One Billion Drops of Happiness (13 page)

The sea was the last remaining vestige of unknown darkness. It was impossible to drain that, and besides, it was a nifty little barrier between the Old World and the New. Keeping the undesirables in the undesirable, the government had chortled.

Her Suppressitor was back in control. On August the fifteenth she had awoken to the sun searing into the back of her eyelids, her head aching as if it had been sluiced out. She vaguely remembered some sort of drama the night before but now her Suppressitor was infusing a fresh batch of indifference into her body as though it had never ceased to function.

Mid morning she had walked into the foyer of the Reinhardt apartment to find a message suspended in mid air. She was taken aback for a moment as the messages were attuned to both one’s cell chip and Suppressitor, and it was most unusual to see a message that evidently did not belong to you.

Scanning it quickly provided an explanation. The message was for her mother, and it was unfurled in the foyer of the apartment despite her absence because her Suppressitor was still lying abandoned where she had left it. It evidently could not find a human rhythm to attune with, and in this age of glitches, was happy to splurge her secrets like an overflowing dustbin.

‘Dear Ms Reinhardt. This is a reminder that your flight to Norway will take place as scheduled later today. Please present at the Space Port in good time. It must be noted that the latest acquisition to your family will reside at the Naturalization Camp for the first six months after arriving in New America.’

She had stared at this missive for a moment, slowly remembering segments of the events of the past few days. The Ophelium, the vote, Henry…oh Henry, but how she hated Henry, but to hear his voice again would be such sweet –

Her mother was dead! Well as good as dead. She was never coming back. Never. Never. Never! Like a fatal explosion, she was remembering everything too well now; the ricochets of panic reminding her that this was all true, it could not be undone. It would never, ever, be the same. The words rolled round in her head. More frighteningly, for the first time in her life, she realised that would be completely alone in the world.

For somebody who had never felt lonely, who had never felt anything, this was probably not one of the more ideal emotions to feel if one was to start feeling anything for the first time. Yet whoever had chosen from the vast palette had dealt her this one. And conveniently, her Suppressitor had also selected that moment to crash, overwhelmed with this influx of turmoil that had descended quite without warning.

Four hours later, therefore, Xandria had found herself strolling through the entrance of the Space Port, a strange look of determination fixed upon her face. Her Suppressitor appeared to be back in check, dangling from her neck like a small Old World animal on a leash.

And now, sitting in the middle of the sky, she reflected that the decision to leave New America briefly was for the best. She needed to escape the last few weeks of her life and this was the opportunity that had presented itself at a crucial time. It would give her time to reflect and recover, and her sketchy knowledge of technology told her that perhaps her Suppressitor, too, needed an escape to equilibrate.

She would go to Norway and carry out the wish of her dear grandfather, may his Signed-Off soul rest in peace. Maybe she would trace her grandmother, as strange a meeting as that would be. If she was lucky, she could even try to even find a living relative to accompany her back to New America for Naturalization, as the authorities would be expecting an extra bum on the seat for the return flight. It would also gain her enormous brownie points from the Government. She did not want to think about how muddied her reputation probably looked back in the country right now. That business with Henry had been nasty, but perhaps one day he would take her back.

* * *

Xandria clicked her Suppressitor no fewer than eighteen times during that first hour she was inside Norway. The place was quite frankly frightening.

In the airport – not a spaceport because they could not go to space, she thought derisively – she was confronted with people everywhere talking loudly and demonstrating wild excesses of emotion. People laughing, singing, whooping - embracing like animals. Naturally she was aware that she would see scenes like this. She had been educated of course. And her mother and Doric had been exhibiting similar excesses to the people that she was now being confronted with.

No wonder there is no spaceport here, she thought to herself, because the people are wasting all their time babbling away, shrieking like cavemen and flinging themselves at arriving passengers.

In contrast, the other passengers from the New World had quickly and calmly disembarked the aircraft and dispersed purposefully into the throngs. She wondered where they were going, if they too were perplexed by this human behaviour, and for a moment she wished she could follow them into the unknown.

* * *

Meanwhile, on the 143
^rd
floor of a plush Hercules Rodolfo clad apartment, Henry Excelsior and Ernesta Wan sat deep in conversation. She looked unwell. The rumours about her had indeed been true.

‘….been through the mill with this Suppressitor…’ she was saying to Henry, running a hand through her now severely cropped hair. The edges were blunt as if hacked by whatever sharp object she could find in the middle of one of her Suppressitor glitches. ‘I feel like Voss is taunting me from wherever he is. Sometimes at night I wake up in a blind rage, sweating, cursing, everything. I can’t take it anymore. It’s turning me into a monster.’

‘Too bad, too bad.’ Henry replied impassively, personally being unable to relate to glitches. He had been immaculately impenetrable since the day he was born.

‘So what we need to talk about today, is how precisely we will proceed with Ophelium now that America has said yes,’ she continued. ‘I really need us to work quickly.’

It was almost a plea. Henry knew too well that time was ticking on. With every day in the run up to the vote, Okadigbo had become increasingly frantic in his approach, calling him at all hours, becoming extremely irate while Henry had remained unflappable in the face of the coming upheaval. The glitches were now affecting a significant number of the population. It was a guarantee that everybody personally knew somebody who was affected, and it was rare that someone had not even once felt their Suppressitor give way to an unfamiliar wave of emotion.

‘I know this.’ Henry said, ‘and we are on schedule to deliver what the country has asked for. But we do need to test Ophelium on a large-scale basis before we can unveil it once and for all. We can’t afford to look like laughing stocks as the world watches on.’

‘Of course Mr. Excelsior,’ Wan purred, her demeanor having changed rather strangely. ‘Let me know how I can be of assistance to you.’

‘We will organize a meeting urgently.’ Henry continued, ignoring her. ‘- as has been scheduled for some time now. Now the go ahead has been given we will clear our plans with the others and then proceed.’

‘Oh wonderful,’ she breathed, seemingly under the effect of a glitch. ‘You always have everything under control.’ A slight smile passed over her lips. Henry stared blankly at her.

‘There is no need to fear,’ he said. ‘We are aware of the pressing time.’

‘Indeed, indeed…’ bellowed Reginald sweeping into the room without warning.

Ernesta Wan jumped.

Henry swiveled automatically.

‘We were just talking about moving ahead with Ophelium,’ said Henry. ‘We are having a meeting this afternoon. Time is running out.’

‘Ah time…’ Reginald breezed, ‘Like a mistress, she will abandon you if you abuse her…’

‘This afternoon.’ Henry repeated.

* * *

‘Kristina Reinhardt? Dear Lord!’ exclaimed the woman at the door.

Xandria flinched in exactly the way she had seen people do since she was young, whenever that word was mentioned. She had been taught that it was an ugly, inelegant word; a word that the ignorant folk from the Old World reverted to whenever their emotions overwhelmed them.

‘Does she live here?’ Xandria repeated politely in the flawless Norwegian that her mother had taught her when she was a child.

Despite foreign languages becoming passé now that New America was largely independent from the rest of the world, it was lucky that she could communicate with the people here. It seemed to be her only saving grace. Everywhere she went her garments were attracting stares. Adorned in the latest one cell thick outfits, the people of the Old World appeared both curious and repulsed, especially as the local temperature had dropped considerably in recent weeks.

The people of the village were wearing thick garments which to Xandria, looked entirely alien and ridiculous. She did not appreciate the snide whispers of words such as ‘underdressed’ and ‘bloody lunatic’ that could not escape her earshot. They had no idea that this was the standard fashion in her country owing to the militant censorship when transmitting mirages. A floating face for international communications was deemed sufficient. Showing the shoulders and torso was entirely irrelevant. We do not share the same provocative need to see the entire body, said the people. Our noble country has long evolved from animalistic urges, thank you very much.

Only the mirage of Okadigbo was ever really allowed to be beamed across the world when occasionally, as President, he made a smug speech eulogising some new invention that had cropped up. But the people of the Old World merely assumed that his odd choice of clothing was peculiar exclusively to him.

‘Who are you?’ the woman asked, ignoring Xandria’s previous question. Her flushed cheeks contained intricate threads of red.

‘Her…friend….from – from abroad.’ Xandria stuttered, suddenly feeling her Suppressitor lagging obstinately. She was beginning to feel insecure again, as though this was not a good idea.

The woman’s face softened. ‘Look dear, perhaps I’m not the right person to talk to. It’s Mrs. Olsen you want to speak to. She lives in the house on the lake.’

Xandria felt a wave of irritation. This was an emotion she was conscious of feeling often these days.

‘Well, I was told she lived here. I had an address,’ Xandria stated assertively, feeling her Suppressitor attuning with her once again. ‘Please just tell me if she lives here or not. I have come a long way and have no time for being passed from person to person like an infectious disease.’

The woman resumed her frosty façade at this. Looking closely at Xandria it suddenly became clear exactly where she had come from. Annoyance permeated her face at the realisation.

‘Fine. If you insist then I can inform you that she passed away a few years ago. Cancer.’

Xandria remained still.

‘Thank you for informing me. I will leave you in peace now.’

The woman, shaking her head, had shut the door, leaving Xandria to stride away from the house feeling nothing but mildly curious.

Cancer? What’s cancer?

‘Good afternoon all,’ Henry said, his eyes flitting round the room in acknowledgement. ‘We had to call you all in person today as this is simply too important.’

There were nods of assent and understanding around the room. Large corporations often held meetings with the mirages of attendees floating around at whichever location they so happened to be in at the time. Selecting only the head and shoulders to be transmitted allowed many folk to be sat in a bathtub, for example, at the same time and others would be none the wiser. For meetings of particular importance, however, it was still the mode to meet in person. Especially in these times of glitches, people were getting rather antsy regarding every piece of technology, despite frequent assurances from the government that everything else was still functioning normally.

Okadigbo peered up at everybody from his chair. His lack of height made him despise these meetings in person.

‘Yes, thank you all for coming,’ he repeated nervously, trying to take control. Who did this Henry Excelsior think he was, always speaking like he was the leader? Okadigbo began to feel beads of liquid collect at the back of his neck. He collected some deep breaths as his physician had recently advised him to do.

‘I will now pass over to Henry Excelsior who will kindly brief us on our next steps with Ophelium.’

Henry stared coldly at Okadigbo.

‘Now that the country has voted in favour of Ophelium, we will try to release it for public consumption as soon as possible.’ He said.

‘Quite right,’ Reginald chimed. ‘They had no choice really. We’re all going gaga here.’

‘What we need to do is test Ophelium on a large scale before rolling it out to the rest of the country. We’ve tested it on many people in controlled areas with successful results. Now we need to try it on a large expanse of uncontrolled open air to make sure it has the desired effect.’

‘Presumably we couldn’t do that before, because we didn’t have the consent of New America?’ Oscar Patel asked seriously.

‘Precisely.’ Henry answered. ‘Call us what you will, but we could not afford to risk going against the wishes of the people. An uprising is the last thing that this country needs right now. We would have moved much faster with the vote if we had foreseen the astonishing rate of Suprressitor glitches.’

‘…and to save time, our company is currently building the turbines across the country.’ Reginald added proudly. ‘We’ve got a mighty great team out there working to save our necks.’

‘We’ve selected an island of an undisclosed location,’ Henry continued. ‘It really is better if few people as possible know where in the world it is. We cannot run the risk of being thwarted this late in the game. I understand that this island has the right mix of everything we require. Open space, greenery and, of course, the people we will provide.’

‘What about animals? Will there be animals on this island?’ A voice piped up from the corner. It was Bathsheba Ermez, the new Representative of the Government Officials. Her superiors had observed her zeal for her new job and had selected her to represent her peers in important meetings such as this one. She had taken the news calmly, thanks to her Suppressitor. Perhaps in her life in the Old World she would have reacted jubilantly, but those days were long gone, and so were her emotions. The fact that she had been an immigrant seemed to increase her newfound successes, as her Suppressitor was one of the last batches ever made by Zebediah Voss before he went missing. It was reckoned to have longer than most other Suppressitors before it eventually malfunctioned.