by Kim Curran
‘Given I’ll be creating a false identity for you, I can make you any age you want.’ He reaches his hand out.
‘And Ryan.’ I don’t really know why I’m doing this. It’s not like I owe him anything. But I can’t bear the thought of seeing him when I’m on and he’s not. This way it’s a clean slate. That’s what I’m telling myself anyway. ‘Ryan back on too.’
Logan shakes his head. ‘Why do you care what happens to that reprobate? He’s using you, you know that right?’
I remember the kiss in the elevator and the way he looked at me. Was that all a show? Isn’t everything?
‘Ryan too,’ I say, with a shrug.
‘You’re asking a lot there, kid.’
‘And I’m giving you a lot too. I’ve been looking into it. WhiteInc have DNA-protected access. You get the DNA sequence of someone with authorisation and you have access to Glaze.’
Logan and the twins share a look. They’d been hoping to keep that little fact from me. I ignore the guilt that’s making my cheeks burn and my stomach roil. Zizi will never find out it was me. Besides, if I don’t help them, they’ll only find another way in. I want to believe this. I have to believe it. I think about living the rest of my life surrounded by silence, banished from all human contact. It has to be worth the risk.
I swallow, forcing the bile in my throat down, and try to sound casual. ‘Of course, if you can get DNA from someone else with total and unrestricted access…’
The twins breathe in, a joint gasp of excitement. Their eyes flicker as they pass messages back and forth.
I have them. ‘Do we have a deal?’
Logan claps my hand and shakes it. As his hand pulls away he takes the tissue with it, like I’ve seen kids pass drugs to each other. Like they think no one else can see.
He turns away from me, his large shoulders blocking out what he’s doing. But I guess he’s checking the contents of the tissue. He must be happy with it, because when he turns back he’s smiling. ‘Once I verify it really is your mother’s DNA… sure we have a deal.’
‘And I’ll be able to vote when I’m old enough?’
Logan’s brow creases. ‘Is that why you’re doing this? To vote?’ He laughs and shakes his head. ‘Sure, you’ll be able to vote. You might be the only one doing it though, or haven’t you noticed? No one’s voting any more. No one gives a shit which rich, fat, white guy pulls the strings any more, so long as they don’t have to pay any more in tax.’
‘Max says it will be different with Glaze,’ I say softly. ‘He says people will be more engaged.’
‘Does he now?’ Logan smiles at me, a soft, patronising smile, like an adult pretending to a kid that Santa Claus still exists. ‘Well, far be it from me to call your precious Mr White a liar.’ He sits back down on the sofa and he and his friends start sliding messages back and forth, like I didn’t even exist.
‘What’s the plan then?’ I say, wanting to stop them.
They ignore me, so I say it again, louder.
Finally Logan snaps out of Glaze and turns to me. ‘You’re going to need a proxy.’
‘A what?’
Logon rolls his eyes. ‘We’re going to clone your blank before we rewrite it. But you’ll need something to carry your signal around once we’ve made the switch. In case the cops check in on you.’
I reach up to the back of my head, remembering the blank chip and how it means the police can find my location at all times. They could know I’m here right now.
Logan must read the concern on my face. ‘Don’t fret. The whole of Ivy T is filled with blockers. You think I’d have let you through the door if it wasn’t?’
‘A proxy? Does it have to be an animal?’
‘Well, it’s hardly going to work with a potato now, is it?’ Logan says, and Shank snorts with laughter.
My cheeks flush. ‘Guess not.’
Logan scrabbles around on the coffee table, among beer cans and crisp packets.
‘Anyone got a pen?’
The twins look blank. But Shank reaches inside his bomber jacket and pulls out a shiny silver pen. The others look at him in surprise. ‘What?’ he says, defensive that he’s been caught. ‘I nicked it.’
Logan grabs it off him and scribbles something down on a Rizla packet that has had the top corners ripped off. He hands it to me.
‘Meet me there in two days. With a proxy.’
365 Rosalyn Park Rd
I don’t recognise the address, but that’s nothing that a quick internet search won’t fix. And if Logan is true to his word it could be the last time I’ll ever need to worry about looking something up again.
I slip the Rizla packet into my pocket. ‘Right. Sunday. I’ll be there.’
They don’t even hear me. They’re already back in their world of silent plotting and planning.
The door is still open and I let myself out.
12
I PRACTICALLY SKIP back to my compound. It’s going to happen. In two days, this will all be over and I’ll be on Glaze. I try not to think about the price I’ve paid because it will be worth it. It has to be worth it.
I’m about to buzz myself through the front gates when there’s a cough behind me.
‘Hello, Petri.’ It’s Detective Lee.
It feels like someone has grasped my heart in their fist. I can’t breathe. My vision closes in. I think I might faint.
He knows! He must have tracked me down. He knows everything about Logan and the deal. He’s going to arrest me again and I’ll never get on Glaze.
I have to grab hold of the fence to stop myself from falling.
‘It’s OK, Petri,’ he says, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. ‘I’m not here on official business. I wanted to check in and see how you were doing.’
I struggle to find my voice. ‘Fine,’ I croak.
‘Right. Good,’ he says nodding. ‘It’s only, with the news about Citizen Chip, I wanted make sure.’
I let go of the fence and look at him. His lips are tucked in, his chin a walnut of wrinkles. He looks at his shoes, refusing to meet my eye. This is guilt. That’s why he’s here. I feel my heart rate slow slightly.
‘No, it’s fine,’ I say. ‘I’ll just have to wait till I’m 21. Like you said, it’s only five years.’ I try to keep the sharp bitterness out of my voice. I don’t think I do a very good job.
‘That’s good, Petri. I’m happy to see you being so positive about it.’ Only he doesn’t look happy at all. ‘And the blank, it’s not bothering you?’
‘No. Should it?’
‘Of course not, it’s only that some people get headaches, problems with their vision.’
‘I don’t even know it’s there,’ I say.
‘Good,’ he says again. ‘And I don’t want you to worry about the tracker. We’re not watching your movements 24/7. We have better things to do.’ He laughs a fake laugh.
I don’t even bother replying.
‘And look, I shouldn’t be saying this, but I’m under a lot of pressure to find the NF and what with the video evidence of you at the riot and McManus’s statement… ’ He sniffs and readjusts his shirt. ‘It could have been worse. If you’d gone in front of a judge, it would have been. Believe me.’
It’s petty, but I’m kind of enjoying his discomfort.
‘Well, then,’ he says after an uneasy silence in which he rolls a pebble around under his foot. ‘You take care of yourself now. And stay out of trouble. I’m sure you don’t want to be seeing me again.’ He slaps his hands on his legs and turns around.
‘Is it true?’ I say as he walks away. ‘That no one with a CDO will be allowed on Glaze ever?’
He stops, his back still turned to me, his shoulders slumped. ‘That’s not a police matter. You’ll have to ask your Mr White.’
If I had any doubt left about Logan and whatever he has planned, it vanishes. I’m glad Lee doesn’t turn around again because he’d have seen me crying.
Two days later, I arrive at the address
Logan gave me. And almost immediately give up and go home.
It’s a large, terrifying building. Victorian, by the look of it, with a pointed roof and arched windows. There’s no glass in the windows anymore—only graffiti-filled boards. A peeling sign lies in the long grass of the front garden. I kick aside the foliage to read it. Three letters—BPA—and written beneath them in a swirly typeface:
Choice is everything.
‘Spooky, isn’t it?’
I cover up my jump by tutting at a bramble caught on my skirt, as if it’s the plant’s fault that I almost jumped out of my skin and not Ryan appearing behind me.
I’d emailed him last night, giving him the address and telling him that I’d made the deal for both of us.
‘Yeah, I guess,’ I say, readjusting my bag across my shoulder.
‘You guess? It’s totally Scooby Doo.’
I shrug like I’m not afraid of this crumbling building or what’s waiting for me inside. He steps forward and curls a strand of my hair between his fingers.
‘Hey,’ he says.
‘Um, hey,’ I say back.
‘You had me worried, you know? When I didn’t see you at school and you didn’t reply to my emails. Guess I should have known I can always count on you.’
He plants a kiss on my lips. Softer, less urgent than before. But still wrong somehow.
‘We’d better get on with this?’ I say, pulling away.
‘Sure. Relax, Petri. Everything will be fine.’ He kisses my cheek before I have a chance to get away. It’s wet and cold. I turn to face the door and wipe it away with my sleeve.
A trailing blue and red wire is all that’s left of the doorbell. The brass knocker is in the shape of a clenched fist. I have to balance up on my tippy toes to reach it.
If this were a movie, the door would creak open to reveal a sinister-looking butler. Instead, there’s no reply.
I knock again.
‘You got the address right?’ Ryan says, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
‘Of course I did,’ I snap, wondering if maybe I haven’t.
I knock again, louder.
‘All right!’ a muffled voice says from the other side.
I grin smugly at Ryan. There’s rattling and some grunting noises as if whoever’s trying to open the door is having difficulties.
‘Give it a push, will you?’ the voice I’m sure is Logan says.
Ryan lays his hand on my shoulder and pulls me aside. Fine. If he wants to be all alpha about it. He takes a few steps back, narrows his eyes and runs. Just as Logan shouts, ‘It’s OK, I got it.’
The door swings open just in time for Ryan to go flying through it.
He trips over a pile of letters and local newspapers scattered on the doorstep and lands on his face.
‘Thanks, Ryan,’ I say, stepping over him, trying not to laugh.
‘What the...?’ he says, getting to his feet. Then he looks up.
Inside is even grander than outside. Oak floorboards covered in faded rugs, ceilings that have to be at least fifteen feet high, and a huge winding staircase that goes up three, maybe four, flights. A soft cooing comes from somewhere and I notice splashes of white bird shit on the patterned rugs. Large paintings of medical scenes line the walls: men in black standing over operating tables; women in huge hats like swan wings, walking through corridors, the only light coming from their lanterns.
‘Was this an old hospital?’ I ask.
‘Something like that,’ Logan says. ‘Have you brought it?’
I open up the flap on my bag and pull out a small cardboard box with holes in it. The creature inside scrabbles frantically about.
Logan takes the box off me and peers through a hole in the side. ‘A hamster?’
‘A rat,’ I say. ‘Zizi liberated it from a WhiteInc lab and gave it to me as a pet. They were doing experiments on it.’
‘It should work. Come on. We’re downstairs.’
He crosses the hallway, Proxy at his heels, her nails clacking on the wooden floorboards. She squats against a marble plinth, which has the twiggy remains of a pot plant on top of it. The closest she can find to a tree I guess.
Logan leads us past the staircase to a small door at the back of the hall and Proxy trots after us.
‘Ladies first,’ he says, opening the door and gesturing for me to enter.
The staircase spirals so tightly each step hardly has enough space for my feet. I walk down it, using the brick walls on either side to steady myself.
Once free of the stairs, flickering strip lights reveal a long corridor with white-tiled walls and floors. There’s the smell of bleach mixed in with something else I can’t place.
‘This is some seriously sick stuff you’ve got going on, Logan,’ Ryan says from behind me. He looks more excited than I’ve ever seen him.
Logan pushes me gently out of the way so that he can take the lead. ‘We originally ran things out of my flat. But that was getting a little hot.’ He leads us down the corridor, which is lined with closed doors. I peer through the small windows in the doors as we pass. The majority are empty, but some have a single, leather-covered examination table in them.
‘And we’ve set up security, to make sure no one comes a-knocking,’ he says, patting a large black box with three aerials sticking out of the top.
At the far end of the corridor is a narrow doorway covered in strips of plastic that fall all the way to the floor.
Logan brushes aside the strips and holds them, letting me pass through. ‘Welcome to my lab!’
It might have once been the generator room. A large metal structure dominates the room. It has a long thin chimney leading to a hole in the wall and a glass panel in the front that looks like it’s been blackened by smoke from inside. An incinerator maybe. But burning what?
As well as Logan, the twins are here, leaning over what looks like an old-fashioned computer monitor, and a small, dark-haired man standing next to an examination table like the ones from the other rooms. He wears a white lab coat and bows as I meet his gaze.
‘Are we ready?’ Logan asks, handing the man the box with the rat in it.
The small man places the rat on a wheelie tray then moves to the head of the bed and rests his hand on the white sheets. He pats the bed, but that’s not enough to make me understand what he wants.
‘That’s Dr Hwang. He’s our chip guru. He’ll make sure we don’t fry anything,’ Logan says with a wink. When I still don’t move he gives me a shove. ‘Get on the bed, Petri.’
I stagger forward as he turns to the others. ‘Ryan, Milo and Mila there will sort you out.’ He gestures towards the twins. They smile identical smiles.
‘Ice,’ Ryan says, clicking both thumbs and then sticking them up.
Dr Hwang waits by the bed like a sentinel, one hand in his pocket, the other lining up a series of tools on the wheelie tray. He could be an old-looking twenty, or a young-looking 40. And that smile isn’t giving anything away.
I take an unsteady step toward him, when the plastic strips covering the door rustle. A young man stoops to clear the doorway. Golden eyes widen in shock as they see me.
Perfect, I think. I’ve been trying to find you for weeks and now you turn up. Exactly when I don’t need you.
Ethan scans the room, looking from me to Dr Hwang and back to me again. In four quick strides he has hold of my arm and is pulling me away.
‘What are you doing here?’ he hisses through clenched teeth.
‘I could ask you the same thing,’ I say, trying to free myself of his grip.
‘What’s going on?’ Logan asks Ethan. ‘Has Corina sent you to spy on us?’
‘Please,’ Corina says, as she too steps into the room. ‘You think I don’t already know everything that’s going on here.’
‘So what if you do?’ Logan says, his jaw tightening.
Corina saunters past me and faces up to Logan. She’s easily a foot shorter than him, but it looks like he’s scared of her.
‘So…’ Corina says, removing a fleck of dust from Logan’s shoulder. ‘I’m in.’
A smile spreads across Logan’s face as Ethan turns back to me.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he says.
‘Who is this?’ Corina says, jabbing a thumb in my direction.
‘I’m Petri,’ I say, reaching out my hand for her to shake. She ignores it.
‘She’s our little insider,’ Logan says.
‘Her? She gave you the intel?’ Corina says, tilting her head and considering me. ‘And what’s Logan giving you in return?’
‘He’s getting me on Glaze,’ I say, my voice a whisper.
‘What?’ Ethan says. ‘No. You can’t.’
‘It’s no big deal,’ Logan says.
‘Something wrong?’ Ryan says, coming to stand next to me.
‘No, it’s only...’ I stutter. There are too many people, too many voices. It’s making my head spin.
‘Are you sure you can rewrite a blank? Corina, didn’t you say there might be complications?’ Ethan says, still holding my arm.
‘What complications?’ I say, looking from Ethan to Logan.
‘Who said anything about complications?’ Logan says, throwing his hands in the air. ‘Chill, right? It’s all going to be OK.’
Ethan lets his hand slide down my arm and steps even closer to me. He smells of soap and dry leaves. ‘Petri, you don’t have to do this. You shouldn’t do this.’
‘Seriously, mate,’ Ryan says stepping between me and Ethan. ‘I don’t know you, and I’d appreciate it if you’d leave my girlfriend alone.’
‘Girlfriend?’ Ethan and I say in unison.
The very word I’d been dreaming about ever since Ryan McManus picked me in rounders in first year and now, looking at Ethan’s face, I wish Ryan would vanish.
‘Are you doing this... for him?’ Ethan says, his distaste for Ryan clear by the jerk of his thumb.
‘No, of course not,’ I say, angry at the mere suggestion.
But am I?
Ryan slips his arm around my shoulder in such a display of ownership that I cringe. ‘Shut up, both of you,’ I say, shrugging off Ryan’s arm. ‘I’m doing this whether you want me to or not.’
