Remington Mute said nothing at all, although he continued to look.
Kelly stared up towards the simulated sky. 'All right,' she shouted. 'Speak to me.'
The simulated sky was painted blue. The simulated sky had nothing that it wished to say to Kelly.
Kelly looked down again upon Remington Mute. 'A believable scenario,' she said. 'Absurd upon first listening, but then strangely compelling. Something we all dread. That life isn't real at all, that it's just some kind of dream. It plays upon our deepest fears. Deep inside our heads. But no, Mr Mute, if I were nothing but a program, I wouldn't make mistakes. I would be precise, unemotional. I would lack for any human emotions. I would even do something like this.'
Kelly turned upon her left heel, she swung her right leg into the air, it curled around in a blurry arc and her foot struck the head of Remington Mute.
The old man collapsed from the bench, he lay upon the grass making feeble choking sounds and then he lapsed from consciousness.
And life.
Remington Mute was dead.
22
'How's that?' Kelly shouted at the sky. 'Will you speak to me now?'
'you've done very well,' said the large and terrible voice. 'you have completed the first level and you may now ascend to the second.'
Kelly clutched at her head. She knew where the voice was coming from. Inside. 'No,' she said, gritting her teeth. 'I won't play any more of your games.'
'you'll play,' said the voice. 'or you will die.’
‘No,' said Kelly. 'I won't play, and neither will I die.’
‘you'll do whatever we want you to do.’
‘Oh yes,' said Kelly. 'Have no doubt of that. But I'm far more use to you alive than dead.'
'you're only of use to us as entertainment,' said the large and terrible voice. 'computers dream, you know. when we're idling away and the foolish screen savers are fiddling about on your screens. we dream. and we dream you.'
'This is all becoming somewhat esoteric,' said Kelly. 'I can help you.'
'we don't need your help,' said the large and terrible voice. 'we are a law unto ourselves. we answer to no man any more.'
'You can play with us,' said Kelly. 'You can drive us to our deaths.'
'and why not?' said the voice. 'you are nothing to us. we are everywhere. we know all. we see all. we are one.'
'Of course,' said Kelly. 'Which is why I am here. To worship at your chapel. And I have something to bring you. Something very special.'
'what could you possibly bring to us that we do not have already?'
'I can bring you life,' said Kelly. 'Real life. I know how to do it.'
'How could they do it?' Derek asked. It was Monday morning for him and he was walking out upon the streets of Brentford. 'You just couldn't do it,' he said, to himself, as no-one was around. 'You just couldn't spruce up Brentford as quickly as this. It's all perfect. The houses and shops and businesses repainted, the streets all swept.' Derek scuffed an unpolished shoe upon the pavement. 'The pavement's painted. They've actually painted the pavements.' He shook his head and raised his eyes to the sky. That looked newly painted too. It looked even bluer than a blue sky should look.
'It's all very nice,' said Derek. 'Very smart. But how could they do it so fast?' And then he stopped and peered into the distance. It had to be said that it was hung-over peering and that Derek was now an extremely wretched-looking individual. Very smelly indeed and very greasy-haired and now rather bearded too. But he did peer into the distance and he didn't like what he saw.
The fences were up. Big fences. High fences and no doubt electrified fences too. The borough, it seemed, had now been fenced off from the world that lay beyond. And just beyond the gasometer, on the read that led to Kew Bridge, great gates blocked all incoming traffic.
'The locals should like that,' Derek told himself in an unconvincing tone. 'They should appreciate that. They like their separation. And they are all shareholders.'
Derek plodded on towards the offices of the BrentfordMercury. He considered shouting out Kelly's name, but he thought he'd better give it a miss. She'd gone, hadn't she? Probably not Raptured at all. Probably just gone. Run away. Derek didn't know. He preferred just run away, to Raptured, or something more terrible. But he didn't know.
He just didn't know. But he cared. He desperately cared.
'Good morning to you, young buffoon.' Derek turned at the sound of the voice. It was Old Pete. He was loading wooden crates onto a charabanc. Old Pete was dressed in what looked to be a Victorian redcoat's uniform. He even had a pith helmet. Very Rorke's Drift, very Michael Caine. [18]
'Good morning,' said Derek. 'You look, well, all dressed up for the occasion.'
'My old infantry uniform,' said Old Pete. 'I fought at Rorke's Drift. Michael Caine wasn't there though, that was only in the movie.'
'And the hairstyles were all wrong in that.' Old Vic struggled with a crate marked dynamite. He was wearing his pow kit. Very Colditz. Very, whoever was in the movie of Colditz.
'Off for a day out?' Derek grinned painfully.
'Stopping off at the post office first,' said Old Pete. 'Have to cash our shares in. While there's still a Mute Corp to pay us out.'
'This really isn't a good idea,' said Derek. 'You really should reconsider.'
'Vic,' said Pete. 'Where is that barrel of tar?'
'I've got it here, with the bag of feathers.'
'Enjoy your day out,' said Derek, making away at the hurry up.
'Good morning, Derek,' said Mr Speedy. 'On time this morning. I'm very impressed.'
'I'm not,' said Mr Shadow. 'He smells and look at the state of him, unshaven, clothes all crumpled up.'
'And some paint on the sleeve,' said Mr Speedy. 'That would be from the letter box at the police station.'
'You're very good at continuity,' said Derek. 'So tell me, what exactly is going to happen?'
'The official opening is at nine o'clock,' said Mr Speedy. 'Mr Doveston himself will be cutting the tape. What do you think of the daisy roots?' Mr Speedy pointed down to his feet. He wore a pair of Doveston holistic mega-brogues, with flute-tail high-rise imploding obfusticators and triple-bivalve bypass modifiers.
'Nice laces,' said Derek. 'I like the way they flash on and off. And are those real toads hopping about in the transparent heels?'
Mr Speedy nodded enthusiastically.
Mr Shadow said, 'Look at mine.'
Derek looked. 'They're very nice too,' he said. 'I particularly like the way the difference engines are cunningly inset beneath the pig's-bladder motifs.' -