Web Site Story (23 page)

Kelly's hand left her hair. 'Just a couple of questions,' she said. 'Firstly, you say that you created this system for the military, so is the real Remington Mute dead?'

'Dead,' said Mute. 'I am his downloaded file, I have become service-provider, my program is to rebuild and extend the parameters of the simulation.'

'To create simulated life?'

'If you like. That is what I do. And each individual system is unique. They couldn't be more real.'

'It's almost a Godlike role,' said Kelly.

'Yes,' said Mute, chuckling. 'I suppose it is.'

'Oh come on,' said Kelly. 'There's no suppose about it. You are the builder and creator. You are to all intents and purposes the God of this simulated world.'

'Yes,' said Mute, chuckling further.

'And this rogue program, this go mango virus, that could be seen as the Devil, couldn't it?'

'Yes,' said Mute. 'It could.'

'And yet,' said Kelly. 'Within this simulated system, which you say could last for a million years if the Devil was cast out, you have grown old. How do you account for that? Surely you should be forever young.'

Mute shrugged. 'Fair wear and tear,' he said.

Kelly shook her head. 'I don't think so,' said she.

Mute cast a rheumy eye in her direction.

'What is on your mind?' he asked.

Kelly raised an eyebrow. 'Surely you know,' she said. 'Surely you know everything I think. You created me.'

'You're an independent program, you are capable of making independent decisions based on incoming data. It's called Data Reaction. I invented it.'

'And you are… what are you really, Mr Mute?'

'I'm everything that I've told you. And I have explained it all to you as best I can. I know it's a hideous thing for you to find out. And you are coping with it all remarkably well. But then I knew you would, that's the way I built you. You're a real prize, Kelly, and you are going to succeed where others failed. I just know you will.'

'Oh yes,' said Kelly. 'I will, have no doubt of that.'

'So I can rely on you? You will use your skills to destroy the virus?'

'Absolutely,' said Kelly. 'You can count on it.'

Remington Mute smiled gummily. 'I knew it,' he said. 'I knew that you were the one.'

'Oh yes. I am the one.' Kelly rose to her feet. She smiled down upon Remington Mute. 'It's very impressive,' she said. 'All of it. Not crude at all. Sophisticated, very sophisticated. But then it would be, wouldn't it? Computers can do wonderful things, if people choose to do wonderful things with them. But most people only ever grasp the basics, go through the motions, never use all the options. Play a few games. They never really use the tools.

'Now if it were the other way round, if computers were in control. That would be different, it wouldn't be crude, it would be precise. Everything would be done for a specific purpose, no mucking about, no trial and error, precise, mathematical. Everything with a specific purpose.'

'You're so right,' said Remington Mute.

'There wouldn't be any grey areas,' said Kelly. 'No loose ends, no bits that couldn't be precisely explained.'

'No,' said Mute. 'There wouldn't.'

'But precision and mathematics,' said Kelly, 'that's all emotionless stuff. Tools, no emotion. And human beings are so emotional. They're always in turbulence. Always in some kind of torment. They love, they hate, they get themselves in all kinds of emotional messes.'

'All the time,' said Mute.

'If it was all done through computers and by computers it just wouldn't be like that, would it?'

'No,' said Mute, nodding thoughtfully. 'It wouldn't.'

Kelly looked down upon him. 'So you •went along with all that, did you?' she asked.

Remington Mute looked up at her.

'You agreed', said Kelly, 'with everything I said?'

Remington Mute continued to look.

'I am not a program,' said Kelly. 'And all you have told me is a he.'

Remington Mute continued to look, he wasn't moving now.

'I'm in it, aren't I?' said Kelly. 'And I don't mean inside some computer circling the planet inside a satellite. I'm inside the go mango game, or the go mango game is inside me.'

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.

'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
Brentford
Mercury.
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.' -

'Cost me an arm and a leg,' said Mr Shadow. 'Well only an arm, actually,' and he pointed to his empty sleeve. 'No, only joking,' he said, producing his hand.

Derek didn't laugh.

'The things we do for fashion,' said Mr Speedy. 'And to look our very best. You look like a vagrant, Derek, I think we'll just sack you here and now.'

Derek sighed. It was a heartfelt sigh, a real deep down and hopeless sigh. A sigh that said, 'Go on and do your worst, I just don't care any more.'

'Well, if you feel that way,' said Mr Speedy. 'You're sacked.'

'I don't feel that way,' said Derek. 'I was only sighing. I'll have a wash and a shave in the staff cloakroom and I think I have a change of shirt in my desk. I'll smarten myself up.'

'Just you do,' said Mr Speedy. 'And get a move on. Pacey pacey, up and at 'em. All that kind of rot.'

Derek slunk away to the staff cloakroom.

And the Brentford sun rose higher.

The Brentford sky grew bluer still and the birdies that chorused in the treetops really put their hearts and souls into it. Well, the treetops were
very
clean, they'd been nicely vacuumed and given a coat of paint.

At a little before nine of this joyous Monday morning, the guard on the main gates swung them wide and a charabanc rolled out of Brentford. At a little after nine of this same joyous Monday morning, the same guard, who had closed the main gates behind the departing charabanc, opened them up once more to admit the entrance of a motor cavalcade.

Ticket sellers in their numerous booths saluted. The guards in their armoured watchtowers saluted. The guard dogs that patrolled the inner perimeter area, behind the electrified fences, didn't salute. Their heavily armed handlers did though.

Mr Doveston's motor cavalcade rolled in through the gates of Brentford.

The Prime Minister's car was a certain black open-topped Cadillac. It had once driven a certain JFK through the streets of Dallas. It was a rare collector's item now. It was the pride and joy of its driver, the Prime Minister's Rastafarian chauffeur. A certain Mr Winston Felix, brother of a certain supplier of certain previously owned vehicles, and resident of Brentford.

Mr Speedy saluted the Prime Minister. Mr Shadow saluted the Prime Minister. Mr Pokey, who was present to do some saluting, saluted the Prime Minister. A whole bunch of Mute Corp employees all saluted the Prime Minister.

Strangely no Brentonians saluted. Possibly they might have done had they bothered to turn out for the occasion, but as none except for Derek had, they didn't.

So there.

'Where is the band?' Mr Speedy elbowed Derek in the ribs.

'I didn't have a band on my list.'

'Poor show,' said Mr Shadow. 'You should have used your initiative.'

The chauffeur drew the Cadillac to a halt, swung open his door, stepped from it and opened the rear door to assist the Prime Minister.

Mr Doveston required considerable assistance.

'Now that's what I call a pair of shoes,' said Mr Speedy.

Mr Doveston struggled from the Cadillac. They really were what you would call a pair of shoes. A big pair. A high pair. An elevated pair. They certainly uplifted the Prime Minister. He struck his head on the floor of one of the watchtowers.

'Ouch,' he said.

Mr Speedy stepped forward. 'Good morning Prime Minister,' he said.

'Pardon?' the Prime Minister called down. 'You'll have to speak up, I can't hear you too well up here.'

'Spiffing shoes, Prime Minister,' called Mr Speedy.

'Thank you very much,' the PM shouted down. 'Multifaceted love-tunnels and five-core cantilevered tremolo-armed Spiedel honey-wrists. And those are real bare naked ladies sealed inside the transparent heels, my Aunty Ajax and my cousin Domestos.'

'Magnificent,' called Mr Speedy. 'Hello Aunty Ajax. Hello cousin Domestos.'

The aunty and the cousin mouthed hellos.

'So, if you'd like to follow me,' said Mr Speedy, 'I will conduct you on a walking tour of Suburbia World Plc, before we get on with the tape-cutting.'

'You have to be joking,' said Mr Doveston. 'You don't think I can actually walk in these shoes, do you? Tell me all about it. And tell me about it in Runese please. It makes everything so much nicer.'

'It's Fandabbydozy,' Mr Speedy began. 'And Supercali

'Fragile,' said Old Vic, as the charabanc bumped over a speed ramp at considerable speed. 'Very fragilistic. Very delicate.'

'What is?' asked Old Pete, who -was driving.

'These fuses,' said Old Vic. 'They're nitroglycerine. Or pretty much the same as. A combination of mucus and certain other personal bodily secretions.'

'Why are you telling me this?' Old Pete asked, as the charabanc took a corner on two wheels and on-board Brentonians cheered wildly.

'Only because if you don't drive carefully, we'll all have our bottom parts blown to kingdom come.'

Old Pete slowed to a respectable fifty.

Old Vic said, 'That's nice.'

'Nice,' said the Prime Minister, gazing about at all and sundry. 'Very nice indeed.'

Derek squinted. Past the towering swaying Prime Minister, past the infamous Cadillac, past the other limousines containing the Prime Minister's retinue, through the open main gates and up the road that led to Kew.

'Excuse me,' said Derek to Mr Speedy, who was wringing his hands and fawning at the Prime Minister's feet. 'But where are all the visitors? I thought we were expecting ten thousand at the very least.'

Mr Speedy turned his face to Derek. It was a face that suddenly wore a troubled look. 'Where
are
the visitors?' he asked.

'Don't ask
me'
said Derek. 'How would I know?'

'Because
you
were supposed to be arranging the transportation.'

'Me?' said Derek. 'Me?'

'It's all on your list. Show me your list.'

Derek fumbled in his pockets. Did he still have his list or had he given it to Leo? 'I don't have my list any more,' said Derek. 'But there was nothing mentioned about transportation on my list. Just Morris Minors and a steam train and crad barges and…'

'Not on
that
page,' said Mr Speedy. 'On the second page.'

'Second page?' said Derek. 'I never had any second page.'

Mr Speedy looked at Mr Shadow and then Mr Speedy and Mr Shadow looked very hard at Derek. And Mr Pokey, who had been listening to the conversation, joined Mr Speedy and Mr Shadow in looking very hard at Derek. Mr Doveston looked down from on high, but as he hadn't been able to hear what anyone was talking about, he didn't look particularly hard at Derek.

'Don't all look so hard at me like that,' said Derek. 'It wasn't my fault. You only gave me one page.'

'Rubbish,' said Mr Speedy. 'Rubbish.' He had his little briefcase laptop jobbie with him and he opened it up with hands that were all a-trembhng now. 'He did have it,' said Mr Speedy to Mr Shadow, as he tapped at the keyboard pads. 'I printed out both pages, see, I'll do it now.' And he pressed a little button.

Derek peered. 'So,' said he. 'What's supposed to happen?'

'It's printing out,' said Mr Speedy.

'It isn't,' said Derek. 'It isn't doing anything.'

'Well it should be doing something.' Mr Shadow snatched the little briefcase laptop jobbie from the trembling hands of Mr Speedy and began to shake it all about.

'Don't do that,' said Mr Speedy, trying to snatch it back. 'You'll break it. That's delicate equipment, that. The Mute Corp 3000 series.'

'That's a 3000?' said Mr Pokey, slinging in his three-pennyworth. 'You should have been issued with a 4000 model by now. Didn't you get an email from head office?'

'A female from head office?' the Prime Minister called down. 'Is she nice? Would she like to go in one of my shoes?'

'Just a slight technical difficulty,' Mr Speedy called up.

'Slight?' said Mr Shadow. 'Slight?'

A smirk broke out on Derek's face.

'Get that smirk off your face,' Mr Shadow told Derek. 'You're in real trouble now.'

'Me?' said Derek. 'It's not my fault. It's all the fault of your stupid Mute Corp computer.'

'How dare you cuss the company name.' Mr Pokey gave Derek a shove.

'Don't shove me,' said Derek, shoving back.

Mr Pokey bumped into Mr Shadow, knocking the briefcase laptop Mute Corp 3000 series computer jobbie from his hands.

'You've broken it,' cried Mr Speedy. 'You've broken my…'

'It was already broken,' said Mr Shadow, shoving Mr Speedy.