Murphy Progenitor

how to be marginally superior
2. Auflage 2017
ISBN: 978-87-7170-801-1
Verlag: BoD - Books on Demand
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 480 Seiten

The Slavonic Federation's secret service persuades a geneticist to access the brain of a visiting American financial wizard at the head of a trade delegation. The geneticist, who is seeking funds for research to improve human mental capacity, is unaware that he is involved in a bizarre plot to topple his country's government. The plot goes badly awry and leads to the collapse of the global economy and a descent into anarchy. Years later, when the world has reverted to a kind of neo-fascist politically correct normality, a Danish billionaire is persuaded to fund research by the same geneticist into the genomic source of intelligence with a view to creating a superior strain of homo sapiens. However, the billionaire is more interested in creating an intellectual elite with himself at its apex. Things don't turn out exactly as planned, and a contest ensues for control of his industrial empire against a background of government corruption and a media culture that has given 'spin' a new meaning.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Murphy, Bernard

Leseproben

Brinkworth’s lift was a wheezing contraption. The plastic on the buttons had been worn down to the metal by a thousand poking fingers. Some of the lights on the display were dead. Mechanical failure seemed imminent.

Fenwick lit a cigarette, ignoring Brinkworth’s sulk of disapproval.

“You know, Cutlass—what are we supposed to make of it? A year ago, he was acting like a blithering idiot. Remember how he tried to cut his wrists with a kitchen knife during that binge at Hampton Court when he was souped up on lotus juice? Now he’s a minister of the realm. I mean the appointment’s all down to nepotism. But you’ve got to have a bit of savvy to be a minister, after all. What accounts for the transformation?”

“Let’s see how he fields the questions. Let’s observe. Let’s see how much transformation there really is.”

The lift clanked to a standstill. Fenwick swung back the double grill, and they got out. Red-plush wallpaper that had once denoted elegance and style was dim under dust and cobwebs. Brinkworth hauled a bunch of keys from his pocket and tossed them to Fenwick.

“It’s the long, shiny one with the serrated edge.”

Fenwick reverently opened the door. It was the first time he had been invited into Brinkworth’s domain. They were there to catch Question Time on the closed-circuit link that predated the Mega Crash and had been left in place by some official oversight.

“We’ve missed half the transmission!”

“No matter, my boy,” Brinkworth said. “The notice question will be a blatantly innocuous inquiry about cost overruns on the Forward Defence Initiative. Michael Grew will read out the answer prepared for him. He will argue, quite plausibly, that there have been no overruns of significance. He’ll trot out some figures that nobody on the opposition benches will be able to refute. His test will come with the supplementary questions. And they should be on about ..... Now!”

Brinkworth’s foot touched the remote control, and the green leather benches of the House of Commons, packed and buzzing with the expectation of the coming drama, filled the screen.

Michael Grew stood erect at the despatch box, a single sheet of paper in his hand. Despite his newly elevated position, he still assumed that funny, vulnerable, concave posture, as though he expected to be plucked from the face of the earth.

“He’s just explained,” Brinkworth said, “why the Government hasn’t chosen the American Battle Overview System.”

“That’s a bit naive. Even I’ve heard of Polaris and Trident.”

The guffaws from the opposition benches indicated that Fenwick was not the only one.

Michael Grew read from his script, punching the air to denote conviction.

“Punches like a woman,” Fenwick observed. “I’ve just realised how much of a faggot he really is.”

A flaxen-haired man rose to his feet. Fenwick recognised this particular media favourite, who had made a lightning career in national politics by shrewdly casting himself in the role of the man the public loves to hate but secretly admires because of his sharp tongue and analytical mind.

A quiver went through the House as this bombshell was delivered. Then shouts of protest rent the air as the government benches rallied around their beleaguered minister. Michael Grew was visibly shaken. As he placed his hand on the despatch box before him, he seemed to reel. The television cameras went into close-up to catch the panic.

The pandemonium from the government benches gave Michael Grew some respite.

Brinkworth chuckled.

“That question obviously wasn’t in his script.”

Michael Grew looked to his father, who was sitting directly behind him, as if for succour. But the Prime Minister had his hand over his eyes, seemingly drowsing, knowing he epitomised statesmanlike unflappability.

Predictably, sporadic voices on the opposition benches began the ritual calls for resignation.

soon became an ever-more-insistent chant.

Suddenly, the Prime Minister rose, somewhat slowly as though he felt the whole business utterly tiresome. He plodded to the despatch box and, resting his hand on his son’s upper arm, gently pushed him into the background.

Hushed silence in the chamber.

“Listen and learn, Bodley, my boy,” said Brinkworth. “This shows all the symptoms of a put-up job.”

Nigel Grew continued with square-jawed sincerity, here there was a long, forceful pause,

The flaxen-haired media favourite sprang to his feet in triumph.

Nigel Grew, suave, unruffled, looked up with hooded eyes at this would-be gadfly.

Flaxen-hair was on his feet again.

“What’s happening?”

“Bodley, my boy, I see I’ll have to explain the arcane workings of the parliamentary system,” Brinkworth said, flopping back in his chair and looking slightly disgusted.

“The adjournment on a matter of great public importance is a formula for holding an emergency debate this evening. Our Prime Minister, in whom the nation increasingly misplaces its trust, is going to be the hero of the day. Somebody in, or near, the Government has leaked information to the Opposition on the difficulties of the Forward Defence Initiative and about this new breakthrough, Mind Amplifier. The Opposition will ask all the right questions, seen with the Government’s eyes. How easily duped, they are.”

“That’s probably why they’re the Opposition.”

The debate that evening fizzled out because the Right Honourable Nigel Grew persuaded the Opposition that detailed explanations were best left to the Select Committee on Defence, whose proceedings were secret.

“Ifind this very bracing, Charlie, indeed I do. Chill highland air to freeze my bollocks off. Clouds heavy with Scotch gloom to heighten my bi-polar depression.” Michael Grew was holding the collar of his parka tight around his neck. He tried to look intimidating as he turned to Lestrange. “But I’d just as soon have observed it all from the inside of the ministerial Rolls.”

“They’re sticklers for security, Michael. No unauthorised vehicles are allowed inside facilities of the Nato Redeployment Army. The electronics are disabled by an electromagnetic pulse at the perimeter.”

Treacherous patches of ice were concealed by the powdered snow covering the abandoned concrete runway along which they were picking their way. Michael Grew slipped, nearly losing his balance and badly needing a Pink Lady.

Lestrange couldn’t have cared less.

“All these camps are completely self-contained and their foreign contingents are isolated from the general public.” He knew his minister was not in the least interested at that moment in anything not pertinent to creature comfort. He droned on anyway. “We have to give them everything to ensure high morale, including knocking shops staffed with girls imported from Asia and Africa.”

At that point, through the mist of snow whipped up from the runway by the wind, Lestrange saw one of the troop carriers start towards them.

“I think there’s a drink coming up, Michael.”

Michael Grew began a stumbling, dangerous run along the icy tarmac. They had, of course, been under observation since they had left the Rolls a few miles back.

The commanding officer, who introduced himself as Major General Urquhart, was a successful career soldier who appeared to have no opinion, high or low, of the minister who had raided his bar without as much as a by-your-leave and was sipping a Pink Lady he had ordered the batman to prepare in complete disregard of the normal chain of command.

General Urquhart picked up his swagger stick and donned his staff-officer’s cap. “If you’d care to accompany me to the AWAC, gentlemen, I will demonstrate what has gone wrong.”

As they paced out the distance to the AWAC, Urquhart began to explain in terse detail how Bio Brain was supposed to work. “The data from the...