13 The Big House

"So Dad, tell me," I asked, sitting back in his favourate chair, "when exactly, did you start lying?"

I fingered idly at the worn leather as he failed to reply. It was an old chair, from before the Chaos, or so he had told me - lifting me onto his knee, and telling me the story of its origin, a probably fictional story that I, a wide-eyed child had lapped up.

"Come on Dad," I called out jovially, "You must remember?" I gave him some more time and continued gazing around the familiar room. Before me, and behind Dad, was the house's most unusual feature: The window - an unbroken expanse of thick, tinted glass that ran the length of the room, revealing a dim view of the garden under the dome, and beyond that, far beyond the geodetic frame, the domes of New London, the noon sunlight glinting off their spherical surfaces. So many memories, now so tainted with hate.

When I was a child, and had stood on the hills of the Chilterns to gaze across at those domes, they had seemed, from my young perspective, to be so far away. But when I had grown, and moved to New London, that distance seemed even greater. I could not even remember when I'd last returned here. Once Mum had died, there didn't seem to be any point. If I needed to contact Dad, I could either wait til he got to work, or use the vid-phone. It must have been years, since before Jenny left in fact.

"When Dad?" I queried calmly, letting my head tip back against the cool leather of the chair's high back. Late 20th century, he had told me, evoking images of a time so long ago. When I thought of him, and of those childhood days, it was this chair I remembered. I could see him now, his powerful bulk wedged between the padded arm-rests, a comp-pad balanced on his knees, the blond coder nanny bustling me away, and telling me not to disturb my father when he was working.

I remembered the last time I had been in this room, maybe four years ago. He had sat here then, sitting back as I outlined a new marketing strategy, his faithful alsation, Max, by his side. Max, who was always by him. Max, who would greet my at BioMagic with a wagging tail, and an outstretched paw. Max, who when I'd entered this room, today, had hurled his elderly body at my throat, upon my father's command. Faithful, honest Max, who lay in pieces by the doorway.

"When did you start to lie to us, Dad?" I asked again, upping my tone to a polite snarl. I pushed myself out of the warm embrace of the chair, and paced across the room to the portrait of Mum. "Look what's happened to it, Dad," I told him, touching a finger onto the gold painted frame. He turned his head, seeing the damage that had been wrought to the treasured item, seeing the patch of ripped and shredded canvas that had been the image of her face before the richochets of the burst that had torn Max apart had thudded into her. "Why Dad?" Still he said nothing.

I paced back across the room. "Was it after that picture was painted?" I demanded, raising an eyebrow when he again said nothing. "Perhaps it was after Mum died? I'd like that. I'd like for her to have not known what was happening. What you were doing?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he sobbed pitifully. I glanced over to him, disgust shuddering across me like a cold hand moving across bare skin.

"You don't know what I'm talking about?" I repeated sarcastically, strolling across to the bookcase built into the far wall and running a finger along some of the brightly coloured spines.

"I never lied to you - I swear!"

My finger stopped for a moment, resting on a particular book: Man's descent into Chaos, consumption politics of the 20th century, by Richard A. Carlton. I silently mouthed the words of the title, remembering the evenings spent browsing through the family's private library. I moved on to the next shelf.

"I know you betrayed us Dad. I know you betrayed me, and I know you betrayed Jenny. I just don't know the extent of your betrayal."

I could not see his reaction, since I stood with my back set firmly against him - but there was no reply. My searching finger reached another book whose spine seemed familiar. Peter goes to school, by Evelyn James. I pulled the book from the shelf, examined it's bright colourful cover for a moment, then flipped it open to the cover page. This edition 2025, I read aloud.

"Long time ago, eh Dad? Remember how you used to read this to me?" I whirled round to face him. "Oh I'm sorry, I forgot. It was Mum who used to read to us - you were always too busy! Remember?" I carefully repaced the antique hardback on the shelf, the words within playing through my mind, as though they were being read to me now. Words that described a world long gone, a world of hope, and innocence, and of people about to die. I walked slowly back towards the window, watching the shadows of the clouds play across the surface of the dome.

"You only had time to teach us about the important things, didn't you Dad? Things like honour, duty... loyalty. Remember Dad? Because we did. We remembered it all, believed it all."

I leant against the thick plasti-glass for a few, silent seconds, then began shuffling across towards the plug socket. "My loyalty was to BioMagic... and to you. So was Jenny's. What was yours?" I reached the socket, which was mounted directly behind him, and knelt down, fingering the hard wedge of the switch. "Who were you loyal to Dad? BioMagic? Me? Jenny?"

He said nothing, staring straight ahead to the bookcases beyond. "I want the truth Dad," I told him, flicking the switch on, allowing the power to flow down the cable and into the water-filled basin which the cable's severed end now rested in - a basin that also contained his feet. This time, I let him have about thirty seconds, half a minute in which the chair he was tied to jerked and danced on the polished floor, the metal base tapping a statico beat on the stiff, plastic tiles; half a minute in which his screams echoed repeatedly through the empty rooms of the house. Finally I flicked the power off.

"Who were you loyal to Dad?" I asked the back of his jerking, shaking head.

"How can you do this to your own father?" he cried horsely, the old note of command still evident in his voice.

"Father? Since when were you my father?"

"I created you son," he replied hurt.

"You created me?" I suggested increduously, "You created me? How? By what right do you make that claim. It wasn't your sperm that supplied my genes, I was spliced together in a lab! You played no part in that - you didn't even hold a bloody test tube! No, I'll tell you what you did." I walked around the chair to face him, leaning in until my face was only inches from his. "All you did was sign the purchase orders! And then you have the cheek to claim me as your son!"

I walked away, ignoring his sobbed rebuttal. "I bought you up as my son. I always thought of you as my son."

"You thought of us as your creations! We were BioMagic assets."

I flicked the switch for a few seconds, holding it on until he began to scream, then released it and walked back along the window. "Tough glass!" I remarked conversationally, as I passed a crater-like bullet mark, situated at around head height. The plasti-glass had bulged slightly, long snaking cracks running from the central pock-mark, but it had held.

At the end of window, standing on a low unit against the study's side-wall, was a large, beautifully glazed vase - one of Dad's favourates, I recalled. I lifted it from its stand, and tossed it the length of the room. It landed just in front of him, showering him with sharp ceramic shards as the fragile china exploded.

"How old was that?" I queried.

He moaned, his head tipping backwards over the top of the chair to reveal a jagged piece of china embedded in his cheek, a small trail of blood slowly oozing down his skin. "Would you like me to remove that splinter, father?"

His silence was obviously just that, but I decided to take it as a yes, swinging my arm towards him, and watching the cross-hairs bob and weave crazily across my vision as I slowly bought them to bear on the small piece of china. "Hold still Dad!" I called cheerfully, squeezing my fist and watching the shard shatter into dust as the the bullet passed through. He jerked sharply back, causing the heavy chair to rock slightly on it's base. A small blob of spittle dripped out of the corner of his quivering mouth.

"Why did you do it Dad?" I asked calmly, letting the hate flow through me.

"Do what?" he croaked. "I didn't do anything!"

"You did, Dad, I know you did loads of things. I just want the details."

I ambled back over to the plug-socket, switched the power on, and walked slowly over to the bookcase, not looking behind me at his shaking body. I waited until even the hate could not block out his screams of agony, and then returned to cut the power.

"Is any of this real Dad? This house? This room? Our family?"

He moaned softly, his mouth awash with blood from his torn and bitten tongue.

"I know the pain I feel, the betrayal, that's real." A sickened smile forced its way onto my lips. "I hurt, so I guess this is real."

"What is it you want from me?"

"I don't know. But for now I'll settle for the truth." I circled around him, to the window and the view beyond. "I think there's too much light in here? Do you think there's too much light in here?" Without waiting for an opinion, I crossed to the window controls and pressed the close button, causing the heavy steel shutters mounted outside to begin to slide down over the glass, cutting out the light and the outside world like a thick shroud. Then, with the illumination in the room rapidly falling, I hustled over to the light switches and flicked on the central bank. The lights flashed into brightness, casting harsh shadows in the corners of the room.

"Too bright!" I suggested, cutting all but one of the lights, a small spot pointing at the area where he now sat. I nodded to myself in satisfaction, and walked back towards him, spiralling around him, keeping in the darkness, just outside of the pool of light he occupied.

"Let's start at the beginning Dad," I said to him, watching him desperately twisting to follow my voice. "Me and Jenny, why did you make us?"

"I wanted children son, that's all."

"I want the truth."

"It is the truth, I swear to God it is!"

"That's not good enough Dad. I can see we're going to have to talk this one through." I edged away from him, to the huge vid-screen at the end of the room. "Feel like a little vid?" I tapped the on button, and an image snapped onto the surface. It was the last channel that had been watched, in this case a news network. "You watch too much news Dad! You need to relax." I skipped rapidly through the varied channels, stopping when something took my fancy.

It took only a few seconds to identify the type, a quiz show, probably from the Confederate States, and almost certainly of appalling quality. I shuffled back to Dad, as the host asked a question.

"Okay Susan, this one's for ten points. The League of Teutonic Knights lies on the shore of which sea - the Baltic Sea, the Caribbean, or the Pacific Ocean?"

"The Pacific Ocean?" squeaked Susan. A loud uh-uh erupted from the speakers. I stopped beside my travel bag and pulled a ten-pack of Nut-o-tastic bars from the interior.

"Tell you what Dad, let's play a game. I'll have one of the contestants, and you can have the other. If my contestant gets a question wrong, I have to eat a nut bar. And if your contestant gets a question wrong, you get some juice. Fair enough? Good - you can have Susan!"

I glided past him and sat down by the plug socket, getting comfortable just in time to see the other contestant, a spectacled, bearded male answer the question correctly in a flat, boring monotone. He blinked nervously as the audience applauded.

"Guess that's one to me Dad!"

"Ok Susan," said the presenter in a low voice, "what state is known as the Lone Star State? Is it Florida, Alabama, or Texas?"

"Florida?"

"Unlucky Dad!" I called out and flicked the switch on. I let him scream for a little while as the electricity surged through the water surrounding his feet, then cut the power. I had to - I couldn't hear the vid.

"So Bob, this one's to go forty points in the lead. In the Bretennek Republic, then called the United Kingdom; in what year did the Blue Rebellion start. Was it 2042, 2043 or 2044."

"2044," said the male contestant uncertainly.

"Sorry Bob," replied the host, oozing fake sincerity, "it was 2043." The audience moaned sympathetically.

"My turn to take the punishment, eh Dad." I pulled a bar from the pack, peeled off the bio-plastic wrapping, and forced the concoction into my dry mouth. A short chew, and an unpleasent gulp later, and it was descending down my throat to my stomach. A nauseous feeling swept briefly through my adrenalin-flooded stomach as the soggy chocolate chunks settled into the acidic juices, and began to slowly disolve. I paused for a moment, trying to focus and channel the hate I felt for him, wanting to despise rather than fear him.

"Okay Susan! Now here's a little old question to get your pretty head around." His bleached toothly smile shone at us from the far end of the room.

"Okay Gerry," she chanted back to him.

"Who was the last president of the United States of America? Willard Browning, Paul Johannson, or Elizabeth Doherty?"

"Er... I don't know Gerry!" she announced brightly.

"You're not doing too well Dad!" This time I let the chair's insane tap-dance continue for a full thirty seconds.

"What in God's name do you want?" he cried when the pain stopped.

"The truth Dad. I want to know what happened, all of it - and why?"

I looked around the darkened room once more, my back aching from slouching against the wall. Three, perhaps four hours must have gone past - I'd lost count, and I didn't much care. All I knew, was that he still was in charge, still on top, just as he always had been.

"Okay... where were we?" I said wearily. "Oh yeah, that was it. I asked you why Jenny left, and you said you didn't know... Wrong answer, Dad!" This time I only gave him a few seconds, horrified at the ammount of pain he was able to endure.

"Why'd she go Dad?"

"I don't know."

"Why?"

"I have... no idea." He spoke now in a hoarse whisper. He had to break soon, had to.

"Why?"

"I... don't ----" His halting sentence was cut off abruptly when I reached down and switched the power on.

"Why did she go?" I shouted above the noise of his agonised screams, keeping the pain burning through his body for a few seconds more, then releasing him with a flick of my finger.

"Because... I asked her to," he answered slowly, his body slumped in a posture of pain, and humiliation. I had a brief flicker of recollection of how he had been - a strong, powerful man, who I'd trusted, worshiped. Now...

"Why did you ask her to go?"

"It was necessary. It was for BioMagic."

"What was it you asked her to do?"

He tried to twist around to face me, but the ropes binding him to the chair would only allow him to move his head slightly. "Son, these ropes - could you loosen them slightly?"

"No! What was it you asked her to do?"

"It's best you don't know."

"How?" I roared. "I'm supposed to be in charge of security, remember?"

"Who said it was anything to do with security?" he asked carefully.

I thought quickly, realising that he might have lured me into revealing some information. "If it wasn't, then why the secrecy? It's hardly going to be some kind of training course, is it?"

"No," he admitted, "It was a security matter."

"So why wasn't I told?"

"Because it was best for both of you if you didn't know." He twisted round again, trying to look towards me. "Jon! You've got to believe me. I never throught she'd get hurt, I didn't realise it would be that dangerous. When I heard that they'd found her body..."

"You didn't want to investigate, remember? You said we should leave it to the police!"

His head dropped. "I'd already lost my daughter, I didn't want to lose my son!"

"Liar!" I spat at him, switching on the power, and walking around to face his quivering, shuddering body, noticing for the first time the deep, bloody wounds on his wrists and ankles, the crimson-stained ropes slicing deep into the torn flesh.

"I know how she died! I know you betrayed her! I just want to know why?"

"I loved you both!" he moaned when I finally chopped the power. "I was a good father. You know I was!"

"Good?"

"You never wanted for anything."

"You were never there! All you cared about was BioMagic. Why?"

"It was important, and it was something for all of us. Why else would you work so hard for BioMagic?"

I circled round in front of him. "Because I thought it might please you! And I guess that's why Jenny served too."

He head dropped.

"What was that service, Dad? What was it you had her doing?"

"She was infiltrating the pro-democracy movement."

"Why? What did any of that have to do with BioMagic?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me!"

"Jon, it probably seems very simple to you. Your job - it's very black and white. It's all about physical security, protecting the buildings and facilities. You were the shield!"

"And Jenny was the sword?"

"Yes. She had the same abilities as you, and her own version of Sapphire. But where your job was to defend against our enemies, hers was to attack them."

"The pro-democracy movement?"

"Yes."

"They're our enemies?"

"Jon - we produce coders, it's all we do, and they would destroy all that! Don't you understand?"

"I understand it's not our place. We're not the government."

"No we're not, but it is our place. I've spent my life building up this agency, devoted my life to it. I won't let anyone tear it down."

"Even if your daughter has to die?"

"I never intended her to come to harm, you know that!"

"No. I don't know that, Dad." From the end of the room, the vid-screen speakers quietly played the signature tune of yet another worthless programme, the end credits streaming up the screen. I picked up the remote from the floor, edged the sound up, and flicked over to a news channel, switching just as the presenter began to read through the headlines.

"And the lead news story this hour: The massacre at the NuSpiritualism agency in New London. An unknown person walked into the agency's shop just after eleven am, and opened fire with an assault rifle. Having killed the three staff in the front area, he entered the rear storage and administration area and killed the remaining seven staff, before detonating explosives that killed him and destroyed the interior of the unit. NuSpiritulism was established five years ago to distribute religious and Avalonian books and videos. Police have set up an emergency hotline for anyone who might..."

I muted the sound and watched the rest of the bulletin in silence. There had been no description, but I knew who the attacker was. Was this his destiny, to turn upon the Horseman? He had certainly burned brightly.

"You had her infiltrate the pro-democracy movement. Why? To destroy it?"

"Not necessarily. We needed to know how it was being used, what its aims were. We didn't want to destroy it, if we could avoid doing so - we would rather modify its aims."

"Who else in BioMagic knew of this operation?" I asked quickly. He looked up, realising perhaps that he'd made a mistake.

"A few others."

"Such as?" I probed instantly, keeping up the pressure.

"It's better you don't know."

"Maybe, but I will find out. I will get that knowledge."

"No-one else in BioMagic," he admitted.

"So who was the we?"

"One other person. We were working together."

"Who?"

"I can't tell you."

I retreated for a moment and changed tack. "When I showed you the image of her at Kerensky's, we argued, and you tried to persuade me not to go."

"Yes. Kerensky's wasn't safe. There are things about it that you don't know."

"Perhaps, but I went, and you were the only one who knew I was going there. But someone was there looking for me."

"They could have been from Kerensky's."

"They weren't from Kerensky's, I know that for certain."

"Well they could been from anyone."

"Why would they have been looking for me? I was just a director of a mid-sized, coder production agency. No, they were from you!"

"Alright... I sent them. You were heading into danger, more danger that you could imagine - I had to stop you, somehow."

"Don't you mean that you had to stop me - in any way necessary! They were trying to execute me!"

He looked away.

"They were trying to kill me! They nearly succeeded! Why?"

"You had to be stopped. You could have destroyed everything."

I waved my arm around the shattered room. "I have. So you might as well tell me the truth."

"You were the shield, not the sword. The sword was gone. You had no target, no aim - you had to be stopped."

"So you sent the hounds after me?"

"Yes."

"They weren't BioMagic personnel, were they? I'd have known."

"No. They were from outside. From people I'd been communicating with."

"Were they the same people who sent Jenny on her mission?"

"No. That was someone else."

"The people you sent after me - they were Knights, weren't they?"

He glanced up, surprised. "You know?"

"Yeah, I know. Why were you working with them?"

"Insurance."

"Against what?"

"The person who sent Jenny out - I was scared of him. So I started talking to the Knights, without him knowing. It was like an ace up my sleeve, in case things went wrong."

"And this was when you played that ace?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I was scared of what might happen."

"And what was that?"

His shoulder sagged further, from shame and exhaustion. "This."

"You were prepared to kill me?"

"I was scared... and you were out of control."

"Was that why you killed Jenny? Because you were scared?"

His eyes flicked guiltily away from mine. "That's a hell of thing to accuse me of!"

"It's a hell of a thing to do."

He screwed up his eyes, as the emotions began to overwhelm him.

"I know you caused her death Dad. Someone got hold of a summary of communication between you and her. I know you would never have made such a summary, and would have kept all communications secure. This couldn't have been an accident!"

His shoulders began to heave, his body thrashing against the restraints as his resolve broke and the tears washed over him. Finally he composed himself, and lifted his tear-streaked face. "No. It wasn't an accident. I leaked the document to a someone I suspected was in the movement. They must have passed it on."

"You knew that it would most likely cause her death?"

"Yes. Dear God, yes."

"And that's why you did it? You wanted her dead."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"She was betraying me."

"What made you think that?"

"She had fallen in love with the leader of her cell."

"She told you?"

"No. She'd kept it secret."

"And you killed her for that!"

"It wasn't my decision!" he pleaded.

"Your associate?" I guessed.

"Yes."

"He told you to sacrifice your daughter - and so you did?"

"You don't understand. You don't know who he is, the hold he had over me. Don't you think I haven't gone over this a thousand times." He looked up at me with pleading eyes. "I was scared that you'd kill me if you found out. But now you have - I'm not scared."

"Because you don't think I'll kill you?"

"No. Because I don't want to live anymore. Like you said - it's over."

"Not yet. I need to know who he is. He sent Jenny out, and then caused her death. Who is he?

He shook his head, slowly but firmly. "I won't tell you that. There's already been too much bloodshed." His grieving face lifted, and he stared into my eyes. "It stops here."

It did. And so did his life, the bullets speeding to him on a wave of my hate and revulsion and ripping his flesh apart.

"And so it ends!" declared a soaring voice from behind me, a voice that I'd heard before. I spun round, and fired when I saw the smile, sending the last three bullets from the internal magazine straight at him. The bullets flashed straight through him, and smashed into the low unit at the end of the room. A large piece of plasti-wood spun up and sliced without effect through his shoulder.

"There's no point!" he told me, "I'm not here." I looked closer and made out the faint shimmer along the edges of his body, and the slight transparency of the colours in his robes. A clear, steady, expensive - hologram.

"This is your doing?" I asked, spreading my hands to indicate the room. His eyes followed my movements - he must be looking through a hidden camera, I realised.

He pulled a stool from outside of the image area and sat down. "Like I told you in Bristol, my boy - I'm an old man, so I hope you'll pardon me sitting."

"When I saw you in Bristol, you knew I was coming!"

"Of course." He placed his cane carefully on the floor, and pulled his old, wooden pipe from a fold of his robes.

"Because you're the one who's been working with my father. The one who condemned my sister to death!"

"Regretfully, yes."

"Why?" I asked in disbelief, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Not to gloat, my boy!" he replied, gently, "please don't think that. I just felt, that now it's all over, you deserve the truth."

"Who said it was over!" I threatened.

"It is. You can look for me, but you won't find me. It is over."

I backed away from the image. "So what is the truth?"

He tapped some tobacco into his pipe. "Your father misunderstood the reasons for your creation."

"That was your doing?" I snapped.

He shrugged a bony shoulder. "I had a hand in the decision. You see, your father often thought of you and your sister as a sword and a shield."

"And we weren't?"

"Oh yes, you were," he chuckled. "But not in the way he thought. The truth is, that you were the sword, and your sister the shield."

"But she was the one who attacked, left BioMagic?"

"Exactly! She was the shield, who moved away from the body to counter the enemies attack. You were the sword, who stayed by the body, then pushed forward in a quick, deadly counter assault."

"You mean... I was supposed to do the things I've done?"

"Of course, my boy, of course."

The pieces started to click into place. "...That was why she was killed. To... activate me!"

"You understand!" he exclaimed proudly.

"No! Because of what I started, the Bristol cell of the pro-democracy movement has been totally smashed, IntSec's taken a hammering, and so have the Horsemen. And on top of that, half the members of the government have had to resign! Was that what you planned?"

"It was what I hoped."

"But how could you know what the outcome would be? That I would follow your path, and not fall at the first hurdle?"

He spread his hands. "Some might say it was your destiny..."

"Would you?"

"No, I was always more rational than that. I'd say it was... luck."

"Luck!"

"Oh yes, that's all it was. But you rode it magnificently! I set you flying - and you flew straight and true!"

"I still don't see why?" I snarled, "why the destruction, the death?"

"You can't understand, without knowing the history."

"So teach me!"

"Have you ever wondered why your father created you as his son, and Jenny as his daughter? Why he didn't have a proper heir?"

"Yeah, of course. I never understood. We were useful to BioMagic, but it still didn't make sense."

"But it did! More history, my boy! Do you know where and when your father was born?"

"2052. He was never quite sure where - that was during the Chaos."

"Oxford!"

"You know?"

"So did he."

I thought for a moment. "Oxford was the captial at that time, the seat of the Emergency Government. And Crazy Horse was digging through their files for the Rook."

"And it starts to make sense! Yes. That was one of my concerns, something that needed to be stopped. But there was much more to it than that - the truth behind your father's birth." He paused, then fired in a quick question. "When were the first coders created?"

The stock answer that I had learnt at school tripped off my tongue. "The first batch of coders was laid down by the army in 2057."

"But there had been earlier experiments?"

"Yes, but none of the subjects were allowed to progress to full term..."

"That's what the history books say, but it not the truth. They were simply the first biohumans to bear barcodes upon their cheeks."

"My father was a coder..?"

"He was, and I was his creator - his father in a way. Now do you see why he created you?"

I looked back to his unrecognisable body and croaked an answer. "Yes."

"But you still do not understand?"

"No."

"Those first biohumans, those individual creations of the early researchers - they were made to fulfil different objectives. Coders now, coders ever since the barcodes were introduced - have been created as slaves! Inferior, often retarded slaves. But that was not our intention! We aimed to make perfect human beings - stronger, more intelligent, able to survive the horror that was unfolding around us!"

"You're mad!" I accused.

"Of course. I've seen my world shattered, destroyed. I've seen too much to stay sane. But you must understand what drove us then. The world was descending into the Chaos, billions were dying, the human race was staring extinction in the face. And we sought a solution."

"So you succeeded, the human race survived."

"We didn't seek this, not perpetual misery and slavery for half of humanity. Society took our solution, and perverted it, warped it to serve their own selfishness."

"But it was your kind that created the opportunity!"

"That's a cross I must bear. Now do you see what I was trying to achieve?"

"I suppose you want to create that kind of society - no slaves and citizens, just perfect human beings!"

"Now you see."

"But how did the destruction lead to that?"

His face clouded with regret. "It does not, it leads away."

"So why?"

"Many years ago I set a plan in motion. It was a plan that would tear the foundations from this society, and bring it crashing down, so that a better successor might be built in its place. A revolution would be sparked that would circle the globe. But it was a plan that could only be tried once, and if failed, humanity would fail also. But this year, as the forces I had set into motion began to collide..."

The appalling truth dawned. "You got scared."

"I did. Now is not the time, and I am not the person. I'm too old to see that kind of devestation again, too old to feel that terror. So I launched my missile, but to destroy my plan, not further it. And destroy it you did..."

"So who are you? Who are you really?"

He leaned slightly towards me. "Once I was called Dystrom."

"That's not possible," I breathed, "Dystrom died in the chaos. It's in all..."

He laughed. "It's in all the history books! The name Dystrom died, but I lived on, a wasted, pointless life. Now I'm just an old citizen, living in retirement. But once, once I was an ambitious young scientist, who dared to create new life. I created your father, in 2052, and he was the culmination of a decade of study. The perfect human being. I had such hopes for him. But then, just one year later - the mob stormed the city and smashed the lab to the ground. Some of my researchers escaped by helicopter to Edinburgh, some escaped on foot with me, and the rest burned."

"You escaped on foot?"

"I had to. Your father, and the others of his kind, didn't officially exist. They had no legal status. We split up, and I carried on alone, except for your father, sleeping hidden in a hold-all. I travelled to a small-holding, and left him with the couple there, telling them that I'd found him beside his dead mother. In days such as those it was a too-plausible story. And that is the history complete. I survived, somehow, living under a false name, and monitored his progress from afar. Later, when he had grown, I contacted him, and told him who he was."

"And used him." I snarled a threat, a promise: "I will find you!"

"Do you think that matters to me? Do you plan to seek me out, to kill me like the others? I'm an old man and I don't particularly care, but I won't make it possible."

"I'll find you!" I promised, "there's nothing else for me to do!"

"Oh, but there is my boy. You see, no-one knows about this. No-one who cares that is. The Knights know about it, and IntSec, but they only know fragments, and besides - they are not in the business of vengence and revenge. As for BioMagic and the police, they know nothing. You're not wanted for any crime, you have no questions to face. I'm sure you know how to dispose of your father in some kind of accident. And then your life can continue, exactly as it was before. And with BioMagic needing a new leader..."

He reached down, brushed the controller that he held lightly in his hand, and was gone.

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