by Kim Curran
‘Did it? Did it ask you to do anything?’
‘Me? No, not really. Just to be kind to each other. To behave. Not to swear.’ He chews on his lip, as if there’s something he doesn’t want to say. Something he’s frightened of saying.
‘What? Tell me.’
He walks over to the window, unable to look at me. ‘The voice.’
‘What about it?’
‘I know now who it was. Who was behind the whole thing.’ He stares through a crack in the boarded-up window on to the street outside. A car rumbles by, its lights illuminating the room like a strobe.
I know the answer without him even having to say. All the files on T-Raz were tagged with the WhiteInc logo.
‘Max.’
I sit back on the bed, sinking into it. After a while of staring into the darkness, Ethan comes and sits next to me.
‘But why? Why would he do that to you?’
I remember when I was young and Zizi and Max were just getting to know each other. They’d talk about the power of community and creating social bonds and how much better the world was going to be once we all worked together. And about the family he was going to build himself.
‘Why do you think, Petri? We were his guinea pigs. His lab rats.’ He picks at a loose thread on the duvet, his hands shaking slightly. ‘When I met Logan and Corina, they were digging around in Glaze for the fun of it, to see how they could use it. But I saw how it operated. How it was changing people, making them comply, bending them to the will of society. Exactly like life in T-Raz.’ He meets my eyes once more. ‘Locked up, cut off from the world, we had no other influences to muddy his results. We were a closed system. That’s what Logan called it, where he’d test viruses before sending them live. A test ground before launching his dream worldwide. That’s all we were to Max.’
I cover my face with my hands, so ashamed that I ever trusted Max. The man who would do anything to protect his network. He turned five hundred boys into an experiment, used people like disposable tools, just to learn something. Just to perfect his vision of a united world.
I can’t bear to see any more of the images from Max’s experiment. I reach out and find Kiara’s stars again. They’re starting to glow stronger as the night comes in.
‘I’m so sorry, Ethan.’ I say, looking up at him.
‘That’s why I can never be on Glaze. Why I will never let him control me again. No matter how alone it makes me feel.’
‘You’re not alone,’ I say, laying my hand on his face.
He places his hand over mine, holding it against his cheek. I feel the sandpaper roughness of his stubble against my palm. Slowly, his gaze moves up from my chin to my mouth, till he meets my eyes. Then, he turns, pushing my hand away.
‘I should have told you,’ he says, his hair falling over his eyes. ‘But I needed you.’
‘For what?’
He looks up at me. His bottle-brown eyes cutting into me. ‘To help me stop him.’
‘There’s nothing we can do, Ethan. He’s untouchable.’
‘But if people knew about T-Raz. About how he used us to test run Glaze—’
‘They know,’ I say, remembering the information I saw on the files. ‘The government, everyone knew. They approved it.’
Ethan’s jaw tightens and his fists clench. ‘You know, after he extracted all the data he needed he turned it off. Flicked the switch. Just like that. He left and we were alone. He used us and then discarded us. I served my remaining time without speaking a word.’
‘What did you do after you got out?’
‘I moved back in with Dad, but neither of us knew each other any more. He died a year later. I guess I could have tried to find Mum. She’d gone to live in the country with her new husband and her new family. But I wanted her to be happy. At least she had a chance for a new life.’
‘You could still find her. You should.’
‘It’s too late. Besides, I’m not going anywhere till Max gets what he deserves. A boy at T-Raz who still had a couple of years to go told me to get in touch with his brother. He said he might be able to help get our revenge on Max. His brother was Logan. And through Logan, I met Corina. And we’ve been trying to find a way to hurt him ever since. And then I met you. The one person who can maybe get close enough to do it.’
‘I can’t do anything. All I want is for this to be over so that I can go home.’ I stop, remembering Zizi lying on the bed. ‘Not that I have a home anymore.’
Ethan wipes away the tear that is falling down my cheek. ‘And we’ll punish him for that too,’ he says. ‘We’ll take everything he created away from him. I am going to destroy his life, like he destroyed mine. Like he destroyed yours.’
‘How?’
He sighs, built-up rage escaping with his breath. ‘I don’t know. I thought Logan might be on to something but—’
‘He was,’ I say, interrupting. ‘Logan said they’d found something that would destroy the network. He gave me the information, only... only I don’t know how to find it. I can’t make this thing work.’ I hit my head with my palm.
Ethan takes my hand in his to stop me. ‘I’m glad it doesn’t work, Petri. Because that means there’s still a chance you’ll stay you. And... I don’t want to lose you.’
I realise I haven’t been breathing. I let out my breath. It sounds like a sigh.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I say, twisting my fingers into his.
I don’t know if I’m moving into him or him into me, but our lips press against each other. He tastes of strawberries and tears.
I close my eyes and see glowing stars.
23
A BARK OF LAUGHTER from the road outside jolts me awake. Instantly I’m hit by a mass of images: people unhappy about going to work; packed trains filled with commuters; people staring at their cornflake packages. I focus on a single thread. I’ve lost my connection to Kiara—I can’t think about what that means right now—so I reach out for my mother.
A painting of a boat floating on a turquoise sea sits on a white wall. It’s a terrible painting, the kind Zizi always accused sell-out artists of doing for tourists in seaside towns. Now it’s all she has to look at.
Ethan lays next to me on the bed, still asleep, the sheets tangled around his legs.
I stretch my arms, trying to bring life back to my limbs, and I get a whiff of my t-shirt. It stinks of sweat and blood. I could really do with a shower.
Ethan stirs next to me.
‘Morning,’ I say.
‘Morning,’ he croaks, rubbing at his eyes and face.
His hair is a mess, sticking out in all directions. Which makes me realise how terrible I must look.
‘Um, I’m going to the loo.’ I roll off the bed and head for the small door in the corner of the room.
It’s dark inside and I pat the wall looking for a light pad. Something hard and metal brushes against my hand. A pull cord. I haven’t seen one of these since I was too small to reach them. I yank it and a blue strip light flickers into life.
There’s a toilet—missing a seat—a low, white bath with a shower over it, and a sink with a cracked mirror. I look at my reflection through the overlay of the seaside image and wish I hadn’t. I look terrible. I stick my tongue out. It’s grey with a hint of bright colours from the jellies. A blue toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste sit in a small glass on the edge of the sink. I decide against using Ethan’s toothbrush, and make do with my finger, covering it with paste and then rubbing it over my teeth. I run the taps and suck in a mouthful of water, swish it around my mouth, and spit the white liquid into the sink. I splash cold water on my face, it trickles over my neck and down my spine, making me shiver. With damp hands, I pat down my frizzy hair, twisting it into a rough bun. I take a second look in the mirror. I still look terrible. Just not quite as bad as before.
Ethan is tying up his boots when I walk back into the room.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To get food. I don’t know about you, b
ut I’m starving.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
He stands up. ‘Are they still looking for you?’
I risk probing into my feed. I see my name and photo bouncing around, although with less urgency now. ‘Yes,’ I say, shutting my eyes to block out the fresh attack of unwanted data.
‘Then you stay here. I’ll be back soon.’
He hesitates for a moment, his body swinging back and forth. Then he plants a kiss on my cheek and climbs back out the window. I hold my hand to my face where his lips touched my skin and smile.
He’s back five minutes later with a blue plastic bag. ‘I thought we’d go for a continental breakfast.’ He pulls out a carton of orange juice and a greasy paper bag with two croissants inside. I pour the juice into two small mugs from on top of the fridge and take a sip. It tastes sharp after the toothpaste.
Ethan tears his croissant in half and picks strands of pastry off it. I take a bite out of mine and sit back on the bed.
‘The information Logan gave you,’ Ethan says. ‘That’s what they want?’
‘I think so. But Logan didn’t know my chip wasn’t working, so it could have gone to anyone. And don’t give me that “I told you so” look, it’s not helping.’
‘Sorry. So we need to find a way of getting that message?’
‘Maybe if I had a new chip put in? One that works?’
‘No,’ Ethan says, angry at first and then softer. ‘No. Not that.’
‘Then maybe Dr Hwang will know? He was working with Logan, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ Ethan says, sounding excited. ‘I should have thought of that. Even if he doesn’t know, he might be able to take your chip out.’
‘But how do we find Hwang?’
The simple mention of his name is enough.
I’m seeing a man, walking down a street, his back bent, his face turned away from the sky. The image tracks him as he goes to duck down a side street, taking furtive glances above every few steps. The image freezes, without me willing it, and zooms in.
It’s Hwang’s face. Afraid and wide-eyed, but undoubtedly him. The fact I’m seeing it like this, from the point of view of a camera or a drone, means they could find him too.
‘I can see him,’ I say.
‘Where?’ Ethan says.
The frozen picture is gone, replaced with random noise—more crap streaming live from Glaze. I wave my hand in front of my face, trying to bat the images away. I’m being buried in them, almost as badly as before, too many fragments of too many lives. I can hardly find myself under it all. I shut my eyes and dive into the limbo of black.
Ethan rests his hands on my shoulders. ‘Focus, Petri. You know how.’
I open my eyes and for a moment all I can see is Ethan. I place my hands on either side of his face, hoping that if I can hold on to him, I can hold on to myself.
The feeds starts coming, but I’m able to keep the images back.
‘Hwang,’ I say.
The random chatter is replaced with nothing but information on the doctor. Most of it is in Korean, but the translation kicks in. It’s files about his practice in Busan, his work for WhiteInc, his marriage, divorce. It’s all there. An entire person made up of bytes of information.
There’s also live footage of him out on the streets. It’s time and GPS stamped. WhiteShield will be able to work out his exact location. Me, all I have to go on are glimpses of the street he’s running through.
I can’t make out any road signs, only slices of landmarks: a shop front here, a building there. I strain to focus.
‘Petri?’ Ethan’s voice echoes through the fog of information.
I hold up my hand, telling him to wait.
Hwang hurries past an old church and enters a building. I focus harder. My body shakes with the effort. I only glimpse the corner of the building, but I’m involuntarily pulling in other images: photos taken by tourists; an image of the church from a local history site. Each shard falls into place to create a complete 3D image of the church as if I’m looking at it through a cracked mirror. And finally a name.
‘Petri!’ Ethan says, sounding worried and anxious.
‘St Barnabas, Woodside,’ I say, with a sigh.
I let the images slide away and with them, the strength flows out of me. Ethan catches me before I fall.
// DIMLY FADE THE STARS AT DAWN, SOFTLY GLOWS THE MORNING’S RAY. THROUGH THE FOREST LONE I’M ROAMING, MY HEART’S CALLING... //
// WHEN I LOOKED AT LILY SHE WAS NODDING AND MY HEART CLENCHED LIKE A FIST. //
The random nature of the messages is almost a relief after the strain of trying to direct the gaze of the feed.
I feel a cold dampness on my lip and I taste rusty metal. I touch my face and my fingers come away red. A thin trail of blood coming from my nose.
‘Are you OK?’,’ Ethan says, handing me a crumpled t-shirt.
‘I’m fine. I get nosebleeds all the time.’
I press his shirt against my nose, smelling the scent of him mixed in with the tang of blood. It smells like rainwater on sheet metal.
‘I know where he is,’ I say, my voice muffled through the cloth. I pull it away and stare at the dark stain on the white.
‘Is it far?’
‘No. But it won’t do us any good. WhiteShield know where he is too.’
‘Maybe they’re not interested in him? Maybe they don’t know he was part of Logan’s work? Them watching him doesn’t mean they have any particular interest in him. Like you said they’re watching everyone, all the time.’
// THE TIME SPONSORED BY WHITEINC LIFE INSURANCE IS 10:17. //
// DECISION TIME! WHO WILL YOU VOTE FOR COME ELECTION DAY? //
Maybe Ethan’s right. It’s a risk. But if there’s any chance Hwang can fix this chip, it’s worth it.
‘OK,’ I say, leaning against Ethan as I stand up. My body is shaking, my muscles aching like I’ve been running for miles. ‘OK.’
We’ll try to find him. But while we’re looking for Hwang, they’re looking for me. The question is, who will get there first?
Ethan holds the boards aside as I crawl through the window and back out onto the street. I have his hoodie on again, pulled low over my face. I wonder if this could be enough to trigger interest from WhiteInc, if not showing your face is enough to cause concern.
// AFRAID TO SHOW YOUR FACE? TRY OXYSPOT AND BLAST THOSE SPOTS AWAY. //
There’s a bitter chill in the air. Snow predicted. The transport system is readying itself, sending out scuttlebots to salt the tracks. Cars deflate their tyres for extra grip. I can sense all the automated systems reacting, making decisions for us so we don’t have to, all to keep us safe. All to keep us happy.
‘Shall we get a bus?’ Ethan asks, as we approach a stop.
‘The driver will want to see my face,’ I say. ‘Procedure. We’ll have to walk.’
// ST BARNABUS, WOODSIDE, 1.3 MILES AWAY. TIME TO LOCATION: 17 MINUTES. //
I laugh at how normal that message is. How helpful. It’s quickly lost under a mass of other routes being planned across the city, across the world. Everyone trusting in something other than themselves to help them find their way home. Navigating by stars.
If only they knew who was really controlling their movements.
We take a left off the street and head towards the green—just a triangle of grass between three roads where people come to escape the city. Each bench is tagged in memory of someone who loved it here. Sometimes, the geospace has been bought three times over. I wonder if the families know they’re not the only ones to own that bench.
It’s quieter here, but we’re still not alone. Never alone.
‘Stop,’ I say, clutching at Ethan’s arm.
A drone glides overhead. It picks up our image and starts zoom in. Two kids standing in a park, with nothing to do. It’s suspicious.
I pull Ethan onto a nearby bench and wrap my arms around him. Watching us embrace from above is dizzying. Seeing how the hardness in Ethan�
�s face softens like when he’s sleeping. How I resist total surrender, my arms awkward and stiff around his neck. We look like strangers. I almost feel guilty watching this intimate moment.
It seems whoever is operating the drone has the same reaction. The image zooms out again and continues on its journey.
I break away from Ethan with a gasp. He licks his lips as if trying to taste the last of the kiss. For a moment, it’s just him. No bombardment of images, no unwanted feed, just a boy and a girl on a bench. It’s so perfectly normal, I wish this moment could go on for ever.
‘Come on,’ I say, getting to my feet and holding out my hand.
He takes it and I don’t let go.
We’re a street away from the church and the building next to it, where I saw Hwang go. I focus on the doctor, trying to pick up his feed, and I’m looking at a desk made of white glass. A man’s hand holds a silver pen and scribbles away on a notepad. The words are in Korean and too scrawled for the translator to work. The hand puts down the pen. It rolls onto the floor. He doesn’t follow it. Just stares down at the white paper, before folding three times and sliding it into a crisp, white envelope. He glances out of a window. Through it I can see the spire of St Barnabas.
‘He’s still there, but we have to hurry.’
The only thing between us and Hwang is a street filled with people and covered with cameras.
I focus on the feeds from the cameras. They track up and down the street, panning left and then right, on a perfectly timed loop.
‘There’s a blind spot in the pattern,’ I say.
‘What pattern?’ Ethan says.
‘The cameras. There’s a blind spot. If we’re careful, we can avoid being seen.’
