The Gang of Four

The Bentley ground its way through west London, held up by bumper-to-bumper traffic and a seemingly endless chain of red traffic lights. It was not until reaching the M4 that Russell finally found an opportunity to put his foot down. The car effortlessly accelerated. Some punk in a BMW fancied giving Russell a race but his car inexplicably developed engine trouble and was forced to pull over onto the hard shoulder.

  ‘Tosser!’ shouted Russell.

  ‘Reactivate the cameras, Michael,’ instructed Ceres, ‘and, Mr. Tebb, stick to the approximate speed limit, if you would.’

  Russell slowed down to ninety mph.

  ‘So what happened back at the park?’ he eventually asked, ‘I got a bit confused towards the end there.’

  ‘Imagine you are a peeping tom, Mr. Tebb–’ Ceres began.

  ‘Sounds plausible,’ interrupted Michael.

  ‘–and you’ve been spying on someone who is viewing a computer screen. Then live footage of you viewing them appears on that screen. How would you feel?’

  ‘Busted!’ replied Russell, with a giggle.

  ‘Exactly!’ replied Ceres, ‘that’s how our Malevolence is feeling right now – busted, and worried. It knows the Prime Minister and his people observed it. And it is wondering what the consequences of that will be. That’s why it exploded the fruiting body. If the Victorians could give it hell, then imagine what the twenty-first century state could do if it were fully mobilized.’

  Russell frowned: ‘But we don’t want a big war kicking off in London, do we?’

  ‘No, I suppose not; the Malevolence certainly does not want that, and when the Prime Minister reads the secret file, which now includes some updates of my own, he may also think twice before reaching for the military option.’

  ‘You want them to negotiate a deal, something along the lines of what I was supposed to arrange?’ speculated Russell.

  Ceres just smiled.

  Russell allowed the car to slow down to seventy as he moved over to the slow lane. ‘So this thing wasn’t brainwashing or controlling our Prime Minister?’

  ‘No, just passively observing. It’s been doing the same with the hybrid.’

  ‘That chap we left on the roof?’

  ‘Hmm hm.’

  ‘What’s its interest in him?’

  ‘He survived. It has been greatly disturbed by the demise of the Sponsors, its “host” in a manner of speaking, so it is very curious about Alan Dosogne – and us.’

  ‘Us!?’

  ‘We have generated much turbulence over the last few days. Your Prime Minister, the secret service, the Malevolence – they are all interested in us.’

  ‘Do they know what they’re dealing with?’

  ‘No, only the hybrid knows, but I’ve firewalled his thoughts regarding our identity, and Mr. Dosogne has so far chosen not to share his knowledge. The Malevolence, however, is no fool. It has sent up a great many fruiting bodies in recent days, and it is piecing together some of the picture; it does not know who-or-what we are, but it has worked out some of the issues facing the human system.’

  ‘Really!?’

  Ceres nodded: ‘And it rejoices over that prospect about as much as you do, Mr. Tebb.’

  ‘Really!?’

  ‘Yes, really!’

  Russell contemplated all of this as the Bentley sped past the M25 and began to hit open country.

  ‘Why?’ he eventually asked.

  ‘The Malevolence is a sensationist: it seeks out experiences that are varied, novel, complex and intense. The natural world holds little interest, and the type of space-farer the Sponsors usually excrete is even less enticing. But there is always that “sweet spot” between the two – when the uplifted species begins to develop a culture and a science but while it still also retains its animalistic roots. That is what it likes.’

  ‘You mean us, as we are now.’

  ‘Yes, Mr. Tebb. You have a potential ally, but the likelihood of it influencing your fate in any positive way remains very low. It may try to stave off dumbass with some kind of reckless intervention but the genetic wreckage that would ensue…’ Ceres’s words trailed off as she became preoccupied with the sights and smells of the English countryside. The Bentley continued to zoom westwards into unbroken blue.

  ‘Reading Services will be coming up shortly,’ she remarked, ‘shall we stop for afternoon tea?’

  ‘Looks yummy, sir,’ encouraged Michael.

  ‘Looks radioactive,’ observed Russell.

  Mr. Waterstone continued to examine his dish with suspicion: a slice of whiter-than-white cheesecake topped with a thick fluorescent green jelly. He began to prod it with his small plastic fork.

  ‘You chose it, dear!’ remarked Ceres.

  The cat reluctantly took a slice off the apex and had a tentative nibble. Everyone watched keenly, awaiting the verdict.

  ‘Well,’ asked Russell, ‘is it novel, complex, intense, or… what was the other one?’

  ‘Varied,’ replied Michael.

  Mr. Waterstone considered the question.

  ‘Are you trying to imply something, Mr. Tebb?’ enquired Ceres.

  ‘Yeah, just that your description of the Malevolence sounds rather familiar. It sounds like you lot!’

  Mr. Waterstone sliced off more cheesecake and, with each bite, consumed it with more vigour and enthusiasm. Before long it was all gone. He eyed Russell.

  ‘Was it “yummy”?’ asked Russell.

  The cat gave him an ambivalent look.

  ‘A bit too sweet?’

  The cat nodded.

  Russell tucked into his cob sandwich. This particular restaurant at the services was less than one tenth full, its muted atmosphere, strangely relaxing. He studied Ceres, who was gazing out of the window, her mind seemingly elsewhere.

  ‘Do you consider the human system to be more interesting in this form?’

  Ceres turned and regarded Russell, but did not speak.

  Russell persisted: ‘I’m just wondering because you used the term “sweet spot” to–’

  ‘That was for the Malevolence.’

  ‘I know, but it sounds like you are all sensationalists as well!’

  ‘Sensationists!’ corrected Michael, ‘and who says we are!? I suppose we are a bit, if I’m honest.’

  ‘Ah ha! An admission!’

  No one reacted, so Russell tried again: ‘So let’s say you are “a bit” sensat…’

  ‘Sensationist?’ suggested Michael.

  Yes, that. So where is your personal “sweet spot”? ...Ceres! You can go first.’

  The woman rolled her eyes and groaned ostentatiously:

  ‘Go on then, give me the options!’

  ‘Present day?’

  ‘Over populated and over-reliant on out-of-control technology. Too close to the singularity, in other words.’

  ‘Alright, pre-internet, post war?’

  ‘Most humans felt trapped in monotonous lives.’

  ‘Victorian era?’

  ‘Too much hard labour and smoke.’

  ‘Renaissance?’

  ‘Too many diseases and despots.’

  ‘Early civilizations?’

  ‘See previous... and too much ridiculous superstition.’

  ‘Well that’s it,’ said Russell, ‘I give up!’

  ‘What about pre-civilization? Hunter gatherers?’ suggested Ceres.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Worked better before the Sponsors stuck a spanner in the works.’

  ‘That gets us back to dumbass!’ Russell shook his head and turned to the spider: ‘Michael?’

  ‘I’m The Machine, Russell, so I’d suggest the future is where my sweet-spot lies. Perhaps the period just prior to the singularity, but no, that’s going to be no fun for you… I generally prefer a mature high-tech blend of bio and machine, but not cybernetic fusion as is your fate. I don’t think your system truly has a “sweet-spot” that is to my absolute liking, actually.’

  Russell considered Michael’s reply: ‘So you’ve
experienced others? Systems more to your liking? How’d you manage that?’

  ‘We’re Earth’s 5-D gestalts, we get about, you know? Your world, even your timeline, is but a small part of the Infinite Earth. It’s a bit of a backwater, actually.’

  This esoteric idea had been revealed in The Truth, along with many other incomprehensible concepts. It was too much for Russell to retain back then and he didn’t really want to get bogged down with it now. Only the fate of the “human system” interested him, even if it was just a “backwater”. He was still not ready to give up on it:

  ‘You said before that we were heading for the singularity like a speeding rifle bullet?’

  ‘Did I say that?’ asked Michael.

  ‘I did,’ replied Ceres.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ replied Michael, ‘what of it?’

  ‘And that rate of travel is what’s going to result in us–’

  ‘–becoming a cybernetic hive-mind,’ finished Ceres.

  ‘Yes! So if the human system were… regressed somehow, to an earlier pre-industrial state. Could we then avoid this outcome?’

  Ceres sighed: ‘We explained all of this to you yesterday: your system is set up for an accelerated collision with the singularity. Reverting to an earlier state simply delays the inevitable: sooner or later you will industrialize and the machine networks will subsequently take over. You should revert all the way back to the natural hominid and then take the slow path. That strategy will work!’

  ‘But that’s millions of years!’ Russell complained.

  ‘Why do you care, anyway, Russell, it’s not like you are going to have to live through it?’ said Michael.

  ‘My descendents will... What about you, Mr. Waterstone? What do you–?’ Russell glanced to his side, but the cat had vanished.

  ‘He’s no fool,’ remarked Michael.

  Russell gave up and stared out of the window. A family of four were engaging in good-natured horseplay as they approached the services; he noticed that Ceres was watching them intently:

  ‘Your world is certainly interesting and stimulating. But we’re just focusing on the positive side of the ledger, aren’t we? What about your endless wars or your exploitation of each other or your environmental vandalism? How’s the world going to look if you persist like this for any length of time? You’ll trash the place!’

  Russell remained silent.

  ‘How’s the cob?’ asked Michael.

  ‘Yummy,’ replied Russell, with little enthusiasm.

  The group made ready to depart.

  ‘Where is Mr. Waterstone?’ asked Ceres.

  There was no sign of the cat so the group split up to begin a search. In due course, he was located with the family of four. The youngest child was surreptitiously feeding him every time her parents weren’t watching.

  ‘You’ll make him fatter,’ admonished Ceres with a smile as she picked up the cat.

  ‘He’s yours?’ asked the father.

  ‘He doesn’t belong to us,’ replied Ceres, ‘but we are looking after him.’

  ‘A rescue cat?’

  ‘No, but somewhat feral.’

  ‘You should see him when he loses it!’ replied Russell.

  On cue Mr. Waterstone began to growl and Ceres hastily put him down. ‘Let’s head back to the car, shall we?’ she suggested.

  ‘I knew that cheesecake would make him fractious!’ remarked Michael.

  ***