by JT Lawrence
uMpanghi: Pirate. Despoiler. Bandit.
“Suits you, though,” says Zack.
The man stops smiling.
Zack turns to the guard. “This isn’t my lawyer.”
Lovemore blinks at him.
“But I am,” Mpanghi says. “I am your lawyer. Appointed by the state.”
Zack stands up. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”
“Sit down, Prisoner,” says Lovemore.
“I don’t need a state-appointed attorney. I have my own lawyer. Detective Ramphele said he would be called.”
“Ramphele no longer works for the SAP.”
“I don’t care about Ramphele, I just want my lawyer. My real lawyer.”
Lovemore breathes through his mouth, scratches his cheek with slender fingers. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“Well,” says Zack, taking a step forward, “that’s not a problem. Just let me contact him. All it’ll take is one call.”
“You don’t have phone privileges,” he says.
Zack swallows his frustration. “Can you call him for me?”
When Lovemore looks uncertain, he adds, “I’ll pay you more than what you make here in a year.”
“That won’t be necessary,” says Mpanghi.
“You’re new here. You don’t know what’s necessary.”
“You don’t have banking privileges, either,” says Lovemore.
“My lawyer will arrange that. My real lawyer.”
Mphangi’s eyes crinkle in a false smile. “I’m afraid that’s not how it works.”
There’s something sinister about the man. Zack felt it immediately as he entered the room, thought it was maybe nerves from being cloistered for so long but, no, there’s definitely something menacing about him.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Lovemore says, “It means that just because you’re rich, doesn’t mean you get to call the shots. Doesn’t mean you get special treatment.”
“Used to be rich,” says Mpanghi.
Zack looks at him. “What did you say?”
“Your accounts have been frozen, pending the outcome of the trial.”
“They can’t do that.”
“They have, already. Don’t worry, you’ll get it all back … If you’re innocent.”
“And if they find me guilty?”
“Your money goes into the pot. You’ll be paying for other criminals’ trials. But don’t worry, once they’ve enlisted you at one of the crim colonies, you’ll be able to start earning bank again. Pray that you get into the space mining programme… I’ve heard that one pays the best.”
It also has the highest fatality rate.
“It’s against the constitution.” Zack’s chest blooms with anxiety. The money was going to be his ticket out of here. This isn’t going according to plan.
Mpanghi and Lovemore look at each other and laugh without smiling.
“Haven’t you heard? The Nancies keeps changing the constitution.”
“Change it every day, like dirty underwear.”
“Last week it was the Amakwerekwere ban. This week, well, your timing is very bad,” says the lawyer. “The Criminal Asset Seizure Act was signed … last night. It was hardly contested in parly and I can’t say I disagree with the tenets. I mean, why should wealthy people be able to get the best lawyers? Hardly seems fair. Now you’ll all get equal treatment.” He strokes his oiled beard; his eyes rest on Zack. “I mean, a murderer is a murderer, right?”
Chapter 17
Double Deception
12 YEARS LATER
Johannesburg, 2036
Silver is pulled along a dim passageway plastered with old-school bumper stickers, graffiti and chewing gum. Over and over again she sees the letters QE. QE. QE.
“QE?”
“Question Everything,” says Dragon Scales.
At the very end she recognises a sticker of an image she grew up with: a neon bunny. Seth would always point them out to her and Mally, when they’d spot them on a park hoverbench or a skateboard ramp.
That’s Alba, he used to say, and tell them the story of the DNA-spliced rabbit in the lab. Silver named her cuddle bunny after him, and still secretly sleeps with the threadbare plush tucked into the angle of her elbow, her lips on his balding head.
“That’s Alba,” she says now, pointing to the sticker, and DS smiles.
They go further and deeper and Silver tries to remember the way but after the first few turns, her mind blanks, and her nerves start zinging again.
What the fuck am I doing?
As if reading her thoughts, he turns to her and says: “Almost there.”
They reach another door, and he uses his fingerprint to unlock it. The fluorescent lights detect their motion and flicker on, overhead. It’s a double volume room that looks like a disused operating theatre. Cheap white tiles everywhere, scratched and scuffed from years of scrubbing and harsh chemicals. Dusty now, smirched, with sinister black grouting. Pushed up against the walls are old OR spotlights and metallic trays; medical cabinets; IV hooks. Silver is sure she’s still green. She starts to sweat.
Dragon Scales pulls a vintage dentist’s chair into the centre, then shuttles the overhead spotlight next to it, switches it on, to test it. The bright light hurts Silver’s eyes, and she looks away.
“This isn’t what I was expecting.”
Her voice comes out dull and flat: the room is soundproofed.
A tiny red light glows from the corner of the door, indicating that its locked.
“Don’t worry, it’s perfect for what we need to do.”
Silver’s insides have liquefied; at least, that’s what it feels like.
“I can see you’re nervous,” says Dragon Scales. “I don’t want you to worry.”
Silver slowly steps backwards and knocks over a metal bowl. It clatters and rings on the tiles. “Let me out of here.”
“Let me explain.”
The hairs on her neck stand up. “I don’t want you to explain. I want to get the fuck out of here.”
“Why don’t you sit down?” He motions at the chair and switches off the spotlight.
“I’ll scream,” she says, but they both know there is no point.
“There’s no need—” he begins, but is interrupted by a shuffling sound at the door.
The small LED switches to green, and Silver breaks for it, but just before she gets there, another man comes in and she almost crashes into him.
“Whoa!” he says, catching her.
“Let me out!” Silver shouts, but the door swings on its hinges and closes softly, and the red light comes back on.
“Whoa!” he says, letting her go. “What the fuck, man?”
“Thank you for coming,” says Dragon Scales. “We’re almost ready for you. Kid Silver, this is Doctor Smith.”
How stupid does he think I am?
Doctor Smith. A double deception, in just two words.
The man seems nervous. “She’s just a little girl.”
“She’ll be sixteen soon.”
“I don’t know, man.” He rubs his ear and then his neck.
“We have a deal,” says DS. “Right?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I mean, she’s so young. Look at her. And I’m not even really a—”
DS interrupts him. “It’s a simple procedure, you’ll do fine.”
‘Smith’ hunches over in his defeat, and pulls a roll of starched black fabric out of his shoulder bag. He loosens the tie and unrolls it onto a stainless steel tray, revealing surgical implements that glint in the harsh light.
Silver starts to scream. She runs for the door, pounding on it and shouting for help. From behind, Dragon Scales slaps a hot hand over her mouth and shoots a tranqtaser into her neck. The current travels down her limbs, a long, hot shock, and is followed by the warmth of the tranquilliser. It melts her. Silver’s body wants to soften all the way to the floor, but Dragon Scales holds her up, carries her to the chair and secu
res her wrists and feet with the big brown leather straps and copper buckles. He switches the spotlight back on, momentarily blinding her, then angles the light so it’s shining on her silver hair. She’s woozy with the fear and the drugs; she wants to kick and fight, but her body is a warm, wet sponge.
DS holds something to her head, some buzzing thing, and with the vibration she feels her hair being shaven. A streak of white falls to the floor. She thinks he’ll shave her whole head, but he stops at that one line just left of centre, where she used to part her hair. DS fastens a leather strap to her forehead now too. Silver tries to talk, to beg, but even her mouth is paralysed. DS spends a moment caressing her head, her cheek.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he says, then holds her hopeless hand. “I know it seems scary, but this is the quickest and easiest way. We’re not going to hurt you.”
Silver’s face is frozen; her tongue is numb. All she can manage is a throaty groan.
What has she done what has she done what has she done—
A tear runs down her temple.
Smith’s face moves away, then pops up again, holding a mediquill.
“Anaesthetic,” he warbles, then jams it into the tender crook of her arm. “Count down from ten.”
The scalpel is out now and misted with antiseptic spray. The same spray is cool on her strip of bare scalp. Silver resists counting, but colour-numbers come to her anyway, and float before her. Rainbow sprinkles on soiled bandages. Spinning scalpel cupcakes. 10, 9, 8 … and then they fade to black.
Chapter 18
Shorn and Stitched
Dragon Scales watches as the med school drop-out applies the dressing to Silver’s shorn and stitched scalp. He checks her vitals. Her body is twitching with stress, but she’s alive. He touches her cheek, snaps his fingers in her face.
“Silver?” snap, snap. “Silver?”
She gasps as if drowning, her back arches and her eyes open and roll back.
“Can you hear me?”
A long, desperate gasp for air, then her body seems to relax. She lists backwards on the chair and her eyes close again.
“Is she okay?” DS asks Smith. “Is that normal?”
Smith shrugs. “What’s normal? I told you I’ve never done this before.”
Dragon Scales checks her pulse again, and it seems steady. He touches his mandible to place the call. “It’s done.”
A woman replies, “Good. Bring her in.”
Chapter 19
Skin Zip
Seth’s Apartment
Johannesburg, 2036
Mally switches off his cinescreen and gingerly climbs out of bed. Standing makes his upper thigh throb like a motherfucker. He gives his worst injury a quick inspection—it’s already healing, thanks to the stem-cell skin zip—and limps towards the kitchen. He stops short when he hears Kate’s terse voice.
“Fuck,” says his mother. She doesn’t like it when he swears, but her mouth is one of the foulest he knows. So much for modelling the behaviour you expect from your kids. There’s other stuff too, that she does. He doesn’t blame her, though. No one said having a baby made you perfect. And in his case, well, she didn’t even give birth to him, so all bets are off.
“What are we going to do?” That’s Keke talking.
“Get out before the panic sets in,” says Seth.
“Out?”
“Out of the city. Out of AI’s reach.”
What the hell are they talking about?
“Out of AI’s reach? That doesn’t even exist.”
“The longer we stand here talking about it, the less chance we have of getting out alive.”
Mally stares at a poster on his wall. It’s a vintage one, a gift from Uncle Marko. It’s a 2D cartoon of a Bender from Futurama, and the robot’s saying: Being a robot is great, but we don’t have emotions, and sometimes that makes me very sad.
“But where?” demands Kate. “And how will we live? What will we eat?”
“You know what I mean. Away from any kind of machine that can harm the kids. Besides, what will we eat if we stay here? It’s not like the Bilchen Meal drones are going to keep delivering.”
“Oh,” says Kate, anxiety turning her voice to gravel.
“What’s wrong? Kate? It looks like you’re about to pass out.”
“The kids. Silver. Silver’s out there somewhere. Morgan put her in a cab, but that was over an hour ago.”
Mally’s never heard Seth so worried. “It’s past her curfew. Silver never misses her curfew.”
“What if she’s—”
“She’s still not answering her mandible.”
“We have to go get her.”
“What about Mally? We can’t leave him here.”
“There’s no way he’s going out there.”
“Shit. What about Vega?”
“He’s never seeing her again.”
Mally starts tip-toeing backwards, away from the kitchen. He doesn’t know what’s going on—not yet—but there’s no way he’s not going to see Vega again. He’d rather die than never see her again. She is his soulmate, his best friend. Some people say that robots don’t have souls—some even try to criminalise human/bot relationships—but Mally knows that’s not true. Seventh-generation androids have got exactly the same proficiency for love as any bio person. Flesh and blood doesn’t make you human, that’s for sure. That’s what he’s seen over and over again in his sixteen years. It’s what struck him into existence and what almost bashed him out of it again. Vega has as much vital force as any non-droid he knows. They love each other so much it hurts—well, it hurts him, anyway, deeply and achingly—and there’s no way Kate’s paranoia is going to come between them.
Seth’s Vektor is abandoned on the sideboard. Usually Seth’s so careful with storing the gun: Mally’s never seen it lying around before. He is obviously more upset with the Bonechaser incident than he lets on. He blinks back tears. He won’t think about the dog now, he can’t; there’ll be time for him to mourn later.
He takes the availability of the Vektor as a sign, clips the weapon onto his utility belt and covers it with his shirt. He’s reversed all the way to the front door now, which is still on the blink, allowing him a quick and soundless exit.
Chapter 20
A Normal Kind of Midnight
Mally’s about to step into the elevator when he gets a bad feeling.
“Good evening,” says the speaker inside the intelligent metal cube.
Best to stay away from anything with smarts, he decides, remembering his mother’s tense conversation with the others. As he takes the stairs, he thinks of Silver, and his nerves gnaw at him. He should be trying to find her too, but he needs to keep his eye on the ball. He’ll find Vega first, then they’ll figure out the rest. Besides, his mother and Seth will probably go out to get Silver, that’s what it sounded like. She’s probably safe at the Atrium, anyway. Probably forgot to set the timer on her immersion and now she’s missed curfew. Unusual for her, he reflects, as he gets a new lining of dread in his stomach. Silver knows that if she misses her curfew she’ll be grounded for a week. She’s so obsessed with gaming Eden 7.0 that a week without playing will kill her.
The other kids in their virtual class treat Silver differently. Well, they treat them both differently, but for different reasons. Mally because he’s the only surviving Genesis kid, and also because of his controversial relationship with Vega. But they kind of revere Silver. It could be because of her eccentric appearance (beautiful, white-haired, bird-boned), her attachment to that grimy gas-mask, or her mad gaming skills. Or it could be because of her bionic finger, and the story that comes with it. The Net knows the kids like to tell that story. He’s heard a thousand variations, each one more outlandish than the last, but Mally thinks people feel weird around her mostly due to the feeling you get when she walks into the room, even if it’s a virtual room. It’s like she has an air of electricity about her. Like there’s static in the air. He used to think he was the
only one to feel this way, thought maybe it’s because they’re twins (or kind-of twins) but now he sees it on other people’s faces too. A kind of surprise, a curiosity, that she arouses wherever she goes.
She’s always had it, her point of difference, whatever it is. He remembers people’s reactions to her when she was a child, but with puberty it’s been magnified. Intensified. The kids in class who are also into the Atrium Games say that the other players call Silver ‘Ghost’.
Mally reaches the bottom of the stairs and his leg feels as if it’s on fire. He roots in his pocket for the analgesic inhalant, sucks out a dose, and hobbles out of the front entrance, thankful that the biometric pad is still working, and stands on the hot pavement. It’s almost midnight, but it’s 36 degrees Celsius.
Coolvest.
His cooling shirt immediately temps him down. He puts on his facemask and swipes the ads out the way to check his newstream. Nothing cosmic seems to be happening in the headlines:
Shini Wam signs off New Nuke deal.
Mars shuttle still missing.
Have you got your flu sticker?
Roguebots vs Bot-Hunters: A Tipping Point.
The Orbital Space Junk Clean-Up Needs Your Help.
Crim Colonies profit up 17%.
Are your smart drugstax killing you?
Killer Porterbot; DroidChef; Hyperloop: What Really Happened?
Universal Basic Income is finally here!
So maybe whatever the parental units were panicking about isn’t as serious as they think. Indeed, as people walk and airskate around him, it looks like any normal kind of midnight in Jozi. He stands for a second longer, wondering which tram to climb aboard. The Atrium is twelve blocks east. Vega’s hostel is in the opposite direction. Is Silver really in danger? Probably not. Or at least that’s what he tells himself, despite his nagging intuition, as he catches a westbound and heads into the smartificial sect of ChinaCity/Sandton.
