“Get him off!” Rob Lacey shouted at an aide.
“But, sir…”
“Off! I want that motherfucker shut down!”
ALAN AND JAMES SAT on the plump couch in Alan’s living room. Both of them stared at the giant screen on the wall opposite. The way it was set up, the angle of the study camera, made it seem as if Jeff was sitting in the room with them. Neither of them had spoken for the last fifteen minutes.
In the corner of the screen a small call-not-accepted icon flashed repeatedly.
IN OFFICES, workers tended to cluster around the cubicle of whoever had accessed the feed first. Silent crowds watched the unfolding event with a guilty fascination.
On the streets in cities and towns, people gathered outside any shop or pub that had a screen interfaced with the datasphere. Many pedestrians wearing PCglasses simply stood still in the middle of the pavement as the lens display played the images.
Jeff’s study was just the primary scene; there were a number of other cameras in the manor that were supplying images to the datasphere. Thirty minutes in, and five million people watched as Europol officers Krober and Cherbun approached the door to Jeff’s study. Sue and Alison Baker stood outside, along with Graham Joyce.
“Please,” Krober appealed, “stand aside. We need to go in.”
“I’m too old to move,” Graham said. He brought his fists up in a boxer’s stance. With his white hair and stooped shoulders he looked quite pitiful standing in front of the two fit young officers. “Come on then. I don’t suppose it’ll take you long enough to bash an old fart like me out of the way. Did you bring your biggest truncheon, sonny? Do you like the sound it makes when it cracks bones in half?”
“Mr. Joyce, this is not good,” Krober said.
“Come on.” Graham jabbed out with his right arm.
Krober barely had to move to dodge the attempted blow.
“Leave my house,” Sue said. “Both of you. All of you. Get out. Now.”
Krober and Cherbun looked at each other, neither knowing what to do next. Lucy Duke arrived, cursing her heels as she ran. Her eyes searched around until she found the camera high up on the wall; she grimaced at it. “Enough,” she snapped at the Europol officers. “For God’s sake.”
“We have our orders,” Krober insisted.
Lucy winced at the phrase. “Don’t make this any worse.” She appealed directly to Cherbun. “Think!”
Cherbun nodded with slow reluctance. “As you wish.”
THE AUDIENCE OF ELEVEN MILLION now included the cast of Sunset Marina. They stopped shooting their latest plotline twist to gather in the studio canteen, where a big screen played a news stream. Karenza started sobbing as she watched Jeff with his soft smile. “I hate them,” she told the bewildered cast and crew. “I hate all of them.”
ONE OF THE MANOR’S OUTSIDE CAMERAS picked up the Jag as it swept into the drive. Tim and Annabelle got out. Twenty-two million people watched them hurry inside.
58. DYING LIVE
SUE, ALISON, AND ANNABELLE WALKED into the study with Tim. Even though Tim thought he’d prepared himself for the moment, he was scared by the sight of his father.
Jeff was sitting at one end of the couch, wedged up into the corner. A thick rug was wrapped around him, as if it was holding back the cold of midwinter. The study heating was on maximum, turning the air to a sweltering fug. It didn’t make any difference to Jeff; he was shivering beneath the blanket.
He broke off from the monologue he was delivering to the camera and smiled up at his son. “Hello, Tim.”
“Hi, Dad.” He so much wanted it to come out casually, as if he’d just got back from school to ask what was for supper. Instead, it seemed to get blocked in his throat, choking him. He gripped Jeff’s hand with its icy sickly white skin. “What’s happened?”
“Poor Tim.” Jeff smiled gently, which showed up the dark circles around his eyes. Annabelle sat on the couch beside him and laid an arm on his shoulder, fussing with the blanket. She kissed his brow, like a priest bestowing a blessing.
“Something this big, it’s too much for hints and allusion, isn’t it,” Jeff said. “We need to have it spelled out. That way someone else takes the blame, there’s no guilt for guessing right.”
“Dad, please,” Tim pleaded.
“It doesn’t work, son. As I’ve just been telling my viewing public.” He tipped his head to the camera. “Rejuvenation treatment is a load of crap.”
“But you’re young!”
“I’m dying, Tim. There’s some kind of flaw in the mitosis process. They can bring my body back down to twenty again, but after that something in the treatment disrupts natural cell division. They’re not sure what, unfortunately, but no doubt they’ll solve it in time.”
Tim started sobbing. “That can’t be right. They must be able to do something.”
“No escape, son. This is something that time doesn’t forgive.”
“Why did they give it to you in the first place?” Tim cried. “If it doesn’t work, why did they tell you it did?”
“Because that’s what Europe is, and this treatment is Europe. Once something so grand, so powerful has been set in motion, then it cannot be allowed to fail. I will just be a small sad glitch along the route of progress to success. That’s how Lacey and his kind would want to portray me. They’ve invested too much of themselves in this now; their association is total. My death will help the project to its final goal, so they would want to say with their solemn eulogies.”
“They lied!”
“Of course they lied. They’re politicians, it’s what they do.”
“But they’ve killed you.”
“Yes, Tim, but it wasn’t a cheap death. Not for them, and not for me. Especially me. I was free at the end of my life. Free from age and all its horrors. Free to enjoy life the way only the young can. That was such a beautiful gift to own. You know what? If they’d told me straight, that it was a massive gamble which I might not survive, I’d still have gone for it. I’d still have wanted these last few months this way and no other. I have absolutely no regrets. Except for you, Tim. You’re the only victim in this, and that’s my fault.”
“No. You’re dying! You can’t die, Dad, you can’t. You’re my dad.”
“You live on in the minds of people, those who love you, those who knew you.” Jeff chuckled, the old roguish predator briefly shining out through the decaying flesh. “Which means I’m going to be the most alive corpse on the planet. Everybody knows me.”
“I don’t. Not really.”
“You do, Tim, better than anyone after what I did to you. I still hope that someday you’ll forgive me for that.”
“I do. Really, I do.”
“Annabelle is pregnant. She’s having our daughter. Did you know that?”
“Yes, Dad. I know.”
“You’re going to have a sister, Tim. Look after her. The world is going to become very chaotic over the next few years, I suspect. She’s going to need a lot of help growing up. But don’t you give up university.”
“I won’t, Dad.”
“When my daughter asks about me, when she wants to know what her father was like, what will you tell her, Timmy?”
And a quarter of a billion people heard Tim say: “I’ll tell her that I loved you, Dad.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PETER F. HAMILTON is the author of numerous short stories and novels, including Pandora’s Star, Judas Unchained, and the acclaimed epic Night’s Dawn Trilogy (The Reality Dysfunction, The Neutronium Alchemist, and The Naked God). He lives with his family in England. Visit his website at www.peterfhamilton.co.uk.