by Terry Tyler
If it wasn't for Colt and Nash, I think she and I would have stopped hanging out ages ago. She was a riot at college, but I no longer choose my friends according to how hard they're willing to party.
She clicks onto her wallscreen controls, gives Nash a conspiratorial grin, and brings up Trans Fails.
Oh God.
"Turn that crap off," Colt says.
"Me and Nash like it, don't we?" She snuggles up to him; he doesn't look like he has any problem with this.
Trans Fails is the pits. Whoever is making money out of it ought to have their limbs cut off, slowly.
Nowadays, we know that although a small minority of people are truly transgender, feeling unsure about your sexuality or uncomfortable with your body in adolescence does not necessarily mean that you've been born into the wrong one. But, sadly, in order to arrive at this realisation, a lot of bad shit had to happen.
By the early 2030s, parents all over the country were signing gender reassignment surgery forms for their kids, some under twelve; they thought they were being enlightened, not realising they were playing into the bank accounts of the gender dysphoria clinics who were making a packet out of it.
Which was when it turned into a horror show.
Those who couldn't afford the high prices charged by established clinics would go cheap, which led to botched operations. Then there were the regrets, mostly young men who wanted their dicks back―and the reversal clinics sprang up everywhere. Worse botch jobs took place. People died, and new laws were passed to protect the public, but there was money still to be made. Thus, Trans Fails.
At first it just showed them talking about their experiences, but, gradually, it's become a reality freak show. The more outlandish, the bigger the celebrity. They take part in outrageous game shows, in which they have to put themselves in potentially embarrassing or even dangerous situations.
It's constantly high in the ratings, which doesn't say much for the mentality of human life in the UK, year 2061. Lori and Nash love it.
Colt and I go into the bedroom he shares with Lori, to talk. Their flat is exactly the same as every one for childless young couples or singles. Living room with sofa bed for a guest, shelving and a pull-down table, alcove kitchen, shower room with lavatory, one bedroom with just enough room for bed, small chest of drawers and wallscreen, with built-in wardrobes/storage. There is little room for individuality.
We sit on their bed. There's a weird atmosphere tonight, almost as though we've swapped partners.
He asks, "You ever been in a pod?"
A pod is the mode of transport used outside the megacities, for those with reason to travel from city to farm zone, off-grid, Hope Village or wasteland―basically, anywhere that's not on the ziprail network.
"I've never travelled off the zip. Why, have you?"
"Yeah. When we were at college―d'you remember me going to Rhys's aunt's funeral? Well, anyway, the wake was back at the off-grid where she'd lived. It was witching." He lies back, hands behind his head. "The pod's just like being on the ziprail, except it's ground level, and we never saw the wasteland; the windows were shadowed. The off-grid, though―it was enough for me to know I wanted to live some place like that. It felt like paradise. Like, the real countryside, not Wildacre. Didn't hurt that it was a glorious summer day, so that's how it's stuck in my mind. But the people seemed so happy and relaxed, and it was like going back in time. I loved it."
I frown and smile at the same time. "I've never heard you mention it."
"No, because if I do, Lori says 'oh no, off he goes about how he wants to live off-grid'. She doesn't care about my hopes and dreams any more, because they're different from hers, which basically involve getting her profile on the trending list and saving up for that all-important face lift for her thirtieth birthday."
I laugh. "Sounds like me talking to Nash about my family. He actually told me to stop, and we've not talked about them since. I don't think it's that he doesn't understand how important they are to me; he just doesn't care."
He props himself up on his elbows. "We're with the wrong people, you and me."
I nod. "Feels like it, sometimes. Do you still want to live off-grid?"
"Yeah!" He sits up. "I was thinking―after we've found your family, I might just bugger off. See if I can find one to take me in or, if I can't, just try my luck in the wasteland. Not come back."
He looks kind of cagey as he says this, giving me quick looks to gauge my reaction, then looking away. Suddenly, I understand.
"So this isn't about you coming with me to be supportive. It's so you can get a pass out."
Now he looks even more cagey. "No! It's not―I―"
"Why didn't you just say so?"
He takes hold of my hand. "Rae, I care about you finding your family; I know how much it means to you. I'm not Nash. And we've got so much in common. I really like you―I always have done. More than you know. You know what I said about us being with the wrong people?"
Oh, I get it. Now he's scared I'll say I don't want him to come. I guess he's used to women turning into something soft and gooey when he expresses an interest in them. Well, not this one.
I pull my hand away. "If our chemistry was anything other than friendship, we'd have discovered it years ago."
"Yes, but we've never been single at the same time." He runs his fingers through his untidy hair. "Weird days. We spend so much time together, us four and the rest of the gang, but it seems like we're all hanging on to how we were at college, and I―well, I'm ready to move on. I want something else. And I don't think I'm going to find it in fucking MC12."
I sigh. "Yeah. I know."
"Anyway, what about you? If you find your family, are you going to be satisfied with saying, hi, I'm Rae, great to meet you, and then just turning round and coming back here?"
"No. I don't―I can't think that far ahead. Because if I start imagining them, imagining meeting them, I'll set myself up for disappointment."
He laughs. "Haven't you already done that, though? I would. I'd have conjured up all sorts of scenarios."
"I'm trying to keep it real. They might be dead. I might not be able to find them. If I do, they might be awful, or not interested in me. I've got to make sure I can come back and get on with my life."
He nods. "It's like when you've got stuff to say to someone and you plan the convo in your head, but it doesn't work out 'cause they don't give your scripted answer."
We both laugh, and he lies back again, staring up at the ceiling. "I just want to be somewhere I can feel like me. Where my every decision isn't governed by fucking NuSens." He sighs, and pulls himself up into a sitting position. "I guess we'd better go back in there, before Lori starts accusing us of shagging." He looks at me. "You're okay with me? I do want be there for you, I really do―"
"It's okay, I'm not going to change my mind about you coming." I get up and open the door. The door at the end of the tiny hallway is open; Lori and Nash are still watching Trans Fails.
"And that," Colt says, gesturing towards the screen, "is why I want to get out of this sad fucking place."
One day to go. During my lunch break, instead of sitting in the downtime lounge and eating a 2-Go Optimum Energy Booster meal, I go out for a walk in the Wellness gardens and phone Lori, because I don't want there to be bad feeling between us.
She denies both holochat and interface, so I know before she even starts talking that she's still off with me.
"Lori, are we okay? Can we talk about yesterday? I'd hate for you to think―"
She jumps in. "Seriously―you're trying to olive branch me? If you really valued our friendship, you'd tell Colt you're happy to go on your own. I'm not going to tell you it's all okay, just to stop you guilting."
"Come on, Lori, you can't honestly believe he's got an ulterior motive. He's just coming with me to be supportive, that's all―"
She gives a short, harsh laugh. "Is that what you think I'm pissed off about? Colt's not interested in you―as if!" A
nother laugh, as if the very thought is beyond ludicrous. "No, what I mind about is that you asked him. How would you feel if I sneaked into your kitchen and asked Nash to overnight with me?"
"But I didn't ask him, he offered―"
"Yeah, right. As if I believe that. He just feels sorry for you, that's all. You put him in an awkward position, and, because he's a decent guy, he's backing you up. You're so pathetic. I'm too damn trusting, that's what Sian said."
"Lori, you've got it all wrong―"
"Just don't make an even bigger fool of yourself by trying it on with him tomorrow night, will you? And you can take that as a bit of friendly advice!"
She ends the call, and I just sit there, staring at the screen.
All of a sudden I don't feel nervous about tomorrow at all. I can't wait to get away.
Colt and I have a three-way holochat date with Nula, the evening before. Seeing this white-haired vision appearing semi-live in my living room is more than a little daunting.
She says, "I have one main rule that covers everything: no fucking around. And by 'fucking around', I mean no going off to explore―especially not at night―no being rude to anyone, no personal questions, and, most of all, no dragging the megacities. You will not imply to anyone by so much as a facial expression that you are anything other than delighted to live in MC12. Remember what you're there for: Rae, to gain first-hand experience that living in the wasteland is not a thrilling adventure but hard and pretty damn bleak, so make your notes with that in mind. Colt, you're there to hold Rae's hand; you can info-gather as well, but mostly, keep shtum―"
He smiles in that engaging way of his. "Of course; I'll play the supporting role."
She glares at him for interrupting; this is not a conversation. "I will debrief you on your return, so that you're clear on exactly what information is appropriate to pass on to both clients and social connections."
During our whole meeting, she doesn't smile once. I can't stop staring at her. Her make-up is all pinks, blues and purples, and she wears vylex body suits with sexy, low-slung belts, to show off her dedication to the gym. If only she was a nice person, she'd come across like a real life superwoman.
I have such mixed feelings on waking. Excited and terrified, but still a little niggled with Colt, for thinking he couldn't be honest with me. And I'm on edge because I can't talk to Nash, and Lori hates me.
Oh well. It'll sort itself out.
I put on tight black trousers and zip-up jacket, a black polo neck jumper and soft, flat black boots. The trousers are old, the boots not my favourite; they're things I don't mind losing, because if all goes according to plan I'll be leaving them behind.
"Cool gear," says Nash, when I come out of the bedroom. "You look like an undercover agent from Darkania." I'm guessing Darkania is a place in the latest RPG; I get the drift, anyway, and I'm pleased; it was the look I was aiming for.
He's acting like this is just a normal day. Does the true purpose of my trip not occur to him? Has he forgotten that my mother, brother and sister exist?
"Nash, you remember what I'm doing today?"
For just a moment, his eyes flash with an expression I can't quite place. Pity? General disapproval? Embarrassment, because he'd forgotten I was going? Yeah―it's the third one.
He pours me a cup of coffee, and hands it to me. "Course I do. Just don't come back with an evil wasteland pox, right?"
Guilt creeps over me. If all goes according to plan, I might not return for a week, or longer.
"I'll try not to. When we come back, though, can we make some time to have a talk?"
He gives a nervous laugh. "Leigh at work says that if a woman says that to you, you should leg it down the fire escape and stay away for at least a month. What d'you want to talk about?"
Good question. I'm not sure. "I don't know. Us." What a shit cliché.
"What about us?"
"Shall we talk about it when I get back?"
"No. Run it past me now."
Why did I open my big mouth? I fill it with coffee and gulp it down. "Oh, I don't know―you know―where we go from here."
"What d'you mean?"
"Nothing, really. It can wait."
"I want to hear it now."
I really, really shouldn't have said anything. "It's just that we seem to be ... stagnating."
He gives a half laugh, half snort. "It's you who doesn't want to live together, not me."
"Fair enough. But I feel like we're moving in different directions, these days. More and more so."
"That's normal, when you've been with someone for a few years. That's what Mum says, anyway; her and Dad, they're still, like, happy, but she says she hasn't got a clue what he's talking about, half the time!"
"But they still do talk?"
"Dunno. No, not much. He does his thing and she does hers. But they're okay."
I frown. "I don't want to be like that."
"Well, what do you want to be like?"
"Oh, I don't know."
"Well, then."
We're both silent for a moment, then he says, "Are you trying to break up with me?"
My heart starts racing. I've set something in motion, and I've got a weird feeling it's about to hurtle over the edge. "No, I'm just saying―while I'm away, I think it might be good if we both take a bit of time to think about how we want our lives to pan out over the next few years."
"What d'you mean?"
"You know; what you want, what I want. See if we still want the same things as we did when we left college."
Neither of us speaks.
He takes a sip of coffee. "Don't you, then?"
"I'm not sure."
He stares at me, his mouth open, as if he's going to say something. Eventually he shuts it, chucks his coffee cup into the sink, and says, "Well, fuck you."
"What do you mean, fuck me? I'm just suggesting we both have a think, preparatory to talking about it when I get back."
"No. Stuff that."
"Why?"
"'Cause if you're both happy, you don't need to do all this 'having a talk' bollocks. You're obviously not. So fuck you. You want out of this relationship, you've got it. Get my ID taken off your door―I'm out of here."
"Hang on―so you're breaking up with me?"
He puts his hand up. "I never said that. Don't pin it on me. I know how you lot love playing the victim to your mates."
I can't help it. I laugh. "Eh? You lot? Which lot?"
"Women. Everyone feel sorry for me, the bastard broke up with me just before I set out for the wasteland." He says it in a silly, whiny voice that doesn't sound anything like me.
"I've no intention of saying anything remotely like that, now or ever."
"Yeah, well, I'll say it again: fuck you." He stands up. "If this relationship isn't good enough for you, don't fucking bother to com me when you get back. 'Cause I won't fucking answer."
With that, he picks up his jacket and storms out.
For a moment I just sit, dumbfounded. I can't work out if he totally misunderstood me, and we really do communicate so badly that he didn't understand what I was saying.
Or whether he pounced on it as an excuse to break up with me.
I think we're on the last lap now, whatever happens.
Part 2
The Wasteland
Chapter 13
Outside
Nula waits for us at Gate 27, in a khaki version of yesterday's body suit. She doesn't greet us with a 'hello' and a smile, like any normal person would, but merely gestures with her hand to indicate that we should follow her to the pod station.
Pure excitement has taken over. I'm going into the wasteland in a pod!
Our vehicle is shaped like an egg on its side, with a transparent top half that Nula opens via her com; it slides back to reveal one long seat and a small dashboard with a screen. Colt grins at me and we get in, with Nula in the middle, and she shuts down the roof. A moment later, we're gliding over the track, stopping just in front of the h
uge gate.
Nula turns to me, ignoring Colt.
"Before we set off, I'll tell you what to expect. We're visiting a part of the wasteland thirty miles away, and we'll be received by Thad, who will show us around. We'll spend the day with him and his friends and family, and stay the night in one of the houses. We will travel at just twenty-five miles an hour so that you can iSync the journey; one of my colleagues will help you edit the streams when you get back, according to what you may show your clients, but they will remain on the Balance files, and will not be available for any other purpose. You may iSync while we're there, but use your discretion; ask the wastelanders if it's okay to do so, first; not everyone likes to feel that their every move is being recorded to be watched by strangers. You will treat them with respect at all times. I must remind you not to wander off, or go anywhere without Thad or one of his associates; if you do, I will be alerted immediately, our trip will terminate, and you will face serious correction on our return."
The gate slides back, and we're off, along the narrow track at one side of the road.
I'm in the wasteland. I can't believe it.
It's like I expected, and not. The first couple of miles is just pile after pile of rubble, muck and dust―like the old town was torn down but the clearance squad got bored halfway through.
I touch my com to activate my iSync, and feel that familiar little schli-tt somewhere behind my eyes. It's not a noise, more a feeling; some people say they don't feel it at all.
"The immediate outskirts of most megacities are like this," Nula says. "The hinterlands were left like this to discourage wastelanders from setting up home nearby, but I believe it will all be cleared over the next five years; trees will be planted, and other plants, to attract bees and wildlife. There will be a perimeter, to keep it out of bounds to anyone without a permit."
"Sounds good."
We ride further out, and the real old England begins to appear. Fields, overgrown; dilapidated houses.
My God. I have never seen this before. This is real history, right in front of my eyes, not the sanitised version we see when we visit the designated leisure environments.