A Calculated Life (18 page)

She rocked in her stride and started to embrace her new vacuous persona when she realized that Sunjin was almost upon her. Just a few steps away. She snapped back. He must have seen her. And, indeed, he raised his hand.

“Sunjin! Lost in thought there for a moment. What brings you over here?”

If Sunjin had been bemused by Jayna’s pedestrian performance he showed no sign of it. “I want to speak to you. I found an excuse to come to this end of town so I could catch you leaving work.” He was clearly preoccupied, single-minded.

“What’s happening? What’s so important?”

He looked around. “Let’s walk back towards C7. Can we take a longer route?”

“Okay. We’ll go straight on, take the scenic route…Really, Sunjin, you’re being very mysterious.”

“Listen up, Jayna.” He’d mislaid all the niceties, the small talk. Were these his police mannerisms? “It’s Veronica,” he said.

The top of her head suddenly felt burning hot. “What about her?”

“She’s gone. They took her this morning. The Constructor.”

She wanted to lean over the gutter. Her stomach was on the verge of spasm. But she had to smother the impulse. She pushed out the words: “It can’t be possible.”

“No mistake.”

They walked silently and out of step. Her thoughts scrambled ahead. What was Veronica telling them? “Surely, not a recall,” she said. “She’s so committed to her work, as we all are.”

“Seems she was too committed. I’ve been digging around. That’s why I wanted to see you. We must all be very careful.”

“What?”

“We must be vigilant.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They’re not taking any chances. So don’t say a wrong word.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be warning me like this. You know that.”

“You can report me if you like. But I suspect you think the same way as I do. Neither of us wants to be reassigned.”

“But we have no options, Sunjin. There’s nothing to be done about it. And what do you mean, ‘she was too committed’?”

“Seems she didn’t like her bosses ignoring her advice. Sent a scathing note about managerial incompetence to the chief exec.”

They both smiled, though reluctantly, because this was completely believable. It was easy to imagine Veronica’s disappointment if she were ignored. Only, her feelings must have turned into
something closer to anger. And, of course, they could sympathize with her frustrations—both could write a modest tome about managerial ineptitude. The pavements became congested and they broke off their conversation until they reached the more open area near the central metro stop.

“I still can’t take it in…She won’t get her old job back, will she?” said Jayna.

“No, of course not.”

“It would be different if she were a consultant reporting direct to the chief exec. Once you’re inside you have to fit in.”

“I think, from now on, we all need to look out for one another, Jayna.”

“I’m not sure anyone could have helped Veronica.”

“Perhaps not. But maybe if she’d explained her problems to us, she’d have thought twice about a vitriolic attack on her colleagues.”

“I see what you mean. But, Sunjin, even discussing our problems could be dangerous. If Veronica had done so she might have been reported by one of us. How do I know you aren’t checking on me?”

“I’m not! I’m taking a big risk here. Can’t we at least agree, the two of us, to watch each other’s back? At least pool our information. Make a few plans.”

“Plans! What are you talking about?”

“If they come for us. Or if we think it’s imminent.”

“We can’t plan for anything. It’s pointless.”

He stopped and turned to her. “The point is this: I’m not letting anyone take me out.”

“But you’d have no future without a lease.”

“Their loss, not mine. I’d manage.”

“Oh! Yes? And where would you live exactly? What would you do for money?”

“I’m in the Police Department. I know how to disappear. I could help you, too.”

They turned into Kennedy Street and she felt a wave of claustrophobia. Venetian Gothic windows towered above them and Sunjin shifted closer, shoulder-to-shoulder, and leaned his head towards her. He whispered an address in Enclave W8. “We’d be safe there,” he murmured. “For a while.”

They fell quiet. Sunjin wanted something in return; she was sure of it. But she held back.
Why am I stealing the money? Surely, in my own mind, I’ve already decided. I am going to run away. Why else would I be doing it? Just to make a point?
She looked at Sunjin but still didn’t speak.
A safe place, I’ll need one. I can’t expect Dave to help. But Sunjin and I…we could do it. It’s the last thing they’d expect—two runaways. And I know precisely what he needs, what he wants from me.
She waited until they neared the end of the quiet backwater. “I know how to raise some funds,” she said tentatively. “But it’s complicated.”

“But you can do it?” he blurted.

“Well, it would be a lot easier with your help: save time. Could you add bio data to some false identities?”

“I can find identities to overwrite or lift complete identities…”

Jayna pursed her lips as though this alone might stem the persistent urge to vomit. They walked a full block without saying a word.

“I have the names already,” she said.

“What?”

“There’s some cash but it’s mainly stocks registered under false names.”

“You’ve already done it?” He laughed. “But why bother with stocks?”

“I like stocks. Anyway, it’s a sure thing…So, let’s get on with it. Listen up.” And she told him the names with perfect recall. He listened intently and kept in perfect step.

“Unbelievable. You’re way ahead of me,” he said when Jayna had finished. “Leave it to me now. I’ll go into HQ over the weekend; mornings are quiet. I’m pretty sure I can work it out.”

“Sunjin, you know we can’t trust anyone else.” But she knew she was stating the obvious and, indeed, he ignored the remark.

“Do you know any more about the recalls?” he asked.

“Yes, I do. The woman at the IFA—Nicole? She was recalled for having sexual contact with another member of staff, an organic as it happens.” He turned sharply towards her. “Surprised, Sunjin? I thought you might be. Anyway, I’ve been doing some research. The recalls are only affecting our generation so obviously it has something to do with our enhancements. The earlier simulants, I reckon, had their olfactory senses stripped down genetically to suppress their libido. But the olfactory stuff has been reinstated, to some degree, in our genetic makeup. Which accounts for the Lamb Biryani in Liverpool.” He was transfixed. “You see, Sunjin, the olfactory thing is tied up with emotions and our ability to empathize. The Constructor wants us to melt into the workforce.”

“Slow down. I don’t really follow.”

“Something’s gone wrong with this fiddling with the emotions, I think. We’re not as compliant as we ought to be. Or at least
some
of us aren’t. I think the modification is unstable.”

“How did you work all that out?”

“A hunch.”

“Have to admit, it sounds plausible. But you might be completely wrong.”

“Well, whatever the fundamental reason, the Constructor wasn’t expecting all this odd behavior.”

They crossed the Rochdale Canal and she knew he’d need to peel off soon.

“By the way, the graffiti sprayers were arrested this morning,” he said. “I saw them being taken to the interview rooms.”

“And?”

“They’re American. Can you believe it? American Rightists.”

“But America doesn’t have simulants. Why come over here bothering us?”

“Trying to spread the word. Or protect American jobs.”

“That sounds more likely. Most corporations have upped sticks.”

It was time to split their journeys.

“There
is
something else,” Sunjin said. “Julie sent me a fairly strange communication today, at the department. Checking I’m going to the Repertory Domes this weekend. She shouldn’t be communicating with me at all.”

“That’s funny we were chatting the other night…Oh, never mind…I’ll try to say something to her, if you like.”

“Don’t just yet. She’d know we’d been talking.”

“Okay. Look, I’ll try to see you on Sunday at the Domes, late afternoon. But don’t be concerned if I don’t make it.”

“And I’ll get to work on the bio data tomorrow.”

“While you’re at it, Sunjin, strip out that message from Julie.” She sighed heavily. “I can’t believe we’re talking like this.”

“Well, we either take what’s coming to us or we don’t. What can happen that’s worse than a recall? I mean, who the hell do they think they are?”

CHAPTER 12

A
hot southerly wind blew through the city
as she waited at the main C7 entrance for Mayhew McCline’s chauffeur. All week she’d assumed she would take the metro to Benjamin’s home. At the last minute, however, he booked the company limo to take her the short distance to his inner suburb. This caused a slight perturbation among her friends when Jayna mentioned the change of plan over breakfast; no one expected such privileges. She admitted to herself that corporate life had its upside: canapés in the boardroom, champagne celebrations in the office to toast a new deal, a marriage, a new arrival. Mayhew McCline even had a low-key celebration when Jayna turned up; no champagne but a light buffet with a few words of welcome from Olivia. It seemed they could not stop themselves. Added to that were the day-long brainstormers with senior management, and show-and-tell sessions within her department—showing and telling about favorite films, books, games. And team building. When times were good, corporate bosses were free to splurge time and money. They knew their shareholders all too well; they would refrain from micro-interference as long as the bottom line looked good. It had always been so. Her friends, by contrast, realized that their own paymasters, the English taxpayers, would not countenance such excess within the public sector.

And now, the chauffeur-driven limo. Somehow Jayna’s world was a little more charmed than theirs; a suggestion of the exotic,
which they could not touch. They all knew that from time to time she would rise above the mundane. But this was not to say they felt envious. It was simply noted, observed. In any case, she would bring home stories to tell over the dinner table. She knew they’d want to know everything about this trip to Benjamin’s home. There was a carnivorous and undiscerning interest in all experiences.

She hadn’t been sure what to wear to the barbecue so Julie, as if taking part by proxy, had scanned dozens of films for outdoor entertainment scenes. Her favorite was the final scene in an old 2D in which everyone danced to live fiddle music. It was all denim and checkered shirts. Even accounting for the lapse of time since the film’s production, Julie advised that over-dressing was a bigger risk than under-dressing.

So, there she stood, wearing a simple, white, sleeveless T-shirt with straight-cut, knee-length shorts and sandals. It was difficult to fine-tune her appearance with her limited accessories. Plain but relaxed and self-consciously empty-handed. Was she supposed to take something with her?

The limo turned into Granby Row. She hoped the chauffeur would drive past the entrance and pull in discreetly at the parking bays just thirty meters down the street. He stopped at the entrance. Perfectly. He walked around to the nearside rear passenger door and opened it wide. She descended the rest station steps, crossed the pavement, and stepped into the vehicle without any deviation from a line perpendicular to the steps. Without doubt, someone in the rest station had witnessed this scene and would recount the incident over lunch. Already, she wished she had never made this plan with Benjamin. She would be wiser to slip along quietly and unnoticed rather than placing herself at the center of other people’s conversations.

She took up so little space on the expanse of pale blue leather she felt impelled to say something, anything, to magnify her presence. But she could not be bothered. The chauffeur—she knew his
name was John—glanced in his mirror and saw she was looking intently out of her side window. He took the hint and as they journeyed through the city center, together but isolated, the only sounds were a purr from the car’s inner workings, a tiny amount of friction noise between the tires and tarmac, and the occasional intrusion of sound-verts triggered by the passing of their vehicle. John evidently found these irritating and eventually he cracked.

“Music?” he offered. She shook her head. The informal vow of silence was lost and, as if his single shattering word now needed company, he started the relationship afresh. “Have you been to Mr. Slater’s before? It’s a lovely place inside.”

“No, I haven’t. How long will it take?” She knew the answer but it was an easy line.

“Fifteen minutes at the most. I’ll drive past the Prince Will Playing Fields and his house is not far from there. Overlooks—” she tuned out for awhile “—two adjoining semis and had them knocked down, saving part—” tuning out again “—rebuilt behind. Funny though, no one used to like those houses.”

“Where do you live, John?” she said, with an effort.

“I have a company grace-and-favor. I’m on twenty-four-hour standby so I’m allocated a small bed-sit in a block near the office.”

“Do you like it?”

“Suppose so. It’s just a room with a bed. I’d have to give it up if I married. But, the way I see it, I get to drive this car all day and there’s no real hassle. And I avoid living in the enclaves.” She didn’t want to be sucked any further into conversation. She’d done the bare minimum to avoid impoliteness. The fewer people she spoke to, the better. So, she looked out of the window once again.

John took a sharp right from the Southern Expressway formerly known as Princess Parkway. Why, she wondered, would any committee name a road after no particular princess? Why so generic? Why not Patriot Parkway or Royal Parkway? Or, if that were too nationalistic, then why not Democracy Driveway or The People’s
Avenue or, if that were too inclusive, why not…? The list could go on. She’d always assumed the metropolitan authorities had re-named the major roads in some sort of efficiency drive; self-explanatory names did make sense. Maybe, from now on, she should resist the obvious or the most convenient explanation. Changing a name, she thought, made the past less easy to visit; names tied people to specific places. Most likely, the name-changes played some role in the Great Relocations to the orbital towns. There was such momentum for radical re-thinking. They must have considered everything. She imagined the one-time coalition ministers weighing up their options. Anything to avoid another major depression; they must have said those very words, or something similar:
Never a fourth!
And it all coincided, fortunately or otherwise, with the lobbying for cognitive implantation. Did they do the right thing, she wondered? Pumping money into a near bottomless pit. A two-generation master plan guaranteeing full employment and cheap labor for every metropolis. Was segregation inevitable, she wondered, or was it the easy option? And at what point, exactly, did the
orbital towns
become known as
enclaves
?