by Eliza Green
Susan dropped the clothes on the floor. If she kept her avatar occupied, she could get on with the rest of her packing.
The avatar stared at the pile, then at her. ‘What do you think I am? Your servant?’
‘You said you wanted to help, so I’m giving you something to do.’
The avatar groaned.
Susan fetched another gin and tonic. When she returned, the avatar had merely moved the clothes pile from one spot to another.
Susan frowned. ‘What’s this?’
The avatar grinned and shrugged its weedy shoulders.
‘I thought you were going to help,’ said Susan.
‘Give me something more important to do!’
‘I told you, my business is not your business.’
‘Come onnnn.’
‘Okay, organise my paperwork then.’
The avatar grinned. ‘That’s better. Then we can talk about how you’ll transfer me.’
Susan said nothing.
☼
The next morning, Susan woke to the cacophonous tones of her avatar crooning a familiar, but out-of-tune, Spanish song. Its 3D representation wore a pair of oversized green headphones and danced around her living room. The noise only added to Susan’s tension.
Her two brown and battered suitcases—both heirlooms—were by the door, her coat draped over the top of both. Her gel mask sat on her coat. She wouldn’t miss having to wear that every time she set foot outside. While her avatar was preoccupied, she tried to slip past and into the kitchen to fix some breakfast. But the avatar caught her and tore off its headphones.
‘Good, you’re up. I’ve been waiting for ages. What took you so long? So, when are we leaving?’
‘Soon,’ said Susan. ‘I need to get something to eat first. Why don’t you download yourself?
It clapped its virtual hands together. ‘A trip. This is so exciting.’
‘Sure, whatever you say.’
The avatar paused. ‘Why so glum? Should I play some soothing music, to help cheer you up?’
‘No thanks.’
‘I have some wonderful music from the fifties. Rocker–jazz perhaps? Or how about some Latin–funktastic? That always does wonders for my mood.’
‘Do whatever you want. I don’t care.’
‘I will. There’s no need to be rude.’ The avatar pulled a face as it shuffled through a virtual playlist. It settled on an upbeat Latin American number. ‘I lovvvve this song! Don’t you? Mi amorrrr, pienso que errrres hermossssa—’ It put on the pair of oversized green headphones again and sank into the lyrics of the song.
As soon as Susan had eaten, she grabbed her coat and mask, picked up her suitcases and walked out the door. The last thing she saw was her avatar with its mouth open, staring after her.
☼
Susan arrived at the docking station that had once been the Toronto Pearson International Airport. She had agreed to meet Joel near the waiting area. Blue neon signs directed people to enquiries, waiting areas, or fast-track boarding. She located the waiting area to find it filled with a sea of blonde heads. How she’d find Joel among so many similar ‘types’ was beyond her. But to her relief, Joel found her first.
‘Thank God,’ she said as he approached. ‘I had no idea where to start looking for you.’
‘I know. It’s like a cattle mart in here.’ Joel looked around. ‘Have you seen anything like it before?’
Susan hadn’t. She scanned the room filled with the World Government’s latest selection policy.
‘Where do we need to go?’
‘I’m not sure. I checked the board but the flight information isn’t up yet. Some infobot told me there’d be an announcement soon.’
She shivered. ‘I hope so. All these people give me the creeps.’
Joel smiled, but it fell away when he glanced over her shoulder. ‘Don’t look now but you have a visitor.’
Susan turned to see a head of wiry black hair weaving through the crowds towards them. Annie Weber.
‘Shit,’ whispered Susan. ‘What’s she doing here?’
‘Don’t ask me. She’s your stalker.’ Joel slipped behind Susan before Annie arrived.
‘There you are, Susan,’ said an out-of-breath Annie. Her face was flushed. ‘It took me ages to find you. God, you all look the same in here.’
Joel stepped out from behind Susan. ‘Hello, Annie. How’s my little psycho bitch doing?’
‘Joel,’ warned Susan.
Annie’s eyes widened. ‘What’s he doing here?’
‘Joel’s supposed to be here. More to the point, why are you here?’
Annie flicked her gaze from Joel to Susan. ‘I wanted to see you, to get more of those drugs you gave me yesterday. I’m under a lot of pressure. They help to take the edge off.’
Susan couldn’t think what pressure Annie might be under—she had no responsibilities. ‘You shouldn’t have come.’
‘Why not? I’ve come to see my friend off, that’s all.’
‘You don’t belong here,’ said Susan.
‘Take the hint,’ said Joel. ‘Go stalk another doctor.’
Susan turned and hissed at him. ‘You’re not helping.’
He responded with a grin.
She turned back around to see Annie give Joel an icy stare.
‘I know you don’t mean that, Susan. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling going to a new planet. I just wanted to see you one last time.’ Annie wrapped her short stubby arms around Susan’s perfectly proportioned waist. Her head barely reached Susan’s chest. There was something possessive about the gesture, as if it were a show for Joel.
Susan didn’t hug her back. Instead, she pushed Annie away. ‘You have to go.’
‘But I’ve come all this way to see you. Why do I have to go?’
‘Because you’re my patient and it’s unethical for us to speak outside the lab.’
Annie stayed put. Her dark hair and genetic imperfections made her look like a black sheep among a crowd of perfect blonde people. Much to Susan’s relief, an announcement about the flight broadcast came over the sound system. ‘Don’t worry about me, Annie, I’ll be fine. And Dr Hannigan will look after you while I’m gone.’
‘How long will you be gone for? Why can’t I just come with you? I don’t know what I’ll do if you leave.’
‘It’s not your time.’
Annie grew angry. ‘What the hell does that mean? If I want to come with you, I will. I don’t care what anyone says.’
Susan assumed a parent-like tone. ‘Listen to me, Annie. I told you, Dr Hannigan will be taking over your treatment while I’m away.’
‘You know I don’t like strangers.’
‘Dr Hannigan isn’t a stranger. You’ve met him before.’ A second announcement, a reminder, played. ‘I’ve got to go. Take care of yourself.’
‘When are you coming back?’
‘Soon, I promise,’ said Susan. It was a promise she couldn’t keep.
Joel pulled on her arm. ‘Come on, we have to go.’ He gave Annie a quick wave. ‘Buh bye.’
‘Take care of yourself, Annie,’ said Susan as the surge of people moving forward pushed her patient further away.
‘When will you be back? You never said,’ Annie shouted after her.
Joel smirked as they walked on. ‘You want me to tell her? I’m happy to ruin her day.’
‘Don’t you dare. Let’s get out of here before she realises I might not be coming back.’
‘Are you ready to get out of here and do something different?’
As the crowd swallowed up Annie’s dark head of hair, Susan focused on the chance to study the genetically-enhanced Indigene race. ‘Yeah I think so, Joel. I’m ready for a new challenge.’
6
Laura O’Halloran stared at the off-cream wall inside her mother’s apartment in Sydney. It was the last place she wanted to be, but Fionnuala had taken a tumble out of bed and broken six vertebrae in her back and neck. Since her mother had refused her privat
e medic’s assistance, Laura had been ordered by Dr Sorenson to look after her. The Earth Security Centre had granted her compassionate leave, but Laura’s new Overseer, Suzanne Brett, had made a fuss about letting her go.
Her mother lay on the bed in the dark. The faint glow from the inactive Light Box on the wall provided the only illumination in the room. Her eyes were half closed and her hair had flattened on one side. Her mother’s old and torn bathrobe needed a good wash, but despite Laura’s pleading, Fionnuala refused to part with it.
Fionnuala stared at the Light Box, the place where Laura knew she spent hours gossiping with her tight circle about the World Government’s latest fad. Laura was convinced that the organisation’s existence was indirectly keeping her mother alive.
Fionnuala sighed. ‘I really miss my gossip group.’ She lifted her arm and dropped it. ‘Hey, look at that. My range of motion is improving.’
‘Remind me again how you injured yourself?’
‘I told you, I was reaching for my tea on the floor. And I didn’t want to miss a word of what Henrietta said. She knows everything. Then I—’
‘You fell awkwardly on your neck when you hit the floor. I remember the rest.’
Fionnuala narrowed her eyes at the ceiling. ‘What if we put the screen up there?’
‘No, Mum.’
‘Why not? Then I wouldn’t have to get out of bed much.’
‘I refuse to let you waste away in this bed.’
‘Killjoy.’ Her mother turned her head away.
She’d been there a week—a week too long. Laura was tired of her strops. Her father, before his suicide, had handled them with ease. Non-contact socialising had turned her mother into a recluse.
Laura thought about her plans to move to Exilon 5. Would Fionnuala even want to go with her? She had enough money from her husband’s insurance payout. She could afford to live on Earth alone.
But Fionnuala lacked common sense and she leaned on others too much. If only the genetic manipulation clinics could rewire the brain or, even better, cure her own Seasonal Affective Disorder. Laura hated feeling so out of control with it.
She would demand that Fionnuala travel to Exilon 5. With her disorder making her life close to unbearable, Laura needed the new planet. Daphne Gilchrist had promised to put her on the transfer list. She had to believe she’d keep her promise.
Not now, not after what you know.
Laura ignored her inner voice.
Could Earth return to better times? Her father used to tell stories over dinner about the Céide Fields in County Mayo, Ireland where he’d lived for half his life. Laura had never seen the Fields, having grown up in Dublin before her parents relocated to Sydney for work. The place had sounded magical hearing the stories as a child. Now, Laura couldn’t picture a world where such a simplistic place existed. The area had miraculously escaped development and maintained an important link with the past when simpler lives and spiritual beliefs defined the very existence of the ancient Irish people.
The Céide Fields bore the scars of the Neolithic lifestyle—the battered remains of stone walls and houses, the landscape telling the story of a group of highly organised people who’d encountered their own struggles against a rapidly changing environment. If it hadn’t been for the unstable bog land they sat upon, the Fields would have vanished along with everything else that was once important. Now, the area sat in sharp contrast to the technological revolution that engorged every inch of workable land around it.
Her father’s stories and similar tales kept places like the Céide Fields alive. But with time, they would be forgotten. Like Earth.
Exilon 5 was all Laura thought about, ever since the woman in booth sixteen had given her information on the World Government and ESC’s activities. She knew more about the planet than she’d wanted.
It felt wrong to consider a life there knowing that another species might be sacrificed to accommodate humans. Nine weeks had passed since she’d viewed the information on the micro file. And with the capture of Stephen’s friend, Anton, two months ago, she had no idea if the transfer programme was still an option.
Laura needed sunshine like she needed air.
But the things she knew... It felt like her life could unravel at any moment.
‘Ouch!’
Fionnuala’s cry broke through her memories. Her eyes went straight to her mother’s leg that was dangling over the side of the bed. Fionnuala squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the back of her neck.
‘Stop moving or you’ll paralyse yourself again. Or would you rather be stuck in bed for months?’
Her mother went still. ‘Oh, what else do I have to live for?’
‘How about living for yourself?’
‘It might not be so bad if you visited once in a while. Not these sporadic visits when Dr Sorenson orders you to take care of me.’
Laura shuddered at the thought of an extended stay with her mum. Their personalities were so different.
Fionnuala huffed. ‘No need to be so obvious about it. I know I’m a burden.’
‘I’m here because I want you to get better, Mum. I thought you did too. Now why were you trying to get out of bed?’
‘I wanted a cup of tea.’
‘I’ll make you one in a tic. But first, let’s clean you up. Sorry, but you reek.’
Laura hooked her arm under her mother’s elbow and lifted her up, the way Dr Sorenson had shown her.
‘Well now, that didn’t hurt at all. In fact, I didn’t feel a thing,’ said Fionnuala, smiling.
‘That’s because your lower back hasn’t begun to heal yet. Dr Sorenson said you won’t feel pain until you move around properly. Your neck is a different matter and you need to be more careful.’
As Laura gently manoeuvred Fionnuala’s legs over the side of the bed, her mother’s overweight Persian cat, Princess, climbed up. She miaowed softly and stretched, her bum in the air. Then she slumped on the bed as if it belonged to her. Laura ignored the pampered feline and helped Fionnuala into a chair beside the bed. She arranged her legs so both feet were flat on the ground.
‘I can feel something in my toes,’ said Fionnuala.
‘That’ll be your body repairing the spinal nerves. Another few days and you’ll feel much better.’
Laura fetched a bowl of warm water and a cloth and eased Fionnuala’s bathrobe off her shoulders. Playing nursemaid wasn’t Laura’s forte, but Dr Sorenson had a way of making her feel guilty about her mother’s injury. She wondered if there was something more personal going on between the doctor and his patient.
The first few days at her mother’s had disappeared in a flash, taken up with cleaning jobs, assisting Fionnuala where necessary, and preparing meals. The next few days were more torturous as the cabin fever set in. It gave Laura too much time to think about the Indigenes and details of the experiments she’d seen on the micro file. Now in her second week of living with her mother, Fionnuala attempted to drag new conversation out of her.
‘Why haven’t you got yourself a man yet?’ Her mother leaned forward in the chair while Laura scrubbed her back gently, making sure to get the skin around the neck brace she had to wear while her spine healed.
Laura didn’t answer her.
‘Good looking girl like you shouldn’t be left on the shelf.’
‘Mmm.’
‘Got your mother’s looks you do. Personality is a little off though. You’re so standoffish. You won’t attract a man with that attitude. Aren’t there any nice men where you work?’
Laura’s skin crawled at the thoughts of hooking up with Chris, her old colleague from the fourth floor, or the man with the beady eyes from booth ten. Then she thought about Bill.
‘In my day, girls would have made an effort to look good. Take me, for example. I never left the house without a layer of war paint. Your skin is far too pale. And oh my goodness, look how skinny you’re getting.’ She pinched Laura’s arm.
Laura snatched her arm away. ‘When exactly should I loo
k for a man? Between the back-to-back shifts at work, or when I finally get time off and wind up sleeping all day? Or perhaps when my mother falls out of bed and I’m guilted into looking after her by her private medic? You know, the guilt trip wasn’t necessary. I still would have come.’
Fionnuala’s surprised look turned into a scowl. ‘No need to be like that. I’m just trying to make conversation. And I didn’t ask you to help me. I can look after myself.’
‘Really? Should I go tell Dr Sorenson I’m done here, and that you have everything under control?’
Her mother’s eyes narrowed deepening the lines around them.
Laura sighed, regretting her outburst. ‘I’m sorry Mum, I didn’t mean it. I’m under a lot of pressure at the moment. Let’s just concentrate on getting you well.’
She continued to scrub at the weeks of dirt that had accumulated on Fionnuala’s back. It must have been obvious to Dr Sorensen she wasn’t looking after herself, even before the accident. ‘You know that thing in the bathroom with the nozzle? It’s called a shower.’
‘The water’s been rationed. Didn’t I tell you? Now I’ve tried to fit my whole body into the sink, but it just doesn’t work.’
‘I mean before the accident. Why weren’t you showering? And what happened with the water?’
‘Well, I might have left the kitchen taps running a couple of nights in a row. I guess they decided I was wasting it or something. I mean, aren’t we surrounded by oceans of the stuff?’
‘Water is rationed. Has been for the last five years, you know that. You can’t be so flippant about wasting it.’ She sighed again. She seemed to do that a lot lately. ‘I’ll talk to the officials.’
Fionnuala visibly perked up. ‘Sure, love, if you think it’ll help.’
As Laura continued washing her mother, her thoughts slipped to the events of nine weeks ago. The micro file from the woman in booth sixteen showed her just how far the World Government and ESC activities went. That damn micro file had started all this. But then there was Stephen and the Indigenes. Whatever happened to her was insignificant compared to what could happen to them. She had to put her fears aside and be strong for them.