The Biggerers

by Amy Lilwall

  ‘We are here with Dr Peetzwelt, deputy head genetic engineer at Billbridge & Minxus, who is going to clear up several ideas surrounding a fairly controversial topic,’ said the microphone man. ‘Dr Peetzwelt, there has been much speculation over the origins of these fascinating little creatures. Obviously, the first word to appear on the lips of conspiracy theorists is clo—’

  Dr Peetzwelt snapped his index finger down from his lips. ‘Yes, goodness, don’t say it out loud! It’s best that we avoid that word completely, I think.’ He smiled with his mouth.

  ‘To clarify, cloning is illegal.’

  ‘Largely illegal, yes. We can, of course, clone body parts and use them for transplantation. This is common practice and makes perfect medical sense. But they are just parts, that’s the thing.’

  ‘Let’s talk about that for a moment. Can you explain to us how this system works?’

  ‘Well, this process started about seventy-five years ago; people who had a problem with a certain body part could request that a replacement body part be grown for them. Not only was this an incredible breakthrough, shall we say, rendering some incurable conditions curable, but there was also very little after-care involved; the danger of rejecting the transplanted body part was side-stepped completely. Anyway, eventually the system changed, as it does, and rather than waiting for the illness to start before growing the replacement part, the health authorities put together a screening programme that could predict any future flaws in an individual’s health. In short, people were having body parts “prepared” for them, just in case they got sick.’

  The interviewer leaned in closer. ‘And so, what was pivotal about this?’

  ‘I’m getting to that.’ He coughed. ‘Well, everyone who went for it had at least one body part cloned. But during the first twenty-five years of the study, only twenty-six per cent of participants needed their body part.’

  ‘That’s quite a big number.’

  ‘I’m not disputing that. At no point has anyone asked themselves if it was all “really worth it”; it has changed the lives of millions, millions.’

  ‘But it all stopped. Why?’

  ‘Four billion people went for the initial screenings. Each one had at least one body part cloned, and only a quarter of those people needed them.’ Dr Peetzwelt looked at the interviewer with his eyebrows up, waiting for him to understand. The interviewer said nothing. ‘Well, in short, the International Health Care Corporation was left with a bank of just under 7.5 billion excess body parts from that initial screening programme; that’s not to mention the others that resulted from subsequent screenings, and those that were still in development. Nobody knew what to do with them.’

  ‘Right.’ The interviewer licked his lips. ‘Couldn’t they just be disposed of?’

  ‘This is the subject of the hour, you see; especially since certain practices, such as sperm and egg-cell stockpiling, have recently been banned. Now that some of the first patients to be scanned have passed on, just what do we do with their body parts? The idea of storing bits of people away “just in case” is all very well but it’s expensive, and space-consuming. Of course, unlike the sperm and egg cells, and embryos, the body parts could never live autonomously but potential is the ethical, er, buzzword of the century – could they potentially save a life? Yes. Could they potentially live? Yes. Could keeping them potentially harm life as we know it? No. Well. Unless the world turns on its head, cloning entire beings is made legal and people start demanding that we use these body parts to clone the whole of their deceased loved-ones… And then, of course, the big question is, just how would we ever dispose of them? They are, after all, human “remains”.’

  ‘The viewer can rest assured that this is certainly not something that the authorities take lightly, shall we say.’

  ‘Cloning is something that humanity doesn’t take lightly.’ Dr Peetzwelt pinched his nostrils together.

  ‘Switch off,’ said Susan, realizing that she was suppressing a yawn when she didn’t have to. The TV blinked back into a mirror, then shattered into snowflakes that gathered on the tiles before fading into nothing. Snowflakes already? Hamish had obviously got rid of the Autumn leaves. Her mouth yawned so much that she imagined the top three quarters of her head rearing backwards as if on a hinge. Time for bed. She put the cup back on the glass tongue, which disappeared into its mouth. She watched it and thought of the initial screening participants who had ‘passed on’. Death. That was it. That was the problem. In fact, that was the only problem. They knew how to do it. Cloning. But, if Hamish died, nobody would rebuild him… And even though he was a pain in the neck, she’d really want them to. Rebuild him. How about that? A stonking realization, pushing her through the membrane of this, comfort, this… chocolate sofa bubble where Hamish would piss her off with his snoring and his pillow-arm but, outside of that bubble, life would happen anyway, grand and powerful, and she was hurtling through it with him. Because people rarely hurtled alone… And no one cared about snoring while they were hurtling. Then her brain would connect to the first thought: if Hamish died, nobody would rebuild him for me. She got up and crossed the living room slowly. All of those pillow-arms would just float away in chocolate sofa bubbles, and I would try to grab at them and gather them all up again, and wake up hoping to feel an arm on my pillow. On my own in powerful grandness. She stopped at the kitchen door and lit up her wrist; Jinx’s hair slept alone. She turned and pulled the door almost shut. Then watched as each foot stepped upwards into a patch of wrist-lit stair. Hmm… That was quite a clever thought about bubbles and, and life. Her slippers fell perpendicular to each other, one rolled onto its side. She slid into bed with her non-dead Hamish, wrapping her arms all around him, looking for holes under the bits of him that he was sleeping on so that she could pass her arm through and hold all of him in one hug.

  ‘Are you constipated,’ he mumbled, ‘or did you fall in?’

  She laughed and kissed him in his hair. ‘You’re silly,’ she said.

  CHAPTER 4

  Bonbon had understood everything. Except for the word ‘pinning’. And it didn’t really matter what she had and hadn’t understood because her sleepy head let in and kicked out all of the words, one after the other. But it kept pictures. Like the She-one talking to another she-one, who had pushed her face to one side and covered her up with a blanket, and on waking up in the middle of the night, the smell of toilet box and clean tiles reminded her of these pictures. She was still ‘there’, but she didn’t know why, or where ‘there’ was. She opened her eyes and sat up. Then closed her eyes again and reopened them. She waved a hand in front of her face. There was no difference between having her eyes open and keeping them closed.

  Something was making horrible noises.

  The side of her head felt like she had fallen on it.

  She pushed herself up onto her knees and listened.

  ‘Aaaah!’ said the voice in a way that made Bonbon’s stomach bubble. ‘Take me home!’

  Whatever it was made quick breathy sounds. Bonbon’s ears got hot. ‘Take me home. Oooh, take me back to my She-one. Take me back to my She-one. Aaaah!’ She put her hands over her ears. Horrid sound, jumping through the black air and wrapping itself around her head. ‘Aaaah! Aaaah!’ What on Earth was it?

  A white light stunned Bonbon into shutting her eyes. Whispery voices made her open them again. She realized she had been facing a wall.

  ‘Lawnmower?’ asked one of them. ‘People still have lawns? Okay, Champ, I know, I know…’

  ‘Did you give him a shot?’

  ‘I’m just doing it.’

  She turned at the waist and slit her eyes at the voices. Two biggerers stood all in white. She could see the tops of their heads. That was weird. She looked up. If she wanted to, she could easily touch the ceiling… And she was sure that if she lay between the walls of this box thing, she could touch both ends; one with her toes and the other with her hands. But the front of the box was open. She could have climbed right ou
t of that thing had she wanted to. She didn’t want to. She held her breath and inched herself around to face the head-tops.

  ‘They can afford a lawn but they won’t pay for an amputation,’ said one to the other. He held up a tube thing, looked at it, flicked it, then brought it down to, to… Oh! Bonbon twisted back round to face the wall and covered her eyes with both hands.

  ‘They got insurance?’

  ‘Ha!’

  ‘Right.’

  With her hands still over her eyes, Bonbon slowly, slowly turned back around.

  ‘Utterly selfish.’

  ‘They’re in the waiting room. I think I’ll go and have another talk with them. I’m so fed up with this.’

  ‘I’ll come with you. It’s okay, sweetie; we’ll be back in a little while.’

  ‘Who mows their lawn at two o’clock in the morning?’

  ‘I know, right?’

  Bonbon watched as they did something to the thing on the table – touched it or poked it. She wasn’t sure. She kept her eyes fixed at their shoulder level until they had left the room and there were no shoulders. The light was still on. The thing made no noises at all now. Bonbon dropped her eyes, quickly. The thing stared around it, its mouth breathing too fast and too, too hard. And its eyes were weird; very open and dancey. Bonbon edged forward and butted the glass in front of her, ouch! It was a door! She was shut in! She was shut in! She pressed around the glass hatch with her hand to see if the glass was everywhere; it was, but… The thing was watching her. She stopped pressing and watched it back. Her eyes flicking further down the thing’s body, letting themselves glimpse a bit more horror each time. Bonbon had never seen blood so crusty and dry that it had turned black. She didn’t understand the idea that tummies could be cut open like that and fold and flop around bits of leg and hip and dry out and scab over, and that from a distance, what looked like pink was actually bright red and white if you were very close. She didn’t know what she was looking at when she saw a leg bone protruding in two places. The pinkness reminded her of the inside of Jinx’s mouth, or that bit between her legs. The Dead Bird lay in her mind with its patch of pink and bumpy flesh that got bigger every time she pulled out a handful of feathers. The Dead Bird thing had been strange. But here the strangeness was bubblier. It bubbled in her stomach, all the way up to the back of her throat and out it came, running down her chin, her breasts, her tummy, and over her thighs. The smell of it filled her nose; the bubbling started again. She crouched down and retched over a little space that she could hide her head inside. But then her head was too upside down and the bubbling burned the inside of her nose. She sat back up, wiping at her chin. The thing had raised itself up onto one elbow and was looking at her just like Jinx did, sometimes.

  ‘Are you sick? You’ve been sick. Are you alright?’ it said.

  The words knocked Bonbon’s eyebrows up and her head backwards as she took in his Jinx-face and his bloody body. You, she thought, you are not alright. You shouldn’t be asking me if I am alright.

  ‘Do you feel bad in your stomach?’ he said. ‘Does it feel funny?’ he said. ‘Hello?’ he said. ‘Hello?’ he said. ‘Hel—’

  But he couldn’t finish. The two white big-ones came back into the room.

  ‘It’s because they don’t want one if it’s only got one leg.’

  ‘But we can make him another leg. That’s the bit I don’t get.’

  ‘The little girl let it slip I think. The new model is out next summer and she’ll be able to design her own.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I thought. Makes you sick, doesn’t it?’

  ‘What batch is he from?’

  ‘Um… He’s an old’un. Batch Eleven.’

  ‘Batch Eleven?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Wow! Have you ever seen a Batch Eleven?’

  ‘We got a Batch Eight in yesterday.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘No, she’s up there.’ He nodded his head towards the other end of the room. ‘Take a look.’

  ‘You’d have thought…’

  ‘He’s bleeding pretty badly. Are you alright, Champ? Does it hurt?’

  ‘We should sort him out.’

  ‘I was rather hoping it would all be over by the time we got back.’

  ‘Gosh, I wasn’t! Too many forms.’

  ‘He’s completely fucked either way. Come on, Champ. Let’s lose you a limb before you run out of juice.’

  Jinx watched as Champ’s eyes started to close. One of the white big-ones put him on a tall, narrow bed with wheels. The other held the door back.

  ‘Dorothy!’ said Champ. Both biggerers looked at him. ‘Dorothy!’ he repeated.

  ‘Shit,’ said one; and they hurried out with the trolley.

  Bonbon’s mouth dropped open; he had said ‘Dorothy’ in front of them. How had he done that? They had heard it, they both looked at him when he said it. But what did it mean?

  ‘Dorothy,’ Bonbon said to herself. ‘Dorothy.’ She gazed at the door. What did ‘Dorothy’ mean? She scratched flakes of vomit from her knees. Maybe she would try and say ‘Dorothy’ to the She-one…

  The door blurred open and Bonbon jumped. Her arms and legs were sleepy and stiff – had she been sleeping with her eyes open? She’d never, ever done that before. ‘Aaahh!’ That same horrid noise. A different voice. Bonbon covered her ears. Something soft was stuck to the achy side of her head. As she squeezed it, two different biggerers, a she-one and a he-one, pushed through the door. Bonbon’s eyes danced over the white-coated back that hid the littler. ‘Aaahh!’ it screamed again; how was it screaming?

  ‘Alright, little miss,’ said the she-one. ‘I hate it when they scream.’

  ‘What is it this time?’

  ‘I can’t even say it, it makes me so angry.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘An operation.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The kid was playing doctors.’

  ‘Really? At this time?’

  ‘Earlier this evening.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake. Where were the parents?’

  The other one shrugged. ‘He hid her away in a cupboard somewhere. He must have been ashamed.’

  ‘Insurance?’

  ‘Nope. They’re going to pay.’

  ‘Instalments?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, they’ll get to take her back again.’

  A different he-one opened the door and brought in a bed with wheels. ‘We’re ready.’

  The bed wheels squeaked as they started to take the screaming thing away. ‘Joshua,’ she said.

  Both biggerers stared down at her.

  ‘Oooh no you don’t,’ said one of the big-ones. ‘You’re gonna be the only one today with any money in you, missy.’

  ‘Joshua,’ said Missy. They wheeled her away.

  Bonbon stared at the door again. Words sharpened and dimmed inside her head. Operation. Kids. Insurance. Joshua. What was ‘Joshua’? And how had she managed to say that to them? How had they heard her? What if Bonbon tried to say something; would they hear? Maybe she had to be on that wheelie thing. Maybe the wheelie thing meant that they would be able to hear what she said. They had both been on it when they had been heard, it must have been that…

  The door opened again. Bonbon’s eyes scrunched shut and she turned her head away. That thing was so broken… She looked back and half-opened her eyes. Exactly like a pile of rose petals, it was. The ones that her She-one put in the big room. The peach ones with pink lines. Rose petals were nice, but it wasn’t right to look like a pile of them.

  This time there was no screaming or speaking. The two white biggerers looked like the same two that had come in with Champ.

  ‘Deep fat fryer.’

  ‘Not again.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Very retro. When will people start eating healthily?’

  ‘Right… Gosh, she doesn’t look good at all.’

  ‘Can they pay?’

  ‘Nope.’
/>
  ‘Insured?’

  ‘They don’t know.’

  ‘Great. Okay, sweetheart. Stay with us, we’re just waiting for a room.’

  The door opened but the person who had opened it stood outside, looking behind her as if she was finishing a conversation. The other two watched the door for a few seconds before speaking.

  ‘Are we ready, Nurse?’ The door swung back, shutting the next sentence and the two big-ones outside with Nurse.

  Sweetheart’s eyes were forced shut by the four milky bubbles of eyelids. Glittery lines ran from the inner corner of each eye down to her flaking mouth, which opened just wide enough for a tiny bit of voice to climb out of it. ‘Mum,’ said the voice. Bonbon blinked. ‘Mum,’ it said again, and the face got redder and screwed itself up. ‘Aaahh!’ cried Sweetheart as she scrunched up her own rose-petal face and made it bleed.

  She didn’t say ‘Mum’ again. The white big-ones came back and took her away.

  Bonbon thought about this word. Mum. She let her mouth say it: ‘Mum, Mum, Mum…’ But it made her eyes feel sneezy and her ears get hot. She looked down at her fingers and counted them all. Then she did the same with her toes. ‘Mum,’ she said again afterwards.

  ‘I noticed the last time we came in. She’s vomited all over herself, look.’

  Her glass door was opened and a rubbery hand came in and lifted her out. Bonbon tried to scream but couldn’t. She turned and bit one of the fingers.

  The rubber hand dropped her.

  ‘She bit me.’

  ‘Oh… Has she done this before?’

  ‘Not while she’s been here.’

  Bonbon stood up to run, slipped in the vomit and landed chest-down. She shuffled onto her bottom and pushed herself backwards until the cold wall pressed against her back. Four big eyes stared at her.

  ‘Aggression?’

  ‘Don’t know. Which batch is she from?’

  ‘Um.’ The biggerer touched the glass door with one plastic finger and squinted his eyes at it. ‘There.’ He touched it again. ‘See for yourself.’