Arcadia

30

Jack More was tired and ill-humoured by the time he arrived at the Retreat where Emily Strang lived. It was a mistake to go so soon; he should have waited to see if the hunt for Angela Meerson bore any fruit first of all. But he was mindful of Hanslip’s insistence on speed, so he decided a more direct approach was necessary. He would question the girl; if she was uncooperative, he could arrest her and interrogate her properly. His old colleagues would provide the space, and tell no tales afterwards.

It was a dangerous walk for the last mile or so; the Retreat occupied a strip of land only a few hundred yards wide and perhaps half a mile long, in between two accommodation sectors. One was evidently high-level, as the searchlights pointed outwards from the guard towers around the perimeter wall, watching for intruders rather than trying to spot criminal activity within. The other settlement was very different; the constant racket of helicopters flying over it, the thick barbed wire stretching along the top of the walls, the watchful guards patrolling outside were all signs of a low-grade unit, offering the most basic accommodation for those of the lowest value. They had to be watched lest they try to take more than their due, which was, as Jack knew, little enough.

The Retreat looked, if anything, even worse, scarcely fit for human habitation at all. A wall of concrete blocks stretched round it and the rusty steel door rattled from the impact of his fist when he hammered on it. With a bit of effort he probably could have pushed it in with his shoulder. A dog barked in response, then another. He bashed on it again, only stopping when he heard footsteps on the other side.

‘Who is it?’ The door didn’t open.

‘Just open up, will you?’

A light shone down on him from the top of the wall, ten feet above his head. ‘Only one,’ came a voice from behind it.

The door creaked open and another bright light shone directly into Jack’s face. ‘Put that down,’ he snapped, holding his arms up to shield his eyes.

He walked over the threshold and the door was shut again immediately. A young man clattered down a metal ladder and stood in front of him. ‘Your name?’

‘None of your business,’ Jack replied.

‘It is my business. No one comes in unless they are registered. It is against the law and it is not one worth breaking.’

He’d forgotten that. Reluctantly he took out his identification and handed it over. The young man glanced at it without interest. ‘Now, what do you want?’

‘I want to see your leader. Do not ask why, as I do not intend to tell you.’

The man, who had long unkempt hair and looked as though he had not shaved for days, grinned at him. ‘I will say you are here. If she says no, then you go away again. Understood?’

Jack nodded.

‘Now, come with me.’

He led the way in silence to one of the buildings, pushed on the door to get into it and stood at the bottom of an old dampsmelling concrete stairwell. The compound had once been a street of shops, or something like that, when shops still existed. It was probably scheduled for final demolition, to build more accommodation blocks for the ever-increasing population, but had been illegally taken over until the diggers moved in. When that happened, they would be evicted and go somewhere else. Until then, they lived and planted flowers and had even painted the buildings in bright colours. Pointless, but it kept them busy.

‘Sylvia!’ the young man bellowed. ‘Visitor! We’re coming up!’

He started marching up the stairs. ‘No lift,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘We don’t have them.’

‘I’ll manage.’

They walked up three flights of stairs, and then Jack was ushered into the most extraordinary room he had ever been in.

It was large, about twenty feet long and wide, much greater than any usual living space for anyone but the elite. There was no furniture, only a floor covered in multi-coloured and patterned fabrics and cushions that were almost dizzying in their abundance. The walls had more material hanging down them, covering every square inch of space. The whole was illuminated by candles in glass bowls, dozens of them at different levels which gave off a yellow, flickering light, so that the room was at moments in darkness, at others perfectly clear. From them came strange scents, sweet and spicy, the like of which he had not smelt for years. He took a deep, appreciative breath.

‘Your implants do not work in here,’ came a quiet voice from the far end of the room. ‘You are quite alone now.’

It wasn’t a threatening voice; on the contrary, it was soft and mellow, pleasant almost in its tonal range.

Jack heard a rustling of clothes and feet walking across the floor. An old but handsome woman loomed out of the darkness. She was short, with close-cropped white hair — white from age, not fashion — and looked carefully at him.

‘I wasn’t trying to connect. I was sniffing.’

‘You are wet. Come and sit by the fire to dry.’

‘I prefer to stand.’

‘I prefer you to sit.’

Sylvia stared dreamily at the fire and ignored Jack. She had patience, more than he had. Reluctantly, Jack sat down. Or tried to; he had not sat on the floor for a long time, and it was painful to take up the required position. He felt absurd, ungainly, while she was peaceful and composed. It was stuffy in the room; he stopped shivering and began to feel the heat penetrating his clothes.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I do not like people such as yourself standing over me. You may find that foolish, but then I find some of your ways foolish also. Perhaps you can now explain yourself?’

‘I have come to ask for your assistance.’

‘That is very surprising. You know that we do not take part in the affairs of your world.’

‘Of course. I will not ask for something you will not freely give. I merely ask that you lend me the expertise of a young woman called Emily Strang. I am told that she knows something about history, old documents. I need to find one.’

‘Do you offer anything in return?’

‘I am afraid I am in no position to offer anything precise at present, although I can assure you that any assistance will be properly rewarded.’

‘Not very tempting. You are aware, no doubt, that there is a renewed campaign of persecution against us. Hundreds have been arrested, dozens of Retreats closed down.’

‘That is nothing to do with the people I work for. In fact, I may be able to offer some small protection.’

‘We will listen. I advise you to hold nothing back and tell no falsehoods. I will go and find Emily. She will decide whether she wishes to help you or not.’

He had visited such places in the past, sometimes to arrest people but more often to conduct inspections and searches, and had never felt comfortable in them. Sometimes the inmates were hostile or fearful, though they were often indulgent even when he arrived armed with both weapons and official powers. Frequently they acted as if they felt sorry for him and answered his questions readily, as though they were trying to make his life that little bit easier.

Try as he might, he had found himself almost liking some, which was ridiculous. They were the self-appointed custodians of ideas and practices which had no purpose or function. They set themselves against the whole of society, weakening it by ignoring it. They refused to be happy, preferring their own misery; they refused to be comfortable, preferring the squalor of their own making, and they refused to be healthy, preferring what they decided were the natural processes of ageing and decay. The woman called Sylvia was no more than fifty; just a quick course of pills and she would be a young girl again. Why would anyone not want that? In his time he had found out a great deal about the Retreats, how they operated, what they wanted. Much was impenetrable, although whether that was because it was hidden, or because he simply could not understand, he did not know.

He did know, however, that many were believers in what they termed the preservation of the past, holding that what had gone before had some value. No one else agreed, at least not until Angela had come along.

He was businesslike, planning to lay out his requirements and to compel their acquiescence either by inducement or by threat, whichever was necessary. He did not really care which, as long as he got what he needed. He prepared to start when the door opened and the head of the Retreat returned with a young woman of striking appearance. It had to be Angela’s daughter, the girl Emily. The resemblance was obvious once he looked, but it required an effort to see the similarities. She was as tall as Angela, with the same bone structure, but, like most of her sort, her hair was cut close to her scalp without style or care, and the identity rings in her ears, so she could be easily spotted as dangerous by the authorities, were ugly. Nor did she wear any decoration of the sort that most adopted to enhance their appeal. Her skin was clear and her eyes bright, but dark patches under them suggested both lack of sleep and the absence of the medications most would use to hide blemishes. Finally there were the clothes, rough and coarse, shapeless and drab; only with the greatest effort could Jack see what she could have looked like had she taken a little more care, or had she lived in different surroundings.

Still, there was something about her face which made him wonder if he was interpreting her correctly. While Angela always seemed tense and in the grip of powerful emotions, this one was utterly calm and peaceful as she walked gracefully across the carpeted floor, then sat cross-legged besides Sylvia, back straight, regarding him not with apprehension but with an open and fearless curiosity.

‘This is Emily,’ Sylvia explained briefly.

Emily nodded but did not speak, waiting for him to say what he had come to say and then, presumably, go away and leave them in peace once more.

‘Let me begin by asking you if you know the identity of your mother,’ he said.

Whatever they might have anticipated, it was not that. Jack could sense the watchfulness and caution that greeted his question. Sylvia’s face was unreadable, while the girl recoiled slightly in surprise.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘It is important.’

‘I do know,’ she said. ‘She is a scientist and her name is Angela Meerson. Sylvia told me when I came here. We have never met.’

‘She has disappeared. I need your help to find her.’

‘Why do you think I could be of any help? I know nothing of her. Nor do I want to.’

‘Nonetheless, it is possible she may try to contact you. I take it she has not done so already?’

‘No. Why are you telling me this?’

‘She works for an institute which operates on an island called Mull in the north-west of Scotland,’ Jack said. ‘You would consider it fairly harmless, I think. Most of its research is on energy transmission. It owns the rights to few people, is largely unarmed. It avoids participation in public affairs and has no position on treatment of renegades such as yourself. I am sure you would not feel comfortable taking my word for it, but I am equally sure you could easily enough confirm what I have said.

‘Your mother seems to have made a discovery of some importance. A few days ago she vanished, destroying all the data on her project before she left. I need to find her before someone else does.

As yet her disappearance is not common knowledge, but when it gets out there are many people who will wish to gain her services and some of them are not pleasant people. I have come partly to obtain your assistance and partly to warn you. If my employer can consider the possibility that the route to Angela might lie through you, then others may do so as well, and they will not be as kindly as us. Have you noticed any sign of increased surveillance in the past couple of days?’

‘No.’

Jack stopped to see how he was doing. It was impossible to say. Neither of the people sitting opposite betrayed the slightest emotion. He rather hoped they would do or say something, anything, so that he could get some clue whether his approach — honesty, if not total openness — was the correct one to take.

‘Thank you for your warning, Dr More,’ Sylvia said. ‘We will take such precautions as we think necessary. Do you have anything else you wish to tell us?’

‘I do. We believe Emily’s mother may have hidden a copy of the data before she vanished. It is possible that she wanted Emily to find it.’

Finally he got a reaction, although only a small one. Emily looked surprised and then sceptical at the very idea.

‘Explain.’

‘We believe it may be hidden in the National Depository.’

‘Why on earth would she hide something there?’

‘Why indeed? If I could find it, or find your mother, I might be able to give you an answer. My employer came up with two possibilities. One is that you are in league with her and that you hid it.’

‘I’ve already told you...’

‘The other is that a person with your skills is one of the few who could find it. I don’t know. It may be a false lead entirely, but it is the only one we have at the moment, and so it is there that I wish to begin my search. Your assistance would be very well rewarded.’

‘Surely you people normally just swoop down with helicopters and assault troops and take whatever you want?’ Emily’s words were hostile, but her voice was not; it was merely enquiring.

Jack smiled reassuringly. ‘We do not have an army, and the security force is little more than a dozen people.’

‘The police?’

‘Then it becomes public. We prefer to recover this information before anyone even knows it is missing. Someone who knows their way around the place would be a great help.’

‘You are aware that people like us are now banned from the building? I have not been into it for a year.’

‘I have the authority to enter.’

‘So you want to go in, get the documents if they are there and — what then? Anything?’

‘Then I can concentrate on finding your mother.’

‘You must realise,’ Sylvia said, ‘that while people in your world concentrate on numbers and facts, we deal in words and emotions. We are as expert in our field as you are in yours. We listen far more carefully than you do. You are not lying to us, but you leave out far too much for us to trust you at the moment.’

‘I have tried to say all that is relevant.’

‘This is not about making the trains run more efficiently, is it?’

‘No. In the wrong hands this data could be exceptionally dangerous for the entire planet. This is not about making money.’

‘When did Angela Meerson disappear?’

‘About three days ago now.’

‘That was when the power failures killed so many people?’

‘I believe so.’

‘A coincidence, I’m sure, but you will understand our caution. People are already blaming us, trying to pretend it was terrorism rather than incompetence.’

‘I can say nothing useful about that. I have come here with a simple task and a straightforward request. Will you assist me, as I ask?’

‘We will discuss this in private, Dr More, when you have gone.’

‘Does it need discussion?’

‘Here everything needs discussion,’ she replied with a faint smile. ‘Be at the main entrance to the Depository tomorrow at nine. If we will help, then Emily will meet you there. If not...’

‘Yes?’

‘Then she will not meet you there, and we will not wish you to come here again.’

That was that. Jack realised he could do nothing now except wait and hope his appeal would have some effect. So he went back to the residence, ordered himself some food and settled down for a quiet night.

His peace did not last very long, however. Less than half an hour after he had arrived, there was a knock on the door. He had taken another indirect route back and arrived tired, and dirty and wet from the grime-filled rain that had been coming down in torrents all day. He wanted a long shower and an even longer sleep. He was annoyed that he had spent so much time on his journey thinking of the girl. Dare he access the files once more to find out about her? Risky. He wanted no direct contact linking him to her, or to her Retreat. But there was no reason he could not send the request through one of his old colleagues to muddy the trail. He had just sent one off when the door lit up to indicate visitors.

He knew exactly who, or rather what, the two men were when he opened the door and saw them standing there. The size, the sureness, the watchful eyes assessing him. The look of faint surprise to see someone who was so unlike most members of the elite they had ever met. More like them, in fact.

‘Dr More?’

‘Yes.’

‘Come with us, please.’

Well — polite, Jack thought, but it would have been interesting to discover how they would respond if he refused. ‘I am just about to get into the shower.’

‘Sorry, sir. Orders.’

‘Under whose authority?’

‘You will be given an explanation in due course. It is a necessary security precaution, I’m afraid.’

Jack liked that ‘I’m afraid’ bit. Conciliatory, regretful, as spoken to a superior. Despite their appearance they weren’t about to beat him up.

‘Oh, very well,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to make your life difficult. Come in though. Give me five minutes. Fix yourselves a drink while I make myself presentable. I’m sure whoever is responsible for all this must be terribly important. I wouldn’t want to appear scruffy.’

Experience. He knew exactly how to make them relax. Cooperate, make their job easy, get something in return. That’s the way it worked. Always had and always would.

‘Hope I’ve not been too long,’ he said when he emerged. ‘Shall we go?’

But they still wouldn’t tell him who he was going to see, or why.