Laptop Dad

The meeting was beginning.  Crispin tapped his pencil impatiently on a blank pad of white paper.  He is mocked for this – taking notes by hand.  Why did he not just type stuff like everyone else, rather than write it out long-hand and then have to type it later?  Well, Crispin thought, he’d always got a back-up.  He always had his hand-written notes, in case anything ever went wrong.  And he had hundreds of these notebooks, from several years of community council meetings.  It was a habit he had inherited from his ‘late’ father, who always kept such meticulous records.

Well, I say ‘late’ father, because it was not certain whether or not Crispin’s Dad was really dead.  I don’t mean that he was lost, or in a coma, or anything like that.  Fact was, Crispin’s Dad was something of a celebrity.  He was the first person in the world to have had his consciousness uploaded to a computer.  But of course there were those who didn’t believe that this had actually happened.  They thought instead that Crispin's Dad was just a complex and very convincing simulation of the real person who had passed away a few years back.  Elaborate tests had been carried out by the company responsible for the consciousness upload – the Zoe-Techno Corporation.  Crispin’s Dad, for his part, was quite happy to just read books all day, much as he had done when he had a body.  He still slept – about 11 hours a day – and that was that.  Nothing ever proven – the jury is still out – eventually Crispin got to take his father home on a laptop.  It was a special kind of laptop that kept his father Sam contained, so he could not wander around in cyberspace potentially causing harm.  Crispin had to download books for him and then feed them onto the laptop from a memory stick.  He was not sure if his Dad was really happy.  It was too painful to ask.

Anyway, the meeting was starting.  It must be said that most community council meetings are notable only for their extreme tedium.  They consist mainly of scrutinising local planning applications and submitting comments to the county council.  Tonight was mostly no different.  But there was an intriguing extra item on the agenda.  The council had had a bizarre request from a local restaurateur.  He had asked the council if he could harvest mushrooms in a local wood.  And not just any mushrooms – he wanted mushrooms of the ‘magic’ variety.

Even now the restaurateur sat in the midst of the meeting, waiting his turn to speak.  He was a big man – easily a head taller than anyone else in the room.  He wore an immaculate white shirt, open-knecked, with quite a wide collar.  He wore a black leather waistcoat, black trousers and brown leather boots.  He’d arrived wearing an enormous black leather coat.  Considering he’d walked to the meeting – a distance of over five miles – he’d been carrying a remarkable amount of strange equipment.  Most conspicuous of all perhaps was an enormous sheet of canvas.  It seemed that the man wanted to put up a makeshift awning in the woods and experiment with cooking the mushrooms right there, rather than wait to carry them back to his restaurant.

His name was Massimo Buencocinero, of Massimo & Stavros, Ferryport-on-Firth – a town on the North coast.  It was a strange little town – the place of unusual happenings over the last several decades and the place of many entrepreneurial businesses, of which Massimo & Stavros’ restaurant was one.  The link to magic mushrooms all made sense.  As it happened – and Crispin had looked it up – psilocybin mushrooms (their official name) had been legalised a few years back after many years of being illegal.  But there was still strict guidance to be followed.  Hence the man’s need to consult the community council before proceeding.

There was a gust of wind outside the little town hall where they all sat.  Crispin had been writing, almost sub-consciously, his notes on the various planning matters that had come up in the agenda.  The breeze had brought his attention back into focus.  He looked around the room.  There was Arkwright, the snob, who never wanted anyone to build anything new in the town.  There was Mrs. Simpson, the worrier, who always worried over the awful consequences of building anything new.  Then there was Storrier, the idiot, who simply couldn’t understand why anyone would object to anyone building anything.  As such, the meeting ran along familiar lines.  But now, at last, they came to Mr. Buencocinero’s request.

‘I say let him do it’, said Storrier.  ‘Man’s got to run a business.  It’s no skin off our nose.’

‘But what of the consequences?’ said Mrs. Simpson.  ‘We could have FORAGERS (she said the word with special emphasis) arriving from all over!’

‘Tramps and thieves the lot of them’, said Arkwright.  Crispin jotted it all down.

So far, so predictable.  But then Mrs. Simpson came up with a suggestion.

‘I say, let Mr. Beverage accompany Mr. Massimo to the place of the mushrooms so he may witness their collection and make notes.  He can report back to us next meeting.’

Mr. Beverage was of course Crispin himself.  Mrs. Simpson (Deirdre) always insisted on calling him Mr. Beverage.

It was unusual to have such a pro-active suggestion in a meeting, especially from the normally cautious Mrs. Simpson.

‘When should he go?’ asked Arkwright.

‘Go now Crispin, for God’s sake!’ said Storrier.  ‘The man’s walked five miles!’

So it was decided.  Massimo pulled on his enormous leather coat and Crispin put on his padded anorak over his lambswool pullover and corduroy trousers.  They set off – one huge man and out one diminutive man by his side – headed for the wood.

The place they were heading was an unusual feature in the landscape. There was a strange little hill in Crispin’s home town.  But the surrounding land was mostly very flat – all the way North to Massimo’s home town of Ferryport-on-Firth. The wood to which they were headed though was on a rise in the land, but a deep valley cut across the rise like an odd scar.  The road that led there had been washed away by floods some years back.  But Crispin knew paths that would get them there easily enough.  It wasn’t far.

Already though the sky was darkening and the wind was picking up.  Why had Storrier butted in and suggest they go today?  Surely the restaurant guy needed some time – and some light – to gather the mushrooms and cook them.

But Massimo seemed unperturbed.  As if reading Crispin’s mind, he said, ‘the mushroom is an elusive creature.’

Crispin was a bit worried at hearing a mushroom referred to as a creature, but he did not respond.

Massimo continued.  ‘It knows who to trust.  It will show itself only to those it trusts.  It knows we are coming.  They will be waiting for us.’

Blimey, thought Crispin.  If only he’d gone with Storrier the idiot instead of me!

They arrived at the wood.  Not a mushroom in sight.  Crispin felt embarrassed.  He could not think of anything to say.  But Massimo again seemed unfazed.  He set about unpacking his equipment.  He spread out the giant tarpaulin, stays and guy-ropes.  The wind had started whipping through the trees.  There was thunder – and just then – a blinding flash of lightening.

Massimo looked up, finally concerned.  ‘We need to take cover’, he said.

‘Can’t we just leave this for now and head back to town?’ Crispin asked, forlornly.

‘I don’t think we’ve…’ There’s another huge crash of thunder immediately followed by a lightening flash.  The storm is right above them.

‘Quick, Mr. Beverage!  Climb under the tarpaulin.  Grab these ropes and hold her down!

So they clambered under, just as rain started to pound on its surface with ferocious intensity.  Crispin hung on to the rope he’d been given, feeling it strain as the wind tries to lift the tarpaulin away from them.  Massimo grunts and adjusted his grip on his own rope.  It was going to be a long night.

Crispin thought of his cosy bedroom and his Dad reading books on the laptop.  He gripped his rope with all his strength.  At one point he thought he heard the sound of an aircraft or a helicopter with engines straining against the wind.  And perhaps there were lights scanning the wood?  But it might just have been his imagination.  Perhaps he had been hoping in vain for a rescue.

They survived the night.  Crispin had slept a couple of hours, just before dawn – his hand slowly letting go of the rope.  Massimo had held on as the wind eased and the rain finally stopped.  Now a bleary sunshine was trying to get through and they clambered out from under their shelter to two huge surprises.

First, the ground was now covered in mushrooms, the distinctive shape of psilocybin.  ‘They trusted us’, Massimo said, almost to himself.  Crispin could only nod his astonished agreement.

But as they looked up, away from the mushrooms, and Northwards out of the wood, they had their second surprise.  The sea.  Miles and miles of sea, stretching out to the horizon.  The sea that had been five miles from the wood only yesterday.  Way in the distance, maybe 20 miles away, there were some hills.  But that was it.

Crispin and Massimo wandered down to the edge of the water.  There was already a beach – sand swept in several miles from where it had been before the storm.  They looked around them.  Nothing to see but water.  Crispin took out a damp notebook and made some pencil notes.  He thought of his Dad.  ‘Pencil notes will last, son, come hell or high water.’  He hadn’t known how right he’d been.

Massimo just stared at the water.

But as he stared there was a flicker to his left, from the direction of the town.  After a few minutes it resolved itself into a boat.  It was a wooden rowing boat.  As it came closer Crispin made out Storrier and Arkwright with an oar each, making good progress across the calm sea.  Mrs. Simpson sat at the front of the boat looking worried.  There were two other figures at the back but Crispin didn’t recognise them.

‘There they are Storrier!’  Arkwright’s words carried across the water.

‘I see them Arkwright!  I knew we’d find them!  Row faster will ye!’

The boat reached shore and the two men jumped out and pulled it a little way up the beach.

‘Give us a hand here, Crispin.  And you Mr. Massimo’, said Storrier.

Between the four of them they got the boat well up on the beach.  They turned their attention to the others.  Mrs. Simpson had climbed out and with her was a young woman wrapped in a blanket.  She went immediately to Massimo and embraced him.

‘Daddy, thank goodness you’re safe,’ she said.  But her voice sounded hollow.  Maybe she’s in shock, Crispin thought.  But Massimo did not return the embrace.  He just stood there and eventually said, ‘Bella, thank heaven.’  This however seemed to satisfy the young woman and she walked off after Mrs. Simpson who had clambered up into the woods.

Massimo looked concerned.

But then there was the matter of the boat’s final passenger, who seemed to be lying unconscious.  As they came closer they realised it was not a person at all, it was one of those robot helpers that had recently come onto the market.  Home helps for the elderly and the disabled.  Half of its synthetic skin had been torn from its face and it looked, rather disturbingly, like the terminator.  It took all four men to lift it out of the boat and carry it up into the woods, where they propped it against a tree, sitting upright.  Waterlogged and battered, there did not seem much prospect of it ever working.  But there seemed no sense leaving it in the boat.

Then again, why bring it anyway?

It was Mrs. Simpson’s.

‘I just thought it might help us’, she explained.

Everyone, by this time, had taken out their phones, except Massimo’s daughter.  Everyone had found there was nothing – no phone signal, no internet, and soon there would be no battery power left for anyone to call for help.

But, with Massimo there, at least there would be food!  Even now he had set up a tiny stove and was collecting an assortment of leaves from the surrounding woods.  Foraging could feed them for days, if it came to that.  But perhaps the sea would recede again over the coming days.  Or perhaps they would have some luck going South with the boat, where there was higher ground at least a little nearer than the hills to the North.

…

It was nearly dusk.  They had circled the woods, finding only some fields above water to the South, but otherwise they were on an island.  Still no phone.  Still no internet.  Massimo’s stove burned away though and gave them some hope.

Just then, Mrs. Simpson gave out a yelp.

‘What was that?’ she squeaked.  ‘A light!  I saw a light!’

The others were looking around them, mystified.  But Mrs. Simpson was pointing at her robot companion – or Arnie, as they had all started calling him.  There was a tiny green light flashing on the side of the robot’s head.

They all drew closer and watched.  There was a slight flicker to the robot’s eyelids and then its eyes opened.  It stared blankly at them.  Its lips moved.  ‘Power’, it said, ‘power.’  Of course there was nowhere to plug it in.  But Mrs. Simpson said, ‘you can feed it if necessary.  It can process normal food’.

It seemed ridiculous but Massimo brought it soup and Mrs. Simpson spooned it into the robot’s mouth.  It seemed to become more alert.

‘A signal,’ Arnie said, ‘0.5 kilometres due South.  Government signal.  Emergency frequency.’

‘Can you respond?’ they all asked.  ‘Tell them we’re here.’

‘No response possible’, Arnie replied.

‘Well, what does the signal say?’ they asked.

‘It says – Emergency broadcast.  This is the government.  We have everything under control.  Stay calm and await assistance.’

‘Bloomin’ heck!’  It was Arkwright. ‘Isn’t that just typical of the bloody government!’

But Mrs. Simpson had one last question.

‘Arnie’, she said, ‘is there anyone there sending out that signal?’

Arnie responds.  ‘Four persons.  One creature, possibly canine.  No other data.  Who is Arnie?’

‘Never mind Arnie’, Mrs. Simpson replied.  ‘Thanks’.

…

It’s dark by this time, so they wait for morning.  It’s Crispin, Arkwright and Storrier who set out to try to locate the government broadcasting post.  They’d only walked for five minutes when they heard the bark of a dog.  A little white Scots terrier came bounding up to them, across a ploughed field, then bounded away again, further uphill.  On the top of that hill stood a butler – a dog’s lead in his hand.  The butler whistled on the dog then spotted the three men approaching.  He stood impassively as they approached.  The dog returned to him and he attached the lead to its collar.

When Crispin, Arkwright and Storrier reach the butler he asked, ‘What is your business here?’

‘We’ve come for help.’  It’s Crispin who answered.

‘Who’s here with you?  We’re stranded on this patch of land.  It’s become an island, you probably know already.  We just need to find a way to reach somewhere safe, until the water goes down.’

The butler looked at them without speaking for a few moments.  Then he said, ‘I will ask the Prime Minister if she will see you.’

‘Bloody hell!’  It’s Arkwright.  The other two men tell him to keep quiet as the butler turned around and walked smartly into a small doorway that’s set into the sloping side of the hill, dog in tow.

‘Bloody hell!’  Arkwright says again, when the butler’s out of sight.  ‘Do you really think…’  But the others tell him again to shut up.

Within moments the butler had returned.

‘The Prime Minister will see you now’, he announced.  He bowed and gestured for them to follow him.

‘Bloody…’  The others tried to silence Arkwright as they follow the butler into the bunker.

They descend concrete steps and then along lit corridors made of concrete blocks.  At last they came to a metal door.  The butler pressed some buttons on a keypad at the side of the door and it slides open.

Inside there was a bank of computer screens, a wide desk, keyboards and not much else.  Three people sit at the desk, their backs to the door.  Two are watching the screens intently and sometimes clicking on their keyboards.  The third is the Prime Minister.  She has taken off her smart shoes and has her feet up on the desk in front of her.  There’s a drink in her hand.  When the butler arrives with Crispin, Arkwright and Storrier, she swivelled around in he chair and eyed them warily.

‘Who are these people, Smithson? She asked the butler.

‘Er, gentlemen from the nearby town, Prime Minister.  They are, shall we say, refugees of our current crisis.’

The Prime Minister spluttered at the word refugees then wiped her moth with the back of her hand and wipes her hand on the side of her chair.  She glowered at Crispin, Arkwright and Storrier.

‘Well,’ she asked, ‘what do you want?’

‘This is pathetic!’ Arkwright exclaims.  ‘Just look at the state of you!  You’re all the bloody same you MP’s, I’ve always said it!  I just want you to know madam, that I never voted for you or your party and I never will!’  Crispin and Storrier tried to quieten Arkwright once again.

The Prime Minister tried to gather her senses.  She pulled herslef upright in her chair and turned to face the men directly.

‘I am your Prime Minister’, she announced, in a somewhat slurred voice, ‘and let me tell you that even now the emergency services are doing all they can to restore order.  A message has been broadcast to all citizens, telling them to remain calm and await rescue.’

‘Nothing’s happening, Ma’m.’  It was Storrier, a bit more polite that Arkwright.

‘We’re stranded.  We need your help.’

At this the Prime Minister slumped back in her chair.

‘It’s hopeless’, she said.  ‘We’ve tried everything.  There’s floods everywhere, plus fires, rioting, looting.  Electric’s down.  Gas.  Most water supplies – total chaos.  We’ve no way of getting help where it’s needed.  Even our emergency broadcast channels have failed is.  We’ve tried AI, we’ve tried everything, but we just can’t get anything back up and running.’

The men were aghast at the news, but Crispin was thinking.

‘There’s a device I have that might help.’

‘What device?’ the Prime Minister asked.

‘It’s a laptop.  A very special kind of laptop.’

‘Anyone has a laptop.  What use is that?’

‘This is special.  It’s something invented by the Zoe-Technic Corporation’.

At the mention of ZTC one of the people at the screens spun around in his chair.

‘ZTC?  Ain’t they the folk that…?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’  Crispin responded quickly.  ‘I think this technology can help.’

Crispin did not volunteer any further information.  But the guy who had spoken turned to the Prime Minister and shrugged his shoulders.

‘Give it a go’, he said.  ‘it’s gotta be worth a shot PM.’

The Prime Minister looked intently at Crispin.

‘Do you have the laptop here with you now?’

‘No ma’m.  It’s back at my house in town.’

‘Have you a means to recover this device from it’s current location?’

‘Yes, as long as the flood waters have not risen too high.’

‘Then retrieve it if you can and bring it to us.’

With that, they departed.

Arkwright was laughing maniacally.

‘What kind of idiots do you think they are? He asked Crispin.  ‘Your Dad!  You think your Dad can help?’

‘It’s worth a go’, Storrier interjected.

‘Oh shut up Storrier, you idiot.  This is pathetic.  I can’t believe the two of you!’

‘It’s worth a go’, Storrier repeated.

‘Shut up Storrier, I said.  Don’t you know Beverage here calls you an idiot in his little notebooks, and no bloody wonder.’

Storrier just looks at Crispin.  Crispin looks away.

…

They arrive back at the camp in the woods.  Massimo has food ready.  Mrs. Simpson greets the,.

‘We have a new arrival’, she says.  ‘You best come look.’

They follow her down to the beach.  A large yacht is moored in the water, about a half mile from shore.  There are a few figures moving around on board, but it’s difficult to make them out.

‘Anyone been over for a visit yet?’  Crispin asks.

‘Not so far.’

The others head back to camp, but Crispin stayed on the beach, looking over at the yacht.  He was embarrassed about the conversations with Arkwright and Storrier.  He decided to let them explain the plan to the others.

As he sat on the beach a figure emerged from the woods.  It was Bella, Massimo’s daughter.  She walked down the beach and into the water.  She swam across to the yacht and climbed aboard.  She appeared back on the deck within minutes, dived back into the water and swam back to shore.

As Bella walked back up the beach, Crispin watched her.  Something strange about her, he was thinking.  He looked at her leopard-print swimsuit and thought – must have been a very small leopard.  He laughed to himself.

Bella approached him.

‘Something amusing you Mr. Beverage?’

‘No, no, nothing.’

Well, it would have been something any young woman might have said to a middle-aged man looking at her and laughing.  But maybe it served another purpose.  Maybe it stopped Crispin from asking her any proper questions.

…

The boat trip to Crispin’s house goes off without incident.  It was Massimo and Storrier that went with Crispin.  Crispin had done his best to apologise to Storrier.  Storrier was forgiving.  ‘Everyone thinks I’m a fool anyway!  But I’m just a cheerful chappy trying to do my best!’

What’s more, Storrier was a very good swimmer.  It was him who dived under the water to open Crispin’s front door, then struggled up the water-logged staircase to the bedroom above.  The laptop was above water level.  Storrier handed it through the bedroom window to Crispin.  Crispin turned it on and there was still some battery life left.  His Dad had run out of books.  He turns it off to save power.

…

They row back to camp, arriving by nightfall.  The others don’t say anything.  They were wondering what Crispin might do – whether he really would hand his father over to the government.  Once everyone was asleep, Crispin turned on the laptop.  He was about to explain everything to his Dad.  But just at that moment there was the sound of a twig breaking.  Bella was up and still in her swimsuit.  She walks across camp, down to the beach and into the water.  The laptop’s camera had seen her.  Crispin’s Dad had seen her.

Dad was agitated.

‘Crispin, - that girl!’

‘What girl? Crispin asked.

‘That young woman.  In the swimsuit.  She’s not a girl!’

‘Dad you’re not making sense.’

‘She’s a cyborg son.  She’s an artificial human!  There’s something about them here – right here.’  Crispin’s Dad was fumbling through files stored on the laptop’s hard drive.

‘Cyber-Sylph Technologies Incorporated.  That’s them!  They make ‘em.  That’s what she is!’

‘Okay, okay’, Crispin said, impatient to explain things to his Dad before the laptop ran out of power.

‘I could be like her!’ his Dad announced.

‘I don’t like to think of you in leopard print’, Crispin said.

‘No, no, I mean uploaded to a real body.  Get my life back.  Those folks could do it Crispin!  I really think they could!’

Crispin gave up and switched the laptop off for the night.  It was a dilemma.  Could he even contact Cyber-Sylph Technologies Incorporated and would they do what his Dad wanted?  And anyway, why had they decided to replicate the body of Massimo’s daughter, of all people?  And should he instead hand his Dad over to the government?

Crispin fell asleep, fully clothed, his arm around his laptop Dad.

In the morning, the laptop had gone.

…

There was a tiny green light flashing in the darkness.  Arnie had now been fully re-charged.  His night-vision eyes had recorded the events in the woods.

…

Crispin was having a kind of waking dream.  He is younger, and in the garden of his Dad’s house.  His Dad comes outside with a cup of tea for him, but Crispin says he doesn’t want it.  His Dad returns indoors, sad.  Crispin realises he’s missed an opportunity to connect with his father.  And there’s something else – something worse that he’d done, but had maybe blanked out from his memory.  Some deliberate act of cruelty towards his Dad.

Crispin was awake now, but his thoughts continued.

He had been a carer for his Dad in his later years.  He had obtained Power of Attorney for his father and then had him made a Ward of Court.  This had meant he could take medical decisions on his father’s behalf.  It was Crispin that had allowed the Zoe-Tech Corporation to take his father’s body when he’d passed.  Crispin hadn’t really believed they could achieve what they’d claimed – upload a human consciousness to a computer.  In fact he still wasn’t sure if it was really his Dad in the laptop – but if it wasn’t then it was a pretty elaborate hoax.  Either way though, Crispin had signed.  Crispin had sealed his father’s fate.

Finally, Crispin was fully awake.  He reached instinctively to his right, where he’d set the laptop the night before.  But the laptop had gone.

Crispin sat up quickly.  Everyone was standing around, looking a bit puzzled.  Only Massimo was active – preparing breakfast.

There was something odd though about Massimo’s daughter.  For one thing, she seemed to have borrowed some of her father’s clothes.  The trouser legs and waist were tied up with rope and the shirt hung down to her knees.  But the really odd thing was the way she was standing.  Legs set apart and hands on hips, she swayed slightly as she watched her father preparing breakfast.  She seemed very different from the woman in the swimsuit from the last couple of days.

But there was no time for such speculation.  Crispin jumped to his feet.

‘The laptop’s gone!’

Everyone turned to look at him.  Mrs. Simpson narrowed her eyes.  She too had noticed the strange changes in Bella.  She goes over to Arnie, still sat beneath his tree, unable to walk.  The robot blinked at her.

‘Did anything happen last night?’ she asked.

‘Yes.  Bella swam to the yacht.  Returned with two people.  They carry out some work.  Too dark to see.  Everyone sleep soundly then, including Bella.’

Everyone turned then to look accusingly at Bella, except her father, who continued preparing breakfast.  But Mrs. Simpson was still quizzing Arnie.

‘The laptop is missing Arnie.  And can you tell us how many people are here with us right now?’

‘Seven’, Arnie answered immediately.  But then he continues, ‘or six and perhaps one more.’

‘He’s not making any sense!’  It was Arkwright.  They tell him to stay quiet.

‘Who are the people, Arnie?’

Arnie responded.  ‘You, Arkwright, Storrier, Buencocinero, Beverage, Beverage.’  Arnie paused them, unsure.  He continued, ‘And perhaps a trace of another Buencocinero.’  Massimo stopped making breakfast then and turned to look at Arnie.  Everyone waited for Mrs. Simpson to ask more.

‘But surely there is only one Beverage – Crispin Beverage?’

‘Sam Beverage also’, Arnie replies.  ‘In cyborg body copied from Bella Buencocinero.’

Everyone was furiously trying to think this through.  Massimo’s mouth hung open as he stared at Bella – a Bella now revealed to be a cyborg copy of his daughter.  Yet with a trace of the real Bella?

‘And where is the laptop?’ Crispin interjected.

‘On ship’, Arnie replied.

‘On the yacht?’  Mrs. Simpson again.

‘No ship in space.  Far side of moon, but leaving.  Big ship.’

‘You say big ship.  A big space ship?  How big?’

‘Twelve wide, seven long, five high.’

‘Twelve by seven by five metres.  That doesn’t sound especially big.’

‘Miles.  Twelve miles, by seven miles by five high.’

There was a gasp at this, but Arkwright interjects.

‘That’s rubbish!  No one could even build a ship that big, let alone hide it!  How come we never heard of such a beast?’

‘Signals, data, has been faked – blocked’, Arnie said.

‘And now it can be detected?  How did that happen?’ Mrs. Simpson asked.

‘It was…’ Arnie began.  But of course he could not refer to himself.  He could not say – it was me.

‘The signal was corrected at this time.’

‘One last question, Arnie’, Mrs. Simpson said.  ‘Is the laptop not a person?  Is Sam Beverage not inside it?’

‘Laptop person.  Person not Sam Beverage.’

‘Some other person then, instead of Sam?’

‘Laptop person not person’, was Arnie’s confusing answer.

‘Can you explain?’

Insufficient data.’

‘Useless!’  It was Arkwright again.

‘We got to get them!’  It was Storrier.  ‘They must have the real Bella.  We got to get them, eh Massimo?’

But everyone was now focused on the Bella that was currently before them.  She shifted from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable.

‘Okay, okay, it’s me’, she said at last.  ‘It’s me, Sam.’

But the words came out in Bella’s clear high-pitched voice with its slight Italian accent.

‘Dad?’  It was Crispin.  ‘You knew about this?  You let it happen?’

‘No, no son.  I was switched off remember.  I was asleep in the laptop.  Then there was a lot of weird stuff like a nightmare and I wakes up like this.’  He looked down at Bella’s body, clad in Massimo’s clothes.

‘But you wanted it, didn’t you?’ Crispin pressed.  ‘You said so yourself.’

‘Look, I didn’t do it, okay!  They came in the night.  From the yacht, or the ship in space, or wherever.  It wasn’t me, I tell you!’

‘Is there something of my daughter there, inside you?’  It was Massimo.

‘No!  I don’t know!’  Sam/Bella was confused and annoyed.  She turned and walked off with long strides.  A very manly gait.

‘Enough of this!’  Storrier again.  ‘We’ve got to get up there!’  He pointed at the sky.  ‘Arnie, is there some way?’

‘Government shuttle.  In bunker.  Prime Minister’s shuttle.’

Crispin remembered the sounds of engines and the lights he’d seen on the night of the storm.

‘Bah!’  Arkwright.  ‘Like they’re going to let us borrow it!  And anyway, who the hell can fly a space shuttle?’

‘Know model.  Can fly.’

‘Arnie could fly it’, Mrs. Simpson said.  ‘We just need to get him there.’

Meanwhile Storrier had been looking around in the woods a little distance from the others.  He returned with three small cables.

‘I found these.’  He held up the cables.

Mrs. Simpson took them fro Storrier and carried them over to Arnie.  Arnie turned his head slightly and looked towards Sam/Bella who was now sitting alone some distance from the group.  Sam/Bella looked towards Arnie and absent-mindedly scratched at the back of her neck.

‘Keep them’, Arnie said.  ‘We may have need of them.’

‘Check the yacht’, said Mrs. Simpson.

It was Storrier – the best swimmer – who went over to the yacht.  But, as they’d expected, it was deserted and there was no clue as to who might have been aboard.

…

They all helped fashion a kind of makeshift litter to carry Arnie.  Mrs. Simpson walked out in front.  The four men took a corner of the litter each and Sam/Bella followed on behind.  Actually her cyborg body could have carried Arnie single-handed, but no-one thought to suggest this and perhaps Sam/Bella did not know her own strength.

Before long they reached the field where the government bunker was hidden.  Before they even reached the door however, the Prime Minister’s butler, Smithson had appeared at the top of the sloping field in front of them.  He did not say anything, just looked in their direction.  The Prime Minister herself followed on behind.  She was unsteady on her feet.

‘We want the shuttle!’  It was Arkwright.

‘No!’ everyone said in unison, trying to cut him off.

Mrs. Simpson advanced up the slope whilst the others stayed put.  She took the Prime Minister awkwardly in one hand and placed her other hand gently on the Prime Minister’s shoulder.  The Prime Minister looked at her in rather a confused way.  The butler made no move to intervene.  All three then walked off towards the door of the bunker.

…

No-one spoke whilst Mrs. Simpson was away – they just shuffled around, feeling uncomfortable with each other.  Crispin saw Sam/Bella crouch down and examine something on the ground – a small flower.  Sam/Bella brushed a strand of hair away from her face and it seemed a very feminine gesture.  Crispin felt worse.

…

‘We must find out what’s happening!’  It was Arkwright.  ‘I’m going up there to see what’s keeping them.’

‘Okay’, said Storrier, ‘I’m with you.’

‘I’ll go too,’ said Massimo.

Crispin stayed behind with his Dad and the prostrate Arnie.

‘There’s a real you then’, said Crispin, after a while.  ‘I mean a real Bella.  Do you sense anything of her?’

‘We don’t know that for sure’, said Sam/Bella.  ‘It’s just conjecture on his part.’  She pointed at Arnie, but Arnie did not respond.

Sam/Bella looked distressed.  Her shoulders slumped in a deep sigh.

‘I can’t stand this, son.  Can’t stand it at all.’

‘I thought it was what you wanted!’ Crispin replied, thinking of their conversation the previous day.  ‘A real body!  Proper freedom!’

‘No, not like this!  How can I live as a young woman?  It’s just too weird!’

‘Solution present itself.’  It was Arnie.  ‘Take this application.’

‘Eh?’  both Crispin and his Dad said in unison.

‘Adapt this iteration.’  Arnie’s meaning dawned on them at last.  Of course, he could never have just said, transfer into me.

‘You think that would work?’ asked Crispin.

‘Have cables’, was Arnie’s only response.

Sam/Bella looked desperate.  ‘Anything’, he said, ‘I’d try anything.’

Even as she spoke she was raising the hair at the back of her neck.  She leant over towards Arnie.

‘You will have to connect the cables Crispin’, said Arnie.

So once again the burden of responsibility fell to Crispin.  If his Dad was going to perish in this operation, he thought, then it was more or less down to him.  Reluctantly he pulled out the cables that Mrs. Simpson had stashed away in Arnie’s litter.  Crispin plugged them into his Dad’s neck and into the side of Arnie’s face.

The fake Bella seemed to go to sleep and meanwhile some extra green lights started flashing furiously on Arnie’s head.

‘Wow!’  Arnie’s voice sounded a lot less mechanical.

‘Wow, wow!’

‘What?’ said Crispin.

‘I think it’s worked son!  I think I’m in!’

‘How does it feel?’

‘Wow!  Downloading an update patch son!’

‘You’ve got the internet?’

‘Yes, it’s still there, if you know where to look!’

There were whirring sounds from Sam/Arnie’s metallic body.  More small lights came on.  Crispin’s Dad lifted his arms, then sat up.  Then stood up.  He towered over Crispin.

‘Wow!’

‘Stop saying that!  I don’t like this Dad.  You’re not yourself.’

‘Oh, YOU don’t like it, eh?  Well, what about me?  Have you never thought about what I might want – shoved around from body to body like a virus.’

‘You’re talking crazy Dad.  This is too dangerous.’

‘Agh, you always was a coward.  A woos.  Just a little creep looking after himself whilst you pretended to be holier-than-thou!  Well, listen, what about all that therapy you had, way back?  Didn’t do much good did it?  You’re still just the cowardly sneak you always was!’

Crispin stood up, his face red with anger and pain.  His Dad is still towering over him in Arnie’s powerful metallic body.  A light rain had started to fall and it pinged off Arnie’s metalwork.  Crispin could find no words.

But then, there’s a distant wailing sound like a siren.  Sam/Arnie looked around.

‘A signal’, he announced.  ‘That spaceship Arnie had been on about.  It’s broken cover!’

Crispin though was not listening.  He could only see red mist – stung so deeply by his father’s words.  He turned and walked away across the fields, towards the shore.

‘Son!  Where are you going?  Come back!  I didn’t mean it!’

Crispin did not reply or turn around.  He reached the beach and walked straight into the water.  He started to swim – a steady, determined stroke through the strengthening rain.

The others returned from the Prime Minister’s bunker.

‘We got it!’ Storrier announced.

‘Arnie, you can stand!’ said Mrs. Simpson.

‘Where’s Crispin,’ asked Massimo.

‘Great!’ said Sam/Arnie.  ‘I can fly us to the ship, no doubt about it.  It’s broken cover though – headed out from the dark side of the moon – so we must be quick.’

‘But where’s Crispin?’ Massimo asked again.

Everyone looked startled, but then they noticed the fake Bella curled up at the back of the litter.

‘What happened to her?’ asked Arkwright.

Sam/Arnie replied.  ‘Just sleeping hopefully.  No time to explain.  But look, Arnie might have been right about some connection to Massimo in all this.  Perhaps whoever has that ship really does have the real Bella, and perhaps she’s there as a lure to get her Dad to chase after her.’

‘Yes, it’s about Massimo somehow.  But didn’t you just refer to Arnie, as if he’s not you?’  It was Mrs. Simpson.

‘I’m Sam now’, said Sam/Arnie.  ‘We transferred.’

‘Not again!’  Arkwright.

‘Never mind that now’, said Massimo.  ‘Arnie’s right.  It’s likely as not me they’re after – why, I’ve no clue.  I’ll stay here.’

They all agreed to this and set off, carrying the sleeping or unconscious fake Bella in the litter they’d built for Arnie.  No-one was sure whether or not it was worth taking her – if there was any point in trying to revive a cyborg.  But perhaps she was a key that could unlock things, if they made it to the space ship even then departing from the moon.

…

Crispin was still in a red haze of anger.  He swam steadily – cutting a clean, straight line through the water.  He thought back to that strange therapy session he’d had as a young man – where he had learnt that we are all a combination of characters.  There had even been names for Crispin’s alternative selves – Sergio, Jam.  But who was the pragmatic one?  Reg.  That was him.  Reg.

The bay – now greatly widened by the flooding of the last few days – contained strong cross-currents.  Crispin was beginning to feel the effect of such a current, pulling him off his straight course.  Luckily, the current was dragging him towards land.  He began to gather his senses.  Soon enough, he thought, there could be a strong current pulling him out to sea instead of landward.  He thought of his pragmatic self.  He saw a floating pile of construction timber and headed toward it.  He grabbed onto the nearest plank of wet wood and managed to pull himself partly out of the water.

The rain was coming down heavily by then and grey clouds had gathered.  It was nearly dark, despite the early hour.  Through sheets of water, Crispin saw what looked like a searchlight.  There was the thunder of an engine.  Some dark shape was approaching out of the rain.  Smaller lights flashed on its fuselage as it drew nearer.  The searchlight seemed to have picked out Crispin and kept a wavering marker on his place in the water.  What looked like a rope-ladder was thrown out from the underside of the craft.  It was right above Crispin and its rotorblades made sweeping waves of the water below.  Crispin clung tightly to the wood, but then made a grab for the rope-ladder.

…

‘He’s got it!’ It was the co-pilot of the helicopter – an American military craft, recently diverted by the strange news that an enormous spaceship had miraculously appeared within the moon’s orbit, despite no previous warning of its presence.

‘Can he get up here himself?  We gotta hurry.’  This was the pilot.

‘I think he’ll make it sir.’

‘Good.  Go back and help him on board.  We’ve gotta get to the base, pronto.’

‘OK.’

Crispin clambered aboard at last – having climbed perilously up the ladder whilst the helicopter had turned above him and then started to accelerate away to the West.  He lay gasping on the floor of the chopper, deafened by the noise, but grateful of the rescue.  Someone in uniform hovered above him, shutting hatches and stowing away the rope-ladder.

‘Where?  Where we going?’ Crispin spluttered at last.

‘Naval base’, the man replied.  ‘American naval base.  We got ourselves a spaceship we’re gonna nuke.’

Never ones for understatement, the Americans, thought Crispin, then fell immediately asleep.

…

The starship – most ambitious of all Cyber-Sylph Technologies Incorporated many successful projects – seemed to be hanging in space.  In reality, many small engines were firing to align the craft into a looping Earth orbit whist also making sure that the complex gyroscopic mechanisms that kept its central portion turning would not get out of synch.  The starship could use both the moon’s and Earth’s gravity to help catapult it into a wide loop, and perhaps that would buy its occupants some time to consider their next move.  All the while, the occupants know that many governments back on Earth were making their own calculations – trying to calculate if there were any Earth-bound weapons that could reach the starship – given the correct calculations.

…

The real Bella – Massimo’s daughter – was held captive on board.  In fact her captors had paid her very little attention over the few days she had been there.  They’d just locked her in a room and brought her meals from time to time.  They seemed not to be anticipating any trouble from her.  She had assumed the whole thing might be about her father, but even now she was not sure.  She knew she was on a spaceship, but that was about all.  And the spaceship was unbelievably vast – a great arc, like a small Swiss valley, curved away into the distance, with a ‘sky’ of dark blue above.  Yes, the depth of air in the vessel was such that the sky had a colour and was not just the black of space.  The sun blinked in and out of the ship’s fields, orchards and forests as the central core turned around – creating artificial gravity as it spun.  There were complex mechanisms hanging in the sky, which sometimes blinked on in a dazzling array of lights.  There were ponds and tanks filled with fish.  All this Bella had seen in the few minutes she’d had between arriving and being taken to her locked room.

So what was it about?  Were her captors just wanting to hang about out here whilst the Earth destroyed itself below – then maybe go back?  Or were their plans even more ambitious than this?  Could those arrays of lights actually allow the flora to grow without the sun?  Were they looking to head for another star?

Bella did not know of her doppelganger – the fake Bella that had met her father back on Earth.  But over the past few days she’d had strange feelings and strange dreams.  It was like she somehow had a sister she’d never met.  It was like she was longing for a friend that she did not know.

…

Dreghorn – the starship’s commander, and CEO of Cyber-Sylph Technologies Incorporated – was very angry indeed.  But he did not speak.  Instead he puffed on his cigar.  Anger seeped from him as thick and foul as his cigar smoke.  All the while he recounted the chain of disasters in his plans.  The starship contained millions of plants, but needed someone who knew what they were doing and could turn those plants into reasonable meals for a very long-term future!  AI and robots just did not suffice for the job!  So Dreghorn and his cronies had identified Massimo Buencocinero in a small town on the East coast of Scotland.  But when they had gone to capture him he had been away.  They captured his daughter instead.  Dreghorn had only just resisted the temptation to torture her – she was just his kind of victim – but best not damage the goods until Daddy comes a-looking.

They’d also located a special laptop.  Once again, AI could not help with the vast difficulties they would face if they were to navigate successfully across interstellar space.  The laptop, it seemed, might help – make their future voyage a whole lot easier.

They had located Massimo Buencocinero after a great storm that had wreaked havoc along all the UK’s Eastern seaboard – and indeed much of Europe.  Coincidentally, they discovered that he was with the keeper of the laptop – one Crispin Beverage.  Perhaps that had been their only piece of good luck, Dreghorn mused, as he chewed on the end of his cigar.  Because it was certainly downhill from there on!  They sent in the substitute Bella – copied from Massimo’s daughter.

The yacht that had originally been sent to capture Massimo Buencocinero managed to moor just offshore from where they’d found Buencocinero and Beverage.  Dreghorn sent in his cronies to steal the laptop.

Then, the stupidest mistake of all!  Those fools that had been sent for the laptop – they only go and upload the thing that made the laptop special, it’s onboard consciousness, into Bella!  ‘Thought it might help her seem more realistic’, they’d said!  Idiots!  And there was something weird about the cyborg Bella, Dreghorn had begun to realise.  Those strange conversations with his men on the yacht.  Had she – it – actually persuaded them to do what they had done?  Was she more than she seemed?

So, the only plan left was to lure Massimo Buencocinero to them – somehow!  Surely, if he came to learn of the starship and knew that they had his real daughter, he’d try to rescue her?  But that, of course, meant he’d have to get himself a spacecraft!  Surely a very difficult task, what with the world on the brink of disaster!  And it also meant that somehow he’d have to bring the fake Bella with him, so they could transfer the consciousness that had been in the laptop, ot just use it via the fake Bella herself.

It all seemed so unlikely.  Perhaps they’d be best just sailing off without these special helpers and take their chances in interstellar space, before the world fell into ruin?  First thing though – break cover. Buencocinero would hear of them soon enough, one way or another.

Dreghorn’s reverie was interrupted.

‘Incoming vessel!’

‘Occupants?’ he barked in response.

‘Three humans, a droid, and the substitute Bella.’

…

Dreghorn is not, of course, the commander’s real name.  In fact, he is one of a number of strange and unique genetically altered humans who share some important characteristics with a rare species of moth.  Dreghorn is the evil brother of 19 other such individuals.  The rest turned out good – or weak, as Dreghorn saw it.  Dreghorn, by contrast, is the bad apple – the evil twin.

…

Read Dreghorn’s back-story in ‘The Ghosts of Sooz’ and the story of his moth heritage in ‘Moth Love’.  Read Crispin’s back-story in ‘The Transformation of Crispin Beverage’.  Read Massimo’s back-story in ‘The Accountant’. 

The story continues in ‘Lucky’, ‘Massimo and Sooz’, ‘Dome 39’ and ‘Venus Rendezvous’.