by Jem Tugwell
I scowled as the iMe logo and slogan appeared on my HUD screen: ‘Enabling a better you’.
3
Thief
The faint hum of all the hidden electronics couldn’t drown out Karina’s crying. The metal walls and painted white floor of the room shone with newness. I’d chosen the finish to be easy to wipe clean and sterilise. A wall of prison bars split the space in two, I clanged its door open and stepped in the cage.
‘Why?’ she sobbed, ‘why me?’ She pressed herself further into the corner and brought her knees up to her chest to form a defensive barrier.
With her head down and her chin on her chest, it left me staring at her almost vertical centre parting. Her bobbed hair dropped forward like two auburn curtains, hiding her face. I could feel the sweat under my mask, and I ran my hand through my hair. It felt lank and greasy.
‘Does it matter why?’
‘What? Let me go. I… I won’t tell anyone.’ She looked up and stared straight at me – little specks of gold and blue visible amongst the pale green of her eyes. She was a pretty thing, even in the baggy T-shirt and shorts I had given her for the night-time and the dry, little patterns of fear left by her tears and mascara. ‘They’ll find me anyway.’
I could feel her spirit. It would take time to break her.
‘I can’t let you go – you’re mine now.’ Then, as much to myself as her, ‘I’m committed.’
Her eyes dropped, and the room seemed darker. She muttered another ‘Why me?’
‘That’s the wrong question.’
Her head came up a bit. I could almost hear her thinking, but it only resulted in another ‘Why?’
‘You’re better than that, Karina. I’ll give you a hint… How long have you been here?’
She tried to work it out, and then her eyes flashed with comprehension and hope as she nodded her head. ‘The police must see where I am. They’ll come straight here and rescue me. They’ll get you.’
‘There you go. Right thought process – wrong conclusion.’ My head shook in contradiction. ‘Your boyfriend’s been home all night. He’ll be worried about you. He’ll have called you, got no answer, and then paid for a trace. Your signal should have brought them straight here.’
The hope drained from her face as she thought it through. ‘They should have found me by now.’
‘Exactly.’ I looked deep into her eyes. ‘It’s just you and me.’
As I turned the lights off, I heard Karina gasp at the sudden blackness of the room. ‘Why are you doing this?’
‘The far more interesting question is how.’
4
DI Clive Lussac
My life looped around again as another lonely night rolled into a tedious day. PCU’s workload didn’t stretch one person, let alone two. As Zoe knew what to do, I left her to it and drifted.
Shit. Mary. We’d been rocky for ages, and it never helped when she said I didn’t listen to her. I hadn’t ever consciously not listened, my mind simply drifted off, and I stopped hearing her.
But the truth lay under the ‘iMe Status’ button on my HUD. I clicked it and a small figure, my Buddy, ran along the bottom of my screen trailing a banner saying ‘Active Excess Consumption Order. No deviations to Model allowed’. Buddy shook his head and gave me a double thumbs-down.
Mary’s eyes, the angle of her hips and her arms across her chest had screamed that getting my second Excess Consumption Order and being marched off to another Risk Awareness Training course instead of taking her to dinner on her birthday was the end of my marriage. Separate flats and separate lives.
I opened the report of my deviations to the Model Citizen. Each coloured bar in the report showed my performance against a category defined in the Model and was meant to be solid, conformant green: exercise, sleep, drugs, blood pressure, fat, calories, etc. You were allowed a small amber tip where you were outside the Model, but still inside your Freedom Units allowance. The allowance gave the pretence of free will and choice and let you decide where you yielded to temptation. At least today, my report didn’t flash red all over like an overly-decorated house at Christmas. Buddy looked a little happier now.
I smiled. The idiots in the Ministry of Well-being and Health hadn’t thought through the name Freedom Units. Everyone called them FUs and every time I used the acronym, I was thinking, Fuck You, Well-being and Health. I was defiant – but losing the battle.
An Incident flashed up on my HUD, and I looked up when Zoe didn’t deal with it. She wasn’t at her desk, and I hadn’t even noticed.
Having no choice, I did some work.
It was a simple domestic violence case. Uniform had attended a flat where a woman had been assaulted, and they needed confirmation that her husband was with her at the time. The Incident contained links to both people, as well as the location and the date and time of the assault. I picked up the whole Incident with my pinched fingers and dropped it into the Monitor window on my HUD. I selected the period thirty minutes before the time of the assault and pressed ‘Search’. This time, Buddy trailed out a banner that said ‘Searching’. After a couple of seconds, he packed the banner away, threw the search results onto my HUD screen and scampered off.
The results opened and showed two dots overlaid on a floor plan of the flat: The woman’s dot was in the lounge, her husband’s in the kitchen. The husband’s dot moved around the kitchen as I fast-forwarded. The dot for the woman stayed still, then she moved to the kitchen and stopped in the doorway. After about twenty seconds, the man’s dot rushed to the woman’s, they circled a few times and the man’s dot left. The woman’s dot didn’t move again.
Proof enough for a conviction. I sent the history trace back to Uniform and leaned back.
Modern policing – no thought needed.
5
DC Zoe Jordan
I missed Cyber. Two years on the front line of policing replaced by this compulsory rotation. It was bad enough that I had to come to PCU at all, but three months with next to no work and a grumpy boss would be a real test of my endurance.
I got back to my desk. Passing the time would be easier if I could find a personal connection to Clive, so I tried to get the conversation going again, but the words crossed to the other side and wilted. We were separated by age and outlook more than the furniture. My side of the desk was sunny, but his was in dark shade.
I tried again. ‘What made you join the police, Boss?’
‘God, that was a long time ago.’ He looked up at me.
I smiled, encouraging him to continue.
‘I’m a bit embarrassed to say.’ Clive clasped his hands and circled his thumbs, trying to hide behind the action.
‘Go on.’ I flashed another smile and paused to nudge him on.
‘Well, er, I guess I wanted to catch crooks and stop murders.’
‘You have.’
‘Maybe, but there’s a downside.’
‘How do you mean?’
He shrugged, ‘I know it’s wrong, but I kind of miss them.’
‘You can’t mean that?’ Shock loosened my jaw, and my mouth flopped open. It took a few seconds to recover. ‘That would mean someone innocent has died.’ How can he even think that way?
‘Yes, I know. But I miss… the challenge, solving the puzzle. You know, to feel useful.’
My forehead furrowed. Simple to solve crimes were a good thing. Why would you want it to be hard? ‘You want people to die, so you feel useful?’
‘Obviously not.’ I had backed him into a corner. ‘There’s nothing to do.’
‘So, apply to Cyber.’
I thought I could see his eyes water, so I looked away. In the fading light outside the grimy window, I could still make out the outlines of the graffiti on the wall.
‘They said I was too out of touch,’ he whispered, then louder, he added, ‘I can’t take every aspect of my life being micro-managed.’
‘But that’s nothing to do with work. That’s to make your life healthier.’
He
seemed to want to go back to the gluttonous, lazy chaos of before iMe. Why couldn’t he embrace the positives? Didn’t he want to live longer?
I tried to hide the hardness of my expression, and the words ‘suck it up’ almost escaped, but I put a brake on my mouth before my thoughts came out. ‘Don’t forget all the good you’ve done, Boss.’
‘Yes, I guess, but I need to use my brain again before I can’t remember what day it is.’
***
As the motion-detectors of the outlying office lights clicked off, we huddled in the small island of light over our desks, and the sea of darkness pressed in around us. It was nearly six, and then I could go home. Clive looked like he was drilling down, deeper and darker. Each unhealthy thought feeding the next. I could almost feel the cloud over him. Why couldn’t he see that not having much work was a good thing? It meant that people were safe.
The bing of the new report arriving interrupted me. I picked it up and read it.
‘No way!’ I said.
Clive ignored me.
‘Boss. Boss?’
He shook himself loose and came back up. ‘What?’
‘I’ve got a Missing Person report.’
‘What? That’s impossible.’
6
DI Clive Lussac
I stared at Zoe. ‘We haven’t had anyone missing since the beginning. Ten years now.’
‘That’s what I thought… but I’ve got someone called Karina Morgan reported missing. I can’t see her signal.’
‘It’s a mistake, she’ll have a signal,’ I said. ‘Run the signal trace again.’
‘I’ve already run the trace three times – all with the same result.’
My shoulders dropped in disappointment. Surely Zoe could handle something as simple as this?
‘Let me look,’ I said. ‘Throw your HUD at the display wall.’
She bunched her fingers together to ‘grab’ her screen and used a flick of her wrist to throw it at the display wall nearest us.
The scrolling health and safety warnings on the wall stopped. I sneered at the frozen message about wearing anti-cut gloves when chopping vegetables. According to the Ministry of Well-being and Health, ‘One Risk is a Risk Too Many’.
The wall blinked and showed a duplicate of Zoe’s HUD. I lumbered up with all the grace of an arthritic bear and walked past Zoe’s side of the desk to the wall.
‘Give me control, Zoe.’
I watched the cursor on the wall as she moved her hands in front of her face and selected an item from the menu. ‘Ready,’ she said.
I pinched the Missing Person report on the wall with my fingers and dragged it to the Monitor window. I looked at Zoe and made an exaggerated show of dropping the report, so she could see how to do it properly. As we were looking at Zoe’s HUD, her Buddy rolled out the ‘Searching’ banner. I waited, but her Buddy removed the banner and unrolled a new one that I had never seen before – ‘Error: No Signal’. Zoe’s Buddy gave a disappointed shrug and ran off.
Weird. I picked up and dropped the report again, and again, repeating the search, trying to make it work. Each time Zoe’s Buddy rolled out the error banner.
‘This makes no sense. Can you check with support?’
Zoe gave me an I told you so look, said, ‘Call iMe Tech Support,’ and touched her jaw. I heard the call ring through the speaker in the wall.
‘Tech Support, this is Rob,’ the voice said.
‘Hi, Rob, this is DC Zoe Jordan at PCU. I got a Missing Person report on Karina Morgan, and I’m getting a No Signal error when I search.’
‘Hi, Zoe. I saw the No Signal alert. We’re checking, but we think it’s a bug in the signal database not returning the data.’
‘So, nothing to worry about?’
‘No, Karina will be wherever she normally is. She must have signal data, you know that.’
‘Sure, we’ll park it then. Thanks, Rob.’
‘Later,’ Rob said, and the call dropped.
‘It’s nothing,’ I said, and headed back to my desk.
Before I made it, I heard an incoming call. ‘PCU,’ Zoe said.
Her HUD was still mirrored onto the wall, so I could hear the panicked voice.
‘Hello. I reported my girlfriend missing, and nothing’s happened. She’s still not back. I can’t find her.’ He spoke so fast his words ran together. ‘You need to help me.’
7
Thief
I had chosen a classic for today’s look, and the little black dress waited on the hanger for Karina’s body.
She turned her head to me, but I saw only half of the Karina from last night, as if she had a dimmer switch and it was turned down. ‘Why are you doing this?’
I settled on the bed next to her and took her hand.
‘Why? Honestly, Karina, that again?’ I sighed. ‘If I explain why I stole you, you’re not going to say, “OK, I understand, crack on”, are you?’
Squeezing her hand, I stood. ‘I’ve got to go to work now, but I’ll be back later for more games.’
She flinched and looked worried, almost as if being alone here was worse than being with me.
‘Your clothes are there. Food’s in the cupboard – easy to open stuff to get you through the day.’ I slid my hand to the shackle on her wrist and made a small ‘O’ with my fingers, using it to follow the heavy chain from her wrist, to the large eyelet set into the wall. I could have gone for a light carbon fibre rope, but there was something more dramatic in the weight and bulk of the chain, something more gothic. Best of all, it rattled as my hand passed over it. From the wall, the chain dropped straight to the floor where it pooled like a fat, sleeping snake, its tail secured to the floor. ‘There’s enough chain for you to get to the toilet, shower, and the food.’
She grunted and pulled on the chain, ‘Let me fucking go.’
‘Feel free to try to escape, but I’ve been planning this a long time. You can make all the noise you want, but no one will hear you.’
In my reflection in the wall, I looked calm and in control, but I was buzzing inside. Finally, finally.
Maybe my psychiatrist, Dr Owen, hadn’t lied after all. ‘If you can’t control your own life, find things you can control,’ he had said. Deep down, I knew that Karina wasn’t what he meant, but then again, he’d never given any specific advice. He was full of vague generalisations and clichés that didn’t mean anything, so this was his fault.
‘Shower and get changed.’ I patted the towel and underwear to make it clear. ‘Don’t make me cross with you.’
Karina stood frozen – a small statue of terror.
I stood and went back outside of the bars, then turned the key to lock the cage door. I removed the key, slipped my finger through its handle and swung it around my finger. I left the room, shutting the outer door with a dull thud and turning the wheel after me. Bolts on the sides and top slid across the opening to nestle into their matching clamps. I turned to the monitor, lifted my mask with relief, watching her for a while, and then pressed the intercom.
‘That dress suits you.’
Karina’s head jerked from side to side, her eyes searching the walls of the room. ‘You’re sick. Are you watching me shower and on the toilet?’
‘Trust me, I’ve no interest in you using the toilet.’ I watched her for a moment. ‘Bye, Karina.’
Her eyes hunted for the cameras.
***
When I got home from work, I enjoyed some playtime with Karina and put her to bed. Afterwards, I replayed her day. I skipped through the boring bits – her life flashed by in jerky, thirty times normal speed.
Watching live was better, even when she was sleeping. She knew about the cameras, but she wouldn’t know if I was here.
‘Karina,’ I said, finger on the intercom. ‘Karina.’
I waited as the sleepy figure stirred, and I brought the lights up gradually. She looked pretty in the white nightie I’d given her. The floaty material’s sheen brightened under the lights, and I could see
the little pink bow in the centre of her chest.
‘There’s something I want you to do for me,’ I said.
8
DI Clive Lussac
Karina being missing with no signal was obviously some sort of technical fault, but Zoe and I settled into the car. ‘Let’s go,’ I said. It would be a fool’s errand, but better than sitting alone in my flat.
Zoe said, ‘Car… Destination… Karina Morgan’s home.’ The car confirmed the address and the screen between us redrew to show us a house in Datchet.
I passed the journey staring out of the window, watching the dark evening chase the last patch of bright sky away. I huffed breath onto the car’s window, creating a small condensation circle. I drew a sad face in it. iMe would fix the bug, and I could go home.
‘What are you thinking, Boss?’ Zoe asked.
‘It’s going to be a waste of time. iMe coverage has been 100% for years now. There’s no way she can be missing.’
‘Her boyfriend sounded upset, and she isn’t at home. So, where is she?’
I studied the photo of Karina from her Ministry of Well-being and Health profile – sparkling grass-green eyes, auburn hair and an expression that hinted at mischief and fun. ‘She’ll be out enjoying herself and her boyfriend’s upset.’
‘But why no signal?’
Zoe sounded shocked, and a little rattled, so I tried for a supportive smile. She must have been about fourteen when iMe was made mandatory and defined how she behaved. I shuddered; the implant process had been bad enough for me, let alone a kid.
‘Don’t know. Dead or alive, you still have a signal. They know where everyone is. You can’t be missing.’
‘What are we going to do?’
I watched the constant clasping of her hands. She had no pre-iMe adult experience to fall back on, and I wondered if the threat of a problem with the system was getting to her.