The Warm Machine Read online

  ‘What question?’

  The Watcher tilted his head. ‘You know what question. The one you have been asking ever since you were given your date.’

  What if his date was wrong? Scott had thought it, had dreamt it – many times. But it had never happened before. In the ten years since the dates had been revealed, not one of them had been wrong.

  The rain stopped and the warmth returned, a heavy cloak falling over Manchester.

  The Watcher was heading for the station, his stride confident, reassuring Scott he had a purpose, even if Scott had no idea what it was.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Scott asked.

  ‘Mathew has agreed to investigate. He wants to speak to you.’

  ‘With me?’

  The Watcher, now several paces ahead, nodded. ‘Yes, you.’

  ‘This is all going to make sense, right?’

  The Watcher ignored him.

  In ten years, Scott had spoken a handful of words to Watchers. After what had happened to Rebecca, and Craig, Scott did everything he could to stay out of their way. But this Watcher was different; he was so sure of himself, adamant that what he was doing was the right thing.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Scott asked.

  The Watcher stroked his chin but didn’t speak.

  ‘You had a name once.’

  The Watcher’s pace slowed. ‘We become Watchers. Names are not important.’

  ‘Where’s Mathew?’ Scott asked.

  ‘We need to catch a train.’

  ‘I guessed that. Where to?’

  ‘Birmingham.’

  Scott stopped and shook his head. ‘We can’t.’

  An expression of frustration flashed across the Watcher’s face.

  ‘You’re Chosen, right? You’ll be fine.’

  ‘You should have told me.’ Scott recalled the things he’d heard about Birmingham. Unlike Manchester or London, Birmingham had not embraced innovation and progress. It ceased to acknowledge the future. Instead, it had wantonly returned to the old ways.

  ‘You wouldn’t have come this far with me.’

  ‘No,’ Scott said. ‘If my date’s wrong, how do I know it’s safe?’

  The Watcher’s expression changed. ‘So you believe me?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘So what is there to be afraid of? You have a whole year.’

  ‘I’m not afraid.’

  The Watcher glanced the way they were headed, at the lights glowing beneath two drones in the distance. ‘I think we’re being followed.’

  ‘Followed?’

  The Watcher nodded. ‘It could be nothing. But to be safe, we need to keep moving.’

  Scott checked back the way they’d come.

  ‘If you go back,’ the Watcher said, ‘Gabriel’s Watchers will find you. I promise. Come with me and we’ll discover the truth.’

  Scott watched the drones’ lights circle back.

  ‘Scott?’

  Scott stared down at the ground. He no longer saw any logic in the concept of choice. There was something holding him back, stopping him from doing what the Watcher wanted. He didn’t trust Watchers. But he didn’t trust himself either. If there was such a thing as choosing, with what had happened, he wanted no part of it. It was better to give in to someone else’s certainty. He pushed past the Watcher, towards the grand entrance to Piccadilly Station.

  Three

  The more time Scott spent in the train station, the more the memories of what happened to Rebecca consumed him. He’d not been in a station since it happened and was frustrated that he was forced to be there, as though the Watcher was punishing him. The tickets he’d bought and now held were the same as those in his wallet, apart from the date and destination.

  As they waited on the platform, two Watchers in their long coats walked from the platform into the café. They nodded to the Watcher accompanying Scott.

  ‘You know them?’ Scott asked.

  ‘We have met.’ The Watcher side-stepped to keep an eye on the two other Watchers through the café window. ‘The sooner we speak to Mathew, the better.’

  ‘What will Mathew do?’

  As if waking, the Watcher shook his head. ‘He will know what to do.’ He reached into his coat pocket and took out a small silver flask. He unscrewed the lid and drank from it, his hand trembling.

  ‘I didn’t think you Watchers drank.’

  ‘We don’t,’ the Watcher said, returning the flask to his pocket.

  Scott’s thoughts slowed down, his eyes fixed on the tracks. Only hours before, he’d learned he had at least another year. The countdown wouldn’t have begun for months: another spring, another summer… But now his date was unclear. And so were his thoughts. He clenched his fist so his date was hidden.

  ‘We can travel together,’ the Watcher said, ‘but when we get to Birmingham, we can’t be seen together. There will be someone waiting for you. She will make herself known.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Gabriel won’t be looking for you yet. Freya will meet you and show you to me. I’ll be waiting.’

  Scott nodded and followed the Watcher onto the platform.

  The train arrived, screeching and grinding to a halt beneath the glaring yellow lights. The carriage they boarded was empty apart from an elderly lady beside the door to the next carriage along.

  The Watcher sat opposite Scott, facing the window. Within minutes, the train was moving.

  It was dark outside. All Scott could see was his own reflection in the window, repeated tens, hundreds of times, moving upwards and away into the distance. On the glass, raindrops moved right to left, the opposite direction to the way they were travelling. The lights went out inside the train and he saw the landscape outside.

  ‘Why Birmingham?’ Scott asked.

  The Watcher’s eyes widened, then refocused. ‘The Watchers have a hard time in Birmingham. The dense smog means the Chosen are trickier to monitor. Also, although it’s certainly not lawless, Birmingham is a place in which, if you so choose, you can lose yourself easily. To live there is to be as free as you can be these days.’

  ‘Free? From Watchers?’

  The Watcher nodded. ‘From everything. The government, surveillance, drones…’

  ‘How many Chosen are there in Birmingham?’

  ‘Over a thousand, maybe more.’

  Scott had always avoided the other Chosen. He had no idea that there had been another one – Jason – living in the same building, several doors down the hallway. There were many people who had revelled in the fame it brought, the notoriety. But not Scott.

  ‘Birmingham is a huge city,’ the Watcher said. ‘Almost a different country in its own right these days.’

  ‘What happens when we find Mathew?’

  The Watcher’s eyes flickered. ‘I’m not sure. I had to move quickly. I’m working this out as we go.’

  ‘That’s reassuring.’

  ‘You want reassurance?’

  ‘It’s just … I get the feeling there’s no going back.’

  ‘Do you want to go back?’ The Watcher stared intently.

  ‘That’s my point. What if I wanted to?’

  ‘Gabriel and his Watchers will find you.’

  ‘You haven’t told me what he’d do to me.’

  The Watcher arranged his coat over his legs. ‘Gabriel? I don’t know.’

  Without thinking, Scott glanced at his own hand. He’d had the tattoo for so long that the idea his date was no longer set struck him as careless.

  ‘Having a date is both a privilege and a curse,’ the Watcher said, as if reading his thoughts. ‘We understand this. But what I’ve learned means you’re in danger.’

  What had felt like liberation when Scott discovered his date might be wrong now felt ominous. He, like everyone else, would wake each morning not knowing if he would survive the day.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ Scott asked.

  The Watcher shifted in his seat and checked the length of the
carriage. ‘I want to know the truth.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I believe He will return and the 144,000 will lead us to Him and to the kingdom of Heaven.’

  The train emerged from a tunnel. The Watcher’s eyes drooped with tiredness.

  ‘You really believe that?’ Scott asked in a low voice. ‘You really believe in the Second Coming?’

  Facing the window, the Watcher inched forward. ‘Take a look around. At the world. The Rapture is on its way.’

  ‘And you will be taken?’ Scott asked.

  ‘The Chosen will lead the way and shepherd those who are worthy into the kingdom of Heaven.’

  The Watcher, in the short time Scott had known him, had been persuasive enough to convince Scott to leave everything and travel with him. But now, listening to him talk of a kingdom of Heaven, Scott wanted to laugh – not only at the Watcher’s foolishness, but at his own, for going with him.

  The Watcher turned from the window to Scott. ‘You think I’m crazy?’

  ‘Why would the AI offer that number of dates? One hundred and forty-four thousand? Doesn’t it seem a little convenient?’

  ‘It is His will. His call to humanity.’

  ‘How do you know it wasn’t down to someone like you?’ Scott asked. ‘Somebody religious, who decided on releasing that number of dates?’

  ‘Maybe it was,’ the Watcher said. He rested his hands in his lap. ‘I, like Mathew, am not an absolutist. I want to understand the truth, whatever it might be.’

  ‘If you ask me, someone saw what the AI was capable of doing and used it to set the dates. They knew some people would see the dates as a prophecy. And how do you know people aren’t dying on their dates because they and their Watchers believe that day to be so definite, they fulfil that prophecy? Like Jason, on the roof. He couldn't live with it any longer.’

  ‘I was not there for him,’ the Watcher said. ‘I was there for you.’

  ‘But don’t you see – he saw you and thought it was his time? That’s why he did it.’

  The Watcher shook his head. ‘He died because it was his time.’

  ‘Really? Seconds after midnight, he walked up to the roof and threw himself off? Knowing his date was why he did what he did. You have to see that.’

  ‘There is certainly a paradox at work now the dates are known. But this paradox is also a part of His plan.’

  Scott shook his head. Every discussion he’d had with those who believed ended in the same way: with him shaking his head in frustration.

  They sat in silence for some time, rocked by the movement of the carriage.

  The Watcher spoke quietly. ‘I know you’re not a believer.’

  Scott wasn’t sure what to say.

  ‘I’ve watched you for some time.’

  ‘Well, that’s what you do.’

  ‘But doing nothing, hiding away, is a choice too. You know that, don’t you?’ The Watcher swallowed, and his lips mouthed words, as though practising what he was about to say. ‘But it was not your choosing that resulted in your wife’s death.’

  Again, Scott couldn’t speak. No one had mentioned Rebecca since the day she died, and now the Watcher had done so twice.

  ‘You blame yourself for what happened,’ the Watcher said. ‘But you are not to blame. Any more than I am to blame for that man on the roof.’

  ‘Jason,’ Scott said. ‘His name was Jason.’

  The Watcher leaned his head against the headrest. ‘Yes. Jason.’

  ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘One thing I have come to realise,’ the Watcher said, ‘is that, whether or not you believe in free will, there are so many things that could – and do – happen, that our choices, because they are wrapped up with everyone else’s, feel irrelevant.’

  Scott crossed his arms.

  The Watcher sat forward in his seat, his face soft, his eyes open and round. ‘But they’re not. And to blame yourself for what happened is a choice you make every second.’

  Scott shook his head. ‘What happened to her was my fault.’

  ‘But if that date on your hand is right, it proves otherwise? That’s what you wish for?’

  Scott touched the tattoo with a finger. ‘If this date is true, then whatever I do has nothing to do with decision-making.’

  ‘And have you taken solace in the fact that what happened to Rebecca was not your doing? You had no choice?’

  ‘Please,’ Scott said. ‘Don’t talk about her.’

  ‘Or to help your friend? Craig?’

  ‘I was too late. There was nothing I could do.’

  ‘But not the boy?’ the Watcher asked. ‘You chose to do that.’

  Scott winced at the mention of the boy. He still saw the boy’s face at night, in his dreams. And then there was the rogue Watcher’s dispassionate anger, so sure that what he was doing was right. Dearil — Scott had never seen, not even in the Watchers, a more vehement, unquestioning faith.

  ‘Everything that happened with the rogue Watcher was inevitable,’ Scott said. ‘It wasn’t a choice.’

  ‘But it was. You chose to do what you did to Dearil to save the boy.’

  ‘It was not a choice. I couldn’t let him hurt the boy.’

  ‘Which makes your choice a just one – a choice that says something about who you are.’

  They sat in silence until the Watcher shifted in his seat. ‘Paul. My name is Paul.’

  Scott nodded gently. ‘Do you know?’ he asked after a short while.

  Paul’s eyebrows met in the middle. ‘Do I know?’

  Scott raised his left hand. ‘The year. I’ve been told the Watchers know the year.’

  Paul shook his head. ‘I’m not sure anyone knows that.’

  ‘The AI must know,’ Scott said.

  ‘Yes,’ Paul said. ‘But when Watchers are assigned to the Chosen, it is important that the year is not known.’

  ‘Why?’

  Paul appeared confused. ‘Why? Well, then, free will really would be gone.’

  ‘I told you, free will vanished with the AI.’

  Paul leaned forward and peered up at the sky through the window, then rested his head against the seat. Scott did the same. When he looked back at the Watcher, he was sleeping.

  Scott’s attention was caught by someone standing next to him. It was the old woman, the only other person in the carriage. She was tall, her white hair tied up in a bun on the top of her head.

  ‘Hello?’ Scott said, leaning away from her.

  Her eyes shifted from his face to his hand, which was rolled into a fist. Slowly, her hand reached for his. He didn’t stop her and didn’t know why not. She opened his fist.

  Paul was asleep.

  The old woman’s fingers were long and thin, but strong. She revealed the numbers on the palm of his hand and stared at them. She sighed then cleared her throat. ‘“Turning and turning in the widening gyre, the falcon cannot hear the falconer.”’

  Scott stared at his hand, held in hers.

  ‘He is coming,’ she said, touching Scott’s hand with two fingers, as though reading his palm. She scanned his body until she was once again peering into his eyes. ‘He is coming.’ She nodded, folded back his fingers and walked back to her seat.

  Now and then, because so many people believed, Scott had considered he might be the crazy one. Those who believed did so with a conviction he found a constant challenge to his own scepticism. Sometimes he thought maybe it was an innate immunity some people had, one that could never be broken down. At other times, like with the old woman, he saw a peace, or a kind of surrender, that he envied in those who believed. Now and then, Scott wished he could give in and believe. But it was not in him; he was not made that way.

  Four

  Scott stood slightly behind a woman who was talking to one of the assistants at the counter. He pretended to examine the phones on display while listening in to their conversation. There was something familiar about her – and yet, at the same time, he was sure he’d have remembered
seeing her before.

  She was swapping phones, turning them over in her hand, listening to the assistant: a large, bearded man whose shirt was far too big for him.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘I’ve had the last one for nearly five years. It did everything I needed it to.’

  ‘These are next generation,’ the assistant replied. ‘To call them phones is an insult.’

  The woman nodded, then glanced at Scott. She was pretty: short dark hair, bright eyes. Scott pressed the screen on one of the display models, pretending not to have seen her.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said to the assistant.

  ‘Let me leave you with these for a moment,’ the assistant said. ‘Have a play, see which one feels right. I need to make a quick phone call and then I’ll be back. Have a seat if you’d like.’ He pointed to a nest of orange and yellow cushioned stools beside the counter, then sneaked out of a back doorway into what looked like a pokey office.

  Scott felt the woman staring at him.

  ‘I’m useless at making decisions,’ she said.

  Scott pretended to notice her for the first time. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Know anything about these?’ she asked, holding up two phones. ‘Any good?’

  Scott scanned the shop, then edged closer. ‘I know a little.’

  ‘I can’t help feel that whatever they tell me is all about selling. I want them to be honest, you know?’

  ‘That’s not going to happen.’

  ‘No, I guess not.’ She lowered the phones and examined one, then the other.

  Scott reached for one. ‘This uses machine learning.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means, when you use it, it learns all about you.’

  She screwed up her face. ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that.’

  ‘You get used to it. It learns your daily routine, starts giving you reminders, lets you know when there are deals and offers you would want to know about at the supermarket. It learns the sort of news you follow, the people you enjoy interacting with. It even works out your weaknesses with food and helps keep you healthy by prompting you to make healthier choices.’