The High-Rise Diver

by Julia Von Lucadou

  —Life.

  She laughs and leans against him.

  For a while they sit there like that. They’re all absorbed in their gadgets except for Zarnee, who’s looking out the window, preoccupied. He finally reaches for his tablet.

  I get his message immediately: She’s out. That’s all I know. She’s a free person. Isn’t that what you wanted? That she get out more?

  When I don’t react, he adds: Which is the “right” camera?

  I don’t answer. Zarnee turns towards the main camera, smiles, and gives me the finger. Probably a coincidence.

  —What are you doing? the girl next to him asks.

  —I’m exercising my freedom of expression.

  The girl turns in the same direction and copies his gesture. The others follow.

  I hope Masters isn’t logged in. It occurs to me that the notifications are still muted. Over three hundred have accumulated on my work monitor. Almost sixty new files in the data archive. Messages from my assistant, who was following up on information requests. Masters worked on ten of my documents and sent me three messages. The newest one is seventy-five seconds old.

  It’s nice to see you have your little actor so under control.

  I don’t know how to respond.

  Have you noticed that three of the people present are on the watch list under suspicion of spreading propaganda? Masters writes. Are you involved in subsidizing an underground organization, Ms. Yoshida?

  In my most recent performance reviews, Masters criticizes me because Zarnee often doesn’t respond to my requests and has specifically ignored my request to persuade Riva to return to diving or at least regular fitness training. In the staff rankings, I’m back in the middle group after briefly skyrocketing to the top at the start of the intervention.

  I will instruct the field agent not to allow such people into the apartment, I answer.

  The kiddie-look™ girl has started to cry. Her makeup is running and the red droplets on her white bib-style collar make it look like she’s bleeding. Zarnee strokes her hair.

  —Roma’s condition has gotten worse, the girl says in a raspy voice. They’re only giving her a few more weeks. The girl on Zarnee’s right leans over to look at the tablet. Then they hug each other.

  They seem harmless to me, I write Masters. You don’t think so? Totally normal teenagers.

  —Let’s be grateful for the time we have left with her, one of the boys says.

  At that moment, Riva comes in through the apartment door. She seems transformed. There’s a spring in her step and a cheerful expression on her face. This image matches the archive videos from the time before she resigned: multiple shopping bags on her left arm, a vitamin drink in her right hand. She greets everyone there and sits down next to the boys. Her behavior suggests that she already knows the visitors, which can’t actually be the case.

  My tablet vibrates with an urgent-message™. The technical service has finished assessing the camera malfunction in Riva’s apartment. The hardware was not sabotaged; it was an internal problem with the data transfer between PsySolutions and the security company. The technician uploaded the video footage from the blackout. I quickly run through it.

  At one point, I stop short. I see Riva dancing.

  I skip back in the recording. Riva is alone in the living room, sitting on the floor, lost in thought. Suddenly, her upper body falls forward, she presses her right cheek to the ground, her arms next to her head, her fingers pressed firmly into the floor. Then she pushes off her hands and feet, lifts up, hits the ground again. She repels off the floor once more and then stops. She lifts her right leg into an arabesque, holds the pose for ten seconds, her muscles tightened, then she leaps across the room, turns, stops again. She starts again, jumps, makes a turn.

  She smiles, her eyes are closed, her facial expression relaxed, almost blissful. Riva’s body turns with full force, her leaps span almost the entire length of the room. She turns and jumps, repeating each movement several times, going through the positions she learned in Dom Wu’s training program.

  The sight is electrifying. Riva has resumed training. It’s hard to believe.

  I check the date and time of the recording. I almost want to ask the technician if he is sure that the material is not from the archive and was just tagged incorrectly. Riva’s body dancing appears to me as an apparition, the resurrected spirit of a dead woman.

  Riva’s dance practice is interrupted when Zarnee comes in. He stands in the door for a moment without her noticing. When she eventually sees him from the corner of her eye, her body freezes, her face fills with shame.

  —Don’t stop, Zarnee says.

  Riva laughs with embarrassment, shakes her head, and slides down onto the floor.

  Zarnee sits next to her and looks at her from the side. Their hands touch.

  —I can’t imagine it, Zarnee says after a while, what it’s like to dive. I never dared.

  —It’s hard to describe, Riva says. You’re one hundred percent with yourself, the rest of the world fades away. At the same time, it’s also a total out of body experience, that rush of adrenaline. It’s the most beautiful feeling. You have it all and you can lose it all at any second. It’s like being in love.

  —Only more dangerous, Zarnee laughs.

  —It’s the only moment when I feel absolutely certain, says Riva, when I don’t question anything. You follow your instinct, rely on your body. As if you’ve been playing a role for your whole life and then, at that moment, you transform back into yourself. It’s how I imagine it feels to be a newborn baby again. Without any doubt.

  —Then you should go back to it, Zarnee says. Riva nods.

  —Maybe you’re right, she responds.

  My fingers are trembling as I send the link to Masters.

  He writes back immediately. Good work, Ms. Yoshida. In the weekly report, give a concrete prognosis for recovery that we can present to the investors. And get your field agent under control. We can’t take any risks.

  I have to smile. My employee score will rise again today. The outlook is good. I want to enjoy the moment, but my headache is back. The tension in my neck has spread to my cheekbones. Maybe I’ve been clenching my jaw without realizing it, as I often do in my sleep. I get back on the floor and into child’s pose.

  I can hear the voices from Riva’s apartment echoing through my apartment. Zarnee’s guests are still there, talking and laughing. Riva’s voice mingles with theirs as if she were always a part of the group.

  With my eyes closed, it almost sounds like my apartment is full of people. I imagine that I’m surrounded by friends, sitting together, eating, talking, laughing. I concentrate on my breathing and do a visualization exercise. I’m in the institute lounge. A memory. Andorra is standing on the couch and playing the moderator of Casting Queens™.

  —You’re out, she says, you too, you too, you too. Hitomi, you won.

  Everyone throws their arms around my neck. We dance around the couch. Andorra bows with the elegance of a ballerina.

  —Thank you, thank you, my beloved fans. Thank you, thank you.

  One of the boys plays a VJ running after me on the street.

  —What do you have to say about your victory, Hitomi? he shouts. How do you imagine life in the city? What district do you want to live in? How good do you think your chances are of making it? Where do you think you’ll be in ten years?

  Media Usage Log Archive No.: Bc17

  Employee: @PsySolutions_ID5215d (Hitomi Yoshida)

  Content: familymatters.org

  Media Type: Blog

  Safety Category: Questionable (watch list, propaganda)

  Usage History Data: Frequency of use medium, average 4.5 times per day.

  Recommendation from the Department of Media Security: Monitor use more closely, employee Hitomi Yoshida now blacklisted


  Closed Caption Track: “Something Political Today.srt”

  Today it’s going to be political for once sorry people this is an exception for those of you who don’t like politics just press stop um I always get so many questions from you that I still haven’t answered yet whether I think I’m a happier person because I grew up with my bioparents or whether I think I’m healthier because I was fed real mother’s milk as baby and so on um I never answered them before because it’s political and my blog actually isn’t most of you read my blog because you want to switch off or you want to dive into another world you don’t know I understand that too as a child I did nothing but watch glamour videos or blogs from VIPs or gossip sites because I wanted to imagine a life that I didn’t have so I can understand that well I also always felt like I couldn’t really answer the questions because I have nothing to compare my life with and I’m not an expert but now that the debate has just gone viral again I thought I had to say something surely you’ve all seen the post from future vision it actually says the usual stuff so most studies show that it makes no difference to your health if you grow up with your parents or within a facility and the naturals of course have said that the studies are all funded by companies that benefit from the results future vision responded by saying that if our way of caring for children is so harmful um then why aren’t most people criminally aggressive or at least somehow unbalanced the post said we’ve never had a more balanced harmonious and just society we all have the same goal and all the same opportunities we all grow up in the same facilities we all go to the same castings everyone who has achieved anything has achieved it because of their personal performance and not because of special circumstances um I found it pretty convincing at first but maybe also because the naturals mostly get on my nerves with their negativity they’re always against everything anyway or um well I don’t want to say that they’re right with their naysaying I mean you’re all great people and you’ve all grown up in care facilities but on the other hand I’m just not sure if it’s all true with the same opportunities so don’t get me wrong umm I really don’t want to get political here it’s just so well how do you say I’m just in the unique situation with my family umm and I have a lot of friends who live in facilities and I already get the impression that there are differences and especially when I hear that there are facilities in the city that you can pay a certain amount umm and you get a special education and better chances of being accepted into the academies of course I don’t know if that’s true I can only say how I experience it and it doesn’t seem fair to me um from my friends I know I am better off because I grew up with my biofamily and I mean there’s a good reason why you check out my blog why it’s so popular how should I say it so I think there are certain differences and I’m also not one hundred percent sure if you can rely on these studies that’s it from me I hope I answered all the questions the next time it’ll be happier again I promise ha ha until then ciao

  -

  26

  Riva, Aston, and Zarnee are sitting around the coffee table as if they’ve been waiting for me.

  All day, the apartment on the screen was empty. Aston was shooting in the peripheries, Zarnee and Riva were out in the shopping district. It didn’t seem very productive for me to watch them shop, so I left my apartment for the first time in days to do an intense workout at a gym. I’ve gotten very out of shape. I saw a man raise his eyebrows when he saw my monitor readings. I was so ashamed that I spontaneously increased the minimum physical activity on my tracker by a fifth. I didn’t stop training until Zarnee’s GPS data on my tablet showed him approaching the apartment again.

  It’s an unfamiliar sight. Aston next to Riva on the couch, close to each other, Zarnee sitting across from them for a change. In their glasses, dark red liquid. In the background, easy listening at a soft volume. They’re talking quietly.

  At first I don’t really listen at all. I let their quiet voices lull me in, blending with the music like white noise. I lean back and close my eyes for a moment. Riva’s voice can be heard again and again. It’s not just her physical condition that’s being restored. Her general social demeanor has also been rapidly improving since Zarnee’s arrival. Gestures and facial expressions have become much more reactive. Just a few weeks ago she wouldn’t even touch her tablet. Now she consumes, comments on, and creates posts regularly again—at least with Zarnee and his friends. She still hasn’t returned to filling her official apps and blogs with content. But, since the academy still has the rights to her media output, they’re using the images and videos that Riva posts on Zarnee’s friends’ blogs as material for the apps. Since then, the number of users has risen sharply. The investors seem satisfied. Riva still hasn’t resumed the official training program, but her motivation seems to be restored. I observed her doing dance routines in her apartment on two more occasions. Zarnee has agreed to persuade her to train at the academy by the end of the week.

  Nevertheless, Masters continues to give my work mediocre scores in the tracking tool and his performance reports. The ratings sting, even if I know that they serve my motivation.

  —So, you guys don’t do it anymore? I suddenly hear Zarnee say loudly.

  He bursts into laughter. Riva and Aston’s eyes meet. Even though I missed the beginning of the conversation, it’s clear they’re talking about sex.

  —No, Riva says.

  —Why not? Zarnee asks.

  —Yes, why not, Riva?

  Aston looks at Riva, his expression is confrontational. Zarnee seems pleased with Aston’s aggressiveness, claps his hands as if it were a successful performance.

  Riva turns away and looks out the window, shrugs. Zarnee crawls around the living-room table on his knees, sits down at Riva’s feet, caresses her right leg.

  —Hey, he says, relax. Just kidding around.

  She reacts to his touch immediately, her whole body relaxes, sinks into his hand. It reminds me of the videos of the child whisperers at the breeding houses in the peripheries. Andorra and I liked watching them at the institute. Giving them a certain look or placing a hand on them would be enough to make the wild beasts tame again. Children that a normal person couldn’t approach within fifty feet.

  Aston gets up and walks towards the studio.

  —Stay a little longer, Zarnee says. Now that the three of us are finally all sitting together.

  —I’m tired, Aston says.

  He looks genuinely tired. Rings under his eyes, his skin pale and grayish. His activity tracker indicates that he’s slept an average of four hours a night in the last few days and has been on the move for at least eight hours a day. He must be busier with Casting Queens™ than expected.

  —Come on, Aston, one more glass, Zarnee says.

  —I have to get up early tomorrow.

  Once Aston has disappeared into the studio, Zarnee sits in the empty seat next to Riva and she leans against him, puts her legs up. The image reminds me of a picture on Zarnee’s blog. One of the many photos that show Zarnee as a little boy sitting next to his biomother. He’s leaning against her, her arm wrapped around his body, she’s looking down at him. The picture only has warm hues; the blue tones were most likely filtered out during post-processing. Zarnee and his mother both have the same earth-colored skin tone, which is linked in the spectrum of color associations with terms like cozy, warm-hearted, and peaceful.

  —You’re hard on him, Zarnee says quietly.

  He pets Riva’s head, which is now resting against the side of his chest.

  —You think so?

  —Yes.

  She shrugs.

  —Don’t always just shrug like that. Riva looks at him, confused.

  —Say what you really think.

  Riva remains silent, but her concentrated facial expression suggests that she’s thinking about what Zarnee said.

  I consider sending Zarnee an assignment. Questions for Riva that are sti
ll outstanding. In the last few days he has only rarely responded to my messages.

  Zarnee, I write, give her a pinch in the side.

  The message makes him laugh. He winks in the direction of the camera closest to him. He seems to have located all the security cameras at this point. Then he pinches Riva in her side.

  She screams and moves away from him.

  —What the fuck?

  —You have to get out of your head, Riva. You have to do something totally crazy again.

  —For example?

  —Let’s go out. Let’s go to the peripheries. I’ll show you where I grew up.

  I don’t have a very good feeling about this. Masters won’t like the trip, but I’ll let Zarnee do it. Maybe the reality of the peripheries will remind Riva of everything she’s built in the city.

  When they leave the apartment, their presence lingers like a fingerprint. The glasses and half-empty wine bottle are still standing on the living-room table. There are still light depressions in the couch cushions from where they were sitting.

  I’m tired and want to go to bed. I can easily imagine the type of place that Zarnee will choose. One of the underground clubs that he regularly visits—he often posts early morning photos from his nights out on his blog. I track his GPS data, but I expect that he’ll turn off his tablet like he always does when he leaves the city. Without GPS, it’s hard to locate people in the peripheries because they’re outside of Skycam range and there are very few security cameras.

  Zarnee’s GPS tracker shows them crossing the border. He left the device on. It’s almost like a challenge.

  I follow the two on their way through the unsecured terrain, where no live footage is available. They leave the car somewhere and seem to be roaming around aimlessly. The satellite pictures of the surroundings show undeveloped areas, densely overgrown, without paths. I wonder how they manage to progress so quickly there.

  After forty-eight minutes, they move out of the thicket and towards the industrial area. I can barely keep my eyes open.