by Amy Lilwall
When I was a full-human, Terence was my name.
* * *
‘He’s made about thirty. I can’t… I can’t quite get my head around it; they’re all Isabel.’
‘Bloody hell, Drew, are you absolutely sure?’
‘Watty, I saw them all. A whole roomful of them.’
‘And they were exactly like Isabel?’
‘Yep… Well, they’re clones of her so you could say that they are her.’
‘But… what does he want them for?’
Drew watched weeping willow leaves tickle over the car and thought about Dr Hector’s lips, all bulgy and plastic-looking. ‘Apparently, they’re the race that will save humanity.’
‘But how can they? Aren’t they likely to develop lumps and bumps and… eventually they’ll just warp and die?’
‘Exactly.’ Drew rested his elbow at the base of the car window and hooked a finger over his lips. ‘I reckon he’s still fiddling with embryos.’
‘You mean he’s going to, somehow, mix the clones with the embryos?’
Drew shrugged. ‘He might do. He might be doing it already.’
‘Crazy man.’ Watty chewed the inside of his cheek and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Quail can’t go back there.’
‘God no…’
‘She’s only seen one… What should we tell her?’
‘Pfff… No idea. This’ll torture her.’
‘Mmm,’ Watty nodded, his eyes checking the right mirror as he flicked the indicator on. ‘Maybe we could keep this to ourselves.’ He slowed the car down and started to turn right.
* * *
Susan approached a cage. Inside stood a bald littler with so many tumours on him that when he walked to the front of the cage, he used his hands to carry a great mass that grew from his hip. She cringed as he lifted his arm to reveal a knot of lumps, red and infected from where they’d been squashed between his arm and his body. A bulge of skin hung like a beret over one of his eyes. The light from her wrist shone over him before she twisted the lock on his cage and lifted him down to the floor. She aimed her wrist towards the top row, which stood at least ten cages up. Eyes reflected sparks of light, then closed or looked away. Good Lord, when had these beings last seen light? Or even the ground?
Next to the beret’s cage, a pretty littler with straight red hair sat on the floor, holding on to her own feet and swinging herself onto her back then rocking back onto her bottom. She laughed when she saw Susan, who stood with her wrist aimed at her. ‘As I said before, we are at least half a kilometre underground. There isn’t one ray of natural light…’
For the next ten minutes, the two women trod through the corridors with slow, wide strides as their wrists absorbed the bulging eyes, burn scars, lost limbs, fused fingers, clubbed feet, double heads, wart clusters and hairy growths. Emma filmed rows of older ones, poised like stone Buddhas, their gaze milky and unfocused behind wiry white sprigs of hair. The younger-looking ones jumped up to peer at the glowing wrists, climbing out of their cages as soon as the door was unlocked. An increasing line of newly freed littlers swayed behind Emma like a tail. Most of them followed her; some of them stayed in their cages, too used to the small space to want to come out. They cowered as Emma held her arm up to film herself. ‘It’s okay,’ she said to them, retracting her arm and peering into her wrist, before recording the address of the company. ‘We’re stuck here right now,’ she said, as she heard Susan say the same thing.
‘You done?’ Susan appeared in front of her, a line of little people hobbling behind. ‘Look who I found!’ She turned to the side so that Emma could properly see the littler who was sitting on her shoulder, her fingers woven into strands of Susan’s hair and clinging to her jawline.
‘Blankey!’ cried Emma.
Blankey peered down at Emma, then toppled forward as she craned to see the littlers that bobbed around Susan’s feet.
‘Oops!’ Susan caught her. ‘She’s very floppy,’ she said, transferring the drooping bundle from her shoulder to her hip. ‘But she looks so much better than when I last saw her.’
Emma peered into each of Blankey’s eyes, pinched the skin on the back of her hand and checked over her arms and legs for… Susan didn’t really know what she was looking for. ‘They’ve probably given her something to numb her brain.’
Blankey let her head flop onto Susan’s hoodie.
‘Do you want to take her?’ Susan offered her hip.
‘No.’ Emma stroked the side of Blankey’s cheek with one finger. ‘I’m just relieved she’s okay.’
‘If she’s down here that means they were never going to give her back, doesn’t it?’
‘That’s exactly what it means.’ Emma swung backwards with her hands on her hips and smirked. ‘And I think I know why. They’ve worked out that she’s his late wife.’
Susan squinted. ‘Sorry?’
‘Blankey came from the cells of his late wife’s body parts.’
‘Whose late wife?’
‘Terence Bennett.’
Susan gaped her eyes.
‘That’s why he took her,’ Emma continued. ‘That’s why they can’t give her back to Mrs Lucas.’
‘Because he’ll take her again.’
‘Or someone else would realize and make it public.’ Voices. Emma looked up. A few more littlers shuffled towards them from the opened cages. Some of them held hands. One limped and held his arms around his stomach. Or hers. Emma couldn’t quite make it out… ‘I’m not sure if they’ll let him go home now – Mr Bennett – after all of this. I asked Hamish about mental health outpatients but…’ She folded her arms. ‘I mean, Dr Wix… He said it depends on the case.’
‘But what a bloody stupid thing to do. Adopting out his dead wife’s extra-created descendant to his next-door neighbour.’ Susan stopped and folded her lips inwards. ‘Ah. Was that down to you?’
‘Yep,’ said Emma. ‘My fault.’ Her armpits started to prickle. ‘And the fact she’s down here means that they know it was my fault…’
So who are Bonbon and Jinx? Susan wanted to ask, her eyes dancing over Emma’s face. Instead she offered: ‘Surely it was an accident…’
‘Don’t you think he’ll ever be allowed home?’
The question arrowed through the air and pierced their low tones. The women started and looked up.
‘Did you hear that?’ queried Susan.
Emma took a step and looked about her. ‘Hello?’
‘Because he’s not bad enough to be taken away forever.’ The limping littler hobbled towards them. ‘He’s just ill, really.’
‘Are you…’ Emma started.
‘Jinx’s boyfriend?’ Susan finished.
‘Jinx!’ he shouted. ‘Where is she?’
Susan nodded towards the ceiling. ‘The floor above. We’re going to rescue her later.’
‘Really?’ he wheezed. ‘When? Ooooh…’ He closed his arms further around his stomach.
Emma bent towards him. ‘What happened to you?’
He screwed up his face for a moment before exhaling slowly. ‘I can’t really remember…’
‘But you look much better than when I last saw you,’ said Susan. ‘Has this happened while you’ve been here?’
‘Yes. This morning.’
‘They probably gave him memory suppressants.’ Emma stared into each of his eyes then sat back, holding her cheeks. ‘I can’t believe he’s talking.’
‘I don’t think they did,’ said Chips. ‘My memory is much better. I can remember so much more than I ever could.’
‘So they never intended to return Chips to his owner either?’ Susan frowned. ‘If he’s down here, I mean.’
‘My owner,’ Chips laughed, then clutched his stomach again.
Emma winced and knitted her fingers. ‘As soon as you’re out of here, we’ll find you a new home.’
‘You can live with me,’ said Susan, nodding.
Chips closed his eyes. ‘He’s a good man and he loves me. He’s j
ust ill,’ he hoarsed up at them.
‘But he obviously doesn’t feed you properly.’
‘He gave me my humcoat before you gave Jinx hers.’
Susan bit her lip.
‘And Bonbon. She was always cold…’
‘You’re right, Chips, you’re absolutely right.’
‘And he only took Blankey because he loved her. That’s not a bad thing, is it?’
‘No,’ the two women said together.
‘And I wouldn’t be here without him. He gave me life. I’m happy to be alive, even if I get a bit hungry, sometimes.’
Emma frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
Chips opened one eye and focused it on Emma. ‘You know where we come from, don’t you? I heard you talking about Blankey…’
‘My colleague looked after you. I didn’t have anything to do with your files.’ Emma’s face collapsed into wrinkles. ‘Gosh, don’t tell me you’re his son or something… Are you?’
‘I’m him,’ Chips winced.
Susan baulked. ‘His son, seriously?’
‘No… I’m him.’
Emma held her hands out and sat like that for a while, her opened mouth stretching out her scowl. ‘Impossible.’ She folded her arms.
‘Do they do that?’ asked Susan.
Emma snapped into a standing position. ‘Obviously they are taking from live participants now.’
‘No… I think they must have…’ Chips began.
‘Must have what?’ Emma enquired.
Chips blinked at her, then turned and vomited on the floor. Two littlers shuffled over to him and took it in turns to rub his back. Susan took a sheet of Fibre-Web from her pocket, leaned forward and wiped his mouth. ‘We can talk about this later. Don’t worry…’
‘All my memories came back. I’m him. I really am him.’
‘Okay, it’s alright,’ Emma lulled. ‘I just can’t get my head around it…’
The lift bleeped again. ‘We’d better do something with this,’ Susan held up her wrist, ‘before they climb down to get us.’
Susan folded the scarf she was wearing and guided Chips over to it. He lowered himself onto it, wincing as he bent.
‘You’re right,’ said Emma, walking to the lift and checking the doors. She stopped to hold her temples. ‘I just can’t believe it…’
They uploaded their films to every social network they could think of; then to every news site and every politician, mailed them to every person on their contact list, asking them to pass it on; displayed it on comments boards and posted its link in discussion forums. Every two or three minutes, the lift would beep as the security bots called it back to the top and the two women would look up, making sure that the cage doors hadn’t slipped or crumpled, before turning back to their wrists.
‘Where else can we send it?’
Susan’s wrist flashed purple. ‘Shit, it’s Hamish… They must still be outside. How long have we been here?’ She dabbed the screen. Emma smiled and looked away.
‘Hi. Yes, we’re fine. Sorry, who’s calling up the lift? I know, Hamish, but we haven’t decided what we’re going to do yet. Yep, sure, hang on.’ She held her arm out to Emma. ‘He wants to speak to you.’
Emma touched her wrist to Susan’s, then held her arm up to her ear. ‘Who’s calling up the lift?’
‘Security.’ Hamish’s voice was hushed and serious. ‘Should I call the police?’
‘The police? No… Why? What could they do?’
‘Susan’s just told me that you’re both alright. I know you probably told her that to keep her calm…’
‘We’re fine. We make a good team.’ Emma looked at Susan. ‘Hamish, did you get the footage?’
‘Yes, it’s horrific. Everyone is standing here watching it as we speak.’
‘Tell them we need it to go viral.’
‘I think they’re on the case.’
Emma grinned into the phone. ‘If people start to go home, don’t hang around out there alone, will you?’ Her eyes landed on Susan as she said the ‘will you’. Susan stared at her with her head on one side, biting the skin around her thumbnail as if she were lost in a film.
‘How long do you think you’ll be down there?’
‘We’re a bit unsure about the security bots; if they were real people we would probably just let them take us.’ She looked at Susan. ‘Wouldn’t we?’
Susan blinked, as if someone had interrupted her during a really good scene. She nodded, then got up to check the lift.
‘Hamish, did you hear what I just said?’ Emma jammed her finger in her ear as several voices started to speak at once.
‘Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to hang up the phone.’
‘Why?’
‘What’s happening here is a private matter; I can’t risk you communicating the events that you’re witnessing to anyone outside of—’
The line went dead.
‘Hamish?’
‘It’s still jammed.’ Susan sat back down and nodded towards her wrist. ‘What happened?’
‘We were cut off,’ Emma replied. ‘Security are trying to call the lift up.’
They spent the next ten minutes opening cages, then they un-jammed the lift and squashed themselves and the littlers inside. Two littlers made a chairlift with their arms and carried the one whose legs were fused from the knees up. The others moved to make space for them inside the lift. Chips lay in a cradle that Susan had made with her forearm, his eyes trained on Blankey who peered at him from her shoulder.
‘We can’t stop at the next floor, can we?’
Emma chewed the inside of her cheek. ‘We’ll have to come back.’
‘But we need Jinx to tell her story…’
‘I think we’ve told a chunk of it already.’
The lift doors opened. ‘No, no… We’re not getting out here,’ Susan spread herself out in front of the doors as the calf-high party started to spill into the silent room. She wanted to yell out to Bonbon and Jinx that she’d come back for them, but the lift doors closed and they were scooted up two more floors before they could all burst out onto the white reception tiles.
Six people stood waiting for them, their legs at ease and hands behind their backs. They told them that they would be pressing charges for slander, that the police were involved – the cars were waiting outside – and that the littlers were the property of Billbridge & Minxus until such a time that the law decided otherwise.
‘They are the property of no one,’ Susan spat, shoulders hunched and eyebrows fierce. ‘They are human,’ she said, before asking each of the people standing in front of her who their owner was, then stopped to swap Chips to the other arm and lift Blankey down to her waist. Didn’t they think that the law would ‘decide otherwise’ once they found out exactly how these humans had been repressed?
Emma stood at ease, stared ahead and said nothing.
* * *
In the event of their deaths, they had donated their bodies to medical research. And all their organs. Not many of Drew’s were reusable – whatever it was that had driven into the passenger side of Watty’s car had turned Drew’s insides to soup, no, coulis… Watty would have written ‘coulis’.
She rubbed out ‘soup’ with the end of her pencil and replaced it with ‘coulis’.
Watty was pretty much intact. Except for his brain; his head had crashed into Drew’s then back into a window… Or the other way around. Isabel only remembered the bit where she’d been told it was probably the blow to the head from Drew that had killed him.
Unthinkable, thought Isabel. They couldn’t know for certain that Drew had killed Watty, could they? ‘Probably,’ Mark Hector had told her. ‘Probably.’
She’d looked at him with clone-eyes; or the look of a person whose eyes would only really see the inside of their head, since three quarters of their world had been sucked from outside of it.
‘I know what you saw the last time you came to the lab,’ he had said to her. ‘Well… she saw you too. And a
ctually, she’d like to meet you,’ he’d told her, not even a week after the crash.
Isabel sat with her lips against the pages of Watty’s notebook, her stare drifting around the distended spiral of a single black paperclip, almost invisible in the grain of his big empty desk. ‘Alright then,’ she had said through the book.
Mark Hector smiled, nodding at the book. ‘Why don’t you keep writing in it?’
‘—.’
He lowered his voice. ‘The thing is, Isabel, if anyone found out about her, then… you know, anyone in your family…Well… She’s not exactly legal as you know.’
‘My family?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry. Stupid thing to say… Although there is the little laundry place just up the road. Am I right in thinking that…’
‘I get it; I’ll keep my mouth shut.’
Dr Hector sighed. ‘I know you will.’
* * *
They squinted beyond the forecourt as they were led across it towards the awaiting party that twinkled with camera flashes. Its hum held the magnitude of a much bigger crowd than the one they’d left. Wrists with glowing microphone icons were pushed up to their jawlines. Members of the LOG held up plastic cups and tried to hand them red-velvet biscuits. ‘Well done!’ they grinned, holding hands out towards the troop of littlers that stumbled on the uneven concrete. ‘Some of them belong to LOG members,’ Susan called before correcting herself. ‘I mean, live with LOG members. We must change the “O”,’ she laughed as she passed Chips to Meredith before a hand on her head pushed her down into a car. Hamish’s face appeared at the window on the opposite side, its nose snorting two steam-spots onto it. He said nothing. They stared at each other until the car moved away. Susan tried not to notice that his eyes kept flicking to Emma, who slid down the seat as a journalist aimed his wrist at her.
‘Stop!’ shouted Susan, just as they were pulling off. ‘Just let me give him something!’
‘What?’ said a policewoman. ‘No.’
‘We haven’t been arrested; open the door.’ gurgled Emma, her chin squashed into her chest.
‘And you think that breaking and entering isn’t a crime?’
‘We had keys,’ she said. ‘If we were arrestable, you would have arrested us.’ She over-pronounced each syllable. Susan turned her head away, her cheeks bloated with laughter.