Sequela (32 page)

'Mum!' Kester's cheeks burned.

'It's a bit late notice, but Justine in the shop only just thought of it yesterday. It should arrive this afternoon and I thought you could get one of your lab-monkeys to courier it back, in time for the show tomorrow.'

'Of course I will, Mum.' He closed his eyes and shook his head.

'I hope you can identify it in amongst all your other post – I bet you're getting sent loads of panties now you're famous!'

'Hundreds a day.' Kester looked up at the ceiling. 'Listen, how is the dog?'

'He's excited!' his mother replied. 'Just like the rest of us. Now you must have lots to do and I know I do – I'm making some spotty cupcakes for the party.'

'OK, Mum,' Kester said. 'I hope you sell lots of stuff tomorrow.'

'Me too!' She was close to bursting. 'I love you, darling. Bye!'

'Bye, Mum.'

'Bye.'

Kester put down the phone and flicked his wall to web. He had been avoiding the build-up, but maybe it was worth knowing what was being said.

'…and business at the Pigs is up by 50%, five - zero, because lots of people want to be wearing the latest viruses for the show.'

'But these are not Kester Lowe viruses?'

'That's right, they're not Kester Lowe viruses and indeed I've spoken to some young lawyers here today who have "cleaned up", as they put it, so that they can be blank canvases in the hope of getting their hands on a Kester Lowe original tomorrow night.'

'That's Doctor Lowe to you,' Kester said, changing the channel.

'Crowds are already gathering in the square outside V, trying to get a good spot for the show tomorrow night. If you look behind me here you can see some of the extent of what everyone is now calling "Kestermania".'

Kester's eyes widened. He looked across to the door of his office, as if he might be able to see the crowd from his seat, but he didn't get up. They'd been gathering since lunchtime and the pictures on the news showed hundreds of people already.

'If I could get across the square to show you, there is also a queue right down in the direction of the PlayPen of literally hundreds of fans hoping to get their hands on some of the on-the-night tickets. And it's not just the fans that are getting ready. You can see above me that the police and ambulance services are setting up their zip-wires across the square. Up here there's an officer testing out his harness – you can see him whizzing across above my head now.'

That, Kester could see. It had taken a few days to set up and by chance the zip wires and paramedic platforms were at the same level as the floor the lab was on. Kester was already on waving terms with one or two of the set-up crew. He changed the channel again. An angry man was being interviewed.

'…is just rubbish. You can't make it safe and even if you could, making it safe doesn't make it moral. But that's not what gets me most – what gets me most is that one of our top scientists is working on fashion accessories for bloated rich folk when he could be making viruses that are – viruses for medical use, to help all those people out there who have diseases they can't just switch off.'

Kester flicked again quickly.

'Commentators are starting to agree that a non-harmful form of virus wearing might not be such a bad thing. But one question that we haven't looked at yet tonight is perhaps, for our viewers, the most burning issue. Doctor Kester Lowe's spokesperson and V are claiming that they are, quote, "redefining fashion", that these viruses are going to be, quote, "beautiful", but let me ask our studio guests – even if a virus is beautiful – is it Art? Colin.'

Kester guffawed and flicked through a few more channels in turn. It was bizarre, amusing. He understood the build-up to the show, the excitement around seeing the new viruses for the first time, but the amount of discussion surrounding it was ludicrous. It was as if the press genuinely didn't have anything else to talk about.

'Me…me…me…me,' he said as he flicked. 'Me me me me me.'

He snorted, zapped the "off" icon and pushed himself up from the couch in the direction of the fridge.

-o-

'…and in the City itself: Old Broad Street, Cock Lane, St Mary Axe, Cheapside –'

'Marvellous!' Clarke interrupted Blotch. 'Marvellous.'

'The list goes on,' Blotch said. 'Almost all of the City branches have taken the virus.'

'Marvellous,' Clarke repeated.

'They were sold by a pseudonymous German blackmarket dealer and most of the houses have taken on new stock from quite a few places in the last few days as well – they're all getting new viruses in for the show.'

'An added bonus…'

'Quite,' Blotch said. He stood in Clarke's office feeling taller than usual. It was all coming off perfectly.

'Minister Blotch, this calls for a celebration!' Clarke said, clapping his hands together.

Blotch licked his lips. It was only eleven o'clock, but he could quite handle a little tipple. He felt giddy with success and it seemed a shame to waste it. Clarke reached under his desk. Blotch smiled at him conspiratorially. Just then, a soft buzzing sounded at the back of the room: Clarke's wall was revolving slowly to reveal his fabulous altar. His hand came up empty.

'Remote control,' Clarke said, waggling his fingers with a smile. 'Rather good, no?'

Blotch gave what he hoped was an impressed laugh and tried to hide his disappointment.

'Let us pray,' Clarke said. 

The square was illuminated as if by stained glass and sunlight. Opposite the V building glowed the alternating hellish red and pulsating green of the Stark Wellbury scaffolding, a reproduction of the frontage of their building, carrying on as normal and setting the colour scheme for the whole square.

The buildings that flanked the square had been decked with silk panels, transformed into two block-sized screens, facing off against one another. One depicted a magnified microscope image of KL01, Corona, at work invading a cell. The image had been enhanced so that it glowed the colours of a baroque theatre – gold, blood red, forest green – to complement the Stark Wellbury display. The other was devoted to ad-space for the show sponsors, clients and associates of V Division V.

The ad space alternated between a collage of logos and giant versions of individual logos. They came up so large that you couldn't really see them, but the more established ones were so engrained in the people's consciousness that they would recognise them from just a corner, the turn of a ribbon or swirl, from two colours set one against the other. Occasionally, where the company identifier was the building itself, this led to one building being projected onto another, life-sized, pictured against a blue sky on a clear day, a view which could never really be had of any building in its entirety. This created the illusion that the square opened onto a desert containing only the sponsor's building, inducing a vertiginous feeling which heightened the excitement of the audience.

The fourth side of the square was the V building itself. In front of it was the stage, split into three sections. A catwalk stretched from the central podium right to the middle of the square and ended in a circular platform above the fountain-come-exchange hub. The backdrop to the stage was a giant screen flanked by velvet swathes, in reality a high-definition image of velvet grain projected onto more silk panels.

The images on the screen shifted, alternating pictures of the audience, close-ups of celebrities in the VIP strips, stills of the models and, every now and again, a shadowy image of Kester. There he stood, legs wide, hands in pockets, on V's glass outcrop, the dying streetlamps of the suburbs stretching out a net of glowing nodes before him, the sun a bubble of molten glass swelling and spilling light at the horizon.

Watching the display on his dressing room display, Kester felt a buzz in his throat, pressure at the base of his skull. It was about to begin.

'There you are, Kester,' said Alexis, as his picture appeared on the big screen.

She draped her long arms around his neck and rested her chin on his shoulder. He could see her face reflected in the mirror portion of the display: feline satisfaction.

Kester's chest swelled. Yes, there he was. There he was, standing on top of the tallest building in the City. There he was, pictured as a dark hero, rock star to the rock stars, creator.

'The man who made destruction creative. We've done it. You've done it, Kester. You've recreated fashion.'

'Will they go for it?'

'Kester, look at the crowd. Those people out there are rock stars, politicians, top lawyers, sports heroes. They are standing there, waiting to see you. They've already gone for it. They're hungry because they've been kept waiting. Believe me Kester, they're wet as teenagers.'

'To see what the viruses can do.'

'To see you in the flesh. This is going to be big. They're going to want to touch you. They'll want to have you. They'll want the personal treatment.'

Alexis' grip on his shoulders loosened and she stood up. Kester could no longer see her face in the mirror.

'You think?'

'I know. That list I showed you earlier. Hot prospects for the business.'

'What about them?'

'Like I said, they're going to want you.'

Alexis was drawing away from him. Her limp arms dragged back across his shoulders until only her hands were touching him. Then, lightly, they lifted as if she had
dissolved
. He watched her in the mirror as she walked to the stand behind him and started rummaging through a
jewellery
box.

'And I guess I'm expected to give them what they want. For the good of the business?'

'If you don't like it, you're welcome to speak to Chen.'

It wasn't entirely unexpected. Kester had known for a while that the models would be exchanging with the VIPs. He had supposed that he should be as OK with it as they were, if it came to the crunch. But he wasn't.

'It's a one-off. It'll be worth your while to suck it up for this one show, maybe the next one.'

'I don't even wear. I'm not even supposed to wear. Talk to my image consultant.'

'You're wearing now,' Alexis said.

Kester frowned. She had asked him to put on Touché the week before because she wanted to paint him – she had agreed to do it in private and all below the neckline. Her designs had since faded, but she had persuaded him to keep the virus in his system. And here was the real reason.

'That was different, Alexis. That was just for you.'

'Well now it's for one VIP of your choosing.' Alexis finally found a pair of earrings she was satisfied with and pinned them through her ears with liquid precision. 'Just one – exclusivity is the key. That way you stay more…less…attainable. It's just a routine exchange.'

'Routine,' Kester said, half to himself.

He stood and turned so he was facing her, watched as she
swivelled
side-to-side, posing for him. She had said her gown was like a pair of chaps and now he saw what she meant. From small shoulder seams, it clung down her body in two parallel red velvet strips, mirroring the curtains in the setup outside. The gap between them was a long V, the two strips only coming together just above the bikini-shaped bottoms. The legs were slit right up the sides, in her distinctive style. It had been designed with her in mind, for sure, and for the viruses she was wearing. She had her hair slicked on either side of her head and shaped on top into a Spartan crest. The gown was backless, revealing how the spine of blonde hair continued down her back. The designs Kester had painted on her body were centred and framed by the V cut front which stopped below her navel.

The sight of Alexis garbed in his viruses made Kester feel strong, made him pulse all over. She fastened a chiffon collar round her neck and tucked in the panels of fabric that hung front and back. Then she turned to face him. She was wearing Persona too – he could see it shining subtly through her thick stage makeup, only noticeable if you knew what you were looking for.

'I wanted to be the first to wear all of them together,' she said, putting a hand over the chiffon. 'I want to wear them all first from now on.'

Kester laughed and looked down at his chest. 'You'd better keep it quiet. My boss is a monster. She'd have my balls if she thought I'd put my mistress before the client.'

'Mistress?' Alexis smirked at the old-fashioned term. 'They're playing your song.' She drew in close and looked over his shoulder at the display.

The music started.
Fashion
. First, in came the bass, steady as a heartbeat, a measured catwalk footstep, then the siren horns.

Kester pushed a kiss onto Alexis' lips, his heart racketing in his chest. With a triumphant smile, she slid past him and strode out into the corridor, her dress flowing after her, fawning over her body. He took one last look in the mirror and then followed her.

Backstage, Kester watched on the monitor as Alexis walked onto the catwalk. She was a cartoon character, the lights swimming green and red across her skin. The roar of the crowd came in squalls, each wave of excitement threatening to spill into violence, collapsing, and then building anew. Trapped in the square by glass and metal, the cacophony churned in on itself, a maelstrom of noise, vibrating the air. Kester imagined Alexis ripping off her cravat, overcome with excitement, but she stopped and stood still as a mannequin at the end of the catwalk, above the exchange booths. Her stillness and focus bled into the crowd until all eyes were on her and the noise had fallen to a steady hubbub.

'This, ladies and gentlemen…' she said, stamping her stilettoed foot three times on the platform that covered the fountain. 'This, ladies and gentlemen…' The noise fell to a tense mumble as she cast her steel gaze across the audience, turning smoothly on her heel. 'This…' she pointed above her head at the storeys-high image of Kester. 'This is why we are here tonight.' The audience screamed. She crouched and smiled, waiting for the noise to fall again. 'So you've come to see the future of viruses?' The crowd cheered. She came up until she was half standing, arms out towards them. 'You've come to see the future of fashion?' A louder roar. She stood straight and pointed at them. 'You've come to see the future of sex?' It seemed they couldn't get any louder. 'Well, ladies and gentlemen, let's not get too excited. Every man should be judged by his works, should he not?' She turned and walked back down the catwalk. 'I give you…' she said, halfway down, ratcheting up the cheers with her arms. 'I give you…' again, to louder cheers. 'I give you…' she was shouting now. 'I give you KL01 – Corona!'

Alexis disappeared backstage. The music stopped. The square fell dark. The crowd was silent, waiting. The celebrities down the sides of the catwalk and around the fountain squirmed in their seats. Across the square, the sea of close-packed faces glistened in the ambient light, softened with sweat. Just as their eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, all the spotlights in the square hit the catwalk entrance full beam. Five models were standing there, as still as cut-outs, swathed in black, only their eyes visible through the slits in their black hoods. Still silence.

As the first model's foot hit the catwalk, the music blared out –
Fashion
again, this time a brilliantly unhinged live version played by The Itch. The crowd was bedlam as they tried to figure out what they were looking at. Then, when the first model stopped at the end of the catwalk, her face appeared on the big screens and on both sides of the square, stories high. And there they were, eyes encircled with gold. The crowd roared as she blinked. Four other pairs of eyes bobbed down the catwalk behind her, then posed in formation, each a different metallic hue: silver, livid rust, ruby, acid green.

Kester watched as one-by-one the models did their two runs of the catwalk, paused, milked the crowd, and then disappeared down onto the VIP strip. The models walked up and down the side of the catwalk, flirting with the celebrities. Then one of them took someone by the hand – Bo Omotoye, the heavyweight champion. The crowd watched the big screen above as she led him down towards the front edge of the catwalk and into an exchange booth. Its door lit up red to indicate that it was engaged. The crowd erupted. One by one the other models found themselves partners and disappeared into the remaining booths. Sweaty noises filled the square for a moment, the sounds from the miked-up booths mixed together, booming out. The crowd fizzed.

When the doors were all engaged, it was time for The Itch to do their part. The curtain rose on their stage to the side of the catwalk. Their price had been high. They had resisted 'selling out' at first but now that they had acquiesced, they were doing it in style. There was no fabric to the three members' outfits except the ads, each of them a ragged commercial collage. Gregor was sweating attractively in a full suit, while his female guitarist Zelda wore a bikini of logos. All that was visible of the drummer was his naked shoulders, but his bass drum was plastered with bastardised logos. All three wore a variation on Gregor's blue tidal wave Mohawk. While the exchanges were taking place, they blasted the excited crowd with their latest release.

When the song ended, the lights fell again. The lit doors of the exchange booths switched off as their occupants left and returned to their seats. One by one, the models glided up the VIP strip and disappeared backstage.

Kester found himself on the edge of his seat. He knew that each virus set would follow the same format, but somehow it was tense. Next up was Lanugo-go, then Persona, featuring a guest appearance from Latin Rap Superstar Pera Pera. Kester felt the evening slipping past him and snatched at the details with his senses, snapshots to remember. He felt as though he were running fast through a fairground.

Already it was time for Luminescence. Alexis announced it, wove nimbly through the backstage staff to where Kester sat and perched next to him. She didn't say anything, just stared wide-eyed at the monitor.

'You're doing great,' Kester said and her lips twitched.

This time, the lights stayed low, with the exception of a thin line of muted LEDs down either side of the catwalk. The models were in place, their nodes glowing dimly through their shrouds. The audience started to mumble amongst themselves, pointing and straining in the dark. Then, as the band started up again, five stage hands whipped off the shrouds and they were off, Hera first, Kester guessed from the height. The sound of the band disappeared into the crowd's hysteria. Kester and Alexis watched together as the luminous bodies hip-swinged their way up and down the catwalk, and ultimately into the VIP pit.