Synthetica Read online

  Anais let herself into the flat. She switched off the music that was thumping through her head to be greeted with silence. She went into the kitchen and opened the FDU, clicking her tongue as it showed her a selection of high-protein snacks. She selected the most edible looking protein bar and turned to face the empty room, wondering what to do now. The thought of her parents being at work, and knowing that this time tomorrow she'd be joining them, made her already bad mood worse. She briefly considered calling Dalla to apologise, but she was still too angry, though she was still struggling to put her finger on what exactly she was so pissed off about.

  A gentle glowing light on the surface of the table caught her eye. She sat down and pressed the small glowing area, which expanded to show one of the screens she'd been looking at earlier, one that she hadn't shut down properly. She swiped her finger across the glass to close it, but several of annoying newsfeeds popped up in its place, bearing headlines such as YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT DNA COLOUR IS HOT RIGHT NOW!!! and HUNGRY? WHY THE NEW FDU DESIGNS WILL LEAVE YOU WANTING MORE!! Anais rolled eyes and went to shut the feeds down, making a mental note to update the pop-up blocker application sometime, when she paused. At the end of one of the feeds was another headline: ALL OVER FOR WIREX INDUSTRIES? The news channel, RealityNewz, had a reputation for publishing stories based on very thin (if any) evidence, but Anais' interest was piqued nonetheless. She pressed on the link and the window flashed up:

  All over for WireX Industries?

  The CEO of WireX Industries is due to meet with investors tomorrow, in what insiders believe to be a last-ditch attempt to save the company from the clutches of Civitas.

  There has been speculation for a while amongst industry insiders that Civitas is interested in purchasing WireX Industries, though whether this is for genuine company growth, or to put a stop to the rumours surrounding WireX's advanced tech designs, remains to be seen.

  WireX has enjoyed a number of success stories lately, with the release of their newest range of Virtual Reality sets, said to use the most advanced gaming software in the world; as well as launching a specialised NIC system that can be embedded into the user's hand, possibly throwing the future of traditional screen-viewing into dispute.

  However following the murder of WireX employee, Donald Pearson, trust in the company has been shaken with share prices dropping by half in just one day. Unfounded rumours that the company should've been able to stop the murder, along with WireX's latest research project going disastrously wrong (see here for full report), may have contributed to this loss of confidence in WireX's abilities. CEO, Theodore Mackleby, will have a hard job persuading shareholders and investors alike that Pearson's murder could not have been predicted. With MediTech also under fire for their own investigation into their own employee's murder two days ago, Civitas will no doubt be ready to jump in and 'save' WireX Industries from falling apart.

  Although Anais didn't seriously believe that Civitas wanted to buy out WireX Industries, the story made her pause. The article mentioned the murders, bringing back uncomfortable memories of the previous night. Before the nausea and panic could take hold, Anais began searching for the very thing she'd avoided that morning. Within seconds the glass tabletop was displaying reams of news stories and feeds about the two murders. Anais chose a couple of articles at random and began to read, her mind buzzing.

  In the first attack, both the murderer and victim had died at the scene. In the second, as she knew from her unpleasant experience the previous night, the murderer had died at the scene while the victim had died soon after on the way to hospital. If Anais hadn't accidentally raised the alarm, the man probably would've died in the alley too. So far, the police had no leads on what could've caused the two murderers to drop dead, but given the fact that they were deceased, the police didn't seem overly concerned in finding out what had happened to them.

  Anais tapped her fingers on the table, thinking hard. What if the RealityNewz story had a grain of truth in it? She began to search once again for news of Civitas, only this time, she was looking for any other articles on the reported Civitas takeover of WireX Industries. She soon found what she was looking for – there were several reports of Civitas' interest in the company though, so far, WireX Industries had been adamant not to sell to them. But from what Anais could see, if confidence in the company had been shaken by one unfortunate murder, then WireX wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. Take into account that the first murder victim had worked for MediTech, then Civitas was in the best possible position for both consumer confidence, and for getting the go ahead for a merger with either one, if not both, of its rivals.

  Anais' mouth felt dry. Could it be possible? Both murders had happened within such a short period, and at such a seemingly convenient time for Civitas, that Anais couldn't see any other way around it. What if Civitas had engineered the whole horrible episode?

  She felt sick even thinking about it, but the more she read, the more the evidence seemed to point in that direction. There were far too many articles for her to read at once, so in the end, she swiped the screen completely clear, and called up a box on her RetCom instead. She began to set up several news alerts, that would come directly through to her RetCom. Thinking about how to phrase it, she finally settled on alerts for 'Civitas, WireX, MediTech merger,' 'murder' and, before she could forget, she decided on a whim to set one up for 'Clay Winterbourne' as well, just in case he happened to be behind the break-in at Civitas.

  But as she entered the last alert, a warning flashed up in her vision:

  YOU HAVE REACHED THE MAXIMUM AMOUNT OF FREE NEWS ALERTS AVAILABLE. TO SET UP MORE ALERTS, PLEASE UPGRADE YOUR RETCOM TO SOFTWARE VERSION CS4.506. ONLY 250 CRD!

  Anais swore as she read the price.

  “Language,” came a disapproving voice as Mrs Finch walked into the kitchen, looking dishevelled from her shift at the factory.

  “Sorry mum,” Anais said as she agreed to pay for the software update. A progress bar appeared at the top of her eyesight to show that her RetCom was being upgraded.

  “What's wrong?” asked Mrs Finch as she pulled a steaming plate of chicken and potatoes out of the FDU. Clearly, there was nothing wrong with her biometrics.

  “Need an upgrade on my RetCom,” Anais said absently, as the message icon popped up. “Asked me to pay 250 credits for it.”

  She opened the message, hopeful that it might be Dalla, but for the first time she was disappointed to see Xander's name come up. Mrs Finch sniffed.

  “I don't understand why you young people are always upgrading something or other. Goodness knows where you get the money. If I can get by with basic functionality, I don't see why everyone else can't either.”

  Anais' lips twitched. It was the same speech her mum gave every time Anais or her dad mentioned upgrading a piece of technology, or bought something new. When Mr Finch had decided to buy a new HV set, Mrs Finch had complained for half an hour about what a waste of credits it was. It hadn't stopped her being the first one to record all her favourite reality shows so she never missed an episode.

  Anais stood up to go to her room, but her mum gestured at her to sit back down.

  “Anais,” her mum began in a hesitant voice. Anais' insides went cold. She knew what was coming, that her dad had obviously spoken to her about their conversation that morning. She didn't want to hear her mum talk about how working at the picochip factory was no big deal. She didn't want to think about it anymore than she had to.

  “Mum -”

  “No, please just listen to me sweetheart,” Mrs Finch said, reaching out and taking Anais' hand. “I just wanted to say...I'm sorry if I've given you the impression that I've ever been disappointed in you, or that I'd ever be disappointed in the career you've been given. You've always made me proud, and I know that working at the factory isn
't exactly what you had in mind -”

  “No, you're right there,” Anais said before she could stop herself. Mrs Finch squeezed her hand.

  “But it's not that bad, honestly. I see people moving onwards and upwards all the time! Why, just last week one young man, I can't remember his name now, left because he'd been headhunted by a company that makes parts for FDUs! Isn't that exciting?”

  Anais looked into her mum's hopeful face and saw her left eyelid twitch, as it always did whenever Mrs Finch told a white lie. She squeezed her mum's hand back.

  “Thanks mum,” she said quietly. “But it's fine. You don't have to try and make me feel better.”

  “I'm not -”

  “I think I'm going to go to bed,” Anais said, standing up again before her mum could say anything else. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

  “Oh, are you sure, dear? Don't you want any dinner?” Mrs Finch tried to push the plate of luke warm chicken over to her, but Anais shook her head.

  “No thanks, I'm not hungry.”

  “Well, alright dear, I'll see you in the morning. You'll be coming to work with me for your first shift!”

  “Great,” Anais tried, and failed, to muster up some enthusiasm. “Night, mum.”

  She turned and walked down the hall to her room, unsure if she wanted to cry or scream. As she shut the door behind her, she remembered that Xander had sent her a message and she opened it to find a request to met up the next night after work. She accepted without looking at the details and threw herself down onto her bed, despite the fact that it was barely past seven.

  She lay for a while, simply staring up at the ceiling, thinking about how this time yesterday she was caught up in a murder scene. It seemed like forever. Eventually, her eyes closed and she fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of factories and bright picochips, and other dark, formless objects that had no name.

  That stupid, irresponsible, vain, stupid girl! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  She'd almost ruined everything. He dropped the box onto the work surface and ripped it open. Desperately, he searched through the picochips, examining every single one until he was satisfied that none of them had been damaged. Denzel might not have sold as many of his altered SLPs as he would've liked, but he had his uses. These little stolen picochips were the only reason that Denzel had walked away with his life today.

  It still didn't alter the fact that Denzel had failed to deliver on his promises. Only a few had been sold, nowhere near enough for him to initiate his larger plan.

  Snarling, he swept a toolbox containing balls of wire and different sized spanners off the table in a fit of rage. The tools clattered to the floor as he stood there, seething. It wasn't happening fast enough. He'd waited a long, long time for this, and now that he was finally in a position of power, he was being forced to wait for some idiot in a shop to get moving. If only there was some other way...

  His grey eyes alighted on the box of picochips, winking innocently in the glow of the desk light. He paused.

  Slowly, he reached out and picked one out of the box, turning it over and over in his hands, his mind whirling as the spark of an idea took shape.

  Perhaps that girl wasn't as stupid as he first thought.

  He sat down at the computer, still clutching the picochip in his gloved hand. He typed in his search command and waited for the screen to load. Behind his mask, he began to smile as he read the headline on one of the newsfeeds. Of course – now that he read about it, it seemed so obvious. Why hadn't he thought about it before?

  Civitas was having a birthday party to celebrate its mediocre achievements. He already had one present planned for them. Why not make it two?

  After all, all the best birthday parties had fireworks. Civitas shouldn't miss out. It was their fiftieth birthday after all. They should go out with a bang.

  Seven

  It was unbearable.

  Anais could barely breathe. Every time she tried to draw in a lungful of that dry, stuffy air it would catch in her throat, as though she'd forgotten how to inhale properly. She brushed a lock of sweat drenched hair off her face, cringing at the wetness on her forehead and the clamminess on her fingertips. She stuffed it back under her hair net, but it merely fell limply out again.

  She wanted to take off her overalls, roll up her sleeves, anything to get some air onto her burning skin. But she'd already seen several people being shouted at for that exact offence, and as much as she wanted to cool down, she didn't fancy getting yelled at for the third time on her first day of work. She'd already had a talking-to over her hair, and once more when she didn't know what the fault was in one of the tiny handheld tools that an impatient technician was holding out to her. He'd called her stupid, and she'd retorted with something much worse. Her manager, a man with a thin, pinched face called Mr Mullins, hadn't been impressed.

  Her overalls were covered in smears of grease and scorch marks, and even a splash of black oil from where another employee had accidentally dropped a canister of the slick liquid on the floor. Her hands were red and sweaty. There was angry red mark on her right thumb from where she'd accidentally touched an exposed wire on a malfunctioning picochip. The cooling salve she'd applied to it had long since evaporated and her thumb was beginning to throb once more.

  Her hands hurt. Her feet ached. Her arms felt like dead weights. She'd never ever imagined, even in her gloomiest thoughts, that the work would be this labour-intensive. She'd had a half-hour briefing with the other new recruits that morning on her expected duties and safety protocols, and then they'd all been thrown into the lion's pit.

  Anais had supposed that they'd be testing the picochips, logging any anomalies or reporting any malfunctions. She couldn't have been more wrong. It wasn't the picochips they were maintaining – it was the machines that produced the picochips; from the great hulking cooling units, right down to the endless conveyor belts and the tiny robotic arms that put every picochip together with mind-boggling delicacy and speed. Anais had been run off her feet all day – no sooner did she answer a call on her personal alarm, then the bloody thing would go off again, and she'd be off, running across the crowded factory floor to try and solve the next problem. The only problem was, she had no idea how any of these machines worked, or the correct way to fix it. Most people had taken pity on her once they realised it was her first day, and had tried to help her. But there were a few who were expecting her to do it all on her own, who pointedly ignored her if she tried to ask them for help. She'd already made a mental note that if the insufferable man by conveyer belt 6401 called her for help again, she'd find a way to make the whole thing come crashing down. She couldn't even download any instructions about the different machine models onto her RetCom, as the NIC had been remotely disabled the second she'd stepped onto the factory floor.

  She hadn't seen her parents all day, not since her mother woken her up at the crack of dawn, rushed her to work and pointed her in the direction of the manager's office, before hurrying off to start her own shift. She hadn't been to the canteen for her break yet either – they were supposed to get half an hour at lunchtime, and a fifteen minute break every two hours, but so far, she hadn't had the time. Every time she tried to sidle out for a breath of fresh air, her alarm would go off again. She was almost convinced that someone was watching her and purposefully assigning her more work to do every time she tried to take a break.

  After what seemed like an eternity, there was a blast like a foghorn over the din of the machines on the factory floor and at long last, her shift was over. Wearily, every muscle aching, she shuffled towards the door, too tired to look where she was going. She followed the crowd out of the factory floor, only looking up when she felt cool, fresher air blowing gently around her. Intense relief washed over her, as she took in a deep breath of clean air. They were only in
the area outside the main factory floor – Anais could still hear the deep throbbing noise of the machines through the wall behind her – and the air still had a stale quality to it, but it was hundred times better than where she'd been cooped up all day.

  She tore her hair net off her head and shook her damp pink curls free. She dropped the net into a special recycling bin outside the door and hurried towards the main entrance, eager to be back in the daylight and the fresh air once more.

  The crowd began to disperse around her as the others made their to the canteen for a bite to eat or to the changing rooms, but Anais was too impatient to get outside. She followed a group of men with the same shade of orange hair down the corridor, through the main doors and into the evening sunshine. Her spirits lifted as soon as she stepped over the threshold. The cool wind had never felt so good before. She could feel the sweat on her forehead drying, not even caring that the sudden coolness was causing her arms to break out in goosebumps.

  She simply stood for a long moment, revelling her freedom. Eventually, she decided to get out of the way of the workers that were still flowing in and out of the factory and she sat on the ground a short way from the entrance, keeping one eye on the doors in case her mum came out. The rest of her attention she gave to the stream of messages that were now flowing through on her RetCom:

  Anais, don't forget to pick up a spare set of overalls today. Can you get a pair for me too? Love, dad xx