Synthetica Read online

  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of Pearson's kind, trusting eyes staring at her from the HV projection, but instead all that happened was that his photo was replaced by the image of blood seeping out of the wound in his head, his wide, panicked eyes, the sound of the gargling cough as blood filled up his mouth -

  “Anais? Sweetheart?”

  Anais jumped and her eyes snapped open. Her dad was sitting next to her, looking at her in alarm. She realised she was visibly shaking, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

  “Are you alright, love?” Mr Finch reached out for his daughter's hand. Anais' breathing gradually calmed as she looked up into his kind face and saw how his brow was crinkled in concern. His pale green eyes, normally so bright, were shaded by dark circles and wrinkled with worry. She hesitated, wanting to blurt everything out, but knowing that to lay something like this on him would only cause him stress he didn't need. She swallowed hard.

  “I'm fine,” she said, attempting a smile. “Just feeling a bit sick, that's all.”

  She wiped her brow with her hand, and it came away slick with sweat.

  “Are you worried about starting work tomorrow?”

  Anais stomach lurched. She never had gotten round to telling her parents were she'd been placed. She remained silent, still unwilling to acknowledge the fact, even though she knew there was no way she could keep it from them for much longer

  “I take it you didn't get good news yesterday?” Mr Finch's voice was gentle enough, but Anais still flinched. She nodded, avoiding his gaze.

  “You know, it's not as bad as you think, working in the factory. You'll soon get used to the hours, and the work isn't that bad. You'll pick it up easy enough.”

  “How did you know?” Anais asked, her voice breaking slightly. She still hadn't accepted her failure to get the job she wanted, but somehow, it felt a hundred times worse now that her parents knew too.

  Mr Finch looked apologetic.

  “They posted up the names of the new recruits last night, along with what team they'll be joining. You'll be on the factory floor. Though, I have to say, it was a bit of a shock for your mum when she found out,” Mr Finch said. Anais' eyes burned.

  “Because I'm such a failure?” She meant the words to come out lightly, but to her horror, her voice broke and her father's face swam from the sudden tears that clouded her vision.

  “What? No! Of course not! Why would you even think such a thing?” Mr Finch asked, horrified. “She just wants you to be happy, love. Just like I do.”

  They fell silent for a moment, as Mr Finch squeezed her hand, and Anais struggled to control the conflicting emotions inside her. She wanted to tell her father what she witnessed last night, how much she hated having her future decided for her, how worried she felt over her new job, the murder, over everything. But it wouldn't help. There wasn't anything her parents could do to help her, except to tell her that everything would work out in the end. And if one more person told her something like that, she might actually punch them.

  “Dare I ask how Dalla did yesterday?” her dad asked.

  “She got into Civitas,” Anais said.

  “Ah,” Mr Finch nodded. “Your mother said Dalla would fit in well there.”

  He stood up and sighed.

  “Well, I better go, or I'll be late. See you later, love.”

  “Where are you going?” Anais asked, but even as she spoke the words, she noticed her dad's navy uniform. “Why are you working a day shift?”

  “I'm doing extra shifts at the factory. It's no big deal, it won't be forever. These bloody SLPs better be worth the lack of sleep,” he joked, but Anais could see the strain around his eyes.

  “How many do you have to make?” Anais asked, remembering Skye's words in the lift yesterday.

  “Around twenty thousand for the launch. It should calm down after next week. Though that's twenty thousand on top of our normal q-q-quota,” Mr Finch yawned and stood up. “Anyway, have a good day, sweetheart, see you later.”

  He kissed the top of Anais' head before ambling out. She heard the front door click shut, and she was left alone once again. But instead of sitting and dwelling on thoughts she didn't want to think about, something her dad had said caused a spark to ignite in her mind.

  Anais stood up and went to sit at the kitchen table. She could use her RetCom to connect to the National Information Community, but she preferred to use the screen embedded in the table if she was going to be doing a lot of research. She pressed a spot on the glass, and the screen flickered to life. She quickly closed down any NIC feeds that mentioned either of the murders, barely sparing them an arbitrary glance. She typed in the word 'Civitas', and cursed as hundreds of headlines and stories flashed up to greet her, mainly detailing the events of the parade or giving more details about the SLPs. She tried again, this time adding 'break-in' to the search term. More mundane Civitas stories popped up, along with unrelated items about minor burglaries that had happened to smaller companies and shops. She tried again and again, varying her search parameters, but nothing came up about yesterday's supposed break-in at Civitas' HQ. Frustrated, she sat back in her chair. She couldn't recall Marcus telling them anything about the break-in, only that it had happened at night.

  She sat up straight. Marcus had said something – he'd mentioned a man called Clay Winterberry. Or was it Winterbourne? She typed in the name and gasped. She recognised the images glowing gently on the screen.

  A long time ago, when she'd been no older than seven or eight, she remembered the frenzy that had been caused by this man. Clay had rejected the idea of everyone, not just criminals, being tagged with ID chips. Rather than see his family be chipped, he had murdered his wife and children in cold blood. The media had gone crazy – every single report for days had centred around this rather unkempt man, who had stared wildly into the cameras and screeched whenever anyone tried to question him. Her parents had refused to let her go out on her own for days afterwards, not until it had been reported that Clay had been locked up for a very, very long time. Unfortunately for Clay, all his actions had done was rush through the ID chips faster as parents went hysterical, wanting to keep their children safe from lunatics like him.

  Since his release, he'd attempted to break into Civitas several times. He'd managed to succeed, and had corrupted all the research files that Civitas had on the newly formed ID picochips. Although it had stalled their release for a few months, Clay's ventures had ultimately failed. He managed to escape the death sentence, as there hadn't been enough evidence at the scene of the crime to charge him. Anais gazed into his image, his frizzled grey hair sticking up in all directions, his hollow eyes not quite in focus. This was not someone who used a HelixPod to hide his real age. This was not someone given to rational thought.

  Anais's train of through was interrupted, as the familiar ping echoed in her head. She opened the message:

  Anais! I'm on the train now! See you soon! Dal xxx

  Anais checked the time, shocked to see how late she was to meet her friend. Hastily, she closed down the windows that she'd opened on the screen and sprinted out of the door.

  The kitchen was utterly quiet.

  Old pieces of metal and plastic covered the surfaces, now so decayed or broken that it was impossible to tell what they had originally been a part of. Dishes were stacked haphazardly around the FDU; balls of wire, nuts and bolts had been dumped next to the sink. Piles of outdated electrical goods were heaped around the edges of the room. The whole place was a graveyard for technology that had come to die. The only space of clear floor was the path between the door and the FDU, but even then the floor tiles were cracked, their original colour lost beneath a coating of grime.

  There was a creak from overhead as thumping footsteps made their way downstairs. Denzel app
eared in the kitchen doorway, stretching and looking bleary-eyed. He ambled to the FDU, yawning as he pulled out a bottle of milk. He sniffed it experimentally, before shrugging and gulping down the whole thing. It wasn't until he turned around that he noticed the man standing silently behind him in the corner of the room. The milk bottle dropped to the floor with a crash. For a long, long moment they simply stared at each other. The man's haunting silver eyes stared unblinkingly over his mask, his gaze fixed on Denzel.

  They moved at the same time. Denzel fled towards to the door, but he was brought to his knees with a crash, as the man moved faster than Denzel ever would've thought possible. Denzel yelped and struggled, but it was no use. For a man of slight build, his attacker was fiercely strong. Denzel quickly stopped struggling, as his head was yanked backwards and he felt cold metal against his throat.

  “Three, Denzel? Three?”

  Denzel lay still, his eyes wide, sweat beading on his forehead. He couldn't think; couldn't form any coherent thought that might get him out of this precarious situation.

  “Answer me.”

  The snarl was close to his ear. Denzel whimpered.

  “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, alright. I've been trying to put the word out, honest, it'll just take time -”

  He yelped as the knife pressed harder against his skin.

  “There is no time.”

  “P – please. I promise, I can sell them,” Denzel gasped.

  A flare of pain shot through Denzel's neck as the blade nicked his skin. He tried to twist his head away, but his attacker merely tightened his grip, making it impossible for Denzel to move.

  “Please, please, I swear I won't let you down, I swear, I swear.”

  He was close to sobbing. He clawed desperately at the arms that held him, but it was no use. The man growled – actually growled. But before Denzel could discover what would happen to him next, the man went eerily still. Denzel stopped struggling for a moment, his heart hammering hard.

  As abruptly as he'd taken Denzel prisoner, the man released him. Denzel fell forwards, gasping, his hand clutching at the small throbbing wound on his neck. He scrambled as far away from the intruder as the limited floorspace would allow, his back pressing up against a pile of computer casings. He could sense the man looking at him, but Denzel cowered on the floor, keeping his gaze averted. He couldn't look into those pitiless eyes again, he just couldn't.

  He saw the man's booted feet move out of the room, but Denzel stayed where he was, not believing for one second he'd gone. Sure enough, a few moments later, the boots reappeared in Denzel's vision. He shot a glance upwards. The man was holding a small box out to him. In his other hand he held a similar box, which Denzel recognised as one of his own. Denzel reached out a trembling hand and grabbed the proffered box, not daring to look him in the face. But the man didn't move.

  “Denzel.”

  Denzel winced at the sound of his name, and he forced himself to look upwards, straight into those cold, blank eyes. The man contemplated him for a long moment.

  “You will. Not. Fail me. Again.”

  And, just like that, he was gone.

  Five

  The sun was shining and giant fluffy white clouds strolled lazily across the deep blue sky.

  Anais took off her old leather jacket and tied it around her waist, wishing she'd listened to the weather report more closely. Her white vest top and black shorts were starting to stick to her uncomfortably. She brushed her hair back off her face, but it simply sprang back, slightly damp with sweat.

  “Do you want one?” Dalla nodded towards an ice cream parlour, it's window a colourful display of low fat, non-dairy ice cream. Dalla seemed to flagging in the heat too. She was wearing a simple cotton dress, but she kept fanning her face with her hand in an attempt to get some air.

  Anais shook her head, her damp curls sticking to her face.

  “No, I was thinking we could get a drink instead,” she said and Dalla nodded.

  Dalla's bubbly enthusiasm seemed to waning as the heat of the day grew more intense. All Anais could think about now was an ice cold drink, and how good it would feel sliding down her parched throat. It wasn't helping that her RetCom kept reminding her every few minutes that she was low on electrolytes. The HV had announced a few days ago that it was the hottest autumn on record, and Anais wasn't going to dispute that fact. Normally by this time in the year, a light frost might seen on the ground in the early mornings. It was still cold most mornings and evenings, but the heat during the day was just as strong, if not stronger, than it was in summer.

  They walked slowly past the stalls and shops, lacking the energy to hurry. Traders called out their wares from the stripy stalls lining the street; shoppers wandered up and down, getting caught up in haggling battles with the stall holders. Shops had their doors thrown wide open, and tourists and locals alike were huddling just inside the entrances, taking advantage of the air-conditioning sending out icy blasts from inside.

  They were approaching the end of the market street, and the crowds were beginning to thin slightly, when Anais spotted a brightly coloured juice bar machine on the right. She pointed it out to Dalla and they both hurried over. Anais selected her drink, pleased to see that today her choice wasn't being impeded by the biometrics on her ID chip. They made their way to an empty bench on the other side of the street and sat down gratefully. Anais took a long gulp of her drink, feeling instantly better as the juice quenched her thirst. Her RetCom stopped flashing warnings at her as the nutrients in the drink made their way into her bloodstream. Dalla was rather slower, sipping her smoothie leisurely as she watched people hurrying by all around them.

  Anais finished her juice in a couple of swallows. She stood up to put her empty cup in the recycle bin a few paces away. She was concentrating so hard on getting out the last few drops from the bottom of her cup, that she didn't notice the man until it was too late.

  They bumped into each other with some force; there was a small crash as the box he'd been carrying flew to the floor. The lid popped open and a cascade of tiny silver objects burst out and scattered all over the pavement. Anais staggered backwards, her cup dropping to the ground.

  “I'm so sorry,” she apologised, immediately bending down to pick up the glinting objects. She picked a few up, recognising them as picochips. Puzzled, she stood back up straight.

  “Here you go, I'm really sorry, I just wasn't -” she stopped abruptly as she held out her hand containing the tiny chips, and she looked up into his face. The man had picked up his box, but he hadn't said a word to her in apology or acknowledgement. Instead, he was staring at her with something remarkably like fury.

  The lower half of his face was covered with what looked like an old pollen mask, designed to make it easier to breathe during the summer months when the air was hazy with dust. His dull black hair hung down to his shoulders, and his silver eyes were so pale, they were almost transparent. He was wearing a battered black jacket, upon which some kind of tatty logo was sewn on in red. There was a black glove on his right hand, which Anais couldn't help thinking was odd in this kind of heat.

  But it was his expression that had made her stop talking. There wasn't an ounce of friendliness or apology in that face. Instead, he was looking at her as though he absolutely despised her. A cold chill ran down Anais' spine. She swallowed nervously.

  “Um, I'm really sorry,” she managed to whisper. He snatched the picochips she was holding out to him, and with one last contemptuous look, he strode off without a word.

  The entire incident hadn't even lasted minute, but Anais watched him go feeling slightly shaken. She had never seen the man before in her life. There was no reason for him to look at her with such hatred. It had only been an accident, after all.

  “What was that about?” Dalla appeared at her side,
stooping to pick up Anais' forgotten cup and throwing it in the recycling bin along with her own.

  “No idea,” Anais replied.

  “He's going to boil in this heat,” Dalla said, squinting after him. “You sure you're ok, hon?”

  “Yeah, fine,” Anais said, turning away from the strange man. Her eyes alighted on a shop opposite, and all thoughts of the stranger flew out of her mind. “Hey, look.”

  Dalla's eyes lit up as she saw what Anais was pointing at.

  Next to the juice machine was a small, shabby looking shop with the words 'Wright's Electric Supplies Bought & Sold' written above it in lit up letters. Several of the 'E's were flickering and the 'B' had gone out altogether.

  “That must be it!” Dalla exclaimed excitedly, her earlier enthusiasm restored. She grabbed Anais' arm and practically dragged her across the street.

  They stood for a moment outside, looking up at the shop sign. Now that they were closer, it was even more obvious how out of place it was – the rest of the shop fronts around it were clean and bright, music pumping out over speakers and the air-con going full throttle to entice people in; but this shop was dark and quiet, it's windows grimy with dust. It was a wonder the city council hadn't issued an order for the owner to clean it. It was mandatory to keep shop fronts and streets clean and tidy, or risk paying a hefty fine.