Daylight on Iron Mountain (15 page)

‘I don’t understand.’

‘He was in Security. A Police General.’

‘Ah…’ That surprised him more than anything else she’d said. ‘But no children, right?’

‘Wrong. We have a son.’

‘But it said…’

She met his eyes, a certain hardness in her own. ‘Don’t believe everything you read, Jake. My son isn’t in the record for good reason. Because it would make me vulnerable. If he were taken hostage…’

The tightness in her face betrayed her fear of it. But then she smiled again. ‘He’s eighteen next week. And very like his father. Tall and dark-haired. A bit like you were, Jake, when you were his age.’

He studied her a moment, re-evaluating her. Then, very softly, ‘And you didn’t remarry?’

‘No.’

She looked to him, then looked away again. ‘I guess I didn’t want to take the risk. Not after that. It’s hard enough having your heart broken once, let alone twice in one lifetime.’

Two hours later, they had worked their way up to the topmost level of the stack. There, in an elegant First Level mansion that would have been the pride of any billionaire, were the real stars of the Farm: Gustav Ebert’s world-famous talking goats – man-sized creatures who stood upright on
their hind legs, wore clothes, drank wine and smoked cigars, just like normal human beings.

Jake had heard of them – he couldn’t remember what the story was, but they had been on the news quite recently. But encountering them face to face and with no one-way glass partition was quite intimidating. There was nothing to make him feel safe and something feral and inhuman in their eyes. When he shook their hands – tiny, trotter-like hands that could still hold a glass and use a pen – he was surprised by the sheer strength of aversion he felt towards them.

A shrinking back into his skin.

They were politeness itself, but he… he could barely say a word. All he wanted was to be out of there.

Afterwards, as they waited for the seal to open, he looked to Alison and shuddered.

‘Am I the only one…?’

‘To loathe the creatures? No. It’s a common reaction. Gustav thinks it’s rooted at the most primal of levels. We look into those eyes and something’s triggered. But it’s not only that… it’s the smell of them.’

Jake frowned. ‘I didn’t think…’

‘The perfume masks it. But again, at some deeper level, it registers. Their animal scent. Some people say the goats remind them of the devil… or rather, the King of Hell.’

‘And yet they buy them.’

‘And maybe even for that reason.’ As the door ahead of them hissed open, she looked to him. ‘You hungry, Jake?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then let’s have some lunch. I’ve a couple more things I want to show you, but they can wait. Besides, we need to talk.’

‘Haven’t we been talking?

She glanced sideways at him. ‘I mean
talk
. I’m still suffering from the shock of finding you’re alive.’

Lunch was roast beef and Yorkshire puddings, courtesy of Alison’s own chef.

Jake sat there, in her old-fashioned farmhouse kitchen, looking about
him, recognizing what she’d done there, and thinking that he was probably the only one in the world who did.

‘Your mum and dad’s place… in Chobham.’

She smiled but didn’t meet his eyes, concentrating on opening the bottle of 1982 Chateau Cissac. ‘You remembered,’ she said.

‘I couldn’t really forget, could I? Those were good times.’

‘They were.’

He hesitated, then, ‘You know… this could be awkward.’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘You and me. Working at such close quarters.’

This time she met his eyes. ‘That’s presuming I want you in my life again. In
that
way.’

Don’t you?
he thought. Only he didn’t say it aloud.

She poured two glasses of the blood-red wine, then handed him one. ‘No, Jake. Whatever relationship we’re going to have, it’s going to be a business one. We can be friends, sure, but it would be foolish and mistaken to think it could be anything else.’

She smiled. ‘Put simply, we fucked that up years ago. We don’t need to do it all over again.’

He raised his glass, toasting her. ‘Spoken like a woman who doesn’t need a man in her life.’

‘But I have a man in my life, and here he is…’

She was right. Her son did look like Jake when he was younger. For a moment he wondered if the boy
could
be his. Only he couldn’t. He was only seventeen.

Jake stood, offering his hand. ‘I’m Jake…’

The boy’s smile disarmed him. He looked to his mother, then put out his hand, clasping Jake’s firmly. ‘Nice to meet you, Jake. I’m… Jake…’

‘Jacob Paul,’ Alison said. ‘Paul after my father, of course.’

And Jake?
Only, again, he didn’t say a word.

‘Ah…’ Jake looked down at the young man’s hand within his own, then released it.

‘You keep wrong-footing me,’ he said, looking to her, seeing how the situation amused her. ‘Why didn’t you say?’

‘That he’d be here? I didn’t think he would. He ought to be at the academy.’

‘They’ve given me the rest of the week off,’ the boy said hastily. ‘To revise.’

‘You’ve got exams?’ Jake asked.

‘History and Social Studies.’

‘Oh.’

He wondered what they taught today’s youngsters. Not the truth, that was certain. But did they believe it? Or did they know it was all a fiction?

Later, back in his rooms, Jake pondered that question. Was it true what Lahm had said? Was it only a matter of time before the likes of his Peter and Alison’s Jake would accept it all for gospel? Or would the truth still be there, handed on in whispers, like a seed in the earth, waiting to sprout again sometime in the future? Could Tsao Ch’un and his servants really erase it all, book by book and fact by fact?

He didn’t know. But they were having a damn good try. And just as long as something didn’t go dramatically wrong, a century from now it would all be academic. Because no one would care. There wouldn’t be anyone left alive who’d
want
to change it back.

That afternoon, Alison had shown him the future.

Food was part of it. Feeding the ever-growing masses of Chung Kuo. For there was no doubt that after the massive depletions of the past three decades, there would be an equally massive growth, and GenSyn wanted a share of that market. To that end they had developed all manner of clever creatures; animals that were safer and healthier to eat. But their greatest achievement – one for which they got a lot of press coverage – was the
jou tung wu
, the very plainly named ‘meat animal’.

The
jou tung wu
was basically a cow, though it looked as little like a cow as a rocket resembled a kite. Partly the result of breeding, partly of biological reconstruction, the great beast was a living slab of meat, without bone or sinew. Its huge weight and size were maintained artificially by the machines that lay beneath it and surrounded it on all sides. Looking down from the balcony above, Jake grimaced. Apart from the stench, it was visually repellent; a single, pulsating mass of pink flesh.

‘I know,’ Alison said, laughing, in reponse to his expression. ‘But think how efficient it is.’

‘It’s not aware of what it is, is it? I don’t see any heads.’

‘There is one, normal size, underneath there somewhere. We tried making one without a head, but it simply doesn’t work. That pulse is where we’re pumping air through it. And there are slurries on all sides.’

‘What do you feed it?’

‘Garbage.’

He looked at her, saw she was serious. ‘Oh, there are things it can’t eat, but anything organic is fine. You’ve heard of the Thousand Eyes? This is the thousand stomachs. Like the air, the garbage gets pumped in somewhere over… there!’

Alison pointed to where a huge flexible pipe hung down, disappearing into that great mound of living flesh.

‘Do you have to kill it, then, before you eat it?’

‘No. It gets carved once a week. We remove something like 20 per cent of its body weight, and then it grows back.’

‘So it’s endlessly renewable… once you’ve got it up and running?’

‘Not endless. It has a life span of something like eight years. But it’ll feed five stacks throughout that period. At least, give them the meat intake they require.’

Jake shuddered. So this was what they’d been eating.

They moved on, down a corridor and into a lift that went up and up until Jake was sure it could go no higher. And yet it did.

‘Where are we?’ he asked, as it slowed and stopped.

‘The Airy. It’s Gustav’s place. He isn’t here now, but he said I could use it.’

The lift door opened.

They stepped out into luxury and style. There were paintings on the wall that Jake knew at once were worth millions. He stopped before one.

‘This one’s a fake.’

Alison came up alongside him. ‘Really? How d’you know that?’

‘Because I used to have it in my bedroom. The original, that is. This one’s been doctored. Tampered with.’

He pointed to it. ‘This figure and that one there – the
Hung Mao
– they aren’t in the original. In the original they’re Han, like the rest in the painting.’

Jake concentrated, brought the name up out of dim and distant memory.

‘It’s Emperor Hui Tsong’s copy of
Lady Kuo Kuo’s Spring Outing
. The original was painted by Chang Hsuan in the eighth century.’

Alison spoke to the air. ‘Chang? Is that right? Is this a fake?’

A Han voice answered her immediately. ‘It is, Mistress Alison. The
gentleman –
Shih
Reed, that is – is quite correct. Only we won’t mention that to anyone outside, neh?’

Alison smiled. ‘Yes, Chang.’

They went inside, into an apartment that made Jake’s recent accommodation seem small and scruffy.

‘You like?’

He looked to Alison, saw how at ease she was here.

She must come here a lot
.

Maybe she was even Gustav’s mistress.

He set the thought aside, looking about him. Everywhere he looked there were treasures. Fakes or not, Gustav’s taste was exquisite.

‘I need you to sign something, Jake,’ she said, coming back across to him, holding out a sheet of paper and an old-fashioned fountain pen. ‘It’s a confidentiality statement. It says, basically, that you’ll not speak about anything you see while you’re here.’

Jake took it, signed it without looking and handed it back.

‘You should have read it.’

‘I trust you. Besides, you’ll have me on camera. My retinal print…’

She smiled. ‘I sometimes forget who you were.
What
you were, rather. At Hinton.’

‘I forget myself. But why the secrecy? Is he afraid someone will come and steal all his paintings?’

She shook her head. ‘The paintings would be easy to replace. No, it’s his servants. Would you like to meet them?’

Jake frowned. She was doing it again, teasing him. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Wheel them in.’

The first to come into the room was a middle-aged Han. He was dressed soberly, in purple robes with a black silk edging. He smiled and bowed.

‘This,’ said Alison, ‘is Tsu Shih. He’s Gustav’s steward.’

Jake bowed, acknowledging him. ‘Tsu Shih.’

‘And this,’ Alison added, as a young girl entered the room, ‘is Tai Yu, or Moon Flower, as she’s also known. Tai Yu is Gustav’s maid.’

Jake waited, expecting more, knowing that a man like Gustav Ebert could afford a thousand servants to do his bidding. But these two, it seemed, were all.

He frowned, then looked to Alison. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand.’

‘Tsu Shi… Tai Yu… bare your arms.’

At once they did as they were asked, exposing the flesh of their forearms for his inspection. Jake went across and looked.

‘I still don’t…’

And then he did. He understood all too well. These were more of GenSyn’s creatures. That was what the logo imprinted into their forearms meant – the small S within the G. They hadn’t been born, like he or Alison, they had been grown in vats, like spare-part limbs. Only these were whole, intelligent.

Alison spoke to them. ‘Tsu Shi… how old are you?’

‘I am four, Mistress.’

‘And you, Tai Yu?’

‘I am seven, Mistress. Nearly eight.’

‘And you know what you are?’

Both Tsu Shi and Tai Yu smiled, as if perfectly content, then spoke as one, their words perfectly coordinated.

‘We are our Master’s hands.’

‘Hui?’

‘Yes,
Shih
Reed?’

‘Could you get my wife, Mary, on the line?’

Jake sat back on the sofa, closing his eyes. It had been a strange day. An
interesting
day. All those things he’d seen and heard. It ought, by now, to have been clear in his mind what he was going to do. Only it wasn’t. He was still no closer to making a decision. If anything, he had taken a step backward, because the truth was he wanted to be part of this. Because if he wasn’t…

He stood, frustration making him feel restless. Why didn’t he just say yes?

‘Jake?’

He turned, looking up at the screen.

‘Mary?’

She smiled. ‘Had a good day?’

‘A brilliant day, I…’ He was going to say that he’d met an old friend, only he didn’t want to tell her at a distance. He wanted to be there, next to her, when he told her that. He didn’t want her jumping to the wrong conclusions.

‘They showed me everything,’ he said. ‘Things I can’t even talk to you about.’

‘And has it made up your mind?’

Jake hesitated, then shook his head. ‘I need to talk it through, Mary… with you. I need…’

He shrugged. He didn’t know quite what he needed – a sounding board, maybe. Someone to tell him he was being ridiculous and that he ought to jump at the chance.

‘I’m coming back,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow morning.’

‘And they want an answer before then?’

‘I don’t know. They didn’t ask. I guess they’re giving me time to think it through. They’ve certainly pulled out all the stops to get me.’

Mary smiled. ‘I’m glad. You’re worth it, Jake.’

‘Am I?’

They talked some more, then said their goodbyes. It was still relatively early – much too early for him to go to bed – and in other circumstances he might have called Alison up and gone to see her, to talk about old times. Only that seemed fraught with difficulties. Whatever she said about the two of them, there was still that connection, that history.