The Last Murder at the end of the World

EIGHTY

Ben’s drawing in the dirt with a stick. He’s been out here for hours, filling the rear yard with equations, hundreds of them, one after another. He shows no sign of stopping. He’s frenzied, unable to focus on anything except the knowledge hissing out of his subconscious.

The entire village is watching him in concern. At first they were clustered around him in a tight circle, but as he’s filled the dirt with numbers, they’ve had to step further away, until they’re now standing on the balconies, and the cable-car station steps.

Normally, they’d have called an elder to help, but they don’t have that safety net any more. They’ve tried to ask me, but I’m refusing to answer. I haven’t spoken to any of them since the fog enveloped the island.

Niema entrusted them with this world. She placed the future in their hands. They don’t need a babysitter any more.

‘Ben,’ I say, in the boy’s thoughts. Then again, when he doesn’t respond. ‘Ben!’

‘Abi?’ he blinks, his heart leaping. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been calling your name. I don’t know what’s happening to me.’

The stick drops from his hand, as he stares at the equations surrounding him with mounting fear.

‘Did I do this?’

‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘Before you were born, Niema filled your head with the knowledge your people will need to survive. It was locked away in your subconscious, kept a secret even from yourself. She didn’t want Thea or Hephaestus to realise what she’d done.’

They used to perform this trick before the world ended, when the children of wealthy families would be born with an understanding of advanced mathematics, sciences and finance. I’m hoping the villagers put such advantages to more noble purpose.

‘I’m about to do something you’re going to find uncomfortable,’ I say.

The world shrinks and shallows as I pick my way through his mind, neurons firing around me, electricity crackling.

Deeper now. The boy’s thoughts wail around me, the cacophony of his fear and confusion almost too much to bear. It’s like experiencing a tornado from inside a cardboard box.

Deeper, deeper, I unlock the neural block holding the knowledge back and flood his brain with serotonin, dopamine, endorphins and oxytocin: the chemicals of happiness. I don’t want him overwhelmed by the rush of information.

He holds his head, grimacing as a lifetime’s education sears itself into his brain.

‘There’s a lot of information in there,’ I say. ‘But the most important task ahead of you is to maintain your people’s gestation pods, perhaps improve them if you can. You have to teach the others. Don’t dawdle. Your survival depends on it.’

‘I won’t thank you, Abi.’

I don’t respond. There’s no need. Niema left me two jobs. This was one of them, and it’s finished now.

Blinking, Ben realises that he’s surrounded by villagers, their arms around him, their faces clustered close in concern.

‘I’m okay,’ he says, smiling up at them. ‘We’re all okay now.’