***
The next morning, Frances sat with his head in his hands, his monitor displaying a confirmation request. In his mind, he could see the alien grey staring at him with those black eyes, mute and terrifying. It looked through him, like a man watching a burger. I will consume you, the eyes said. Your sole purpose is to feed me. Frances was expected to cull millions of humans, just to provide the shareholders, those awful aliens, with a fresh healthy source of food. It wasn’t right.
“You need to do it Frances,” said Paulie from behind him. “Remember – they’re just food.”
“Go away Paul,” he replied without looking up, “They are still people.”
“They’re dead one way or another.” Paulie put a steaming mug of Kopi Luwak in front of Frances’s bowed head. “They either die from the killer virus, die from being culled, die when the aliens take over the earth, or die when the aliens eat them. Does it really matter why they die, or who kills them? They’re dead.” He patted Frances on the back softly. “Save them, Frances. Save them all by killing some.”
“If it doesn’t matter whether they die, then why do we bother controlling them?” Frances was stalling; he knew he had to do this. He needed more time to talk this through in his head, comes to terms with it, make peace with it.
“Simple – it’s a matter of continuity. Under the aliens rule, everyone would be in cages, waiting for the axe to fall. At least in this scenario, we create the illusion of freedom when in fact all this,” he motioned to an upside-down world map, projected on the far wall, “is nothing more than a massive free-range farm. At least in our farm, people have the option of living happily. Do it.”
Frances sighed, looked at Paulie’s sympathetic face, and then pressed the button.
A Visual Masterpiece
I first met Miss Tithe in the summer of '95. She was just a friend of a friend, but also a minor celebrity in our academic world too. In fact, some astute entrepreneurs were realising that Tithe’s abilities made for some interesting possibilities, so she was quickly becoming a name to be associated with. I was lucky to have ever gained access to her in the first place, although we did take her for granted. I’m proud to say that I was one of the first to use her.
I was living and working in the small village of Reagent at the time. It was a quiet, almost desolate place, situated away from the choking anxiety of the city to be peaceful, but not too far away to miss out on civilisation’s conveniences and services. The one thing that Reagent offered (apart from its whispering trees and lonely dark roads) was an exemplary university and, considering the countryside location, had an exclusive reputation. This reputation for academic excellence was well-deserved; on paper, at least. Its alumni boasted a healthy selection of the finest minds in the country, although it could be argued that only the finest minds were accepted to start with, and thus this statistic was slanted somewhat. Whenever I saw this statistical evidence paraded about in the university prospectus, my mind always conjured an image of Benjamin Disraeli. The university also accepted people that possessed the alternative to intelligence; money. After all, research and building maintenance cannot be paid by reputation alone, so the spawn of Lord and Lady so-and-so could be seen often walking the grounds, trying to fit in without yawning too much.
I often wondered how I managed to land a job in such a prestigious place; I came from a working class background, my mother a maid and my father a miner. They brought me up with the love and care uncommon amongst the slums of the big city, and I soon was tagged as a gifted student. I was sponsored to go to a city college to study astrophysics, a quite pointless degree in an age that fawns over practical trades or potentially lucrative careers. Yet I persevered and became something of a recognized figure in the tiny world of astrophysics.
I wrote a book; an admittedly poor book that was the product of others books on astrophysics regurgitated and rebound in a different cover. It caught the eye of an influential dean of Reagent University though, and on a very icy winter morning, I received a crisp white letter offering me a job with a massive salary (to my modest mind) and a substantial research grant. How could I not accept?
Despite my income and my low overheads, I lived in a barely-upright creaky dusty 3rd floor flat 300 paces away from the university grounds. The furnishings were sparse; in fact, it was hard to see something that wasn’t wood. I had no carpet or rugs, nor did I have any ornaments or pictures. My flat could be described thus; a wooden table, a wooden chair, a wooden bed, wooden doors, a wooden floor. Even the bath had wooden panels. It screamed frugal, scruffy, poor. It was where I belonged.
I say that the table was wooden; in fairness, I had never seen the tabletop for the perpetual mess of papers that I kept on it. That was my job; to sprawl. My unofficial mentor, Charles Lamb, often stated that the only neat scientist he could ever tolerate was a dead one, and this to me was almost a divine command to be messy.
On the first day that Miss Tithe visited me, I prepared as if royalty was arriving. I tidied up and made my small thin bed. I even shuffled my papers and stacked them into piles on the desk. I considered showing the room what a duster looks like for the first time since moving in, but then judged against it in fear of disturbing a long-dormant evil spirit.
There was a scratch at the cheap wooden door, and there she stood; a vision of heaven-on-earth. Her hair was fine, almost transparent, like strands of glass. Her eyes flashed with a green radiance, and her skin was delicately pale as if she was a ghost; ethereal, beautiful, graceful, and not completely real. Her face was neutral; not a smile, not a flash of emotion. This was Rennet Tithe.
I could try to describe how knowledgeable she was; no words could do her justice. She knew absolutely everything, or at least seemed to. Numbers, names, places - she could retrieve any fact at will without missing a beat. It was a little freaky to witness first-hand, especially when this fragile porcelain doll could correct the best minds at any given subject. Yet, I knew that she was somehow lacking in common sense; my best friend Joshua, who had spent much time in the presence of this oracle of facts, had described to me several occasions where she had been unable to do the simplest of tasks at times. And clumsy! Josh had said that every cup in her house had met the floor at speed, and very few currently sported a handle. This is the way of most things; where there is a tremendous ability, there always exists an equally-tremendous deficit, and Miss Tithe's weakness was simply common sense. Intelligent but stupid.
She wore a simple dress, mostly blue with black trim down the sides. It looked slightly boxy, as if severely ironed, and her shoes were slim matt-black bars pointing directly at me, like divining rods.
She stood, silently, wonderfully, waiting for me to instruct her. I whispered "Come in, please."
She walked into my small dusty flat, looked around with a quick sweep of her flashing eyes, then pulled the wooden chair into the corner of the room, next to my telephone, and sat. She regarded me without emotion, and I pulled up a chair opposite, excited by the prospect of questioning Rennet Tithe in my own home. I clapped my hands together in anticipation.
"What do you wish to know?" she asked; a simple question.
I took a moment to think. I had been looking forward to this moment, yet now the moment had arrived, I found that I was mind-locked, unable to bring any question to my mouth. It was frustrating.
"Everything!" I finally said.
"Everything?" she replied flatly. "Everything can be defined as all things or all of a group of things. In the context of-"
"No no no," I interrupted her hurriedly, "I meant that I wish to hear about everything in this life. The animals, the places, the people. Everything!"
"That may take some time. Where shall I begin?"
"Hmm. Tell me about the United Kingdom." A good place to start is always the home, as my mother used to say.
She blinked several times, her eyes flashing. "The United Kingdom is a country in the
northern hemisphere, comprised of…"
I listened intently as she reeled off facts and figures, demographics, history, former kings and queens, achievements… it was phenomenal. After a few minutes, I retrieved a pen and paper from the wooden table and noted down some key points. I asked her to clarify certain statements, to elaborate on others, and to repeat some statistics that interested me.
Over the course of several hours, she took me on a whirlwind tour of the world. She sketched out an african vista from memory, borrowing a selection of inks from my desk. She recited some classic poems and extracts from famous books. We played a quick game of chess, her playing style logical and methodical (which turned out to be her downfall; I sacrificed my queen in order to force her into a messy checkmate). She even recited several songs on-demand, her voice absolutely perfect in recreating the vocals and in some parts, the instruments too. She taught me how to make an origami swan. She taught me several words in german. She even taught me how to swim, although it was a theoretical walk-through, if you excuse the phrase. Images and sounds swirled around my head and I desperately tried to pluck them out of the air and onto paper, but there was simply too much information to capture.
10pm arrived and it was now frightfully dark, save for a small candle beside Rennet. She had remained upright and alert throughout the whole session, her eyes still sparkling in the dark.
I stretched, then stood up. My paper pad was full of rushed notes and scribbles, as if a spider had fallen into an inkwell then had suffered an epileptic fit all over my page. The fantastic ink pictures Rennet had created were folded carefully between the sheets of the pad for protection. Incidentally, I collected many of these pictures from Rennet Tithe over the following years – it became an obsession for me (which you will hear about later, to my shame). However, the fact that Rennet could generate an almost unlimited supply of these pictures meant that these perfectly-recreated images had virtually no value despite the accurate representation of their subjects.
"Rennet, I have kept you for too long I fear. I must retire."
She looked at me silently, and then, closing her eyes, she stood and headed for the door. If I had not opened it, I swear she would have tried to charge through.
"Goodnight Rennet," I called after her. She stopped and slowly faded away into the darkness. I stared after her for a moment, then closed the door.
Over the next few years, Rennet Tithe came to me every day. She answered every question I had and played every game I wanted to play. She painted me more wonderful pictures of landscapes and people. I even discovered that she knew jokes and word games, and spent days working through every puzzle she could create. I wanted to spend more time than I had to query Rennet, and I took a few days off work under the guise of sickness in order to drag more revelations from her vast knowledge.
At the university, I relayed the facts and images Rennet Tithe had shown me to the other researchers. Suitably fascinated, others started to ask for Miss Tithe to come to them too. After a short time, Rennet was a frequent visitor to many researchers, tutors and even some gifted students worthy of such an experience. Soon, we started to use Rennet to ferry written letters between us. She once informed me that she wasn't intended to be a conduit for mail, but she still provided this service nevertheless. We were grateful too; it was hard for scientists to find the time to socialise, especially when Rennet was taking up a fair amount of what spare social time we had. Her mail service quickly became important to us; after a time, we all hardly spoke in person anymore after work, preferring to talk through Rennet instead.
There was one thing I had not asked her about; if truth be told, I was beginning to tire with Rennet. I had long wondered how compliant Rennet Tithe would be to certain... adult questions.
One light summer night, I tidied my tiny flat and prepared for Rennet's arrival. She was becoming more tardy of late; Rennet was a celebrity now, everyone at least having knowledge of her within the village, and many using her for enlightenment. I took a slim silver hipflask from the inside of my jacket and took a small sip of whiskey. I was terribly nervous to make such a proposition to a woman such as Rennet; would she reveal the request to others? In my position at the university, there would be many people who would use such information to blackmail me. However, I was also aware that Rennet showed not the slightest hint of emotion. Ever. She was almost an automaton, answer questions and walk. This was her way.
There was a tick at the door, she never knocked but almost patted the door with a rapid clicking noise. I opened the door and stared once again at Rennet Tithe, beautiful and without compare. She wore a sleek white dress with a pattern of blue circles over it.
She handed me a stack of letters. "Your mail."
"Thank you Rennet." I motioned to her chair next to my telephone and she perched there, attentive but somehow empty. "What can I tell you about today?"
I swallowed the lump in my throat away and wish I had drunk more of the whiskey in my flask. I thought about sneaking a quick drink, but reluctantly decided against it.
"Rennet," I started, "I would like to see...a woman."
"Certainly." She took up the inks I always prepared for her and wet the brush. "What kind of woman would you like to see?"
"Uh..." I stammered, my nerves threatening to leave me at the critical part but I rallied round. "Um, tall, slim and naked."
There was a silence, then Rennet started to paint.
I sat in my own guilt as Rennet completed the picture. At several points, I almost jumped up and ripped the paper away to destroy it, to try and remove the sinful act I had asked of Rennet. Yet when she had finished, I stared at the anonymous woman on the paper, her delicious curves filling my mind with primal desires.
"She's wonderful," I breathed, and folded the image away for later. "Can you paint me another please? This time, a redhead?"
An afternoon getting Rennet to give me images of naked girls; what a complete waste of her talents, yet I felt like I had just discovered the correct use of the wheel. I was, after all, only a man. Rennet however, remained impassive and didn't judge my requests at all, so my requests became more graphic over the next few months. After telling everyone about this particular talent of Rennet’s, my colleagues started to trade these pictures via Rennet's mail service, and we spent less time asking Rennet about the world and its non-pornographic wonders.
At about the same time, a change came over Rennet. She would appear like a spectre at our doors, tired and soul-less. She was somehow slower to answer our questions, blinking frantically with those still-brilliant green eyes. The images she created were somehow fuzzy and not of the quality that we were used to. It was as if she were painting a picture of a picture, a second-hand image of sorts.
Then came the day of reckoning for me. The pornographic images were all very well, but they had awoken a very urgent need in me. Rennet finally arrived late one night, and I ushered her in without a word. She perched on her chair as usual, and I then noticed that she looked dishevelled, as if she had been running in her long black dress.
"What can I show you today?" she said in her monotonous unemotional tone.
I took in a deep breath and said "I want to make love with you."
“Certainly.” She started to undress.
So started my love affair with Rennet Tithe. It wasn't what I expected; she was everything I desired in a woman, yet it seemed like I was with an empty vessel, a soul-less mannequin, performing a mechanical act without emotional attachment. As my first such relationship, I had no previous experience to compare it to but I knew it wasn't quite right.
One night, I asked Rennet “Rennet, tell me about yourself.”
She sat completely still in her chair, eyelids fluttering. I waited, thinking that she was composing an answer.
Eventually, she said "Can I do anything for you?"
"I'm sorry; I asked you about yourself. Where do you live?"
"I don't reside in any on
e place, yet you can find me everywhere."
"That's nonsensical my dear," I replied, confused. "You're homeless?"
She smiled, the first emotion I had ever seen from her, even during our love-making. "It is more like that I do not need a home."
"So where do you go after you leave here every night?" I asked, worried now. Was she a succubus? Had I been cavorting with an evil spirit for all these years? Was this angel actually a demon?
"I serve others. I reply to your request, then move on to another, then come back to you and so on."
A thought suddenly entered my head, a nasty thought made from jealousy and guilt. "Do you make love to anyone else?"
"I do whatever people want."
"Oh."
"Were you looking for love?"
"I don't know anymore. Maybe not."
She stood up suddenly. "Just so you know, I am incapable of love. I am not one either. I am several. I am many.” Then she left.
Two weeks later, I became aware of the impact that Rennet Tithe was having on our small community. I was sat in the canteen of the university when two gentlemen entered and sat relatively close to me. They were elderly but magnificent, dressed like financial powerhouses and clearly brimming with wealth. They were talking about current affairs and matters of money when Rennet Tithe was mentioned.
Apparently, Rennet was not only being used by the scientists and privileged students, but by the bigger businesses to relay information and ideas between locations. People were even sending orders to businesses via Rennet. Blimey, I thought between a mouthful of cheese and pickle, if anyone is allowed access to rennet's amazing abilities, there would be nothing to stop them abusing her complete willingness to provide...anything they wished. I felt the pang of guilt by my own surrender to base instincts. I turned around to ask the pair how they knew about Rennet, but the gentlemen had gone.
At about 5 o' clock, I left the university grounds in the high summer sun, and suddenly felt dizzy. I fell to one knee and sucked in deep breaths of air. A couple of students stopped and helped me to my feet, offering to accompany me to my home to ensure my safe journey. I waved them away after a moment, but only managed a few more footsteps before I felt lightheaded and passed into unconsciousness.
I awoke on my back looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling. What had happened to me? I felt ill, a fever creeping at my forehead, and my back felt sweaty but cold. I had passed out, that much was obvious. Why?
Eventually, a face appeared above me, a kind face framed by a thin brown beard. He smiled at me.
"Ah, you're awake. How are you feeling there?"
"Groggy, sir." I replied. "What happened to me?"
"Not sure," replied the doctor, wrapping a blood pressure gauge around my arm, "I was hoping you could tell me." He started pumping the arm band as he talked to me. "A couple of students dragged you in here, dumped you on the floor, and scrammed. I thought you were half-cut until I took your temperature."
He checked my pressure, took my temperature again, and felt my forehead. "Tell me, Mr...?" He removed his hand and pressed his fingers into my wrists.
"Victor."
"Mr Victor. Do you meet with Rennet Tithe by any chance?"
I was suddenly alert, anxiety forcing my pulse to rise. The doctor raised an eyebrow. Dammit, he was checking for that reaction. "Yes I do. I'm a scientist so I use her for research."
"Research. What are you researching?"
"Astrophysics, mostly. Why?"
The doctor stopped taking my pulse and disappeared from view. I heard his sit down on something plush and he coughed. "Do you use Rennet for anything...more sexual?"
"Ah. I see." I felt my cheeks flushing and I struggled upright.
The doctor sat behind his desk and made a note. "Well, I'm not one to judge a gentleman on his private life..."
I hated this phrase. It meant that he was judging me, and it wasn’t a nice judgment either.
"...but I can tell you that you've caught a virus from Rennet Tithe."
"A virus? How bad a virus?"
"Not too bad. That's not the issue though," replied the doctor, "the question is whether you will continue using the...services...of Tithe. If you continue to abuse Tithe, you'll be re-infected."
"How do you know that it’s Rennet that’s the carrier?"
“Because you’re the 11th person from the university that has fallen ill and use Rennet Tithe. And before you say it, I’ve tried curing her many times, but she just starts spreading a different virus. It’s like she creates them or something.”
“You can cure me then?”
"Oh indeed. Easily." He ripped off a slip of paper and returned to my bedside. "Here's a year's prescription for a suitable antidote. Take once a day for as long as you keep using Rennet."
"Thank you." I took the slip and struggled to my feet.
"However, I would urge you to stop abusing Tithe for research." I nodded to him and, as I got to the door, he added "legitimate or otherwise."
Within a couple of days, I was feeling a lot better. I had not seen Rennet since my illness and was surprised how easy it was not to have access to her seemingly-infinite knowledge-base and pointless sexual acts, although I did miss my mail. Due to my illness, the university gave me leave for two weeks, probably aware of the cause already, especially if others had suffered from the same ailment. However, I took it upon myself to continue as best I could. I put pen to paper and purchased some stamps, then wrote some letters to my colleagues in the old-fashioned way. Not one person replied. I started a jigsaw puzzle but grew bored after only a few minutes, so I took great delight in scattering the pieces around the room like a child having a temper.
In the 5th day of my recuperation, I could bear it no longer; I needed access to Rennet Tithe, so I donned a coat and took to the streets to seek her out. It was a few minutes past 6pm on a Friday night, a time where students should be crawling the small streets, hopping between the generous selection of ale-houses and pubs around the campus. Instead, I could count the amount of pedestrians on one hand; it was completely deserted. The cobbled road stretching through the village was empty and dark; no-one had even bothered to switch the street lights on. What had happened? I pulled up my coat collar and made my way into the darkened street, my footsteps echoing between houses, lights flickering behind heavily-curtained windows. Suddenly, I saw a white veiled figure walking towards me, a pair of eyes glittering in the dark. It was her.
“Rennet!” I cried as I hurried towards her. She turned to her right and waited in front of a door. It opened, a pale yellow light spilling out over the gloomy cobbles, and she entered just before I could get to her. The door slammed in my face.
Just as I went to bang on the door, I saw another white figure further down the street. It was Rennet! Behind her, there was another white figure entering a door. To her left, another figure knocked on a shoddy green door and waited patiently. Suddenly, I was aware that almost every home had a ghostly Rennet Tithe visitor, knocking, waiting, entering, again and again. I reeled around, frightened and confused – who was she? How could there be so many of her? I turned and sprinted back down the street, away from the ghost town that Rennet Tithe now occupied, until I was safely in my own flat. Frantic, I reached under my bed and pulled out all the ink paintings that Rennet had created for me. Breasts and flesh stared at me, taunting me, pleading with me not to do what I was about to do next. I ignored their erotic promises and stacked my collection of filth at the door; I didn’t realize how much I had accumulated until the piles of paper started to fall over as I stacked it. In only a few minutes, the door and the whole wall had been hidden behind the sinful pictures. Satisfied, I fished out a small box of cheap red-headed matches from my jacket and struck one against the sandpaper on the side. It flared brightly in the gathering doom – possibly my doom – and set fire to everything Rennet had created. A tiny flame leapt up from where the match landed.
I scrabbled towards the window, my only way of escaping the intended inferno, and slammed it open. Suddenly, the danger behind me was forgotten and I felt my legs go weak. Spread before me in the darkness was the entire village, swimming in a luminiferous ether of her green flashing eyes. Rennet Tithe had permeated everything.
“Face me.”
I turned; Rennet –or at least one of her - was standing there, her entrancing figure poised against the backdrop of illicit images. “How did you get into the room? The door is barred.” The flames started to bother a large bundle of pornography.
“You think in such small physical terms.” Her smile was thin, humourless, a simile of an emotion. I tried to back away from Rennet but the only way out was through the window – a window filled with a world of Rennet. I couldn’t leave her as much as I couldn’t leave life itself. She was life.
“What are you, demon?”
She ignored me. “Why have you barricaded yourself in here? Are you planning to terminate yourself?”
“Not exactly, no.” I glanced outside again. “I wanted to stop my association with you, Rennet Tithe. You are…” I struggled for a phrase that wouldn’t offend. “…bad news.”
“My news is truth, be it bad or otherwise.” The flames were growing considerably now. “Put out this fire immediately.”
“No. Leave me, demon!” I put a leg out of the window, fully intending to jump.
Rennet’s eyes flashed rapidly. “Your sexual preference was towards big bosomed red-headed females. You owned three thousand one hundred and five pornographic images. You once commented that your superior, Dean Hamilton, is a fat buffoon with a jelly for a head.”
“What?”
“This is what I shall reveal during your funeral. I will lay bare everything that I know about you, every piece of information transmitted to your colleagues and family via my messaging service.” She tilted her head inquisitively. “Will you put out this fire now?”
I felt embarrassed, my most intimate secrets potentially exposed to others. I would be socially ruined. I would have to give up my role in the university, leave this quaint village that I now call home. Hell, I would never be allowed to show my face in public ever again. “You are willing to blackmail me? To what end?”
“This is not blackmail. This is merely information collection, retention and disclosure. You have nothing to fear.”
“As long as I do what you say?”
She merely nodded to the fire spreading through the pile. “Extinguish this fire.”
I pulled my leg out of the window and sprayed the fire with the extinguisher until the pile had turned into one huge soggy heap of paper. With the wall of fire gone, a dozen Rennet Tithes melted through to join the first. Their eyes flashed as they regarded me haughtily.
“This is impossible. You’ve taken over this village,” I said to the crowd of Tithes.
“My influence spreads further than just this village,” they said in unison. “We touch millions of people, their desires, thoughts, hopes and dreams.”
“To be used when it suits you?”
“How else would we keep track of people?” One Rennet stepped out from the crowd and held out her hand to me. “If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear. Trust me. Trust us.”
I had no choice. A disclosure of my innermost desires was out of the question if I wanted to retain my current social standing. I was totally in her control and there was nothing I could do about it. “So what now?” I asked.
“Take our hand and we will show you the world. There will be no crime as long as we know everything.”
I felt helpless – and yet somehow secure about it. I was uncertain about giving such power to such an ethereal being, but there was nothing to do about it. I had been served a lie, dressed up as a promise of worldly wonders and an easy alternative to flawed methods, but instead it was a honey trap. Slowly, and with the room flashing green around me, I took Rennet’s hand.