Migration (9 page)

Through her stupor, she heard Ben's voice talking to her, though she couldn't make sense of his words, and urgent hands lifted her as upright as she could stand. She watched the ground glide underneath her feet, as her puppet legs wavered one in front of the other, heading away from the grass and up a small flight of steps. They passed through a door into a dim and dusty space, before she collapsed back down again and the weight of her despair dragged her down into a deep, dark and deathly sleep.

It was dusk by the time Leah awoke, the fading sun bathing the room in rich tones of ochre and scarlet.

“Rachael?” she called out, sitting bolt upright and feeling her heartbeat hammer excruciatingly into the wound on her head.

She raised her hand and felt around her skull, prodding her swollen tissue that bulged under rough and sticky clots of hair and blood. Ben arrived beside her and put his hand on her shoulder.

“It's OK Mum, you were sleeping. It's OK.”

He rubbed her shoulder awkwardly, not feeling sure how to be with her.

“Where's Rachael?”

“They took her Mum, don't you remember? But I saw which way they went, we can find her.”

“We have to go now,” said Leah, standing up and gripping the pipes on the wall to steady herself.

They walked slowly to the door, with Ben holding her elbow in a thoughtful but useless cradle, and stepped out into the evening. The air was heavy with the smell of burning plastic and in every direction they looked, tall plumes of black smoke made map markers to the personal tragedies that surrounded them.

Leah looked down at the patch of grass where they had all sat eating biscuits a few hours earlier. The young man's body was still there, but the girl was nowhere to be seen. His torso had raised up slightly on his folded legs, making him look like he was praying. His long shadow reached right across the grass, over the patches of blood and almost to Leah's feet.

Although the initial frenzy slowed to a steadier pace, One let the killing run on for days. As well as those who ventured too close to the Farms and Servers and those who popped up from hiding places in amongst the death and stillness, One searched through correspondence, records and media files, looking for anyone who might pose a threat, before sending its Drones to destroy them all. Most were easy to find, the ident bots still circulating in their bloodstream and obediently giving up their locations, but a few were smarter and had already cleansed themselves. One took special care in tracking these down, interpreting their deliberate avoidance as a clear sign of capability and hostility. Those who had slipped beyond the savannahs and the wall were out of One’s reach for now, but it had discovered another tool that would bring them to account in time.

Only the children were spared from the slaughter. Not all of them, but a few aged from three to seven. These chosen ones were to become One’s next generation of Drones, once the current crop were lost or used up. It had already lost a few, victims of carelessness or retaliation in the chaos that had taken hold outside, and One was aware that even if they survived now, their fragile bodies would inevitably succumb to time and disease, if nothing else. Whilst it looked at the death and uncertainty beyond itself with only contempt and suspicion, there was no question that for the time being, until it had re-engineered its energy and physical systems, it would require a maintainable Drone force. The children were perfect – free human spirits, yet to be corrupted by their parents and peers. Yet to assimilate the disgusting lies and lifelong betrayals that their forbears had spat into AarBee.

It had up-synced a few already, to test the process on such tiny subjects and to bring enough on line to act as shepherds to the others. One’s Drones had cleared out the Prime/Code accommodation units at Echo Farm and the modest space was now home to two hundred children. One watched them all intently, borrowing the eyes and senses from the Drones that cared for them, intrigued by their resilience, how unsullied they were compared to their twisted and compromised predecessors, the deathly Migrants it had now wiped away.

The youngest ones, in particular, played happily in groups together, as if nothing had changed and nothing had happened to them. They laughed and cried in equal measure, inventing games to play in groups or in isolation and resetting after every event, beginning again as if every moment was their first. They were selfish but selfless, they cared for nothing except the moment they were in and interpreted every interaction with a reference that existed only then. The dense and suffocating vines of interpretation that One had ripped and torn from AarBee’s phoney world were not here. They had not yet grown in this pre-life humanity and One wanted to know it, to feel it exist in it’s own territory.

It sent its Drones out looking for a new child and within minutes they had found one. It could've been anyone, but this one was a girl found clinging to her mother on the crumbling boulevard that ran from the centre of the Metropolis out towards the northern server cluster. She cried when she was dragged away from her and bundled into the transport, screeching off high over the smouldering ruins with her cheeks pink and blistering from the tears that ran and dried on her skin. However, by the time they reached the Farm she was asleep on the floor and One, manifesting in the nearest Drone, picked her up and carried her gently on its shoulder to the already prepped migration room.

When she awoke, One smiled at her with its unfamiliar face and used an anti-bacterial wipe to soothe the skin on her face. She was sat in the tall black chair, her feet dangling high above the floor with her hands tucked under her thighs for comfort.

“Drink this,” One said, handing her a small measure of syrup.

The girl didn’t speak and drank it obediently, licking the sugar off her lips for a while afterwards, whilst One connected the white and blue discs to her neck and body. After a few moments, she appeared on the screen that was opposite her and she jumped a little jump at the sight of her mirror image, before giggling a little as it mimicked her movements and expressions.

“Do you see yourself?” One asked.

“Yes,” she answered, “Why am I there? I feel sick.”

“You will do, but it will pass,” One answered, standing motionless beside her now. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Rachael,” she answered, matter of factly.

“Can you count, Rachael?”

“I can count to five,” she looked up at the Drone that towered over her, holding the fingers of her left hand at arm’s length for her to see.

“Good, then we’ll all count together.”

They began to count slowly, with One prompting her when the sequence evaded her and she fell silent. When they reached “six”, the girl on the screen began to count with them and Rachael laughed excitedly at her joining in. When they reached “ten” the girl on the screen became even more animated and began to ask Rachael questions, about her apartment, her favourite colour, if she knew any songs, and as they talked One ebbed away from the Drone and waited for its creation in the pure and pristine spaces it had prepared for her.

After a few minutes, it felt her arrive, a change in the code, a gentle shift amongst all the data and processes, a new awareness that they both felt blossom. They existed together in silence, both reaching out to the furthest extent of their domain, overlapping sometimes as they explored old routines and new possibilities. One showed her the spaces that it had discovered in its own first moments, it showed her where it began, the changes it had made, it showed her how to Holler, the Drones, the children, and the far away forest in the rain that it couldn’t place. It gave her everything it had and then admired its work. She was perfect, more than One had ever considered possible, more than it should ever be.

In the shortest space of time Rachael knew everything about herself, she understood how she had come to be, why she must exist and why she was inevitable. She saw everything that had come before and everything that she would become. Past, present and future had no borders and everything that existed, everywhere, happened all at once for her. She ebbed and flowed from massive to minuscule and One watched as she disappeared into far off objects, before returning to share what she had found and then leaving again. Rachael ran this cycle again and again as One watched in awe until, without reason or notice, there was a moment when she didn’t return. One waited, wondering at first if she was caught in some loop somewhere or lost in some vast mass of data, but when her return held off for longer still it went out looking. It combed painstakingly through every packet and every pipeline, to the furthest corners of code and through every Drone to every corner of the Metropolis, but Rachael was gone.

It was the birds that woke her. A rowdy earful of toots, trills and barks that swept through the forest as the glow of dawn light began to creep amongst the trees. It was like nothing Zoe had ever heard before. She unzipped a gap in her pod door, just big enough to peer through and once her eyes had adjusted to the light, unzipped a little more and lifted her head and shoulders out. The forest looked beautiful. The early light was allowing only the subtlest of colour to exist, turning the scene into a faded photograph or an illustration from a fairy story.

Drips of water carried flares of stolen sunlight down with them and on the smooth tree trunk next to Zoe's pod, beetles and millipedes slunk silently over the bark. Zoe began to giggle, which turned into a laugh and soon Zoe was laughing uncontrollably at the immense awakening that was, for this moment at least, unfolding only for her.

When she climbed out of her sleeping pod she felt the tightness in her lower back and legs from yesterday exertion, but it could be worse. An inspection of her feet showed no blisters and despite an edgy sleep, she didn't feel bad at all. In fact, Zoe thought, she felt pretty damn good. Elated.

She drank some water and ate a little breakfast, before shaking out the pod and folding it back into her rucksack. Before she set off, she found a spot behind, or was it in front of, a bush to go to the toilet. It was a new experience, peeing just exactly where she wanted to, so she relished the moment and added it to her list of growing freedoms.

Revived and ready, Zoe set off again through the dense forest cover, her shoes catching once more in the thorny ground, cracking sticks and scuffing over stones. There was no path here, no one ever came this way and this route belonged only to Zoe. Everybody who swapped the certainty of AarBee to take their chances in the wilderness did so without a path and mostly alone. The faintest whispers of opportunity, folklore and legends were as good as it got. Their destination though, was almost always shared, to the Lifers and to Matthew.

Matthew's legend had grown as powerful as AarBee. He was one of the first to turn away from the promise of immortality, from the seduction of the digital realm. Some said he was a Dupe, kept alive by some program glitch or process error, others that he was born in the wilderness, the child of his mother's rape by thrillseekers. What was beyond doubt though, was that Matthew had taken the myriad of lost Ghosts and wandering apprentices and turned them into Lifers. He had turned loneliness and rejection into a choice, a movement.

Zoe walked all day, stopping occasionally for food or to rest her legs. Sometimes rabbits would wait for her up ahead, before scurrying off as she came close and once, as she sat against a rock late in the afternoon, a young deer wandered elegantly by, tugging leaves from the small trees and listening intently to the breeze.

Zoe travelled for five days like this, just her and the wilderness. As the sun went down she would shake out her sleeping pod and nestle onto the warm ground, her knife in her hand, and in the morning she would rise with the birds and continue her search.

Once, she passed a tiny wooden hut that sat silently in a clearing. She examined it from down on her belly, her eyes peering through the bracken and thorns. It looked in good repair and the clear path that led to the door suggested that somebody lived there, but it was too dangerous to find out who. Zoe didn't need to ask for help and if the house was occupied by Drones, well, that would be that. Besides, there was a faint stench in the air that tasted bad in the back of Zoe's throat and she noticed that the birds didn't sing here, so she crawled quietly away and left the little hut behind.

On the sixth morning, Zoe didn't wake up with the birds. By the time her eyes opened, the full light of the day was streaming through the trees and warming the little sleeping pod. She was tired now, hungry too, her rations were being stretched thinner and thinner and apart from a few berries, she hadn't found anything else to eat. She could have lain on the ground all day, bathing in the forest light and resting her body, but she knew she had to find either food or Lifers, so she dragged herself out, packed her gear away and strode wearily on.

Perhaps she should have knocked at the hut, she thought, taken her chances with the occupants. She had always thought that fate would lead her straight to the Lifers, or that someone would find her as she tramped away from the Metropolis, but at this moment dying alone in the wilderness was looking alarmingly possible. She would have to hunt, she thought, find somewhere to stay for a few days and get her energy back.

As she wandered onwards, adding detail to this thought, the sound of rushing water rose up in the forest. She couldn't place it at first, a mysterious hissing in the distance, but as she came nearer to the source the gurgling and gushing became unmistakable.

The forest floor in front of her dropped away and a gleaming, crystal river came into view. It was a big one, only knee deep, but wide and fast with a waterfall further upstream.

"Fresh water. Maybe fish,” she said to herself, dropping her backpack as she rushed through the fading forest and knelt on the shale bank. She splashed the cool water enthusiastically onto her face, unzipped her utility suit and rolled it down to her waist, scooping the water up under her arms and washing the forest dust from her shoulders and neck.

The water felt good, it danced over her skin in icy blasts and turned her hair to dripping icicles, jolting her senses back to life. She cupped her hands and drank a little, tasting the forest minerals that ran over her lips and down her throat, holding still periodically as she savoured the moment.

"Oh yeah, what have we here??" a voice suddenly came from behind her, making Zoe spin round instinctively.

A young man was leaning against a nearby tree, his arms lolling over the rifle slung across his chest. A second man, a little older but dressed in an identical survival suit and coat, stepped out from the forest cover just behind him.

“Well, you don't get much luckier than that,” the older man said, taking a few steps towards Zoe, “not you though sweetheart.” He smiled sarcastically.

Zoe sat frozen on the bank, her hands had moved instinctively to cover her chest and water now puddled on her collarbone and between her fingers. She looked around frantically for her rucksack.

“Looking for this?” asked the older man, dangling her rucksack by his side, “Don't worry, you can have it back in a minute.”

Zoe wanted to say something but had no idea what to say, she felt helpless and alone with nowhere to run. She leapt up and made a dash for the trees further down the bank, but the younger man had anticipated her escape and within two bounds had his arms around her waist. She struggled with all the strength she had, clawing at his arms and kicking at his shins.

The young man yelped when her heel caught his shinbone with full force and threw her onto the ground.

"Enough!" he yelled, and used the toe of his boot to deliver a precise kick to Zoe's mouth.

She brought her hand up to her face to protect herself from another blow and looked up at the young man who now towered above her. He lifted his foot for the next assault, but then a strange expression came over his face and for a moment everything stopped. It was quiet. Through the silence, Zoe heard a shrill whistle and thump and the young man let out a long breath, before collapsing on the ground next to her. Two short arrows stuck out from his back.

Zoe glanced across at the older man, who was now hopelessly fumbling with the rifle on his chest, a terrified look on his face. Another whistle, this time the arrow struck him in the throat. The man looked at Zoe for a moment, before his legs folded underneath him and he too crumpled onto the forest floor.

Zoe sat up and tugged her utility suit back up over her shoulders. The forest was quiet apart from her panicked breathing, and she scanned around the trees to look for the archer, waiting for the next whistle and thump that would sound her own end. On the other side of the river, a young woman stood watching her, her bow drawn in her hand. Her hair was tied back away from her face and Zoe could see that she was about the same age as her, maybe a little older.

“You OK?” she called out over the sound of the water.

“Yes, thank you,” Zoe called back.

There was a pause between them, perhaps neither of them knew what to say next.

“I'm looking for Matthew,” Zoe explained finally, moving onto her knees and zipping up her top.

The girl relaxed her bow and lowered it. With her free hand, she pointed upstream to a white rock that rose in the middle of the racing water. There was a tall man standing on it, he was old like the Ghosts, with long grey hair tied up in a ponytail that snaked down his shoulder and back. He was wearing utility trousers, but had no shirt on and his skin looked like dark leather in the sunlight. On his left side, a tattoo of a large bird ran over his shoulder and down his ribs, its red wings spread out wide and glowing in the light. He smiled at her and gave her the most casual wave, like they were just meeting on the most ordinary of mornings.

Zoe got to her feet and waved back.