by S. L. Grey
Sedate with opiate-family suspension if necessary. Mild to medium aggression.
Sales Department (Improvement Division) input:
Client workups have been performed. 9 potential Clients already shortlisted. (See Workup Figures 1 through 9, appended hereto, reflecting Client specifications.) Will have no difficulty with immediate placement.
Scout Department report:
Candidate has been shortlisted for several months. Scout team was concerned by elevated adenosine triphosphate levels, dissatisfaction at work, and lifestyle of sexual partner, Katya Angela Forrest, who is an habitual reliant on semi-organic stimulants. Onsite scouting agent M.R. monitored candidate and noted improved alpha-E tendencies which, if continued as plotted, would lead to optimal induction in 3 to 5 periods. However, a domestic dispute at the candidate’s dwelling on 3rd Wet Shift, Deep Discount Cycle 3 (14 November upside), increased risk ratio to viable tissues beyond the Pot-Eichmann scale recommendations and necessitated immediate catalysis.
On upside 14 November, immediately following the departure of Katya Angela Forrest, catalysis was initiated by the scout team. The candidate was intercepted on approach to his vehicle and infected with an accelerated paramyxovirus which presented within 150 upside-equivalent moments as acute measles. The domestic dispute prior to induction was regrettable, as it resulted in raised cortisol and adrenalin levels in the candidate’s muscular tissues, which then had to be flushed at the transfer node as effectively as the short timeframe allowed. In accordance with Ministry frugality procedure, section 14a, candidate was sequestered in upside facility to recover to optimum recyclability. Suboptimally, candidate absconded from the upside facility and early transfer to Preparation Ward was necessitated. Viability of muscular tissue will be compromised at an estimated range on the Walters-King scale of 3.4–5.1%.
Despite these factors, the Supervisor and Administration concurred that the risks were outweighed by the potential harvest and that the unscheduled catalysis was the optimal course of action. (See Appendices 1a [records of consultation with Senior Administrator Plate and Supervisor Blow], 1b [record of advice from same] and 1c [responsibility escalation addendum], herewith in duplicate. Original and copies duly captured and forwarded to Procedures Office.) The candidate is a mild to moderate security risk, and should be handled with caution, and the Supervisor has suggested that the donation cycle should be given priority scheduling status.
(Transfer agent N.M. reports that the candidate has reacted well to calm authority and non-invasive techniques. Preparation staff may try persuasion rather than invasion at first contact.)
Administration protocol checklist:
Tissue analysis requisition
Contact report templates
‘What have you got there, Mr Farrell?’
I try to shove the folder under the bedclothes again but the contents spill out onto the floor and slide in a slick arc across the tiles. The ziplock bag containing the Polaroids slides fastest and furthest, all the way to the nurse’s blue shoes. She looks at me, her dead, black eyes burning me.
Holy fuck. They’re planning to feed me up until my heart explodes. They’re planning to… They’re planning to… There’s only one thing for me to do. I have to go. Right now. But my body won’t move, and at the same time my leg muscles seize, and pain screams up them and through my spine. I feel the piss warming the mattress beneath me.
‘Now, now, Mr Farrell. I was looking for that. A cooperative Donor would have handed it in without reading it. Did you not see the stamp reading “Confidential” on the cover?’
I can’t speak. The pain in my muscles blots out every thought in my head.
‘I’m sure you did, Mr Farrell.’ She approaches my bedside with another drip bag. ‘Anyhow, let’s move on. I apologise for not refreshing your treatment immediately. I was called away, you see. We seem to have an intruder on the ward, and nobody’s quite sure what… to do… with her.’ She hangs the drip and the brown liquid starts siphoning through the tube. I feel my veins desperately sucking it in, as if they know that whatever’s in there will make the pain go away.
‘So many people want to join our wards,’ she coos on. ‘It’s a real honour to be chosen, you know. You are among the elite, Donor Farrell.’ I think I believe her. It is really very comfortable here. ‘Your job is simply to rest and to grow big and strong.’
Something inside my mind fights sleep. I’m tormented with a roll of images, of unresolved thoughts, and my mind lurches and tumbles as my body wants it to rest. My heart’s going to explode. They’re going to draw on me. With knives? They’ve been watching Katya. Where is Katya? Is she at home?
I remember what happened on Monday morning. Somehow those cryptic notes in my file have made it all come rushing back. Domestic dispute … intercepted on approach to his vehicle…
Katya was leaving me. And it wasn’t a surprise. She’d done it at least four or five times before. Always after a weekend before a big job: always on a crazy downer after a binge. But this time there was something different, something more intense about her. This time it was as if she meant it.
You only love me for my face! she screamed, then she took a cut-glass tumbler from the counter and smashed it against the worktop. Well, she said, take a good, long look, you bastard. It’s the last time you’ll see it. And for a moment I thought she was going to hurt herself. I grabbed the shard of glass from her, cutting both of us in the process. She tucked her hair back with her bleeding hand, that’s how the blood got on her face. I tried to touch her, but she left. Her bags were already packed.
Then, later, I was pissed off, nothing else to do but go to work. I headed down to the parking garage and this stinking fucking homeless guy came out of nowhere and rammed into me. I nearly had a fucking heart attack, I thought I was being hijacked, but he just mumbled something and stumbled off. Look where you’re going, you stupid motherfucker! I yelled, taking deep breaths until I got my pulse back under control.
I was so stupid. Katya would never have hurt herself. She would never have done anything to her face. Christ, the amount of time I’d spend watching her make herself up in the walk-in. I’d pretend to sleep and just watch her, five, six in the morning. She’d make herself perfect for me every day before I had to see her. She knew what I liked.
I’m woken by a massive cramp all the way from my back to my heels. It feels as if my leg muscles are tearing themselves off the bone. The momentary relief at having remembered, at knowing that I didn’t hurt Katya, dissolves in the scour of pain. I try not to scream; I don’t want that nurse to come, but eventually the pain overwhelms me and I let it go. I bellow like it might bring this building down around me, like somehow I might have some luck and that nurse will be killed and—
‘My goodness. Nurse Essigee really should be reported to the Administration. The number of times I’ve noticed guests on this floor with empty drips and, my goodness, Mr Farrell, has she not even bothered to have your sheets changed?’
It’s Nomsa. What the fuck is Nomsa doing here?
‘I moonlight as a supply nurse on these wards,’ she continues, as if reading my thoughts. ‘And when I found out that you were transferred, I made sure to look you up. It’s lovely to see you. But I’m sorry to hear about your setback.’
‘What do you mean? I was supposed to be discharged.’
‘You’re in no condition now, are you? I heard you crying out across the ward.’ She comes to my bed and lays a soothing hand on my arm. ‘Muscle pain, is it?’
‘Yes. These massive cramps in my legs. All over actually.’
‘That’s right. This treatment sometimes has that side effect.’
‘But what’s wrong with me? Why wasn’t I discharged?’ I stop. I remember having that discussion with Nomsa, but I can’t recall anything else. I was in a hurry to get out… That’s right. I got that orderly’s access card, and went…
Oh my fuck. I was with Gertie. It was Nomsa. She stopped us.
�
��Where am I, Nomsa?’
‘You’re in Preparation Ward.’
‘Preparation for what?’
She looks at me for a few moments. I can’t read her face. That’s been my problem all along. I can’t read her. I look at her name badge. RN Nomsa Makgatho. Transfer agent N.M. reports that the candidate has reacted well to calm authority and non-invasive techniques. Preparation staff may try persuasion rather than invasion at first contact.
‘You’ve been selected, Mr Farrell. It’s a great honour. Your physique is of the finest calibre. The measles took their toll, though, so we’re simply getting you back to your optimum… To your optimum health.’
If I try to run now, she’ll inject me with something. At least now I’m not tied down. She could strap me down if she wanted. They could try ‘invasive techniques’. I should convince her that I am cooperating.
‘Oh. Thanks. And then will I be discharged?’
She looks at me again, and, despite myself, despite the fear threatening to loosen my bladder again, I can’t help imagining kindness in her eyes.
‘Yes. How are your eyes, by the way? I see you’ve still got your drops.’
‘Yes. My eyes are fine now. Thank you.’ She couldn’t be part of some insane cannibalistic scheme, could she? She’s only ever been kind and warm to me. I’m not sure whether to trust her, but she’s still my only ally. She may still help me.
‘That’s good.’ She tweaks the tap on the drip and the brown liquid starts flowing faster.
‘Nomsa.’
‘Yes, Mr Farrell?’
‘I read a file.’
‘A file?’
‘It was my hospital file. It said what treatment I was on. What I’m here for.’
‘Was this a paper file? In a folder?’
‘Yes.’
She laughs. ‘Nurse Essigee told me about that. She said you were raving in your sleep. I am sorry. This medication is rather… intensive. It has side effects, but it’s very effective. Nurse Essigee says you were shouting at her while you slept. Something about meat, something about donations. Your medical aid’s been sorted out now, Mr Farrell. You don’t need to worry about donations.’
‘Nomsa, I’m trying to tell you that I read this file. It recorded my current treatment, what I was here for. They knew things about… about my home life, things that happened before… before I got sick. They knew how I got sick.’
‘We don’t keep paper records here, Mr Farrell. It’s the modern world. Look.’ She takes a handheld scanner with a large display screen out of her pocket. ‘This is your file. Right here.’ In the brief glance, I read my name and personal details. Just age, weight, the usual; no ‘harvest mass’ or any of that other insane shit.
Could I really have imagined it?
Nomsa gives the bag a squeeze. Could I have imagined it?
Hold on a minute.
‘You found me and Gertie trying to leave the Green Section at New Hope. You drugged us.’
‘You were a danger to yourself.’
‘What happened to Gertie?’
‘She got discharged. I’ll leave you to rest now. Your body has a lot of work to do.’
Nomsa leaves the room and I slump down, prepared for oblivion, looking forward to dreaming of Katya.
Chapter 14
LISA
I sit down on the end of the bed while Farrell’s nurse – Nomsa – fusses with the sheets. This room’s identical to the one in which I discovered Gertie. They’re probably all the same on this floor, and I’ve been told to wait here before being taken back to my own ward.
‘There are very few vacancies on the Modification Ward, Client Cassavetes,’ she says, shaking her head as if I’m an ungrateful child. ‘Quite frankly, I’m disappointed that you would ignore such a marvellous opportunity. It was I who recommended your transfer here, and I really hope you’ll realise just how fortunate you are. Especially considering your… condition.’
Ice shoots through my veins. ‘What do you mean?’ How could she know about my body dysmorphia? I haven’t told anyone. The doctors at New Hope probably suspected, though. Has she been talking to them?
She sighs. ‘Wait here. I’ll be back for you shortly. We can’t have Clients running willy-nilly around the Preparation Ward. It’s not… appropriate.’
She leaves the room.
The headache is still gnawing at my temples – no doubt the aftereffects of whatever drugs they gave me – but that’s the least of my problems.
There’s something seriously wrong here. It’s not my imagination, I know it’s not.
I glance around the room for something I could possibly use as a weapon, but there’s nothing in here except for the bed and a lamp that’s fixed permanently to the nightstand. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes. I touch the smooth surface of the mask and my fingers come back wet. The tears are trickling through the mask, but I can’t feel them on my skin.
Stop being so pathetic, Dr Meka’s no-nonsense voice says in my head. They can’t keep you here against your will.
But I’m not so sure about that.
Get up and leave.
I don’t want to. My body feels heavy and sluggish, and all I want to do is sleep. Yes. Maybe if I have a nap I’ll wake up and everything will be…
Yeah, right. Now, go. You might not have another chance.
I force myself to stand up. I creep towards the door, pull it open and poke my head out into the corridor.
It’s empty. All clear.
Wait!
The door opposite opens and a white-clad figure emerges. Nomsa again. I freeze, but she doesn’t look in my direction, she’s turning round to poke her head back into the room.
‘I’ll be back to check on you shortly, Mr Farrell,’ she says.
I ease my door shut as quietly as I can and lean my back on it. Farrell’s here! Gertie was right.
So I have a choice to make.
Should I just take my chances and make a run for the lift? Or should I first make sure that Farrell’s okay? Would I be able to live with myself if I just leave him here? I can’t forget those photographs they took of him. Whatever they’re planning to do to me, they’ve also got something nasty in mind for him.
It’s now or never. Before I can change my mind, I haul open the door and fly across the corridor. Heart pounding, I slip inside Farrell’s room. He’s fast asleep, snoring gently, a drip containing that murky brown fluid attached to his arm.
I creep up to his bed and touch his toe.
He wakes with a jolt. ‘Katya?’
Who’s Katya? His girlfriend?
‘No. It’s me. Lisa.’
He stares at me blearily. ‘Lisa?’ There’s no sign of recognition in his eyes. Then he blinks. ‘Oh, yeah. Lisa.’ He sounds disappointed. I’m glad that I have the mask on; it hides the look of hurt that must be plastered all over my face. ‘Shit, Lisa, what the hell is that on your face?’
‘A surgical mask, I think.’
He screws his mouth up in distaste. ‘What are you doing here, Lisa?’
‘I’ve come to get you. We have to get out of here.’
‘Nomsa says I will be discharged soon.’ He’s slurring his words slightly. He closes his eyes again.
I tap his foot and he shudders and blinks. ‘You can’t trust her, Farrell.’
He shakes his head as if he’s trying to clear it. ‘Where are we? Is this the new wing?’
‘What?’
‘No Hope’s new wing. Nomsa said—’
‘I don’t know where we are. When I woke up from the op, I was in a posh hospital room. At first I thought I’d been moved to a private clinic. But now I’m not so sure. I’ve been seeing some… odd things.’
The understatement of the year. Tentacles, anyone?
‘But where is here?’ Farrell asks.
‘I don’t know.’
‘So you’re saying we’re still in New Hope?’
‘I don’t know where we are, Farrell. Gertie’s here as well.’<
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He struggles to sit up in bed, reaches for his water glass. He looks like crap. His eyes are bloodshot, his cheekbones stand out starkly and a vein flutters in his temple.
‘Don’t drink that. I think they’re drugging us. And you’re going to have to pull out that drip.’
‘You don’t think you’re being a bit hysterical?’
I’m hit with an unfamiliar bolt of anger. ‘No I’m not! Remember the photographs? And the lines they drew on your body? How can you say I’m being hysterical?’
‘Okay, okay, calm down.’
I take a deep breath. ‘Look, I think I know what they’re doing here.’
‘What?’
A Good Donor is a Happy Donor…
‘I think they’re harvesting… bits from people. Organs and things.’
‘You mean like some sort of organ-smuggling racket?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s insane. That sort of thing doesn’t happen to people like me, Lisa.’ He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. ‘I’m not some illegal immigrant who won’t be missed. I’m a well-known photographer, for fuck’s sake.’
‘I don’t have all the answers, Farrell.’
‘But what you’re saying, it’s—’
I grab the chart from the end of his bed and thrust it into his hands. ‘Look!’
The words ‘Joshua Alphonse Farrell. Status: Donor’ are scrawled on it in black marker pen.
He doesn’t speak for several seconds. ‘Lisa, if there is some kind of racket going on, they’re hardly going to advertise it like this, are they? I mean, think about it. “Donor” is probably just some kind of politically correct term for a patient or whatever.’
‘“Donor” is a politically correct word?’
He’s still looking at me as if I’m some sort of madwoman. If he doesn’t want my help he’s on his own. At least I tried. I start heading for the door. ‘If you don’t want to come with me, I’m going by myself.’
‘Wait.’
I turn around. His eyes stray to my legs. I left the sheet in the room and the hospital gown barely covers the tops of my thighs.