Altered Reality

by Eliza Green

  Susan finally turned round and rested a hand on the mobile table behind her. ‘You say “asshole”, but you tone down the other curse words—“fudging” instead of “fucking”. Why?’

  ‘Mother never liked me saying the eff word. She always slapped me when I did.’

  Susan closed her eyes and shuddered as she thought about the strange relationship Annie and her mother had. Nothing seemed to fit. She opened her eyes and grabbed the syringe, pointing the needle upwards. ‘Do you want your drugs now?’

  ‘Why else do you think I’m here?’ Annie’s tone changed—became more suggestive—as she held out her arm, palm upwards.

  ‘All right. Hop onto the chair.’

  As quickly as she could, Susan gave Annie her injection, which Annie thought was to reverse the problems with her genetic code but which was actually a drug to keep her calm when Susan told her the news that she was being transferred to Exilon 5 and would no longer be able to treat her.

  Annie’s eyes glazed over as she settled into the curves of the chair. ‘That’s the stuff I like. Susan, you’re amazing.’ As the drugs worked their magic, Annie’s voice became less coherent. ‘You’re an amazin’ girl. Sorry, I mean amazeen womin. I like bein’ your best friend. Have I told you dat your my best friend?’

  ‘Many times,’ Susan said with the dead emotion of a serial killer. She dropped the syringe into a sharps bin from where it would be decontaminated and recycled. ‘How are you feeling, Annie?’

  ‘Mmm, fudging amazin’. A feel like I bit when I’m inside my Light Box.’

  The jumbled-up sentence was a sure sign that the muscle relaxants were working. ‘What do you see?’ Susan asked, turning up the charm and allowing her dulcet tones to do what they did best—soothe her patient.

  ‘My white painted cottage in Cornwheel. Red roses in the garden an’ ivy up the waaaall, ivy down the waaall.’

  ‘Are you happy there?’

  ‘Mmmm. But it’s lonleee,’ Annie said, a touch of melancholy creeping into her voice.

  ‘Good,’ Susan said, dropping the pretence and snapping back to professional mode. ‘Because there’s something I need to tell you.’

  That evening, back in her apartment in Kingston, Ontario, Susan shoved a number of items into her bag, not sure what she should take on her trip. She picked up a photo of her sister and her niece from the mantelpiece and stared at it for a long time. It had been taken at her sister’s apartment in Hamilton, Ontario, about a year ago. Behind her sister’s smile lurked a sadness, brought about by the loss of a son a few months before the photo was taken. Having children wasn’t something Susan had stopped to think about—she was busy with her career—but she wasn’t short of suitors either; her perfect genetic code helped in that regard.

  She sat down, perched on the edge of the sofa, and slowly sipped her replicated gin and tonic, sighing with pleasure as the alcohol deliciously burned her throat and warmed her on its way down. Her surroundings became fuzzy as the alcohol hit her empty stomach, reminding her of how little she’d eaten that day. The news of the transfer, entirely unexpected, had made her lose her appetite.

  She settled back into the soft brown genuine leather sofa and crossed her legs, balancing her drink on one knee. While she admitted to being curious about a move to Exilon 5, the deadline to transfer was too soon. She’d been so busy at the lab and preoccupied with telling her most difficult patient about her move that she hadn’t had the chance to consider its implications for herself.

  She combed her fingers through her ice blonde hair and rubbed her cool blue eyes. In her peripheral vision, she noticed movement as her avatar suddenly materialised in 3D form from the Light Box, looking like it badly wanted to ask her something. Susan ignored it. She had little time for the avatar’s childish personality; she had allowed her eleven-year-old niece to fiddle around with the programme one day and didn’t know how to undo the changes she’d made. With hindsight it was a stupid thing to allow a child to do, especially since she had no time herself to learn how the Light Box operated, and little aptitude for programming beyond what was required of her in work.

  Susan’s stomach rumbled, so she put her drink on the coffee table and went into the kitchen where she found the code card for the replicator machine and punched in a series of numbers. A bowl of lightly seasoned chicken wings appeared, which she then carried to the sofa and sat down again. She gnawed her way through several wings, sucking the bones clean of flesh. Then she took a few sips of gin. When she was finished, she wiped her greasy hands on a napkin and smacked her lips with pleasure. She was convinced there was something in alcohol and grease that, separately, were harmless, but together were as addictive as any drug. Her avatar silently watched her. Unusual, Susan thought. It was usually so vocal.

  She looked around her small lovely apartment—with the light green curtains and the soft beige carpet that complimented her brown genuine-leather furniture—feeling a sudden pang of sadness about the transfer, but knowing that the move to Exilon 5 would provide her with new opportunities in her field of expertise. Recent news feeds had reported an increase in transfer numbers; extra runs had been added to the schedule, which demonstrated a renewed interest in the programme on the Government’s part. She knew that her own transfer would have happened sooner or later. She was confident her sister and niece would also transfer out soon; if not, she would make a special request when she got there. Susan’s sister had been more positive than she was herself about the move when Susan had broken the news to her the day before.

  It had only been a couple of days since she had discovered the transfer notification waiting for her, blinking ominously in the personal message folder on the Light Box. As soon as she had walked in the door, her avatar had materialised in front of her, ripped open a virtual copy of the message and started reading the contents aloud.

  ‘Shit, why did you open it?’ Susan had yelled.

  The avatar put one hand on its hip. ‘Well, one of us had to! I couldn’t be sure how long you were going to stare at it.’

  ‘My private mail is none of your business,’ Susan said, rubbing her temples. But she knew it was right. She would have delayed reading the message for as long as she could. While Susan wondered what to do with this spoiled child of an avatar, she found herself welcoming the idea of a break—and a transfer to Exilon 5 was as good a break as any.

  Now, as she sat in her apartment finishing off her gin and tonic, the avatar was unusually silent. Susan remembered the day she’d tried to wipe its programming, to put it back to the gormless, faceless version that came with the Light Box. But the avatar had been clever. It had written a ‘spider web’ programme that prevented her from deleting it from the system, accidentally or otherwise. Susan was familiar enough with children to know that if she ignored her avatar for long enough it would eventually say or do something to attract her attention. Susan didn’t have long to wait.

  ‘Talk to me. Why won’t you talk to me?’ it eventually whined.

  Susan shook her head. ‘I don’t have anything to say right now.’

  The avatar grabbed hold of her sleeve. ‘But I’m bored. Talk to me.’

  ‘If the whining doesn’t stop right now, I’m going to have to mute you.’

  The avatar let go and took a step back. Its eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘Try me. For the last two days, all I’ve heard is how this transfer is going to affect you.’

  The avatar placed a hand on its chest and stared at Susan. ‘But how is it going to affect me? You weren’t clear on that.’ Tears welled up in its eyes. It was good at acting; Susan had to give it that.

  ‘We’ve discussed that already. There’s nothing more to say.’

  The avatar wiped its eyes. ‘Just once more—pleeeeasse?’

  Susan rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, we’re done here.’ As soon as she hit the mute icon a slice of grey virtual tape was slapped over the avatar’s mouth. The avatar picked at a corner and almost rem
oved it, but it slipped out of its fingers and snapped back into place.

  Susan struggled to hide a smirk. As she turned away, she could see the avatar out of the corner of her eye, frantically waving its hands to get her attention. Before she could do a full one-eighty, it fanned the notification in the air with one hand and with its other hand pretended to knock on the imaginary screen it was trapped behind.

  Susan moved into the bedroom to concentrate on the most pressing task at hand. She sat on the edge of her bed and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand. She always felt weary when her avatar was in one of its strops. What drained her energy only seemed to invigorate her avatar’s. She was grateful it was only a programme. She could walk away from a programme with a clear conscience. She opened drawers and pulled out clothes. She looked down at the pile that only grew the more she rooted around and tried to be practical about what to bring.

  A total of three days from notification to transfer and with no idea of what Exilon 5 was like—the living conditions, the people. Her work had always focused on the people of Earth. She suddenly realised how much of her life had been like living inside a cocoon. The move both excited and scared her. Susan imagined the avatar still clink-clinking in the next room and it triggered a headache. She stood up with purpose, grabbed a handful of clothes and carried them into the living room.

  There the avatar was waiting, shoulders slumped, eyes disengaged, looking very sorry for itself. When Susan appeared, it re-animated in front of her, the tape still in place. It moved a virtual mute icon around with its finger, repositioning it several times to get her attention and sighing heavily.

  Susan shook her head and reluctantly deactivated the mute. As the tape melted away, the avatar released several breaths, and with it, the demon living inside.

  ‘What the hell did you do that for? I had no air! I could have died!’

  ‘You’re a programme, remember?’

  It rolled its eyes. ‘Tell me what you’re going to take with you.’

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘Come onnnn. Maybe I can help. Pleeeasse?’ It was eager now, a little too eager perhaps. The avatar reminded her of Annie Weber, but Susan could never bring herself to speak to Annie the way she did to her avatar.

  ‘Stop whining, will you? If I let you help will you calm down?’

  The avatar traced a giant X across its fake heart.

  ‘Promise you won’t be a pain about it?’

  The avatar nodded so vigorously, its head almost fell off.

  Susan sighed heavily. ‘Okay, sort these out for me.’ She dumped the clothes on the floor.

  The avatar stared at the pile, then at her. ‘What do you think I am? Your servant?’

  ‘You said you wanted to help, so I’m giving you something to do.’

  The avatar groaned.

  Susan fetched another gin and tonic. When she returned, the avatar had merely moved the clothes pile from one side to the other.

  Susan frowned. ‘What’s this?’

  The avatar grinned and shrugged its weedy shoulders.

  ‘I thought you were going to help,’ said Susan.

  ‘Give me something more important to do,’ the avatar whined.

  ‘I told you, my business is not your business.’ Susan said slowly.

  ‘Come onnnn.’

  ‘Okay, organise my paperwork then.’

  ‘That’s better! Then we can talk about how you’re going to transfer me.’

  Susan said nothing.

  The next morning, Susan was woken by the cacophonous tones of her avatar crooning a familiar, but out-of-tune, Spanish song. Behind the screen, it was wearing a pair of oversized green headphones and was dancing to the music. The noise was far from soothing and only added to Susan’s tension.

  Her two brown and battered suitcases were by the door—both heirlooms and more frequently used in the olden days—her coat draped over the top of them both. Her gel mask was balanced on her coat. She wasn’t going to miss having to wear it every time she set foot outside. While her avatar was preoccupied, she tried to slip past the Light Box and into the kitchen to fix some breakfast. But the avatar noticed, tore off its headphones and materialised in the room. Its agitation increased as it struggled to contain its childish excitement. Susan wished she could share an ounce of its enthusiasm.

  ‘You’re up! I’ve been waiting for ages. What took you so long? Sooooo, when are we leaving?’ it gushed.

  ‘Soon,’ Susan said. ‘I want to get something to eat first. Why don’t you start downloading yourself.

  ‘Yay! This is soooo exciting,’ it said, clapping its virtual hands together.

  ‘Sure,’ Susan said flatly.

  ‘Why so glum? Should I play some soothing music, to help cheer you up?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘I have some wonderful music from the fifties. Rocker–jazz perhaps? Or how about some Latin–funktastic? That always does wonders for my mood!’

  ‘Oh, do whatever you want!’ Susan snapped.

  ‘I will. There’s no need to be rude about it,’ said the avatar, pulling a face as it shuffled through the songs on its database. It settled on an upbeat Latin American number. ‘I lovvvve this song! Don’t you? Mi amorrrr, pienso que errrres hermossssa—’ It put on the pair of oversized green headphones again and quickly got into the lyrics of the song.

  As soon as Susan had got something to eat, she grabbed her coat and mask, picked up her suitcases and walked out the door. The last thing she saw was her avatar standing staring at her, its mouth hanging open. Finally—the gormless version I’ve been looking for, she thought. An uncomfortable feeling danced around the pit of her stomach as the guilt took hold.

  Susan arrived at the large transfer terminal attached to the docking station that was once the Toronto Pearson International Airport. She had agreed to meet Joel there. Above the entrance, blue neon signs blinked strongly in the dark daytime directing people to enquiries, waiting areas, or fast-track boarding. She was already aware of the World Government’s latest selection policy targeting strong genetic types. Currently they were focusing on blue-eyed, blonde hair combinations. But she hadn’t prepared herself for the sight of so many similar ‘types’ when she walked into the large waiting area that was standing room only. She struggled to find Joel, and was relieved when he spotted her.

  ‘Joel! Thank God.’ She let out a sigh of relief.

  ‘I know. It’s like a cattle mart in here,’ Joel said, seeming flustered.

  ‘Where do we need to go?’ Susan asked, looking around her.

  ‘I’m not sure. I checked the board but the flight information isn’t up yet. Some infobot told me there’d be an announcement soon.’

  Susan shivered. ‘Well, I hope so. All these similar looking people are beginning to creep me out.’

  Joel smiled but his expression soon changed. Susan noticed it. ‘What?’

  He nodded behind her. ‘You have a visitor.’

  Susan turned around to see a head of wiry black hair weaving its way through the crowd towards them. Annie Weber was impossible to miss.

  ‘Shit,’ Susan whispered. ‘What’s she doing here?’

  ‘Don’t ask me. She’s your stalker,’ said Joel, strategically stepping behind Susan when she turned to face Annie.

  ‘Shhhhit,’ Susan hissed.

  ‘There you are, Susan,’ Annie said, a little out of breath, her face flushed. ‘It took me aaaaaages to find you. God, you all look the same in here!’

  ‘Hello, Annie,’ Joel said peering out from behind Susan. ‘How’s my little psycho bitch doing?’

  ‘Joel,’ Susan said, wearily.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ Annie asked sharply.

  ‘I think the question is, what are you doing here?’ Susan said impassively.

  Annie did her best to ignore Joel, who was pulling faces at her. ‘I wanted to see you. I need to know where I can get more of those drugs you give me, especially the muscle relaxers. I’m unde
r a lot of pressure. They really help to take the edge off.’

  Susan couldn’t think what pressure Annie might be under, other than the social pressure of being a drug addict. She wasn’t happy that Annie was here. ‘You shouldn’t have come,’ she said nervously.

  Annie’s lower lip wobbled. ‘Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we? I’ve come to see my best friend off, is all.’

  ‘You don’t belong here,’ Susan said.

  ‘Yeah, off you go now,’ Joel added. ‘Time to go stalk another doctor.’

  Susan turned around. ‘You’re not helping,’ she said to him through gritted teeth.

  ‘Sorry,’ he replied, but his grin remained.

  ‘I know you don’t mean that,’ Annie said slowly while fixing Joel with her best icy stare. ‘I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now. If it was me, I would be shitting bricks right now.’ Annie stood on her toes and wrapped her short stubby arms around Susan’s perfectly proportioned waist. Her head barely reached Susan’s chest. There was something possessive about the gesture, as if it was a show for Joel.

  Susan didn’t hug her back. Instead, she used her arms to block her. ‘You have to go, Annie,’ she repeated quietly; then with more force: ‘You have to go.’ She pushed Annie away to create distance between them.

  ‘Why? Why do I have to go?’ Annie whined, just like Susan’s avatar had that morning.

  ‘Because you’re my patient and it’s unethical for us to speak outside the lab.’

  Annie stayed where she was, as if waiting for the rest of the statement—a joke, a laugh, something that would inform her that she was welcome after all. Susan sighed with frustration. Annie’s dark hair and genetic imperfections made her stand out—a black sheep— among this crowd of perfect blonde people. Much to her relief, an announcement about the flight was finally broadcast over the sound system. ‘Don’t worry about me, Annie, I’ll be just fine,’ Susan said, placing a gentle hand on Annie’s shoulder.

  ‘I don’t understand why I can’t come with you?’ Annie whined again.