The synapse sequence, p.17
The Synapse Sequence, page 17
Grace tipped her head to one side as she contemplated me. ‘You don’t have to do this, you know. We can all see it’s a strain.’
‘I’m ready, though,’ I said. ‘And I’ve got nowhere left to go.’
It took about ten minutes to wheel me from my room to the conservatory. Grace could have walked it in two. We passed a few other residents gamely making their own way using a variety of sticks and supports. We always gave them priority, Grace manoeuvring the chair through the corridors to give them the widest possible path lest she cause them to topple. Each time, I crossed my fingers that there’d be no incidents. I didn’t want Grace to leave me in the corridor, safe in my chair, while she dealt with another of the nearly-deads.
As we entered the conservatory, Sean waved at me. Then he waited as I was positioned in front of him. I saw once again that he’d not been given anything to drink.
‘Two cups of tea,’ I said to Grace.
‘I’m fine,’ he said.
‘You could do with it.’
‘Now, Anna,’ Grace admonished as she walked away.
Beaten this time, I thought. But my game seemed a bit hollow. There was something wrong with Sean, and it wasn’t just the awkward silence of having to deal with an unpredictable and cranky interviewee. ‘You seem a little tense.’
‘I—’ He flushed. ‘I had an argument with my girlfriend.’
‘Was it your fault?’
‘Six of one, half a dozen of the other.’
‘Then apologise,’ I said, ‘and move on.’
‘Just like that?’
I shrugged. In the back of my mind I had a glimpse of something – a sudden feeling of déjà vu. Some nagging sense of doubt. Had I offered this advice to someone before?
‘When we last met,’ Sean said, reading from his pad, ‘you told me the tail of the turbo-prop had detached, causing the crash. Can you tell me a little bit about what you found?’
I knew where today’s session would likely go, and had fully prepared for it. ‘We knew from the black boxes that the crash wasn’t caused by pilot error. Weather conditions were good, and wouldn’t have affected the tail like that anyway. And that leaves the equipment and how it was maintained.’
Grace returned with a single cup of tea, pleasingly provided with a good dose of milk. I sipped it, and waited for her to leave us again.
‘We examined the tail very carefully,’ I said. ‘The bolt casings were all ripped. Shattered.’
‘Could it have been metal fatigue?’
‘No. That looks very different.’
‘In your report you stated the tail fell off because of an explosion. But the labs couldn’t find any trace of explosive residue.’
‘Modern explosives burn fully,’ I replied. ‘That’s in my report too. Gone were the days when you could detect an explosion from the pattern of ripped fuselage and traces of Semtex. Unless they were stupid enough to use it, anyway. No, this was probably painted along the connecting surface and triggered with a microdot.’
‘Did you find the microdot?’
‘Of course not.’
Sean looked at me for a long time. He made a few notes. ‘What was the explosive?’
‘A form of thermite.’
‘How did you come to that conclusion?’
‘It seemed logical.’
‘ If there was an explosive, yes. But if there wasn’t?’
Hands trembling, I fumbled for my tea. ‘The decision to switch planes caused about thirty minutes’ delay,’ I said. ‘We know which maintenance team worked on the aircraft. We did background checks on them all: one had a connections to a Chinese mining firm – she’d bought a lot of stock options.’
‘Lots of people had similar options. It’s how companies like that buy control.’
‘But not everyone’s partner has access to the same explosives required to take down the plane.’ I could see Sean about to interrupt again, so I stopped him. ‘Don’t forget, whichever plane was used would have had a final check. The maintenance team would have flown their drones over whichever one was about to take off. The fact they changed planes is coincidental.’
‘It certainly seems more than coincidental to a lot of people.’
‘Everyone became an expert when it hit the headlines.’
Sean didn’t see the joke, and scribbled a few more notes. While he did so, I looked for N’Golo but couldn’t find him. Charley had entered the conservatory. She was pushing another nearly-dead in a chair, but she still found time to smirk at me.
‘You authored the report yourself?’
‘Yes.’
‘And how many were on the investigation team?’
‘About three of—’
‘Is that all?’
‘AIs were already doing a lot of the lab work by then.’
‘And you were working over a period of how long?’
‘Two weeks on the ground.’
Sean seemed to accept this. ‘And during all that time, the US were baying for war?’
‘Yes – some calmer heads were saying things should still be talked through. But then a document got leaked that said the Tanzanian government would prefer a Chinese deal, and that it would be better if the western powers were kept out of Africa. A stupid paper, written by a small department. It was enough for the US government to prove the public case, that their negotiators had been murdered.’
‘Were you in contact with any government officials during the time? Either from the UK or the States?’
‘No.’
‘And who was Gordon Hawley?’
I thought for a second I’d misheard. I closed my eyes, and sensed some of the room spin away. He’d distracted me with a series of jabs, then performed the perfect upper cut.
‘Ms Glover?’
I forced my attention back to Sean. Charley passed behind him and gave me another wicked grin. And N’Golo snapped into existence beside me too, smiling, enjoying my moment of torture.
‘Ms Glover,’ repeated Sean, ‘who was Gordon Hawley?’
‘He wasn’t involved in Tanzania,’ I said. Even to my ears, it sounded weak. But it was my last possible line of defence. One that would be easily breached.
‘No, he wasn’t,’ Sean replied. ‘But he was in Iceland, wasn’t he?’
28
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‘JUST SO YOU know,’ Cody said, sounding uncertain, ‘we’re getting some funny readings from Durrant. Health team contacted me about it.’
‘We can’t afford to stop now, Cody. Not after what was sent to the Haydens.’
Anna adjusted her muslin overalls, pulled herself up on the synapse bench, and then waited for Cody to conduct his checks. But in that small amount of time a nagging doubt began to gnaw at her. Funny readings. They’d managed three submersions. Was that all they were going to get?
‘Is he okay?’
‘We think so. Just need to tread carefully, that’s all.’ Cody grinned down at her. ‘Sweet dreams…’
* * *
‘HEY… DO I know you?’
Anna was sitting alone at a small, round-topped table, one of several in a nightclub. The decor was silver-effect chrome and black plastic. The drinks counter was brightly lit, which made the rest of the place appear slightly shrouded.
There was no mistaking N’Golo Durrant, though – he was about to walk past her. He broke his stride when he saw her, puzzled. No doubt, back in his hospital bed, his brain had stumbled in the same way over her presence, trying to make sense of why the unknown woman had stolen into his memory again. His gaze moved away from Anna’s face, towards her chest.
Instinctively, she looked down. Her clothes were pretty much those she was actually wearing in the synapse chamber – a smart pair of trousers and a long-sleeved blouse – minus the disposable fabric overalls. Durrant must be seeing something else. He stared long enough to make her worry she was about to get bumped out, but then he continued walking towards the bar.
The place was nearly deserted, filled more with music than people. Anna didn’t recognise it. She could have been anywhere, except she wasn’t really here at all. And from N’Golo’s reaction, she could also have been anyone – certainly not herself – and possibly just some random woman he remembered passing. Which was another oddity. Or perhaps it was just how N’Golo’s brain was making sense of her presence: it had made her part of a memory, rather than accepting her as an intruder inside it.
Anna slipped off her stool, keeping N’Golo in sight, and waited for the barman to serve him. This was the boy who had all the answers, she reminded herself. He could lead them directly to Beth Hayden. She needed to make him talk to her, despite the risks.
‘Callcross High?’ she said, intercepting him on his return trip. ‘I think we’re in different years, though.’
Callcross. The word seemed to alarm N’Golo. He snapped his attention back to the bar, but the guy who’d served him – a human, not a bot – had long gone, and there was no one left to hear. He took a large mouthful of beer, trying perhaps to restore the cool.
‘Thought I knew you,’ he said.
‘You want to grab a table?’
N’Golo’s eyes narrowed. ‘You here alone?’
Anna hesitated. Was a boyfriend about to arrive? A group of friends? All she knew was that she’d been waiting in the bar, just as N’Golo had arrived. And he was able to interact with her again. ‘Don’t be a goof. We’ve got a bit of time.’
N’Golo laughed. ‘Goof?’
Inside, Anna cringed. Yes, she knew people didn’t say that any more. Hadn’t done for a long time. With a simple smile she sat back down at her table. She needed to keep his brain engaged, keep herself integral to the memory, be careful not to bump him out. ‘You live with the Hayden family, right? Beth and George?’
N’Golo took another mouthful of beer and glanced around the bar. Because of course, he was unlikely to be here alone either. He’d come to find someone. ‘You look a lot older than sixteen.’
‘Yeah,’ Anna replied, knowing that whoever he was remembering might have been anyone – and, if it didn’t fit, the line about Callcross High might have been a mistake. She could have wrinkles and grey hair. But somehow she doubted it, and the woman in N’Golo’s mind had enough to distract him from the details of her face. ‘No problems getting served. You neither.’
N’Golo let one of his arms rest on the table and slowly squeezed his biceps to show off his developing strength. ‘Has some advantages, don’t it?’
‘So what are you doing out?’
‘Meeting some people.’ His attention was fully on her now. ‘Quick drink and then back home. School night. You know how it is.’
‘Same.’
‘I’m sure I know you from some place other than Callcross…’
She needed to get him off this line of thought. The contents of the pink tissue came back into her mind. ‘Beth’s a nice girl, isn’t she…?’
N’Golo pushed some air through gritted teeth.
‘What? She’s not?’
‘She sees me as some sort of social project,’ he said. ‘Like a prize pet has arrived on her doorstep. Something to talk about at her meet-ups.’
‘Meet-ups?’
‘Yeah, which is fine. I mean, she can go home to her nice house, full fridge and comfy bed. And I don’t see her actually wanting to share any of that, no matter how fucking clever her placards—’ He stopped to check over his shoulder. They were still alone, and he soon returned his attention to her. ‘So, how about you?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I didn’t catch your name?’
‘Anna.’
The response had been automatic. Unthinking. Another little chink of truth warping N’Golo’s memory as it played back from the hospital bed. When he woke up, would he remember things differently?
‘Anna? Huh. I wouldn’t have figured.’
‘And what would you have said?’
‘Maybe an Aliya or a Jasmine…’
Anna couldn’t help but glance at her hands, which flexed white against the table. N’Golo grinned at her, perhaps working out his next move. Before he could say anything, the door to the bar opened and two men walked inside.
N’Golo’s casual confidence vanished. He gave the pair a half-wave, half-salute – the gesture only underlining the sudden stiffness in his shoulders. Anna followed his stare. The first, who acknowledged his wave with a nod, was the blond man with the widow’s peak who’d spoken to him by the hedge. The other was bulkier. One of them had sliced open a young girl’s arm, Anna thought. One of them was close to being a butcher. ‘Friends of yours?’
‘Not exactly,’ N’Golo replied while keeping an eye on the men, who were ordering drinks at the bar. ‘Listen, I’m going to have to go.’
‘Who are they?’
N’Golo edged forward on his seat, ready to slip off it. Anna reached across the table and took hold of his hand gently. It was enough to reawaken whatever biological response had drawn him to this woman in the first place. He relaxed and twisted back to her, but his look of confusion had returned. The music in the bar cut out. Perhaps that had been what truly had happened, but Anna doubted it. Touching him had punctured the memory, and caused the synapse sequencer to wobble.
‘Are you sure we don’t know each other?’ he asked.
‘I told you, I’ve seen you at Callcross.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘No, I don’t think that’s it.’
The men had their drinks. They turned so their backs faced the counter, and surveyed the empty tables. Their attention was on N’Golo, but they continued to wait for him. She had some time. No matter how this had actually played out, she just needed to keep him engaged for a few more minutes. Keep him in the memory and find out why it had burned itself so deep in his brain. ‘So are you going to introduce me?’
‘I don’t think so.’ N’Golo pulled his hand away and slipped off the stool. ‘Look, it was nice chatting…’
He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he just walked towards the men. Anna had a good view of their faces, and she concentrated on the new one – the man was slightly fatter and balder than the one with the widow’s peak. She didn’t recognise him from Fowler’s photofits.
Someone cut in front of her. Another man. He sat down at the stool where N’Golo had been sitting, and leant across towards her. His face, though, was just a featureless blur. The new arrival bent to kiss her and then sat back on his stool with a strange murmuring noise. Anna tried to look past him. N’Golo occasionally glanced towards her; from his position, he was unable to see the face of the man now sitting with her.
The murmuring was getting louder. And then she realised. The shape in front of her was like some sort of half-imagined dummy: gesticulating, talking, laughing. Nothing quite making sense. An ancillary detail within N’Golo’s memory: just the guy who’d been talking to the girl he’d noticed in the bar. Worse, this dummy was now completely blocking her sight line to N’Golo.
Anna tried to move. Get off the stool and get another drink. But she couldn’t. Her feet were stuck to the little heel bar beneath her, and her rear didn’t want to shift from the plastic seat. She was about to be shunted from the sequencer.
All of which meant she’d failed. Again.
29
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TANZANIA INQUIRY.
Anna didn’t open the article. She’d read warnings of an inquiry before, multiple times. It was a story that didn’t want to die – and with the price of dysprosium also in the news, she doubted it ever would.
Fowler sauntered towards her, his vehicle parked part on and part off the kerb. For a moment Anna wondered how it had allowed him to stop in that position, then realised it hadn’t. He must have disabled the parking system – and his manoeuvre was drawing attention to the fact. Maybe he wanted her to ask him about it. She didn’t.
Instead, she switched her attention to the bar. It sat like a bunker just off from the main highway. A few stray dogs were scavenging from bins set to one side of the door. Despite probably being lashed by rain on more nights than not, the place had a flat roof which was lined with an unlit neon sign: Compadres.
‘From how you described it,’ Fowler said, looking pleased with himself, ‘this is probably it.’
Although she’d logged out of the boards, Anna’s attention still wasn’t entirely on where they’d agreed to meet. Her pod had dropped her off outside the bar a few minutes ago and she’d been left to wait in the open. A few people had walked past but hadn’t recognised her. Now, though, a man was jogging towards her, his pace too fast for Anna to turn her face away in time.
‘Bitch!’
The sudden shout startled Fowler, who stared after the man as he pounded away. ‘You get that all the time?’
‘Pretty much.’ Anna tried to hold Fowler’s eye contact – like it hadn’t impacted her – but she was trembling.
‘You ever thought of submitting a complaint?’
‘About what?’
‘Well, I presume it’s because the boards keep posting your photo? That one at the crash site…’
‘You really think submitting a board ticket is going to do any good?’
‘Not really.’
