'Holiday!' she said to herself in a cheerful tone.
The word disappeared into the powdery walls, its brightness absorbed, nothing reflected back. It was as if she had never said it, as if nothing had ever been said in this room. She reached into her pocket and brought out her Book. She switched it on and propped up the picture of her mother in front of her.
'We're in,' she said. 'But don't get too excited. You're going to have to wait until my job here is finished. On pain of crucifixion.'
-o-
At least it was a nice morning, Cherry told herself, squinting in the reflected sunlight. And at least she had managed to sleep a little.
After half an hour in the City, she was starting to feel nostalgic for the postcard London of the South Bank. There, only one in twenty people wore – perhaps even fewer. The rural tourists were obvious by their reactions to the wearers, giving them a wide berth and sometimes even trying to sneak photos. People even dressed normally, for the most part. But this morning, she hadn't seen a clean face since she got off the tube.
And people in London proper had time to stop and look around, chat to one another, do whatever. Here, when she so much as paused to look at something, people would deviate from their paths just enough to miss full collision, but not enough to stop their clothes from brushing against hers. They were too busy to step further aside, or they wanted her to know that they could bash into her if they wanted to, to realise she was inconveniencing them.
She looked at the faces as they moved past her. No, this was not conscious behaviour; they were on some kind of City autopilot, eyes fixed on their final destination, cutting through steel and glass, people and air, their brains silently computing the most efficient way to get there. They were unaware of her presence, probably unaware that they were even walking round anyone, their heads already in the meetings they were headed to. Cherry tried not to stare when they were wearing symptoms on their faces, though they wouldn't have noticed if she had done. Many of them had patchy hair, shaved short, and no eyebrows, she noticed. Was this the latest thing? She reminded herself that the diseases were only transmitted sexually, though it didn't stop her trying to curl her body away from anyone who looked particularly diseased.
Cherry entered the square on the south side and headed for the fountain at its centre. As she drew closer, she saw a door open at its base and two young men exited and went their separate ways. Bumping her way to the edge of the fountain, she saw that there were exchange booths all the way round. She checked the time. She was early. She climbed the stairs up the side of the fountain and dropped down to sit on its edge, where umpteen suits were eating pastries, legs dangling, occasionally knocked by the doors below. Moving her shoulders in a slow circle, feeling them crunch, she surveyed the square and enjoyed being still at the centre of it all.
She sat facing the famous V building. She had only seen it from the back and yet it was so familiar. Its violent façade was a universal symbol of big business. V, the giant with more pies than fingers. An image came into her mind: a chaotic room, a half-remembered half-constructed memory of a study, a large picture of the V building pinned to its wall, small notelets stuck all around it. A ghost from her half-remembered childhood. She was filled with a fondness for the building. Its symmetry and the rapier elegance of its lines pleased her. The V drew the eye down to what seemed like an impractically small entrance.
Out of the crowd two figures attracted Cherry's eye: a tall striking woman striding with purpose and a man who looked out of focus, less precise than the other figures. Cherry smiled as she watched him trying to keep up with the long-legged progress of his companion like a scruffy terrier running after a greyhound. She checked the time again. She wasn't supposed to start until ten, but judging by the size of the building, getting to the right floor might take some time. Hopping off the edge of the fountain, she made her way across the square to the front door.
The ground floor of the building was huge, almost empty. Cherry's eye was drawn by the back wall on which the image had just changed. It was showing a street scene. She paused and watched it for a moment. It wasn't London. The people were more tanned. The sunshine had a different quality. It was definitely a business district though: even at a distance she could see that the stars of the scene were wearing; they looked not quite right, set her teeth on edge. The clothes were ad-splattered just like they were in the square behind her, but they were even brasher, less concerned with fitting with the general look of the outfits.
'New York,' came a slightly tinny voice from behind the reception desk. 'The view from V Manhattan's front doors.'
Cherry looked over and smiled at the plastic receptionist. The scene changed again.
'Spain?' Cherry asked. In this scene the clothes fitted more neatly; the advertising was more discreet.
'Milan.' The image changed again. 'And that one's Glasgow.'
Looking back again, Cherry laughed. 'Of course.'
It was raining. The scene was all golf umbrellas and legs. Every second panel of each umbrella was given over to an ad or logo, one or two newer looking ones sporting moving ads on repeat. The man at the centre of the scene, his back turned, was twirling his umbrella over his shoulder, creating a hypnotic swirl of colour, a giant lollipop. It was like a sequence from a strange musical.
'Can I help you?' the receptionist asked.
'Yes, thank you.' Cherry turned back to her. 'It's my first day. I'm starting as a model for Doctor Lowe.'
'Lucky you,' the receptionist replied with a knowing smile. 'Just take a seat and I'll get someone to welcome you.' She indicated the silver cantilever swoosh in the middle of the tiled floor.
'That's a seat?' Cherry asked.
'Yes, a very expensive one.'
The receptionist raised an eyebrow at Cherry and then gave her a small smile.
'If you say so, but if I get thrown out for sitting on this thing…'
Leather soles clicked across the floor towards them.
'Gerald, I was just about to buzz you,' said the receptionist.
'I'm expecting someone,' said a man's voice, 'which means that you must be…'
Cherry turned to face the voice. It belonged to a man, youngish, good-looking, sort of. His hair was slicked back in too formal a way. He looked like someone out of the movies. She could imagine him in a sharp old-fashioned button-up suit, her in her print dress on his arm as he led her into a bright building – a bar, a theatre. She had seen him before, she recalled, at the testing centre. His face had appealed to her, though she couldn't really say why.
'Cherry,' she said extending a hand. 'Cherry Woodlock.'
'I'm Gerald. Nice to finally meet you.'
'That was good timing. Your receptionist had just persuaded me to sit on this lovely piece of art.'
Cherry winked at the receptionist and Gerald laughed.
'This way, please.' He led her to a small booth by the central hub of the building. 'If you would step inside please and stand still for a moment. This will just scan your biometrics. By the time we get upstairs the building should recognise you.'
Cocooned inside the lift, Gerald launched into a welcome monologue.
'Yes, I'm so glad to meet you. I've been welcoming all the models personally at Doctor Lowe's request. Of course, the professional models expect special treatment but to be honest we haven't managed to recruit so many of them this time round – they're not such fans of the quarantine policy. Our original models are tied in though, which is great – we need a few high-profile faces. And of course it's important for us to launch a few new careers too.' Gerald smiled pointedly at Cherry. 'Here we are.'
Gerald's monologue continued as he led Cherry through a featureless white corridor into a decontamination chamber, equally white. Here, he apologised.
'I'm afraid it's standard-issue garb from here on in,' he said, tipping his head to one side as if addressing someone important. He stretched out an arm towards the bank of white lockers. 'This locker is yours. It sh
ould – ah!'
It popped open as Cherry stepped towards it.
'Yes, good – you are officially one of us now. But watch. You need to step away quickly once you're finished or it gets all excited and thinks you want in again.'
'I know some people like that.'
Gerald blushed and swept a hand across his slick hair. Cherry looked in the locker. Hanging up was a white kimono, draped over a square hanger that had a pair of white knickers and a white sports-bra stretched around its frame. Beneath these sat a pair of fluffy white slippers.
'White,' Cherry said, the feeling of her terry towelling tunic suddenly there on her skin.
'White suits everyone!' Gerald's blush was gone and there was a twinkle in his eye. 'If you wouldn't mind?' He indicated the clothes – a request – then turned his back politely.
Cherry smiled to herself. This was the biggest show of manners she had experience in a long time. She quickly disrobed and folded her own clothes into a neat pile in the corner of the locker.
'Right. Done,' she said as she tied her kimono.
'Beautiful,' Gerald said as he turned. 'Great, I mean. Let's get straight to the testing suite.'
Cherry took in as much as she could as they crossed the lab floor. She was supposed to be finding things out, she reminded herself. Nothing she looked at meant anything – vials were all labelled with numbers; all the fancy swoop-down monitors had privacy filters on so that to see them you would have to stand directly behind the user; all the workers looked neat and respectable in their matching white labcoats and there was little chat going on.
'Welcome…Gerald. Welcome…Ms Woodlock,' came a voice as they reached the doors for the testing suite.
Gerald led Cherry into the suite and directly into a side room. Once inside he sealed the door, took his Book out and tapped it a couple of times.
'OK,' he said. 'Have a seat.'
Cherry looked around the close white room. There was a small table, a bench and a swivel chair, all white. She sat down on the bench.
'This is the only place in the building we can talk safely,' Gerald said. He sat down on the swivel chair and pulled a flat, white case from under the table top. Setting it down on the table, he opened it up to reveal a selection of packaged swabs, syringes and sample tubes. 'If you don't mind I'll get your initial checks and tests underway.'
'No problem.' Cherry eyed the syringes.
So that was the reason for his ceaseless talk in the lift: stopping her from talking.
'Why are you doing this Gerald?' Cherry asked. 'I mean why did you help get me the job?'
'Why?'
'Are you a sympathiser?'
'Listen,' Gerald said. His tone was serious, but not unpleasant. 'I said this was a place we could talk but – and don't take this the wrong way – I don't know exactly why you're here and I don't want to know. I'm just in it to keep myself in dental bleach and Brylcreem.' He avoided eye contact as if the conversation wasn't happening. Swabbing her inner arm he took up a syringe. 'Look away if you're squeamish. In a second you'll feel a scratch. There. I'm assuming that Lady hasn't just gone all altruistic and paid me to take you on for your own good. Just be careful and keep my name out of whatever it is you're doing.'
'Of course.' Cherry waited to see if he had more to say, but that seemed to be it. 'So how will this all work? The testing I mean. I don't know too much.'
'I suppose you don't,' Gerald replied, looking up at her. 'I'll send a copy of the original job spec to your Book.'
'My Book is about three hundred years old – that'll probably explode it.'
'Oh. Then we'll have to sort you out with a new one.'
Easy as that.
'Where to start then?' Gerald said. 'We've got a few initial tests to run and a bit of training to go through, so you'll be able to come and go for the first week or two depending on Doctor Lowe's plans. After that, once he's assigned you a virus, you'll be quarantined for the testing period. Test periods vary, but it might be anything from a few weeks to a few months. It all depends on the virus and the techniques the Doctor is employing…but you don't need to know about that.'
'And access to the web and that sort of thing? Can I phone people?'
'For the duration of any quarantine periods you'll be cut off from the outside world completely. Well, not completely – we have web terminals in the suites so that you can keep up with the news and receive incoming messages etc, but there's no outgoing data of any kind.
'Once the quarantine is over, you'll have a break of a few weeks or whatever fits in with the schedule – contract minimum is one week – the virus will be wiped from your system and you'll be allowed home. Of course you'll have recorded a non-disclosure statement regarding the nature of the virus that has been tested on you and any others you have seen during your time here.'
'Right.'
Cherry was starting to feel a bit woozy. Looking down she saw that Gerald had taken three vials of blood and was waiting for a fourth to fill.
'Are you alright?' he asked.
'Fine,' she replied, pulling herself up a little.
'Last one. I'll get you a sugary snack and a drink when we're done. I should show you where the refectory is anyway. After that, we'll meet Doctor Lowe, if he's back from his meeting.'
Gerald pressed a small ball of cotton wool to Cherry's arm and indicated to her to hold it. She held it in place with a tight pincer grip and watched Gerald as he arranged his vials and tidied up his equipment. She had expected she might have some sort of ally or confidant in Gerald, but it looked like she was on her own. Shame, she reflected. His side-parted black hair was impossibly glossy. Again she was transported: this time she was holding his suited arm, giggling in a red-velveted cinema, silent movie music full of peril blaring out around them.
'You know you look the part,' Gerald said.
'Oh,' Cherry said, surprised. She looked down at her lab clothes. 'Lab rat chic, eh? Hard to carry off.'
'I didn't mean the clothes.' Gerald smiled at her then looked away.
'Thank you,' Cherry said.
-o-
Blotch looked both ways down the corridor before closing the door and returning to his desk. He opened up Cherry's first report, licking his lips.
I'm not sure how to put all this down. I've never written a report in my life so hopefully this will be OK. It's just a preliminary thing. Just wanted to check that it sent OK and whatnot. Have kept it short like you asked:
Met Doctor Lowe. Charming, though he doesn't know it. Scruffy. He doesn't spend much time in the booths but seems to want a reasonably close relationship with his test subjects, so that could be a way of getting close to him. Obviously some sort of thing going on between him and Alexis Farrell. She wears the trousers.
V building very secure and very white. All access to terminals is via biometrics so I won't be able to get in and look at anything, not that I'd know where to start anyway.
Will be quarantined for testing in two weeks' time for an unspecified amount of time. No outside contact possible during quarantine.
I'll be in contact again before I go into quarantine.
Blotch could feel his head getting hot. He read the last point again, then slammed his hand down on the desk.
Chapter 9
Wouldn't it be more fun just to stay in and play games, Kester thought, his gaze alighting on the PlayStation icon projected on the corner of the window. He took his Book out of his pocket and zapped it at the off icon in the corner of the display.
'Stop taunting me,' he said to it.
Dinner at John's would normally have been a no-brainer but this time Kester wasn't sure how welcome he would be. He'd seen John and Sienna since he started at V, but he hadn't seen anyone else and he'd skipped a few of their regular meets. Betta had been one of Dee's best friends for a long time and was too scared to face Dee's wrath if she got in touch with him, so after a few initial texts she had gone quiet. She and Dee had fallen out once before and it hadn't been pretty.
Kester walked back across the room to the long mirror by his bed and scrutinised his image. He was already dressing differently. That would make things weird too. During work hours you had to wear clothes by the corporate sponsor and theirs was also the only casual range covered by the allowance. He was still wearing jeans and a shirt, but they were heavily branded and had ads on the pockets. The ads were for cool stuff and they were nothing by general City standards but it still made him feel like a human billboard. He wondered what Dee and her new man would make of it. He wondered if Sienna's reports of a new man were right and, if so, if he was still on the scene.
Kester pulled at his top pocket to see if the ad, or maybe even the whole pocket would come off without ruining the shirt. A stitch, just loose enough to cut, revealed itself at the top corner. Kester walked quickly into the bathroom and started unpicking the pocket with his nail scissors. After a focused five minutes of lip biting and swearing, Kester dropped the pocket in the bin. Back at the mirror, he smoothed his shirt back down. The fabric underneath was a different colour, but it looked like it was supposed to be that way, sort of. He walked away and then sauntered back past the mirror, trying to catch his image unawares, to see what it might look like to other people. Satisfied, he checked the clock, then struggled quickly out of his jeans and started unpicking some more ads.
Ad-free and still too early, Kester sat on his apple-green couch, one leg jiggling. He looked at his Book. He could leave in ten minutes. He didn't want to be on time. But he should go. It would be his turn to host the dinner party next time round and he'd like to reunite with his Institute friends on familiar territory first. Maybe he'd even have a date to invite by the time they came to him. Perhaps Alexis. Finding himself wishing she was coming with him tonight, he laughed. Neither she, nor his friends would be comfortable with it. And as for Dee – the thought of the two of them meeting…the thought of seeing her himself was bad enough…
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