There but for The_ A Novel - Ali Smith [34]
Oh, she says.
She puts down her glass. She looks a little affronted.
Everybody is sitting down now except the woman whose house it is, Jan. Mark goes round the table naming everybody to himself. Start with Caroline on his right, then Hugo, uh, Hannah the blonde, then Miles. Then, is it Eric, the grey man? then Bernice, then the child, then the space where Jan will sit, then Terence, then directly on Mark’s left what’s his name, reedy man, microdrone, Richard.
Richard is the person Mark most hoped he wouldn’t be put beside, apart from Caroline obviously (duh). Through in the sitting room, all through drinks, Richard had talked about his job.
Well, it’s police we’re doing the main selling to at the moment, he said. Though we’re pretty much open to bona fide offers from anywhere.
Loves his work, Rich, Hugo said.
What’s not to love? This thing markets itself, Richard said. Hardly like work at all.
What’s a microdrone? Bernice had said.
Richard then described the versatile smallness, the engine size, the battery voltage, the weight that means they’re not illegal and don’t need clearance from Civil Aviation, the adaptability, the camera type, the HD quality, the facial recognition range (fifty-five yard), the mph (fifteen, in this particular model, though others are even more phenomenally nippy), the flying range (five hundred yard), the flying time (thirty-minute, we’re working on that), the relative silence, the way they can be operated from inside a van or even in some cases from home, the training time (fifteen-minute) involved for the first-time user, and the way that even if some yob wings them with an air rifle they’ll still function pretty well all said and done.
What he hasn’t said is how cute they are, Richard’s partner Hannah said. I want one for our boys. Like little toys.
Actually classed as toys, Richard said. Which is why they don’t need clearance. Fantastic for football matches, protest meetings, you name it.
And then there’s Project Anubis, eh, Rich? Hugo said.
Yes, Richard said, well, no point in being naïve about it, it’s a nasty old world out there and it strikes me all sensible people will feel the same way as I do about it and if they don’t they ought to. And what I always say is, what a relief it’ll be when it comes to conflict, combat, and it’s robots who’ll do the work and so on. Efficiency is one fantastic thing, but the psychological liberation is a whole other massively important knock-on effect. To kill without actually having to. Hand to hand combat, gone in the wink of an eye.
I don’t understand, Terence said.
I always think when we have this conversation, and we have it every time we all have supper together, Hugo said, that it’d be a lot more useful if our great minds were put to the task of sorting our genetics out. I’m only forty-five but I’m telling you, it’s making me think, being forty-five.
Well, as long as something’s making you think, Bernice said.
Touché, Hugo said.
Project what did you call it? Bernice said. Anubis?
Yeah, Anubis, it’s just one of several levels of drone development, Richard said. Obviously the targeting specificity has been in development all along, alongside the surveillance aspect, and drones are already used widely in conflict situations. But right now we’re emphasizing the surveillance aspect for the domestic market.
Project Anubis, Terence said.
Anubis is the ancient Egyptian god of the dead, Bernice said.
Is it? Richard said. Ah. Right.
Jackal-headed, Bernice said.
And they look so like toys, Hannah said and looked delighted. Unbelievable!
Unbelievable, Bernice said.
Nasty old world out there, Richard said. No point in pretending otherwise.
The Bayoudes exchanged glances.
Now at the table, while they wait for the first course and Mark sits and worries about what he’s going to do with the wine in front of him, microdrone man asks him what he does for a living.
I’m a picture researcher, currently, Mark says.
Right, Richard says.
For BBC magazines. You know, thematically stranded in association with programmes and so on, Mark