Expiration Day (29 page)

“Dad. Please don't. I have a really bad feeling about this.”

I do. Does Dad think we're the first family to try to find a way out of these contracts? Dozens, hundreds, thousands of times it must have been tried. And maybe one or two were successful, but then the loopholes would be closed a little tighter. And tighter.

 

 

The day I learned Tim had disappeared I called John. I'd not spoken to him since … well, not long after the play. We'd had a row, because I'd mentioned I'd been out with Tim, and he got all green-eyed jealous about it. I mean, he pretended to be all mature about it at first, but then I said he didn't own me, and he said, no, I belonged to Oxted and they were welcome to me, and it all got rather nasty at that point.

But now with Dad planning I don't know what legal stupidity, I needed to talk to a friend, and with Siân gone, and Tim gone, the choice was rather small.

So I called John. And got a blocked signal from his AllInFone. Well, technically it was a number unobtainable, but since there's no possibility of error when calling someone's PTI, it means he'd set up his account to refuse all calls from me. It deliberately uses the same error code as not being able to find the target.

Damn you, John Czern.

So I rummaged around and found Kieran's PTI instead, and got through.

I got a really frosty reception. Yes, he was still in touch with John. No. If John didn't want to speak to me, that was John's business, and he wouldn't go against that.

“What about the band, Kieran?”

“A bit late to think of that, Tania. If you hadn't gone off with the Stands, we'd still be together. You wrecked the band because it suited your plans. Now you want to put it back together, because you've got some new plans, no doubt.”

Ha! Me, wreck the band? Kieran and Siân had had a pretty good go at wrecking it themselves, getting Siân knocked up. At one of my gigs, I should add.

But I bit back my reply, and said, as charmingly as I could, “No plans, Kieran. I'd like to talk to him, but I have to trust you to tell him, when you judge the time is right. Is that all right?”

There was a long pause, before he answered, “I suppose so.”

“Thank you, Kieran. I'd better let you go. I'm sure you've got some fun maths to get back to.”

“What? No, don't go!”

“What is it, Kieran?”

“It's Siân. I can't get in touch with her. It's like she's vanished off the face of the earth. Her parents just told me she'd gone away and broke the call. What's going on? Have you seen her?”

“I've not seen her for a while, Kieran, but I'm sure she's being well looked after.”

“Are you just saying that, or do you know something?”

“I've told you what I can.”

“But you know more, don't you?”

“I've told you what I can. Leave it.”

I wondered if he would leave it. But almost as I said the words, his eyes narrowed, and a calculating look came into his eyes. I could see it on the screen, as clearly as if he were standing in front of me. He said, “Tell me, and I'll speak to John for you.”

Ah! He knew he had me. Or maybe I had him. We each had something the other wanted. So I told him what the government didn't want him to know.

It's funny—strange—but she'd not told Kieran anything of what she'd told me. About the testing, about her probable “career” as a Mother. So maybe I didn't tell him the best way, because he didn't react with joy at his possible fatherhood.

“She
used
me, the bitch! She wanted a child, and I was convenient. She didn't ask, she just seduced me.”

You'd have thought he'd have been pleased. Most boys would have given their right arm for a chance to have sex with Siân.

“No, Kieran, no. Please don't be mad at Siân. Think what her life is going to be like. She'll never have another choice again. Not like that, I mean. Yes, she'll be pampered and looked after, till the day she dies. No harm will come to her, because she'll be guarded, night and day. But she'll be a total prisoner. No meaningful choices, ever again. Not one.”

“She didn't tell me, though.”

“Would you have said yes?”

“Maybe. Yes, of course. No! Well, I suppose so. Probably. She should have asked.”

“Sometimes choice works like that. One person's choice is another's loss of choice.”

That was deep. Where did that come from?

“But…”

“Kieran, she chose you. Be content. Be honored.”

That seemed to help—his anger subsided, and he mumbled his excuses, and broke the connection.

“Tell John I want to talk to him,” I called. But the screen was dead before I finished my sentence.

Saturday, November 6, 2054

Over two weeks since my appeal to Kieran. Nothing.

Dad was wrapped up in I don't know what. Actually, I suspect it was his planning. He's been sending messages to this solicitor, I'm pretty sure. I can't worry about that now, though. I need someone to talk to. I need John.

“I'm just popping down to the corner shop, Dad. I'll see you around six.”

“Okay.”

And it's only 9
A.M
. Dad is so distracted.

I'm off to the corner shop, I told him. John's corner shop. So I didn't tell a lie.

The journey is tedious, but my heart is beating wildly all the way. Oh, you know I'm not being literal, Mister Zog. Yes, I'm nervous, in my quaint, neurotronic way.

 

 

It's all right. Thank God.

There were some awkward moments when I walked into the shop. Mr. Czern was fine, and so was Mrs. Czern, but when they told John who'd come to see him, he wouldn't come out of his room.

So I went up and sat outside his room, and spoke to him through the door. I spoke in a calm and dignified way, adult to adult. I told him that I'd come to see my dear friend, John, and I hoped that if there were any barrier between us, it would be broken down, and any rifts healed.

I did not cry. I did not sob deeply. I absolutely no way definitely did not lose my rag even in the slightest and yell at him you heartless peasant why won't you talk to me I still love you.

That's what did it. John could never resist a row. Next thing he was calling me a selfish bitch for wrecking the band, and so I yelled something back at him to help clear the air a bit—something about challenging him to come out to my side of the door to say that and him finding a guitar rammed up where the tuning pegs would do most damage. Or so I recall.

After a couple of exchanges like that we really got going, and the door was getting in the way a bit, so John thoughtfully came out so we could yell at each other properly.

Then he called me a bitch. Again.

So I reached out my hand to his mouth, and gently put my finger to his lips.

“Time to stop, John. You're repeating yourself.”

“Bitch.” He sneered.

So I kissed him.

Actually, I think I may have let Portia kiss him. She's better at these things. Anyway, it seemed to do the trick. At least he stopped calling me names.

And he kissed me back, and I let his hands wander a bit, but that was all right, that was something I'd been meaning to get around to again for quite a while, and never mind what I'd told Tim. Maybe I did feel the clock ticking for myself, but mostly I just wanted to.

After a while, though, we were distinctly not swept away on a tide of passion, unfortunately, just as Doctor Markov had warned, and we found ourselves at a bit of a loose end, wondering what to do, since falling into bed with each other was a nonstarter.

“Well, now you're here, would you like some tea?” John asked.

“What a lovely idea.”

John's parents, of course, behaved as if they'd not heard a sound and we'd just walked in after a walk in the park. Perhaps there was a little strain, but John and I were clearly good friends now—we'd come downstairs hand in hand and I'd carefully left a faint trace of lipstick on John's cheek.

So we had tea together, and then we did go for a walk together—John took me round Alexandra Park—and somewhere along the way we spoke about getting the band together again and how John had written a new song, but he needed some better lyrics and I said I'd have a go.

We were on a high hill, just below the Palace—Ally Pally, he called it. We could look out over the whole of London, imagining it as it must have been in its heyday. Where were the crowds now? I asked.

“They'll be back,” he answered.

“Do you believe that?”

“No. Not really. Nobody has a clue why there are so few humans being born, have they? In fifty years, there'll be just a handful of humans left. Each one waited on by a dozen Soameses. And fifty years after that, the last humans will be gone. Leaving just the Soameses.”

“And one of those Soameses will be me, and another one will be you, but we'll have forgotten that we were ever John and Tania.”

“Is that what you think, Tania?”

“It's the only solution that makes sense. The last humans won't need child surrogates, just servants. So our brains get re-used as Soameses.”

“I'm not sure that's any better than being broken up for scrap.…”

It was a conversation-killer. We sat in silence for a long time, John with his arm around me, as if to protect me from a fate that neither of us could avoid.

“I'm sorry I called you a bitch, Tania. And all the other things, too.”

“Yeah. Forgiven. You forgive me, too?”

“I suppose so.”

“John…”

“Yes?”

“Are you going to run away? When the time comes to go back to Oxted?”

“I should. What was that letter you read, at your mum's funeral?”

It came easy to me.

Live each moment to the full, therefore, squeezing out its value, its richness and its flavor. And then fight for the next moment, and the one after it, too. Life is good, and should not ever be yielded lightly, nor should it be spent fruitlessly.

“Yeah, Tania, that's the one. Your mum was right. I will fight for this moment and the next, and every one that follows.”

“If you do run away, where will you go?”

“I don't know. The wildernesses? Maybe … But maybe it's easier to hide in a crowd. Stay in London. Would you come with me?”

That was the question I feared.

“Maybe. I'd want to bring my books.”

“Books? You'd flee for your life, but take your library? Electronic good enough, or would you take paper?”

“Yes, John, paper, if I could. I need to understand…”

“Understand what? That books are heavy and will slow you down?”

“I'm reading the Great War poets, John. They were closer every day to death than we are. They have something to say to us. I can nearly understand it. It's so close, but I know I'll do it. Maybe reading a paper book, like they had, will help. And then I want to say it in my own words. I fear death, John, whatever death might be for our kind. I think I have to learn to not fear it. That's why I only said maybe, when you asked if I would run away, too.”

“So you'd rather die, just so you know you can face death without fear? Raven, you're mad.”

“As mad as you, Ginger Mop. But is that human mad or robot mad?”

I don't think everything we said to each other made sense.

John asked me: “So if you don't run away with me, what will you do?”

“My dad wants to fight them in the courts.”

“And you think that's more sensible than running away? What's his idea?”

“I don't know. He seems to have found a solicitor who will fight the case for him and that's all he'll tell me.”

I shivered.

“Are you cold? We should get back.”

“I'll just stop and say good-bye to your folks, John. Then I need to get back home.”

 

 

When I got back home, Dad was asleep in the study, papers strewn about him. Letters and whatnot from the solicitor? I risked a quick look. Just his sermon, I realized. Sunday tomorrow, of course.

And there was a message from John. Simple enough. Let me know you've got home safely. But the real message was that his PTI was unblocked to me once more.

We were back together again.

Wednesday, December 9, 2054

You wrapped me in your coils

And you tried to suck me dry

I'm not your drossy spoils

But did you ever wonder why

There was a real live girl in here

Complete with soul and broken heart

I never was your clockwork toy

You wind up just to play a part

Your coils of love

Still bind me tight

Your velvet glove

Conceals the night

I'd been playing it—the version we'd recorded in the music shop in Denmark Street—and I'd been singing along. And I was thinking, your voice isn't bad, Tania Deeley. It wasn't a great leap from there to well, maybe
I
could sing with the band. Kieran and John were both available.

And a small step from there to giving John a call.

And he'd grunted, and warned me that Kieran might be difficult.

And a bigger step while John talked Kieran round, and got him into a rehearsal studio with the two of us. And while I worked on learning the words, and learning to sing with a bass round my neck. Not easy, 'cause your mouth's doing one thing, and that's not necessarily anything to do with what your hands are doing.

They knew me at Antonio's, because I was gigging there with the Stands fairly regularly, so I got us a slot for a Wednesday night on the strength of that.

And here we are, setting up. The great power trio, with a line-up that goes back all the way to Cream. Me as Jack Bruce? Might as well be, because no way can I be Siân. I think we are going to have to be more of a musicians' band.