Sequela (26 page)

The department was less high-tech than Cherry had imagined. Once inside, there was no security between the different labs that she could detect, despite numerous signs saying who was and wasn't allowed to go where. Some of the doors were sitting ajar. Through the small grill-glazed windows in the doors she could see the cluttered labs, equipment accrued from years of research. It could have been a technology design museum. The
colours
of the equipment, the lettering on their names and the names themselves were all clues to when the pieces had been purchased. Perhaps some of these things had never been bettered, or perhaps they were kept as curiosities.

As she walked along the corridor, she realised she hadn't thought past the door of the lab. What was she going to say to this Dee character? What if she called security the minute Cherry mentioned the Church's conditions?

She arrived at the door and, before she realised what she was doing, knocked on the glass. There was only one figure in the lab and she had her back turned. The sleek black hair matched the description, shining like lacquer beneath the daylight ceiling. Dee looked round a moment later, as if it had taken time for Cherry's knock to filter through into her consciousness. Cherry smiled and waved enthusiastically. This drew a puzzled look from Dee but she came and opened the door.

'Can I help you?' she asked, jade eyes interrogating Cherry's face and clothes.

'Yes.' Cherry maintained her smile. 'I hope so – you spoke to my employers earlier about an offer of funding. Can I come in?'

Dee drew her head back. She was expecting a man in a suit perhaps, someone older, more official. Would that make this harder or easier, Cherry wondered.

'Yes, come in,' Dee replied eventually. 'I'm just finishing something off here – do you want to grab a seat?' She indicated one of the tall stools at the other end of her work bench.

This lab was no exception when it came to clutter. All around the walls there were cabinets and pieces of equipment from different eras, even some paper storage. In the corner of the room, a display was flickering away to itself, showing a series of lines that wandered their way up and down – some sort of activity that needed to be monitored. The benches were rib-height, right for working when standing, or when perched on one of the high stools. They were an unpleasant grey colour. This was one of the floors with low level windows. Mucky orange light spilled in on the floor, competing with the yellowing glow from the daylight ceiling. Cherry had expected everything to be white and clean like the lab at V. It smelled unfamiliar, as if the whole place were steeped in formaldehyde.

'Sorry about the mess,' Dee said, drawing out the words as if speaking too quickly might upend something. She was staring intently through an eyepiece and tapping notes in to her Book with one hand, but she seemed to have sensed that Cherry was looking around the room. 'We've been a bit short-staffed lately. One of my colleagues got religion and left to join one of the big
corporates
.'

'Kester?' Cherry asked, after a short pause.

Dee's head ticked to one side with an urge to look round, but she continued and finished what she was doing before turning to face Cherry.

'Yes. Kester,' Dee said finally, folding her arms tightly beneath her chest.

There was a low noise in the lab that came and went, rising and falling, like a headache threatening to start; a near silence made up of numerous barely audible tickings, drippings, buzzings, static. Dee's face was chalk-pale. It made her cold green eyes stand out and her hair look absently black, sucking light from the room.

'You know him?' Dee asked.

'I know of him. I know you were planning to do some research together. I know that he let you down in more ways than one.'

'If you're from one of those worthless gossip sites I have no interest in talking to you. I've already told your colleagues I have nothing to say about the matter. We weren't doing any research on fashion viruses here before Kester left and we're not doing any now. He did it all in his spare time. I should have known – you don't look anything like –'

'Wait. Maybe I don't look the part but, believe me, my employers are for real. They've got money and they want to fund your screen research, so hear me out.'

Cherry swallowed and cast her eyes about as if there might be something in the room that could help her. Blotch had sent her the notes from Dee's call but, though she had read them, she hadn't planned anything she would say.

'OK,' Dee said, giving herself time before she continued. 'How can I know to trust you?'

There was something volatile about Dee's voice, something sub- or supersonic that was hard to identify, but which made Cherry uneasy. What if she flipped? Called the warden? Cherry imagined the scenes to come. Dee was going to go for some kind of panic button underneath the desk, or try to throw her out or call security. She would grab Dee by the wrist and spin her round. No, the hair – the hair would make a good hold. She would grab her by the hair and slam her pretty face onto the worktop. That chair in the corner was good. Something to tie her up with…

'Well?' Dee asked again.

'Take a look at your bank balance,' Cherry said, trying to suppress the twitching in her smile. Blotch had been confident, but it seemed so dodgy. It was so dodgy.

'My bank balance?' Dee lifted her Book and started tapping it on the bench.

'Just do it.'

Dee looked down at her Book and touched an icon. A flush rose and fell in her cheeks. When she looked back up at Cherry her eyes were intense, as if her pupils were trying against nature to narrow.

'What is this?'

'It's €100,000.'

Dee coughed, then laughed and looked at her Book again.

'I can see that.' She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. 'I have to say this isn't normally the way it's done. For starters, the funding would be paid directly to the Institute. I'd say there's a good reason your employers want to stay anonymous and it's got something to do with the "conditions" they mentioned. So let's start with that.'

This was progress. She was at least engaging with the idea. Here came the hard part. There was no disguising that it was dodgy, no matter what Blotch said.

'I'm going to be straight with you and get to the point.' Cherry slid her hands under her thighs to stop them from shaking. 'Your colleague Doctor Lowe worked on a number of viruses before he left the Institute and my employer would like to get a hold of one or two for demonstrative purposes.'

'Demonstrative?'

'They want to get a hold of them.'

'You know that all the interesting stuff is done off-site, right? Secondments. Nothing is held here. You've seen the security – let me guess, he was eating a sandwich?'

Cherry nodded.

'For starters, all that stuff is protected. It would be illegal to give it to you. And on top of that, we just don't have it. I can't help you.'

'You worked with Doctor Lowe on a number of his papers.'

'Yes.'

'Do you think for the right price you could recreate some of his work?'

Dee took a deep breath, looking at Cherry as if she could see the rest of the conversation unfolding before her. Cherry saw an opportunity and jumped in before Dee could reply.

'I take it that's a "no". I mean you can't do it without him.'

'Of course I can.' Dee hopped down from her stool and paced a little before coming back to her bench. Cherry had hit the sweet spot.

'Then we can talk properly. You want the funding for your screen work?'

Dee ignored Cherry's question and stared at her.

'The money in your account; it's not part of the funding.'

Cherry watched as the expression on Dee's face changed. Under her pale mask emotions were fighting to get through and the
realisation
of the possibilities was dawning.

'It's –'

'I know what it is,' Dee snapped, as if she didn't want Cherry to say it out loud.

'Just so we're clear, the funding itself can be directed wherever you need – we don't care whether you want to take it through the Institute or if you want to use it to set up and do your research independently. Hell, you can spend it on shoes for all I care. You'll receive it in two payments, one after you deliver each virus.'

Cherry took a printout from her pocket and laid it on the bench next to Dee, text copied and pasted from Blotch's message.

'I'm not going to pretend to be an expert. These are the viruses we're looking at.'

Dee leaned forward and looked at the printout, reading it without touching the paper. Her brow tightened.

'How do you know about these?' Dee asked, her voice dilute.

Cherry looked at her. Blotch had told her not to mention the call. It was too close to the Church. But this woman was no fool. Cherry didn't have to mention it; she could see that. A memory was sliding its dark hand up over Dee's skull.

'I know how you feel about Doctor Lowe's activities. I know about the virus he passed on to you; I know how long you've relied on each other; I know he betrayed you personally, professionally. He's a common enemy. We don't wish anybody else any harm. We just want to show him for what he is and put an end to V's activities.'

Dee turned her back on Cherry.

'When you shared this information you set things in motion for us,' Cherry said.

'Sounds serious.' The emotion had dropped from Dee's voice. 'When you say you'll use the viruses for demonstrative purposes…what is your plan?'

'To bring him down.'

Dee walked. She needed to make a decision soon. A door had opened right in front of her. Revenge. Revenge without getting her hands dirty. And for Kester – what? With V's reputation in tatters and his job lost, where would he be? Back on her doorstep, telling her how right she had been, begging her to name him as second author on her screens research. No damage, no real damage done. Just the righting of wrongs. She felt a small swell of triumph in her breast. Finding herself close to Trafalgar Square, she took a detour.

The square was packed full of people and there was an uneasy feeling in the air. The jostling was less impartial than normal. For the most part the movement was smooth, but now and again she was struck by what she felt was an aggravated elbow, or pushed by an angry shoulder. Some people were passing through, some had stopped to watch the big screen and some were looking up at the top of Nelson's Column. She followed their eyes upwards.

Nelson was boxed up, at first she thought for cleaning, but as she focused on the figure projected on the box, she realised it was not a standard 'we're refurbishing – here's a picture of what you came to see' box, but a promotion. Kester was projected on three of its sides. The fourth was advertising his show. What a distance to fall. She looked to the big screen. Text was scrolling across a fast-paced montage of fashion shows and attractive virus wearers. SATURDAY 5th: BEAUTY IS REDEFINED the text announced.

Up at the fourth plinth, a man in a trench coat was bellowing out across the crowd, a small number of whom had stopped to listen. Dee tuned in.

'…to our bodies. Abuse. Self-abuse. Abuse of nature. Perversion. These people think they are indestructible. We've been given these screens to protect us – whether or not you think they're a good thing – given them for free – and they're taking them for granted. The world was able to ignore this perverted counterculture until now but how harmless is it now? How harmless is it when the ones who make our screens are selling us viruses to wear like circus freaks?'

'Presumably much more harmless than wearing street viruses,' the girl next to Dee said to her friend. 'I thought that was the whole point.'

Dee walked on through the crowd, tuning in and out…
so cool
…
make them safe
…
like a rock star
…
freaks – freaks!
…
as well be safe if you're going to
…
not about the screens
…
fed the cat this morning
…
sexy, yeah smart
.

She stopped and looked up at the screen, which was coming to the end of its montage. Kester was standing silhouetted against the rising sun, hands in pockets. He stood in an uncomfortable casual pose at the edge of a glass platform, looking out over the Green Belt. BEAUTY IS NOT SKIN DEEP. The bright yellow words stopped scrolling, paused there for a minute, then vanished, leaving the lettering hanging in Dee's eyes, a cerise stamp on the dark canvas of the image.

'Skin deep,' she spat to herself.

'…wouldn't be allowed to happen.' The man was still talking.

Dee was surprised that people were stopping to listen. He wouldn't be there for long. It wasn't a designated protest area. He'd be relocated pretty smartish to somewhere less public where he would be able to protest all he wanted.

'And where are the politicians? Queuing up at the Pigs to get the first Kester Lowe? Spending the money we pay them to run the country to fuck a wall and get a designer rash? What about the…'

He was cut off by a loudspeaker screech.  

This was big, Dee thought to herself. People were getting excited about it no matter which way you looked. Some were angry and some were ecstatic, but it was all passion. Kester's enemies had their timing just right. All they needed was for her to work quickly, get the first virus to them on time, say yes.

She took a deep breath and looked up again. The screen was now showing a heavily edited news report, slicing clips of Kester's recent media and red carpet appearances together like a pop video. Something about the style of the thing made Dee bristle. The ticker across the bottom reported news and
rumours
in a seamless stream.
Five brand new viruses to be revealed at fashion show. Special viral technologies episode of
Horizon
to air tonight. Lowe and Farrell reported to be touring Europe to promote show.
Tickets for V fashion show sell out in under two minutes.
What a bubble to pop.

Dee stop-started her way back through the crowd towards the Strand, a bright tumbling feeling in her chest accelerating her gait. She passed the lion statue at the square's south-east corner. A group of young girls were riding it and standing round it, babbling. Two of them were wearing labcoats. All at once they shouted, 'We love you Kester!' then screamed in unison, rattling Dee's eardrums. She stopped and looked up at them in anger, her small rough scream swallowed by the
clamour
. She took out her Book.

-o-

Cherry fumbled in her pocket for her Book and checked again that it was on vibrate. Still no message from Doctor Campbell. She had expected a
yes
or a
no
by now. Blotch would burst a blood vessel if she didn't get an answer by the time she went into quarantine.

Taking a deep breath, she looked around the room. All the out-of-quarantine models had been gathered together in one of the empty testing suites. There were about forty of them sitting on white plastic chairs, facing the side of the room, where a small semi-circle had been kept empty bar two more chairs. The models looked like they were in uniform. They were in uniform, sort of. Wardrobe had been asked to assign them all several sets of the same casual outfit – the idea was that people would know who they were, particularly around the lab, but out on the street too, to get a buzz going. Each of them wore a fitted black high-collared tunic top with a broad panel down the front that sported a large metallic V. Tight fitting black trousers and a jaunty V-badged cap completed the look, though Cherry noticed that many of the hats had been ditched. Hers sat in her lap.

Cherry looked over her shoulder, smiling briefly at the man behind. On the back wall was projected a montage of all the testing suites. The models in each suite were also gathered to listen and had pulled their chairs round in broadly the same configuration; their white-kimonoed figures were ghost battalions, reinforcements in waiting. It must have been an audience of over a hundred all in. Cherry was surprised. She hadn't really thought of there being that many testing models involved, perhaps because they were always out of view.

'Welcome…Doctor Lowe. Welcome…Gerald.'

All the models looked to the doors at once.

'Hello,' Doctor Lowe said.

He looked surprised. All those eyes on him. You would think he would be getting used to it by now. Perhaps it was different when it was your own private army of models.

'How embarrassing,' he stage-whispered to Gerald, 'they're all wearing the same thing.'

Doctor Lowe made himself comfortable on one of the chairs at the side of the room and Gerald took the floor.

'Thank you all for coming,' Gerald said, then looked up to the camera that was transmitting their image back out to the suites, 'or for tuning in. I know some of you are supposed to be off-duty at the moment but it really made sense for us all to come together for this briefing, so thanks for that.

'You'll all know by now that the date for our first V fashion show has been set for the 5
^th
of August, so about four weeks from now, give or take.' He gave them a sparkling smile. 'Hands up training team.'

Six models in the front row all put up their hands. Cherry recognised a short blonde model from a series of perfume adverts. The others, male and female, merged into a moodboard of cool: tall, thin, slicked-back hair, perfect skin of every shade. Blank canvases. Perhaps that was what was needed.

'For those of you who haven't met them, this is my crack crew of model trainers. I know that not all of you have
modelled
professionally before, but do not fear, we'll be sending these guys in to teach you everything they know.'

There were a couple of snorts from the back of the room.

'They'll teach you your routines for the big night,' Gerald continued. 'Now, especially if you're going to be appearing in the show on the 5
^th
, we'll need you in peak physical condition, so get on those mini-gyms. We know it's tempting to veg out during quarantine, but we don't want to have to reinforce the catwalk.'

Silence. An apologetic look from Doctor Lowe. He reached up and put a hand on Gerald's arm. Cherry smiled to herself. Gerald's lame jokes washed over her. She found them quite charming, especially given the huge smile which normally followed them, but she knew they grated on the nerves of some of her compatriots.

'Shall I?' Doctor Lowe asked.

'Yes, if you wish.' Gerald deferred to him and sat down. 'Thank you.'

'As you all know,' Doctor Lowe said, 'live viral exchange is covered in your contracts and the show is where this will really come into play.'

'We finally get some action, Doctor?' The short blonde model asked. The way she spoke made it sound like they were in the middle of a game of Doctor and Nurse.

Cherry looked over at her. She was slouched as if she was accustomed to sitting on a chaise, one arm over the back connecting her to the group, one leg pointed out towards Doctor Lowe. It was as decent an effort at lounging as could be made on a plastic chair.

'That's right, Hera. The way it will work is we'll have a VIP area at the front of the stage. Once you've finished your part of the show, you'll get to go down into this area and choose yourself a willing partner for exchange.'

Doctor Lowe paused and looked around the room, then up at the back wall, as if gauging the response to this suggestion. He ruffled his brown hair. Cherry looked round too. There were a few raised eyebrows; a few models were smiling and nodding as if this was what they had been waiting for; some were staring into space. She looked back at Doctor Lowe. He seemed a little stunned, as if he had expected some backlash.

'Doctor.' Cherry raised her hand. 'What infection rate are you expecting? They won't all pick up the viruses, will they, from a five minute bonk. So what about methods for optimum transfer – will the trainers cover that?'

Cherry raised her eyebrows at Doctor Lowe. If they weren't well versed, she might get herself in to the training team – perhaps an opportunity to work more closely with Gerald and Doctor Lowe.

'You've
modelled
before?' asked Hera, before Doctor Lowe could answer.

'No, but I've worked in the sex trade as a seeker.' Cherry tried to ignore the heat in her cheeks. This was good. She needed to lay this out there. 'Believe me it's worth knowing the pick-up tips – I know we're working the other way round, but you want to give your clients the best possible chance of infection.'

'You harvest Pig viruses?' Hera said. 'Ugh! How TopShop.'

'That's right, I'm a prostitute, if that's what you're getting at, but then aren't we all?'

Cherry glanced over at Gerald and caught him smiling, a nervous twinkle in his eye. Kester lifted his hands against the possibility of conflict.

'We prefer the term "models" here,' he said.

'How about "professional sextresses"?' Cherry replied.    

Hera managed a little sideways smile. Cherry laughed to herself. There was a small sadness sitting just at the bottom of her gullet. She was suddenly very aware of the wall of white-clad men and women watching from the back of the room.

'You know what?' Doctor Lowe was smiling too. He held up his hands. 'Call yourselves whatever you want – I'm leaving the country for three weeks.' He looked suddenly pleased with himself as if he had just remembered. 'Gerald's point was that you'll be in the capable hands of our training team here, and…' Here he stepped forward and had a short exchange with Hera, ending in a nod from her. He stepped back again. 'And our newest member of the team, Viral Transfer Consultant Cherry Woodlock.' Turning to her he added, 'That alright with you? Extra remuneration on top of your basic.'

'Sure,' Cherry replied with a smile. He knew her name. He must know all their names. This surprised her.      

When Doctor Lowe and Gerald had finished their presentation and gone through timetabling for the training, the models were dismissed. In the midst of all the chair-scraping, Cherry milled up to Doctor Lowe.

'Thanks for that, Doctor Lowe,' she said.