by Mark Souza
“I’ll pitch in,” Carla said.
Linda raised her hand. “Me too.”
Mona shook her head, eyes cast up at the ceiling. “What time is your appointment?”
“Six,” Robyn said.
“Okay, get out of here. You can still make it. Me and the girls will finish up.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank them. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”
Moyer waited for Robyn inside the Hogan-Perko lobby. Duncan sat silently next to him working on a digital clipboard. When Robyn arrived, her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She looked weary and her eyes puffy and red.
She sagged into the open chair beside Duncan and flashed a quick smile. Moyer could tell it had been a trying day and the only reason for the inkling of joy inside her was the purpose behind their meeting: selecting her daughter.
Duncan tapped his clipboard with a stylus and handed it to Robyn. Photographs of young women cycled every few seconds, each numbered. “These are the composites I put together covering potential variations for your daughter.”
Robyn’s eyes misted over. Moyer realized it was the first time their baby had been referred to as their daughter, and the impact of those words hit Robyn hard. She stared at the clipboard. “My God, she’s a real woman,” she said.
“It’s merely a projection,” Duncan said, “But the programs have been greatly refined the last few decades and tend to be very accurate.”
Robyn tipped the clipboard toward Moyer. “I like four and thirteen,” she said. “What do you think?”
Moyer cycled through the images and nodded.
“Which one do you like?” she asked.
Duncan took the clipboard, and with a few taps of his stylus, positioned the images of four and thirteen side by side and handed it back. Moyer studied the two. Robyn watched anxiously, her mouth pinched down into a tight frown. He worried that she already had a favorite and he might get it wrong. “Thirteen,” he said. “She looks the most like you.”
Robyn took the clipboard for a closer look. Robyn’s cheeks flushed pink. “Thirteen,” she said to Duncan as she handed back the clipboard.
“Have you signed up for parenting classes yet?” Duncan asked.
“We’ve already started,” Robyn said, gazing at Moyer.
The phone on the reception desk rang. Duncan stood to answer it. His posture straightened when he put the receiver to his ear. He cast his eyes at Moyer. “It’s Mr. Perko; he wants to talk to you.”
Duncan handed Moyer the receiver. Perko’s hoarse voice greeted him. “Do you remember our deal, Mr. Winfield?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you made contact with Begat?”
“Yes, sir. Uh, no sir. I made contact but couldn’t set up a meeting.”
“Well get to it, Mr. Winfield. My patience has limits.”
Moyer heard a click and the line went dead.
On the tube ride home, Robyn slipped her arm under Moyer’s, leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. It was a sigh of joy, and also relief. Moyer understood because he felt it too. Something that seemed all but impossible weeks earlier was becoming reality. The emotion of it overwhelmed him and Moyer covered his face. Robyn asked what was wrong and Moyer shook his head. She stroked his hair and asked again, “What’s the matter?”
Moyer smeared the tears off his cheeks and composed himself. “I’m all right, I swear. When I was young, I was teased endlessly in school about my appearance.” Moyer’s throat tightened with emotion again and he sucked in a couple breaths to steady himself. “My parents had screening done to assure I would be healthy, but nothing else. They couldn’t afford more. It was new technology then and costly. As you know, both of my parents were blond and light skinned. Being born dark skinned and dark haired, kids used to tease me saying— Hey Moyer, someone forget to wash your test tube? — right up to the day my mother died.
“And then the last few weeks, you picking my skin and hair color as things you wanted to see in our daughter, and then seeing the construct, it’s a bit overwhelming — but in a good way, I swear.”
They rode in silence after that, arm in arm. As the train rocketed through the tube, Moyer’s mind drifted back to his arrangement with Viktor Perko. His daughter wasn’t paid for yet.
Robyn protested as Moyer hustled her from the tube station to their building. “You have been pushing and tugging me along since we left HP. What is the rush?”
“I don’t want to be on the streets at night. It’s not safe.”
“We’ll be fine.”
As soon as they entered the apartment, Moyer rushed for the bathroom.
“Oh,” Robyn said, “why didn’t you just say so?”
He closed and locked the door behind him and looked into the mirror. As he entered the net, his image in the mirror faded, replaced by the dingy interior of a living room somewhere out in Labor Housing. The image jerked to the side as the host sensed someone was watching.
“Who is this?”
“This is Moyer Winfield. We spoke before. I’m trying to contact the giant.”
“What makes you think he’s here?”
Another voice, deep and smooth said, “Relax, brother, it is all right.” The giant albino stepped into view. He wore a brown robe as he had that day in the Circle. The hood was down, exposing a shock of short, white hair and a pair of mesmerizing, blue eyes. They were the color of a high, summer sky. “What does he look like?” the giant mumbled to his host.
“Olive complexion, longish dark hair hanging into his eyes. Slender, average height, a bit mousy.”
The giant nodded. “I did not expect to hear from you so soon. What has happened?”
“Uh,” Moyer hadn’t planned for this question and had no lie rehearsed. He struggled for an excuse. “Th-th-they changed the terms on me. It looks as if we won’t be getting a baby after all.”
The host relayed what Moyer said to the giant. It was then that Moyer realized that the giant, being soldier-class, did not possess a net chip. It would be a recipe for disaster during war if the enemy could hack into soldiers and listen in on their plans, ascertain their location, or worse, flip their allegiance through propaganda.
“I see. There is still a way. Perhaps I could discuss it with you. Can we meet?”
“Yes,” Moyer said. The host echoed his response to the giant.
“What about someplace public, tomorrow?”
“I can’t tomorrow. I have to work and I’ve already been reprimanded.”
“Do you want the meeting or not.” the host barked.
The giant settled a hand on his host’s shoulder to quiet him and spoke in a calm voice. “Our next meeting is Saturday. Will that work for you?”
“Yes.”
“Go to the end of the Michigan Street line and find the HarlandAvenueChurch. Meet me there at four and bring your wife,” the giant said.
“I don’t want my wife involved.”
The giant’s eyebrows shot up when the message was relayed. “She will have to be involved at some point. There is no avoiding it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I will explain it to you when we meet.”
The host severed the connection and Moyer was left staring at himself in the mirror.
Chapter 12
Thursday, 15 December
It was the first day since Robyn was repurposed to Janitorial Services that she didn’t dread going to work. She was so happy she didn’t feel the need to connect to the net during the commute into the city. She had plenty going on in her head to keep her occupied.
When she joined the girls in the lobby of the Capital Arms, she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. She pulled the polymer sheet from the envelope and proudly held it up. “This is my daughter.”
Serafina took the image from her for a closer inspection. “Oh she’s so beautiful.”
Linda examined the photo, smiled and passed it down the line. When it arri
ved at Big Mona, she crinkled her brows as she studied the image. She cocked her head as her eyes played over the olive skin, onyx hair, and jade eyes. The perplexed expression on Mona’s face, hints of skepticism and disapproval, pinched at Robyn’s heart. Was this what her daughter would face whenever she entered a room? “She’s very... exotic looking,” Mona said. “I can see the resemblance to you. Where does she get her coloring from, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Her father.”
Mona nodded and handed the photo back. “Well I can tell you one thing; you are going to have big time boy troubles. They’ll be beating down your door. I don’t envy you.”
Friday, 16 December
In the Digi-Soft sub-basement, Moyer was saving off his work in preparation for lunch when the phone rang. It never failed to send a pulse of adrenaline through him when it chimed. Viktor Perko’s voice heightened his nervousness. “Sir, what can I do for you?”
“Please stop by my office at your lunch break. The elevator has been programmed to accept your hologram. Come straight up.”
“Yes, sir. I will. As soon —” Perko had hung up. Moyer let the handset drop back onto the cradle. He no longer felt hungry; in fact, he doubted he could keep food down.
Moyer marched across the Circle to the Hogan-Perko building with his head down. He kept alert to assure no security agents or Begat protestors waited in his path.
Inside the building, the receptionist appeared confused when Moyer strode past her straight to the elevator, and stood to protest. She eased back into her chair when she heard the ding of Moyer’s hologram being accepted by the security reader.
Moyer stepped in and pushed 140. He was prepared when the car shot upward and didn’t need to clutch the rail this time. When the car stopped and the doors opened, the hallway was quiet enough to hear the subtle hum of environmental equipment on the roof, and the rush of air passing under the door to Viktor Perko’s office.
The old man sat at his desk gazing at the wall of monitors. He waved Moyer over without breaking eye contact with his screens. “Sit, Mr. Winfield.” He wore a broad grin when he turned to face Moyer. “You have a meeting scheduled with Begat on Saturday. Very good.”
Moyer tried to keep the shock off his face. How could Perko know unless he was having Moyer followed?
“You needn’t worry. I’m only monitoring you because of our arrangement and because I have a vested interest in the outcome of your efforts on my behalf.”
Perko was far too good at reading facial expressions and body language. Moyer had often been accused of being emotionless and impossible to decipher, but Perko had read him in a fraction of a second.
Perko slid a small box across the table to Moyer. “For your meeting, I want you to wear this.”
Moyer opened the box. In it was a ring, a plain gold band. Moyer glanced up, confused.
“It has a camera and microphone. I find it beneficial to see and hear what’s happening rather than relying on secondhand reports, no matter how detailed they are. Much of meaning is conveyed in inflections of voice and body language rather than in the words themselves. Please remove your wedding band and wear this in its place. It should be a perfect fit.”
Moyer slipped off his wedding band and put on Perko’s ring. They appeared the same. Perko turned his attention to his screens. Perko smiled at his live video image on the wall monitors. “Ha, see, you are broadcasting five by five, Mr. Winfield.” His grin quickly turned to a frown. “Not much to look at, am I? I’ll have you know, that in my younger days, I was considered quite a handsome man.”
Moyer kept quiet for fear of getting it wrong or being misunderstood. Perko sensed his unease and chuckled. “Good luck to you, Mr. Winfield, and please give my fondest wishes to your lovely wife.”
Inside the elevator, the ring felt awkward on Moyer’s finger. As the car rocketed downward, he perceived he was being watched. Moyer noticed a camera mounted in the corner and tried to remain nonchalant, though it was difficult. He silently wondered if there would ever be an end to Viktor Perko’s favors.
The receptionist didn’t bother looking up when Moyer left. Outside in the weak winter sunlight, Moyer still couldn’t shake the feeling he was being spied on. He turned and peered up at the top floor of the HP building expecting to see Viktor Perko standing at the window staring back. He saw nothing but the reflection of the sky. Then Moyer remembered the ring. Of course. He pulled it from his finger and stuffed it back in his pocket as he crossed the Circle.
Saturday, 17 December
Eve Ganz contacted Robyn to get notes from the first day of parenting class. Robyn had forgotten. Eve showed up at her door a few minutes later, out of breath, eyes flitting around the apartment. “Nice place,” she said. “You know I only live a few blocks away on Howard.” Robyn found Eve’s tick-like ability to latch on to her uninvited a bit disconcerting.
Eve regarded conversation the way a mason regards a wall, any gap was seen as a mistake. Robyn soon knew more about Eve and her husband Ira than she ever wanted to. Ira was a shipping manager for Global Brands, and despite both of them being professionals, their baby was won in the lottery.
“Ten tickets a week, that’s all,” she explained. “Ira thought I was an idiot throwing our money to the wind. But we won. At first he was mad because I think he thought it defied his precious statistics and made him look stupid. Then he realized we could keep all the money we’d socked away to buy a baby and he was thrilled.” Eve glanced around as if something was amiss. “Where are your baby things?”
“I don’t have any,” Robyn said. The sympathetic expression on Eve's face made Robyn defensive. Most mothers excitedly provisioned nurseries months ahead of their baby’s arrival. Did lacking these things make her unfit? Did it mean she lacked motherly instincts? Nothing could be further from the truth. “We spent everything on our baby. We have to save again until we have enough to stock our nursery.”
“Nonsense. You know what we need to do? We need to go shopping.”
“But —”
“No buts. Think of it this way; you need to allocate part of your budget for the baby, formula, diapers, clothes, and all that stuff — right? By shopping for baby things every month, you are getting a head start on your future budget. Five hundred credits a month is the recommended baby allowance.”
Robyn smiled. She was starting to admire Eve Ganz. And besides, shopping wasn’t buying.
The women browsed through the baby department inside Bixby’s at the Freedom Mall. As soon as they entered, Robyn sensed the store computer accessing her net-chip for information. As they perused, Robyn knew the computer was recording where her eyes focused and for how long. The information, along with sales receipts, would be sold to manufacturers to determine the effectiveness of packaging and advertising. Unfortunately, it also meant a packet of coupons would arrive at the Winfield’s apartment aimed to induce Robyn to buy the items that most interested her, a packet she would have to intercept before Moyer found it.
A barrage of sales people descended on them like vultures to a swollen carcass, a new one every few minutes. Eve had a talent for shooing them away without offending. They paused at a floor display of strollers. Eve seemed genuinely interested. “The Glider model is nice. Do you have a stroller yet?” Robyn asked.
“No, not yet. There’s an appeal to the stroller concept, but to be honest, they scare me to death. If you put your baby in one, you are just offering them up to a snatcher. And if you only plan to put a decoy in there, at 2000 credits I might add, then what’s the point of having a stroller?”
Robyn thought the same thing when Petro and Kelsey came for dinner, but felt it might be rude to point it out.
Eve’s attention drifted to another section of the store. She tugged Robyn’s arm towing her to a display of cribs and bassinets. “These are a must-have. I bought the Patriot model. It’s a little more, but I did my research. It converts into a play pen when your baby gets older and saves money in the long run. Ev
eryone who has one raves over them. And see, they’re on sale.”
Robyn gazed at the price. Eve’s suggestion about incorporating the baby into the budget was gaining weight. It was tempting, but Moyer would be angry if she didn’t at least discuss it with him first. She walked around the crib and stroked a hand across the mattress, giving the computer plenty of time to note her interest. Maybe there would be a discount coupon for the Patriot in tomorrow’s packet.
“I need to be going soon,” Robyn said.
“Really? We’re having fun. I know I am.”
Robyn smiled, “Me too. It’s just that Moyer doesn’t know I’m here and I really should cook dinner.”
Eve appeared hurt, but covered quickly. “I understand. Hey, we should do dinner sometime.”
“Sure,” Robyn said.
Robyn was still out when Moyer departed for his meeting with the giant. Before he left, he thought of contacting Robyn on the web to let her know he might be late so she wouldn’t worry, and then thought better of it. If Robyn was in a mood, she’d pester him until she had extracted where he was going and why. He left a note instead.
It was still light out when Moyer reached the Washington Street Station. The tubes running into the city’s center were crowded with people out for a good time on Saturday night. Those trains running to Labor Housing weren’t empty, but not close to full either. The last of the weekend labor shifts were headed home, those who worked late or had no desire to shove their way onto an earlier train.
When Moyer climbed aboard, he was met with stares. He overheard murmuring; what is he doing on the train, and why is he riding into Labor Housing? The words weren’t spoken, they were thoughts, but Moyer heard them just the same. Though they questioned his motives, he sensed there was no malice present. No one resented him. No one wanted to mug him. No one wanted to hurt him.
The seats were crowded. A few openings remained, however it meant sitting shoulder to shoulder with strangers. Moyer elected to stand, clinging to an overhead rail instead.