Vi eased the door to the bathroom open.
Mr. Darcy sat on the floor, his disfigured head in his hands. He looked up as she closed the door behind her. “You must allow me to tell you…”
“I know,” she said. “You’re sad. You’re sorry. You’re broken. But you have to believe me. It’s all going to be okay.”
“You must allow me to tell you how ardently…”
Vi held up her hand to halt Mr. Darcy’s speech.
“Toshiko, scan Mr. Darcy here.”
The walls pulsed and hummed. Viola waited, fingers crossed behind his back.
“Negative,” said Toshiko.
Vi clapped her hands. “And how long does it last? The gloop?”
“The more you apply, the longer it lasts.”
“So if I were to take the clone fluid out of this clone-Darcy…” She allowed herself a little happy-dance. “If I were to take the fluid from this clone-Darcy who is not infected with toxoplasmosis and apply it to my skin, I’d look like Colin Firth for hours and hours on end?”
The computer giggled. “You would.”
“Right,” said Vi. “Let’s do this.” She helped Firth-Darcy to his feet. “Colin, I need you to strip naked. I’m going to need those clothes.”
Vi Campbell and Firth-Darcy stripped in the ladies’ bathroom both without false modesty. She was a woman on the verge of a major triumph. Violet Campbell was going to single-handedly save Watch This Space.
Well. Her and F☆ and the billions of fans watching from planet Earth.
“I’m sorry to do this to you, but your clone gloop is matched to your looks and I need it.” She took her nail and drew it across Firth-Darcy’s wrist. He didn’t offer any resistance. When the white goo bubbled up she held Darcy’s wrist over her head and allowed it to drip all over her. She lathered it in and waited.
Inside her 6’ 2” frame, Vi felt like herself but on the outside, she’d become her favourite romantic lead. She was Mr. Darcy, body and soul.
“Toshiko…”
“Yes, Vi?”
“I know all his lines, but what are we going to do about my voice?”
“May I?” The walls lit up, showering her with pulses sound and light.
Vi felt the trembling in her throat as the computer adjusted her voice box.
“How do I sound?” She didn’t need Toshiko to confirm what she already knew. She looked and sounded like Firth-Darcy.
She closed her hand over the clone’s wrist. “I don’t want you to drain yourself dry.” It was only then she realized she could have used the clone to repair itself, but his waistcoat was waiting as was his beautiful cravat.
And what better revenge was there than fooling slimy Albert while he flapped about and made everyone’s life hell?
“You stay here. I’ll be back to repair you.” She kissed the weakened Firth-Darcy on the cheek and let herself into the corridor.
She marched to F☆’s door and knocked. “Must remember to use only his lines,” she told herself. “Don’t mess up. F☆ needs to believe I’m a clone for this to work.”
As the assistant flung open the door, a mass of fur flashed past Viola-Darcy’s ankles.
“Hamilton!” F☆ gushed. “Where have you been, you naughty little fluff pot?”
Big friggin’ fluffy bag of infectious disease, thought Vi.
“If you are not otherwise engaged,” said Vi-Darcy, “would you do me the honor of dancing the next with me, Miss Bennet?”
F☆ threw back her head and laughed. “This is going to be delightful.” She took Mr. Darcy’s arm and stepped into the corridor.
Vi closed the door to the Green Room. The cat was contained, she had her perfect man, and the show was about to begin. Together, Viola and F☆ made their way to the set.
Albert leapt from his director’s chair on the set, grabbed F☆’s hand, pressed it to his lips then went in for his signature squeeze. “F☆. Ravishing. As always.”
Vi couldn’t see what they saw in F☆. Yes, she had perfectly-proportioned features, and the physical attributes that hit all the modern markers for beauty, topped off with a “voice that would make the angels fall from the sky” (Entertainment Daily, Prattling Pol), but she left Vi cold. Perhaps it was the histrionics which made the star less appealing, but whatever it was, she wasn’t inclined to fawn over the star the way her boss was doing.
F☆ tightened her grip on Darcy, while removing Albert’s hand from her waist.
Her agent spoke from a pin camera mounted above her ear. “There’s an extra fee associated with touching F☆. Monies will be automatically withdrawn from your account. Handshake, 800. Kiss one cheek, 2,000. Both cheeks, 5,000…”
“Haha,” Albert backed up, hands in the air. “A friendly greeting. Nothing more.”
“Hand on midriff, clothed: 10,000. Hand snaking around midriff, clothed, 50,000. Total charge…”
“I didn’t do it. I wasn’t…”
“I’ll trade you.” F☆ whispered.
“Trade?” Albert
F☆ dragged Vi-Darcy to the props table, whispering to her leading man. “He’s going to trade his touch/no-touch fee for my dream scene. Live. On air. Today.”
Albert trailed behind, chastened and nodding.
F☆ retrieved a curved knife, notched to gut a fish. It was the knife from Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.
“I plan to do a mash-up.” F☆ switched her palm-comm on and activated her camera. “Who’s up for a bit of swordplay with Colin Firth?”
Her Eyefeed projection appeared above her head. Only the Richie-riches could afford Eyefeed, the program that allowed the world to watch you and respond in real time. Holographic hearts and stars, screams and yips, coins, and notes and fireworks showered down on her from the ether. Her fans had spoken. They wanted what she wanted. They wanted a sword fight.
“Sure, sure,” said Albert. “Whatever you say.”
Vi called on her memory of Mr. Darcy’s many scowls, selected a sneer from the dance in Meryton, and delivered it with some precision. “I certainly shall not. In an assembly such as this? It would be insupportable.”
F☆ sidled up to Vi. “Please don’t suppose I moved this way in order to beg for a partner…”
It was a trap. Vi was supposed to answer with Darcy’s line inviting Lizzy to dance. There was no way out of it. She was a clone, programmed with Colin Firth’s lines and nothing more. “I would be very happy if you would do me the honor…”
F☆ didn’t allow Darcy to finish his line. She clapped her hands, waved at her fans, and turned to Albert. “What do we do?”
“Huh?” Albert might have been in charge of Space Station Watch This Space, but he didn’t know P&P the way Vi did. He didn’t understand what had just transpired. But Vi did. F☆ had challenged Firth-Darcy to a duel in front of her fans. And Vi, as Darcy, had accepted. There was no going back now.
“I’m about to make you the richest man in the galaxy,” simpered F☆, trailing her fingers down Vi’s waistcoat. “Richer than the richest man in Derbyshire.”
Albert nodded, still clueless.
“Do we upload a new program?” F☆ dropped her coquettish act. She was all business. “Make sure he has the fight scene in his cranium?”
Vi had so many questions. Whose lines was she supposed to use? Colin Firth’s or Sam Riley’s? She racked her brains for the appropriate Firth line so she could direct the conversation, but F had moved on.
“Stand here.” F☆ pointed to a loading dock.
Vi flushed beetroot under the clonefeed mask which protected her identity. She couldn’t step into a clone dock. Her brain wasn’t configured for that kind of brute-force download. Her synapses would be fried to a crisp.
“The Colin Firth Darcy model has been updated.” Toshiko’s voice, emanating from the wall, was calm, sure. “Space Station Watch This Space has the technology. We can rebuild him.” It was a code. Toshiko was telling Vi she had her back, using lines from ancient TV shows. Of cour
se, Toshiko would know what Vi had majored in. She had access not only to her files but since Vi had failed to unhook herself from the mainframe, Toshiko was able to zip and fizz in the corridors of Vi’s brain, downloading fight moves; parries and thrusts and footwork and feints.
Toshiko laughed. Vi tensed. Wasn’t someone going to ask why Toshiko was laughing?
No one flinched. They were too busy ogling the weapons from Pride and Prejudice and Zombies’ fight scene: The pile of books Lizzie hurled at Riley-Darcy; the fire poker which Vi-Darcy was to use to take the button off the top of Lizzie’s gown during the proposal-fight-scene; the fish knife that would remove the buttons from Darcy’s waistcoat.
In P&P&Z, Darcy and Lizzy undressed each other while offering and rejecting marriage and rolling about on the carpet, heaving, and panting. Not Regency at all, but a hit nonetheless.
Toshiko was still laughing privately. Just for Vi. “That’s an audacious move by our starlette. Are we excited about F☆’s mashup?”
“We are not,” Vi replied, silently. “We are not well enough acquainted with the Zombie version of P&P.”
“Fing Foo is derived from Shaolin-style fighting,” said Toshiko. “It’s all in here in your brain. You’re going to be fine.”
“Ready?” said F☆.
Vi had no choice. She had to be ready.
“1995 lines,” said Toshiko. “2016 fight.”
Vi took her place in the middle of the set.
F☆ coiled back her leg and kicked her. Hard. Right in the ribs.
Vi spun, launching herself over the nearest table. They’d bypassed the marriage proposal and gone directly to the fight. She didn’t know where they were in the script. She turned to the computer who was humming in her head. “Which line? Which line, Toshiko?”
“Disguise of every…” Toshiko prompted.
Vi ducked to avoid a swinging swipe from the fire poker. “Perhaps these offences might have been overlooked…”
F☆ launched herself at Vi, wrapping her legs around Darcy’s neck. The woman wasn’t playing according to the script.
Vi braced herself for the punch she knew was coming but she could barely see F☆ through the torrent of approval her fans showered her in.
F☆ didn’t hold back, she walloped Vi right in the kisser.
The clone feed caked on Vi’s face cracked. Vi heard it. She smoothed her hand over her nose. She’d leaked, but not so much that she was unmasked. She fought back. F☆ pinned her to the floor, her bosom heaving just the way it had in the Zombie film. Her fans rioted. Out of the corner of her eye, Vi saw F☆’s ranking shooting through the damned roof.
The two women stood, panting.
F☆ turned her camera to private mode and held a hand over her ear. “Enough?”
Vi waited. Who was she talking to?
F☆ nodded. “Roger that.” She turned to Albert. “It’s a hit. Been picked up by all the major outlets. We’re done here…”
“But…” Albert stuttered. “We have a show to...”
F☆ nodded at Vi. “Use her.”
Albert looked at Violet. “Her?”
F☆ reached for Vi, making her flinch. “You’re peeling, m’dear.”
Vi slapped her hand over her nose and cheek. “Please forgive me for having taken up your time.” Vi bowed. “And accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.” She ran for the ladies’ toilet.
F☆ followed at a leisurely pace.
Albert trailed F☆, naturally.
Mr. Darcy was where Vi had left him, propped against the far wall. All she had to do was get more clone feed on her face and she’d be back in the game. She grabbed him and dragged him into a stall, locking it behind her.
Dream job: playing Colin Firth with Colin Firth as Darcy in a toilet. Fab.
“Open your wrist…”
There was a rush of air as the outer doors open and shut. Someone kicked the stall doors until they got to Vi’s.
“Come out,” said Albert.
Vi was cornered. End of the line. Game over. She opened the door to face her fate. If she was only permitted to explain about the toxoplasmosis and the ruined clones and the fact that half the crew was infected…
“Restrain her,” said Albert.
The security bots muscled their way around him.
F☆ held up her hand halting the bots in their tracks. “Why did you do it? Why impersonate Mr. Darcy?” She had her Eyefeed trained on Violet. The planet below was watching.
“The show…” Vi stuttered. “Without the show, we’re nothing…”
F☆ turned her camera on herself. “She’s not wrong, is she peeps?” Her fans, hanging on her every word, voted with their goddess, the stats showing up all around her as an emerald glow. She turned the camera on Albert. “And him?” She waited. The glow shifted from green to red then purple shot through with swirls of grey. The fans were pissed at Albert for laying hands on their one true love.
“Shall we airlock him?” said F☆.
The fans voted overwhelmingly to throw Albert off the ship and Unperson him.
And the fans are always right.
Always.
They pay the piper which means they call the tune.
“You can’t….” said Vi, but no one was listening.
It was all happening so fast.
The bots marched Albert away.
F☆ sauntered towards the Greenroom, chatting to her fans, and Vi was left in the toilet with Mr. Darcy.
“F☆?” Vi shouted. “When did you know?”
F☆ turned and smiled. “The second I opened my door. I know all about masks, sugar. You might look like Colin Firth playing Mr. Darcy but it’s all in the eyes. Your eyes say you’re scared. Alone. Lacking confidence. Those aren’t the eyes of Mr. Darcy.” She waltzed back and unceremonially peeled the remainder of Darcy’s face off Vi. “I see who you are. But more than that, I see who you can be.”
Vi didn’t know what to say. Eight billion people had just watched her being unmasked. She might as well have been naked.
“What do you think?” said F☆. She was addressing her fans again. “Shall we make Violet Campbell into a star?”
F☆ glowed green, the approval ratings pulsing and bouncing off the walls.
“Who do you want to be, Violet? You can be anyone at all. Say the words and I shall make it so.”
Vi didn’t hesitate. “I want to be me.”
F☆ smiled, leaned forward and whispered. “Tell me about it. If I could do it all again, that’s who I’d be.”
Vi was taken aback. Had the world’s top star just admitted she’d rather have been a lowly grunt like her? Whatever she’d meant, F☆ had the power to make Vi’s wildest dreams come true. She forced herself to say what she wanted. What she’d always wanted: “ I want to be right here. Working. On Watch This Space. I want to make people happy…”
“So it is said, so it is done…” said F☆, moving on. “You’re the boss, Vi. Go. Make people happy.”
Vi watched the star shimmer into her room, scoop Hamilton into her arms, and smother him in kisses.
She’d just been promoted. Instantly. She had her dream job. And a show to deliver. F☆ might be okay with shafting the fans, but she wasn’t. “Would you mind, terribly, Colin…?” She reached for his wrist, took only enough clone feed to repair her face, and sealed him again.
“Shall we assemble the cast, Ms. Campbell?” asked Toshiko.
Vi nodded, then caught herself. “Can we? I mean, it is safe? What do we do about the infections?”
“For the humans, antibiotics,” said Tosh. “The clones must be disinfected and reconfigured.”
Vi slid down the wall and took Mr. Darcy’s hand in hers. “Thank you.”
Colin Firth smiled. “Do not trifle with me…”
“Have no fear, Darcy. You won’t be melted down or airlocked. You’re safe. And, in any case, you’re immortal. But we already knew that…”
“Vi?” Toshiko initiated the c
onversation. Interesting. “Do we honestly want to airlock Albert?”
Good question. He was a sleaze and a grossbag, but did he deserve death? There was the other option. Possibly worse, depending on how he handled himself. “Send him to Earth, Tosh.”
“Done.”
“Oh, and Toshiko?”
“Yes, boss?”
“The tech who was going to be jettisoned?”
“Benson Schultz?”
“Rescind that order and reinstate him.”
“Already done, boss. Anything else?”
Vi smiled. “Give yourself a round of applause. Give everyone a round of applause.”
And that was how Violet Campbell began her dream job as an entertainment mogul: In a shower of applause.
Kate Pickford is a displaced Briton who writes for an American audience. Her post-apocalyptic works have sold tens of thousands of copies, but she now returns–under her own name–to her first love: science fiction.
Find out more at katepickford.com.
54
The Loyal Beast
by Sarah Noffke
One fearless cat risks everything to save a little girl. And she’ll do anything for her Johnny Cat!
Preface
I grew up in a small lake community in East Texas. My family wasn’t like yours and I can guarantee that. We all have dysfunctional families, but no one’s is dysfunctional in the same way. I’ve grown up to be somewhat adjusted, however I keep my quirks intact, being mindful not to let anyone see that they came from a strange and warped childhood.
Let’s get one thing straight right off the bat, I don’t consider myself abused, rather I view my childhood as a series of strange adventures played out in unconventional ways and perceived through the layers of conditioning that we all inevitably pick up from those who raise us. On sunny days my mind trails back to these soggy memories and I can almost swear I can smell the moss of the lake and the sounds of the motor boats as they speed rebelliously by the “Caution” buoy.
Hellcats: Anthology Page 97
