Solarversia: The Year Long Game (50 page)

Perhaps it was the increased pressure of knowing that success in this round meant claiming one of the cash prizes, a guaranteed £10,000 minimum. A sum like that wouldn’t change her life, but it would be enough to pay her tuition fees.

Charlie was there, thank God. He stroked Flash, his Electropet chameleon, with one hand and held her hand with the other. She grabbed it tight, surprised at the calming effect it had. He kept telling her that it would be alright, whatever happened, words she struggled to believe, however much she knew them to be true. Zhang clung to her side and nuzzled his head into her neck, unaware of his minor celebrity status.

She was back at The Commodore to hear the result of the Show and Tell round. At least she had entered something better than a pair of singing scissors. “Zhang’s an entertainer, and he belongs on the stage,” Denis had told her. Together they had quickly sketched out an idea: a puppet theatre complete with a drum kit for Zhang to play. Denis had confirmed that the entry would be valid — Zhang would be viewed as a prop, and plenty of other entries were supported in some way by additional objects. Nova soon made the idea her own, customising every last detail to match his personality.

Constructing the stage had been far more enjoyable than she’d anticipated: she liked using the bandsaw to form the base, the lathe to sand it down and the sewing machine to make its glitzy curtains, each embroidered with a large ‘Z’. On the second night, after a twelve-hour shift in The Commodore workshop, she had presented
Rock ’n’ Roll Zhang
, a one-minute performance where he bashed away on his mini-drum kit in time to some backing vocals she had recorded. His show, when complemented by the flashing LED lights around the edges of his little stage, and the curtains, which automatically opened and closed, was something she felt proud to show off.

She only hoped the rest of the country would love it as much as the folk at The Commodore had. Following the presentations, the objects had been 3D-scanned and placed in a large virtual Expo room, allowing the people at home to view them up close and play around with them, as well as watching the recording of each one’s presentation. British players, dead or alive, were given three votes and five days in which to cast them in a secret ballot. The twenty-nine British players who received the highest number of votes would proceed to the next round. Reality TV had evolved into virtual reality TV.

Spiralwerks had been working their way through countries in alphabetical order and following the reaction of players as the results were announced. It’d been painful to watch Jools van der Star get through earlier on in the evening, but even worse to witness Holly’s reaction here at The Commodore. The shrill laugh. The overly dramatic fanning of her face. The immediate update of her Facebook status, thanking her fans for backing him. It was like she’d ordered the
Celebrity for Dummies
book and was working her way through the z-list section, executing every last puerile, superficial piece of advice it contained.

The crowd shushed themselves back to silence. On the giant screen at the front of the cafe, Artica Kronkite was about to reveal the winners from the UK in descending order of popularity. Up flashed a guy from Newcastle whose foosball table featuring player avatars had struck the right chord with the crowd.
Damn
. Why hadn’t she thought of combining two things everyone loved? She gripped Charlie’s hand even tighter and offered a weak smile to the assembled throng. At least the five other Solos at the cafe in the running with her looked as nervous as she felt. Even Holly had become uncharacteristically quiet.

It was strange. Nova could take out a raging Petrifier with a blast of fire, no problem. She could Kart round the streets of the Solarverse like a badass. It turned out she could solve ridiculously obscure riddles in a race against the clock better than most of a hundred million other humans. But standing around waiting to see if her skills as a set designer would win her a popular vote was almost more than she could bear. It was excruciating
not
to be fighting or driving or problem solving. “Relax,” said Charlie as she dug her nails into his hand. “Flash and I loved Zhang’s performance, and I’m sure the crowd did too, just you wait.”

“The next person on my list is at The Commodore in Nottingham.” Artica gave a little smile as he delivered the news. It’d been like this all evening, him announcing the location of the cafe to narrow the field down before confirming the lucky player. The cameras in the room went live, focusing in on the five of them as they nervously awaited the news.

“The next Solo to make it through to the fifth round is ‘Hollywood Rox’. Well done, Holly.”

Nova flinched as Holly leapt up from her table, yelped like a little dog and hugged anyone unlucky enough to be within range. She’d designed a glamorous evening gown that allowed the wearer, via its integrated computer, to flirt with people in their vicinity and be bought drinks from whatever bar they happened to be frequenting at the time. Once she’d calmed down she approached their table. Nova hadn’t laid eyes on a more punchable face in her life.

“I’d love to stay and watch you and your little rat go out, but I’ve got a celebrity appearance to make at Hedonism. I get paid to turn up, show my face and down some free drinks. My agent said that I could expect my fee to double if I went though. And I’m not sure if you heard, but I’m already in talks with a large retail chain who want to stock the dress. Must dash. Wouldn’t want to keep my fans waiting.”

Large retail chain
. The phrase reverberated in Nova’s mind. Did anyone else care about Electropets the way she and Charlie did? Or had she merely indulged one of her stupid little interests, as she rode high on the endorphins her brain had released when she’d unpacked her buddy that day?

And so the round continued for the next hour, each winner’s entry seemingly more ingenious than the last, their waving avatars appearing on the giant screens to torment her sorry ass. When her own avatar finally appeared, claiming the twenty-second spot, she didn’t jump around like a loony or get hoisted onto anyone’s shoulders. She didn’t even shout or cheer.

Instead, she collapsed into Charlie’s arms and hugged him tight, not wanting ever to let go. The trembling sensation coursed through her entire body. It took her a few moments to understand what the crowd were requesting of her — that she raise Zhang upon her shoulders and let
him
be the star of the show.

Chapter Forty-Four

Casey’s shoes squeaked as he walked along the spotless tiles of the corridor. Further ahead a flat kite-shaped robot buzzed and whirred as it criss-crossed the passage, vacuuming what little dust it found into its plastic insides. As they rounded the corner, Theodore’s face lit up again. Giving the guided tour seemed to bring out the showman in him.

“And this is where you’ll be practicing your shootin’,” Father said, gesturing to the clean grey alley in front of them. “We wouldn’t want you missing your target at the closing ceremony, would we, son?”

“No, Father, of course not,” Casey said, with a meek bow and self-conscious smile. This place had everything: a gym, a shooting range, an Olympic pool, and every inch of it had been constructed by ’bots in a secret location deep underground. It made him realise how little he really knew of the Holy Order, even if he was part of its executive branch. He’d never even heard of the Contingency Compound. The first he knew of its existence was when he’d come round that morning with the hangover from hell.

Except he hadn’t drunk a thing the night before. He’d spent the night tossing and turning in his bunk like an excited kid on the night before Christmas. It should have been his last night at the Compound, the night before his big escape. He’d stockpiled three months’ worth of immunosuppressive medication, enough to buy him time to find a new supply.

A pre-dawn raid by the FBI had seen the whole plan go to shit in the space of about ten seconds. He’d been in the Backroom, stuffing cash into a waterproof bag, when a distant rumble had sounded, followed by every alarm in the Compound going off at once. Brandon had burst in a few seconds later, there to escort him to safety.

Outside had been mayhem. People running and shouting, arming up, taking their places in the fortified shelters. Not him. His fate lay elsewhere. He was strong-armed to the Sub by Brandon, where Frances and Theodore were waiting. When the four of them were inside Brandon had sealed the door shut.

Down in the cargo hold, Frances had checked the contents of their holdalls one last time: the passports, wads of currency, USB sticks loaded with cryptocurrency account numbers and passwords, vials of immunosuppressive anti-rejection medication, and one Walther P99, the standard-issue duty pistol for law enforcement officers around the world.

When Brandon lifted up the doors in the Sub’s floor, Casey had stared in awe. He’d been told about the contingency escape plan a while back, but never thought they’d actually have to use it. The creatures waiting in the hold were as realistic as Father had described. Apparently, they’d been custom-built at a cost of $1m apiece by a company in Las Vegas and had been test-driven to depths of fifty yards. They were even fitted with pheromones of young, non-aggressive males so that they could travel undisturbed by the local population.

Brandon had helped him into his alligator first, lying him belly-down in the same direction the alligator faced, stuffing the lightweight Adidas holdall into the tail section beyond his feet and resting the plastic straw, hooked up to a supply of fresh water, in his hand. Next to him, Theodore was helped into the second alligator before Brandon and Frances said their goodbyes, shut and sealed the cockpit hatch, and released water into the hold.

It was once the alligator had jolted into action that his attacks of anxiety had begun. It wasn’t even like he was expected to do anything; just lie there and breathe. The beasts would navigate the route themselves.

But the acoustics had sounded very different with his craft submerged in the water, accentuating his breathing and the clanks and clunks of the craft as it progressed along the river. For every knock, he imagined a real ’gator out there, perhaps the monster who had taken Father Theodore’s arm. For every bump, its teeth got bigger. And, as he’d discovered to his horror, he’d barely been able to move. Wedged tight against the sides of the cabin, he felt as though they were closing in on him, like the jaws of the metal vice that had clamped his arm in place at the Workshop. With a sudden rush, he was in the grips of claustrophobia. He’d concentrated hard on his breathing, knowing it to be the first casualty in any war of nerves, and had tried to forget the idea that he might just have been helped into his waterborne coffin.

Inside the tin beasts for fifteen hours straight as they swum upstream, he’d just about kept it together, intoning reassuring words to himself inside his head. The sound of hissing gas was the last thing he remembered. He’d awoken in a strange bed in an unfamiliar room and been woken by a ’bot holding a tray of breakfast. He was led by another soulless automaton to a lounge area where Theodore was waiting to start his guided tour.

“I can’t tell you how excited I am to show you this next room.” Out of the corner of his eye, Casey glimpsed the rapid sequence of lights flashing on Theodore’s arm. The same thing happened each time they approached either a room or the elevators. A sequence would flash on Theodore’s arm and then be replicated by the panel on the wall. It was like he was playing an advanced game of Simon Says against the building.

Casey did his best to hide the fear that was gripping his body, but it was intoxicating, seeping through the pores of his skin. Why hadn’t he been more aggressive in stealing his medication? Just one night earlier and he’d be a free man, halfway to Mexico. Instead, his situation had dramatically worsened. The old Compound might have been in the middle of nowhere, but it was
his
nowhere, one he was familiar with.

He didn’t even know where this new nowhere was. Father had mentioned that it was underground, and the signs on the wall clearly displayed how far down each level was. His bedroom, the lounge and the kitchen had been on level –2. They’d ridden the elevator up one floor to –1 and seen the workshop, the shooting range and whatever this new room was. That meant freedom was waiting only a few metres above his head.

But how could he get up there when this place was riddled with robots? They were everywhere he looked, gliding about the place, devoid of warmth or humanity. More worrying was the security aspect of this new Compound. It didn’t have normal, dumb old doors that pushed or pulled. The doors here irised open and shut with a whoosh, controlled by chips embedded in circuits far from his reach.

When he’d stumbled around his new room that morning, wondering where he was, the grid of lights on his arm had flashed and granted him access to the en suite bathroom. So his arm was chipped too. The lights hadn’t flashed since.

Theodore looked like he had access to the entire building. Perhaps he could knock him unconscious and rip his arm off? It would act like a key — he could carry it around with him and hold it up to the panels that controlled the doors. It wasn’t like he would take the old man’s arm with him once he’d escaped. Father was crazy, but he didn’t want to hurt him. He’d leave it by the exit on his way out, like a latchkey kid hiding the spare under a stone.

“I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking at, Father,” Casey said as the older man stretched out his arms into the brightly lit room, a look of anticipation on his face. A massive circular object the size of a truck sat in the centre of the otherwise empty room. A smooth veneer of shiny chrome rose to waist height and then tapered off toward a central column of black glass that connected the bottom half of the object to the top. It looked like a giant metal yo-yo.

“No? Elmer, this is the very centre of our operation. This object — this thing of beauty — is
the Magi
.” Theodore’s eyes sparkled as he spoke. “Or it will be. What you’re looking at here houses the brain that will power his empire. I prefer to think of this room as the Epicenter. The superintelligent thoughts that come to fruition here will reverberate around the planet like shocks from an earthquake, destroying the old and the weak, birthing the new and the strong.”