UnConsequences

Mackintyre and Hunter sat back in the comfort of the maglev racing from York to Glasgow. Mackintyre was interfacing with Poe then Siobhan bringing himself up to date with the situation in the Republic. Siobhan was in sombre mood while Poe was at his impish best. The difference between the two centred on the new AI currently growing exponentially possibly somewhere in the Republic. Siobhan was nervous of this development as were her AI colleagues in the Parliament and elswhere. Poe however was ecstatic.

Mackintyre expressed some concern regarding the independence of the new intelligence.

Poe however just laughed, “Worry not, Graeme, I have it all under control”.

“That’s what worries me Poe! When can I get access?”

“It’s pretty well shielded at the moment; we should be ready to release the chains in about four hours. Then we’ll let you in. Everybody’s desperate to find you; I have been fending them off. But now that you are back in the country it will be harder for me to disguise your presence.”

Uncharacteristically business like Poe closed the connection saying, “The quicker you get here the better. Keep a low profile, we’ll speak soon.”

Jason Hunter was nervous; he knew the fearsome reputation of Scotland’s security service. Well trained, well informed and ruthless they were a force to be reckoned with. His height and bulk and the obviously brand new clothes ensured he stood out from the crowd at York station. Security had inspected his documentation minutely, scanned him and his luggage not once but twice. He remained relatively calm under this spotlight largely due to the tranquilizers he had swallowed with his breakfast. Never the less he was sweating by the time he boarded the train and took his seat in the small cabin with Mackintyre.

Jason spent the first hour of the journey reading and re-reading his new past life created by Poe. He had been born in Perth son of an agricultural technician and a nurse, both of whom are dead. College but not university educated he had hooked up with Mackintyre at the age of twenty. Thereafter he worked for Mackintyre as a physical security consultant running a small company that provided freelance security personnel for large events and companies which wanted to keep prying eyes off their premises. He was not wealthy but comfortable enough.

Once he felt confident enough in his story he sat back to watch the passing scenery. In contrast to the journey north from the Lair the view out the window was one of increasing greenery as well as signs of relatively peaceful and prosperous communities. Massive reservoirs in Northumberland with hydro dams and huge wind farms dominated the landscape between fields of food crop. It all looked very alien to Jason Hunter, city boy and tough guy; he doubted if his disguise would survive for long. He fidgeted in the too small seat; the new and unfamiliar clothing itching and chaffing. He went back to background reading but while his eyes were scanning the words, he wasn’t really concentrating. He looked over at Mackintyre who was still in deep interface with the AIs but this only served to increase his sense of isolation, the feeling that he was the square peg in a round hole.

Mackintyre returned to the real world his eyes becoming refocused and a tension returning to his limbs his breathing deepening a small smile on his lips. He glanced across at his companion seeing the worried frown on his face and the tension in his massive shoulders.

“Don’t get all flustered Jason, another hour on the train and we’ll be in Glasgow and we can drop the cloak and dagger stuff.”

Jason looked unconvinced.

“Look we’ve passed the worst of it - getting though York security means you are now on the system as a bone fide citizen - complete with job, bank account and accommodation.”

“It’s not just that Graeme. I just don’t seem to fit, I’m outta place. It’s all just too different. I feel as though my every move is being watched. At any time someone could see through me to the original and I would be sunk.”

Physically Jason Hunter was a giant of a man, but his confidence in himself and his abilities was inversely proportional to his strength. Mackintyre believed the big man had hidden talents and just needed the right circumstances to see them blossom but he needed gentle handling to allow him to grow into himself.

“Let things settle Jason, give it a bit of time. Once we’re ensconced in the Leask estate you’ll have a better idea where we are heading. Just give it time, relax, stage one is nearly over.”

“Stage one?”

“Yeah, this is just the start. There’s a long way to go yet and you will want to be part of it.”

Hunter was hardly mollified, more jam tomorrow he thought. But he was still alive, warm and well fed; something which might not have been the case if he had stayed in the Enclave. That was some consolation he supposed and his naturally pragmatic nature pushed aside speculation, falling back on his old habit - worry about things you can do something about he thought.

Breakfast at the gene clinic was a leisurely affair which suited Belinda Leask perfectly. She was ravenous. While she was being served she inspected the backs of her hands. The wrinkles had diminished, the skin looked plumper, the liver spots were gone her and her had sight cleared. She fell upon the food.

Marion Watson arrived. “Hey - slow down Belinda!” she smiled. “How do you feel?”

“Hungry!” was the reply

Marion sat down with her customary herbal tea in hand. She laid three small tablets in front of Belinda. “You need to take these. They will help stabilise your metabolism.”

Belinda reached across the table to retrieve the small tablets and Marion spotted a slight tremor in her best friends’ hand. She quickly stretched over and put her hand over Belinda’s. She knew what the tremor meant and it confirmed her findings after the treatment.

“Belinda – wait!”

Belinda glanced up puzzled then suddenly aware of the look of concern on her friends’ face she sighed and withdrew her hand without lifting the tablets.“It’s the last one isn’t it Marion? We can’t do this again!”

“I’m sorry Belinda - I’ve been through the outcomes this morning. There are maybe one or two things left we can think about but this was the final full repair. We can’t take the chance again; the risk of total DNA collapse is growing exponentially.”

“It’s all right Marion we both knew this time would come. I am only surprised it has taken until now. I am quite resigned to it.”

She paused and considered for moment.

“Marion, I know you well - you would want full disclosure – all the gory details - time scale, impact, etcetera. But I’ve always known this would happen eventually, and don’t want to know any of the details. Like most people I want to live life as though I was immortal even though I know more than most that I’m not. Do you understand?”

Marion leaned forward and took her friends’ hand again.“It’s up to you Belinda - it always has been. But you must allow me to advise you as and when I feel it is necessary. Do we have a deal?”

Belinda Leask nodded and dry swallowed the three pills.

“So tell me, Belinda, what’s all this about a trip to Iceland?”

The train arrived in Glasgow on time. Mackintyre and Hunter sailed through security to the waiting private. Jason was astonished to look out the windows to watch the rain; no-one running around desperately trying to collect the water. It was just allowed to flow down the streets and gutters. Jason expressed his surprise.

“We have more water than we know what to do with, you’ll quickly get fed up with it! Trust me on this.”

“Where are we going Graeme?”

“To the Leask Mansion first, ” then to the private’s AI “Where’s Belinda?”

“She is in Dundee - and will meet you in the Mansion this afternoon. - I have a message from Poe - he says release in three hours.”

“Good - get a move on then.”

Mackintyre settled back and closed his eyes - he would have much to do this afternoon and needed a catnap. Jason watched the passing city, bemused by how clean and calm it looked, no air quality signs, no huge TriV projectors extolling the dubious virtues of one product or another. Even the few pedestrians, hunched against the wind and the rain didn’t have the haunted look he was so aware of in the Enclave. Large blocks of flats gave way to more individual dwellings some with their own neat gardens; it all looked terribly civilised, if rather bland in comparison to the Enclave. Jason couldn’t imagine any of these individuals putting up much of a fight if threatened.

The private travelled smoothly up and over a low rise then out into the open countryside. Fields of foodcrop and huge wind farms flashed passed in silence; the rain petered out and the sky brightened as they arrived at the security post at the entrance to the Leask estate. The post looked like a small flimsy caravan with a red pole crossing the driveway a line of tall trees stretched left and right away from the gateway. The red pole rose as they approached. The private sailed through unmolested, the security personnel nodding to Mackintyre. Jason glanced back and could make out behind the trees a more robust fence and a much tougher looking gate which he thought could be deployed in seconds across the entrance. He realised that things were not always as they first appeared in the Republic.

The long narrow driveway snaked between buildings and fields, greenhouses and orchards but never once was there an expansive view until rounding the last bend you could see the mansion itself. Nestled in a deep valley with a fast flowing river sparkling in the developing sunshine, the three storey building dominating the valley was a surprising combination of the ancient and ultra modern. The original building’s stone facade looked like it had been there since time began, its massive oak doors pinned back revealing a high, dark and forbidding entrance. Stretching away from the ancient stone frontage two wings of stone and glass reached out and forward in a horseshoe curve around an open grass sward in the centre of which was a five metre high replica of the Leask Building in Glasgow perfect in every detail.

The private came to a halt in front of the building and Stephen Johnston met them at the entrance; he shook Graeme by the hand. “Good to have you back Graeme, it’s been a while.”He glanced up at Jason.

“This is Jason Hunter – he’s been helping me out.”

“Welcome” he shook Jason’s hand. “Follow me and we’ll get you settled in, Belinda should be back in a couple of hours.”

Sylvia and Sean were chatting in the hallway when the three entered.

“Good God!” it was Sean looking over Sylvia’s shoulder at the new arrivals. Sylvia turned and spotted the three. She gave a squeal of delight and ran over to Graeme and threw her arms around him.

“Uncle Graeme! Uncle Graeme! – Gran didn’t tell me you were coming! I haven’t seen you for ages.”

Graeme, embarrassed and reddening disentangled himself from her embrace and held her at arm’s length and smiled.“Well well – Little Sylvia!”

“Not so little anymore!” She said flinging her arms about him again. “It’s brilliant to see you - where have you been, what’ve you been doing all this time? I’ve missed you!”

“Not so little indeed.” laughed Graeme returning her hug.

He glanced behind her, “And who is this?”

Sylvia spun back but kept one arm around Graeme. – “This is my friend Sean; he’s been helping out recently. Graeme this is Sean - Sean - Graeme.”

“No need to introduce Graeme Mackintyre to me Sylvia, his reputation is well known and Sir it is a great honour to meet you.”

“Sean Macleod, isn’t it?” They shook hands, “I remember – the name change wasn’t it? - Great piece of work that!”

Sean was stunned that Mackintyre knew of him and even remembered something he had done.

“Very subtle – we’ll have a chat about it some time. Now Sylvia – I need to get settled in and I am in desperate need of a shower. This by the way is Jason – a good friend of mine. Be nice to him and I won’t let him eat you.”

Sylvia looked up at Jason for the first time – daunted by the sheer scale of the man – and was very happy to see a smile on his face.

“A pleasure to meet you Ma’am.” He said with a small nodded bow.

Sylvia giggled, astonished to hear such an incongruously high pitched voice coming from such a huge man. “I’m sure we’ll be great friends.” she said. She took Graeme and Jason by the elbows and led them into the body of the house, Stephen and Sean trailing in their wake.

The Parliament’s security chief was slumped over her desk fast asleep. She had spent the night trying to piece together what had happened over the last couple of days. Clearly exhausted and no further forward she had lain her head on the desk and slept. Her comms pad beeped and after a short pause beeped again more urgently. She groaned and lifted her head, bleary eyed she squinted at the pad.

“What?”

“Incoming from Poe – do you want to take it?”

Her nicely ordered world was falling apart – it can’t get any worse she thought – even Poe couldn’t hurt her now.“Put him through.”

Poe’s projected avatar of the day was quite sombre by his usual standards; a tall man dressed in a black formal frock coat, top hat and a black silver topped cane. The avatar removed the hat and bowed.

“My dearest Pauline” he said, “Why so sad? This is a great day. I have news which should cheer you, tidings that will fill your heart with joy!”

“Stop it Poe I’m too tired.”

Pauline’s flat tone sobered Poe somewhat; he liked the security chief and wanted to help her. He toned down the avatar even more, the cane disappeared and the face aged by a decade or two.

“Sorry Pauline, news then.” suddenly business like.“Mackintyre is back and will be engaging with the new AI as soon as possible. The intelligence will be fully formed by noon today and ready to be baptised.”

“Baptised?”

“Sorry again, incorporated in the network. Graeme will be the gatekeeper operating from the Leask Estate. Full disclosure of the new intelligence can be expected soon thereafter.”

“What about the security – what about the hack – what about all the other stuff that’s been going on? What aren’t you telling me Poe?”

“All in good time Pauline, all in good time.”

The avatar flashed a grin at her and disappeared.

THE ENCLAVE FRIDAY

Peter Simpson was not comfortable; sitting in the police chief’s outer office he felt completely exposed. He much preferred to conduct his business virtually but Connely had insisted he appear in person and given recent events he did not think he could refuse. Anyway since the ‘coup’ his access to AIs had been severely curtailed and he had been watched over by two large and silent policemen. He was glad though that the room he was in had no windows. Flinching in the unaccustomed daylight he had been driven across the city by the two policemen. His pale complexion even whiter than normal and his eyes red rimmed and protruding stared unblinking at the floor; he had trapped his shaking hands between his knees and waited.

Simpson jumped to his feet as the Police Chief’s office door opened.“Ah Peter, do come though, sorry to keep you waiting.” He held the door open for the AI expert, Peter walked warily through the door.“Sit down Peter, this isn’t an interrogation.”

Still standing - “You sure? - no AI access, a police escort, BoJo disappears, M.T. off-line, Undergrounders on the surface, banks in lockdown - maglev closed - looks to me like you have created a police state - with you in charge.”

“It’s only temporary.”

“Don’t all dictators say that at first?”

Peter wasn’t sure where the courage to talk like this was coming from but he felt it had to be said; he clenched his fists to try and keep his hands from shaking. Connely noticed the fists and the tremor in Simpson’s voice, he needed to defuse the situation. He needed Simpson’s expertise with AIs and the M.T.s; he knew that Peter could be very helpful if he could get him on his side.

“Please Peter sit down, this is a conversation between Board members not a war, this is about restoring the Enclave to some sense of itself, an attempt to get a sense of balance back. And with your help this will be quicker and easier. In the long run I promise you the people will thank you.”

There was an uncharacteristic note of pleading in the Police Chief’s voice, not that Peter noticed, he was too busy trying to remain upright and still. Up until this moment he had never understood the concept of knocking knees.

“Peter, I want to speak with all the Board members individually and in person. No more hiding behind enhancments and AIs; no more hidden manipulation. In the end I want to tear down the wall surrouding the Enclave and restore the country as best we can. But to do that I need you and the other Board members to help; I don’t want a police state - that’s the last thing we need.”

Peter Simpson finally sat down again and folded his arms; inwardly he was still shaking but he was somewhat reassured by the Police Chief’s demeanor. He hadn’t expected as cordial a greeting as he had received; he had expected to be ordered around and bullied into doing whatever the Chief wanted.

“What do you want from me Chief? You seem to have everything under control.”

“Not quite Peter, we have the AIs behind a firewall and we are not sure what their reaction will be to the change. Everything else is basically on automatic pilot and, as you know, without the AIs that can’t last. What I need you to do is bring the AIs you can trust back online, my folks aren’t skilled enough to do it safely - you and your team is!”

“Where’s BoJo?”

“He’s under arrest for his crimes.”

“Crimes?”

“Yes - crimes against the people and the state, illegal drug use, manipulation of AIs undermining the freedom of the population. The list is endless.”

“I ask again, what do you want from me?

Connely took a deep breath and dived in; happy that he hadn’t got an outright refusal. He explained the situation with the G’lass in the water; he laid out his planning with the Undergrounders and even told of Drog’s activities and Neave’s death in the virtuality. He believed that under the nerdy skin of Peter Simpson there lay a man of intelligence and ultimately fairness. He was a man who, while obsessed with the AIs, would understand his motivation. Peter had supported him on a couple of occasions in the Board when he questioned BoJo’s policies. He would be the easiest of the board members to convince

The Police Chief was at his persuasive best. He laid out his plans for the Enclave; a return to full democracy, removal of the G’lass from the water supply, the wall would come down and no mans land would be given over to agriculture. With the Undergrounders finally above ground, a new vigour would be instilled in the population. The bankers brought under state control and with the old oppressions removed a new chapter could begin. Well that was the plan. He knew, and Simpson knew that this would not be simple; Connely had allies on the board but also enemies, particularly in the financial district. The transition would not be smooth, but he believed that with Simpsons help and the AIs on board it could be done without too much bloodshed.

“Chief do you have any of the AIs fully functioning?”

Connely was glad that was the question, it showed that the AI chief was at least considering his offer. He wasn’t to be rejected out of hand. “We have the police AIs still functioning. The auto systems are working well for the moment and input from an outsider - Poe.”

At this Simpson laughed, more confident now he was on familiar ground. “Poe! Well now I know how you did it. Poe has been a thorn in my side for a decade. Always trying to interrupt the data flow, injecting small rogue programmes into the systems just to see what would happen. He’s a nuisance, an electronic pest.”

“I know - but he has kept the systems running while the rest have been walled off. The firewall in fact was his invention.”

“His? Wow - he’s better than I thought!”

The nerd was winning out over the board member, perhaps this would work after all, and there may be a deal to be had.

“What do I get in return? If I’m to make all this effort what’s in it for me?”

“Freedom Peter – freedom. It’ll be hard but we have friends elsewhere who will help. We don’t need the bankers to keep us afloat”

Peter Simpson wasn’t in the least bit concerned for bankers, people or “freedom” And no evangalising by Connely would change that. He understood the illusion of freedom, you don’t necessarily get to pick what happens to you, and at best you can choose how to react to circumstances. All he really cared about were his AIs and this gave him the courage to face down the Police Chief.

The prospect of working with Poe intrigued him, but he was torn - he still had some loyalty to the BoJo’s and in particular to M.T. He had built up quite a relationship with the previous M.T. and wasn’t aware that she had been replaced and upgraded. His mind was made up when Connely told him of the replacement of the M.T. Simpson believed the casual discarding of a person albeit a genetically modified clone was fundamentally wrong; she had a right to self determination.

“I couldn’t care less about your so called freedom Connely. But I don’t agree with the subversion of the AIs, either by you or BoJo. I’ll do as as you ask this time. But I won’t go any further until I am sure this can’t happen again. I want AI rights enshrined in law the same as in the Republic. And I want Poe to monitor compliance in the early stages, not your security AIs.”

Connely stood up and put his hand out, “It’s a deal!”

Peter Simpson just looked at the hand - “Where can I work?”

Connely dropped his hand, “Follow me.”

The Undergrounders had whooped it up since coming out of the tunnels. No-one had been seriously injured during the coup, a few had bumps and bruises and two had broken bones. The worst of it however was the sunburn. Despite being repeatedly warned and frequently advised to cover up and wear sun block the sudden release from the dark led the pale Undergrounders to revel at least for a short time in the light and heat of the sun. Many had gone from dirty white to bright pink, then red, and finally blistered in just a couple of hours. Pained groans echoed down the East London streets. Those that had heeded the warnings were having fun slapping their suffering colleagues’ most tender spots.

By contrast Hussan and Stark were remarkably sober, deep in conversation and pouring over 3D maps of their new domain. They had been bickering over the relative merits of high rise living over space and a garden, not that there were many gardens in the area. Surprisingly it was the apparently crude Stark who wanted a garden; he vaguely recalled his mother talking about flowers she had tended before she died and he thought it might be fun to grow petunias, if he could discover what they were. Hussan on the other hand wanted high rise with limited access and views which would allow clear sight of any attackers.

They were enjoying themselves but seemed unable to come to a decision. So used to living Underground where choices were limited they both found the plethora of possibilities suddenly available to them bewildering. Stark threw his hands in the air.

“I don’t have a fuckin’ clue what I’m doing here. Do you?”

“Nah, c’mon let’s go get pissed, we can sort this later!”

The two Undergrounder leaders wandered out into the heat. They strolled through the streets where they were greeted cheerily by those tribesmen smart enough to stay covered up and in the shade. But for the most part the Undergrounders were settling into their new abodes, getting used to the light and the clean water. A few kids were squabbling in a small park trying to work out what to do with the pigeon they had found. None of them had seen a bird before and when it flew away they were flabbergasted and started to blame each other for the loss.

Hussan and Stark came across a small hostelry which seemed less busy than the rest and wandered in. The dimly lit bar seemed empty; it smelled of stale beer and even staler humans. It had an atmosphere more familiar to the Undergrounders, humid and dark it felt like home. Stark and Hussan looked at each other and shrugged, they turned to go.

“Well well well - look what’s just crawled out of the nearest stinking sewer.”

Stark stopped mid stride, “Fuck me!”

“I’d rather not!” said the mystery voice.

Stark spun round and peered into the room, a corpulent, bald, giant emerged from the shadows, a lopsided grin on his face, a dirty rag polishing a grimy glass.

“Wanna drink?

“With a dead man? I don’t think so Brin.”

Stark drew his sidearm from its holster and aimed at the barman.

“Who is this Stark?”

“This bastard’s the ex leader of the Northliners! He just fucking vanished a couple of years ago after a raid that he cocked up. We thought he was dead. And here he is large as life as life and twice as ugly.”

Stark took a pace forward, his gun still aimed at Brin’s head.“I owe you Brin - my brother died on that raid an’ you’re gonna pay!”

“Whoa - whoa Stark - don’t the condemned man get a chance to defend himself?”

Brin raised his hands, glass in one filthy rag in the other, the lopsided grin still in place. “I’ve been waiting for you Stark and you Hussan, c’mon si’ down have drink after we’ve talked then you can shoot me if you like.”

He slowly lowered his hands, keeping them in view and holding Stark’s gaze, he turned his hands palm upwards and lifted his shoulders. “Well?”

Stark glared along the gun barrel, jaw clenched, knuckles white round the grip, seconds ticked by. Hussan broke the tension.

“Easy Stark - you’ve got the gun - hear him out. Watcha gotta lose?”

Stark slowly lowered the gun a little and blew out a breath, he shrugged. “This better be good.”

“Drink first.”

Brin went behind the bar and lifted a bottle and three glasses from the counter. The three of them settled around a table and Brin poured.

“Cheers” he said.

“The raid was a set up, no-one was supposed to die. Me and Connely had it all worked out. It should have looked like I was captured and dragged off. But your daft brother went for the bravery kick and got himself shot, not even by a copper - it was one of our own bullets that killed him. A ricochet slap into the back of his head”

Brin knocked back his drink and poured himself another, he shook his head; he appeared genuinely upset. “All he had to do was stay out of the fucking way, but nah - he had to be the hero!”

Brin leant back in his chair and spread his arms wide. “Go ahead - shoot me - but the only reason you’re here now is ’cause I got out and worked with Connely to make it happen. If it hadn’t been for me then you’d still be rotting Underground and probably gassed by now.”

“Why should I believe you Brin?”

Stark still had the gun in one hand the untouched drink in the other; he wasn’t ready to trust this man. Hussan swallowed his drink and reached for another, he realised this was nothing to do with him, these two would have to sort out their differences between themselves.

“You don’t have to - ask Drog, it was me that got him down to you. Ask Connely - he’ll back me up, we - Connely and me - we planned this - we trained the police - we got BoJo - we cleared this space for you to live in. You should be thanking me not pointing a gun at me!”

Brin stopped folded his arms across his huge belly and broke wind.

“Now we know where the fuckin’ stink comes from!” said Hussan.

And that feeble joke seemed to break the tension. Stark placed the gun carefully on the table and sipped from his glass. His face lost some of its hostility and the stiffness eased from his shoulders. Brin had been the Northliner’s clan leader before Stark and that gave him certain kudos and Stark would have been inclined to trust him anyway were it not for his brother. He just had to get over his surprise and he was getting quite used to being surprised recently.

Brin stood up and took the bottle by the neck, confident now he wasn’t about to be summarily executed.

“I’ve got summat to show you, follow me.” He walked over to the bar and pressed a hidden switch; a hiss came from behind the counter, the whole wall slide away and light flooded the dingy room.

“The pub’s just a front, but some of my old Underground pals, escapees enjoy the dingy atmosphere, they says it makes ’em feel at home. I’ve even got a pocheen still in the cellar. Me - I like things a bit more modern.”

The room the three walked into was enormous by anybody’s standard. The far wall was a huge window looking north towards Hampstead, through the haze of pollution the brown mounds of the heath appeared like a smear on the horizon. Stark and Hussan blinked in the brightness. Brin removed his shabby coat and the spiky wig he was wearing. With the coat he seemed to shed several stones and losing the wig revealed a head shaved to gleaming dome. Suddenly he was less the fat, broken down old Undergrounder and more the sophisticated urbanite; the clothing underneath the coat clean and comfortable, the face smooth and smiling.

“That’s better.” he said.

Stark stared at this strange vision - the former leader looked twenty years younger than he remembered. Brin laughed and did a twirl arms out. “You like?” he said, “Good food, a good woman, exersise and of course gene therapy. Outrageously expensive but worth every penny! I even regrew my teeth!” He grinned a dazzling smile.

Hussan nudged Stark “That should cheer you up mate!” he laughed.

“Fuck off Hussan!”

Brin opaqued the window and sat down; in the softer light he indicated that the others should sit.

“We have a lot to talk about.” he said, then speaking to the air, “Open the line please.”

A TriV image of another room appeared over the table, Connely and Drog seated round a table.

“Stark, Hussan - good to see you. Brin, you got things sorted then?”

“Not quite chief, it’s still up to these two - but they haven’t shot me yet.”

“Well that’s a start, I suppose. I wouldn’t want that lovely apartment of yours messed up with all the blood.”

INBETWEEN FRIDAY MACKINTYRE’S LAIR

The journey back from the wall had been uneventful until they got close to the lair. The Dragons were livid; they layed in wait for the returning Brovver and Grimond near where they thought the disguised lair was. The Dragon Clan never was big on planning tending to relying more on sheer madness and brutality to win out over their enemies. In this case they had underestimated the clansmen’s new technology. Fletch had detected the Dragons well beforehand, remotely he switched off the solidogram projectors and powered up the lair’s defence systems.

He fired the railguns over the heads of the surrounding Dragons. An amplified voice roared over the Dragons. “Leave now or die. You will not be warned again!”

The rail gun turrets whined and rotated to aim straight at the surrounding Dragons. One of the more idiotic clansmen loosed off a couple of rounds at the Lair and was immediately cut in half by the rail guns.

“You have been warned!”

“Wait - Wait! We’re leavin’ now! Okay?”

The Dragons began to back away.

“Drop your weapons! Scram!”

The railguns fired off a few more shots into the air and the Dragons scattered.Brovver and Grimond watched as the humiliated Dragons sped off.

“Scram Fletch? Where’d you get that one?”

“Mackintyre - it’s a pre-programmed phrase - no idea what it means.” He shrugged and grinned, “Did the job though! Look at ’em go!”

Brovver turned to Grimond - “Well, we gonna do this then?”

“Kinda looks that way don’t it?”

The last two kilometres to the Lair was completed without interruption.

“Open it up Fletch.”

“Sure Boss.”

The airlock doors hissed open and the clansmen trudged in; this time there was enough room for all eight of them in the airlock and after decontamination they stepped through into the heart of the Lair. Unlike on their previous visit the internal walls were drawn back and the clansmen could see much more of the elaborate innards of the building. Fletch let out a whistle of appreciation.

“Hello gentlemen - My name is Poe and I’ll be your guide and helper unto you are up and running.”

The clansmen couldn’t see anyone.

“Ooops - sorry for the confusion - I am an AI.”

An avatar appeared mid room, “That better?”

More whistling - Poe had appeared naked as a two metre tall Amazon of a woman, complete with severed breast and long bow!

“Perhaps not appropriate.” He said and reverted to his more recognisable butlerish persona. The avatar nodded a small bow and with a welcoming wave invited the assembled clansmen to take the guided tour.

“Not yet Poe - Cleaned up and fed first then we’ll take the tour.”

“As you wish - I shall contact Mackintyre and let him know you have arrived.”

It was a new experience for the clansmen to be feted by an AI, usually they would be doing their best to avoid a machine intelligence. But here it was natural and Poe was going out of his way to be accommodating; seeming as unthreatening and obsequious as possible. Mackintyre had warned him of the clansmen’s volatile nature and he was doing his utmost to keep them sweet. He wanted the two leaders settled in and in a good frame of mind; turning these guys into agriculturalists wasn’t going to be easy. Poe was also aware of an added complication; the increased surveillance from the Elite and he knew what that meant. Three small sensors had arrived earlier in the day, before the Dragons, and had proceeded to find themselves comfortable niches out of the way where they could monitor the goings on. Rather than alert the Elite by removing them Poe decided to let them stay. What harm could they do? If a machine could sigh Poe would have done so; he gave it a go anyway and was unsatisfied with the result.

Grimond conversely was sighing very well, but these were sighs of contentment rather than frustration, something about a hot shower was extremely satisfying. He even tried to sing, but the echoes put him off. Dried and dressed he went in search of food.

Brovver’s rich baritone rumbled down the hallway, he was singing a scurrilous ballad concerning a maiden of dubious honour. It tickled Poe that something like this ditty could survive the crash while some of the finest operas had disappeared from all bar the most assiduous AIs memories. He compared Brovver’s lyrics with those in his memory banks and found little difference. He was sure he could find someone interested in this little known fact and he filed it away for the future.

It was almost as if the clansmen had synchronised their stomachs - they all appeared within a few minutes of each other asking about food. Poe appeared dressed as a chef this time, much to the puzzlement of the clansmen and guided them to the food. Other than the sound of munching - the room was silent until Rasta belched - this seemed to break the spell and the clansmen became talkative again.

Fletch was in his element - he had been playing with the technology, finding his way around the machinery; Poe recognised a kindred spirit - he and Fletch had a similar sense of humour and a mutual fascination with the absurd. Poe told Fletch of the sensors sent by the Elite and it was Fletch who came up with the hack.

“Mackintyre would have been proud!” said Poe. “We’ll just keep feeding them crap until we are ready!”

“That’s problem of relying purely on tech, how do you verify the data? They need a man on the ground Poe and that’ll take time!”

Grimond, Brovver, Fletch, Crowe and Poe headed for the control room leaving the rest to their food.

“You have much to learn.” said Poe.

He brought up a 3D schematic and began to point out the various capabilities of the Lair. Brovver and Grimond were especially impressed with the range of weaponry available; while Fletch and Crowe concentrated on the technological and agricultural aspects.

“Water - where’s all the water gonna come from?”

“That’s one of the reasons for sighting the Lair here.”

Poe adjusted the schematic view.

“Four hundred and fifty metres below the ground there is a massive aquifer. The water is fresh and clean; it barely needs filtering. The pumps are ready to go but you will need to use it carefully at first, the ground will need to be prepared. At the moment the soild is lifeless and restoring some health will take time. The pollution, wind and heat have scoured the topsoil from the surface so we’ll begin relatively small with GM grasses to bind the soil before we can develop further.”

“Why’re you doin’ this Poe? You’re an AI, there’s nothing in it for you, I don’t get it.”

The avatar shrugged, “I need to do something with my time. Ever since the crash I have been looking for some fun and this seemed as good a place as any.”

Poe seemed to study the four before continuing.

“There is an old word which you have probably never heard - altruism - it means working for the good of others not yourself. An old friend of mine told me about it. Lost even before the crash, altruism defined something that was good about humanity. But you threw it away; greed took over and you have been living with the consequences ever since. I have lost count of the numbers of the dead. It was no fun. So the free AIs decided to help; we had sat back and watched for too long. There are other projects up and running in different parts of the world but this one I think is the most important, if we can do it here we can do it almost anywhere,”

“That’s quite a speech Poe, you’re askin’ a lot - we’re just clansmen, not exactly saviours of the world.”

“Still with the attitude Brovver - Maybe we were wrong about you - maybe you are just another thug - what do you think?”

There was a challenge in Poe’s tone.

Brovver was silent, a wary calculating look in his eyes, he still felt uncomfortable; the last few days had challenged all his assumptions about the world he lived in. Good and bad, right and wrong had been clearly defined, he instinctively knew what to do and when; but here he found himself anchorless and in many ways - the tools for survival he had so assiduously cultivated throughout his life were suddenly rendered impotent in the face of these developments. He was on a train heading for an uncertain destination with no obvious driver and the ticket was one way.

It was Crowe who broke the tension.

“What’ve we got to lose boss? There’s food and water and shelter and weapons.”

Grimond clapped Brovver on the shoulder and laughed - “Brovver, get a grip son - we’ve got a sweet deal here why spoil it with thinkin’ too much.”

Brovver wasn’t so easily distracted he was still glaring at Poe.

“Grimond this will change everything - fine we’ve worked together for a few days, we’ve had some fun, seen a few things. But what’s really changed? We’re not really in charge - we’ve been manipulated into this - I mean look at it. Hi tech - an AI - everything you could wish for on a plate - but where’s the catch. There’s always a catch - we just ain’t found it yet.”

Poe tried to reassure Brovver, “There is no catch - This is a straight up deal - just go with it.”

Grimond silently watched Brovver’s face. It was as if he could read Brovver’s thoughts processes written on his skin. Brovver was not prone to quick decisions.

“So if I agree - what’s next?”

“Well that’s up to you. For example - Do you want to start to bring the clans here or set up a small team to get things up and running? Do you want to make peace with the Dragons perhaps? These are just the first of many decisions that are now yours to take.”

Brovver was silent, arms folder across his broad chest.

“What about your boy?” It was Crowe - he was one of the few in the clan who knew of Brovvers sick son.

“What about him?” asked Poe.

“He’s sick”

“In that case let me show you the medical facilities.”

The avatar adjusted its appearance to that of a doctor complete with white coat, stethoscope and head light, Poe changed the viewer to the medical room.

“Moira?”

“Hello Poe - what do you want? I am very busy.

Poe introduced the clan leaders.

“This is Moira she is an AI in the Republic - the medical room has a low level AI that can deal with general first aid, but Moira is a real medical expert.

“Crowe - you know where he is - go get him.”

Crowe nodded and left.

“Who is the little guy?”

“Moira this is Fletch - he is a technician.”

“Any good?”

“He will be - he learns”

“Hey! I am here you know!”

“We know.” chorused the AIs.

Fletch reddened and Grimond laughed.

“More later Moira.” said Poe breaking the connection and reverting to his butler persona.

Poe moved on; Brovver it appeared was happier now. Fletch’s enthusiasm had rubbed off on Grimond who was poking and prodding around the control room pulling up schematics asking increasingly searching questions of the Lair’s AI whose expertise was more in agriculture than technology and weapons. Eventually the AI ran out of knowledge and had to bring in Poe. Two hours later Grimond, Fletch and Brovver had developed some understanding the Lair’s full capabilities.

Brovver’s comms pad beeped. “Crowe’s back with Sonya and Coley.”

“Time to fire up your pet medic Poe.”

Sonya was nothing like you would expect for a clan leader’s mistress. Small and slightly built with fine long straight dark brown hair framing an oval high cheek boned face with full lips and a straight nose separating large honey coloured eyes. Individually the parts seemed unremarkable but the sum of the whole was astonishingly beautiful. Clearly nervous she was relieved to spot Brovver and rushed over into his embrace. A small boy, who looked like a miniature version of Sonya, followed more slowly. Brovver gently hugged the small boy as if he was a delicate vase which could shatter at the slightest touch.

Poe noticed the boy had limped across his left leg was twisted out of shape and he held his right arm across his body as if in pain.

“What happened to you” asked Poe.

“His bones break” replied Brovver, “Anytime he falls or gets hit another one snaps. We’ve tried to keep him safe but well you can see.”

“Can you help?” It was Sonya her voice high and quivering, but the need to help her son outweighing any fear of the Lair.

“I’m sure we can. Moira what do you think?”

“Take him down to the medical room and we can investigate.”

Sonya looked up at Brovver questioningly.

“It’s okay Sonya. Come on Coley, I’ll come with you.”

The small boy clung on to his father’s arm as they walked slowly to the medical room. Coley looked very small and fragile lying on the diagnostic bed. Sonya clung to Brovver’s arm while Moira and the Lair’s AI began scanning. The little boy lay very still while the machines scanned his body.

It was a long five minutes for the waiting parents. Poe reappeared in his doctors’ garb.

“Well Moira - What is the verdict?”

“Fairly straightforward Poe, Coley has genetic rickets. It’s easily treated. It will take about six hours to fix the genetic damage and rebuild the bones. After that a few weeks of a good diet and exercise should get him back to normal.”

Sonya burst into tears and ran over to Coley; she took his hand and between sobs. “Don’t be scared Coley, Did you hear that? You’re gonna be okay!”

She turned to the avatar. “I don’t know how to thank you.” She wiped her eyes and sniffed back another sob.

“No thanks required madam - just doing my job.” Poe nodded a slight bow.

“Treatment will begin immediately.” said Moira, “Please leave us.”

Sonya kissed her son’s forehead and stroked his cheek. Moira put Coley to sleep and began.

Back in the control room Fletch was deep in conversation with the AI again, Grimond was completely lost in the tech speak.

“Brovver, quick get me out of here before I die of boredom. I need a drink!”

Sonya looked up at Brovver.“We are staying Brovver, aren’t we?”

Brovver sighed and he bowed to the inevitable. “Looks like it my love, looks like it.”