by Mark Reece
He was surprised when meeting his self-imposed deadline, and allowed himself to leave.
As he hurried to the train station, he desired rest more deeply than he had ever wanted anything.
The train lurched to a halt on the edge of Central Zone, and a message went out over the public address system that there would be a delay, as a section of track had corroded. The very city seemed to be set against him. Ethan looked out the window with dull eyes. What used to be the limits of the old city was now a sprawling suburb, with streets cutting into each other at all angles as far as he could see. Houses glowed red then blue then green in waves as the MVs within projected characters from whatever programmes or games were playing. Although he had little time or interest in such things, at that moment, Ethan felt a maudlin sadness at being excluded.
Naturally, it was an anti-climax when he finally got home, flung himself on the sofa, and switched on his own MV. In that state, even the fact that it was still light enough that he did not need to shut the blinds was a blessing, as the moment saved felt like an eternity.
He gained then lost concentration from one moment to the next as images flashed before his eyes. Soon, he felt that he was drifting, drifting, and his thoughts dispersed…
He did not realise that he had woken for several seconds. However, the moment he did, he was immediately more alert than he had ever been. Ethan jumped to his feet. It was pitch black outside and he could only see anything by pressing his nose against the window, which shocked him with its cold insistence.
“Oh my god.”
Not only had he committed a section one subsection one that, given his position, would certainly be level three, but the blinds were open – he had done it in front of all the houses opposite. It would only have taken someone to look out of a window and…
Ethan looked at a wall clock and was amazed to see that he had slept for over four hours. It had been as soft and insubstantial as candyfloss, without any dreams that he could remember. His immediate neighbours knew that he worked for the SDMA, not his exact role, of course, but he wished, desperately, that he had not told them anything. The organisation will string me up. He tried to think of a pretext for knocking on their doors, but after a moment’s reflection, he knew that that would look even more suspicious. He stumbled to find his mobile to confirm the time. Not only was it correct but he had a missed call from Aislin that it was now too late to return.
What’s the matter with me? I’ve worked late loads of times before without this happening. I was only off a couple of weeks ago and I caught up with my sleep then. I’m going downhill at the age of thirty-one? The organisation had special vetting that included regular checks of medical records, meaning that he could not go to a doctor without the SDMA finding out, whereupon he would be suspended pending investigation by the DIA. Are the Icks up to something? An intelligence report had been distributed to the organisation a few months earlier that indicated that the Iklonians were developing a device that could induce sleepiness across the city, spread by contact with an unknown agent. It was a possibility.
He thought about what he could say to defend himself. For a moment, Ethan wondered whether he could accuse anyone reporting him of lying, before realising that there was no need: it would be perfectly plausible to agree that he had been lying on the sofa but to deny that he had been asleep. Perhaps I had a headache, so I happened to be closing my eyes when they saw me? Or the shadows in the room made them look as if they were closed? Eventually, he decided that the dark room explanation was the best, which only left why he had not closed the blinds. Perhaps they were broken? He stood and snapped several of them before realising what he was doing and shaking his head. Surely the DIA would have kicked the door down by now if someone had reported me?
It was with a strange thrill that he realised he was now a criminal. His feet were pounding, and the moment he stopped moving, he was exhausted again. He brushed his teeth – lifting the brush taking a tremendous effort – then staggered to bed, dropping his clothes in a pile.
Early the following morning, Ethan woke, or at least dreamed that he did, feeling very refreshed, and thought that if he felt that way now, then it would be even better when he had to get up.
That morning was as different from his usual early morning state as being awake was from being asleep. He experienced a new form of consciousness. Everything he touched had a different feel to usual, and he gazed upon the shiny side of the toaster as if seeing the colour for the first time. When he touched it with his fingertips, the notches made his arm tingle; everything seemed extraordinary now that he was alert enough to experience the world.
Ethan took the train to work to give him time to think, and when he got on it, he could not sit still, constantly folding and unfolding his legs then straining his neck to look around. Buildings and trees looked more solid than usual, and he could see details in them that he had never known before. In fact, for a few minutes, he thought that he must have got on the wrong train, as he barely recognised the landscape. He was only sure of where he was when the train crossed a zone boundary then started juddering as it went over uneven track, with a motion that he knew well but had never got used to. The strips of field he passed were the only pieces of undeveloped land for miles around, and he had never appreciated them before.
A young girl sat next to him and opened a textbook, making Ethan think that he should have brought a magazine with him. Or perhaps his headphones. Although he liked listening to music, he rarely did so, as it only irritated him when he was tired. Perhaps I could get the train everyday if I’m going to feel like this. It’d be an extra hour to do anything. The girl looked at him and raised her eyebrows petulantly, and Ethan realised that he was compulsively tapping the window. He smiled at her then looked away.
Ethan found himself digging a finger into the top of his leg. Calm down, he thought. Jesus. Act natural, you’re not going to survive five minutes if you carry on like this. There was a flap in the seat before him, where a piece of plastic could be lowered to lean on, and he found a newspaper inside. It was one of the sensationalist free sheets that glum faced men handed out in stations. His eyes jumped from one article to the next like those of a frightened cat. It was full of the usual rubbish, and Ethan found it amusing to read the cartoon version of the news. The only article that held his attention was headlined: ‘Icks in baby snatch shock’, in which it was alleged that ‘senior officials’ had uncovered an Iklonian plot to infiltrate hospitals and play music that disrupted the sleep patterns of new born babies. This would supposedly make them more likely to become Iklonians when they grew up.
Ethan liked the feeling that he had insider knowledge of what was going on, and knew which stories were true and which were planted. That article was obviously the latter, as senior officials never uncovered anything. However, the prominence of the story added to his agitation. It was of course absurd that the newspaper had been placed there to test his reaction, but Ethan knew that he had to be sensible. I need to investigate what happened, there could have been any number of causes, or perpetrators. If anyone else found out, they’d jump to the wrong conclusions, especially people who don’t know me. I’ve got to make sure that I don’t give anyone a reason to think I’ve done anything wrong.
He jumped when his mobile went off. Ethan opened it to see that it bore the SDMA clouds logo, but no message. The automated system had gone wrong before, but the timing seemed very suspicious. He looked around, wary of the other passengers. He had always known theoretically that no one could be absolutely trusted, but that was the first time he had ever really experienced it.
The walk from the train station to the SDMA building was equally strange. His steps were quick, nothing hurt, and the sound of cars driving past was amazingly sharp, as if his hearing had been turned up. He heard an engine stutter and the click of a loose exhaust, then a slap in the distance followed by a child’s whine.
He
noticed the dilapidation of buildings and roads, the potholes deep enough to have their own ecosystem of weeds. Light became trapped under his eyelids whenever he looked up.
“Morning!” he said when reaching his desk.
“What’s the matter with you?”
Ethan burst out laughing. “I’ve only said one word. What can I ’ave done wrong in one word?”
“You’re too cheerful. Come on, out with it. Are you going to kill me? Are you going to pull a gun out and massacre everyone in the room?”
Ethan put a finger against his lips. “Shut up.”
“Have you proposed to Aislin?”
Ethan rolled his eyes.
“You have haven’t you? Have you set a date?”
“Are you a woman? I’ve never known a man go on about marriage so much. There’s nothing up, I’m just happy, that’s all.”
Mohammed frowned and Ethan had never seen such a look of concentration on his face before.
“I may be just a thick North East lad, but this is all very odd. You can’t hide anything from me you know.”
“Tell me about it. I haven’t even sat down and you’re on at me. You’ll probably know I’m getting married before I do.”
“Seriously though, make sure you get your maximum hours tonight, you look knackered.”
Ethan’s heart jumped. “Yeah, will do.”
His voice was as timorous as that of a frightened child. Mohammed must have realised something was wrong as he did not ask any follow-up questions. Ethan did not dare to glance at him for several seconds, when he saw that he was leaning back in his chair and sucking a pen. It was then that Ethan realised what a dangerous situation he was in, sitting in an office with people who were trained to spot SC breaches. I’ve got to start using my brain. Ever since the accident, I’ve been acting like an idiot. I’ve got to investigate what happened and not let it affect anything. End of story.
His harsh words to himself worked, and within a few minutes, Ethan saw his tasks with a clarity that he had not experienced since coming back. He only stopped concentrating when his stomach rumbled and he looked at the clock at the bottom of the screen to see that it was lunchtime. He stretched his arms.
“You’ve been quiet today.”
“I’ve had to crack on with this lot. How you getting on with your stuff?”
“Okay, it’s just really repetitive putting everything in the right format. We shoot ourselves in the foot with the way we do things, I don’t know why people can’t just do their files properly.”
“Tell me about it. Will you have written it up by next Friday though, ’cos that’s when Dan wanted to see what progress we’ve made?”
“Yeah, I should have something by then.”
“Make sure you do.”
Ethan walked to the window behind his desk before he could reply. He realised that he had forgotten to ring Aislin back and thought that she would be in a bad mood. He called her on his mobile.
“Hello?”
“Hi Ash, it’s me.” It was always a bad sign when she pretended to not know who he was.
“Oh, hello. You okay?”
“Yeah, fine thanks. You?”
“Fine.”
“Good, good. I was just ringing to say sorry for not calling back. I had to put my phone on silent, then I didn’t get back till really late and I didn’t think you’d be up then.”
“Right.”
“So… did you want to… Was it just to talk that you rang, or…”
“It was to see how you were, that’s all.”
When they had that type of conversation, Ethan usually felt annoyed after the first few stilted silences, but at that moment, he was so full of energy that he did not care.
“Right, as I said then, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you right away, you know what it’s like. Everything okay with you?”
“Yeah, fine really. It’s the same here as in your department, busy all the time.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
It’s not really the same though, is it? Ethan thought. He had only ever been to Personnel once. No one had accompanied him, contrary to policy, and as he had wandered around, asking people where the files he needed to access were stored, everyone shrugged then turned back to their conversations, all carried out in low voices that filled the office with a constant hum. They glanced up whenever he passed, and moved their heads closer together when not recognising him. He had planned to speak to Aislin for a few minutes before thinking that asking anyone where she sat would be far too complex. It took him three hours to get the information he needed, their software being even worse than the Sleep Investigators used, and when he got back to his own floor, Ethan had described the situation to Mohammed in slighting terms, his brief experience having confirmed his prejudices about the admin lot.
“So… you want me to come to yours tomorrow?” Ethan asked Aislin, trying to think of something that would get him back into her good books.
“I can’t. Dad rang this morning, he wants me to go over tomorrow and look at some old pictures with him.”
“Look at old pictures? Why?”
“I don’t know, he just called out the blue and started talking about when I was a little girl. He was getting really sentimental and I thought he was going to cry. He went on for ages about family and Ireland then he said he wanted to go through the pictures with me while he still could.”
“Right. Do you want me to go with you?”
“No, it’s fine. I think I should go by myself. Sorry.”
“Well… hope it goes okay then. Send me a message.”
“Okay, love you.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
As soon as she hung up, Ethan thought over all the permutations of her words and tone of voice, trying to decide whether she was telling the truth. Although her father had acted strangely before, they had got on well from the first time they had met, thanks to his toleration of his eccentricities. On the other hand, this all seemed too convenient when she was clearly in a bad mood about the lack of time they had spent together recently. However, Ethan was more worried about the fact that he was not particularly upset. He thought about the advice campaigns that detailed the nightmarish consequences of breaking the Sleep Code, about how excess sleep can change a person, about how sleep can become a drug. I’m a living example of it. I can’t be sure whether anything I’m feeling is me or the sleep. He wondered whether he should work overtime that weekend, as he had so much energy that he had to do something.
Later that afternoon, Mohammed asked, “Do you still want to go to the cinema?”
“What?”
“Pay attention. I said, do you still want to go out this weekend?”
“Erm… yeah, sure. Weren’t you going through that stuff with Hasna though?”
“We’ve practised enough. We’ve actually got to the point where she’s fed up of it. A few hours on Saturday and she’ll be fine. You okay for Sunday?”
Ethan paused, wondering whether he should access the Internet for his personal use after what had happened, before deciding that after everything he had done for the organisation, he deserved some leeway. “Is four okay?”
“That’s fine, I often get worried that I don’t see enough of you. Changing the subject to something less interesting, what powers have we got when someone’s encouraging someone else to commit an SC breach?”
“What do you mean? Tell me the exact scenario.”
“I’ve got someone here who says she saw her mate fall asleep at work and challenged her about it. Her mate said to keep her mouth shut then sent her an e-mail… she gets a bit vague at this point… basically, the offender implied that she would turn a blind eye to her friend falling asleep if she ever wanted to try it. The witness says that she deleted the e-mail ’cos she was scared. Can we question the other peo
ple in the office?”
“The best thing to do would be to have the computer away. That’s section five sub-section one, ‘encouraging another or others to commit acts of unlawful sleep’. You can seize communication devices if there’s a suggestion of subversion; there’s every chance we’ll be able to recover the e-mail. Take the office MV as well, if there is one. You never know what you’ll find.”
“But how is it subversion if it’s only her? There’s no suggestion that the Icks or anyone else was involved.”
“That doesn’t matter. A subversive is someone who encourages others to undermine fundamental law; the fact that she’s not acting in concert with other subversives is mitigation, it doesn’t mean she’s not guilty.”
“Right, cool. You’re a genius. Are you going to impart some of this knowledge in an awayday if I organise another date?”
“Maybe. I don’t know, I’ll think about it.”
“I’ll make sure that there’s no laughing, nothing there to distract anyone from listening to you, if that’ll help.”
“I think you’ll struggle to get this lot to listen to anyone.”
“I wonder if you’d be the same if we were selling paper for a living. Would you go around folding it in half to make sure that all the sides were even?”
“Are you seriously saying we’re the same as salesmen?”
“Everyone’s the same when they’re earning a living.”
Ethan turned to his computer.
Before he left that evening, he received an e-mail from Daniel, saying that he wanted to meet on Monday to ‘get back in the loop’ about Hypnos. He had got as far as he could on the section of the document he was working on and was waiting for the other agents to get back to him, meaning that there was no point coming in over the weekend.
When he got home, Ethan felt the difference in his feelings even more acutely. At work, the rank structure, the expectations, and the deadlines meant that he could hide his mental state behind a public façade. At home, out of sight of the world, the significance of the change was plain. He took a long time to wash, cook dinner, and put his work things away, fearful of what would happen now he was finally alone with himself.