Chapter 6

End of July 2163, Earth

 

Susan Bouchard accepted the request to connect on the Light Box screen at the Toronto-based laboratory where she worked; Dr Caroline Finnegan’s face filled the screen. Caroline was wearing a white lab coat over a black polo neck jumper and black trousers. Her medium-length reddish-brown hair was tied back into a low ponytail with a black ribbon.

‘Hello Caroline.’ Susan flashed the smile she normally reserved for a respected colleague.

The doctor nodded politely. ‘Nice to see you again, Susan. I think you know why I called.’

‘To discuss the genetic test results on the volunteers. I’m afraid we’re still going through the data. Everything will be sent to you next month as promised.’

‘I’m sure it will, but I wanted to know about one case in particular. Annie Weber.’

Susan frowned. ‘I thought you were interested in the data from the successful subjects.’

‘I am, but Annie’s lack of success interests me. Tell me about her.’

Susan blew out a long, tired breath. ‘Well, I found her in the basement of Toronto’s Union Station, working as a cleaner.’

‘A cleaner? I thought only the autobots did that work now.’

‘They do, but she isn’t really qualified for anything else and the World Government wanted her in the system, to study her at some point I guess.’

‘And her genetic code?’

‘The worst I’ve seen,’ Susan said. ‘Annie’s mother moved into one of the Societies for Enhanced Living about a year ago. She has a severe spinal deformity that bends her back at a forty-five-degree angle, her hair has thinned considerably, and an unsuccessful treatment to change her eye colour from brown to cobalt blue has given her eyes a strange muddy appearance.’

‘Was termination ever considered?’

Susan half smiled. ‘She’s only eighty-one.’

‘That’s all?’ Caroline raised an eyebrow. ‘And what about Annie?’

‘Honestly? Going down the same path as far as I can tell. We used the nanoids to repair the defective genes passed on from her mother but nothing seems to work in reversing her abnormalities.’

‘Any conclusions?’

‘Yes, the additional code doesn’t work in weak genetic structures, but we knew that already.’

‘Sorry for keeping you, Susan. I know you’ve your hands full. I’m just digging around for information before the Indigene’s arrival. It’s been bounced around several medical facilities since Deighton released it a month ago. We’re next on the list and expecting its arrival shortly ’

‘I’m happy to help. I’ll be sure to contact you if anything pops up in the meantime.’ Susan ended the conversation and the doctor’s face disappeared.

Joel, her colleague, walked into the room, a cup of tea in his hand. ‘So, did you tell her?’ he asked, tossing his messy dark blonde hair out of his eyes.

‘What? That I’ve been called up for transfer to Exilon 5?’ Susan replied. The transfer programme had shifted its focus to Ireland, Britain, France and Canada. ‘What difference would that make?’ She leaned back against the floating island that took up half of the room. She looked up at the black Light Box screen projected on the back wall, staring into its dark nothingness.

‘Well, she might be a bit surprised when you’re—I mean, when we’re not here in a few days.’ Joel sucked tea through his pursed lips and exhaled loudly in satisfaction. ‘What time is psycho bitch going to descend on this place?’

‘In an hour. And please don’t say that to Annie’s face. She hates you enough as it is.’

‘Awesome. I’ll make sure to disappear,’ Joel said, smirking. ‘Oh, and tell her I said “fuck you”.’ His blue-grey eyes glinted mischievously.

The corners of Susan’s mouth twitched, but she managed to stop herself from smiling outright. The last time Annie met Joel she’d set fire to his shirt because she wasn’t comfortable with him being in the room. Luckily, the damage to Joel himself was only superficial; some cream cleared up his raw and blistered skin within the hour. The shirt was a write-off.

‘Well, I’m glad this is the last session. She’s been getting a little clingy lately,’ said Susan.

‘A little? And what about her poor mother, holed up in the Enhanced Living infirmary? I heard sweet little Annie left her there. Things must be bad if you end up living in a place run by the Tin Can men.’

Susan shrugged. ‘I’ve been there and it isn’t that bad. The autobots are fairly efficient.’

Joel took another sip of his tea and leaned his back against the workbench that ran along the back wall. ‘Well, that’s good. Because when you wind up there, dare to close your eyes for that split second and open them again, all you’ll see are those Tin Can men hovering over you. And you’ll ask yourself, “how did I get here?” And then you’ll remember. It was because your own daughter drugged you, drove you there and dumped you on the doorstep.’

‘I know, Joel. She’s gone, as of today. I promise. I just have to do it gently.’

Joel raised his eyebrows. ‘Always the Samaritan. I suppose it’ll give you a chance to work on reversing the effects of your magnetic personality.’

‘If I knew how, Joel, I would have done it already,’ Susan said. Her gift for getting on well with people could also be a curse. She picked up a DPad and searched through the results for the most recent volunteers they’d been testing.

‘What are you doing after you see Annie?’ Joel asked.

‘Going home to pack. I’ve got to sort out a few things before I leave. Why?’

‘Do you want to get a drink? You’ll probably want one after being with what’s her face.’

Susan shook her head. ‘I wish I could, Joel. Rain check?’

 

 

Just before Annie Weber was due to arrive, Susan grabbed a quick bite to eat from the replication terminal two doors down from the building her laboratory was in. She wouldn’t get a chance to eat once her patient arrived. Had Susan known about Annie’s psychological problems earlier she would have dropped her from the programme a long time ago. They weren’t interested in fixing mental issues, only physical ones. But they were too far gone with the testing, and they were collating some interesting information about Annie.

At 3pm, her patient peeked cautiously round the door. ‘Is he here?’ she said in a childish voice that made Susan’s skin crawl. Annie was a fifty-year-old woman.

‘No, Joel’s not here, Annie,’ Susan said in a tone of voice that a parent might use with a child.

More confident now, Annie skipped through the door and giggled like a child. She was dressed in a royal blue sweater, grey pants and loafers. Her black wiry hair was a mess. ‘I know you don’t like those virtual packages on the Light Box,’ Annie said, standing eagerly in front of Susan, ‘but hear me out. You have to try the Alton Towers one. I just got off the craziest rollercoaster. I’m still dizzy thinkin’ about it.’

Susan smiled and nodded without showing any enthusiasm. She busied herself with anything she could lay her hands on.

‘The attendant wasn’t half bad looking either, if you know what I mean,’ Annie went on, jabbing Susan in the ribs with her elbow and winking.

Susan ignored her; she had no interest in what Annie had done with, or to, the virtual attendant. She went to the workbench that ran the length of the wall underneath the Light Box and fiddled with some items laid out on a metal tray. Her patient followed her. She pulled a mobile table over to her and placed the tray on top of it. Susan picked up a syringe and a vial that was labelled Batch 156.

‘I asked him if he wanted to get a drink,’ Annie said, not needing any encouragement to continue.

‘Yeah?’ Susan drew a full syringe from 156.

‘He said no. So do you know what I said to him?’

‘What?’ Susan placed the prepared syringe on the mobile table.

‘I told him he was an asshole,’ Annie said, giggling. ‘A fudging asshole.’

Susan finally turned round and rested a hand on the mobile table behind her. ‘You say “asshole”, but you tone down the other curse words—“fudging” instead of “fucking”. Why?’

‘Mother never liked me saying the eff word. She always slapped me when I did.’

Susan closed her eyes and shuddered as she thought about the strange relationship Annie and her mother had. Nothing seemed to fit. She opened her eyes and grabbed the syringe, pointing the needle upwards. ‘Do you want your drugs now?’

‘Why else do you think I’m here?’ Annie’s tone changed—became more suggestive—as she held out her arm, palm upwards.

‘All right. Hop onto the chair.’

As quickly as she could, Susan gave Annie her injection, which Annie thought was to reverse the problems with her genetic code but which was actually a drug to keep her calm when Susan told her the news that she was being transferred to Exilon 5 and would no longer be able to treat her.

Annie’s eyes glazed over as she settled into the curves of the chair. ‘That’s the stuff I like. Susan, you’re amazing.’ As the drugs worked their magic, Annie’s voice became less coherent. ‘You’re an amazin’ girl. Sorry, I mean amazeen womin. I like bein’ your best friend. Have I told you dat your my best friend?’

‘Many times,’ Susan said with the dead emotion of a serial killer. She dropped the syringe into a sharps bin from where it would be decontaminated and recycled. ‘How are you feeling, Annie?’

‘Mmm, fudging amazin’. A feel like I bit when I’m inside my Light Box.’

The jumbled-up sentence was a sure sign that the muscle relaxants were working. ‘What do you see?’ Susan asked, turning up the charm and allowing her dulcet tones to do what they did best—soothe her patient.

‘My white painted cottage in Cornwheel. Red roses in the garden an’ ivy up the waaaall, ivy down the waaall.’

‘Are you happy there?’

‘Mmmm. But it’s lonleee,’ Annie said, a touch of melancholy creeping into her voice.

‘Good,’ Susan said, dropping the pretence and snapping back to professional mode. ‘Because there’s something I need to tell you.’

 

 

That evening, back in her apartment in Kingston, Ontario, Susan shoved a number of items into her bag, not sure what she should take on her trip. She picked up a photo of her sister and her niece from the mantelpiece and stared at it for a long time. It had been taken at her sister’s apartment in Hamilton, Ontario, about a year ago. Behind her sister’s smile lurked a sadness, brought about by the loss of a son a few months before the photo was taken. Having children wasn’t something Susan had stopped to think about—she was busy with her career—but she wasn’t short of suitors either; her perfect genetic code helped in that regard.

She sat down, perched on the edge of the sofa, and slowly sipped her replicated gin and tonic, sighing with pleasure as the alcohol deliciously burned her throat and warmed her on its way down. Her surroundings became fuzzy as the alcohol hit her empty stomach, reminding her of how little she’d eaten that day. The news of the transfer, entirely unexpected, had made her lose her appetite.

She settled back into the soft brown genuine leather sofa and crossed her legs, balancing her drink on one knee. While she admitted to being curious about a move to Exilon 5, the deadline to transfer was too soon. She’d been so busy at the lab and preoccupied with telling her most difficult patient about her move that she hadn’t had the chance to consider its implications for herself.

She combed her fingers through her ice blonde hair and rubbed her cool blue eyes. In her peripheral vision, she noticed movement as her avatar suddenly materialised in 3D form from the Light Box, looking like it badly wanted to ask her something. Susan ignored it. She had little time for the avatar’s childish personality; she had allowed her eleven-year-old niece to fiddle around with the programme one day and didn’t know how to undo the changes she’d made. With hindsight it was a stupid thing to allow a child to do, especially since she had no time herself to learn how the Light Box operated, and little aptitude for programming beyond what was required of her in work.

Susan’s stomach rumbled, so she put her drink on the coffee table and went into the kitchen where she found the code card for the replicator machine and punched in a series of numbers. A bowl of lightly seasoned chicken wings appeared, which she then carried to the sofa and sat down again. She gnawed her way through several wings, sucking the bones clean of flesh. Then she took a few sips of gin. When she was finished, she wiped her greasy hands on a napkin and smacked her lips with pleasure. She was convinced there was something in alcohol and grease that, separately, were harmless, but together were as addictive as any drug. Her avatar silently watched her. Unusual, Susan thought. It was usually so vocal.

She looked around her small lovely apartment—with the light green curtains and the soft beige carpet that complimented her brown genuine-leather furniture—feeling a sudden pang of sadness about the transfer, but knowing that the move to Exilon 5 would provide her with new opportunities in her field of expertise. Recent news feeds had reported an increase in transfer numbers; extra runs had been added to the schedule, which demonstrated a renewed interest in the programme on the Government’s part. She knew that her own transfer would have happened sooner or later. She was confident her sister and niece would also transfer out soon; if not, she would make a special request when she got there. Susan’s sister had been more positive than she was herself about the move when Susan had broken the news to her the day before.

It had only been a couple of days since she had discovered the transfer notification waiting for her, blinking ominously in the personal message folder on the Light Box. As soon as she had walked in the door, her avatar had materialised in front of her, ripped open a virtual copy of the message and started reading the contents aloud.

‘Shit, why did you open it?’ Susan had yelled.

The avatar put one hand on its hip. ‘Well, one of us had to! I couldn’t be sure how long you were going to stare at it.’

‘My private mail is none of your business,’ Susan said, rubbing her temples. But she knew it was right. She would have delayed reading the message for as long as she could. While Susan wondered what to do with this spoiled child of an avatar, she found herself welcoming the idea of a break—and a transfer to Exilon 5 was as good a break as any.

Now, as she sat in her apartment finishing off her gin and tonic, the avatar was unusually silent. Susan remembered the day she’d tried to wipe its programming, to put it back to the gormless, faceless version that came with the Light Box. But the avatar had been clever. It had written a ‘spider web’ programme that prevented her from deleting it from the system, accidentally or otherwise. Susan was familiar enough with children to know that if she ignored her avatar for long enough it would eventually say or do something to attract her attention. Susan didn’t have long to wait.

‘Talk to me. Why won’t you talk to me?’ it eventually whined.

Susan shook her head. ‘I don’t have anything to say right now.’

The avatar grabbed hold of her sleeve. ‘But I’m bored. Talk to me.’

‘If the whining doesn’t stop right now, I’m going to have to mute you.’

The avatar let go and took a step back. Its eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

‘Try me. For the last two days, all I’ve heard is how this transfer is going to affect you.’

The avatar placed a hand on its chest and stared at Susan. ‘But how is it going to affect me? You weren’t clear on that.’ Tears welled up in its eyes. It was good at acting; Susan had to give it that.

‘We’ve discussed that already. There’s nothing more to say.’

The avatar wiped its eyes. ‘Just once more—pleeeeasse?’

Susan rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, we’re done here.’ As soon as she hit the mute icon a slice of grey virtual tape was slapped over the avatar’s mouth. The avatar picked at a corner and almost removed it, but it slipped out of its fingers and snapped back into place.

Susan struggled to hide a smirk. As she turned away, she could see the avatar out of the corner of her eye, frantically waving its hands to get her attention. Before she could do a full one-eighty, it fanned the notification in the air with one hand and with its other hand pretended to knock on the imaginary screen it was trapped behind.

Susan moved into the bedroom to concentrate on the most pressing task at hand. She sat on the edge of her bed and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand. She always felt weary when her avatar was in one of its strops. What drained her energy only seemed to invigorate her avatar’s. She was grateful it was only a programme. She could walk away from a programme with a clear conscience. She opened drawers and pulled out clothes. She looked down at the pile that only grew the more she rooted around and tried to be practical about what to bring.

A total of three days from notification to transfer and with no idea of what Exilon 5 was like—the living conditions, the people. Her work had always focused on the people of Earth. She suddenly realised how much of her life had been like living inside a cocoon. The move both excited and scared her. Susan imagined the avatar still clink-clinking in the next room and it triggered a headache. She stood up with purpose, grabbed a handful of clothes and carried them into the living room.

There the avatar was waiting, shoulders slumped, eyes disengaged, looking very sorry for itself. When Susan appeared, it re-animated in front of her, the tape still in place. It moved a virtual mute icon around with its finger, repositioning it several times to get her attention and sighing heavily.

Susan shook her head and reluctantly deactivated the mute. As the tape melted away, the avatar released several breaths, and with it, the demon living inside.

‘What the hell did you do that for? I had no air! I could have died!’

‘You’re a programme, remember?’

It rolled its eyes. ‘Tell me what you’re going to take with you.’

‘None of your business.’

‘Come onnnn. Maybe I can help. Pleeeasse?’ It was eager now, a little too eager perhaps. The avatar reminded her of Annie Weber, but Susan could never bring herself to speak to Annie the way she did to her avatar.

‘Stop whining, will you? If I let you help will you calm down?’

The avatar traced a giant X across its fake heart.

‘Promise you won’t be a pain about it?’

The avatar nodded so vigorously, its head almost fell off.

Susan sighed heavily. ‘Okay, sort these out for me.’ She dumped the clothes on the floor.

The avatar stared at the pile, then at her. ‘What do you think I am? Your servant?’

‘You said you wanted to help, so I’m giving you something to do.’

The avatar groaned.

Susan fetched another gin and tonic. When she returned, the avatar had merely moved the clothes pile from one side to the other.

Susan frowned. ‘What’s this?’

The avatar grinned and shrugged its weedy shoulders.

‘I thought you were going to help,’ said Susan.

‘Give me something more important to do,’ the avatar whined.

‘I told you, my business is not your business.’ Susan said slowly.

‘Come onnnn.’

‘Okay, organise my paperwork then.’

‘That’s better! Then we can talk about how you’re going to transfer me.’

Susan said nothing.

 

 

The next morning, Susan was woken by the cacophonous tones of her avatar crooning a familiar, but out-of-tune, Spanish song. Behind the screen, it was wearing a pair of oversized green headphones and was dancing to the music. The noise was far from soothing and only added to Susan’s tension.

Her two brown and battered suitcases were by the door—both heirlooms and more frequently used in the olden days—her coat draped over the top of them both. Her gel mask was balanced on her coat. She wasn’t going to miss having to wear it every time she set foot outside. While her avatar was preoccupied, she tried to slip past the Light Box and into the kitchen to fix some breakfast. But the avatar noticed, tore off its headphones and materialised in the room. Its agitation increased as it struggled to contain its childish excitement. Susan wished she could share an ounce of its enthusiasm.

‘You’re up! I’ve been waiting for ages. What took you so long? Sooooo, when are we leaving?’ it gushed.

‘Soon,’ Susan said. ‘I want to get something to eat first. Why don’t you start downloading yourself.

‘Yay! This is soooo exciting,’ it said, clapping its virtual hands together.

‘Sure,’ Susan said flatly.

‘Why so glum? Should I play some soothing music, to help cheer you up?’

‘No thanks.’

‘I have some wonderful music from the fifties. Rocker–jazz perhaps? Or how about some Latin–funktastic? That always does wonders for my mood!’

‘Oh, do whatever you want!’ Susan snapped.

‘I will. There’s no need to be rude about it,’ said the avatar, pulling a face as it shuffled through the songs on its database. It settled on an upbeat Latin American number. ‘I lovvvve this song! Don’t you? Mi amorrrr, pienso que errrres hermossssa—’ It put on the pair of oversized green headphones again and quickly got into the lyrics of the song.

As soon as Susan had got something to eat, she grabbed her coat and mask, picked up her suitcases and walked out the door. The last thing she saw was her avatar standing staring at her, its mouth hanging open. Finally—the gormless version I’ve been looking for, she thought. An uncomfortable feeling danced around the pit of her stomach as the guilt took hold.

 

 

Susan arrived at the large transfer terminal attached to the docking station that was once the Toronto Pearson International Airport. She had agreed to meet Joel there. Above the entrance, blue neon signs blinked strongly in the dark daytime directing people to enquiries, waiting areas, or fast-track boarding. She was already aware of the World Government’s latest selection policy targeting strong genetic types. Currently they were focusing on blue-eyed, blonde hair combinations. But she hadn’t prepared herself for the sight of so many similar ‘types’ when she walked into the large waiting area that was standing room only. She struggled to find Joel, and was relieved when he spotted her.

‘Joel! Thank God.’ She let out a sigh of relief.

‘I know. It’s like a cattle mart in here,’ Joel said, seeming flustered.

‘Where do we need to go?’ Susan asked, looking around her.

‘I’m not sure. I checked the board but the flight information isn’t up yet. Some infobot told me there’d be an announcement soon.’

Susan shivered. ‘Well, I hope so. All these similar looking people are beginning to creep me out.’

Joel smiled but his expression soon changed. Susan noticed it. ‘What?’

He nodded behind her. ‘You have a visitor.’

Susan turned around to see a head of wiry black hair weaving its way through the crowd towards them. Annie Weber was impossible to miss.

‘Shit,’ Susan whispered. ‘What’s she doing here?’

‘Don’t ask me. She’s your stalker,’ said Joel, strategically stepping behind Susan when she turned to face Annie.

‘Shhhhit,’ Susan hissed.

‘There you are, Susan,’ Annie said, a little out of breath, her face flushed. ‘It took me aaaaaages to find you. God, you all look the same in here!’

‘Hello, Annie,’ Joel said peering out from behind Susan. ‘How’s my little psycho bitch doing?’

‘Joel,’ Susan said, wearily.

‘What’s he doing here?’ Annie asked sharply.

‘I think the question is, what are you doing here?’ Susan said impassively.

Annie did her best to ignore Joel, who was pulling faces at her. ‘I wanted to see you. I need to know where I can get more of those drugs you give me, especially the muscle relaxers. I’m under a lot of pressure. They really help to take the edge off.’

Susan couldn’t think what pressure Annie might be under, other than the social pressure of being a drug addict. She wasn’t happy that Annie was here. ‘You shouldn’t have come,’ she said nervously.

Annie’s lower lip wobbled. ‘Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we? I’ve come to see my best friend off, is all.’

‘You don’t belong here,’ Susan said.

‘Yeah, off you go now,’ Joel added. ‘Time to go stalk another doctor.’

Susan turned around. ‘You’re not helping,’ she said to him through gritted teeth.

‘Sorry,’ he replied, but his grin remained.

‘I know you don’t mean that,’ Annie said slowly while fixing Joel with her best icy stare. ‘I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now. If it was me, I would be shitting bricks right now.’ Annie stood on her toes and wrapped her short stubby arms around Susan’s perfectly proportioned waist. Her head barely reached Susan’s chest. There was something possessive about the gesture, as if it was a show for Joel.

Susan didn’t hug her back. Instead, she used her arms to block her. ‘You have to go, Annie,’ she repeated quietly; then with more force: ‘You have to go.’ She pushed Annie away to create distance between them.

‘Why? Why do I have to go?’ Annie whined, just like Susan’s avatar had that morning.

‘Because you’re my patient and it’s unethical for us to speak outside the lab.’

Annie stayed where she was, as if waiting for the rest of the statement—a joke, a laugh, something that would inform her that she was welcome after all. Susan sighed with frustration. Annie’s dark hair and genetic imperfections made her stand out—a black sheep— among this crowd of perfect blonde people. Much to her relief, an announcement about the flight was finally broadcast over the sound system. ‘Don’t worry about me, Annie, I’ll be just fine,’ Susan said, placing a gentle hand on Annie’s shoulder.

‘I don’t understand why I can’t come with you?’ Annie whined again.

Susan sighed loudly. ‘Because it’s not your time.’

‘But when will it be my time? Can you at least tell me when my next appointment is?’

Susan assumed a parent-like tone. ‘I told you, Dr Hannigan will be taking over your treatment while I’m away.’

‘I’m not sure, Suse,’ Annie complained. ‘You know I don’t like strangers.’

‘That’s all there is, Annie. Either take it or leave it.’ She patted Annie once on the shoulder and looked up as a second announcement boomed out overhead, a reminder. Susan cocked her head towards the speaker to listen, then said, ‘I’ve got to go. Take care of yourself.’

‘When are you coming back?’

‘Soon,’ Susan said with a dismissive wave of her hand. While she had felt guilty about leaving her avatar, she had no regrets about abandoning Annie Weber.

Joel tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Come on, we have to go.’ He waved at Annie. ‘Buh bye.’

‘Take care of yourself, Annie,’ Susan said quickly as the swell of people moving forward pushed her patient further away.

‘When will you be back?’ Annie shouted after her.

Joel smirked. ‘You want me to tell her? I’m happy to ruin her day.’

‘Don’t you dare! Let’s get the hell out of here before she realises I’m not coming back.’