The Return of the Discontinued Man (A Burton & Swinburne Adventure) (36 page)

“This is perfectly foul,” Herbert Wells cried out.

“Shhh!” Bendyshe urged. “You’ll have the constables onto us.”

“But he’s right,” Mick Farren said. “How could it have happened?”

“People were seduced,” Bendyshe said. “The Turing devices and other technologies gave them an endless choice of entertainments, but the corporations that made those entertainments, in competing with each other for customers, rapidly reduced everything to its lowest common denominator. What might once have carried philosophical weight became nothing but empty spectacle; what stimulated the intellect now did nothing but titillate superficial emotions. By 2100,
intellectual
had become a pejorative term.” He stood. “Come with me. It’s time to show you the truth of the Anglo-Saxon Empire.”

They followed him across the square to the mouth of South Audley Street, coming to a halt on the exact spot where, a hundred and sixty-two years ago, they’d fought off three constables.

Bendyshe pointed along the length of the thoroughfare. “Watch the street. I’m going to temporarily deactivate your AugMems. I’ll give you a full minute of unadjusted reality. It’s risky.”

“Risky how?” Wells asked.

“AugMems work in both directions. They accept the government transmissions but also send out a signal that holds your personal details—false information in your case. If the latter is interrupted, the loss will be noted and constables will be sent to investigate. They’ll hunt for any individuals who aren’t broadcasting. It’s therefore vital that we keep moving. I should be able to restore the AugMems’ function before we’re located.”

“Is it worth endangering our mission?” Burton asked doubtfully.

“I think so. You need to see this.”

“Very well. Please proceed.”

“Start walking. Try not to react. We’re going down to Green Park to take a look at the palace grounds.”

They set off.

“Brace yourselves,” Bendyshe said. He put a hand to his ear, quietly muttered a few words, then announced, “The AugMems will disengage in three, two, one—”

Burton gasped as the world around him flexed and suddenly took on an entirely different aspect. The blazingly reflective towers still soared above him, but now they were supported upon titanic legs and arches, so that the great vertical mass of the city was raised above the ground-level structures, which were now revealed to be shabby, dilapidated, and in many cases derelict buildings. Burton saw broken and boarded-up windows, cracked doors slumping on rusty hinges, peeled paint and crumbled brickwork, collapsed walls and piles of debris. The pavements were strewn with refuse. Malodorous air assaulted his nostrils.

He realised why the traffic was moving so slowly. The polished silver vehicles, which had filled the roads, were now in the minority. Most had transformed into ramshackle steam-driven carriages—there were even a few being drawn by mangy horses—all of which appeared even less developed than those of his era.

And the people. Bismillah! The people!

Attired in ragged, patched and mismatched outfits, pock-marked, rickets-twisted, lank-haired and brutish, the population of this London reminded Burton of the very worst disease-ridden enclaves of Africa—of the places where the Empire had intruded and devastated cultures, leaving only hopelessness, starvation, and a lack of identity in their place. Shambling along streets that now struck him as being the gutters and drains of the upper city, the denizens of this—literal—lower level of society were bowed beneath the weight of palpable fear. They flinched away from the constables who strode arrogantly among them, bouncing on their stilts, white and masked and fearsome; they avoided eye contact, though they were forever casting surreptitious and cunning glances at one another. They were as close to the feral state as he’d ever seen in his own species.

In countenance, all were repellent, but some were worse than others, even to the point where Burton felt himself go cold with horror. He saw lumbering giants, tiny-eyed, massive-boned, and bloated with muscle. He saw slight little things, so small they might have been fairy folk. He saw a woman from whom spines extended, like a porcupine; a man whose lower face bulged into an exaggerated snout, his jaws like rock, his teeth huge and flat; an elderly lady with twelve-inch-long multi-jointed fingers, seven on each hand; a group of boys with freakishly enormous ears; an aged man with four legs; a young girl with innumerable spider-like eyes.

“Genetic manipulation,” Bendyshe whispered. “People artificially adapted to suit particular functions.”

“I shall faint,” Sadhvi said, her voice quavering. “Or lose the contents of my stomach.”

The few elite who moved through the crowds were unmistakable. People looked away from them, moved out of their path, hunched into pathetic servility. Tall and willowy, dressed in colourful clothes, their faces haughty and disdainful, these privileged few all carried switches, which they employed with lazy contempt to strike at those who passed too close, causing little yelps of pain followed by hastily mumbled apologies.

“The upper class,” Bendyshe said. “They inhabit the towers but sometimes venture down here on recreational jaunts and to remind themselves of their status.

“This is atrocious,” Swinburne said. “How can the Empire be so divided?”

“Empires are formed by a minority who gain a parasitical dominance over the majority. That applies inside, as well as outside of its borders.”

Burton looked ahead and saw many more overarching walkways than he’d noticed before, so numerous they appeared to blend together, forming a large platform over the centre of the city. “That explains why it became so dark when we passed between the parks,” he said.

“The parks are regarded as exclusive,” Bendyshe responded. “So they’re gradually being raised up out of the social mire. Do you see that huge framework in the middle of them? One day it will be New Buckingham Palace, the tallest building in the world. They started building it twenty-eight years ago and say it will take another seventy-two to complete.”

“Why so long?” Wells asked.

“Because every brick of it will be uniquely decorated, and because the technology built into it will make it the Parliament building and the monitoring station for the entire empire, the nucleus of a web that interconnects nodes—the American Embassy will become one such—that communicate with every existing BioProc and AugMem. Total control, all extending from that edifice.”

“Seventy-two years,” Swinburne said. “Meaning it will be completed in 2202. Interesting.”

“And in its shadow an underworld,” Wells commented. He watched an apish individual shuffle past. “Inhabited by troglodytes.”

“Who see it through rose-tinted spectacles,” Sadhvi added. “We suspected that Spring Heeled Jack might create an insane world. We were correct.”

Quietly, Farren added, “If it’s like this now, what the hell will we find at our final destination?”

They arrived at Piccadilly and started north-eastward, following the same route they’d taken after failing to catch a bus back in ’68. The sky was almost completely obscured by the heights of the metropolis, but, as Burton gazed up, a great many of the walkways suddenly vanished and the illumination increased. He looked down and saw cleanliness and glass, gleaming cars and grey-uniformed pedestrians.

“I’ve restored the AugMems,” Bendyshe said. “And not a moment too soon. There’s activity on the police channel. We’ve been noticed. No need for panic; the constables will be alerted to an anomaly that matches the size of our group, so if we split up, we’ll be fine. Mick, Sir Richard, William, Algernon, the principal streets of the lower city haven’t much altered their topology since your time—you won’t get lost—so I suggest you head along Regent Street to Oxford Circus, and from there to New Centre Point. I’ll take Sadhvi and Herbert via Shaftsbury Avenue. We’ll meet back at the minibus.”

Farren paled slightly. He dug his fingers into his bushy hair. “Look, man, I’m all for it, but what if we’re stopped by the pigs? Things didn’t go too well last time.”

“Don’t worry. Members of the Cannibal Club are lurking nearby, ready to intercede should anything go wrong. They’ll be shadowing you.” Bendyshe tapped his ear. “CellComps have gathered in your earlobes and jawbones. It’s how I contact my colleagues, and through them I can also communicate with you. If the Cannibals have to move in and get you to safety, they will, and I’ll alert you.”

Farren looked at Burton for encouragement. The king’s agent gave him a nod and said, “North then east, straightforward and not much of a distance. I think we can manage.”

The two groups divided.

As Burton, Swinburne, Trounce and Farren entered Regent Street, Burton moved close to the Scotland Yard man. “Are you coping, William?”

Trounce grunted. “I’m still with you. These nanny-whatsits they’ve dosed us with do a better job than that Saltzmann’s of yours. By Jove, though, this world! What has the Police Force become? I joined to protect people. All I’ve seen as we’ve travelled forward through time is increasing intimidation.” He rubbed his thick fingers over his square chin. “Not that I can trust my senses anymore.” He made an all-encompassing gesture. “None of this is real.”

“I wonder,” Burton said. “How much of the world you and I have come from was real? We operated under the assumption that we were the most civilised country in the world, but I personally witnessed the destruction we wrought in India and Africa, and we know what senseless vandalism Lord Elgin inflicted upon China.” He paused and watched a very large dome-shaped vehicle pass by. What was its real form? A creaking stagecoach? A rumbling pantechnicon?

“Humph!” Trounce said. “And I saw too much of the Cauldron to believe in our claims of superiority. I see your point.”

“Perhaps Charles Darwin was too optimistic. Perhaps this world is different from ours only in that it’s cloaked in a more pervasive illusion. The only thing that’s evolved is our ability to fool ourselves.”

The four men pushed on. Two constables click-clacked past, their smooth featureless faces slowly turning toward the group before, thankfully, looking away.

“It’s weird,” Farren said. “I truly can’t believe my eyes.”

They came to Oxford Circus and bore right into Oxford Street. As in their own ages, the thoroughfare was lined with shops, and Burton and Swinburne were both astonished to see Shudders’ Pharmacy among them.

“Surely not!” the poet cried out.

“Generated by our AugMems, perhaps?” Burton theorised.

Unable to resist it, they went in. The chimeric neatness of the exterior didn’t extend to the inside. The shop was shabby and in serious disrepair. Damp plaster sagged from its walls, and its ceiling had collapsed in one corner. Makeshift shelves supported a sparse stock of bottles and cartons.

A stooped white-haired old man in a grubby laboratory coat greeted them. He smiled. His eyes were filmy and unfocused. He rubbed his hands together and bowed obsequiously. “Can I help you, my lords?” He gave an uncertain cough that sounded like “a-hoof!”

“My lords?” Swinburne whispered.

“Your name?” Burton asked.

The man looked afraid. “I’m Martin Ocean Englebert Shudders, citizen number eight triple-four seven six three nine eight. Is there—
a-hoof!
—a problem? My paperwork is up to date. My payments are made. My accounts are—
a-hoof!
—in order. I’ve re-registered my citizenship promptly every month. I’ve never spoken out of turn.”

“We haven’t any concerns about you,” Burton said. “We just wanted to see your shop. Has it been here for long?”

“Fifteen years. Perfectly legal and—
a-hoof!
—aboveboard. The regulations have always been adhered to. My family’s loyalty has never been in question. None of us are socialists or objectors. I hate the U.R.E. and the U.S.A. I deplore their savagery. I wish those barbarians were all dead.”

“It’s all right. As I said, we don’t doubt you. What was it before it was a pharmacy?”

“I don’t know, my lord. It was empty when I started to—
a-hoof!
—rent it. But my grandfather held that it was in the family many generations ago, and was a pharmacy then, too. Many of my family have been in the trade. Legally.”

“Thank you,” Burton said. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” He moved toward the door, the others following.

“You don’t want to take anything?” Shudders asked. “Please.”

“No. I’m sorry. Unless—do you stock Saltzmann’s Tincture?”

“Saltzmann’s, my lord? Saltzmann’s. Saltzmann’s. No—
a-hoof!
—I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that. I have tranquillisers. Plenty of tranquillisers. Would you like tranquillisers? Please, have a bottle. Two bottles.”

“No thank you.”

They exited, looked back, and suddenly the windows were clean, and, through them, neat well-stocked shelves were vaguely visible.

They continued along the street.

“How very curious,” Swinburne muttered.

“Echoes, rhythms and repetitions,” Burton said. “Time is exceedingly strange.”

They hastened forward, all suddenly feeling the need for the safety of the minibus, worried by their separation from Bendyshe, Wells and Raghavendra.

“Don’t look back,” Farren said, “but those pigs that passed us earlier are following.”

“Why?” Trounce asked. “We haven’t done anything.”

“Two more on the other side of the road,” Swinburne said. “Watching.”

A third pair of constables dropped out of the sky and bounced on their stilts ahead of the group.

“Damn,” Trounce muttered. “We’re in trouble.”

“Stay calm, ignore them, and keep moving,” Burton ordered. He flinched and uttered a small cry of surprise as Bendyshe’s voice sounded in his ear.

“
Sir Richard. Don’t be alarmed. You entered a shop?
”

Burton murmured, “Yes.”

“
But didn’t take anything. That’s not done. When the elite enter the establishments of the poor, it’s customary to remove something without paying. Your failure to do so aroused suspicion. The shopkeeper immediately reported you. Constables are now closing in on your position. Two of my colleagues are on their way to extract you. Kat Bradlaugh and Maxwell Monckton Milnes. Do whatever they say, please, without question or hesitation.
”