Mind Games

by Teri Terry

  He nods. ‘Classes fuller now, can get away with more.’ He grins.

  ‘Excellent. Come on.’

  We reach our branch of the Richmond El. Safe Cycle Elevation is emblazoned on gates that swing open when our registered bicycles are detected. Our wheels link securely to the moving track, and I sigh. I can get why Sally wants us to take the Els: it’s safer. No cars or collisions or falling off possible. I can also get why Jason likes it. Less effort, good views as it soars over the streets below. At maximum speed the whole thing is a bit like a rollercoaster. But somehow it still feels like cheating to me.

  ‘Wow,’ Jason says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve switched on London Now and Then. It’s cool. You can see St Paul’s without the dome. And how it was before, too: not so white as it is now.’

  I stare into the distance at St Paul’s Cathedral, the NUN towers beyond it. The round white dome has always been as it is now in my lifetime, a landmark you can see from the El in recent years, and also from King Henry’s Mound in Richmond Park. I know from history class that it was destroyed in the third world war, then rebuilt, that this isn’t the original dome. But it’s the only one I’ve known.

  Jason twists on his bicycle to look behind us, his eyes moving around at things only they can see with his Implant.

  ‘What are you looking at now?’

  He shrugs, makes a small gesture and his eyes refocus to here and now. ‘You miss so much stuff, Luna,’ he says, not answering the question. ‘Why don’t you get an Implant?’

  I look at Jason in surprise. ‘You know. We’ve talked about this before.’

  ‘That you’d rather see what is real all the time. But that’s stupid. And boring!’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  ‘And you can still see what is real, and what isn’t. With Implant stuff it’s just like an overlay on things, you can switch it on or off. It’s not like being plugged in.’

  The El drops to street level again, and then abruptly ends at a gate, one that wasn’t there the last time we came this way. We wait, but the gate doesn’t open.

  Jason unfocuses, checks out the delay. ‘You need a pass code now from someone in the Queens Road community.’

  Melrose lives there. She never mentioned they’ve extended the gates to cut off the El, but with five years to catch up on yesterday, it obviously didn’t rate with all the gossip and boys. I could ask Jason to message her; I should get him to do that. But needing my little brother to communicate for me rankles inside.

  ‘Let’s exit,’ I say, instead.

  Jason grins. He likes doing things Sally says not to as much as I do; at least that is still the same.

  Once off the El we have to go around the whole gated community. Jason takes off in front, and when he turns right at a crossroads, I call out for him to come back.

  ‘The park is the other way, isn’t it?’ I say when he reaches me.

  He gives me a look, shakes his head.

  ‘I don’t know this way. Check your Implant map.’

  He sighs, and unfocuses to switch it on, then looks back at me. ‘It says to go right.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  He crosses his arms. ‘There is an arrow on the ground in front of my bike that says where to go. If you had your own Implant, you could check it. You’ll just have to take my word for it.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘OK, fine. You’re in charge.’

  Jason heads off in front again. The road loops back around, so we are indeed going in the right direction for the park. As we go there are more and more houses that are closed up, dark. Shutters drawn or boards across windows, and for no reason I can identify, I start to feel uneasy.

  I catch up to Jason and cycle next to him. ‘Maybe we should go back,’ I say.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s kind of creepy around here.’

  He gives me a look again. ‘We’re nearly there now. Come on.’

  He picks up speed, and I follow. There are more empty buildings, others run-down. Rubbish on the street. We pass a house with a garden so strewn with junk that it looks like a tip. A movement flicks near the ground: a cat? I look again, and beady rodent eyes stare back. There are figures lying on sofas in the midst of it all, unmoving beyond twitching. Implant Addicts? Here, in Richmond?

  Even as my legs pump the pedals faster to leave this place, my eyes are unable to look away. There are five of them. Two men, three women, and then with shock I see that one of them is actually a girl. She looks younger than me. But Implant access is restricted until age eighteen: it shouldn’t be possible.

  At last we reach the park gates. There is a moment of disquiet inside when they don’t swing open, but then, seconds later, they do.

  Once through the gates the park is as always, and gradually I relax. Here, there are no Els: the park has been maintained to be the same for centuries. There are crisscrossing cycling and walking trails, a road down the centre. All is peace and order. A few walkers push baby strollers; a bicycle goes past with a toddler in a seat behind the rider. We spot deer through the trees grazing on grass. Fawns will be born soon.

  We head for the adventure playground but it is almost empty, and we soon move on. When we go past the under-five playground it is busy with toddlers, parents and nannies. Nowhere do we see any kids near Jason’s age; no wonder he doesn’t want to come here any more. He doesn’t want to hang out with babies.

  It didn’t used to be like this here, even just a year ago. I frown to myself. Why the change? The Implant age. That’s it, isn’t it? I’d tried to argue with Dad and Sally about Jason having Implant surgery at ten, just months ago. Sally threatened unspeakable things if I tried to infect him in any way with my Refusing. But she didn’t have to. I want him to be happy, to fit in with the other kids his age. To not be a freak like his sister. But at ten? How could he make such an important decision at that age?

  When we leave the park we divert without discussion to the nearby cemetery. Jason stops, leans his bike against the fence. ‘Now for a survey of the latest late,’ he says. And I nod, pleased this is one ritual he wants to keep.

  And we walk along, searching out the new graves, noting the names. We always did this, to imagine the recently dead in our zombie adventures. Jason has always liked his stories scary, the scarier the better. Back then he was imagining being able to play Zombie Wars version 12. Now he’s playing it, for real – virtually, that is – version 14.

  ‘Alexander J. Munch: zombie or vampire?’ I say.

  ‘Definitely a vampire name,’ he answers. ‘But kind of old for killer status.’ The carved dates have Munch at over a hundred years old. ‘Though that could be creepy. Next?’

  ‘Here’s one. How about Rory Middleton-Smith?’

  ‘Zombie,’ another voice says, so quietly I wasn’t sure I heard or imagined it, but Jason has turned sharply at the sound. I reach for his arm to pull him back, but he’s sprung out of reach and is around the other side of the gravestone.

  I dash after him. A man lies in the grass on top of a grave, his face blank. Body wasted. His glassy eyes are moving back and forth so fast they must be unaware of their surroundings, but then he swivels his head to Jason.

  And his eyes still, and focus.

  ‘Zombie,’ he says again, more clearly. Then his head slumps back, his eyes start moving again.

  I grab Jason’s shoulder, pull him back.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Jason says. ‘He’s harmless. He can’t even move. See?’ And he twists away from me and pushes at the man’s leg with his foot. He doesn’t register, just twitches, his eyes darting and dancing at things only he can see.

  ‘Jason!’

  Jason shrugs, steps back again. ‘Don’t freak out, he’s not dangerous. He’s always here.’

  By the looks
of him, not for much longer. I’m shocked. I’ve seen Implant Addicts before, like on public service announcements of how to spot early signs of overuse in the mentally deficient, or from a train window, sprawled on railway benches, but always distant, removed. The ones we cycled past in front of that house today were the closest I’d been before now. And although his clothes are almost rags, I can still see the Hacker design. The swirls of tattoos around his left eye – his are white, to contrast against dark-as-midnight skin – mark him out. He was a Hacker? And not just any Hacker: going by the extensive interlocking swirls of his tattoos, he was on the absolute top of the Game. Why on earth be an addict when you can design your own worlds safe and sound in a PIP?

  Then Jason’s words from before penetrate. ‘He’s always here? Have you been coming here on your own?’

  Jason shakes his head. ‘No. Not on my own; with friends from school.’

  So they’re not always plugged in, and while that is good to know, I’m sure this would be news to Sally. If she knew it’d be banned straight away.

  ‘It’s perfectly safe,’ Jason protests, reading my face.

  ‘Come on. Back to our bikes. We’re going home.’

  This time we head straight for the El gate at Queens Road, and Jason uses his Implant to message Melrose to let us in. The gates swing open.

  ‘She’s out shopping. Says see you later,’ Jason relays.

  As we ride the El back over all the beautiful, sprawling mansions and gardens of Melrose’s neighbourhood, I wonder: what if we didn’t know someone here, and couldn’t get the gates to open? Unless we repeat the way we went this morning, something I don’t really want to do – at least, not with Jason – the whole park is barred to us. My eyes search out the gates and barriers scattered about these exclusive neighbourhoods, the encroaching dying streets beyond.

  Though close in distance, our own street is a million miles away from both Melrose’s mansion and the dark areas.

  But the latter are closer.

  7

  ‘Good ride?’ Dad asks.

  Jason holds up a hand and Dad gives him a high five.

  ‘You should have unplugged earlier and come with us,’ I say. ‘Get some real sunshine.’ Dad is pale, his skin almost waxy: it hasn’t seen the sun in months.

  ‘Why not programme the PIP life support to give some artificial sunlight every day?’ Sally suggests.

  ‘Clever woman, that’s why I married you.’ Dad kisses Sally and I resist the urge to mime retching, but then Jason does it for me. I wink at him.

  ‘Maybe the real thing would be healthier. You used to take me to the park.’ I mentally add, you and Astra, but don’t say it out loud. Nothing would send Sally into a grump faster than being reminded of the more gorgeous, smarter and all-round better woman she can only fail to replace. And I don’t want to do or say anything to make Dad avoid unplugging for weeks again. Isn’t that the real reason why he married her? Once Nanna started to lose it, he needed someone to look after things, so he could hide away from troubling reality with a clear conscience.

  ‘Parks and sunshine are kid stuff,’ Sally says. ‘Jason is outgrowing them.’ Unsaid, but there, on her face: Jason is outgrowing you.

  I narrow my eyes. ‘There were no kids in the park today at all. Just babies, little ones. None near Jason’s age, or mine. Once they get Implants they don’t want to play any more.’

  Sally frowns and I know I’m verging into her not-in-front-of-Jason areas, but I want to hear what Dad thinks about it.

  ‘They’re still playing – just not where you can see them,’ Dad says.

  ‘It’s not the same,’ I say.

  ‘Of course it isn’t,’ Sally answers. ‘It’s safer. No broken arms or skinned knees. And no passing germs around to each other. Especially at your age.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘It’d be hard to break an arm cycling on an El. And there are plenty of opportunities to catch germs in school, y’know. If one is interested in germs.’ But she is right about one thing. It didn’t take Melrose’s updates yesterday, I already knew: the whole boy-girl scene at my school is virtual. Everyone looks better on a v-date than they do in real life; everyone has a designer wardrobe; everyone is a good kisser. If you don’t fancy meeting up with someone who exists, a whole range of fantasy boyfriends is available once you pass the under-sixteen blocks, and you can’t catch anything or get pregnant. What’s not to like?

  Unless you happen to be a Refuser. Unless you would like something real.

  ‘Though germ opportunities at school may be gone by the time Jason gets to secondary,’ Dad says.

  ‘Who’d want germs anyway?’ Jason says, it all going over his head.

  ‘Why, what do you mean?’ I ask Dad.

  ‘You really miss out on the news by not signing up for feeds,’ he says. ‘Secondaries are being phased out.’

  ‘Really?’ Jason says. ‘No more school in another year? Awesome!’ He looks very happy, and Dad laughs.

  ‘No, you’ll still have to go to school. But as your education post-ten is almost all virtual now anyhow, you don’t need to physically go there. You can do it virtually at home, right?’

  ‘What about sport? What about actually interacting with kids their own age, at lunch if no other time? What about Refusers?’ I say, the questions coming out in a rush.

  Dad looks uncomfortable. ‘Sport and social stuff are nearly all virtual now anyhow, and the cost savings will be huge. As for the other, not sure if they’ve worked it all out yet.’

  ‘Hmmph.’ Nanna’s dismissive noise sounds very like what I was just thinking. What about NUN’s International Bill of Rights of the Child? I glance at her across the table, but her eyes have slipped closed.

  After lunch I’m up in my room, packing. Sally has passed a message on from Melrose: she is lending me a dress for the formal tonight, and has sent along a detailed list of what everyone is wearing the rest of the week.

  Monday: smart black trousers, white shirt. And round glasses? Really? Given that all refractive errors requiring glasses have been corrected years ago, this, I’m guessing, is supposed to be the intelligent look. That’s the day of the IQ test. And no need to worry about packing beyond that, is there? I’ll fail it, and get an early ticket home.

  But a half-empty suitcase might raise suspicions. I throw in a few tops and jumpers, jeans and skirts, in a haphazard, random fashion, ignoring the list past the first day.

  There is a light tap on the door just as I’m zipping up my case. The door opens; it’s Dad. He comes in, shuts it behind him and sits next to me.

  ‘Heh,’ he says. ‘All ready to go? It’s almost four.’

  ‘Think so.’

  ‘Don’t look so worried. You’ll do well.’

  ‘No. I won’t.’ I sigh, look at my shoes. I won’t do well because I won’t allow myself to do well. But I can’t tell him that, can I?

  ‘None of that negative stuff, Loony-Tunes,’ he says, a name he hasn’t called me in years. ‘Your mother would be so proud of you.’

  Some lump twists in my throat, and I blink. He picks up her photo from my dressing table. Looks at me, then at her. ‘You look more and more like her every day.’

  ‘I do not! She’s gorgeous.’ I stare at the photo of Astra in his hands: the long thick dark hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, the mischief in her pale grey eyes. The Hacker’s intricate black swirls around her left eye, more than I’ve seen on anyone else, stand out stark on pale skin. Was she naturally pale, or was that just from spending too much time plugged in? Like Dad.

  ‘You’ve got her eyes, her hair. And her smile. Not that you use it enough. You know, Luna, you don’t have to keep doing this for her. Avoiding plugging in. She wouldn’t want you to limit your chances.’

  I stare back at him, and I’m this close to telling him tha
t the way she died isn’t the reason I Refuse.

  But then there are footsteps on the stairs, and Dad hurriedly puts the photo down. Sally appears at the door. ‘Car is here,’ she says, smiling. ‘Wait till you see it!’

  ‘Knock ’em dead,’ Dad says. ‘Now I’m off to explore strange new worlds and all that.’

  ‘Trekkie Sunday?’

  ‘That’s it!’ He leans in to give me a hug, and says low in my ear: ‘And, Luna? No matter how it goes, she’d still be proud of you.’

  I bite back the words, but can’t stop them inside: if she was so concerned about me and my future, then maybe she should have stuck around.

  Out front is not just a car but an official government car: a long black electric limo with the dual flags of the UK Union Jack and the NUN Rainbow. A uniformed driver takes my bag and holds the door for me. I climb in, surprised to find not Melrose, but her dad in the back of it.

  ‘Hi, Mr Asquith,’ I say, a bit uncertain. I haven’t seen him in years, unless you count on the news when he got elected to NUN’s executive council. Even when I was in and out of their house he was rarely there except late at night, always off at government meetings. And who knows what he thinks of Refusers.

  He smiles. ‘Hello, Luna, good to see you again. Hope you don’t mind: Melrose has been shopping in the city, so it made sense to collect you first. And I’m on my way in to NUN Towers for a meeting.’

  ‘Of course, it’s fine. The meetings aren’t all virtual now?’

  ‘The international ones are, by necessity. Moving all national divisions to virtual is under debate. But some of us like to know our private conversatons are still private.’ The car pulls away. ‘And I’m glad we’ve got a moment to talk.’

  Ah. Is that why he’s really in the car? Here it comes. He’s not happy with Melrose and me taking up our friendship again. He doesn’t want to upset her, so he’s warning me off. I’m not surprised.

  ‘Are you excited about the Test?’ he asks.

  I stare back at him, not sure where he is going with this.

  ‘Or scared, maybe?’