Synthetica Page 13

  “Mrs Goddard,” the medic that had been speaking to them outside followed them into the room. “I can assure you, we're doing everything we possibly can for your daughter. But cases like this are extremely rare. The odds of a body rejecting an ID chip are about one in two million, especially in cases like this were the body rejects the chip with no prior warning. Usually, the patient tampers with their chip or their brain somehow, and that's why the body begins to reject it.”

  “And what kinds of tampering could cause someone to reject their ID chip?” Mr Goddard's low voice spoke up. He was staring hard at the medic. “What are you insinuating about my daughter?”

  The medic held up his hands.

  “Nothing,” he said placatingly. “I'm just telling you the truth. Cases like this are usually seen in alcoholics, drug addicts, or people who try to 'upgrade' or download additional software onto their ID chip. But like I said, even then it's extremely rare for this kind of reaction to occur.”

  “So cut it out,” Mr Goddard said, agitated. “Cut the damn thing out and get her another one.”

  “It's not that simple. You know it's against the law for anyone to remove their ID chip without prior permission from the city council - and that includes medical procedures. In Miss Goddard's case -” he hesitated . “There's no guarantee that we'd be granted permission before...”

  He tailed off, but he didn't need to finish his sentence.

  Mrs Goddard sat back down next to her daughter, clutching Dalla's pale hand tightly in her own, silent tears glazing her cheeks. Mr Goddard was still arguing with the medic, but Anais had tuned them out.

  She felt sicker than ever. An awful feeling had descended over her as the medic's words confirmed what she already suspected. Tampering with their chip...that was exactly what Dalla had done less than forty eight hours ago. And Anais had let her go through with it, just because in her own fantasies, she wanted to buy one too. She'd let Dalla be her guinea pig, and look at what had happened. She should've listened to Xander's warning. She should've stopped Dalla. She should've done more to talk her out of it.

  Guilt clawed at her insides, and suddenly she couldn't bear to be in that small room with Dalla's parents and Dalla lying motionless between them.

  She stood up, knocking her chair backwards in her hurry.

  “Need some air,” she mumbled, but the Goddards were too busy shouting at young medic to pay her any attention.

  She pushed her way through the ward doors and stumbled down the corridor, unsure of whether she was going to be sick or have a panic attack, or both. Medics in white uniforms and patients sitting serenely on white plastic chairs stared at her as she hurried past. She spotted an illuminated sign for the female toilets and followed it, her vision blurring. The toilet door slid open and she stumbled inside, locking the door behind her. Once she was safely enclosed in the softly lit space, she sank to the floor by the toilet and retched, hot tears leaking out of her eyes as she did so. Once she was was finished, she wiped her mouth shakily and sat down on the cold tiles, leaning her head back against the cool wall.

  She still felt sick. Hot guilt burned in her stomach. She closed her eyes, but all she could see was Dalla's body convulsing in her arms, Dalla's parents shouting hysterically as they barged into the room, and Xander. Hot, burning shame engulfed her as she remembered the look Xander had given her as he rushed into Dalla's hospital room the previous night. The look he'd given her as she'd explained in a whisper what she and Dalla had done and how the medics believed she might never recover. He hadn't said a word, but his silence said more than his words ever could. He'd sat with her through the night, only leaving an hour or so ago to go to work. Perhaps he realised how much Anais was hurting over the whole incident because before he left, he'd pulled Anais into a hug and whispered in her ear.

  “Don't blame yourself,” he'd murmured, squeezing her hand.

  The trouble was, she already did.

  *

  People on the train gave Anais a wide berth.

  She was still dressed in yesterday's overalls which were still covered in dirt, dust and oil. She'd splashed some water on her face to get rid of the worst of the grease and grit that coated it, but her hair was an explosion of pink and there were dark circles under her eyes from going almost twenty four hours without sleep. She noticed several people murmuring and smirking as they took in her appearance, while others simply gave her a horrified look and edged away as far as the carriage would allow them.

  She trudged up to the factory, keeping her gaze on the ground. She hadn't wanted to leave Dalla's side, but even she realised there was nothing she could do with Dalla still in a coma. Mrs Goddard had promised to let her know the second anything changed, but so far Anais' eyesight remained clear of any new messages.

  Anais scanned her ID chip at the doors, and made her way directly to the factory floor. The large space was just as airless as it had been the previous day. Barely five minutes after Anais received her first call on her alarm, she was already struggling to breathe. Luckily she was granted a brief respite when her manager, Mr Mullins, appeared unexpectedly in front of her, beckoning for her to follow him. Anais snapped the cover back over the gears of a large, clanking machine she'd been staring at for the last ten minutes and followed him outside.

  As soon as the main steel doors closed behind them, Mr Mullins rounded on her.

  “I don't know what you're playing at Miss Finch, but I suggest you clean up your act - literally,” Mr Mullins said, his lip curling in disgust as he took in her dirty uniform.

  “I wasn't -” Anais started, but he cut her off.

  “Do you think this kind of work is beneath you, Miss Finch? Do you think you're better than anyone else in that room? Well, let me tell you something - you're not. We might be a factory, but we have strict dress protocols here, just like every other employer in the city. So I suggest you start following them, unless you want to start looking for a new employer,” Mr Mullins said curtly. He nodded towards the changing rooms. “Off you go.”

  Anais glared at him, wanting with all her might to make a retort back. But even in her sleep deprived state she realised that might not be the best move.

  “Yes sir,” she muttered as snarkily as she dared. She turned to go, but he called her back as though another thought had just occurred to him.

  “And Anais, this time will be taken from your lunch break. You have ten minutes before I expect you back on the floor.” He turned and scanned his ID chip, disappearing back through the great metal doors.

  Anais stomped down the corridor and up a flight of stairs to the changing rooms. They were empty at this time as the first shift of the day was in full swing. She selected a pair of clean overalls from the gently rotating rack on the far wall and made her way into the shower room. She discarded her old overalls on the floor and the glass panel of the shower in front of her slid open. It wasn't much – the shower stalls were small and the water was lukewarm at best – but to Anais it felt like heaven. She waved her hand over the shower's sensor panel, and the smell of citrus fruit filled the air as shower gel mixed in with the water cascading down over her head.

  She wished she had longer, but after a few moments, she reluctantly stepped out of the stall, smelling a lot cleaner and dressed in pristine navy overalls. She scooped her damp hair up and twisted it into a loose bun, before wrapping it under a hair net.

  Back on the factory floor, the air was still barely breathable but Anais felt a lot more awake. She dutifully answered the calls on her alarm, and only got shouted at twice during the first couple of hours. It wasn't until her shift was nearly over that her path crossed with Mr Mullins's again. She'd been called to one of the hundreds of conveyor belts, which had stopped running and was causing a backlog through the system. She had no idea what she was sup
posed to be doing, but luckily there were several other mechanics there, who were also scratching their heads.

  “Might be a roller,” a man with cropped deep orange hair was saying, as he examined the machine's underbelly.

  “Nah, can't be. Probably the belt's misaligned again,” said a woman with dark blue hair and bright green eyes. She turned to Anais. “What d'you reckon?”

  “Oh, um -” Anais said, flustered, but at that moment, Mr. Mullins popped up as suddenly as though he'd been there the whole time.

  “What's going on?” he hissed. “What's happening here? You're causing a blockage.”

  He pointed behind them and sure enough, Anais could see other machines being to grind to halt, as more and more picochips began to pile up. Other workers in their section of the factory were beginning to look over at them curiously as their own machines began to fail.

  “Look, just get this fixed, now,” Mr Mullins snapped. “We have a huge order to fill by the end of the week, and we cannot afford to have any more delays. You can all have ten credits docked off your wages for every minute more that this remains broken.”

  “What?” Anais burst out, outraged. “That's not fair! We didn't break your precious machine.”

  Anais could sense the man and the woman staring at her. Mr Mullins's jaw tightened. He took a step towards her, but as he was a few inches shorter than she was, it didn't make much difference.

  “This is your last warning, Miss Finch,” he said coldly. “If I see you put one more toe out of line, you can leave. Immediately.”

  He turned and stalked away.

  Anais glared after him. The blue haired woman patted her on the shoulder.

  “Don't worry dear, he's always been a bit prickly. I ain't seen you around here before, first week is it?” Anais nodded.

  “Don't worry love, we'll show you the way,” the woman said cheerfully. “I'm Ola. This is Peg.”

  She nodded towards the man, who waved at Anais from underneath the conveyor belt.

  “Best get on this, or he'll be back, the silly little man,” Ola said. “Here, you see this compartment? Hold this for me would you?”

  Ola handed Anais a small tool, that looked like a collection of all different gadgets, all squished up into a handheld device. Ola talked Anais through what she was doing, occasionally asking her to hold something, or check to see if a certain light was flashing.

  “There!” Ola said triumphantly, as the belt rumbled and began to move again. She stuck her head under the now swiftly moving piece of machinery. “Told you,” she shouted over the noise to Peg. “Belt misalignment.”

  She stood back up and rolled her eyes at Anais.

  “Broken roller, my eye,” she said and Anais couldn't help smiling.

  “Thank you,” Anais said sincerely. “You're the first people apart from my parents to talk to me. It nice for someone to actually show me what I'm supposed to be doing.”

  “Oh, it's no trouble dearie,” Ola said. “We underdogs have got to stick together.”

  The horn blared, marking the end of their shift. Anais held out her hand to shake Ola's but to her surprise, Ola pulled her into a gruff hug.

  “You'll be alright lovey, make sure you come and find us tomorrow, alright? We can help you out. It's always tricky, the first few weeks - why they don't give you proper training, I'll never know.”

  It was with a slightly lighter heart that Anais left the factory that night, although it didn't last long as she hurried to catch a train that would take her back to the hospital. While no news was supposed to be good news, she had an awful feeling in her gut that Dalla could only be deteriorating. She fired off a quick RetCom message to both her parents, letting them know she wouldn't be home til later. She changed trains onto Line 6, which would take her directly to the hospital, staring out at the darkening skies as the train rolled smoothly through the city.

  Her gut tightened momentarily as she got off the train and stared up at the large white building in front of her. Part of her wanted to run away and hide but she forced herself to cross the road and enter the hospital, her ID chip being scanned at the main doors as she walked through. She caught a lift pod up to the fourth floor and walked down the quiet, softly lit corridor to Dalla's room. Her breath caught as the door slid automatically open.

  Xander was sitting next to Dalla's bed. He looked up as she entered, his dark purple eyes following her as she sat down opposite him, Dalla lying motionless between them. A HV screen was being projected silently down from the ceiling, against the wall opposite the bed, showing an old romantic film. For a long long moment neither of them spoke. Anais concentrated on Dalla's face, looking for any sign of change, but really she was trying to avoid the inevitable conversation with Xander.

  Xander was the one to break the silence first.

  “Why?” he said, his quiet voice somehow echoing throughout the room.

  Anais remained silent.

  “I warned you,” he said, the anger in his voice becoming more and more apparent. “I told you. And you ignored everything I said.”

  “You told me it was my choice whether or not we went to see those SLPs,” Anais said indignantly.

  “I thought you were smarter than this!” Xander said, throwing his hands into the air. “I thought you'd be able to figure out that messing around with untested technology is never a good idea!”

  “Well forgive me for not being as clever as you,” Anais said sharply. “I'm well aware that I'm stuck in a bloody factory for the foreseeable future, whereas -”

  “Cut it out, Anais,” Xander said bluntly. “This isn't about your fucking career's advice.”

  Anais stopped, taken aback.

  “You can't pretend that you didn't know what might happen, even if you were assigned to the factory. You're smarter than that. I know it. You know it. So don't play dumb with me,” he stood up abruptly and looked out of the floor to ceiling window, turning his back to her, his shoulders tense. Anais' eyes followed him warily.

  “So what?” she retorted. “What do you want me to say, Xander? That you were right? Well congratulations, you were right.”

  Xander turned back to face her.

  “You think this is about me being right?” he said incredulously. “Anais, don't you think I'd rather be wrong at this moment in time? Why do you think I'm here?”

  Anais opened her mouth, and then closed it again when she realised she had no answer. Now she thought about it, it was a little strange for Xander to be here, given that he wasn't exactly close friends with Dalla.

  “I'm here because I've spent all day worrying that you'll end up exactly where she is,” he nodded towards Dalla. “You didn't tell me anything last night, only that Dalla had downloaded an SLP and now she's sick. You didn't tell me whether or not you'd downloaded one too. Your RetCom has been off all day. I thought that...I thought that you might be here too.”

  Anais' eyes met his, and for the first time, she noticed the tightness around his eyes, the flash of worry in them.

  “I'm sorry,” she said. “My RetCom doesn't work while I'm at the factory. But I didn't download anything yesterday, I swear.”

  Xander's eyes searched her face for a long moment, before his expression relaxed slightly.

  “Okay,” he said. “That's good news at least.”

  “But,” Anais hesitated as a thought occurred to her. “While we're being honest with each other, there is something you should probably know.”

  “Oh yes?” Xander looked at her warily.

  “You know that another man was murdered two days ago?” She waited for Xander to nod before continuing. “Well...it happened on my way back from Civitas. I saw the whole thing. I heard a noise down this alley, and went to check it out. It turned out to be that man being murdered. The police showed up and ar
rested me. One of the officers wanted to charge me with murder, but the other one let me go,” she said conversationally.

  Xander gaped at her.

  “But,” she hurried on before he could speak. “I think these murders...they're all related. And – I think they might have something to do with Civitas.”

  “What?”

  “Listen – everyone who's been murdered worked for a rival of Civitas. Civitas want to take over WireX Industries, right? Well, since the first murder WireX's shares have plummeted – people have lost faith in the company – but it would take more than a murder to make people lose faith like that. Let's say that Civitas has been doing something behind the scenes...to make it easier for them to take over.”

  Xander sat and contemplated this for a moment.

  “Anais,” he said finally. “That's completely crazy. Where's your evidence? Where's your proof? You can't go around blaming an internationally renowned company for a couple of murders. It makes no sense.”

  “Yes it does,” she insisted. “Look, if Civitas -”

  She stopped talking abruptly. She was distracted by HV screen, which was no longer showing the corny film. The hologram had instead cut to a news channel. Although there was no sound, there was text scrolling along the bottom of the picture: BREAKING NEWS: MURDERER CAUGHT AT SCENE OF CRIME. YOUNGEST MURDERER IN FIFTY YEARS KILLS MANAGER OF WIREX INDUSTRIES IN BROAD DAYLIGHT.

  “Shit,” Anais whispered. Fear plunged into her stomach like ice, as a live video of the incident was relayed from a police hovercraft. The suspect was bathed in a white spotlight, reminding Anais uncomfortably of her own encounter with the police. Just outside the halo of light, a body was covered in a black sheet, surrounded by emergency medics in red uniforms. The suspect was being led towards the hovercraft by two matt black police androids. Anais heard Xander swear loudly, but she didn't need to examine the grainy footage that closely to see who it was.