by Eliza Green
Anton’s eyes widened when they began pulling at tubes. ‘What’s going on? What are they doing?’
Deighton hummed his favourite tune, the only thing that seemed to calm him today. The camera hovered around his prisoner, trying to get the best angle. ‘You’re going on a little trip,’ he said.
The syringe containing an emergency sedative rattled when the female doctor placed it down on the sterile trolley. Her hand shook as she tugged at a blue tube dangling from a holder above the Indigene’s head. Deighton rolled his eyes at her incompetence. She gripped the specially reinforced metal tip at the end and somehow inserted it into the vein in the Indigene’s upper thigh.
Anton looked from Deighton to the blue tube. Before Deighton could react, Anton had freed his arm. He smashed his fist down onto the body restraint. The doctors stumbled back from the table.
‘Where are you two going?’ he shouted at them, stepping out of harm’s way. ‘For God’s sake, restrain the fellow.’
The male doctor groped for Anton’s flailing left arm. He caught it, but couldn’t hold the Indigene’s limb steady.
From a place of safety, Deighton watched the female doctor activate the machine designed to push the contents through the blue tube. The liquid slid down the tube towards the delivery point. But when the male doctor lost his grip on Anton, the Indigene crashed his fist onto the body restraint a second time. A third attack split the restraint wide open.
Deighton jabbed his finger at the problem. ‘For God’s sake, get in there!’
The female doctor snatched up the syringe with the emergency sedative and pressed it to her chest.
The machine continued to push the contents until the drug had almost reached the Indigene’s outer skin. Anton’s gaze sharpened as he grabbed the blue tube and pulled as hard as he could. A cascade of clear liquid bled out of the chunk of skin that he’d ripped away along with the tube. He twisted around to attack the second wrist clamp. It broke after just two hits.
Deighton huffed out a breath. ‘You fucking little shit. Fuck it. Fucker?’ He knew exactly which board members would call him a fool for not controlling the situation.
He urged the male doctor on with a wave of his hand. The doctor grabbed the tip of the blue tube and tried to stab it into the Indigene’s leg. The primal beast living inside his prisoner arched his back and let out a guttural snarl. He then sat up straight and wrapped his fingers around the male doctor’s throat. A quick twist was all it took to break the doctor’s neck. The doctor slumped to the ground. The female doctor stood frozen to the spot and stared at her colleague on the floor.
Deighton couldn’t help but be impressed by Anton’s efficiency.
The Indigene switched his attention to breaking his leg clamp. He hit it with great force. But while Anton was preoccupied, the female doctor had managed to reinsert the blue tube again. She’d also added the contents of the syringe to the mix.
‘Is it done?’ whispered Deighton.
She nodded and stepped back from the table.
Anton grunted and swiped at the blue tube, but missed. With the power visibly draining from his body, he tried again to smash the clasps on his ankles. The effort caused him to fall backwards onto the table. He clawed his way up into a sitting position before slipping back down.
Deighton stood over the dead doctor and kicked his leg. ‘Good God, what an awful waste. Where will I find a replacement at this hour?’ He walked up to the table and attached new wrist clamps just as Anton succumbed to the drug’s power. ‘See what you’re making me do?’ He tightened the clamps. ‘Why couldn’t you just do as you’re told?’
5
In a laboratory based in Toronto, Canada, the Light Box screen flashed. Susan Bouchard accepted the request to connect and Dr Caroline Finnegan’s face filled the screen.
‘Hello Caroline.’ Susan gave her a professional smile. ‘Nice to see you again.’
The doctor, wearing a white lab coat over a black polo neck jumper and black trousers, nodded. Her reddish-brown hair was tied back into a low ponytail. ‘I think you know why I called.’
‘To discuss the genetic test results on the volunteers. I’m afraid we’re still going through the data. Everything will be sent to you next month as promised.’
‘That’s not why I called. I wanted to speak to you about one of your cases: Annie Weber.’
Susan frowned. ‘I thought you were interested in the data from the successful subjects.’
‘I am, but Annie’s lack of success interests me more. Tell me about her.’
‘Well, I found her in the basement of Toronto’s Union Station, working as a cleaner.’
‘A cleaner? I thought only the autobots did that work now.’
‘They do, but she isn’t really qualified for anything else and the World Government wanted her in the system, to study her at some point I guess.’
‘And her genetic code?’
‘The worst I’ve seen,’ said Susan. ‘Annie’s mother moved into one of the Societies for Enhanced Living about a year ago. She has a severe spinal deformity and her hair has thinned considerably. An unsuccessful treatment to change her eye colour from brown to cobalt blue has given her eyes a strange muddy appearance.’
‘Was termination ever considered?’
Susan half smiled. ‘She’s only eighty-one.’
The doctor’s eyes widened. ‘That’s all? And what about Annie?’
‘Honestly? Going down the same path. We used the nanoids to repair the defective genes passed on from her mother, but nothing seems to work in reversing her abnormalities.’
‘Any conclusions?’
‘Yes, the additional code doesn’t work in weak genetic structures, but we knew that already.’
‘Sorry for keeping you, Susan. I know your hands are full. I’m just digging around for information before the Indigene’s arrival. It’s been bounced around several medical facilities since Deighton released it a month ago. We’re next on the list and expecting its arrival shortly.’
‘Happy to help. I’ll contact you if anything pops up in the meantime.’ Susan ended the conversation and the doctor’s face disappeared.
Joel, her colleague, walked into the room with a cup of tea in his hand. ‘So, did you tell her?’ He pushed his blond hair out of his eyes.
‘What? That I’ve been called up for transfer to Exilon 5?’ Susan shook her head. ‘What difference would that make?’ She leaned against the centre island that took up half the size of the room. The transfer programme had shifted its focus to Ireland, Britain, France and Canada.
‘Well, she might be a bit surprised when you’re—I mean, we’re not here in a few days.’ Joel slurped his tea and sighed. ‘What time is psycho bitch descending on this place?’
‘In an hour. And please don’t say that to Annie’s face. She hates you enough as it is.’
‘I’ll make sure to disappear.’ Joel smirked. ‘Oh, and tell her I said “fuck you”.’
Susan’s mouth twitched, but she stopped an outright smile. The last time Annie saw Joel she’d set fire to his shirt to get him out of the room. Luckily, the damage to Joel himself was only superficial; some cream cleared up his raw and blistered skin within the hour. The shirt, however, was a write-off.
‘Well, I’m glad this is the last session. She’s been getting a little clingy as of late,’ said Susan.
Joel’s brows lifted. ‘A little? And what about her poor mother, holed up in the Enhanced Living infirmary? I heard sweet little Annie left her there. Things must be bad if you live in a place run by the Tin Can men.’
‘I’ve been there and it isn’t that bad.’ What the autobots lacked in emotion they made up for in efficiency.
Joel drank more tea and leaned against the workbench running along the back wall. ‘Well, that’s good. Because when you wind up there, you’ll wake up to see those people-sized tin cans hovering over you. And you’ll ask yourself, “how did I get here?” And then you’ll remember. It was because your o
wn daughter drugged you, drove you there and dumped you on the doorstep.’
Annie Weber had psychological issues. But it also made her a perfect fit for the programme.
‘I know, Joel. She’s gone as of today, I promise. I just have to take her off my schedule and put her onto Dr Hannigan’s without her flipping out.’
‘Always the Samaritan, Susan. I suppose you can practice reversing the effects of your magnetic personality.’
‘If I knew how, I would have done it already.’ Susan’s natural gift for attracting people to her could also be a curse. She picked up a DPad and searched through the results for the most recent volunteers they’d been testing.
‘What are you doing after you see Annie?’ said Joel.
‘Going home to pack. I’ve got to sort out a few things before we leave. Why?’
‘Wanna get a drink? You’ll probably want one after being with what’s her face.’
Susan shook her head. ‘I wish I could, Joel. Let’s promise to have one on the passenger ship.’
‘Deal.’
☼
Susan grabbed a quick bite to eat before Annie’s arrival. She wondered if the information they’d gleaned from experiments on Annie Weber had been worth the hassle. If Susan had known about Annie’s psychological problems beforehand, she might have dropped her from the programme. Their job wasn’t to fix mental issues, only physical ones. But they were too far gone with the testing, and they’d collated some interesting information about Annie’s numerous conditions.
At 3pm, her patient arrived.
Annie peeked round the door. ‘Is he here? Because I’m not coming in if he is.’
‘No, Joel’s not here,’ said Susan using her usual parental tone.
Annie smiled and entered the room. Her fifty-year-old patient with the mental capacity of a seven-year-old was dressed in a royal blue cardigan, grey trousers and slip on shoes. Her black wiry hair was a mess.
‘I know you hate those virtual packages on the Light Box,’ said Annie, coming to a stop in front of Susan, ‘but you have to try the Alton Towers one. I just got off the craziest rollercoaster. I’m still dizzy thinking about it. I almost didn’t come today. But I knew you’d be angry if I missed our session.’
Susan smiled, then busied herself with anything she could find.
‘The attendant wasn’t half bad looking either, if you know what I mean.’ Annie jabbed Susan in the side with her elbow.
Susan had no interest in what Annie had done with, or to, the virtual attendant.
‘Take a seat, Annie.’
She gestured to the reclining chair next to the island, then collected items and laid them out on a tray. Her patient sat down while Susan pulled a mobile table over to the chair and placed the tray on top. She picked up a syringe and a vial labelled Batch 156.
‘I asked him if he wanted to get a drink,’ said Annie.
Susan drew a full syringe from 156. ‘Yeah?’
‘He said no. So do you know what I said to him?’
‘What?’ Susan placed the prepared syringe on the mobile table.
‘I told him he was an asshole.’ Annie giggled. ‘A fudging asshole.’
Susan stopped and rested a hand on the mobile table behind her. ‘You say “asshole”, but you tone down the other curse words—“fudging” instead of “fucking”. Why?’
‘Mother never liked me saying the eff word. She always slapped me when I did.’
Annie and her mother had the strangest of relationships. Nothing seemed to fit. Susan had never been good with the psychological issues of people. Physical ailments she could work with.
She grabbed the syringe, pointing the needle upwards. ‘Do you want your drugs now?’
Annie thrust out her arm. ‘Yes.’
Susan gave Annie her injection, a drug to keep her calm before she told her most difficult patient the news about her transfer to Exilon 5. She had no idea how Annie would react; she had come to rely on Susan a little too much.
Her patient’s eyes glazed over and she relaxed in the chair. ‘That’s the stuff I like.’ As the drugs worked their magic, Annie’s voice became less coherent. ‘Susan, you’re amazing. You’re my best friend in the whole world, now that my mum’s in a home. I’ve got nobody else.’
Susan dropped the syringe into a sharps bin for incineration. ‘How are you feeling, Annie?’
‘Mmm, fudging amazin’. A feel like I bit when I’m inside my Light Box.’
The jumbled-up sentence was a sure sign that the muscle relaxants were working.
Susan turned up the charm to soothe her patient. ‘What do you see?’
‘My white painted cottage in Cornwheel. I mean Cornwall. It’s pretty. Red roses in the garden. Ivy on the wall...’
‘Are you happy there?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Good,’ said Susan, dropping the pretence. ‘Because there’s something I need to tell you.’
☼
That evening, back in her apartment in Kingston, Ontario, Susan packed several items into her bag. She had no idea what to take on her trip. There was the photo of her sister and her niece—that was a given. She’d taken the photo at her sister’s apartment about a year ago. Behind her sister’s smile lurked sadness, due to her loss of a son a few months before the photo was taken. Susan had never wanted children of her own—she was too busy with her career. If she did, her perfect genetic code would go a long way to securing a future for her child. The World Government considered genetically-perfect children to be assets.
She perched on the edge of the sofa and sipped her replicated gin and tonic. The synthesised alcohol burned her throat, warming her insides on the way down. Her vision blurred as the alcohol hit her empty stomach. She had eaten little since the unexpected news of her transfer.
Susan sat back in her seat and balanced her drink on one knee. A move to Exilon 5 intrigued her, but the deadline to transfer was too fast. She’d barely had time to process it.
Blonde hair, blue eyes.
The lottery had started selecting people with similar genetic traits. It was the reason she and Joel were on the list.
Movement caught her eye. Her avatar materialised from the Light Box. It’s 3D form paced in front of her, looking eager to talk. But with its mute function active, it would take Susan’s voice command to unlock it.
It had only been a couple of days since she’d received the notification in her personal message folder on the Light Box. The minute she’d walked in the door, her avatar had violated her privacy and opened it. To make matters worse, it had read the contents aloud.
A childish avatar she could handle. But one that refused to respect her privacy? No way.
She set her drink down.
In the kitchen, she replicated a bowl of lightly seasoned chicken wings and carried it back to the sofa. There, she alternated between eating and taking sips of gin. The chicken tasted so good. What was it about alcohol and grease that could be as addictive as any drug?
Her avatar watched her eat. Its silence disturbed her. ‘Unlock mute.’
She looked around her tiny apartment that she’d decorated in soft earthy colours. While was sad to leave her home, she couldn’t refuse the opportunity to study the Indigenes in greater detail at one of the BioTech labs on Exilon 5.
Recent news feeds had reported an increase in transfer numbers to Exilon 5; extra runs had been added to the schedule, which demonstrated a renewed interest in the programme on the Government’s part. She expected her own transfer to have happened sooner or later, but the details on family members following were still hazy. Lucky for Susan, her sister had been supportive and understanding.
Her avatar continued to watch her.
She finished her gin and tonic. Her avatar said nothing.
She had enough. ‘What do you want?’
‘Talk to me. Why won’t you talk to me?’
‘I’m not hearing an apology.’
The avatar grabbed hold of her sleeve. ‘But I did
nothing wrong. The information was time-sensitive. You would have left it there, unread.’
‘That was my decision to make.’
‘I’m an assistant. That’s my job!’ The avatar released her with a sigh.
‘Would you like me to mute you again?’
The avatar stepped back. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Try me.’
‘What’s going to happen to me?’ it said. ‘I had a right to read it. Your move concerns me too.’
She rubbed her eyes. ‘I don’t know. Just let me think.’
The avatar pretended to cry. It liked dramatics. ‘You can’t leave me here.’
‘I never said I was.’
‘You never said you were taking me, either.’
Susan couldn’t take any more whinging. ‘I warned you.’ She enabled the mute again and a slice of grey virtual tape slapped over the avatar’s mouth. The avatar picked at a corner and almost removed it, but then it snapped back into place.
She struggled to hide a smile when the avatar waved its hands to get her attention. It fanned the notification in the air with one hand and with the other, pretended to knock as if trapped in a glass box.
Their arguments that left her drained of energy only seemed to fuel her avatar’s dramatics. At least it was just a program; she could walk away with a clear conscience. She slipped into her bedroom. There, she opened drawers and pulled out clothes.
Three days from notification to transfer. She had no idea of what Exilon 5 was like—the living conditions, the people. Her work had always focused on the people of Earth. The move while exciting, equally scared her. She grabbed a handful of clothes and carried them into the living room.
The avatar waited, shoulders slumped, eyes disengaged. When Susan appeared it looked up and started pushing a virtual mute icon around with its finger.
Susan deactivated the mute. The tape melted away, and the avatar gasped for air.
‘I had no air... I could have died.’
‘You don’t need air. Stop being dramatic and fold these for me.’