‘You would have thought they were content. And each thought the other was. Every day they would tell each other how lucky they were. Neither knew that they were both lonely, that each of them had the same doubts, the same nagging questions: Why, when I have all this, am I still sad? Why do I feel empty all the time? Why do I feel that I’m not worthy?’
‘But you didn’t feel like that.’ Lark looked at me, her eyes unblinking in the darkness.
I smiled and shook my head. ‘One morning, as they were sipping tea in the gardens that circled their palace, they were visited by a mouse – a tiny, frail mouse that insisted on getting their attention no matter how hard they tried to ignore him, no matter how loudly they called for their staff to take him away.
‘Leaping up into Lark’s lap, the mouse told them both that he wanted to show them something. Come, he kept saying. Come.
‘And so they followed him, reluctantly as you can probably imagine.’
And here Lark smiled. She had never liked small creatures.
‘He took them up hills, down into valleys and across fields until they were far, far from home. Tonight, we will sleep in here, he told them, pointing to a house in the distance with a candle in the window.
‘The room was simple – simpler than anything either of them had ever seen before – and they slept close, both of them afraid because they didn’t know where they were or if they would ever return.
‘Lark was the first to wake the next morning. She opened her eyes with the first of the light coming through that window and she shrieked in fright, her cry immediately waking Fern, who’d been sleeping fitfully next to her.
‘The shock for each was the same, both taking a moment to recognise their friend and, as they did, with that came a terror of how the other was seeing her. The bed they were in was far larger than the one they had gone to sleep in, the room palatial by comparison, for, in their sleep, they had each become what they had always feared they were.’
‘A mouse,’ Lark said.
‘A mouse,’ I repeated. ‘And even those simple surroundings now felt too grand for who they really were.’
‘But you never thought you were a mouse.’ Lark smiled at me and shook her head. ‘Nice try to make me feel better.’
‘I’m losing my touch,’ I confessed.
‘Perhaps you are a mouse after all.’
‘Perhaps,’ I agreed.
‘Hold on to your confidence,’ Lark urged me then. ‘You don’t need to pretend to doubts you don’t have. You are who you are.’
I could see how tired she was and I told her to sleep. ‘We will be okay,’ I promised her. ‘It won’t be like last time.’
I, too, closed my eyes as we sped onwards, the airstream far smoother than it had been on that last disastrous trip. Out of habit, I checked my mobie despite knowing that we were in a data vacuum.
When the autocarrier finally shuddered to a halt, my body felt stiff and sore from having been still for what seemed to be a long time. Next to me, Lark was wide awake. The medray was beeping, a slow rhythm in the sudden quiet.
‘Where are we?’ She was sitting upright, back straight, the line in her neck taut with tension.
Like me, she probably feared that this was an unscheduled stop, that we had been caught, but neither of us spoke a word of our fear.
When the autocarrier door slid open, it was dark outside, the night sky the blackest I had ever seen. Soft and close, like velvet. We were a long way from streams, I realised, looking out towards the closest shimmer of light, many miles away.
Miss Margaret didn’t introduce us to the two young men who helped us out of the autocarrier. She simply told them to take Lark straight to the clinic. ‘They’re ready for her.’
I turned to follow them but she stopped me.
‘I’m afraid all the beds there are full,’ Miss Margaret said, beckoning me to go with her.
She was walking quickly. I had to hurry to keep up as we wound our way through corridors and past halls and rooms, people glancing in our direction as we passed.
‘They’ve set up a room for you near mine,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back in the morning,’ she promised.
Too tired to protest and knowing there was no point in questions, I just let her go, leaving me alone in another strange place.
I didn’t sleep well that night.
Tossing and turning in that small room, I wondered where I was and what would happen to me next, the doubt and fear corrosive like acid, leaving me bilious.
Miss Margaret came in before dawn. I was already awake, sitting up in bed as the door to the room slid open.
‘Are you unwell?’ she asked, touching my forehead.
I shook my head.
‘The environment here is very similar to where we came from, but you’ve had so little reaction, it may be a delayed response.’ She stroked my cheek. ‘I hope not. We don’t have much time.’
‘How’s Lark?’
Miss Margaret told me she was slightly improved. ‘We’re going to meet Rahim in the clinic. We need to start you both on a dose of broad-spectrum immunity. It’s more than we’d like to give her at the moment, but we have no choice.’
She waited outside while I dressed. I’d never seen Miss Margaret so harried. Her eyes seemed to focus only on the distance; she was on alert, each sense attuned. She walked quickly, not stopping to say hello to anyone we saw, everyone seemingly busy, no one even glancing in our direction as we passed.
‘They need to evacuate as well,’ Miss Margaret told me. ‘The decision was only made last night. Apparently, their communications channels have also been marked.’
‘So we can’t stay?’
She shook her head.
Inside the clinic, Lark was sitting up next to a medray. She smiled at us both. Her skin looked a little less pale and she appeared to have gained some strength overnight.
‘We need to get you on the medray straight away,’ Miss Margaret told me, pointing me to the seat next to Lark.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Rahim will be here in a moment. He’ll explain everything.’
I refused to move.
‘Fern.’ Miss Margaret’s voice was soft but insistent. ‘We’re going to have to leave here. We may need to head somewhere with a much harsher environment than you’re used to. I have to make sure you’re both given the best possible chance of surviving.’ She gestured to the medray. ‘These are top-of-the-range immunity boosters used by undercovers who have to travel extensively to find subversives. We wish we had enough for everyone to have access to them, but we don’t.’
‘Why us?’ I persisted.
‘We need to keep you safe. We need to keep you alive.’
Lark beckoned for me to sit next to her. ‘I’ve been on it all night,’ she said. ‘I’m okay. In fact, I’m feeling much better than before.’
‘I wouldn’t hurt you,’ Miss Margaret promised. ‘No one wants to hurt you. You have to do as I ask.’
I sat with some show of reluctance but it was little more than a feeble attempt at resistance. There was no choice, and our relationship was so deeply ingrained. Miss Margaret’s role had always been to look after us, to care for us – a role that had naturally built a deep reserve of trust, one that was sustained even now.
Once the medray was on, she left us, saying she would return with Rahim in a moment.
‘Have you heard anything?’ I asked Lark.
She shook her head. ‘Everyone has been too busy rushing around.’ She pointed to the corner of the room. ‘There are kits for each of us, but I have no idea where we are going.’
‘At least we’ll be together,’ I told her.
She looked at me. ‘I hope so, but I don’t know.’
The medray was warm and soothing. I closed my eyes, more exhausted from lack of sleep than I realised. Often before I drifted off, I would take myself to another place, imagining a future that I embellished as I let it wrap around me. But I wasn’t able to here in this strange ro
om. I was alert to each sound, to any shift in the light; it was as though an electric charge was coursing through me.
About half an hour later, Miss Margaret returned. The man with her was tall, slender, his eyes hooded, dark and sharp, his hands long and fine as he held them out towards us, his skin dry to the touch. He went to sit only to stand up again, his fingers tapping against his thigh.
He looked at me. ‘You are Fern?’
I nodded.
‘And Lark?’ He smiled then, a look of wonder on his face as he surveyed both of us. ‘I had so hoped we’d meet under better circumstances – that we’d have longer to talk, to get to know each other. But it’s not to be.’
He checked the levels in the medray and our immunity readings, his assessment quick as his eyes darted across the information. ‘We should be able to turn this off soon, then we need to leave.’ He turned to me. ‘Miss Margaret says you’ve had no illness whatsoever?’
I nodded, hating myself for the foolish pride I felt.
‘Remarkable,’ he said. ‘I wish we had the opportunity to find out more. An immunity like yours is extraordinary.’
He had an energy that belied his years, a sharp focus in his gaze, a crispness to his tone and a complete inability to remain still – some part of him was always in motion.
‘I need you both to listen,’ he said, his gaze flicking back and forth between us. ‘I have a lot to tell you and it will be a shock. I can’t deny it. This is news that we would prefer to have delivered more slowly and carefully, but the situation being what it is, we have no choice.’
Miss Margaret had come back into the room, two mobies in her hand.
Rahim looked at them.
‘They’re all set up,’ she said. ‘One for each of them.’
He took them from her and scanned the data quickly, leaning in close as they conferred. I only caught part of their conversation – a reference to something being much harsher, followed by a nod in my direction. ‘She seems strong enough to cope without too much difficulty,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you managed that for the other one – it’s a bit of a softer landing. Although …’
I sat forward. ‘You can’t separate us,’ I said. The fear that I’d felt in the evening was simmering right beneath the surface, its taste metallic in my mouth. ‘Why would you do that?’
I’d instinctively reached for Lark’s hand and I held it tight in my own, not daring to glance in her direction to see my own terror reflected back to me.
‘I’m afraid we have to,’ Rahim said. ‘We cannot risk it.’
I wondered how often I’d heard those words that morning.
‘The two of you together are more likely to arouse suspicion and lead to detection. We’re all under threat and we need to disperse. As soon as it is safe we will get you both again, but until then this is what we have to do.’
He handed the mobies back to Miss Margaret and took a seat, his feet tapping insistently on the floor.
‘We have no time for arguments. None at all. You need to listen to all I have to tell you. And then Miss Margaret needs to prepare you for the next stop. She has a lot of information to give you, but I have confidence in both of you. Your brains have been well trained. You are wonderful learners, you have excellent retention skills, and you will need to use them to the best of your ability to ensure that you survive.’
I pulled back. Survive? What did he mean?
‘I have known you both since inception,’ he continued. ‘I led the BioPerfect team responsible for the design of your year’s Lotto winners. I also led the team that received regular updates on your progress, reports that showed me how well you were both doing, how perfectly you seemed to be fulfilling expectations of your design.
‘Both of your parents were overwhelmed by their good fortune. Both wanted the best for you.’ He turned to me. ‘Fern, your mother was keen for you to have a career in biogenetics – she wanted you to work in a field similar to mine. This had always been an interest of hers, although it was, of course, severely limited by her circumstances.’
I remembered my mother’s love of plants, the illegal seedlings that she nurtured and cared for. It was perhaps my strongest memory of her. It’s strange to think of her selecting what she wanted for me. Strange and sad. I had given them so little love or credit for who I was.
‘We talked about the kinds of attributes that you would need for this. We also talked about what your father wanted. He wished a more creative life for you, one in which you could work as a communicator, with images and words. Apparently, he had always longed to work in this field. So often we found that parents wanted their children to have the chance to live the lives they had failed to live, to have what they had desired but hadn’t been able to reach.
‘In the end they decided to select communications for you.’ He looked to Lark now. ‘Both of your parents were in immediate agreement. They loved music. They wanted you to have a life immersed in it.’
I glanced across at Lark, who was staring at him, her eyes wide and sad.
‘We discussed other attributes that are part of the Lotto package. There’s always a bit of horse trading that goes on. Your parents might choose to compromise on hair colour, skin tone, teeth, physical strength or immunity in exchange for extra work in other areas. They might do this with the hope that their child would go on to attain the wealth to purchase the best meds, for example, so it won’t matter if their immunity is less strong.
‘My team and I always spent some time talking to parents, trying to tread the line between talking in a way that they could understand, putting concepts into simple terms, without betraying the complexity of the work too appallingly. My role was also to steer them in directions where I felt we could do the most interesting experimentation, improving BioPerfect’s range of services on offer.
‘But, as Miss Margaret has already told you, and as you would have gathered from my presence here, I also worked outside the bounds set by BioPerfect.’ He was drumming his fingers on his knee, visibly agitated. ‘BioPerfect’s constant aim is to make money, to ensure the ongoing success of the company. That’s their imperative. It is not mine.
‘Your design was selected and agreed upon, the fine print was explained to your parents, your education plan was devised in consultation with another team, everything was in place. But the work we did was quite different.’
He looked at each of us then, glancing first at me and then at Lark, his gaze a strange mixture of curiosity – an almost palpable fascination with us – and shame.
‘What did you do?’ Lark was sitting forward, her voice quiet.
‘Nothing,’ he told us.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said.
‘There was no design. We simply used your parents’ genetic material, just as if you’d been naturally conceived.’
Inside, my very being seemed to plummet, all of me hurtling down at a terrifying speed.
‘We wanted to see what would happen if everyone believed this was who you were, if you were given the very best education, if you were surrounded by an unquestioning faith in your abilities,’ Rahim continued. ‘But there was no design.’
I was nothing.
All those years of believing that I had been lovingly crafted – all of that slipped from me like a sheet of silk.
I sat there with no idea who I was anymore, wanting only to wash myself clean of that one word: Nothing.
When I arrived here I had so little to guide me. My data told me who I was, where I worked, the amount of food and water I could purchase, the room in which I could sleep, any medical issues I had. It was all practical information and I lived with my head down, eyes on others, learning fast – how to report to work, to shop, to appear as though I belonged in this place. I had to be unnoticeable, invisible, nothing. After Rahim’s revelation, this wasn’t as difficult as it might once have been.
I was lonely and afraid – a toxic combination that kept me paralysed. Each night, I checked my mobie, hoping for some sign
that Lark, Miss Margaret, Rahim or even Ivy had been in touch with me. But while my loneliness spurred me on, my fear was stronger, keeping my checks cursory. I didn’t dare take any risks in case I was discovered.
For so long I survived on the promise that they would come and get me soon. But what was soon? How long would I have to wait? I endured the heat and the monsoon, days of endless rain and mud, days in which I was glad I at least had a room high above the compound. I lasted through the bitter cold, nights in which the icy stench of the wind chilled my small room and I curled up as tight as I could to keep warm, while the whole tower seemed to sway and groan with the force of the elements.
But worse than the discomfort, worse even than the fear and loneliness, was a boredom so numbing it sapped whatever energy I had left, like lead in my veins, sluggish and slow. There were nights when I passed dull hours watching the free mediastreams, drivel that was pumped out to persuade people to want what they couldn’t have. I never had the data to log onto the other streams and in some ways I was relieved about this. Remembering the pride I’d once taken in creating this content only exacerbated the emptiness I felt.
Other nights I would try to remember lessons I’d had, conversations in Miss Margaret’s room, music I’d loved, art, stories – but my attempts were always half-hearted. The person who had once enjoyed all that Halston had to offer was gone.
But since I have let myself get closer to Chimo, my life here has changed. My time with him has brought me joy. I’ve hardly dared to allow myself to recognise it but it’s true. Up in my room, he wraps his warm lean body around me. Down in the courtyard, we lie in his hammock talking for hours, his long legs resting over mine, his dark eyes glittering as he tells me tales. His voice softens as he whispers that I’m beautiful, his hand stroking my hair.
We don’t stay together every night. Some nights I come up to my room and work on a new box I’ve been making – this time it’s of our old balcony at PureAqua, my mother watering her plants, tiny scraps of green fabric. The next morning I look forward to seeing him again, his mouth sweet on mine as he says he’s missed me.
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