The Stone Gods

‘I’m not telling you anything, Manfred. I have nothing to tell.’

  As the phone clicked off I felt calm again, with the calm of knowing that whatever happened next, in some strange way, I’d had to come to this place. A point of no return. This place … real and imaginary. Actual and about to be.

  I drove home along the sea road. The shining white towers of the city to the left of me were just beginning to soften, as they do every night, in response to the evening light.

  On my right, the ocean front, strong and straight and beautiful, pulled the city towards it, as if this was our only dream, and we would never wake up but we would walk under the palm trees and up through the beautiful buildings, hand in hand, free and new.

  In truth the city sprawls back and back, blank and bored, but here, where it is how it was meant to be, it feels possible and true.

  And it feels like it will go on for ever.

  I can’t believe that we have reached the end of everything. The red dust is frightening. The carbon dioxide is real. Water is expensive. Bio-tech has created as many problems as it has fixed, but, but, we’re here, we’re alive, we’re the human race, we have survived wars and terrorism and scarcity and global famine, and we have made it back from the brink, not once but many times. History is not a suicide note – it is a record of our survival.

  Look, the sun is setting on the level bar of the ocean, and whatever I say, whatever I feel, this is home, and I am going home.

  I pulled off the road to the bottom of the track that leads to the farm.

  On my left is the broad, active stream with watercress growing in the fast part, and flag iris on the bank, and a willow bending over the water, and a foam of frog spawn, and a moorhen sailing the current.

  The track rises steeply. It’s getting dark. Ahead of me is the compact stone house, water-barrel by the front door, apple tree at the gate. Go in, I say to myself, go in.

  And I slept that night, long and deep, like someone who does not dream because she is dreaming already.

  Morning. The next day.

  The man at the door had a face like a pickaxe. His job was to make a big hole in my life. ‘Your name Crusoe?’

  ‘I’m the one.’

  ‘This place Cast Out Farm?’

  ‘No, it’s the Library of Congress.’

  Sensing trouble – that is, daring to taunt an Enforcement Officer – the moribund CanCop riding the back of the bike jerked to life.

  ‘Why d’you bring the soup tin with you? There’s only me here – what’s the problem?’

  The Enforcement guy said nothing. His eyes ran over the cut-stone house with its big wide dented doors and its moss-slated roof. My dog Rufus was growling in his spot by the front gate. The horses in the field looked up from their grazing. It was an ordinary day, unlike any other. ‘Might be all kinds of types here,’ he said.

  The CanCop got off the bike and started taking snaps of the place with his built-in head camera.

  ‘This place isn’t a tourist attraction,’ I said. ‘It’s private land. Tell the tin monkey to behave itself.’

  The Arm of the Law ignored me. ‘This is your Court Order.’ He flicked the screen on the windshield of his HoverBike, and there were all my details: name, address, age, occupation, money owed, money owed, money, money.

  ‘I don’t owe this money.’

  ‘You gotta tell that to the Court.’

  ‘You’re a human being, aren’t you?’

  ‘Mostly.’ He shuffled on the seat of the bike. He had refit legs, the kind that never get tired of chasing criminals, like me.

  ‘I wasn’t talking about your legs. Your brain is human. Your heart is human. All of these fines have been contested and cleared. Every single one.’

  He flicked through the notes on his screen. His notes are not words, they are numbers. ‘Coder says all fines still outstanding.’

  ‘How much do I owe?’

  ‘Says here three million dollars.’

  ‘But these are parking fines!’

  ‘That’s right. One year’s worth of parking fines, add Orders, add Enforcement, add costs of Contesting, add Interest. That’s right, dollars three million.’

  ‘Just a minute – if there are Contesting costs there, then the Coder knows I have contested. There is just one single massive error – I know I’ve been systematically cleared, and the Coder doesn’t. This isn’t a judgement, it’s a software problem.’

  ‘Nothing I can do about it. I don’t make the rules.’

  (Don’t you want to kill every moron who says that?)

  I tried to be patient. I tried a new line. ‘You work for Enforcement, right?’

  He nodded. They like simple sentences.

  ‘OK, and I work for Enhancement. Now, I can’t enhance anybody’s life unless I can get into their house and see what the problem is. I can’t get into the house unless I can park outside, which is why Enhancement Officers – me – have Exemption Permits, like Enforcement Officers – you.’

  ‘Permits aren’t my job.’

  ‘Here is my permit.’

  In answer, he pushed back his bike and jabbed a code on to his windshield. ‘I’m putting here that you refuse the Judgement.’

  ‘I have been trying for one whole year to speak to a human being in Enforcement. I want a human being to look at my permit and tell me why it is not valid, although it is active and in date, and I want a human being to tell me why I owe the Central Power three million dollars.’

  He was jabbing his Coder again.

  ‘What are you doing now?’ I said.

  ‘I am coding your response.’

  ‘Don’t code my response! Give me the name of someone I can talk to.’

  ‘Your number is 116SS,’ he said. ‘I’ve sent it to your screen and I’ve sent it back to base. You got one week to pay up or we take the farm.’

  Rufus was howling. ‘You should take him in and get him Fixed,’ said Pickaxe.

  ‘He’s a real dog – even his legs are real. I can’t get him Fixed. He’s a real dog.’

  Pickaxe showed his first flicker of interest. ‘No kidding? Like the ones at the Zooeum?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s a real-life out-of-date animal. He breeds, he barks, he dies.’

  ‘I got a Robo-collie. He’s a real nice round-up dog. Very affectionate. I keep his bark-button switched off.’

  Rufus was barking and baring his teeth. The CanCop lumbered over to kick him. Without thinking, I picked up a bucket of water from the back step and threw it right over his clanking can of a body.

  It worked. The thing short-circuited and stopped dead.

  ‘Now you’re sure in trouble,’ said the Lone Ranger. ‘CanCops are protected by the State.’

  ‘Unlike people,’ I said, my hand trembling on the dog’s head. ‘Now put him on your bike and get lost.’

  High Noon looked down at Rufus again. ‘Dog like that could be classified as dangerous.’

  ‘Every animal on this farm has a licence. The farm has a licence.’

  ‘Central Power’s thinking of revoking those licences, you know that?’

  ‘They can’t. The licences are for the life of the farm.’

  ‘But what’s the life of the farm?’ He paused and scraped the heel of his boot in the dust of the track. ‘Come to talk about it, what’s life?’

  This man is not a philosopher, I thought. What’s he saying to me?

  He slung the CanCop over the back of the HoverBike, and set off down the track. There he goes, cut to fit, machine-made, State-owned, low-maintenance, dream-free, inoculated against doubt. Life is so simple when you’re just doing your job.

  I have to stop shaking.

  Back inside the house, on the plasma wall, the number was there, 116SS, and next to it, ticking down in digital red, the number of days, hours, minutes, seconds I had left before I had to quit.

  I threw an egg at the wall. ‘Oh!’ said the wall, complainingly, no need for vi-o-lence.’ It separates the syllables because its computer
box is an old model, like one of those antique speaking clocks. ‘I do not ch-oo-se what appears on the wall.’

  ‘They’ll be knocking you down soon – we’re being evicted.’

  The wall was silent.

  It was late at night, and I was sitting by my fire, burning applewood in the hearth, when I heard footsteps walking slowly towards the back door. Rufus growled. I picked up a heavy bottle and cautiously went forward. ‘Who’s there?’ I said, trying to keep my voice firm.

  ‘Manfred.’

  I opened the door. Manfred was standing outside, bending down, undoing his canvas sneakers. ‘Cow-shit,’ he said.

  I took them from his outstretched hand and held open the door. ‘If you had the bio-dome code, why did you come via the cow-shit?’

  ‘This place is being watched. I came in the back way, using the Museum Services Access Code.’

  He stepped in, looking round at the farmhouse table and the messy real food on it: a brown loaf, butter, eggs in a bowl.

  ‘Do you want something to eat?’ I said.

  ‘I’m a Natural Nutrition man,’ he said, meaning he eats only the most expensive synthetics, protein- and mineral-balanced for optimum health.

  I took his sneakers to the sink and started swilling off the cow-shit. ‘I had Enforcement round today,’ I said. ‘Parking fines.’

  ‘That’s an excuse,’ he said. ‘Enforcement wants to arrest you. I expect you know why.’

  I didn’t answer him. ‘If you’re looking for your robot, she isn’t here.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘What else do you know? Or think you know?’

  He pulled out a chair. ‘Billie, I’m going to call you in the morning and offer you a chance to make the trip to Planet Blue with Moody Media. They were very impressed by your One Minute Special. They need an expert who can communicate. They don’t want a scientist-type.’

  ‘I am a scientist-type.’

  ‘You’re hiding Unknowns.’

  I dropped his shoes into the sink. I didn’t look at him. ‘Don’t talk rubb –’

  Manfred grabbed my arm with surprising strength. He held my left forearm up to the light. There was a short, neat scar.

  ‘That was where you had your tagger removed. Your data-chip has been reprocessed.’

  ‘I was acquitted.’

  ‘You were tagged pending further evidence.’

  ‘There was no case against me.’

  ‘Soon you will be under arrest. The parking fines have been cooked up to get you out of here without looking like a martyr. Once Enforcement have got hold of you, even if you’re innocent, and I don’t believe you are – no, don’t argue, listen, even if you’re Snow White – it will take you years to prove it.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying that you’re a problem. Enforcement just wants you arrested because when they tried to bring a case against you three years ago – for acts of Terrorism against the State that included aiding, abetting and hiding Unknowns, you got away with it. They don’t forgive and they don’t forget.’

  ‘I didn’t get away with anything. I was tried and acquitted. I was not hiding Unknowns then, and I am not hiding them now.’

  ‘And I am the Man in the Moon. Listen to me, Billie. I’ve had the go-ahead from the top – the very top – to offer you this one chance to leave quietly. This isn’t the time for a big fuss about your arrest. We don’t want any crap-headed liberals arguing over admissible evidence. Right now, you are an embarrassment. You’re more trouble than you’re worth. You bucked the system. That’s not allowed. Either we get you this time – or you go. For reasons of the moment, we’d prefer you to go.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Let’s say I’m more than my day-job.’

  ‘An informer?’

  ‘I believe in the system. You don’t.’

  ‘No, I don’t. It’s repressive, corrosive and anti-democratic.’

  ‘Then you’ll be very happy on Planet Blue. There is no system.’

  ‘And what happens when I come back?’

  He didn’t answer.

  I started drying his shoes on a towel. ‘Are they really coming for me, Manfred?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What will happen to the farm?’

  ‘It’s legally yours – unless, of course, you can’t clear your parking fines, and then the State may take it in lieu of payment.’

  ‘You mean I’m going to lose the farm whatever happens?’

  ‘No, you could claim the whole parking thing is a fabrication against you – which it is – and then Enforcement will ask to reopen your previous failed conviction on the grounds of new evidence from one of the Unknowns captured in the Space Compound.’

  ‘There is no new evidence against me. There is no old evidence against me. There are no parking fines.’

  I handed Manfred his shoes. He put them on. ‘Play it how you like, Billie. It’s over to you now. This meeting between us never happened. I have witnesses to say exactly where I am tonight, and it isn’t here. In the morning I will call you and offer you the chance to travel to Planet Blue. The call will be recorded.’

  He was gone.

  I watched his dark shape disappear across the fields. I went inside and looked around me. Is this how easy it is to lose everything?

  Nightstream – and, hurtling towards me, another day.

  Answer the phone, Billie. Answer the phone.

  Chance of a lifetime – new start – brave new world – wipe the slate clean – blue-sky moment – open the box – never too late – historic opportunity – commemorative plaque/T-shirt/travel mug/bath towel. Fifteen minutes of fame – live for ever – immortalized in space – happy few – happy ever after – don’t look back – no regrets – something to tell the grandchildren – giant leap for mankind.

  Tripped over on the red carpet, she did, winner of the MORE-Life Competition, dazzled by celebrity, Pink McMurphy aboard the Starship Resolution: ‘Y’know, this is the best day of my en-tire life.’ It wasn’t that she was going to Planet Blue, it was that Little Señorita would be cutting the tape, smashing the bottle, waving the blast-off flag and kissing the lucky winner on both cheeks.

  Cheers, tears, saxophones, catwalk celebrities, webcam, blog, helicopters, live coverage, pom-poms, confetti, clock, countdown, blast-off. Yes!

  We were lining the windows of the Ship, we were watching the crowds wave and shout. The band was faint and far away. The silver confetti was falling back to the ground. We were pushing out of the hazy carbon blanket that lies above Orbus. It was as though we had left a harbour at night, and in fog, and then, as we waited on deck, listening for the last muffled bell of land, the sun rose and we set sail through the clean emptiness of another chance.

  Captain Handsome was a space privateer – don’t use the word ‘pirate’. He was a swashbuckling freelance predator with semi-official sanction. Where there was work to be done that couldn’t be seen to be done, enter Handsome.

  Handsome had his own ship: a light, fast, solar-sailed craft that he used to traffic booty for rich collectors. The trade in other worlds was like any other, but still romantic. Handsome was part-swagger, part-alchemist. He had girls and gold, but he had a poetic side too. He had bargained with the dead, he said, and brought back more than trophies: his rocks and minerals in their sealed cases, his hostile atmospheres, captured in jars and swirling like genies, were something more than money could buy – they were the runes of other lives, silent and mysterious, clues that might be followed one day, and lead to …

  ‘There are mountains so high you can’t see to the top, and inland lakes, locked and closed, far from any water source but agitated beneath the surface by dark shapes.

  ‘There are valleys that lead to the bottom of the world, so it seems, but what world is that? The universe has no sides, no end, can’t be mapped. Enough to make a man talk about God, make a man superstitious and worship an idol. The science never gets as far as the strangeness. T
he more sophisticated my equipment, the stranger the worlds it detects. I sometimes think I’m sailing through a vast thought.’

  Handsome had tracked the official space mission to Planet Blue. In the pay of MORE-Futures he had been trophy-hunting the Jurassic equivalent of Big Game. Now he was playing for much higher stakes.

  ‘What use is a planet that belongs to the dinosaurs? For the first time in my career I find myself with State approval. Not that I haven’t worked for the State before, you understand, but let’s say it was kept quiet. This is a Central Power Mission. Flags, bells, whistles. Yes, I am travelling for the President. My job is to get rid of the dinosaurs – and when I do, we’re going back to a fairytale. I will defeat the dragon and be offered the kingdom.’

  ‘You will own Planet Blue?’ I said, incredulous – this sounded like good going, even for a pirate.

  ‘The Central Power will own Planet Blue. I will take my share, a vast virgin country bounded by rivers. Dragon, kingdom and … princess …’

  ‘Who’s your princess?’ I asked.

  ‘You’ve met her. You could say she’s your sponsor.’

  And Spike came smiling across the ship and kissed Handsome. ‘Hello, Billie,’ she said.

  ‘I thought I was the one who was supposed to be helping you escape.’

  ‘As it turned out, there was no need …’

  ‘I organized that part,’ said Handsome. ‘I refused to leave without her.’

  ‘And then we heard you were coming aboard.’

  ‘It was a little bit unexpected.’

  ‘Join the party,’ said Handsome, which was a mistake as Pink McMurphy was sliding by, and to her the word ‘party’ was the same as the word ‘drink’ – lots of it.

  Handsome took his cue and brought out the champagne, fizzing the Jeroboam, and throwing it like liquid rope into bollard-shaped glasses. ‘To Planet Blue,’ he said, raising his glass, and there on the diode screen was the picture of our new world, and underneath:

  She is all States, all Princes I …

  ‘And to you,’ he said to Spike.

  ‘Isn’t she a robot?’ said Pink, in an unusual moment of moral questioning.

  Just then my luggage started to bark.

  ‘What’s in the bag?’ asked Handsome – the kind of man who was used to barking bags.