ignoring Wang’s angry pout, clearing the image and
summoning up the next.
It was going to be a long day.
Jake turned and took Mary’s hand, helping her up.
It was strange, standing there beside Tom’s grave. He hadn’t thought he would be here again so soon, but Mary had wanted to come, to make sure everything was neat and tidy, and to
spend a moment alone with Tom.
Jake understood that perfectly. So it would be from here on. However well it went, they would always have these ghosts in their lives, these memories. Whatever lay ahead, it would always be
second best, and they would need to live with that. To accommodate that fact.
Looking at her, at the grief in her face, Jake knew he would come to love her. It wasn’t that hard. He already loved her as a friend. But they would have to find a way to live with the
distance, that strange feeling of abandonment each of them would sometimes feel. Yes, and to deal with the fact that fate, not love, had brought them together.
A marriage of convenience. So it was. So it had to be. But he would try his best to make it work. Looking at her, at how fragile she was, he swore to himself that he would never let her down.
Her or her girls. From now on they were his. Tom had handed them on to him, and he felt a sacred duty to look after them.
‘Are you done?’ he asked gently.
She nodded, her eyes questioning his momentarily, searching his to see if things were still all right between them.
Jake looked past her at the grave. The rich dark earth was piled high on top of the coffin. Above it, Mary had placed six sprays of winter jasmine, the tiny white flowers like exploding stars,
their sweet, delicate scent filling the air.
Just then the crows in a nearby tree began to caw. They both turned, looking at the scattering of dark shapes among the leafless branches.
Jake took her hand, squeezing it softly. She looked at him and gave a small, sad smile.
‘Come,’ she said. ‘I’ll do dinner…’
They were at the gate, Jake standing back to let her go first, when they heard the sound in the air.
Mary looked to him. ‘What’s that?’
They turned, looking towards Corfe, towards the sound. Slowly it grew, the vague vibration becoming a droning pulse – the unmistakable sound of engines. And then they saw it, its huge,
dark shape emerging from above the trees, not two hundred yards away.
The craft came on, growing larger moment by moment, moving slowly, a vast, almost spherical thing painted a perfect midnight black. It had no shine to it at all. If anything it seemed to absorb
the light, such that its shape seemed more an absence than a presence.
Behind them the crows scattered, cawing loudly, raucously.
Mary let out a long, low moan. Somewhere, off to their backs, dogs were barking now.
The sound grew, shaking the earth, its roar now filling the air, making them hold their hands up to their ears, it was so loud.
On it came, moment by moment, until they fell beneath its shadow.
Mary sank to her knees.
Jake went to her quickly, kneeling beside her, wrapping his arms about her tightly, expecting, at any moment, some bolt of force, or a rocket to come hurtling down out of that darkness and
destroy them.
He stared up at it, waiting for the killing blow, straining to make something – anything – out, even as Mary buried her head in his chest, terrified.
There… I was right.
Beneath the craft, on what looked like two long fins, was a circular design.
A dragon, its eyes fierce. Its talons sharp, its body coiled like a wheel, its mouth swallowing its tail.
It moved on, past them, following the curve of the road, slower than walking pace, as if some alien sentience controlled it.
As they came out of its shadow, Mary looked to him. She seemed in shock.
‘What in god’s name…?’ She asked, her voice like a child’s, trembling with fear.
Jake held her tighter. He wanted to let her know he was there for her, that she was safe in his arms, but he couldn’t look at her, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the massive alien
ship.
It was directly over both their houses now, its huge bulk throwing them into deep shadow.
People were out in the street now, staring up at it. Some of them were standing, but most were on their knees, awed and appalled by the sight. Peter was there and the girls. They were in a
little group in the front garden, staring up at it fearfully and hugging each other. Nearby, Boy was jumping up and barking, but you could hear nothing of it above those mighty engines.
On it went, slowly, so slowly now it seemed almost about to stop, following the line of the road, less than a hundred yards above the old slate rooftops.
Jake’s mouth was dry, his whole body tensed against some sudden violence.
This was the future, this hideous juxtaposition of old and new. This was what it was like to have the aliens land. This awful feeling of helplessness. The intrusion of a brutal, overpowering
force.
Like rape.
The sound changed, dropped down an octave. The very sound of it made him want to be sick. He felt his stomach fall away.
‘Oh, Christ…’
For a second or two nothing, just this sudden stillness, and then the sound changed, like the old sound of jet engines powering up, and it began to accelerate, going from walking pace to fast
velocity in seconds.
Jake watched it flash out of sight, his mouth agape.
Next to him, Mary was trembling.
Jake tried to stand, only his legs had gone. He waited a moment, then tried again, hauling himself up onto his feet this time.
He reached down, helping Mary up.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s see to the kids. They looked terrified.’
Mary looked at him, his words getting through the numbness, making her forget her own fear. She nodded.
He tried to smile, only he couldn’t. He felt right then that nothing could ever make him smile again. ‘Let’s calm them down… get them settled back indoors...’
He stopped. She was staring at him.
‘That’s what you saw, isn’t it? At market…’
He nodded. ‘It’s China. They’ve finally come. They…’
He stopped, seeing how close to tears she was. Even so, she had to know. She had a right to know.
‘Let’s get the kids settled, eh? Then there’s something I’ve got to show you.’
They climbed up onto the topmost wall. There, with the King’s Tower at their back, he handed her the Bresser glasses.
For a long time she was silent, then she lowered the binoculars.
‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Do you understand now?’
Mary sighed. ‘You want to look?’
He took the glasses from her and raised them to his eyes, expecting to see what he had seen only a day or two before. But it had changed. In fact, it shocked him to see how far it had encroached
in just a matter of days.
There were now five of the huge white shapes, like massive skyscrapers spread out across the landscape, four, maybe five miles distant at most. Now that it was closer, he could make out details,
could see the tiny, ant-like figures of men and, dwarfing them, massive spider-like machines, clearly vast in themselves, like mobile cranes. It was these that appeared to be constructing it,
weaving fine threads from vast tanks situated beneath their high platforms, and wrapping them, like a skein of silk, cat’s-cradle fashion about the mile-high supports.