Altered Reality

by Eliza Green

  He turned around just as the doctors slowly approached, equipment in hand, unsure of themselves and uneasy. ‘Hurry up, for Christ’s sake,’ he snapped.

  ‘Tell me what it is you do,’ Anton said.

  The question caught Deighton off guard and he whipped his head round to stare coldly at the Indigene. He searched the creature’s face for signs of trickery. When he couldn’t detect any, he welcomed the opportunity to boast. ‘I’m the CEO of the World Government on Earth. The most powerful organisation in the world is made up of twelve board members, including me, and together we control twenty billion human lives. Why do you ask?’

  ‘If I’m destined to remain here for some time, I would like to know more about the humans that keep me captive.’

  ‘Oh, dear boy, where to start? It doesn’t really matter what I tell you because you won’t remember anything anyway. The drugs will alter your mind.’

  Anton flexed his left hand in the restraint. ‘I hear you are looking to transfer millions of humans to Exilon 5. How is that going?’

  Deighton scoffed. ‘Don’t try to act like us. It doesn’t suit you. The transfer is nothing you need to be concerned about.’

  ‘Okay then, what about your childhood? Where did you grow up?’

  Deighton shrugged; he didn’t see the harm in telling the creature a little about himself. ‘I was born in Surrey, England. My mother was an immigrant from Belgium and she married my father for love. What a waste! It’s only a pity they couldn’t see it. Years of poverty followed as a result, not to mention my immense suffering. Do you know how stifling it is to be so creative yet frustrated at every turn by your parents’ lack of ambition?’ He looked off into the distance. ‘As soon as I could, I moved out of home to travel the world. I met many influential people who shaped me into the wonderful caring individual you see today.’ His last sentence had a bitter tinge of despair to it; Deighton was keen to forget certain experiences.

  ‘So, when did you become CEO of the World Government? What does it do exactly?’

  ‘My boy, we are the glue that holds the fabric of society together. Our planet is dying. The World Government controls everything.’ Deighton’s eyes and hands danced as he spoke. ‘The Earth Security Centre makes sure you lot don’t arrive on Earth without me knowing. You’ve already met the International Task Force. They do all the grunt work—like monitoring your activity and providing a welcoming party when you try to sneak in. It’s not easy carrying the burden of what to do with the population.’ His tone turned more sinister. Poorly controlled rage bubbled to the surface as his fingers curled into a ball. ‘We’re bringing our people the only alternative to dying on this fucked up planet. They can’t survive without us, so we control their fate.’ Deighton raised his eyebrows when he caught the look on Anton’s face. ‘Don’t waste your pity on them. The people of Earth are parasites. They’ve sucked the earth dry of resources. So us board members do what needs to be done to secure the humans’ survival. Sometimes those decisions don’t sit well with the general population, so we keep our plans quiet.’ Deighton uncurled his left hand and pointed a bony finger at him. ‘And you, you’ve no business judging me or my colleagues. You don’t know what we’ve been through, you piece of shit! Fucking hell and back.’ Deighton kept his finger in place as he slammed his right fist down on the edge of the bed, just missing the Indigene’s leg. He stared at the creature as he struggled to regain control. He could feel his body shake with depleting adrenaline. A few moments later he smiled sweetly. ‘Was that the kind of answer you were looking for?’

  Anton held his stare and spoke slowly. ‘It’s enough for now.’

  Deighton took a couple of deep breaths, releasing each one slowly. He fought the urge to cough—it would do his lungs no good. Finally, he clicked his fingers and the roving cameras returned to the room one by one.

  Anton panicked and sealed his eyes shut. ‘Get rid of them! Please! I—’

  ‘There won’t be any light this time,’ Deighton said, the anger subsiding. He relaxed his closed fist and unfurled each long finger in his right hand.

  Anton cautiously opened his eyes and twisted his wrist in the clamp. ‘Tell me, why are you recording this?’

  Deighton leaned in; he felt calmer than before, better. Yes, much better. ‘I want to look back on the special time we’ve spent together. Think of the recording as a keepsake. Plus, I’d very much like to study you and your emotions a little more closely because I can see something just underneath.’ He tapped the side of the Indigene’s head with his index finger. ‘It’s frustrating that I can’t read you. I want to know what I’ve missed. I’m curious, you see.’

  Deighton turned around and nodded to the white-coated doctors, who moved stiffly from their position in the corridor to stand either side of the bed. The female held a syringe. Anton wriggled his wrist again.

  ‘We’re finished here, so do what needs to be done,’ Deighton said. He stepped back from the table and allowed the doctors to get closer.

  Anton’s face darkened as they pulled at tubes. ‘What’s going on? What are they doing?’

  Deighton didn’t answer at first. He began to hum his favourite tune again and a sense of calm enveloped him. Everything felt right. The cameras floated intrusively around his prisoner, trying to get the best angle. ‘You’re going on a little trip,’ he said at last.

  The female doctor placed the syringe down on the sterile trolley and tugged nervously at a blue tube that dangled from a holder above the Indigene’s head. She slid her shaking hand along the tube’s length until she reached the specially reinforced metal tip at the end. Breathing unevenly, she inserted it into the vein in the Indigene’s upper thigh.

  The prisoner’s eyes flitted around the room wildly, looking at Deighton, then at the blue tube. Suddenly he lengthened his fingers, pulled his wrist free from the clamp and smashed his clenched fist down onto the body restraint. The doctors stumbled back from the table in surprise.

  The sound of splitting metal jolted Deighton out of his thoughts and his neck stiffened. A rush of adrenaline swept through him. ‘Where are you two going?’ he said to the doctors, stepping backwards. ‘For God’s sake, restrain the fellow.’

  The male doctor flailed his arms around in front of him, uncertain that he would find what he was looking for. He gasped and closed his eyes when he accidentally touched Anton’s flailing left arm. He dug his fingers into the Indigene’s flesh, but even with all his weight behind him, he couldn’t hold the Indigene’s rogue limb steady.

  From the other side of the room, Deighton observed the female doctor closely as she activated the machine designed to push the contents through the blue tube. The liquid slid effortlessly down the tube towards the delivery point. But Anton twisted his arm out of the other doctor’s grasp, balled his freed fist and crashed it onto the body restraint a second time. The male doctor didn’t react quickly enough. Anton repeated his attack on the restraint and this time it split wide open.

  Deighton took a step forward, shaking his head and muttering to himself, ‘No, no, no. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t how I envisaged it. For God’s sake, fix it—NOW!’

  The machine continued to push the contents along the blue tube until the drug was seconds away from reaching the Indigene’s outer skin. Anton’s shifting eyes adopted a new look, much sharper than before. His fingers curled round the blue tube and he pulled as hard as he could. A cascade of clear liquid bled out of the large skin patch that he’d ripped away along with the tube. He twisted awkwardly to attack the second wrist clamp. It broke after just two attempts to smash it to pieces.

  ‘Fuckety, fuck, fucker. What will I tell the others? They’ll consider me a fool because I couldn’t control him,’ Deighton muttered.

  He urged the male doctor on, who had grabbed the tip of the blue tube and was trying to stab it into the Indigene’s leg. Deighton felt a rush of excitement rise from the pit of his stomach as the prisoner arched his back and let out a gu
ttural snarl, his face twisted with rage. Just then, the Indigene sat bolt upright and wrapped his fingers around the male doctor’s throat. A quick twist was all it took to break the doctor’s neck. Limp as a rag roll, the doctor slumped awkwardly to the ground. The female doctor, rooted to the spot, stared in horror at the sight of her colleague on the floor.

  The Indigene screeched loudly and turned his attention to breaking his leg clamp. He balled his fist and hit it as hard as he could. The female doctor moved in with the blue tube again, but he didn’t notice her.

  ‘Is it done?’ Deighton whispered.

  She nodded meekly and stepped back from the table.

  Anton grunted and swiped at the reinserted blue tube but missed. With the power visibly draining from his body, he used what little he had left to smash the clasps on his ankles. The effort caused him to fall backwards and smack onto the table. He clawed his way up into an awkward sitting position but slipped as soon as he tried to straighten up. Deighton recognised the satisfying sound of bones breaking. The Indigene wailed and grabbed his own elbow, holding it close to his body.

  ‘Good God, what an awful waste,’ Deighton moaned, kicking the dead doctor’s leg. ‘Where am I going to find a replacement at this hour?’ He calmly walked up to the side of the table and attached new clamps just as the prisoner succumbed to the drug’s power. ‘See what you’re making me do?’ he said, leaning over Anton. ‘Now why couldn’t you just play along?’

  Chapter 6

  End of July 2163, Earth

  Susan Bouchard accepted the request to connect on the Light Box screen at the Toronto-based laboratory where she worked; Dr Caroline Finnegan’s face filled the screen. Caroline was wearing a white lab coat over a black polo neck jumper and black trousers. Her medium-length reddish-brown hair was tied back into a low ponytail with a black ribbon.

  ‘Hello Caroline.’ Susan flashed the smile she normally reserved for a respected colleague.

  The doctor nodded politely. ‘Nice to see you again, Susan. I think you know why I called.’

  ‘To discuss the genetic test results on the volunteers. I’m afraid we’re still going through the data. Everything will be sent to you next month as promised.’

  ‘I’m sure it will, but I wanted to know about one case in particular. Annie Weber.’

  Susan frowned. ‘I thought you were interested in the data from the successful subjects.’

  ‘I am, but Annie’s lack of success interests me. Tell me about her.’

  Susan blew out a long, tired breath. ‘Well, I found her in the basement of Toronto’s Union Station, working as a cleaner.’

  ‘A cleaner? I thought only the autobots did that work now.’

  ‘They do, but she isn’t really qualified for anything else and the World Government wanted her in the system, to study her at some point I guess.’

  ‘And her genetic code?’

  ‘The worst I’ve seen,’ Susan said. ‘Annie’s mother moved into one of the Societies for Enhanced Living about a year ago. She has a severe spinal deformity that bends her back at a forty-five-degree angle, her hair has thinned considerably, and an unsuccessful treatment to change her eye colour from brown to cobalt blue has given her eyes a strange muddy appearance.’

  ‘Was termination ever considered?’

  Susan half smiled. ‘She’s only eighty-one.’

  ‘That’s all?’ Caroline raised an eyebrow. ‘And what about Annie?’

  ‘Honestly? Going down the same path as far as I can tell. We used the nanoids to repair the defective genes passed on from her mother but nothing seems to work in reversing her abnormalities.’

  ‘Any conclusions?’

  ‘Yes, the additional code doesn’t work in weak genetic structures, but we knew that already.’

  ‘Sorry for keeping you, Susan. I know you’ve your hands full. I’m just digging around for information before the Indigene’s arrival. It’s been bounced around several medical facilities since Deighton released it a month ago. We’re next on the list and expecting its arrival shortly ’

  ‘I’m happy to help. I’ll be sure to contact you if anything pops up in the meantime.’ Susan ended the conversation and the doctor’s face disappeared.

  Joel, her colleague, walked into the room, a cup of tea in his hand. ‘So, did you tell her?’ he asked, tossing his messy dark blonde hair out of his eyes.

  ‘What? That I’ve been called up for transfer to Exilon 5?’ Susan replied. The transfer programme had shifted its focus to Ireland, Britain, France and Canada. ‘What difference would that make?’ She leaned back against the floating island that took up half of the room. She looked up at the black Light Box screen projected on the back wall, staring into its dark nothingness.

  ‘Well, she might be a bit surprised when you’re—I mean, when we’re not here in a few days.’ Joel sucked tea through his pursed lips and exhaled loudly in satisfaction. ‘What time is psycho bitch going to descend on this place?’

  ‘In an hour. And please don’t say that to Annie’s face. She hates you enough as it is.’

  ‘Awesome. I’ll make sure to disappear,’ Joel said, smirking. ‘Oh, and tell her I said “fuck you”.’ His blue-grey eyes glinted mischievously.

  The corners of Susan’s mouth twitched, but she managed to stop herself from smiling outright. The last time Annie met Joel she’d set fire to his shirt because she wasn’t comfortable with him being in the room. Luckily, the damage to Joel himself was only superficial; some cream cleared up his raw and blistered skin within the hour. The shirt was a write-off.

  ‘Well, I’m glad this is the last session. She’s been getting a little clingy lately,’ said Susan.

  ‘A little? And what about her poor mother, holed up in the Enhanced Living infirmary? I heard sweet little Annie left her there. Things must be bad if you end up living in a place run by the Tin Can men.’

  Susan shrugged. ‘I’ve been there and it isn’t that bad. The autobots are fairly efficient.’

  Joel took another sip of his tea and leaned his back against the workbench that ran along the back wall. ‘Well, that’s good. Because when you wind up there, dare to close your eyes for that split second and open them again, all you’ll see are those Tin Can men hovering over you. And you’ll ask yourself, “how did I get here?” And then you’ll remember. It was because your own daughter drugged you, drove you there and dumped you on the doorstep.’

  ‘I know, Joel. She’s gone, as of today. I promise. I just have to do it gently.’

  Joel raised his eyebrows. ‘Always the Samaritan. I suppose it’ll give you a chance to work on reversing the effects of your magnetic personality.’

  ‘If I knew how, Joel, I would have done it already,’ Susan said. Her gift for getting on well with people could also be a curse. She picked up a DPad and searched through the results for the most recent volunteers they’d been testing.

  ‘What are you doing after you see Annie?’ Joel asked.

  ‘Going home to pack. I’ve got to sort out a few things before I leave. Why?’

  ‘Do you want to get a drink? You’ll probably want one after being with what’s her face.’

  Susan shook her head. ‘I wish I could, Joel. Rain check?’

  Just before Annie Weber was due to arrive, Susan grabbed a quick bite to eat from the replication terminal two doors down from the building her laboratory was in. She wouldn’t get a chance to eat once her patient arrived. Had Susan known about Annie’s psychological problems earlier she would have dropped her from the programme a long time ago. They weren’t interested in fixing mental issues, only physical ones. But they were too far gone with the testing, and they were collating some interesting information about Annie.

  At 3pm, her patient peeked cautiously round the door. ‘Is he here?’ she said in a childish voice that made Susan’s skin crawl. Annie was a fifty-year-old woman.

  ‘No, Joel’s not here, Annie,’ Susan said in a tone of voice that a parent might use with a child.


  More confident now, Annie skipped through the door and giggled like a child. She was dressed in a royal blue sweater, grey pants and loafers. Her black wiry hair was a mess. ‘I know you don’t like those virtual packages on the Light Box,’ Annie said, standing eagerly in front of Susan, ‘but hear me out. You have to try the Alton Towers one. I just got off the craziest rollercoaster. I’m still dizzy thinkin’ about it.’

  Susan smiled and nodded without showing any enthusiasm. She busied herself with anything she could lay her hands on.

  ‘The attendant wasn’t half bad looking either, if you know what I mean,’ Annie went on, jabbing Susan in the ribs with her elbow and winking.

  Susan ignored her; she had no interest in what Annie had done with, or to, the virtual attendant. She went to the workbench that ran the length of the wall underneath the Light Box and fiddled with some items laid out on a metal tray. Her patient followed her. She pulled a mobile table over to her and placed the tray on top of it. Susan picked up a syringe and a vial that was labelled Batch 156.

  ‘I asked him if he wanted to get a drink,’ Annie said, not needing any encouragement to continue.

  ‘Yeah?’ Susan drew a full syringe from 156.

  ‘He said no. So do you know what I said to him?’

  ‘What?’ Susan placed the prepared syringe on the mobile table.

  ‘I told him he was an asshole,’ Annie said, giggling. ‘A fudging asshole.’