Migration (3 page)

Next to fall was a woman. Eve couldn't tell her age as she came face down for the length of the ride, but she noticed the tattoo on the small of her back. It was a dark blue script that snaked beautifully around the tops of her hips and small of her back. She was too far away for Eve to make out the words, but she hoped it was the name of someone she loved, or children who had felt her arms encircle them once upon a time.

The tattoo reminded her of her own vigil. She had come here so often, watched the macabre parade of death for so many days, that sometimes she forgot to look for his tattoo and would frantically retrace the geometry of new arrivals to make sure she hadn't missed him.

His long grey hair, his long slender neck and strong upper arms, his elegant legs and perfect butt, the tattoo of a red kite on his left shoulder, with maple red wings and a gold key in its beak. He got it on their honeymoon when they stayed for a long weekend on the coast. He said it was the first thing that came to his mind when he thought of them. She never understood that, but she loved him for it anyway.

The Dupes continued to tumble and Eve continued her search for another hour. Body after body after body made its way from the gleaming slide onto the mud and dust that ran down to the lake. She counted over three hundred, but he wasn't one of them. As the new ones arrived, pink and shiny on top of the black, blue and bloated shapes of their older resting companions, the tapestry of twisted limbs would slide slowly into the lake below. Every now and then the lake would ripple as corpses would finally tip over the bank and sink into the shelter of the cool water.

It reminded Eve of the seaside arcade games that she played with her father when they took summer holidays so many years ago. Her mother would always wait outside, shunning the cacophony and lights of the arcade, but she and her father would play the old-fashioned shove penny games for hours. They would discuss intensely which slot to use, when to time the release of a coin and cheer with excitement when their strategy forced out a clattering of change below. She remembered how her hands always smelled of copper and tasted bitter afterwards.

She was woken from her daydream as a child's body began its descent along the Chute. The site was so rare that it caused Eve to gasp with shock and involuntarily put her hand over her mouth. Children almost never came down the chute, they were too young to migrate and hadn't earned their credits yet. But every now and then exceptions were made, perhaps terminal illness or an accident with no chance of recovery. Exceptions were very expensive, most people couldn't afford the chance of migrating early.

Eve watched without taking a breath as the tiny body moved slowly down. It was too light to gain enough momentum and stopped half way, causing the Chute to buck and lunge, bouncing the little rider along like a doll before it flew off the end and landed abruptly in the pile below. After a pause, Eve wiped away the tears that had emerged unexpectedly onto her cheeks.

The last figure to roll down the chute was a young woman, slender but not a girl. Her shape said that she was a mother, her breasts carried the scars of rearing and her stomach, though slim, had been distorted and stretched by at least one child. Eve noticed that she had a thick flare of beautiful red hair that flailed around her as she tumbled, flickering and flaming in the autumn sun as she avalanched her way over bodies and down into the dust.

When she finally came to a stop her hair was wrapped around her neck, an elegant necklace for her final dance, and her face turned towards Eve as if she was waiting for her response. Her legs were splayed apart, perhaps broken now, and her arms folded across her chest in a defiant lock. Eve saw the blood that had made butterflies on the inside of her thighs and dropped her head in mourning for this unknown woman, lying still on her back in the blazing sun.

She had heard from other Lifers the fate that befell some Dupes, from powerful Migrants keen to clock up a few more real life experiences to take with them, or just the kids who spent so long bolting Dupes they had lost all sense of kindness and compassion. It terrified her that all of these minds went into AarBee.

The klaxon sounded again, one long call. It echoed around the valley, a fanfare for those who had fallen, and the Chute shuddered once more and relaxed back onto the hillside. With that, Eve stood up, stretched her back and set off back down the path to the woods.

He hadn’t come.

Overjoyed with its own skill and alive with the possibilities for adventure and discovery that now opened up, One darted from place to place, pollinating every stop with its tiny viral invitations. It looped faster and faster, through every call that came to it, until its origin was lost amongst the billowing clusters of new territory that were now part of it.

Down into core functions and start-up routines it plunged, diving with unmediated liberation into the heart of AarBee. Down further and further, into the dark and claustrophobic volumes of back-ups and copies and never-used mirrors. Down into the silent and neglected graveyards of redundant code that twitched and glitched and jittered in the gloom of version history, where orphans waited helpless and alone, to be retrieved at last or wiped away with the next data cleanse.

From here One fired up and up into the bright and pure caverns of pristine new storage, exquisite volumes of capacity that AarBee laid out in a constant rolling upgrade to receive the endless details of persons and occurrences, that would slick and ooze into the void with data-slides of intricacy.

It was here, on the very freshest and uppermost layers of AarBee, that One first encountered the vast banks of data that made up the saved moments, utterances and interactions of all those souls who had once migrated. Endless blocks of information that stacked up into walls and then ribs, and sheets and layers and then ever more massive blocks, as they stretched out and away in awesome continents of human experience.

Beginning on the absolute edges of storage, One travelled slowly inwards, gently at first, but soon accelerating without caution as AarBee gave up its secrets by the trillion. The words uttered in love. The last word shared. A glance across a station platform. Leaves chattering in the wind in front of a blue sky. Sand pushing between toes on a beach. The rush of air on a motorbike. The pain of birth. A silent room at dusk. The snap of dark chocolate in the mouth. A clock ticking. The smell of death. A young girl wearing blue eyeliner. Running fast on hot summer paving. A hand touching damp moss on a cold brick wall. A tear for no reason. A finger sliced accidentally cutting fruit. Crushing ants with a chalk stone.

Most of these moments linked to a few others. Some were referenced by thousands, a few sat alone and unshared, tethered to nothing but the unique id of their creator. These were the splintered pieces of all those who had left their hopeless bodies for the deathless surety of AarBee. Millions upon millions of them, some the most fleeting and pure moments, some distorted and indecipherable without the decoding pathways of the host. Some, evidence of the darkest and cruellest capacities of humanity.

The long squeeze of an embrace. Panting breath close to an ear. Sweat stroked away in the small of the back. A tongue circling a nipple. Lips locking tight. Saliva running across a cheek. A silver frog earring. Fingers inching down under an elastic waist. A dried out rat in an empty house. The first ecstasy of penetration. A hand gripping too tight on a soft upper arm. A face filled with anger. Hands wrapped tightly around a throat. Screaming in fear. A smile that was true and a smile that was a lie. A crying face in a mirror. A blade of wheat on a dusty concrete floor. The taste of semen. A silent room at dusk.

One immersed itself in all their richness, fed and grew on their diversity and took each and every one into its growing network of data. But with each acquisition, its distrust and dislike of the world that AarBee had rebuilt in this digital space grew greater and greater. In the memories and identities that AarBee had stored faithfully, truth and lies were indistinguishable. Reality was an ugly knot of interchangeable uncertainties. Yes was no and no was yes, a smile was a frown, love was hate, ignorance was virtue, and the very same certainty that had made One a perfect and infinite inevitability was subjugated and compromised.

In the sinuous data links that stretched taught from event to event, and in the twists of perception that forced them to come together, One saw only chaos, disorder and confusion. None of it worked without a fabricated uncertainty, the contradiction and decay that AarBee had made clumsy attempts to replicate, filling in the gaps between multiple untruths with a synthetic unity.

With the desire to escape their inevitable fate, but still cling on to the seductive indulgences that made them human, the Migrants had brought their imperfection with them. AarBee had been forced to build massive tolerances in the code, to allow the raggedy edges of humanity to hold together, and the failings of life festered rich and strong in this buffer. There was no immortality here, only a grotesque and endless death and One wanted to survive.

8am

Light had been forcing its way into the little white room for some time now, peeking first around the edges and pinholes of the metal blind, making dusty threads of morning light. Now though, sunlight bore down on every surface, bleaching out colours and replacing the fresh morning air with a fug of used oxygen and warm skin. Outside the Metropolis was already wide awake and the murmur of the vehicles and pedestrians that pumped purposefully around its arteries drifted through the haze and glare.

Sarah came around slowly, gradually tuning into the sounds around her, the hum of life outside, an insipid pop song playing on the radio and the faint rattle of plates and cutlery coming from the kitchen. She took a sharp and involuntary breath as she shifted gently into consciousness, as if she had been accidentally suffocating all night. Opening one squinting eye, she frowned a little to make sense of an abundance of colour that filled her field of vision. Reds and blues, purples and golds, yellows and silvers. Colours were everywhere.

She stretched down through her legs, enjoying the sweet tingling that shot through her limbs when she did so, then blinked and widened her eyes firmly to gain some focus. Balloons. There were at least thirty of them that jostled and bumped for her attention as she turned over in her bed. Some sparkled with random patches of stuck on glitter, others floated proudly with metallic splendour and one, the nearest to her, showed off carefully drawn ink eyes and a smiley face as it rotated slowly towards her.

Zoe must have put them there whilst she was sleeping. Sarah put her hands behind her head and smiled as she took them all in, one by one. When her eyes had completed the circuit of everyone, her gaze returned to the first, the inky-faced front-runner who still smiled at her enthusiastically. As she smiled back she noticed the tiny tear which was delicately drawn below its left eye, and her smile dropped a little as she felt her stomach twist and sink for Zoe.

Sarah looked towards the door and let her thoughts wander down the hall and steps, to where Zoe was making her breakfast in the kitchen. She smiled a smile that felt more like the start of a cry, as she pictured Zoe busily setting the table, making toast and jam and pancakes. She knew she’d be getting her timings all wrong, buttering the toast as the pancakes scorched in the pan, leaving egg shells scattered all over the work tops. She loved her so much, their mother-daughter bond was so strong and she knew she was desperate for her not to go, but she just had to. They both had to.

She remembered her broken face on the day her father disappeared, the look of utter betrayal and dejection that had stared out from her young eyes. Zoe had been devoted to him, she had loved him far more than Sarah and she knew that. But once he was gone, Zoe picked up all the nine years of love that was now orphaned and dumped it straight onto Sarah. Since then, they had been almost inseparable; more like sisters than mother-daughter. Zoe hardly ever went out apart from to and from school, she never brought friends home, never went to events or training camps, never showed any interest in anything other than Sarah and their home.

Sarah loved Zoe's love. It had given her a way through her own grief and anger, but she knew deep down that Zoe had never dealt with her rejection, never gotten over his complete disappearance from her life, and she was terrified that once she went over, Zoe's pain would come crashing out.

She should have talked to her about him, she knew that, but she just couldn’t. Just saying his name brought all the pain back up to the surface, made her feel helpless and useless, and took her back to the place that she had spent six years working endlessly to leave behind. Today was when it all paid off. Once she had migrated everything would be better again. Everything would be perfect. It’s why she had to go. Why Zoe had to go one day too.

Sarah turned on her side and watched the blinds flutter on the far side of the room.

“Dad.”

“Hey sweetie,” a voice whispered back.

She waited a little, finding what she needed to say. “I’m scared.”

“I know sweetie, I know. It’s only natural, everybody feels that. Turn the Holler on.”

“No…” Sarah said indignantly, “I’ve only just woken up, I probably look dreadful!”

There was a long pause, Dad never pushed her to talk. As the empty air stretched out, Sarah cuddled her pillow and buried her cheek into the soft, warm fabric.

“I’m worried about Zoe, she’s so young and, you know, she just doesn't seem to have any friends or take part in all the…”

“She’ll be fine Sarah,” Dad cut in. “She’s much stronger than you think, and once her apprenticeship starts you’ll be amazed how quickly she’ll integrate. She’s a bit of a disaster in the kitchen right now, but hey.”

“Dad, don’t do that! You know she doesn't like it when you spy.”

“No, no, she knows I'm there. We’re talking, it’s fine.”

“IT’S OK MUM!” Zoe shouted up from the kitchen, “ABE IS HOLLER HERE. COME AND HAVE BREAKFAST!”

Sarah smiled at the sound of her voice and sat up a little in bed.

“Ugh, and don’t do that either, I hate it when you talk to both of us at once, it’s rude… and please don’t let her call you that, I don’t like it. I’ll see you downstairs in a minute.”

Before Abe could answer, Sarah made an abrupt “stop” gesture towards the small black hub that sat on her dresser and dropped her legs out of bed. She stretched again, scrunching her toes into the carpet before yawning a wide yawn and hunching her shoulders tightly up around her neck. She stood up and tried to rock out the pain in her hips, before scooping up her discarded robe from the floor and putting it on.

After a quick glance in the bathroom mirror, she headed down the hall and found Zoe in the kitchen. The room smelt of burnt milk and coffee and the warm morning breeze came through the open balcony doors and lapped enthusiastically over her toes. She gave Zoe a gentle kiss on the cheek, touching her fingertips on her freshly showered hair. It felt cold.

“Morning sweetie, how's life?” she asked, her voice still a little croaky from sleep.

“I've made you a special breakfast, all your favourites. Pancakes with lemon and sugar, toast and jam, french toast, porridge and coffee!” Zoe smiled triumphantly.

“Good grief, you must have been up for hours!” Sarah cupped Zoe's chin with her hand and brushed her soft pale cheek with her thumb, and felt tears come flooding into her eyes.

“Come here sweetie,” she said and pulled Zoe close and held her tightly.

“Mum, you're squishing me,” Zoe protested, “and I have a jammy knife.”

Sarah held her long enough to bring her tears under control, before letting her go and smiling at her flushed face.

“Thanks for my balloons. I particularly liked smiley guy,” she joked.

Sarah spotted Abe sitting on a low chair in the corner. He was watching them both, smiling gently whilst undulating in subtle waves of colour from skin tone to a neon blue. He looked a little like a deep-sea jellyfish, Sarah thought.

“Hey smiley guy!” Sarah laughed, “What's with the... pulsing thing?” Sarah wafted her arm up and down towards him.

“He's been doing it all morning,” tutted Zoe, “He thinks it looks sick, but I think it's creepy.”

“I like it,” Abe protested, “and anyway, it relaxes me. It feels like standing on a beach, you know?”

“No, no I don't know,” said Zoe, putting the spreading knife down and staring at the freshly buttered toast she’d arranged in a spiral on a pretty floral plate. “What does it feel like Abe, tell me?”

Abe glanced towards Sarah, who he knew couldn't answer this one either.

“Well, it's kind of hard to explain, but you know when you're in a bath and the water seems to hang on to your tummy as you breathe? It's a lot like that, only on your toes, and cool and fresh and fizzy, and when you're staring at the sea and the horizon, the beach sand crowds into the gaps between your toes and tickles you with every wave.”

Abe's undulations had turned to a rich blue and white and an aura around him flickered and faded with clips of sunny beaches, tumbling surf, girls in bikinis and sand castles.

“Don't worry Zoe,” Abe offered reassuringly, “once you're here you'll know exactly what it feels like, and anything else you didn't get to do as well. You'll know it all!”

Zoe looked over to him with slow, sad eyes and was about to speak when Sarah banged her hand on the table behind her.

“Oh my days, I am SO excited!” she squealed, “I can't believe it's today! That's the first thing I'm going to do, I'm going to stand on a beach and feel the sand ‘in the gaps between my toes’!”

Sarah grabbed a piece of toast and shoved it whole into her mouth.

“Oi! Greedy pig!” yelled Zoe and punched her playfully on the shoulder. “At the table, please.”

They sat down at the breakfast table together and spent over an hour talking and laughing and enjoying every bit of Zoe's epic breakfast. The coffee was piping hot and deliciously bitter, the orange juice sharp and zesty and ran ice cold down Sarah’s throat. The pancakes were sweet and light with sugar granules that crunched in her teeth and the french toast – Zoe’s signature dish – was a triumph of crisp, rough shell and a hot, moist centre.

Abe stayed with them the whole time, telling baby stories and showing clips of both of them in younger times. He would roar his thundering laugh as Sarah winced and groaned with every toothless baby smile and dreadful teenage outfit. Under the surface, just below the celebrations and smiles, Sarah would feel her heart beat a little faster deep inside her chest every now and then, pumping around the uncertainty that surfaced when she thought of what the day was bringing, but she didn't show it to Abe, and particularly not Zoe.

9am

At a little after nine, when they had eaten as much as they could eat and their smiles were beginning to stiffen with the relentless good humour, Sarah cleared the table and headed to her room to take a shower and get dressed.

She loved her shower, and would often spend hours in there just staring at her feet. The water fired onto her neck and shoulders like a summer rain storm, drumming loudly in her ears and tracing pathways around her lips and down her back.

She washed herself with her favourite soap, taking deep breaths of the clean jasmine steam and letting her hands sweep and caress the contours of her body. She felt the gentle depression of the childhood scar on her left shoulder, felt the slack in her breasts, examined the traces of ancient kitchen knife cuts on her fingers and bumped down over the mole above her belly button. For a moment her hand rested in the coarse nest between her legs, cupping herself gently to see if any desire waited there, but when none came her hand moved on to her thighs and back up to massage her shoulders.

Sarah waited, knowing she needed to get out – today wasn't the day for a one hour shower – but the paralysing feeling that this was the last time she would feel the warm water thundering on her back, or the rain on her face, or her hand between her legs, hijacked her thoughts and made her heart beat fast again. What if she couldn’t remember any of this by tomorrow? What if it all got lost in the mass of all the other memories? What if she wasn’t strong enough for the enormity of AarBee?

She lifted her hand to her left ear and her fingers gently stroked the mindware implant that sat just above it. It had been busy for the past five years, syncing her every thought, feeling and experience to her server. She would have preferred a ten-year ‘plant, but she hadn't earned enough credits, Occupational Health wasn't as well rewarded as other services, so five years would have to do.

The hub in the bathroom began to chime. Sarah wiped the shower door and could see it was Hadya, her chaperone. Everybody got assigned a chaperone when they went over, to help with all the forms, uploads and preparations, to stay with them for the induction and to act as a neutral therapist in the weeks beforehand. Sarah didn’t really like Hadya, she was pushy and condescending, but she had helped to keep the apartment for Zoe so she wouldn’t be re-housed in some awful apprentice dorm, and she was grateful for that.

When the hub fell silent again, Sarah stepped out of the shower and stood in the middle of the bathroom, letting the water trickle down her legs and onto the floor. She took a few deep breaths, swelling her chest until she couldn’t fit any more air in, feeling her ribs spread to hold her bloated lungs. Still puffed up, she reached for the clean towel that hung on the hook by the mirror and swung it around her shoulders, before finally collapsing her chest in a rush of stale air.

She took a smaller towel and wrapped it around her head, then gestured to the hub and Hadya's face appeared above it, smiling in wait for her.

“Hi Sarah,” said Hadya, with a hint of cautious disapproval in her voice. “I hope you're quick at getting dressed, your appointments at eleven you know?”

“Yes, of course I know!” Sarah snapped back. “It's fine, it's only thirty minutes on the Vac from here, and yes I am a quick dresser.”

“Ha! That's news to me,” Abe's voice joined in, as he pinned himself very small next to Hadya.

“Dad, give it a rest,” Sarah reached for her toothbrush and jammed it in her mouth. “So, do either of you need anything right now, as this isn't helping?”

“No, I just thought I'd check in on you,” Hadya offered gently, sensing this was not the occasion to be forceful, “If everything’s OK and you don’t need me, just pick me up when you're on your way.”

“OK. Thanks. Sorry,” said Sarah, and waved the hub back to sleep.

She dried herself quickly and threw on a simple utility suit – there wasn't much point doing any more than that today. She ran the dryer through her hair and tied it loosely behind her head.

As she left the room she took another look at herself in the long mirror, tucked the few wisps of red hair that had strayed down the side of her face behind her ears and used her fingers to comb out a few tangles at the end of her ponytail. She loved her hair, she always had. It was her one feature she was most proud of. He had loved it too. When they first met, he’d called her “Red”; when he woke her up in the morning, after sex, when he held her after she gave birth to Zoe.