Expiration Day (6 page)

Jemyra noticed me first—her eyes flicked momentarily in my direction—and Siân spotted the motion, turned, and gushed, “Oh, hi, Tania. I was just telling Myra here about our trip to London. I thought you'd drowned, you know—you were under water for so long. But they say time plays tricks in an emergency, and anyway that nice Beefeater pulled you out and gave you artificial resuscitation.”

“Uh, yes.” Well what else do you say?

“And they bandaged your leg and took you off to hospital, didn't they, and I never got a chance to see you after that, but Daddy said he'd gone with you to make sure you got the best treatment money could buy, on account of it was our fault.”

“Oh, thanks. I didn't know. My dad will pay you back.…” But then I realized he probably couldn't afford to.

Jemyra's eyes narrowed, and she looked at me in a rather predatory way.

“What was it like? You know … drowning?”

“I … I can't really remember much.”

“Really?” She didn't believe me, but the less I said, the better.

“I think I blacked out.”

“Riiiight. And you were hurt, Siân said. Your leg.”

“Nothing much. Just a scratch. It's all healed now.”

“That's nice. Mind if I look? I'm thinking of studying medicine.”

“It's fine. There's nothing to see.”

Why was I lying? Why not just say I'm a robot and have done with it? I didn't know, but I did know that I didn't care for Jemyra's nosiness. Or for Jemyra herself, for that matter.

Jemyra's eyes blinked slowly, and it made me think of a snake mesmerizing its prey, which I know is rubbish, but then she lost interest and went back to her sister. They started talking loudly about their own holiday in the Canaries, and I turned back to Siân.

Siân was watching me. She was looking … awkward. She's always so poised, and I wondered what was up. Did she know? Was that the end of our friendship, such as it was?

“Tania…”

“Yes?”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Now, why would I ever be mad at you, Siân?”

“Well … for telling her about the accident. I mean, like making it all a bit of an adventure. It was so awful at the time. I thought you were drowned, dead, and your leg was bleeding so. But now it's all in the past, and you're alive, and I hope you're still my friend.”

“I'm not mad at you. And I'm still your friend … if you want me to be?”

“Of course I do.”

“And I'm sorry, too, Siân. For spoiling the day out. And putting your mum and dad to all that bother.”

“No, Tania. Don't even think about it.”

So that was that. And then the bus came.

 

 

But that wasn't that.

Well, Siân was fine. But Jemyra …

It started as I made my way down the aisle to my seat on the bus. I stumbled—there was a bag sticking out that hadn't been there a moment ago. I managed to catch myself, and looked round.

“Careful,” murmured Jemyra, but her eyes were laughing at me.

“You tripped me.…”

“I don't think so.
Tin Pot
.”

“What?”

“You heard.
Tin Pot
. Or maybe I'll call you
Tin
-ia.”

“How …
dare
you!”

Jemyra turned to her sister.

“Listen to little Miss Ann Droid.”

“I am not an android!” I yelled, and I was suddenly conscious of everybody on the bus looking at me.

“Then prove it! That was a nasty wound you picked up, I know. Show me the scar, and I'll believe you're human.”

“Why should I?”

“You can't. Because you're not a girl. You're a cheap fake! A stinking
Mekker
!”

A
Mekker
. Me.

I wanted to cry; I so nearly cried, but I wouldn't give her the satisfaction. I felt Siân's hand on my shoulder, and her voice trying to calm the situation. But I was more conscious of Jemima and Myra gloating in front of me. I wanted to hit them, I realized. My hand had clenched into a fist, and I began to swing …

Siân caught me, before I could land a blow.

“Don't, Tania! They're not worth it. They're just … pondlife.”

I laughed, then. The picture was soooo perfect. Jemima and Myra as something green and slimy.

I let Siân lead me away, to the back of the bus. Heads turned as we—I—passed and I realized with a sinking feeling that the word would be out. Just a rumor, but that would be enough.

 

 

And it was.

Everywhere I looked that day there'd be a little huddle of girls, and they'd whisper and point. Some would gasp and look scandalized, some would turn away guiltily.

The teachers did nothing.

Oh, they dished out punishments—impositions, detentions—because no one was paying any attention to their lessons, or doing any work. Even I picked up an imposition—five sides on “The LeClerc Solution”—because three times I failed to respond when the history mistress asked me a question. Even
Siân
got an impot for losing her temper and whispering “shut up” too loudly at two gossips during art—six sides on “Meditation on the Inside of a Table Tennis Ball as an Aid to Inner Tranquillity.”

But while they punished the girls' inattention, they did nothing to find out its cause. They didn't care. And I was afraid to tell.

 

 

The LeClerc Solution, Mister Zog? One of the darker episodes of the Troubles. While the Sabine Wars were in full swing, a rumor spread that the waters of Lourdes had cured infertility. So the whole of Western Europe, and quite a bit of North Africa, started a gigantic pilgrimage to Lourdes. Tens of millions, maybe a hundred million people. It was like a plague of locusts descending on France—nothing could hold them back, and where they passed, the land was stripped bare.

France was about to be ruined. The President had no idea what to do. Then, through a series of errors, and an indeterminate amount of plotting, a minor General—LeClerc—found himself able to launch a single nuclear missile. At Lourdes.

Nobody wanted to go to Lourdes after that.

 

 

Jemyra—and her cronies—picked on me.

Subtle things. Stealing my calculator from my bag, while my back was turned, so I didn't have it for physics. After the lesson she handed it back but got in another dig: “I found this, but, well, robots don't need calculators, they're just a sort of computer themselves, really.…”

Not so subtle things. Mostly trips and shoves in the corridors. I fell—“was pushed”—down the steps to the gym. Jemyra: “Wonky gyroscope, dear?”

I kept alert during gym, and the teachers do watch out that everything is done safely. But they can't watch everywhere, so I did get a thump in the chest from a medicine ball. Jemyra: “Clang!”

 

 

I was glad to get home at the end of the day, and lucky that Siân sat with me on the bus, to protect me from the bullying.

“They're so mean to you, Tania. It's not fair.”

“What if they're right, though? If I'm just a tin-pot robot…”

Siân's hand flew to her mouth, and she gave a little gasp. My heart sank—keep quiet, Mister Zog—as I realized the thought hadn't occurred to her before. Poor Siân, I thought. Not the brightest star in the firmament, are you?

She went very quiet for a long minute, before speaking again.

“Tania? Is it true then? Are you a robot? I mean, I saw your foot, but I wasn't sure.”

I nodded.

Another long pause. Siân frowned, thinking. My last hope, I thought. The random thoughts of—well, I'd better not say what picture went through my mind, because I'm ashamed I ever thought it, because then she spoke.

“Well, I've decided it doesn't make any difference. Human or not, you're a better friend than anyone else I've ever met. They all think I'm a dumb blonde—Jemima calls me that when she thinks I can't hear—and I know I'm not very bright…”

Like I say, even our thoughts come back to shame us.

“… but I do have feelings. Tania … Tania, look at me. I
look
like a dumb blonde and that's how people treat me. You just look nice, and I expect people talk to you about all sorts of interesting things. Do you believe that sometimes I wish I was a robot? I do, because then I'd be smarter, and I could look however I liked. And when I grew up I could stop at whatever age I liked, and I'd never grow old or wear out or … or die.”

“Uh, I don't know about that, Siân. I expect robots wear out, too.”

Do they?

 

 

Home. In my room.

Mum and Dad don't know how horrible the day's been. I'd love to pour out my heart to them, yet there's so much on my mind. I replayed my diary from the start of last term—all those questions …

What happens to robots when they grow up?

Why does Mrs. Hanson have a photograph of a handsome Zulu warrior—her husband?—in the classroom?

Why aren't there any young teachers?

What lies in the heart of Africa, beyond the Kimberley Corridor?

Why hasn't John called me?

Well, I can cross the last one off my list, I suppose. But I had a few more to add, to make up for that one:

Is Jemima (or Myra) a robot or human?

For that matter, how many of the girls who'd been bullying me today were robots? And did they know it, or did they think they were human, as I'd done?

Do robots live forever? If so, could
I
live forever? Did I
want
to live forever?

Was Siân really human? If she's just a robot, why am I helping her learn French?

How many humans are there now? Are there
any
humans still being born?

Gosh! Where did that come from?

On an impulse, I decided to look it up on the TeraNet. It couldn't be too difficult to Google what I needed. So …

global population[GO]

Okay. There's a few sites there. Census.gov looks like a good bet …

Hmm …

Some nice graphs. Steady growth through the twentieth century. There's the flattening out, starting in 2010, but still an almost unbelievable seven billion. Masked by the increase in longevity. There's 2017, and it's eerie, the sharpness of the dip. Normal death rate, but live births go to near-zero in a single year. And a huge dip in 2018—Lourdes and all the other Troubles. I couldn't even see the line without zooming in. Since then a few wobbles up and down, but basically it's a steady downslope from an estimated two-fifty million left after the Troubles …

Which cuts off at 2040. Nine years ago. Just after a faint upturn.

Hold on. That graph is created dynamically, the cut-off is an embedded parameter. I can paste the current date in
there
and …

Oops!

ERROR 8FEA8006. USER Tania Deeley NOT AUTHORIZED.

… and a biometric prompt, for an authorized user to override. Noooo …

[CANCEL] [CANCEL] [CANCEL] [CANCEL] [CANCEL]

Help! I didn't mean it!

When my heart stopped racing …

Look, it felt like my heart was racing. I know I don't have a heart. I know I don't have adrenal glands to make adrenaline, and all those other gucky chemicals. Maybe it's just programming, but I felt panicky, honest. So just humor me, Zog, and let me write this the way I want. Okay?

Anyway when I calmed down I squinted at that upturn on the graph. If it was an upturn, and not just a rendering glitch, or fake data, then maybe things were improving. Or maybe not, and they'd just picked the last wobble upward as a good place to stop telling people the truth.

I guessed it was bad, though.

I cleared the screen then, because I heard Dad's footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, Tania. Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

And Dad looked straight over at my screen.

“You've been using the TeraNet just now, haven't you?”

It wasn't really a question. I just nodded, and waited for Dad to get to the point.

“You were accessing restricted data, weren't you?”

“No. Well, maybe. I was looking at population trends. Er, for a school project.”

“Really? The police will be interested.…”

“Oh. No, it was my own idea. The police?”

“They called. Just a moment ago. They're on their way. I imagine they'll be here in a few minutes.”

It wasn't even that long. I could see a blue light flashing just at the end of the street, coming nearer. At least there wasn't a siren.

The doorbell rang.

 

 

It wasn't too bad.

No. That's not true.

It was awful. I mean, the police were actually fairly nice about it. But technically I'd committed a criminal act, and they had to treat it seriously. Which meant a lecture from the police officer about the dangers of the TeraNet and how we needed to stay away from sensitive subjects—this, from looking at a government website—and the government had a duty to protect its citizens from information that might upset people.

Okay, okay.

No, the horrible bit came after the lecture. They had to give me a caution, you see. And they had to do it officially. Which meant form-filling.

This form had a check box for robots.

“Does she know?” asked the police officer, in a whisper I wasn't meant to hear.

Dad looked grim, but then nodded. Mum was crying, silently.

“Tania Annette Deeley. Robot.”

That was the awful bit.

I don't think Mum or Dad would have minded so much, if it had just been a caution. It was that check box. It was the official recognition that I was a robot. I didn't care a hoot that I'd flouted the law, but I cared an awful lot what ticking that check box meant to Mum and Dad. I wasn't their little girl anymore, not now I'd just rubbed their noses in my robot-hood.