Downtime - Marc Platt [44]
This compassion was very persuasive. Sarah did her best to resist. ‘Where is he then?’ she said. ‘Why can’t I see him?’
‘The Chancellor sees no one. He has taken the Path of Truth.’ The light of the pyramid was catching in her eyes.
Sarah thought back to the documents she had brought with her. In the context of her present situation, one name stood out. ‘Victoria Waterfield,’ she said. ‘That’s you on the list, isn’t it? At the London Event?’
The result was immediate. The Vice Chancellor was plainly startled.
‘You must have been very young then,’ Sarah added.
Victoria nodded. She had recovered her composure startlingly quickly. A teasing smile spread over her face.
‘Considering I was born over a hundred and forty years ago.’
Sarah half laughed. ‘Peanuts, I used to know someone.. She cut herself short, embarrassed and confused. ‘No. Sorry, I mean... you don’t look a day over...’ She mugged and saw to her relief that Victoria was giggling too.
‘But I don’t feel a day over...’ She mimicked Sarah’s grimace and they both burst out laughing together. They regarded each other for several moments, caught in a sudden unfathomable rapport, even affection. Sarah wanted to ask her to ring for some tea, then they could talk properly.
Victoria’s smile suddenly faded. Her eyes were drawn back to the screen.
Sarah followed and saw that the text was endlessly printing: Find the Locus
Find the Locus
Find the Locus
To the side was the image of the Brigadier.
Victoria’s hand gave a little reflex jump. Her fingers seemed to reach out of their own volition to touch Sarah’s face.
Sarah jumped back with a gasp. The air was suddenly cold.
Victoria’s voice had become cracked and hard as if someone or something else was using it. ‘We all have pain to face, Sarah. But the Revelation will be soon.’
Startled by the sudden change, Sarah began to edge away from the desk. She picked up her bag and left the office.
Victoria shuddered. The voice in her throat croaked out again, reiterating its demand: ‘Find the Locus.’
Victoria clutched at the sides of her desk. She gasped for air, her head pushing up to stare at nothing at all or something she saw in the ether. Her own voice, no longer usurped, whispered in fear. ‘Daniel!’
The whole corridor pumped with the beat. It was pounding into Danny’s head as he ran. His legs were going in time with it. He tried to stumble, tried to break the rhythm. Time was slowing up. He was nearly flying already.
Anthony, that’s who he had to reach. The DJ would listen.
He’d been complaining in the cafeteria the other day. He’d been there a month and he wanted to know what was going on.
Danny had listened to him then, now he could listen back. He had contacts. He wasn’t sucked into the system yet. He’d know how to reach the Brigadier.
‘ You’re jacked into N Treble U from New World. The people with the solution. ’
That was Anthony now. The beat went on, but Danny managed to career against the wall and slither to a halt in a doorway. It was a shock to realize that the beat wasn’t feeding directly into his brain.
A bouncy jingle burst out of the speaker above his head.
Danny eased open the door a crack and peered inside.
‘ If you can’t get your head round life, no hassle. There’s over 300 different courses here at New World. So there’s got to be a right one for you. ’
The room inside hummed: a deep growl like the chanting of Tibetan monks. It was the meditation hour. Row upon row of desks reached to the back of the computer room. Each desk had a terminal and at each terminal sat a Chilly, cap and headphones on, intent on his or her input. All neat rows of neat little automatic people. All with identical graphic patterns swirling on neat little screens.
Danny shuddered. His fingers were stinging where the web had clung on. With one concerted movement, every student in the room turned to stare at the crack in the doorway. Their eyes were ice cold, unseeing.
Danny ducked back and started to run again. He reached a stairway and saw two Chillys making their way up.