by Guy Morpuss
I checked the time. I had just over an hour left. For once I needed a drink, and I didn’t care what it cost. I headed back towards the Excelsior.
•
The Diamond Room was still going strong. If anything, it seemed busier than when I’d left. I found a seat out of the way and ordered a whisky. The hand that raised the glass to my mouth was shaking.
Forget Jessica. She’d have killed me if she could. Jessica died because of Sierra – she was the one who had signed me up for the game. I’d had no choice.
Half the drink went down my front, but I felt a bit better once I had finished it, and ordered another. That was the last, though. I needed to find somewhere safe to drop out for Kate.
I had almost finished the second glass when someone slid into the seat opposite me. A slim blonde woman in a black dress that clung to every contour. For a moment I thought it was Jessica, and sat up sharply, spilling more of my drink.
She looked across at me and flashed perfect white teeth. Her eyes met mine in a blank stare, then looked down coyly. ‘Do you want to have some fun?’ she asked.
Most definitely not. I wasn’t going to crown a thoroughly awful day with some soulless coupling with a sex dandi. Take an andi, leave out the mind to keep it dumb, insert some low-level AI, and you have a walking, talking sex toy that will comply with your every whim. Or rent her out to get some return on your investment. I sighed. Humanity could safely be relied on to pervert just about anything.
I shook my head and stood up. ‘No thanks.’
She didn’t react. It seemed that she had not been programmed to show disappointment.
As I left I logged on.
All. Thanks, Sierra. Next time, ask before you sign me up for something. As you can tell from the fact that you are waking up, we are still alive. Just. Your ‘rather lovely’ girl isn’t. She was tricky but I found a way to beat her. This will cover Mike’s new legs. We might prefer new lungs (we almost drowned). Someone else can do the next one. Alex.
KATE
DAY TWO
06:00–10:00
I woke feeling great.
I always did. Between Alex and me there was almost four hours R & R. A real rest while nanomes swarmed through us checking, patching, fixing, healing. And some real sleep. Not the brief upload/download that the others got.
Besides, I followed Alex. There was a benefit to coming after the fat kid with an inferiority complex. Or rather, the once fat kid now living in the athlete’s body, who still didn’t think he was good enough. Who thought that the way to be loved was to be best at everything. Kind, sweet, loyal Alex.
I looked around. I was lying in the middle of a large bed in what appeared to have once been an expensive hotel suite. It was now pretty run-down. Wallpaper peeling, a cracked mirror on the opposite wall, a layer of dust over everything, and a smell of damp.
On the bedside table to my right was a water bottle and a paper bag. I sat up and took a gulp of the water. I spluttered and almost dropped the bottle as it sprouted ears and a mouth and started singing something about Arena X. Wherever that was.
I banged the lid shut. The mouth blew me a kiss, then disappeared. The ears folded in after it. I looked down and realised I was wearing a T-shirt with the same logo.
For God’s sake, Alex. Who picks up this tat?
I looked suspiciously at the paper bag, then opened it cautiously. Chocolate chip cookies, my favourite. And they weren’t singing. Much better. Alex always looked after me.
I got out of bed and wandered over to the window to see where I was.
Somewhere high. The sun was rising between distant tower blocks, but nowhere was higher than me. The death park was spread out below. Derelict buildings stretching to the razor-wire fence. This would have been a city suburb before humanity sorted out its overpopulation problem. Now it was just a death park. Abandoned. Only the arenas, bars and clubs were still open. The rest was left to rot.
Anywhere else these buildings would long ago have been demolished. As the population fell there was less and less need for high-rise living, and the concrete tower blocks would have been turned into sustainable eco-homes. Eventually that would happen even in the death parks. The green of the outside world would consume these islands of concrete for ever. For the moment, however, they were a lingering reminder of forgotten times.
I logged on.
Morning, Katie. I thought you would enjoy the view. Although I am not sure it was worth climbing twenty floors given the state I was in. The door lock isn’t working, but the lifts aren’t either, so I reckon you are pretty safe. I found you some cookies – enjoy.
We almost died last night. Sierra’s drinking is slowing me down. She entered me in a game without even asking us. And couldn’t resist getting a dig in about Montreal again [attached]. Can’t she just let it go?
Love you, Alex.
Sweet, needy, bitchy Alex. He needed to let Sierra’s antics wash over him. She felt no guilt, and every time he reacted to her she got what she wanted. We all needed to forget what had happened in Montreal and move on.
There was a group message from Alex complaining about Sierra being drunk in a bar again. What did he expect? Why we had put them together I couldn’t remember. She had probably seemed exciting to him when he was seventeen. But being next to one another in the cycle did not mean that you got to do anything together. It just meant that the one who followed got to clean up the other’s mess. And Sierra left a lot of mess.
He wanted an hour of her time. She was never going to change, however much we fined her. If three months in stasis hadn’t done any good then losing the odd hour certainly wouldn’t. I hesitated, then voted yes. The less time Sierra had in the death park the more chance we had of winning.
There was a second message from Alex telling us all, in his usual passive-aggressive way, how brilliantly he had done in the game. Alex the reluctant killer. I was sure he had surprised himself.
Alex, sweetie. Thanks for the munchies. You are too kind. I hate the stupid singing water bottle. Well done last night. It sounds like a tough one. Don’t let S wind you up like that. We can’t change what happened in Montreal. I know you’ve moved on – so don’t let her drag you back again. It’s what she wants. I’ve given you the hour. Hope the others agree. K. xxx
I skimmed through the rest of my messages. The downside to being first in the cycle was that I had to deal with most of the group admin. Only one message was of interest.
HIGH PRIORITY, DO NOT IGNORE: CGov to K. Weston. You have been selected to serve for one month with immediate effect as a Ruler of Choice. Congratulations. This is your chance to participate in the front line of democracy and shape the decisions for the future.
Your term will start immediately upon receipt.
Failure to carry out your civic duty will result in time penalties.
If you have any questions about the process, consult the attached file.
You will be reimbursed all time spent in performing your civic duty.
Under Protocol 2.1.7384 you are required to advise us immediately if you are mentally unstable, incapable or imminently dead.
I smiled to myself. Normally this would have been the last thing I wanted. I had been chosen once before. It sounded more exciting than the reality. As a Ruler of Choice you are one of millions who spend hours each day making tiresome decisions about spending, taxes, local law enforcement, and other tedious subjects. Decisions made by the public, not faceless politicians. Some people enjoyed the feeling of power. I didn’t. It’s particularly bad if you are a schizo, because time reimbursed gets spread between the group. So in fact I would only get back one-fifth of the time wasted. There are so few communes that no one seems concerned to correct this inequity.
But on this occasion I had an answer. I shot back a reply.
CGov. Sadly I will be unable to fulfil my civic duty, as I am imminently dead. I am part of a commune with ten days left to live. I will in the next month be undergoing transfer to a new
body. Also, I am currently in a death park – so death may be even more imminent. Please confirm my removal. Kate Weston.
That would show them.
Alex had left a pack of new clothes at the foot of the bed. As I stripped off the stupid T-shirt and started to dress I was alerted to a call.
06:17: Identity withheld.
I hesitated, then answered. Voice calls were unusual, and I was curious.
‘Who is this?’
‘Ms Weston, my name is Amy Bird. You don’t know me, but I would like to meet you.’ Her voice was smooth and soft. ‘I have an offer for you.’
‘Is this a challenge? We have plenty of those. Post it and I will get back to you.’
‘It’s not a challenge I can post,’ she said. ‘There are … unconventional elements.’
‘I’m not getting us involved in anything illegal,’ I said. ‘Try someone else. There are more than enough low-lifes in the park.’
Her voice hardened. ‘It’s you that I want, Ms Weston. I’m willing to offer you twenty years for almost nothing in return. Your boy Alex nearly got killed last night for a fraction of that.’
‘What? How do you know about that?’ Games are meant to be private. But there have always been stories of black-market gambling syndicates streaming games and staking fortunes on who lives and dies. Or voyeurs watching because they find real death better entertainment than make-believe.
‘I know a lot about you, Ms Weston, and your commune. I could just wait a few hours and make the same offer to Mike. We both know he doesn’t want to lose this body. It was his, after all. Offer him twenty years to spend on the next one and he’ll grab it. Wouldn’t you rather be the one to get the time for your group?’
She was right. Mike would jump at the chance. And twenty years. We were here fighting over scraps and this woman was offering almost a lifetime. But no one offers twenty years for nothing. Still, better that I met her than leave it to Mike.
‘Where and when?’ I asked. ‘I don’t have a lot of time.’
‘That’s the problem with you schizos,’ she said. ‘Always in a hurry. You have three hours and forty-two minutes. That’s more than enough. We will meet opposite the Borth Street Arena at seven.’
She cut the call without waiting for my response.
•
It was an easy walk to the arena through streets that were mostly deserted at that time of morning. The only other person I saw was a thin man in a long coat with a suitcase at his feet, standing at the end of an alley. He smiled, his teeth flashing.
‘Hey,’ he shouted. ‘Are you playing today? I’ve got what you need to win. Brain boosters, muscle boosters, endurance, uppers, downers. Whatever you want, I’ve got it. All genuine and guaranteed to work. My prices are low. It could be the difference between life and death.’
I shook my head. ‘No thanks.’
‘C’mon, make me an offer. It’s good stuff. I never get any complaints.’
I laughed. ‘The ones who would complain are dead.’
He chuckled in response. ‘Well, don’t come back crying if you die today.’ He made a show of looking at the contents of his suitcase. ‘I don’t think I’ve got anything labelled “resurrection”.’
I smiled and walked on.
I hadn’t been to the Borth Street Arena before. It looked even seedier than most, a single-storey prefab painted black and covered in graffiti. The plot next to it was empty and overgrown, and on the other side stood a towering high-rise. Opposite sat a run-down park with six-foot-high weeds and a rusty playground.
Despite what she said, we would not have been meeting here if what Ms Bird had planned was above board.
A woman was sitting on a bench beside the remains of a swing. I scanned her.
AMY BIRD
Android
Expiry:
80
years Age:
67 years
Credit:
7.5 years
So she had thirteen years left, and a credit of 7.5 years – just over twenty, and she was offering to give it all to me. Which couldn’t be right. Despite the name, no one comes to a death park to kill themselves.
She was older than she had sounded on the call. But that made sense, because although she was sixty-seven she didn’t look it. She had kept the visual age of her body at around forty. Some andis are vain like that. She was tall and well-muscled, with short dark hair and bright blue eyes. Her physique was emphasised by the close-fitting trouser suit that she wore, black apart from ornate red buttons on the cuffs. Alex would have liked her.
She stood as I approached, and offered her hand. It felt warm, normal, but as usual with an andi her movements and expressions were just a little too perfect. Her smile didn’t touch her eyes.
I repressed a shudder.
‘Ms Weston, thank you for coming.’
‘This is an odd place to meet, Ms Bird.’
‘Please. Sit.’ She waited for me to do so and then resumed her seat.
‘What is it you want?’ I asked.
‘It is not what I want, it is what I can give you,’ she replied. ‘I have a unique but lucrative proposition for you.’
‘You said you would give me twenty years. Which is all you have. I don’t trust andis at the best of times, and this makes no sense. If you’re looking to kill yourself you should have done that when you were seventeen. You missed your chance.’
‘I don’t want to kill myself,’ she said. ‘I want to get out of this body. For that I need your help.’
‘Why? And, more importantly, how? We both know it’s not possible to just jump from one body to another when you feel like it.’
‘As to why, to get revenge on my bastard of a husband. As to how, that’s where you come in. I need a schizo, and there aren’t many of you around.’ She paused, and turned to me. For the first time there seemed to be some emotion in her eyes. Pleading. ‘Look – give me two minutes of your time. Let me explain. If you don’t want to help I’ll find someone else who wants to earn an easy twenty years.’
‘Make it quick,’ I said. ‘I still don’t like the sound of this.’ Two minutes for twenty years seemed a reasonable trade. I could still walk away.
‘All right. The short version, then.’ She nodded, as though composing her thoughts, and then continued. ‘Ms Weston, being a schizo, you probably haven’t had many relationships, and those you have had were doubtless short and shallow. We andis, on the other hand, tend to fall in love slowly but bond for life. Knowing that you have eighty years to live makes it easier. We are proof that it is the head not the heart that falls in love. Or so I believed.’ She snorted. ‘I won’t bore you with the details, but I’ve been married now for twenty-four years. And I look the same today as I did when we got married. That should have been my first clue.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘It wasn’t my choice,’ she said bitterly. ‘It’s a foolish vanity to keep your body young while your mind ages. What’s the point, when anyone can scan you and see your real age? But my husband – Charlie – insisted. Said he loved me for what I was. It turned out he loved the person he remembered, and not what I had become. It’s got to the point where I want to leave him.’
‘So.’ I shrugged. ‘Leave him. What’s the problem?’
‘If I do, I’ll die,’ she said.
‘He’s threatened to kill you? That’s illegal. Leave him and report him.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ she responded. ‘What he’s threatened is immoral, but not illegal. You will have seen that I have time in credit. I didn’t win that here. A long time ago Charlie and I visited another death park. It was foolish, given how much time we still had and what was at stake. But we were young and we felt invulnerable. It turned out we were invulnerable, because we won and kept on winning. Charlie played most of the games. He was younger, stronger and faster. We agreed to share what we had won. So that we could grow old together.’ She laughed bitterly at that. ‘As you know, the parks are on
e of the few places where you can gift time. So he gave me half his winnings – twenty years. We had to record it legally, and it included a term that if we ever separated I had to give it back. I thought nothing of it at the time. I probably didn’t even read it.’
‘But you’ve spent most of it,’ I said. ‘You’ve only got 7.5 extra years left.’
‘And that’s the problem. If I have to repay twenty years I’ll be dead in six months. It’s cruel. It seems he’ll either have me tied to him or dead. He should have just bought himself a sex dandi.’
‘It can’t be legal,’ I said.
‘I’ve wasted plenty of time on the best lawyers, who’ve told me it is.’
‘Look, I’m sorry for you. It’s tough, but you don’t seem to have much choice. Leave him and die, or stick with him and live. I don’t see how I can help you.’
‘There is a third option,’ she said. ‘I have …’ she paused, ‘friends. Friends with particular skills. They have procured another body, a recycled dandi.’ She smiled. ‘It’s an aged body; Charlie would hate it. It has a little time credit. Enough for me to live a few more years on my own, in happiness. I can’t take my time with me, but I can move my mind across. That’s what I need you for.’
‘Why me?’
‘As I said, I need a schizo,’ she said. ‘You have, in that fine body of Mike’s, five minds. But as with all schizos there is space for one more that you don’t use. The sixth space is what controls your body, keeps it alive, performs routine maintenance during downtime at the end of each cycle. It’s mostly empty. I want to borrow that space for twenty-four hours. In return you can have my twenty years. To all appearances you will have won it fair and square in a game and I will be dead. Charlie will be furious, but there’s nothing he can do. We play, you win, and this body dies.’