The Wipe

by Nik Abnett

  She felt a sense of disconnect, as if the certificate related to events from hundreds of years ago. Dharma knew that she had met her grandmother, and if this was her grandfather she had a blood bond to him, too. It felt strange. She didn’t believe in ghosts, even in the stories that she read, but if there was ever a time for ghosts it was during the Deluge.

  Dharma took a deep breath, and let it go slowly, before looking at the next column; it should show her grandmother’s name, and it did. ‘Verity Cornelia Tuke’ was arranged over three lines of text.

  Underneath her grandmother’s name were the words, ‘formerly Mott.’

  Was Dharma’s grandmother Verity Mott?

  “Scroll down,” she said.

  There were three more lines of text that read, ‘of 131 Engleheart Road, Catford’.

  Verity Mott, who was most likely Dharma’s grandmother, had given birth at home.

  The next column indicated that the father of the baby was not employed. That tallied with her mother’s stories about her grandparents being students when they met. Dharma didn’t know whether either of her grandparents had completed their educations, but she did know that the old style of educational institutions, before the Deluge, had been shut down for the duration of the crisis, and, during the New Wave, home education had been developed and introduced.

  Dharma also knew that millions had lost their jobs during the Deluge. No unnecessary work was done for eighteen months, and much of the necessary work was already being done by machines and computers by the start of the twenty-first century.

  The next column surprised Dharma. The informant of the birth had been a man called Pax Mott, described as ‘grandfather’, and resident at the same address as Sage and Verity. Dharma looked at the date of registration, almost exactly six weeks after the birth, on Friday 5th of December 2042.

  Dharma had an analytical mind, and it all made sense to her. The Deluge was coming to an end by the beginning of 2043. There were no new cases in December of 2042, so perhaps the isolation rules were beginning to be relaxed. Nevertheless, a father would, naturally be careful of his child and grandchild, and an older man would be more willing to risk his life in place of a young one. Anyone would have the sense to wait for as long as possible before going out into the world to perform any task. Her mother’s grandfather had waited for five weeks and six days, and then he had left his home, his daughter and his grand-daughter, and travelled to that office, probably on foot, to register the birth of the child, presumably as late as legislation allowed.

  Dharma admired him hugely for it. She wondered what he had done for work, and who he had been, other than a clearly doting father.

  She wanted this to be her family. She was only surprised that four people could be living together in a single dwelling. That could never happen now.

  “Upload to home stream,” said Dharma. “Photo storage.”

  It was a risk, and she knew it, but Dharma wanted more time to examine the document, to consider the implications. She didn’t have more time at work, so she would do it at home. W.W. was free to check uploads between office and domestic locations, but Dharma suspected the checks were randomised and infrequent. W.W. wouldn’t waste its computing power on such trivial things.

  If the upload was checked, she’d simply claim an academic interest in family history and genealogy. It was an unusual hobby, one she’d never heard of anyone pursuing, but the records were in the public domain, so someone was looking at them, probably lots of someones.

  Ten

  “Weird, isn’t it?” said Sage, less than an hour into their long walk to Verity’s family home.

  “The last time I was in London it was heaving,” said Verity. “There were cars and buses everywhere, and people… Millions of people!”

  “Well, they’re all behind closed doors, now.”

  “You can actually hear the pigeons,” said Verity. “I guess this thing doesn’t kill them.”

  “Guess not. Or, maybe, it just hasn’t got to them yet. People have been having their pets euthanized.”

  “I was reading about that on the net, the other day. There’s speculation that it’s not because of the thing. They reckon it’s because of food shortages.”

  “Oh. That’s horrible.”

  “Yes, but this isn’t.” Verity stepped off the pavement and walked into the middle of the road. She stood on the white line, put her arms out to either side of her body, and began to walk the line as if she was doing a sobriety test, or walking a tightrope.

  “It’ll take forever to walk to Catford like that,” said Sage, but at least he was smiling now.

  Verity had coped better than Sage with the news that was constantly being uploaded to the net. Most of it wasn’t news at all. Most of it was speculation, probably from the uninformed, and almost always from the terrified. Others seemed to take pleasure in this horrible crisis. She wished she hadn’t mentioned that people were killing their pets so they didn’t have to feed them. It was gruesome, and it probably wasn’t even true.

  She felt much more upbeat since they’d found an alley between two rows of houses, where they could duck in for a pee. They’d taken it in turns to stand at the end of the alley and keep watch. They’d seen nobody.

  “Let’s skip for a bit,” said Verity.

  “Seriously, V?”

  “Race you to the end of the street,” said Verity, taking off at a quick jog, before Sage knew what was happening.

  It didn’t stop him beating her.

  “How are you so quick on your feet when your diet is so damned awful?” asked Verity, coming up beside him, a little out of breath.

  “You don’t know the half of it. Besides, think of all those good carbs I get: Oats, legumes… Nothing wrong with them.”

  “Left or right?” asked Verity.

  Sage pointed over his shoulder at the corner street sign, where the A2 south was clearly posted.

  “No need to check the phone again,” he said. “How’s your battery, mine’s getting pretty low.”

  “I’m still good. I charged mine before we left the flat.”

  “I knew there was a reason I loved you,” said Sage.

  “Clear off!” said a voice from somewhere above them, and on the other side of the road. “You shouldn’t be fooling about outside, you could be contagious.”

  Sage pulled his travel certificate out of his pocket, and waved it in the direction of the voice. He could see that someone in a first floor flat, over a shop, had cracked a window a fraction, but he couldn’t see who was inside.

  “We’ve got travel clearance, see?” said Sage.

  “I don’t care what you’ve got!” said the voice. “I just don’t want you to give it to me.”

  “Of course, sir,” said Sage. “We’ve got a long walk, and my girlfriend needs a rest.”

  “I told you to fuck off!” said the voice, and the window closed before Sage could say anything else.

  “Millions behind closed doors,” said Verity. “Come on. The sooner we get home the better.”

  For the next two hours, Verity and Sage saw no one. They heard a dog barking occasionally, which reassured Sage that people were, after all, decent; and two or three times they heard the blurred words of people shouting at each other from behind closed doors.

  “It’s not for everyone is it?” asked Sage.

  “What isn’t for everyone?”

  “Being cooped up at home with only family for company. People are arguing… Even screaming at each other… Makes you wonder.”

  “Well obviously it makes you wonder, but what exactly are you wondering about?”

  “Whether this is a good idea,” said Sage.

  “We’re going home,” said Verity. “Everyone argues once in a while. My parents, not so much, but, you know, sometimes.”

  “It’s going to be stressful, though isn’t it? All of us in one house, and them not really knowing me.”

  “It’ll be fine,” said Verity, taking Sage’s hand as he s
lowed his pace.

  “I don’t know. We were doing okay on our own, and this feels pretty final. Once we’re there, we won’t be going anywhere… And who knows how long this thing’s going to last?”

  “Then they’ll have time to get to know and love you, like I do.”

  “I don’t know,” said Sage, again.

  “Well, you don’t need to know. Because I know. I know that we had no choice but to leave campus. I know that we’ve taken a long and difficult journey, and it isn’t over yet. I know there’s no going back. And I know that every hotel, guesthouse, B-and-B, motel… whatever… is closed for business. So, unless you want to wander off into the woods and become some kind of hermit, we’re committed.”

  “I’d make a good hermit.”

  Verity stopped in her tracks, and laughed.

  “What? What’s so funny?”

  “Well, apart from the fact that you’ve only got the clothes on your back, a practically dead phone, your id, and a travel certificate, nothing about you becoming a hermit is funny. I’m guessing you can build a shelter, find a clean water supply, and hunt and forage for food with the best of them.”

  “So you could do better, could you?”

  “I don’t need to do better,” said Verity. “I’ve got a plan. You can join in if you like.” She smiled at him, and took his hand.

  “I guess we’re going to your parents’ place, then.”

  “Great plan,” said Verity, mock-serious. “Wish I’d thought of it first.”

  They started walking again, through more streets of boarded up shops, and houses, the pigeons doing their thing, and occasional sounds coming from behind closed doors.

  “You can’t actually take credit for the plan,” said Sage.

  “I think I can.”

  “I’m pretty sure it was your dad’s plan. I’m pretty sure you resisted it for weeks. In fact, getting on board with the plan was all a bit last minute for you, wasn’t it, V?”

  “When we arrive, Pa will tell you himself that he’s always right.”

  They walked another mile or two, holding hands. Then, suddenly, Verity crossed the road, working up to a short run, and then a jump. The metal sign clanged as she hit it hard with her open palm. It read, ‘Catford’.

  “I told Pa I’d call when we got close. I know my way from here. We’ll be home in fifteen minutes.”

  “That soon?” asked Sage.

  “You’ve got fifteen minutes to sort out your head, and brace yourself for a warm welcome, so you’d better get it together.”

  “Hi, Pa, we’re here.” There was a short pause. “About fifteen minutes, we’re standing under the Catford sign right now.”

  Sage waited while Verity listened to her father.

  “Yes, Pa. I’ve got it… No, I don’t need to repeat it back to you… Yes, I totally get it… Yep… See you soon. Love ya.”

  “They’re ready for us,” she said, after she’d hung up.

  Eleven

  “You could let me help you,” said Con.

  “Help me with what?” asked Blythe, over her shoulder as she completed her last invoice of the morning.

  “It’s time for lunch. You could let me help you with this Dharma thing.”

  “I was just going to write her a long e-mail, today.”

  “Even more reason, then,” said Con. “I could use the time to check her data, if you like… Objectively.”

  “You don’t think I’m objective?” asked Blythe, as she switched her screen to her private connections.

  “There’s a lot of text, that’s all. I could just look at the data. I could see if there are any problems with the sequences. I could work out whether you might actually be related to this person, from the data she’s provided.”

  “You want to sit and check data for me?” asked Blythe.

  “I think maybe someone should. This doesn’t happen, does it? People don’t just invite you to make private connections for no reason. It’s all a bit suspect…”

  Con paused when he saw the look on Blythe’s face.

  “I know you think it’s wonderful,” he said. “If it was me, I’d be pretty pleased, too. I’m just saying, it couldn’t hurt to check the data.”

  “I’ve looked at most of it. Besides, what makes you think you’re qualified?”

  “Nothing. I may not work for W.W. but I’m in the ninetieth percentile, too.”

  “Oh…”

  There was a pause. Blythe had questions about Con that she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask.

  “Okay,” said Con, eventually. “I’m going to pop down and get us both some coffee while you think about it… It couldn’t hurt to have a fresh pair of eyes.”

  “I’ll see you in five minutes,” said Blythe. She just wanted to write to Dharma and get as much down in one e-mail as she had time for. She wanted to talk about herself and about her mum, and she wanted to ask questions, too. She wanted to know what Dharma looked and sounded like, what she did, and how and where she lived. She already felt something about this woman who had sought her out… This stranger.

  Blythe took a deep breath, and uploaded the data files for Con to look at. She’d ask about his education one day, but maybe now wasn’t the time. It couldn’t hurt for him to take a look, especially since he was clearly qualified. They were just spread sheets, just data… It’d be fine, useful even.

  She kept the text files to herself.

  Con came back with two cups of coffee from the machine. He took off his sweater, and hung it on one of the door hooks.

  “Oh,” he said, on glancing at his screen.

  “It’s not that I trust you or anything. I’m just taking advantage of your qualifications, so don’t get the idea that we’re friends… yet.”

  “Of course not,” said Con. “All in good time.”

  Although it stated quite clearly in her contract that Anley Corp would not monitor her private connections, Blythe knew that they would see anything that she transferred to Con’s screen, and she wondered whether uploading the first long e-mail from Dharma had been a good idea. The data didn’t matter, at least not so much, but the text files were pretty personal, even the first one. It was too late now, but she decided that she wouldn’t do it again. He could see data uploads; it might even help her, but if she wanted to show him any of the text files, he’d have to read them from her screen.

  Why was she thinking about that at all? There was no reason why she’d ever want to share anything personal with Con. He wasn’t the guy she’d thought he was; he was better than that. She didn’t know if they’d ever be friends, though. She didn’t know if she’d ever really had a friend. Her mother had never encouraged it, and when faced with new people Blythe was always timid. Twenty years of relying entirely on her mother, who invariably spoke for her, and then ten years on her own with her mother’s warnings constantly on her mind, had made Blythe incredibly cautious.

  There was stuff to deal with, of course, but she always booked the same medic at the clinic. She’d developed the habit of booking her next appointment after seeing the medic, even though it would be three or four months away. It didn’t matter, she wasn’t going anywhere. She always used the same vendors at the market on her allocated days, and she always bought the same things. She’d even managed to get a spare canister for her bathroom wipe, though it was discouraged because of storage and use-by dates.

  Blythe’s life was one continuous routine, and that’s how she liked it. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t managed to speak to Con for the first three years. She wanted company, she wanted a friend, even; she just didn’t know how to make one.

  Now, Dharma wasn’t just offering friendship she was offering kinship, and kinship apart from the maternal bond was practically unheard of since the Deluge.

  Blythe’s mother didn’t talk about the forties, or the fifties. She didn’t even talk about Blythe’s childhood. She didn’t care for the past, and the state could take care of the future; that’s what she’d told Blythe, over
and over again. She still said it, every time they talked. It was like a mantra, and there was no penetrating it.

  Dharma didn’t think like that.

  Dharma had taken a long hard look at the past. She had looked so hard that she had found her own personal history, not just the stuff that Blythe had studied when she’d downloaded school. Her mother hadn’t encouraged her there, either. Blythe had only taken the mandatory classes. When she’d shown an interest in anything else, her mother had nipped it in the bud. It was all useless, she’d said, Blythe would never need any of it in the real world.

  Well, this was the real world. Dharma was real, and Blythe was sure that Dharma’s research was real, too. Why else would the woman reach out to her? What possible motive could there be?

  Blythe suddenly felt a little anxious.

  “Anything?” she asked, over her shoulder.

  “Nothing yet,” said Con. “It all looks feasible, on the surface.”

  Blythe sighed and returned to her email. She read back what had already been typed and was shocked at how personal it all was. Stream of consciousness, just like Dharma’s e-mails to her.

  “Almost time to stop,” said Con.

  She couldn’t believe that she’d been typing through their entire lunch break, and her coffee sat, untouched and barely lukewarm.

  Blythe didn’t think twice. She hit the send button. Whatever she’d been thinking, whatever she’d typed, Dharma could read it. It didn’t matter that it was personal, and it didn’t matter that her grammar and spelling, and that her rhythm and syntax might not be correct or elegant. It mattered that she connected.

  This was the longest conversation of her life. The most she’d ever talked to anyone, and it mattered very much to Blythe.

  Con and Blythe cleared their screens at almost the same moment. Con turned his chair.

  “Hey?” he said.

  Blythe picked up her coffee cup, and turned her chair to face him.