by S. L. Grey
‘Its name?’
‘Daniel…’
‘Jacobson,’ I fill in. The woman – I think – doesn’t look at me.
‘And he’s a he,’ Colt adds. She says it so neutrally that I can’t tell if she’s being defiant or simply stating a demographic fact.
‘Business unit?’ the receptionist asks Colt.
‘Retail. Books.’
The receptionist fingers something onto her computer screen, then finally looks at me. I stare into blank, black eyes in a grey face under the absurd orange wig. The receptionist’s hard face confirms what I already know about the Management. If you defy them in any way, you’ll regret it. They are cruel.
She points a lump of gel at me, pokes at the computer again. ‘Yes. All right. This is one of two browns who entered today. We will update his status pending the result of the application. Its companion has been assigned as a Shopper.’
‘Wow!’ says Colt. ’You didn’t tell me, Daniel. She’s a Shopper! Wow!’ She’s beaming dreamily like a teenager at a poster of a semi-naked movie vampire. ‘I’d do anything to be a Shopper. And you actually know one.’ Orange Hair clears her throat, the sound of cheese graters meeting funny bones, and Colt tails off.
‘I lost contact with her,’ I say. ‘I thought she was trying to leave the mall.’
‘Leave?’ says Colt, in that confused tone of hers.
The receptionist shoots a look at Colt and pulls a face. Browns. Lying and stupid, all of them.
‘Please present at Welcome Room 387 in five moments.’ She dismisses us to sit in the waiting area.
Colt whispers to me, ‘I would never have thought your… friend… could be a Shopper. No offence, but she was really… rough. But I suppose now that I think of it, she definitely has the look. She’s self-starved, and she’s even got natural scarification. God, people pay a fortune to get that done. You know, when I wen—’
She’s starting to babble so I interrupt her. ‘I don’t know what that means – a Shopper. Does it mean that she’s okay? What will happen to her? Can she leave? Where do you think I could find her?’
‘Find her? CCOs don’t find Shoppers, Daniel. If we’re lucky – and only if – Shoppers come to us. My God, Daniel, and you knew her. You knew a Shopper. You’re so lucky.’ She pauses, looks away, looks back at me again. ‘How well did you know her?’
In a few moments I’m about to come face to face with people who have tried to kill me, I have no idea of where I am or where I’m going, but the tone of Colt’s question makes me happy. She’s jealous of Rhoda. This hot girl is jealous of Rhoda!
I shrug. ‘I don’t know…’
Colt looks away from me. ‘You knew a Shopper,’ she mumbles.
We’re ushered into the interview room by an Abnormal with a rudimentary steel shaft for an arm. She has a kind, almost regular face; she’s probably a specialist in interviewing browns because of her familiar looks. The round table is set with empty vases and a small sheaf of papers. At one modified seat sits a squat and sweaty man who looks like an octopus in a suit. His down-mouth disappears into his slick jowls and gives him a look of utter disgust.
‘Welcome, Darneel,’ says the woman. ‘I am Welcome Agent Jossiefeen, and this is the Lonly Books Management Representative, Badly.’ She speaks the names like misremembered foreign phrases. ‘I am so glad you have decided to seek employment with us. We find that brown persons like yourself are an asset to the company and add a range of experience and diversity and empathy to our operations that is demonstrably appreciated by the clientele of the various business units. We find that when brown persons serve our clients, purchases are processed more quickly, and queries handled with more alacrity than the average. Result: more brown persons in our employ, more income for the company. It’s a win situation.’
As she shuffles the pages in front of her, the steel arm smacks against the table top and the octopus man judders inside his swiftly moistening suit.
‘This is not to say that our own are not highly prized CCOs, of course. Your sponsor, CCO Colt, has excellent numbers, despite her… her… challenges… which we have discussed with her.’ Colt looks at the floor. I wonder if they’re referring to her body shape. Christ, what a place to bring that up.
‘Right. Let’s just go through the standard security questions, then. And then if Representative Badly has any further questions for you, Darneel, you may answer them. Remember, CCO Colt, that as Sponsor, you may be held liable for any false declarations on this application. And, of course, for any disregard on behalf of the applicant.’ The agent says this in a serious tone and I wonder what exactly will happen to Colt if I fuck it up.
‘Yes, Agent,’ Colt says, equally gravely, as if she’s just sworn some sort of oath to the company. I’d just better not fuck it up, for her sake as much as mine.
‘All right. To your knowledge or in your experience has this brown ever belonged to an underground cult or organic terrorist group?’ How is Colt supposed to know anything about me? Of course, I’d better keep my mouth shut. Octopus Man glares at me through wet eyes.
‘No,’ Colt says.
‘To your knowledge or in your experience has this brown ever beheaded one of our own?’ Huh?
‘No.’
‘To your knowledge or in your experience has this brown ever devoured offspring – his own or that of others?’
‘No.’
Jossiefeen is rattling off the questions in a bored tone as if this is a standard immigration questionnaire. The questions are evidently just as stupid. ‘To your knowledge or in your experience has this brown ever been sought by the Guardian?’ What the fuck is the guardian? I wouldn’t even know if I’ve been—
‘No,’ Colt answers certainly.
‘To your knowledge or in your experience is this brown infected with any pathogens that may affect our own?’
‘No.’
‘To your knowledge or in your experience has this brown ever purloined?’
‘No.’
‘Well, then. That’s in order,’ Jossiefeen says, cheerfully ticking off her list. ‘Representative Badly?’
‘Uh,’ the Representative grunts, clears an oceanful of phlegm from his throat and spits a huge yellow wad into the vase on the table in front of him. ‘This associate of yours. The dark brown. If it doesn’t start consuming to its quota soon, it will become unassigned. We can’t have disregard.’
‘Um. I hardly know…’ I don’t know what to say. Colt rubs my leg in support. It gives me strength. ‘We went through a lot together, she and I. Rhoda – uh, the dark brown – helped me make it across here. I wouldn’t be applying for this wonderful opportunity if she hadn’t helped me. She won’t be any problem to you.’
‘Uh. You’re in no position to vouch for—’
‘Representative Badly, I am inclined to believe this young brown. And given our current personnel constr— Given that. I don’t think we should judge this young worker on his associates. We know how browns are. This is why we enhanced the penetration system. Disregard is not an issue to the business units any more.’
‘Gflk.’ The octopus man shrugs his blubbery chest and neck in lieu of shoulders. ‘You, Agent…’ he looks down at the application form ‘…Jossiefeen, are the Personnel Agent on the application, and I am the Management Representative. I will leave you to do your job.’ He fixes those massive, rheumy eyes on mine. ‘But I warn you, Darneel, I will do my job. I will be surveilling you. Any disregard or any hint of purloining and…’ He leaves the threat hanging.
Welcome Agent Jossiefeen smiles at me and shifts her eyes as if to say, Don’t worry about him, he’s just a grumpy old octopus and his job is to pretend to be threatening, he’s a pussycat, really. Her subtle, normal eyes are essential to this task. ‘Well, I’m prepared to accept your application and would be delighted if you could start today, on the Dead Shift. That will give you some time to get some proper apparel and to get a phone and open an account and learn about your tokens. You’ll be
pleased to know that we’ve raised the Welcome contribution, so you’ll have ample tokens for anything you might need to get started. CCO Colt, could you please help orient CCO Darneel before his shift starts.’
‘Yes, Agent.’ Colt smiles at me. She’s got a really pretty smile.
‘Could you wait here for a few moments?’ Agent Jossiefeen holds the door open while Representative Badly hefts himself up and grunts his way through it.
‘Felicitations,’ says Colt when both agents have left the room. ‘You made it. We’ll be able to devour together every day!’
‘Is that it? They didn’t even ask about my experience, what I knew about bookselling.’
‘It doesn’t really matter, does it?’
‘I don’t know anything about my pay, my shifts, nothing.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll help you. I’m your sponsor.’
‘But… why are you helping me? How could you answer those questions? You know nothing about me.’
‘I like you,’ Colt says. ‘You make me feel… normal.’
Agent Jossiefeen comes in again with a long black case. ‘Last thing, of course, is equipping you with the Service Enhancer and performing the induction penetration.’ She unpacks a chain and an anklet onto the table, a package of sterile wipes and what looks like a half-sized pneumatic drill.
Holy fuck. What the hell have I gotten myself into? No. No! I thought it was just Colt. Just the phone shop. I didn’t think. Oh my God.
Fuck.
How stupid. How fucking stupid. The android guy at the bookshop. I didn’t think. Oh fuck. I need to vomit. This is not.
Wrong choice. I need a reload.
‘Wait,’ I say. ‘Is there any chance to…’ What am I going to say? Change my mind? Start again? I’m here in the Management’s nerve centre. They’ll never let me get out.
Jossiefeen isn’t listening; she’s rifling through the black case.
‘Oh bother. They keep on taking the adaptor away. I’ll just be another moment.’
Colt stands up to stretch her legs. She paces to the wall and idly reads some laminated posters on the wall.
‘I didn’t know this… this… thing…’ I indicate the drill on the desk ‘…that everyone got it. I thought it was—’
‘Don’t worry,’ she says without turning around, ‘it’ll be fine. It’s sterile, see? There’s nothing to worry about.’
Last chance. I flip out my phone and type
I pray to everything I know. Colt’s tranquillity is making me even more anxious. She’s acting like a robot. She’s not going to help me.
Thank God, my phone vibrates. Rhoda will get me out of this.
‘Here we go.’ Agent Jossiefeen bustles in and plugs in the drill. ‘Colt, will you assist, please?’
Colt moves behind me and hugs me around my chest with a surprisingly strong grip. Her touch must stun me a little, because next thing the spike on the drill is whizzing in front of my face with a well-oiled buzz and Jossiefeen is crouching down beside me.
I feel Colt’s lips on my ear, her hair tickling my neck. ‘Don’t worry, Daniel, you get used to it.’
Jossiefeen finds her spot, just under my skull bone below the ear, and the drill goes in, smooth and hard like a screwdriver into a rubber doll.
chapter 21
RHODA
Holy shit. The apartment is twice the size of my parents’ house, and no expense was spared with the decor. The floors are marble, the ceilings are high and intricately moulded, and the kitchen’s a gleaming expanse of brushed stainless steel. The walls are all painted in shades of tasteful off-white, and I’ve counted three spare bedrooms, all with state-of-the-art en suite bathrooms (two even have bidets). And there really is a Jacuzzi in the master bedroom, roomy enough to house half of Manchester United.
I wander back through to the open-plan lounge. There’s a huge widescreen television on the wall above the mantelpiece, and a conversation pit dominated by a porcelain wood-burning heater. It’s the kind of place you see featured in the pages of Hello! magazine. It only needs designer furnishings and Nigella Lawson or Victoria Beckham propping themselves up against the polished kitchen counter to complete the picture.
‘You like?’ The estate agent hovers next to the breakfast bar. I let her sweat for a bit, enjoying the feeling of power. She’s been checking her watch almost continually since we arrived, but I don’t want to let her know what I really think about the place – best to pretend to be nonchalant, like someone who’s used to swanning around in this type of luxury.
‘It’s okay,’ I say, shrugging.
But there’s something strange about the apartment… something I can’t quite put my finger on. Then I have it: there are no windows. It’s so elegantly lit that I haven’t noticed the lack of a view.
I rack my brain to think of the sort of questions you’re supposed to ask estate agents without looking too desperate.
‘Um. Why is it on the market?’
‘The last inhabitant depreciated, of course.’
‘Depreciated?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ The estate agent clears her throat. ‘Have you made a decision? I can really see you in here, ma’am, I really can, oh yes I really think this is the right place for you the place you want to be.’ Her estate agent’s patter is losing its lustre, and she’s now clearly on edge. The attachment on her real leg starts beeping and she eyes it nervously.
‘What’s that?’ I say, pointing to the red flashing light just above her ankle.
‘That’s the Management letting me know I have to get back to my post soon.’
‘How long have you got?’
‘We have fifteen minutes to close with a client.’
‘And if you don’t?’
She smiles at me brightly again. Sweat beads her forehead.
Shit. I’m being cruel. Time to put her out of her misery. ‘In that case. I’ll take it.’
She sighs with relief. ‘Thank you.’
And anyway, it’s just for now. Just until I find Dan and we sort ourselves out. We might need a base, after all.
‘What about furniture?’ I ask.
‘Oh, ma’am,’ she says, handing over a triangular-shaped keycard. ‘That’s up to you. I just know you’ll have a wonderful time filling it with lovely things. Thank you so much for letting me be your houser.’
She nods, and backs out swiftly, plastic leg clacking over the tiles.
I wander back into the bedroom and check out New Rhoda in the bevelled mirror. Not bad. Not bad at all. I really do look taller, and I’m sure it’s not just the new boots. The dress hangs slightly loosely from my shoulders, but there’s nothing I can do about that.
Should I treat myself to a quick Jacuzzi before I leave? It would almost be a crime not to.
There’s a knock on the door. It’s probably just the estate agent again.
But when I open the door I come face to face with a half-naked giant of a man.
‘Howzit, neighbour!’ he says.
‘Um… Hi.’
Christ. He must be at least two metres tall, and his shirtless frame almost fills the doorway. His oiled skin strains over pecs and abs that are too defined and sculpted to be real – they have the look of CGI about them – and I can make out the crisscrossed scars where the implants were inserted. And he’s done something bizarre to his chin, it’s way too large to be natural and there’s a cleft in the end of it large enough to fit several fingers. Ugh. His skin has the same ghostly pallor I’ve seen on everyone in the mall. Even dark-skinned people look faded somehow. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t see sunlight for fuck knows how long.
‘Just wanted to welcome you to the neighbourhood,’ he says.
I struggle to smile back. That chin is really freaking me out. ‘Thanks.’
He peers past me and into the kitchen. ‘I’m so glad it’s no longer vacant.’
‘Right. And how lon
g has it been vacant?’
He scratches his chin. ‘Hours,’ he says.
‘Hours? Seriously?’
He nods. ‘I know. Ages. But I wanted to tell you the primo news. Needless Things is having a sale!’
I can’t help the thrill of excitement, which is stupid, really. I mean, what’s the point of a sale when everything’s free?
‘Thanks,’ I say.
My phone beeps.
Aren’t you going to get that?
Oh good. The voice, which has been absent for a while, has decided to show itself again.
‘Go away,’ I hiss.
The guy looks at me in confusion.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Just talking to myself.’
‘Oh. Try the brain-drainer on Ward level G. Worked wonders for me.’
‘Thanks.’ Maybe that explains the fucked-up work he’s had done. I raise my eyebrows in an ‘is that it?’ fashion, and fortunately he gets the hint.
‘Oh,’ he says, turning around as I’m about to shut the door on him. ‘Sleep when you’re dead.’
‘What?’
‘Level D. Great pillows.’
‘Awesome. Thanks.’ I slam the door before he has a chance to speak again.
I thumb through to the message. Thinking about it, how could the battery have remained charged for so long? Another mystery. Like the fact that I’ve just been given a free luxury apartment.
Like I said, there’s no such thing as a free lunch.
‘Whatever.’
I check out the message.
Dan never had a problem with your hair.
‘Shut up.’ I’m speaking out loud again. Must stop that. And the voice is right. I’m not going to find Dan by hanging around here.