Altered Reality

by Eliza Green

  Susan sighed loudly. ‘Because it’s not your time.’

  ‘But when will it be my time? Can you at least tell me when my next appointment is?’

  Susan assumed a parent-like tone. ‘I told you, Dr Hannigan will be taking over your treatment while I’m away.’

  ‘I’m not sure, Suse,’ Annie complained. ‘You know I don’t like strangers.’

  ‘That’s all there is, Annie. Either take it or leave it.’ She patted Annie once on the shoulder and looked up as a second announcement boomed out overhead, a reminder. Susan cocked her head towards the speaker to listen, then said, ‘I’ve got to go. Take care of yourself.’

  ‘When are you coming back?’

  ‘Soon,’ Susan said with a dismissive wave of her hand. While she had felt guilty about leaving her avatar, she had no regrets about abandoning Annie Weber.

  Joel tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Come on, we have to go.’ He waved at Annie. ‘Buh bye.’

  ‘Take care of yourself, Annie,’ Susan said quickly as the swell of people moving forward pushed her patient further away.

  ‘When will you be back?’ Annie shouted after her.

  Joel smirked. ‘You want me to tell her? I’m happy to ruin her day.’

  ‘Don’t you dare! Let’s get the hell out of here before she realises I’m not coming back.’

  Chapter 7

  Earth

  Laura O’Halloran stared at the taupe-coloured wall inside her mother’s apartment in Sydney. It was the last place she expected to be but Fionnuala had taken a tumble out of bed and broken six vertebrae in her back and neck. Since her mother had already refused her private medic’s assistance, Dr Sorenson had ordered Laura to look after her. The Earth Security Centre had granted her compassionate leave, but the way in which Laura’s Overseer, Suzanne Brett, had dealt with it made her question Brett’s ability to feel any kind of compassion.

  With her eyes half-closed, her mother sighed repeatedly as she lay motionless on the bed. Laura sought Fionnuala out in the darkly lit bedroom. She took in the woman’s unkempt appearance, her hair completely flat on one side where she had slept on it. Her old and torn bathrobe needed a good wash, but Fionnuala refused to part with it; she said she liked how it smelled. It had a strange metallic tinge to it, a combination of stale body odour and some other smell that Laura couldn’t stand.

  As time had gone on, Fionnuala’s boredom increased. She stared longingly at the Light Box, the place where she could gossip with her tight circle about the World Government’s latest fad. Laura was convinced that the organisation’s existence was indirectly keeping her mother alive simply by giving her something to complain about.

  ‘I really miss my gossip group,’ Fionnuala said, sighing again. She lifted her arm and dropped it. ‘Hey, look at that! My range of motion is improving.’

  ‘Remind me again how you fell out of bed?’

  ‘I told you. I was reaching for my tea. It was on the floor.’

  ‘Did it never occur to you to sit in a chair while drinking tea and using the Light Box?’ Laura said, half joking.

  Fionnuala laughed as if humouring a child. ‘Silly girl. Half the fun is getting comfortable on the bed. Sitting in a chair is … well, the opposite.’ Fionnuala stared at the ceiling and narrowed her eyes. ‘What if we put the screen up there? I could drink my tea through a straw.’

  ‘No, Mum.’

  ‘Why not? You haven’t even tried.’

  ‘Because if you had your way, you’d lie in bed forever.’

  ‘Killjoy!’ her mother said sulkily.

  In that moment, Laura missed her father. He had always been able to handle Fionnuala’s occasional strops much better than she ever could.

  Laura thought about Exilon 5 and her strong desire to move there. She wondered if her mother would be interested in moving to the new planet; perhaps Fionnuala would be happier staying on Earth. She had more than enough money to live on from her husband’s insurance payout and Laura was sure she would only squander her chance at a better life by repeating her mistakes on Exilon 5. What Fionnuala needed was an overdose of common sense, not a change in scenery; it wasn’t the first time Laura wished that the genetic manipulation clinics also rewired the brain, to make someone think more positively. She thought about her own Seasonal Affective Disorder and wished there was a cure for that. She hated feeling so out of control with it.

  She shook her head; there was no way Fionnuala would forgive her if she went to Exilon 5 on her own. She wouldn’t forgive herself either. No, her mother would just have to travel. Laura was not going to be left behind on the ‘death’ planet.

  The ‘death’ planet, she thought. It hadn’t always been as bad as it currently was. She recalled the stories her father used to tell over dinner about the Céide Fields in County Mayo, Ireland, the passion in her father’s voice as he talked about the countryside where he had grown up. He had never disguised his love of the place; it had been his home for decades. Laura hadn’t seen the Fields, having grown up in Dublin before her parents relocated to Sydney because of work. Listening to the stories as a child, she thought the place seemed magical, filled with wonder and creativity. As an adult, Laura struggled to envisage the simplicity of the land he described. The area had miraculously escaped development, and was an important link with the past when simpler lives and spiritual beliefs defined the very existence of the ancient Irish people.

  The Céide Fields bore the scars of the Neolithic lifestyle—the battered remains of stone walls and houses, the landscape telling the story of a group of highly organised people who’d encountered their own struggles against a rapidly changing environment. If it hadn’t been for the unstable bog land they sat upon, the Fields would have vanished along with everything else that was once important. Nowadays, the area contrasted sharply with the technological revolution that engorged every inch of workable land around it.

  Similar problems threatened the population of Earth, but they couldn’t just up sticks and move to another region or country—they had to leave the planet. Over time, places like the Céide Fields would be completely forgotten.

  Exilon 5 was all Laura thought about, and thanks to the information passed to her by the woman in booth sixteen, she now knew more about the planet than she had wanted to. How could she live there knowing that another species might be sacrificed to accommodate the humans? So many things had happened to her in the last nine weeks since she had viewed the information on the micro file. It was dangerous for her to be on Earth—she knew too much. And now that the Indigene—Stephen’s friend, Anton—had been captured two months ago, she wondered how that affected her own chances of relocation.

  Her ambition to move to Exilon 5 was no longer fuelled by desire for a better life; she was trying to increase her chances of survival.

  ‘Ooooowwww!’

  Fionnuala’s sudden cries broke Laura’s concentration; her eyes shot to the source of the commotion. Fionnuala was trying to lift a leg over the side of the bed. Her limited range of motion had put an unnecessary strain on her neck.

  ‘MUM!’ Laura cried. ‘What are you doing? Careful or you’ll wind up paralysing yourself again. You don’t want to be stuck in bed for months, do you?’

  ‘Oh, what else do I have to live for?’ said her mother, trying to elicit some of Laura’s sympathy.

  ‘How about living for yourself?’

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t be so bad if you kept me company,’ Fionnuala moaned.

  Laura shuddered at the thought of an extended stay with her mum. Their personalities were so different.

  Fionnuala caught her daughter’s reaction and sulked again. ‘No need to be so obvious about it. I know I’m a burden.’

  ‘I’m here because I want you to get better, Mum. I thought you did too. Now why were you trying to get out of bed?’

  ‘I wanted a cup of tea.’

  ‘I’ll make you one in a tic. But first, we need to get you cleaned up.’

  Laura hooked her left
arm under her mother’s elbow and gently lifted her up, the way Dr Sorenson had shown her.

  ‘Well now, that didn’t hurt at all. In fact, I didn’t feel a thing,’ Fionnuala said, smiling.

  ‘That’s because your lower back hasn’t begun to heal yet. Dr Sorenson said you won’t feel pain until you start moving around properly. Your neck is a different matter and you need to be more careful.’

  Just as Laura gently manoeuvred Fionnuala’s legs over the side of the bed, her mother’s fat Persian cat, Princess, jumped up and after having a good stretch, her bum in the air, she slumped onto the bed as if it belonged solely to her. She miaowed softly to inform everybody that she had arrived and stared at Laura defiantly with her almond-shaped eyes. Laura ignored the pampered moggie and helped Fionnuala into a chair beside the bed. She arranged her legs so that both feet were flat on the ground.

  ‘I can feel something in my toes,’ Fionnuala said.

  ‘That’ll be the body repairing the spinal nerves. Another few days and you should be feeling much better.’

  Laura fetched a bowl of warm water and a cloth and eased Fionnuala’s bathrobe off her shoulders. Playing nursemaid wasn’t exactly Laura’s forte, but Dr Sorenson had a way of making her feel as though her mother’s incapacity was her fault. She wondered if there was something more personal going on between the doctor and his patient.

  The first few days at her mother’s had disappeared in a flash, taken up with cleaning jobs, assisting Fionnuala where necessary and preparing meals. The next few days were more torturous as cabin fever set in, and Laura found herself thinking about the Indigenes and details of the experiments she’d seen on the micro file. During the second week, Fionnuala managed to drag new conversation out of her. Laura was secretly grateful for the distraction.

  ‘Why haven’t you got yourself a man yet?’ Fionnuala asked, leaning forward in the chair while Laura washed her mother’s back and around the neck brace she was forced to wear while her spine healed.

  Laura didn’t answer her.

  ‘Good looking girl like you shouldn’t be left on the shelf,’ Fionnuala continued.

  ‘Mmmmm.’

  ‘Got your mother’s looks you do. Personality is a little off though. You’re so standoffish! You aren’t going to attract a man with that kind of attitude. Aren’t there any nice men where you work?’

  Laura’s skin crawled at the thoughts of hooking up with Chris, the sexist pig, or the man from booth ten and his beady little eyes. Then she thought about Bill.

  ‘In my day, girls would have made more of an effort to look after themselves. Take me, for example. I always made sure I looked good for my man. Your skin is far too pale. And oh my goodness, look how skinny you’re getting!’ She pinched Laura’s arm.

  Laura’s temper spilled over. ‘When exactly should I look for a man? Between the back-to-back shifts at work or when I finally get time off and wind up sleeping all day? Or perhaps when my mother falls out of bed and I’m guilted into looking after her by her private medic? You know, the guilt trip wasn’t necessary. I still would have come.’

  Fionnuala’s mouth hung open, then transformed into a scowl. ‘No need to be like that. I’m just trying to make conversation. And I didn’t ask you to help me. I can look after myself.’

  ‘Really? Should I go call Dr Sorenson, since you so clearly have everything under control?’

  Her mother’s eyes narrowed and the lines around them deepened.

  Laura instantly regretted her outburst. After a moment’s silence, she said, ‘I’m sorry Mum, I didn’t mean it. I’m under a lot of pressure at the moment. Let’s just concentrate on getting you well.’

  She continued to scrub at the weeks of dirt that had accumulated on Fionnuala’s back. It must have been obvious to Dr Sorensen that she wasn’t looking after herself. ‘What has you so dirty anyway? Have you not been showering?’

  ‘The water’s been turned off and I’m restricted to using the sink. Now I’ve tried, believe me, but I can’t fit my whole body in there.’

  ‘I mean before the accident. Why weren’t you using the shower? What happened with the water anyway?’

  ‘Don’t start, Laura. I’ve already had an earful from the officials in the apartment block.’

  ‘MUM, what happened? Why have you so little water that you can’t even wash yourself?’

  ‘Well, I might have left the kitchen taps running a couple of nights in a row. I guess they decided I was wasting it or something. I mean, aren’t we surrounded by oceans of the stuff? Come onnnn.’

  Laura sighed. ‘Water is rationed, and has been for the last twenty years. You can’t be so flippant about wasting it.’ She sighed again. ‘I’ll talk to the officials.’

  ‘Sure, love, if you think it’ll help.’ Fionnuala seemed to cheer up now that she no longer had to deal with the problem herself.

  Silence reigned as Laura carried on washing Fionnuala, Laura’s thoughts slipping elsewhere. She recalled the events that had turned her life upside down in recent weeks: the micro file from the woman in booth sixteen had shown her exactly how far the World Government and ESC activities went; that damn micro file and all the information it contained—things that she would have preferred not to know about. But then there was Stephen and the Indigenes. Whatever happened to her was insignificant in comparison to what could happen to them. She needed to put her own fears to one side and be strong for them.

  Since then, Laura had struggled to act normally, especially around Daphne Gilchrist. While the Earth Security Centre’s eagle-eyed attention to her work made her edgy, she also got nervous any time someone lingered too long in her presence. Like the day Gilchrist passed her by in the hall. Laura had nodded politely, but Gilchrist slowed down to scrutinise her face with her cold, bloodless eyes. Panic had risen inside her. She’d fidgeted with her hair first, then picked at a loose thread on the left sleeve of her uniform. Gilchrist narrowed her gaze as if she had suddenly developed the power to read minds. Then something happened that had surprised Laura: Gilchrist chuckled quietly and walked away. Laura wondered if her paranoia was unfounded and if Gilchrist simply viewed her new nervous disposition as a healthy fear of the boss.

  Laura hadn’t seen the woman from booth sixteen since, and feared the worst for her. It was mentioned in passing that she’d been transferred to another section, but Laura hadn’t seen her anywhere inside the Centre at all. In need of something extra to pull her through those particularly tough weeks, Laura had relied heavily on Actigen and the Vitamin D shots to keep her seasonal depression at bay. She was glad to have one friend in it all: Bill Taggart. But Bill hadn’t been in favour of Laura returning to work at the ESC.

  ‘If I move now, I’ll only draw more attention to myself,’ she had argued.

  ‘But I can’t protect you in there,’ Bill had replied.

  ‘I know, but I’d prefer to be in the ESC instead of waiting for them to show up at my apartment door. Besides, I have to see what I can find out about Anton.’

  ‘Jesus, there’s no talking to you,’ Bill had said, massaging both temples. ‘Fine, have it your own way. But as soon as you find something, let me know.’

  Thoughts of staying on at the ESC terrified Laura, but she figured it was better to be on the inside. She had shown Bill her stubborn streak, but secretly, she was grateful for the concern he had shown. She was sorry she hadn’t been able to shed more light on what had happened to his wife Isla. More recently, the attention paid to her at ESC had dropped off. Even her time off to look after Fionnuala had been approved without question. But now wasn’t the time to drop her guard.

  ‘… and then I told him it just wasn’t good enough.’ Fionnuala’s voice cut into Laura’s thoughts.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are you even listening to me?’

  ‘Of course I am,’ Laura said unconvincingly.

  ‘Really? Then what did I just say?’

  ‘Something about the fella who manages the tea stall not having your
order ready,’ she said, taking a wild guess. One thing her Irish mother could not abide was any type of replicated leaves being used to make a good strong brew. Fionnuala liked to replenish her supply of fresh leaves from the black market until her hiding place was bursting with the stuff.

  ‘Okay, so you were listening,’ Fionnuala conceded reluctantly. ‘You could be doing worse things than visiting me once in a while.’

  Laura scrubbed hard to get rid of some heavily ingrained dirt on the back of her mother’s legs.

  Fionnuala flinched. ‘Ooowww! Watch what you’re doing! That’s my only skin.’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t think the nerve damage would repair this fast. And I’m here now, aren’t I?’

  ‘It’s not the same when you’re being forced to look after me. I meant, when was the last time you actually visited me because you wanted to?’

  ‘Keep still while I finish up here. Your skin is black with dirt. And it was your doctor who ordered me, remember?’

  ‘I miss your father, you know,’ Fionnuala said softly.

  Laura rinsed the dirty cloth, applied more soap and slapped the wet cloth onto her mother’s back.

  Fionnuala flinched at the coolness of the cloth. ‘Laura Frances Mary!’ she said. ‘Will you stop what you’re doing and listen to your old mother!’

  Laura looked at her. ‘What!’

  ‘I’m trying to talk to you about your father.’

  They’d had this conversation many times before and it always ended in an argument. Laura grabbed a clean towel and dried Fionnuala’s back. She eased the bathrobe back up over her shoulders and tied the rope around her waist. Then she guided her to a more comfortable seat in the living room.

  ‘Are you thirsty? Do you want something to drink?’ Laura asked. ‘I can make you that tea now.’

  ‘Yes, love, that would be nice,’ Fionnuala said, sighing contentedly. ‘Grab some of those nice biccies. Then we should chat some more.’

  Laura shook her head. ‘Mum, I can’t talk to you about him. It’s too difficult for me. I’m barely keeping things together in my life as it is. So, instead of dragging up the past, let’s talk about something happier, like the future.’