The Chosen Seed (38 page)
Mr Dublin sighed. His memories of the early days were so vague now; he’d been small too long. Sometimes he wondered if he was becoming more like
them
than one of his own. One day Jarrod Pretorius simply hadn’t been there, and in the main, no one had cared. Those were the glory
days, when their
Glow
was bright, and even Mr Bright and the First had seemed undisturbed by his leaving – but then, Mr Bright had always known that Pretorius was different. Pretorius had adored the First, although Mr Dublin was sure the First saw the strange youngster as some kind of pet rather than a friend.
And now it would appear that Jarrod Pretorius had been summoned back from the wilderness – by whom? And why?
His coffee was cold, but he drank it anyway, to soothe the dryness in his throat from the cigarettes. There were only two people who could control Jarrod Pretorius: Mr Bright and the First. Mr Bright had enlisted Mr Vine’s help and now he was out there somewhere with Cassius Jones. As for the First, he was just a gibbering old man crying into his pillow somewhere. What could he do?
He thought of the day they’d stood by the bed, watching as he’d awakened. He’d been shocked, as had the late Mr Craven, and more than a little afraid. He sank into the memory, reliving it: had Mr Bright been as revolted? Mr Bright, the First’s right-hand man: surely even he should had more of a reaction? Especially as the loss of the First could only impact badly on his own position … No, Mr Dublin concluded, Mr Bright hadn’t reacted, he had stayed calm … it had been almost as if he had expected it.
Mr Dublin’s brain raced: there was a bigger picture that he was missing. There was something about that wreck of an old man that Mr Bright had not shared with them – something that had clearly backfired on him, because he’d been ousted from his position and was now on the run, with Armageddon about to rain down upon them.
He
was coming – and only one person could have called
him
.
Him, the First, Mr Bright, Mr Solomon, Mr Bellew and Mr Dublin himself
: this was the cast of characters who made up
so much of their story. And as the figures danced in his mind, a cold realisation dawned on Mr Dublin: if he had to choose one of their own to trust in a crisis – someone he trusted to do the best for them and this world – then it would have to be Mr Bright. It had
always
been Mr Bright, the Architect.
Mr Dublin started cursing himself, for becoming side-tracked by fear, not just the others’, but his too, and for losing sight of the wood for the trees. Mr Bright would die for this world – it was probably the only thing he would die for. If
he
was coming, then Mr Bright had been double-crossed.
He picked up the phone. ‘I need to know the whereabouts of a man called Jarrod Pretorius. Fast.’ He looked again at the screen. If the First was in England, then Pretorius would be as well. ‘Check government records. He’ll be working for one of the agencies.’
He hung up. A moment later, he lit his fourth cigarette and started making calls. It was time for them all to be on the same side.
‘What do you mean, there’s some kind of deep-space interference?’ David Fletcher asked.
The technogeek – Fletcher couldn’t remember his name; he viewed most of the staff on this level more as one incomprehensibly bright hive-mind – shrugged nervously. ‘We’re not sure,’ he admitted. ‘Whatever it is, we’re not getting accurate data through from the satellites –
any
satellites, actually, not ours, nor any other country’s. Whatever it is, it’s a global phenomenon.’
‘Something’s knocking out all the satellites? What is it, some kind of meteor storm?’ The call from Ramsey ten minutes previously had started small alarm bells ringing in
his head, and now they were getting louder. For once he was actively interested in all the science stuff. He’d feigned disinterest in the DI’s call – the last thing he needed was to get caught up in Cass Jones’ antics – but Ramsey had warned him there would be some kind of massive terrorist event, and a few minutes later all hell had broken loose on the monitoring floor … how exactly could that be a coincidence?
‘We’re not sure exactly what it is,’ the technogeek said. ‘Perhaps it’s that.’
‘You don’t sound confident.’
‘I’m not.’ The man was sweating slightly. ‘I’ve trained for years. I’ve got an IQ of 155 and I’m considered brilliant by other brilliant men. But even I don’t understand exactly how SkyCall 1 works.’
‘If all the satellites aren’t working, then neither will SkyCall. Surely its function is to collect data from the other satellites?’
The scientist shook his head, a brief irritated action, as if he was talking to a child who wasn’t listening properly, and slowed his speech in a way Fletcher found deeply annoying. ‘You are misunderstanding what it is I am telling you. It’s not that the satellites aren’t working, exactly. We started picking up some strange deep-space activity, and that was when the satellites started to stop transmitting their usual information. In the past few minutes, the satellite TV signal in the United States stopped working. Ours should be gone shortly, if the satellites are going down in the same order that they started to malfunction. It’ll be on the news soon. We’ll say it’s some kind of space-storm issue, that’ll stall them for a while, but that isn’t what’s really happening.’ He paused, looking very uncomfortable. ‘The satellites aren’t malfunctioning; all their systems are fine. They’re just
stopping their normal activities and then turning outwards – towards space. It’s as if—’ He hesitated, and Fletcher wondered why he was looking so nervous. After a moment, the scientist said a little shakily, ‘It’s as if they’re all waiting to start a new command program.
All
of them.’
‘But that can’t be,’ Fletcher said, frowning. ‘These satellites, surely they all belong to different countries? And they all have different operating systems – they’re not linked. So how can they be functioning as one unit?’
‘But they
are
linked now,’ the scientist said. ‘
We
linked them with SkyCall 1.’
‘You think SkyCall is doing this?’ He tried not to let his fear sound in his voice, but he wasn’t doing a great job.
‘I don’t know!’ The man’s voice had dropped to a harsh whisper. ‘I didn’t program the virus it uploaded –
he
did –I didn’t even understand it properly. What if—’ He stopped and peered around him, to make sure they were not being overheard, then continued, ‘What if there was a secondary virus under it? And we don’t know what it does?’
Fletcher stood silently for a second, letting the technogeek’s words sink in, before turning and heading out into the quiet corridor.
He flipped open his phone and called the last number listed.
‘Ramsey?’ he said, when the voice answered, ‘I don’t have a Jarrod Pretorius, but I do have a Jed Praetorian. He might not be your man, but the names are close and my gut is saying yes. He’s at the Harwell Institute, the Science and Innovation facility. We’ve tried to call him back here, because there’re some problems with a satellite program he installed for us, but thus far we haven’t got hold of him.’ He paused. ‘Tell Jones. And then pick me up on the way.’
T
he old man’s recovery had been short-lived, and they’d had to stop twice on their journey as he coughed up clumps of bloody matter and vomited loudly and violently into dirty service station toilets. Gabbi stroked his thin hair and spoke soothingly to him, but there was no doubt that he was dying. The First was getting more impatient at every stop; although he claimed it was simply his eagerness to get them all home, she could sense his irritation and it made her sad.
The old man had been so excited to see his friend again, but it felt like that excitement was only one way. Perhaps it would be different when they were home; perhaps the First would be more relaxed, more like himself. She couldn’t quite adjust to seeing him in this strange child’s body – maybe that was affecting her judgement? He had been happy when they’d arrived at the poor priest’s house, and as she dispatched the two men so ineptly guarding him he had giggled and smiled and called them the
Angel Gabriel
and the
Holy Ghost
, and that had made him laugh more, and hug them tightly.
Then he’d told them what he wanted to do to the priest, and all the laughing had stopped. When it was done, they had washed and left, and she had avoided his eyes, as had the old man. It had been so unnecessarily cruel. She wondered
when he’d become cruel – or had it always been there and they just hadn’t noticed?
Beside her the First was sweating, his skin shining with damp, and she worried that he was stretching himself too far, especially given his recent weakened state. Where was he getting his strength from, the old man? It felt too much of a coincidence, that the old man was fading so fast while the First was getting stronger.
She quelled the thought as she turned the car through the gates of the Science and Innovation facility. There was a guard, but he appeared to be asleep, and the barrier was raised – so no wonder the First was sweating; it had probably been a long time since he’d used any of the skills that belonged to his natural body. This atmosphere made it harder as well – she knew that from the experience of calling for him in the old ways.
Jarrod Pretorius was waiting for them outside the small building that was his research unit, just past the shining metal and glass structure that housed the rest of the Harwell Institute. Her heart thumped: despite his changed form, she would have recognised him anywhere, just from his
Glow
, which had always been different, not gold, nor silver, but a strange muted silvery-purple. She had always been drawn to him, though so many others had been driven away by whatever it was that was so unusual about him. She liked his quiet; it was peaceful, and she could see beyond it to the strong heart and fearless loyalty.
It took all her will not to run to him, but instead to help the old man from the back seat first.
When they were finally face to face, his eyes rested on her for only a moment before turning to the First, and that broke her heart. She wondered if he even recognised her.
‘I’ve been alone for such a long time,’ he said softly. ‘I waited, just like you told me too. I hid and I concentrated and I kept them locked in my head for such a long time. It was too much – it hurt – but I did it, until I could put the locks somewhere else.’
He had been damaged, Gabbi could see that; it was in his eyes. What exactly had the First made him do – how far had he pushed the loyalty of his gentle, puppy-dog friend?
‘Are the Walkways opening? Have you unlocked them?’ Even in his child’s voice, the First’s words were cold.
‘I need to start the final sequence,’ Pretorius said.
‘Then let’s go and do it.’ The First smiled as more sweat dripped from his dark hair. ‘There’s only so long I can keep this place subdued. It’s hurting me.’ He strode ahead through the doors, and the old man limped along at his side.
‘That family have always been so very selfish,’ she said softly as she slipped her hand into his. The words were treason, but Pretorius had never repeated anything he’d heard; it was why he was so well used, she supposed. The First, who was more powerful than most by birth, had been concentrating for an hour or so at most. The old man was dying from the effort of finding him, and Pretorius had spent millennia keeping the universe locked in a riddle – and that had taken so much from him that he’d had to hide away in the quiet. They inspired so much loyalty, but beneath the surface charm they were cruel, and unutterably selfish.
Beside her, Jarrod Pretorius had started to cry. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, and then led him inside. Whether for one or the other, she and he had vowed to serve that family. It was time to see their vows through.
‘What the hell?’ The man on the gate was asleep and the barrier was up. Cass had worried about getting access; he certainly hadn’t expected it to be this easy.
‘The First,’ Mr Bright said, ‘flexing his muscles.’
Cass didn’t ask; he didn’t want to know. He’d put his grieving for Father Michael to one side for now – the only way to honour that man was to find the people who’d killed him and deal with them, and to make sure that Christian’s true son was safe. Part of him believed Bright’s story must be crazy; that the little boy he’d stolen was really Luke, but that he’d become the focus of some ridiculous delusion of the Network’s – but another,
deeper
part of him, the part who had seen the Chaos in the Experiment, who felt the
Glow
, that part of him was starting to believe, and what frightened him most about that was that it also meant that he was starting to accept the truth of the other things he’d fought so long against – the
Glow
, the Network, what Mr Bright and his colleagues really were – and how they resonated inside him. He closed that thought down and drove slowly past the main building. Ramsey, Hask and Fletcher would be on their way.
They
belonged in the real world –
his
world, the gritty, brutal world of murder and robbery and too-short lives. He belonged beside them, not standing with Mr Bright. He wondered what he’d dragged them into. He also wondered whom he was trying to convince.
‘The whole place is asleep,’ he muttered.
‘There!’ Mr Bright’s finger shot up, pointing to a small building a couple of hundred feet away. Two figures were just disappearing inside.
Cass drove as close as he could get, his heart pounding, then started to climb out of the car.
‘Wait!’ Mr Bright caught his arm to stop him and pulled a gun from inside his coat. ‘I have my own methods of
defence, but you are not yet ready for those. We don’t die easily – you know that now – but bullets will slow us down.’
‘Where did you get it?’ Cass released the safety, feeling better already.
‘I took it from one of the two dead men while you went outside to call Ramsey.’