Synthetica (11 page)

Five

Her RetCom bleeped for the tenth time that morning.

Anais rolled over on her bed and wearily opened yet another message
from Dalla, asking if she still wanted to meet up that afternoon.
With an effort, Anais remembered their idea to go and check out the
pirated SLPs Marcus had told them about. She really didn't want to
go, not after last night. Her eyes stung and itched yet, although
physically she was exhausted, her mind was still wide awake. All she
had to do was close her eyes and she could see the brick being
raised, the sickening crack as it connected with bone - and the
blood. So much blood. She didn't know anyone could bleed that much,
just from their head. These were the thoughts that had kept her
company all though the night, causing her to jerk back to
consciousness whenever her eyelids closed of their own accord.

But despite the images that seemed as though they would be forever
printed onto her mind, she still couldn't bring herself to tell
Dalla and Xander the details about what had happened. It would make
the whole sickening episode seem utterly and irrevocably real.
Strangely though, as awful as the murder had been, it wasn't the
attack that scared her the most; it was the horrible idea that
Grayson clearly had no idea what he'd be doing. What if there were
more people like that in the city? People with no remorse, and no
control of their own actions? What would she do if she ran into
someone like that again, only this time, they didn't faint? It was
this thought that had kept her awake most of the night, buzzing
around her brain and refusing to let her sleep.

Eventually, Anais thought she was going to go completely mad if she
stayed shut up in her room a moment longer. She got up and made her
way to the kitchen. She opened the FDU but the sight of a
pre-prepared strawberry smoothie, complete with seeds and red pulp,
was enough to make her change her mind. It was almost as if the FDU
knew what had happened and had decided to mock her. She turned away
feeling slightly queasy.

She flopped down on the sofa, gazing at the morning light streaming
in through the blinds. It was utterly quiet both inside and outside
the flat. The morning commuters had already departed some time ago
for work, so there was no thundering footsteps coming down the
stairs in their building and her father would be fast asleep by now,
having come back from work at six thirty. She knew this because
she'd been lying wide awake at the time, staring at the ceiling and
trying hard not to break out into hysterical sobs.

But she didn't want quiet. She didn't want to be alone.

“
HV
on,” she said into the silence. Then, remembering her dad was
trying to sleep, she added, “Volume down.”

The HV set flickered into life, projecting a reality program where
six contestants attempted to do each other's hair and make-up
without the help of any tech whatsoever. One girl was brandishing a
pair of scissors as she talked, and she accidentally swiped them
through the air, hacking off a large chunk of hair from her model.
The model burst into hysterical shrieks as she disappeared under a
pile of crew members, who all desperately tried to put her right.
Anais flicked through the rest of the channels idly. She was about
to put the reality show back on, when her attention was suddenly
caught by the news broadcast.

“
HV
back one,” she said, sitting up straight. “Volume up.”

“
-
shows Donald Pearson walking home from WireX Industries, when he was
brutally attacked by Peter Grayson. Mr Pearson died on the way to
the hospital, while Mr Grayson was pronounced dead at the scene. The
police are not looking for anyone else in connection with the
attack, although questions have been raised as to how similar this
case is to the Anderson murder. This is the second murder to happen
in three days, an almost unheard of statistic -”

Anais sat, riveted by the security camera footage that depicted
Donald Pearson's last moments. Their file photos flashed up on the
other side of the hologram as the newsreader continued. One of them
showed Grayson, unmistakable with his creepy yellow eyes, while the
other was of Donald Pearson. Anais could barely connect the file
image of this man, with his wavy maroon hair and crisp shirt, to the
bloody mess she'd tried to help on the street. How was it possible
that this time yesterday he was on his way to work, alive and
breathing, and in just a matter of hours...he was dead. Not just
dead, but murdered for no reason. Officer Hughes had said she
suspected that the two murders were related, but how, Anais didn't
know. Unless it was simply because both murderer and victim had
ended up dead in both cases. Anais hadn't noticed anything
particularly out of place last night, despite the fact that one man
had killed another in cold blood.

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 wo
rk
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 appeared 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.