Anyone Can Ask About Enhancement

They’d got to cuddling when Vita mentioned it, then frowned as if she wished she hadn’t. Pol laughed. “For Enhancement? Are you kidding? Me? You seen those people?”

The question was rhetorical of course cos everyone had seen Enhanced, if only at a distance. Never for long. They came, they did whatever weird thing they’d come for, always wearing darkened visors that disguised their thoughts and feelings, then they disappeared. Pol had never got too near but those who had—who’d talk about it—said they felt repulsed. Enhanced were an exclusive echelon within the Company. They left a chill behind them, and they altered people’s lives. And maybe they weren’t even human any longer?

That thought stopped his laughter. “They act like they’re our gods.”

“Why shouldn’t they?” She pushed away. “They get the best, a special section of the city, credit ratings we can’t even dream of, leave to travel.” Vita dropped her voice. “I heard they’ve even left the planet.”

“Yeah? You know a lot about them suddenly.”

“You hear stuff, in reception. And I read about it once.” Her tone was airy but her face looked… furtive?

His attention sharpened. “You applied!”

Oh, she denied it, several times, but when she left it was without a smile. Sadly he acknowledged it was often like that these days; she came in all warm and eager, but afterwards… she looked around as if she wondered why she’d come. She didn’t ask him up to her place any longer either.

His place wasn’t so bad, was it? Small, but neat; a bed just long enough to take his length, the usual wall for storage then the counter and the shower. Basic room allowance, but he kept it clean and tidy.

Now he’d better wash away the scent of sex before he went on-shift this evening.

Two long strides and he was in the shower. Pitted plascreen sealed in the mist of the recycled spray which once again was running tepid and uncertain. Twice this week supply had faltered. Ah well, they’d deal with it, when they chose to. He was pretty lucky really, rating a rare single unit in this good multilevel instead of rowdy quarters in a concentrated singles’ sector. Stepping out again he measured his ‘apartment’, seeing it as she might, the bare simplicity and basic fittings. Still half dressed, he sat down on the bed and faced the facts.

It wasn’t bad, but it would never be enough for Vita. She already rated half the area again than he did, being an ancillary where he was still a Tasker. Soon she’d pout and say they had no future, look for someone higher up the ladder.

A despairing voice inside his head protested, “But we’re good together, and it’s not one-sided, she keeps coming back.”

“But she won’t live with you.” The second, sneering voice poured acid. “Not in any Tasker allocation. For Vita it’ll be Exec or nothing.” And he couldn’t give her that, the pay, the perks, the status; didn’t matter if he took more risks or laboured extra shifts. Unless…

Her perfume lingered on the sheets. He breathed in deep and stared up at the sterile metal ceiling, heard the sighing in the air vents. She was all he’d ever wanted. He could live without more status, or possessions, but she seemed to need them. She felt… cheated. “She loves me, really, but she can’t accept I’m nothing special.”

Special. Like. Enhancement.

The words expanded, filling all his senses. Pol pushed it away, revolted, then he slowly drew it back and faced it. Unlikely as it was, it was the only answer to his problem. The Enhanced got good apartments, privileges, status; everything she wanted.

Arguing against his fear he told himself, “You’d work less hours, no more shifts and rotas. You’d live easy, if they took you. And you’d still be you. You’ve never been a snob, or bad to people, and Enhancement couldn’t force a person to be antisocial. Hell, your neighbours always have been. You just hear about the worst, that’s all, cos face it you don’t travel in their circles. Exec down to Tasker, people are still people.”

In the coming weeks he reached some tentative conclusions. At his level most of what was ‘known’ about Enhancement was mere rumour, not to be relied on. But there was a slogan. “Anyone can ask” the Company advised repeatedly on all the public walkways—but they didn’t even air recruitment programmes in the Tasker levels. The only thing he knew for sure was folk like him were first in line to be ‘dispensed with’ as the company described it.

A friend of his had been dispensed with. Pol still saw him sometimes. He didn’t want to end up on subsistence, cleaning washrooms, growing dull and vacant. Yet one error by some tired tech was all it took. The risk was always there and he was only ‘viable’ as long as he was tagged as healthy.

Backward and forward; good and bad; he’d settled nothing, scared of losing her but still unable to persuade himself to a decision. Till the line inspection.

No one knew that it was coming; the foremen hadn’t pushed them to work faster, or look more efficient. No one knew except maybe Execs up in their towers. But the shielded window up above them lifted slowly, with a muted whisper almost hidden by the hum of autos and the rattle of the loadlines. It was mid-shift, everyone was busy, but there was a moment’s silence he could almost taste between the rows of macro-units. Then each man and woman bent assiduously, faking blindness.

Enhanced. Not one but two. They stayed some time. Pol saw them up there looking, asking questions. When they finally began to turn away the people round him breathed much freer. Only Pol stood rigid.

He’d forgotten to keep his head down, half the line away from where they’d loomed, his wits gone begging, staring upward. Even at that distance one of them had noticed it. A glossy head swung back to face him, mirrored visor baleful. Then the man raised one gloved hand, and slowly raised his visor, and as if compelled Pol pulled away his shielded helmet. Cool, black eyes met Pol’s wide blue ones. Time, existence, stumbled. Then recovered.

Nothing actually happened. The Enhanced replaced his visor, backing from the window. Once they left there was a buzz of talk, but Pol stood silent. When a neighbour spoke to him he jerked, looked blankly at the other man then stepped away and left his station, stripping off his dense protective suiting. “Feeling sick,” he told the foreman. It was half true.

After a sleepless night he dressed with care in the best of his Tasker issue then, six hours before his shift was due to start, he rode the ramps and walkways to the Company’s headquarters. Two long hours of unfamiliar travel, questions, disapproving glances, while the spring inside him coiled tighter. There, a gate guard raised his eyebrows. Entering Execs looked curiously sideways and he felt too big, too clumsy. Still, tight-lipped, he moved to enter.

“You got a pass?” The guard looked unbelieving.

“I heard anyone could ask, about Enhancement.”

“Yeah?” The brows rose higher. “Well, that’s what they tell me. This’ll lead the way. But don’t stray, boy, or you’ll be arrested.” The guard stood back and watched him fumble with the unfamiliar handset. When he finally stepped through an Exec with a senior rating patch called, “Morning, Joff,” in passing then, as loudly, “What’s he doing here?” The door guard muttered something. “What, a Tasker?” Stifled laughter, light and careless. “No chance.”

Pol flushed red at the appalling breach of manners but he didn’t dare protest, his feelings weren’t important here. He went the way this finder took him, yellow if he got it right and red if he went wrong. Commanded by a colour.

ENHANCEMENT

The word was etched across the arch, he’d almost walked right under it, his eyes down on the finder. Now he looked around he faltered. Everything in here was hushed; discreetly lit and coolly spotless, a melange of pale textures. This entrance could have held a hundred folk like him, the glassy floor a lake to drown them. There was no guard this time, no barrier to stop him but it took him several deep breaths to find his courage, scared each breath might smear a shining surface. When he walked, his feet sent muffled ripples of sound around and outward. Ghosts of echoes eavesdropped when he faced the callscreen and his throat constricted.

“Welcome. Please state the reason for your visit.”

He’d almost blurted Vita, they’d have thought him crazy. “Er, I came to ask about Enhancement?”

“Are you considering application?”

“Well, I might be.” He should still be cautious.

“Please follow the amber line to an interview unit.” A thin stripe, glowing orange, surfaced in the floor behind him. No, it definitely hadn’t been there when he’d walked across it. Squaring line-built shoulders he marched down it, sinking deeper.

Inside the small white cubicle another disembodied voice took over. “Welcome. Please sit down and face the console.” Pol settled gingerly, eyes on the screen before him which became a live mosaic, more subtle colours, somehow reassuring. Or maybe, now he’d got this far the worst was over and his nerves had settled?

“Please sit back. The couch will adjust to your build and posture.” Consciously relaxing his bunched muscles, Pol followed the direction, trying to feel calmer. He had made the first decision. Sink or swim, he had gone this far.

“Thank you. The couch is programmed to handle all readings. If at any time these indicate you are unable or unwilling to continue this unit will terminate proceedings. This is a safety feature for your protection. Are you ready to commence?”

“Yes!” He’d gripped the arms then let go quickly, fearing it would tell against him, and he should have spoken softer. But the light dimmed and the cubicle had somehow managed to become a distant, insubstantial haze around him. Nothing but this couch felt solid. The voice sounded female. Dammit, don’t get sidetracked.

“Recording now. It will help this unit if you can relax more. Interview commencing.” Even before ‘she’ finished he felt a hundred ghostly touches. From the padded headrest tendrils wrapped across his neck and forehead, clinging on like cobwebs. Tiny silver filaments extended round his wrists and then there was a sudden, stabbing pain between his shoulder blades, though it was gone in seconds.

“Please do not be alarmed, small samples of blood and bone marrow have been taken. At the same time this unit has introduced a minute dose of an enhancing agent into your bloodstream. This may facilitate your own performance and at the same time measure your body’s ability to assimilate more treatments.”

Pol stared at the flowing shapes that shifted as the voice. He didn’t feel any different. Then he did. The outer layer of skin that held him suddenly felt dry and crusted, like the planet’s storm-blown surface. His perception tilted. Tremors, earthquakes, spread across his body. Super nova flared inside him, ice caps melted and a tidal wave of violent reaction drowned him.

The unit stayed silent until his breathing steadied then said cheerfully, “As required by law, all relevant information has or will be offered. Your initial reaction is favourable and does not bar you from proceeding. Do you wish to continue?”

Pol’s eyes felt wide, the air he breathed felt thinner. But he nodded.

“This unit has registered an affirmative gesture. Before your application begins you must also affirm your willingness to comply with directives on secured information.”

“What?”

“This unit is programmed to supply data on the Enhancement process, its history, development and current status; also to enumerate the benefits, or otherwise, of following said treatments. In order to safeguard this confidential data.” Here the voice slowed down a fraction. “This unit must be empowered, should your application ultimately fail, for whatever reason, to delete that portion of your memory retaining confidential data.”

Pol leaned forward. “Can you do that?”

“I am so programmed.”

“Is that legal?”

“Providing you affirm willingness.” Pause. “Failure to do so will terminate this interview.”

Another silence. Pol watched the screen, but nothing happened. No, of course not. He drew a breath, sat back again and spoke. “OK, I affirm my willingness to comply with your conditions. Will that do it?”

“Thank you. We may proceed.”

Like a child Pol immersed himself in story. He discovered that Enhancement went back decades, from its slow and tentative beginnings through a host of evolutions with inevitably some traumatic failures. Sarvij, its original inventor, was among the failures. The unit showed Pol holos of before and after, detailing procedures that destroyed the very man who had believed in their creation. The unit-voice remained aloof, the pictures not so. Pol’s heart ached for the man’s incurable condition. Why, a touch, a sound, a breath of moving air could cause him torment, despite all attempts at shielding, soundproofed quarters, drugs or padded clothing. Death had truly been the kindest answer.

Eventually the unit murmured, “You are under stress. Please drink.” A beaker rose, half full of yellow liquid. Pol didn’t query what it was, he simply grabbed and drained it all, and felt his tension lessen. Then he sat a while, head bowed, and thought of those who hadn’t made it. Then he sighed and straightened up. At once the unit said, “As required you have now been afforded all relevant arguments. Current procedures, as you have seen, are much safer but there remains some risk. Total rejection currently measures four point four six percent while total assimilation is three point two six percent, with responses between graded as explained. Will you affirm you understood this?”

“Yes, I do,” Pol answered grimly.

“Do you still wish to continue?”

Despite the relaxant—or because of it?—Pol’s mouth was still dry. “If it goes wrong, the Company takes care of me?”

“The Company undertakes all responsibility for the care and welfare of deserving cases.”

He didn’t ask for details, not after the holos. “Then… let’s get this over.”

Questions fired at him out of nowhere: reasoning and problem solving, memories, impressions, ethics, it became a stream of challenges that grew more complex, jolting his imagination. But he felt a rush of satisfaction as his brain ballooned to meet the challenge. He could cope with this! He’d been afraid his lack of book-learning would make him fail but this test didn’t ask for textbook knowledge, past the very basics, seemed to him to slide around that aspect.

The unit called a halt and food was offered; did he need it. He felt out of breath as if he had been running, couldn’t settle. Trying to be calm he asked, “What time is it?”

“The time is fourteen thirty-seven.”

He stiffened. “I should be at work. They’ll penalise me for it.”

“That has been dealt with, without disclosure of your presence here. Once you initiated the test your foreman was automatically informed you had been transferred to another factory.”

In case he failed. Then no one, even him, would ever know what happened? Life would go right on as if he’d never… but he didn’t want that any more, for all the doubts he’d come with. Now a magic door had opened, just a crack, but he had glimpsed another state of mind, another world, beyond it.

Yet more questions followed, often abstract and confusing with no clear answers. Pol began to falter but the voice was reassuring. “The interview is almost concluded. It is only necessary to ascertain your current pain threshold. Please stay calm and seated.” The shock was gone before he tensed to meet it but it left him wilting. All of this, but would he even rate an offer?

Friends stretched out in his apartment. Bands of real sunlight fractured into rainbow colours as they all raised glasses to their newest Total. Pol smiled back. Three months of treatments; fever, checks and rechecks, hesitations, disbelief. Six months to reach the magic lurking all the time inside him, brighter, keener. Total. One of the three percent. One of the Company’s gods!

He had three degrees now, all achieved as practice exercises. He could learn a language in a day and speak it like a native. He could taste the sheer joy of living, every nuance, hear and touch it, like his fellows. He was one of them. They bid him welcome, he could sense their pleasure, and relief that he would join them in their fight to save their people. When they left he sat and looked around at what he had. Here was the status, the material advancement Vita wanted. Smiling at that silly thought he rose and went to show himself to Vita. She’d have worried, now he’d reassure her.

Funny, she hadn’t thought about Pol for weeks now, why should a dress she’d never liked remind her? When he’d been transferred so suddenly she’d called at first, left messages, been angry, then she’d grown accustomed to his absence. But she’d missed him, more than she’d imagined. That had rather shocked her. So he wasn’t Upper level, he’d been strong and handsome, loving and unselfish, things she hadn’t valued till she couldn’t find them. When the door chime sounded she got up to answer, unsuspecting, then stepped back. A male Enhanced stood at her door. What had she done? But then the man said, “Vita?” and his hand rose as he tucked the darkened visor in a pocket.

“Pol?” She swayed, then beamed. “It’s you? It’s really you? You look so…” Then her voice trailed off, for Pol, her doting Pol, was backing from her, face gone rigid.

Terry Jackman (Mrs) is a mild mannered lady living in a quiet village in northwest England. After ten years selling nonfiction her first novel, titled Ashamet, is earning five star reviews—but she still wonders how her neighbours will react if they find out!
www.terryjackman.co.uk