Maladapted

by Richard Kurti

  “From the woman who’s spied on me my whole life—”

  “Observed.”

  “Just like you observe those children being tortured in Gilgamesh.”

  “Tortured? You really think that’s what we’re doing?”

  Cillian was incredulous. “You don’t see what’s wrong? Do you?”

  “Our patients are cared for with every possible medical intervention—”

  “You’ve engineered children. To experiment on.”

  “To ensure the survival of many more. Nature’s been doing it for billions of years. It’s called evolution. The difference is, nature generates mutations then lets them suffer and die. It’s pitiless. We create with meaning and purpose. We nurture.”

  “You exploit. For profit.”

  “Don’t be blinded by sentimentality, Cillian.”

  “What about compassion?”

  “What use would a surgeon be if she was too afraid to cut open a living person? You want to put an end to suffering, you need clear thinking. Real courage is following logic to the end point.”

  “You call Tess the extremist … you should listen to yourself.”

  “Well I certainly can’t listen to you any more, not until you’ve calmed down.” Gabrielle turned and headed for the door. “I hope you’re not going to be one of those experiments that ends in failure, Cillian. I really thought you were better than that.”

  73

  06.00 – Continental Trading Time.

  Tess waited for the first wave of the rush hour to make her move; it was slower going but there were more places to hide in a crowd, and staying anonymous was her only chance of getting through the Central Transport Axis and out of the City.

  With no money the Metro wasn’t an option, so she’d been forced to use the Moving Walkways that threaded through the Downtown Quarter. Originally built for people with health conditions and mobility impairments, the Walkies had long since been taken over by those who found that walking interfered with their ability to surf the Ultranet.

  Tess’s eyes scanned the crowd, searching the faces for anyone who was alert to their surroundings rather than glued to a screen … someone who was hunting.

  How many would they send?

  Where would they attempt the hit?

  The Walkie came into the CTA by Platform 12, but the Bullet Trains Tess needed left from 74–101. It meant she’d have to work her way along the entire length of the concourse, past all the shops and cinemas, risking the myriad CCTV cameras with their facial-recognition software.

  Suddenly Tess felt scared. She’d never make it through this. P8 would almost certainly have tapped into the City Cockpit and they’d corner her.

  She crouched down by a metal balustrade and closed her eyes, huddling her arms tightly around her body.

  What was the point of running, anyway? Escape to where? To oblivion? Everything she knew was in Foundation City, and now she was exiling herself—

  Don’t think like that.

  Don’t worry about the future. Just focus on the next few hours.

  Keep going; keep pushing.

  Tess forced herself to stand up and look out across the vast concourse. She’d been trained to get through places like this. She’d done it before; she could do it now.

  The Urban Jungle, that was her best chance. A tropical rainforest built inside the CTA, sustained by a complex array of jets and humidity sensors. She could use the cover of the trees to avoid the surveillance systems.

  But as she approached, and the first steam cloud of the microclimate engulfed her, Tess’s paranoia ratcheted up. Wouldn’t the dark places in the rainforest give cover to her enemies as well?

  She veered away and hurried up the escalators to Level 1, where express food outlets lined the gallery. Immediately Tess felt more anonymous in the frantic push of people grabbing breakfast between train and office.

  She walked briskly, crossing continents in a few strides: bagels and bacon, churros and hot chocolate, steamed rice and kimchi.

  Near the higher platform numbers the food outlets became family-friendly diners for groups catching the Bullet Trains and shuttles to the International Airport. In this melee Tess saw her chance.

  She picked up a free magazine and sat near a young mother with a small mountain of luggage, who was trying to wrangle 2 energetic toddlers. They all had ski jackets – obviously heading to some snow resorts – and crucially both the kids had large strawberry milkshakes in front of them.

  Tess flicked through the magazine, waiting for the inevitable.

  “For God’s sake, Lucy!”

  A bright pink slick sped across the table and cascaded onto the mother’s jeans.

  “Why can’t you be more careful?” The mother leapt up, but it was too late.

  Lucy thought it was hilarious, which provoked her younger brother to start splashing his hands in the milkshake.

  “No! Enough!” The mother yanked her kids away from the table. “NO!”

  Their laughter suddenly morphed into tears.

  Tess grabbed a bunch of tissues. “Here, let me help.” She leant over and started mopping up the pink goo.

  “Thank you.” The mother sighed.

  “It’s always the most disgusting drinks they spill,” Tess said brightly as she tried to contain the slick.

  “We’re going to smell of bloody strawberries the whole trip.” The mother looked at the lurid stain on her jeans and her 2 pink-spattered kids. “I’ve got to clean this off.”

  “I think there’s a washroom over there.” Tess pointed across the walkway.

  “Are you in a rush?” the mother asked hopefully.

  “I am really…” Tess glanced at the departures board.

  “If you could just watch our cases, I promise I’ll be quick.” She looked at Tess with pleading eyes. “Just for a second? Please?”

  “OK. Sure.”

  “Thank you so much. Really, I’ll be quick.” And she dragged her screaming kids towards the toilets.

  The instant they were out of sight, Tess dumped the tissues and picked up the smallest case, hurriedly unzipping the outer pockets and rifling through them.

  Second pocket in, she got lucky: tickets, passports, even some spare cash. She took the adult ticket and a small amount of cash, tucked everything else neatly back in place, then hurried away from the diner.

  Tess headed straight for the Bullet Train. It was still 20 minutes before departure, but she hoped that by leaving the other 2 tickets the mother wouldn’t realize she’d been robbed. Even so, it would be a long 20 minutes waiting for the Bullet to pull out.

  Tess found the carriage and scanned the ticket across the Virtual Conductor panel.

  The doors didn’t open.

  She tried again.

  “Please scan the other 2 in your party,” the Virtual Conductor politely instructed.

  “Shit.” Tess searched the panel for other options, then touched Meeting on Train.

  “The other members of your party are minors,” the train responded.

  “I know that,” Tess muttered impatiently, and touched Meeting on Train again.

  “No record of your party on the train.”

  “Shit, shit, shit!”

  “Have you become separated from the minors in your group?”

  “Just stop being so bloody helpful and let me in!”

  “Do you want assistance?”

  “When did it get so hard to get on a train?” a man’s voice chuckled.

  Tess turned round and saw a smiling young ski-bum waiting behind her.

  “Do you mind?” he waved his ticket.

  Tess stepped aside, the ski-bum scanned his ticket and the train doors sighed open for him.

  Now. Go for it.

  Tess barged in after the ski-bum, but the doors were too quick and slammed shut, trapping her.

  Immediately an alarm started to sound.

  “Please stand clear of the doors. Please stand clear of the doors.”

  Desp
erately Tess tried to lever the doors open, but they were too strong and pain was searing into her arm. She jerked backwards and just managed to pull herself free.

  But the alarm didn’t stop.

  “Assistance is coming. Assistance is coming.”

  A ticket inspector was making his way down the platform towards the flashing light above the forced door.

  Tess turned and ran—

  But seconds later she saw 2 strangers closing in on her from opposite directions: a man in a business suit and a woman in jogging pants, urgently pushing through the crowd.

  They were talking to each other on smartCells.

  And they had her locked in their sights.

  74

  “Move! Move!”

  No longer time for any niceties.

  Tess pushed and barged and elbowed her way through the crowd towards the nearest exit.

  Just get outside. She’d have more options in the street—

  When suddenly a man loomed into the station through the huge revolving doors. He looked normal enough, jeans and a thick leather jacket, but he immediately locked eyes with Tess.

  She spun back around and bolted for the escalators, hoping to disappear in the chaos of the food level.

  As she ran past the diner she saw the mother and her 2 young kids, their clothes blobbed with dark stains where they’d washed off the strawberry milkshake. The mother was frantically searching through the zip pockets of their luggage, looking for her missing ticket. For a fleeting moment she glanced up and saw Tess bolting through the crowds.

  Too late to apologize now.

  Tess saw a service door and tried to barge it open, but it was locked; even garbage removal needed a swipe card.

  She veered into a latte bar, leapt over the counter, scattering cakes, pushing baristas out of the way, spilling jugs of foaming milk, then crashed through the store room out into a service corridor.

  Running hard through stripped concrete and whitewashed walls, the smell of disinfectant mingling with the trash.

  There must be another way out of the CTA.

  There must be.

  Back down the corridor she heard crash-doors echo. P8 weren’t giving up.

  She remembered her training and stopped dead – in the worst crisis, block out the world, find a moment of calm to think.

  Tess closed her eyes and listened…

  Hostile footsteps hurtling towards her.

  Under that the deep rumble of trains departing.

  The murmur of the commuter crowd.

  And something else … in the background…

  Water.

  Running water.

  Tess snapped open her eyes and zeroed in on the sound. A large blue downpipe, too wide to wrap her arms around, punched through the floor and stretched up to the roof.

  Rainwater harvesting.

  Every new building had to have a harvesting system to cope with the extreme summer droughts.

  It was her last hope.

  Tess ran along the service corridor to the next emergency exit and kicked it open. Immediately a siren started to whine, but she was way beyond caring about alarms now.

  Scrambling breathlessly up fire-escape ladders, she emerged onto the roof gantries – and was stunned to see torrents of water cascading down the skin of the domes. She crouched down and stretched out her fingers. The glass was warm; the entire surface of the dome was heated. Snow was falling heavily, but the instant it touched the glass it melted and was channelled away through large gullies running under the walkways.

  Tess followed the gullies as they converged on a grating-covered manhole where the water thundered down into a sinkhole.

  She leapt from the gantry and plunged her hands into the icy water to haul the massive grating up, desperately trying to ignore the freezing pain that cut into her fingers.

  Tess pulled harder, her hands numb, her mind screaming at her to let go, but she refused to listen; she just kept pulling.

  And suddenly the grating swung back.

  She peered down into the blackness. It was like the most extreme water flume, too steep and too bitterly cold, but it was her only hope.

  Tess closed her eyes, clamped her arms around her head, and dropped—

  Slamming into the sides of the pipe.

  Gulping in mouthfuls of air.

  Choking on the water.

  A moment of terrifying free fall as the pipe spat her out into a massive underground chamber…

  And she plunged into a deep, dark pool of icy blackness.

  Tess clawed her way to the surface and gasped in lungfuls of damp air, every fibre in her body trembling with the cold.

  Treading water, she span around to get her bearings. The walls were dotted with service lights. She was in a cavernous underground reservoir directly under the station; this was where the rainwater was stored and recycled, but if she didn’t get out of the cold, it would also be her tomb.

  There was a large outlet in one of the walls with metal rungs leading up to it. Stencilled onto the wall was a single word: Overflow.

  Overflow would lead to storm drains.

  Storm drains fed back down to the river.

  The river meant freedom.

  Tess lunged forwards and swam towards the metal rungs, each agonizing pull with her arms drawing her a few metres closer.

  20 metres.

  15—

  Something brushed against her legs.

  She screamed and kicked out violently.

  The thing backed off.

  Tess peered down into the gloomy water. A shadow fluttered past her legs, swimming fast, circling her.

  What the hell was down there?

  She thrashed in the water, trying to get away, but the thing wouldn’t give up.

  A tentacle stroked across her body, then snapped tightly round her leg.

  “NO!”

  She reached down, fingers frantically trying to prise the thing off.

  It was metal.

  A cold metal snake-arm.

  And with one powerful yank it dragged Tess under water.

  75

  Gabrielle found him at the top of the building, gazing out of the panoramic windows at the fury of the rush hour below.

  “Cillian?”

  No response.

  “What we’re doing here … it matters.” Gabrielle was trying hard to be patient. She had to keep reminding herself that moods and emotions needed to be wrangled until they could be strained out of the genome. “What can I do to help you understand?”

  “I understand just fine.” Cillian turned to look at her. “Whatever gifts I have, those children in Gilgamesh are paying the price.”

  “You want to talk about childhoods? Fine. Let me tell you about mine.” Gabrielle perched herself on the ledge. “The years spent in hospitals, blighted by illness. Lying in my bedroom listening to the other kids playing outside. Longing to put sickness behind me, to feel well without worrying how many months remission would last. Being too frightened to think about what I wanted to do when I grew up, because I didn’t know if I would grow up.”

  Cillian could see the pain of those memories in Gabrielle’s eyes.

  “If there is a God, then he cursed me. Medical science was the only thing fighting my corner. When they finally cured me, the doctors told me to pick up my life and carry on. But by then the whole world had fallen ill: climate change, pandemics, drug resistance, pollution sickness. How could I live if the world was dying?” Gabrielle looked out across the atrium. “This was the answer. Change what we are. Make us strong enough to survive. Is that too much to ask?”

  “It’s wrong to build people in a test tube,” Cillian said. “It shouldn’t be done.”

  “You make it sound so cold. But I built it from me, Cillian. I harvested the eggs from my own body. I screened and selected the fathers; I created 123 embryos. Each one enhanced and nurtured, each one with its own unique gifts. I gave them everything and right now they’re scattered across the City, living t
heir lives anonymously, finding their niche, unaware that they are a brilliant new generation.”

  A feeling of disgust rose in Cillian’s guts. He remembered finding a spider’s nest in the palm tree on his balcony when he was a kid, peeling back the tight knot of leaves to see hundreds of tiny spiders packed into a writhing mass, scurrying over each other. There was something obscene about one spider spawning so many offspring…

  And Gabrielle was no different.

  She was too greedy for life.

  76

  Tess lunged to the surface and managed to snatch precious gulps of air before being dragged back under. Desperately she tried to tear herself free, but the metal tentacle refused to loosen its grip.

  Even though the bitterly cold meltwater stung her eyes, Tess could see that the thing attacking her had 8 tentacles attached to a black metal body. It was like some weird mechanical squid. And she wasn’t its only catch. A dead pigeon was coiled in another snake-arm, while 2 nets protruding on stalks had snared a pulp of leaves and drowned plastic bags.

  Suddenly Tess realized what this thing was: a Disposal-Bot. Flotillas of them patrolled the sewers 24/7, and one of them must have been deployed here to scoop up any debris that got washed down from the domes.

  For a brief moment she felt relief…

  Until she heard the thumping sound of blades chopping the water. She looked up. The bot was dragging her towards a processing unit in the far wall where she would be shredded and filtered, just like all the other unwanted trash.

  She lashed out wildly, struggling to free herself, but that just provoked the bot even more and a second arm whipped out and coiled around her torso.

  The more Tess fought, the faster she burnt through the oxygen in her lungs, the harder the cold ate into her muscles, the tighter the snake-arms gripped…

  It was no use; the Disposal-Bot was just too strong.

  She could never win.

  After all her defiance and rebellion, she was finally going to be killed by a dumb, dutiful robot.

  Tess stopped struggling, relaxed her limbs and surrendered.

  In the calm of her final moments, she thought about Cillian…

  How he had come back for her when he should have abandoned her; how he was the only person left who believed in her.