The Last Resort(9)

‘I didn’t feel it.’ A small bead of worry slides across her chest, making her heart flutter.

Harvey presses on the tracker. Then looks at his watch. ‘It’s not registering.’ He unclips the piece that hooks over her ear and pulls.

‘What the . . . ?’ Giles starts. ‘How has hers come off like that?’ He tugs on his own device, then winces. ‘Ouch. Jeez.’

‘Please,’ Harvey says. He has two spots of red on his cheeks. Sweat is prickling on his forehead. ‘Please don’t try to remove the devices. As I explained, they’re connected now, and they’re calibrating. We need to remove them properly later on, or they could damage the skin, and—’

‘Maybe try on my other ear?’ Amelia suggests. She takes a deep breath, trying to swallow the bead of worry and dissolve it deep inside.

‘No . . . no,’ Harvey says. ‘It has to be the left ear. It connects to . . .’ He lets the words trail off. His watch beeps and he looks down at it again, reading a message that’s flashed up. ‘OK, right. We need to revert to Plan B for you. Just for now.’ He sticks his hand back into the white box and pulls out a watch, similar to the one he’s wearing. ‘Left wrist,’ he says, nodding at Amelia. ‘The sensor isn’t as advanced on this one – no skin penetration. This is Prototype II. The staff wear them, but we’d hoped that all of you would be able to wear the brand-new Prototype III. But not to worry, we’re still in the testing phase. In fact, this might be a good thing. A mini clinical trial, I suppose. One of you having the standard device, the other six having the new one . . .’

‘Oh, whatever,’ Tiggy says. ‘I’m bored now. When are we heading to the retreat?’

Harvey ignores her.

Amelia fastens the watch onto her wrist, and as the final clasp clicks into place, a green, wavy line starts to flow across its screen.

‘It’s your heart rate,’ Harvey states. ‘It’ll go dark again once it’s calibrated. Make sure you keep it fastened tight, so the sensor gets as much skin contact as possible.’ He snaps the lid of the white box shut, then addresses them all. ‘OK then. Here’s what’s going to happen. Your sensor is tapping into your neurological pathways as we speak. It is picking up your vibe. It is assessing your health. It is investigating your pleasure points, and your quirks and foibles, and all the things you don’t like. After about ten minutes, your device will have completely mapped your body and mind, and it will provide you with a personal programme for the day. Everything you need will be individually transmitted – just for you.’ He pauses, looks at his watch. Then he holds the screen towards them, letting them see what’s on it. ‘It’s T minus 19. The device knew that I wanted to know the time, and that’s what it’s shown me.’

‘Oh, please,’ Lucy says, ‘this is nonsense. There’s no device that can read your mind.’

Harvey smiles. ‘You don’t know about Timeo yet.’

‘We don’t know anything yet, buddy,’ says Scott. ‘You’ve told us nothing about the company, or why we’re here, and I guess now we’re just supposed to believe that this device you’ve jammed into our skulls is going to tell us what to do for the rest of the day?’

‘How does that even work?’ James says. ‘She’s got a watch like yours – she can see what it says. How are we supposed to know what to do, if the thing’s just attached to one of our ears?’

‘T minus 19?’ Tiggy blurts. ‘What kind of time is that anyway?’

‘You must’ve heard it like this before? It’s a countdown. Like when they’re about to launch a space rocket?’

She gives him a blank stare.

Harvey sighs. ‘It’s nineteen hours until the party, where all will be revealed. I’m going to leave you to it. If you need help, help will arrive. In the meantime, just decide when you want to start . . . and it will happen.’ He makes a double-tapping gesture on the side of his head, then he picks up the box and disappears out of the door before they can ask him anything else.

‘Right then,’ Scott says. ‘So, who’s gonna go first?’

‘We need to clear our minds,’ James says, ‘you know . . . like in Ghostbusters.’

‘The Marshmallow Man,’ Scott and James say together. They both laugh. ‘Don’t even think of that,’ James says, his expression serious again. ‘I think we need to be careful.’

‘We need to do something,’ Scott says, ‘or we’re going to be stuck in this room for nineteen hours.’

‘Let’s just go with it,’ Giles says. ‘I’ll go first . . .’





Lucy

Lucy leans back into the soft cushions of the sofa and pretends that she’s not taking in the other six people who are scattered around the small room. The girl in khakis – Amelia – looks relieved at not having the tracker stuck into that soft, thin skin above her ear, and Lucy feels a prickle of annoyance that she’s got away with it. Maybe this is all part of the ‘game’. That’s what Giles seems to think it is. Maybe she’s in cahoots with this ‘Harvey’ guy – if that’s even his name.

Of course the ‘tracker’ thing has to be just a bit of fun. She’d laid it on a bit thick, saying she felt funny after it was attached to her. The feeling had passed soon enough; no way are they really firing drugs into her head. She wrote an article once on autosuggestion, after one of the celebs she was digging into said they were being hypnotised for an addiction and ended up acting all weird. It’s easier to trick the mind than people realise.