Flesh and Blood (13 page)

W
e called home that night, as we now did every night.

Theo usually answered our calls, from the vid screen in the utopia’s isolation clinic. I had been afraid that the clinic would be overwhelmed with sufferers, but this plague killed too fast — the numbers of dead kept pace with those who had sickened and those few who recovered did so quickly too. There never seemed to be more than two or three at any time who needed nursing.

Tonight Theo answered without his isolation suit. He smiled at us — a very Theo smile, tired and just a little self-mocking.

‘My day off,’ he said. ‘Elaine insisted.’

I could see why. The shadows were dark around his eyes. When he lifted a hand to brush the hair from his face, it trembled.

‘You’re okay?’ asked Neil.

‘I’m okay. Elaine’s okay. No cases from here yet.’ The smile grew deeper. ‘That little girl from The Temple? Elaine says she’ll make it.’

‘That’s wonderful,’ I said, and meant it.

‘Humanity is a tough old species,’ said Theo. ‘Throw what you like at it, some of you will survive.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘I was thinking last night, when would be the perfect time to die? At the height of your happiness? But then you might miss the last good bit. Or just after the worst of times, when you had hope?’

I had no answer. I looked at Neil. Neil smiled at the screen. ‘Get some sleep, old man,’ he said gently.

‘I will. You know, I’ve been watching her through the iso screen. Elaine. I’ve been lucky. You know that? So very lucky.’ He was half drunk with weariness, I realised.

‘Keep being lucky,’ I said. ‘Get some rest.’

‘All right,’ said Theo. The screen went blank.

I turned to Neil. ‘Do you think he’s okay?’

‘Just tired,’ said Neil shortly. He looked tired too. ‘He always pushes himself till the job’s done.’ Like his foster son, I thought, but didn’t say anything. ‘What do you want for dinner?’

He always asked, just like he had at home, even though here it didn’t matter. ‘Whatever you feel like,’ I said. After all, I could pulse it into something else without him knowing.

‘Omelette?’

‘Fine.’

I followed him to the kitchen — or my Virtual self followed him to the kitchen. He reached for the eggs, put the pan on the ultrawave, slapped in some butter.

I sniffed. ‘Something’s wrong with my receiver. I can’t smell anything.’

Neil grinned wearily. ‘Probably because this isn’t in Virtual. I ordered up some Realfood.’

‘Well, great,’ I said, a bit miffed we wouldn’t be sharing the same meal. We shared so little now.

‘Don’t worry. I’m making enough for two. The Greeter will bring it through to you.’

‘Oh.’ I sat and watched him. The long calloused hands with their sprinkling of blond hair, the intent look he gave to everything — cooking, grafting apples, making love.

‘I miss you,’ he said suddenly.

‘I’m still here.’

‘You know what I mean.’

I did too. Somehow Virtual was not real enough, not good enough, in a way I’d never fully understood before.

I wanted to say, ‘It’ll soon be over,’ because it would be, one way or the other: one of us might be infected, or both, or neither. Please, please I thought, whatever happens, let it happen to both of us.

‘Shut your eyes,’ said Neil.

I did; a few seconds later I heard the plate land on the table.

I opened my eyes and there it was: buttery and yellow with flecks of parsley and chives.

‘Outland eggs,’ said Neil. ‘I checked. The chooks that laid these ate real grass.’

I took a bite and almost burst into tears again. ‘It tastes like home,’ I said.

‘Good,’ said Neil. He smiled at me, and even though it seemed to come from a great distance, not the apparent metre in Virtual, I felt closer to him than I had for days.

Later we watched a vid together, sitting on the sofa, his hand touching mine. It felt good. And for the first time I understood when he turned the Virtual off before we went to sleep.

T
hree days later I looked at the new mediseal on my arm and pulsed into my medifile … then found blank.

The records were Open File until two years ago. Banishment record. Banishment nullified also recorded. Then a bright Confidential, Restricted Access; Enter Access Code Now.

I pulsed override, with my confidential comsig. Still no access.

I called Michael’s comsig.

‘Hi, Danny, this is Virtual Michael four. I’m sorry Michael Realtime can’t speak to you at the moment, but I’m sure he’ll call you ——’

‘Look buster,’ I said. ‘Get Michael bloody Realtime on the line NOW or I’m walking out of here.’

Virtual Michael four raised an eyebrow. ‘Good luck,’ he said.

I blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Look, Danny,’ he said patiently — as patiently as Realtime Michael would have; this was a good program, ‘you are a potential plague carrier. You can’t just leave when you want to.’

‘If I order up an isolation suit? Call a floater? You’ll stop me going back to Faith Hope and Charity?’

‘I’d try to talk you out of it first,’ he said frankly. ‘If you’re asking if you’re a prisoner, then no, you’re not. If you’re asking if you have freedom of movement, of course not.’

‘I just tried to Link my medical records. Restricted access.’

Virtual Michael four looked blank for a nanosecond. Then he shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you there. No data. You’ll have to talk to Michael Realtime.’

‘Which is what I wanted in the first place. Put me through to him. Now.’

‘He’s in a ——’

‘You said you’d try to talk me out of leaving. Then here’s your — his — chance.
Now
.’

The image on the screen shimmered, then Michael’s face reappeared. ‘Danny, what is it? I had to break an important four-way Link for this.’

Two years ago Michael wouldn’t have had to break a Link to Link with me as well — our communication would have been so fast he could have interLinked it, with no-one knowing. But now Michael was a Tree again.

‘I can’t get access to my medifiles.’

Michael looked at me coolly. ‘I know.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’ll give you three guesses,’ said Michael dryly. ‘Come on, Danny, you’re no fool.’

‘Because I’m positive and you didn’t want me to panic? Or I’m still negative but you didn’t want me to panic if I did become positive?’

‘Two guesses. Try again.’

‘All right then,’ I said slowly. ‘I’m not positive and I’m not negative. What then? Wait … antibodies. You’ve found antibodies. I’m immune?’

‘Exactly,’ said Michael. ‘Which is what the conference I’m in now is all about. Can you hold a sec? I need to formally Link off.’ His face froze; thirty seconds later it
came to life again. ‘Pulse Virtual,’ he said. ‘I want to be with you for this.’

I nodded, feeling life pour into me again. When I turned my head Michael was ensconced in his favourite armchair by the wall.

‘So,’ I said, ‘you have your lead. I’m immune and you know my medihistory back to front.’ I took a deep breath; please, I thought, please. ‘What about Neil?’

I hadn’t even tried to access his results. Medirecords are only available to their subject and Grade-A MediAdmin unless you access the records for your Meditech.

‘He’s immune too,’ said Michael.

That stopped me for a moment. I hadn’t expected that. ‘What? Both of us? But we’ve no genetic link … have we?’

It had never occurred to me that Neil and I might be related. But his Trueparents had been from the City too.

‘No relation,’ said Michael. ‘Which makes the fact that you are both immune all the more interesting.’

‘Does he know?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Elaine?’ I demanded. ‘What about Elaine?’

‘She’s positive,’ said Michael gently. ‘Yes, she knows.’

My body screamed ‘no’, but my mouth said nothing. Finally I said, ‘Can you bring her here? Look after her? We want to be with her.’

‘Virtual ——’ began Michael.

‘Bugger Virtual,’ I said. ‘Does Neil know?’

‘No.’

‘Get Elaine in here. Please. And Theo. He’ll want to be with her too. She’ll have a better chance here. You know she will.’ I looked him in the eye. ‘If you don’t, we’re leaving.’

Michael was silent for a moment. It was strange, seeing him take so long to think. No, this wasn’t really the Michael I had known. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said at last. ‘She may not want to come.’

‘She’ll come,’ I said. ‘She knows that you can do more for her here. And she’ll want to see Neil before she …’ I couldn’t say the rest.

‘I’ll let you know.’ Virtuals usually use a real or Virtual door when they leave. Michael never bothered. He simply vanished.

I sat in silence. I had to tell Neil. I had to tell him we were safe. Our baby was safe. I had to tell him Elaine was — no, not doomed, I told myself fiercely. There was a good chance. The City now had a sixty per cent survival rate, using immunity boosts and Biofeedback as well as organ replacement, Elaine didn’t have a clone to transplant organs from if hers failed. But the other techniques would help.

Perhaps … perhaps our immunity could be transferred to Elaine somehow. A blood transfusion.

I needed help. I needed someone who knew medicine. I needed someone who knew me.

‘Mel?’

‘Is it Christmas yet?’ She smiled at me from the other side of the sofa, her small features pale against her dark hair.

‘Mel, I need help.’

‘I know,’ she said softly. Virtual Mel could read my Link just like the old Mel could. ‘But I’m not Real, darling.’

‘What does that matter!’ I cried fiercely.

‘Darling, you’re not thinking. You know as well as I do.’

‘But I … oh,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ said Mel, ‘oh. If I could access the medidata Nets there’d be no need for the City to reclaim Mel Realtime. I’m just,’ she shrugged, ‘the social bits. I can respond as Mel would have. But I can’t solve problems as she would have.’

‘Let’s try anyway,’ I said suddenly. ‘I’ll ask you a question and you reply as Mel. The worst that can happen is that you’ll freeze for a second, then say you don’t know or change the subject. Please, Mel.’

She gazed at me with sympathy. ‘All right,’ she said.

‘I have antibodies to a disease. So has my friend. Can those antibodies be taken from us and given to someone else?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Mel. ‘It’s not as simple as that, but not impossible; they’d have to go through an intermediate …’ She stopped, then smiled. ‘I guess I did know,’ she said.

‘Social Mel is very close to mediMel,’ I said. ‘Your work was her life.’ I grinned. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘I know,’ said Mel.

‘Mel, I’m scared. No, not of the plague. I mean I am, but it’s not that. I don’t know who I am. Am I Forest or am I Tree? It was so easy before. I had no choice. But now …’

‘Oh, darling,’ said Mel. ‘I think you do know. That’s the trouble.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘If you’re a Tree there’s no problem. The world is full of Trees. But you’re Forest. You know you are.’

‘Yes,’ I said miserably, ‘I know I am. And you’re the only other Forest in the world.’

‘I don’t exist,’ said Mel. ‘Not really.’ She bit her lip. ‘Dan — don’t call me up again. Even for Christmas.’

I stared. ‘Why not?’

‘Because, because you’re talking as though you have a choice. As though you can choose to mix with Trees or Forest. But you can’t, except in the Virtual world, and you know what comes of that.’

For an instant — just an instant — I was tempted. I could call them all up — every vanished member of the Forest. I could live with them in Virtual, fill each nanosecond with richness. But Mel was right. There was no RealForest left, and I couldn’t retreat to a Virtual one.

‘Maybe,’ I said, ‘maybe Neil will learn to Link more freely. And our child will be able to link with the Green Trees ones. Maybe one day there’ll be a Forest again.’

But they’d be children, I thought. How many decades would it be before the age difference no longer mattered?

But Mel had answered my question. Both questions.

I took Mel’s hand, then hugged her. She felt as she always had; she even smelt the same, exactly the same, she would never change her scent or her opinions, and while I cherished the memory suddenly I was more sure than ever that Realworld was what I wanted. I didn’t want the Mel I’d known. I wanted the Mel who’d change as I changed, as the world changed.

‘I love you,’ I said.

‘I love you too. Always,’ said Mel.

And then I cut the Link.

I
had to see Neil. Really see him. But there was something I must do first.

I pulsed myself into Virtual again, then our home system with its Links to the utopia’s Net. Yes, it was there — an image from the Green Trees Clinic, sent the day before. I’d hoped there would be one, but couldn’t ask and alert the City.

It was only a nanosecond of image: Theo must have put the terminal on wide scan so that thousands of images would have been taken from a thousand comsigs — too many places for the City to investigate each one. But even a nanosecond was enough.

It must have been taken in daytime — the light out the window matched the daylight from my Virtual window in the City. I had always kept my window Virtuals linked to Realtime. Atavistic, Michael had said. He lived in daylight all the time.

Leaf shadows from the giant oaks that shielded the Clinic from too much satellite surveillance; the sound of turkeys; the beep of the equipment.

She was sleeping. She looked like Mel, but not the Mel I’d known, not the Mel I’d just Linked off. This was an older Mel, her face marked by that instant of brainwipe horror, by the two lost years since, by the operation. Even if you don’t feel pain, it marks you.

The screens by her bedside showed an even pulse, even transpiration, even heartwaves, electrolyte balance — the
whole host of them were normal. But the brain waves showed something that even I could interpret.

Dreams.

I smiled at her. There was life there, where there hadn’t been before.

‘I love you,’ I said.

Then I pulsed my Virtual self to Neil.