by Oisin McGann
“How do you feel?” FX asked, from somewhere else in the room, where he was monitoring her vital signs. So far, the seeds had had no effect on her, except that she’d been able to relieve the itch their presence caused in her flesh without scratching it. Which was much more unsettling than having an itch.
“I feel like throwing up over the next person who asks how I’m feeling,” Manikin snapped.
“Oooh, touchy,” FX murmured, presumably in a voice that she wasn’t supposed to hear.
“Give it a rest,” Nimmo’s voice whispered, also intended to be beyond her hearing. “There’s no telling what those things could do to her. She’s taking a big risk for all of us.”
“I heard that!” she barked at him. “There better be some major appreciation at the end of this, that’s all I can say.”
A thin man in a green surgeon’s outfit leaned over Manikin.
“I’ll give you a local anesthetic for the hair and skin procedures,” he said, peering down at Manikin from behind the bright lamp shining into her eyes. “You’ll need a sedative as well as the painkillers, but you have to be able to talk to me.”
“I hope you’re not sensitive to foul language,” she said through teeth that were tightly pressed together.
“Honey, I’ve heard it all before,” he chuckled. “Relax. You shouldn’t feel any pain. After we’ve shaved your head, and planted the seed there, I think maybe you’ll just feel a slight … creeping, tingling sensation.” He paused. “Actually, to be quite frank, I’ve no idea what this will feel like.”
“Thanks a bunch.” She was crying now. She loved her hair, and she was devastated to be losing it, even if she was getting a ‘new and improved version.’ The surgeon pulled up his face mask and pulled a complicated-looking magnifying glass down over one eye. On the wall behind him, almost invisible beyond the light, a set of speakers played gentle classical music. Scope stood beside him, ready to assist.
I’m going to kill her when this is over, Manikin fumed to herself. And Nimmo too, if I can catch the slippery sod. This is a really stupid idea.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to install control nodes?” the surgeon asked for the third time. “If this works, I mean.”
“You don’t need any wiring or switches,” Scope answered softly for her. “Remember, that’s the whole point. You’ll be able to control it all as if it’s part of your body.”
“Just so you know, I’m going to kill you when this is over,” Manikin said to her.
“See you on the other side,” Scope replied with a smile, and her voice grew watery and strange as the surgeon injected something into the back of Manikin’s hand, and the music playing in the background became longer, and stretched, and mixed in with her thoughts until she couldn’t tell what was coming from outside, or what was being dreamed up inside …
CHAPTER 29
DECEPTION
MANIKIN WALKED THROUGH the front door of Brundle’s building, trying to slow her breathing and her pounding heart. There was no point having a disguise so good it could fool a Safe-Guard, if every biological sign she was giving off was spiking as if she was being electrocuted. She had to calm down. Passing a mirror in the lobby, she checked her reflection.
“Oh, crap.”
To the human eye, she looked the image of Veronica Brundle. The disfiguring birthmark on her face—made from high-quality simu-skin—would distract most people’s eyes from the fact that Nica had a rounder face. Her skin was slightly darker than its natural hue, she wore clothes to match items that Nica owned, and Manikin had practiced the girl’s voice and mannerisms. Contact lenses had colored her eyes to match Nica’s.
The disguise was almost perfect, except for the fact that Manikin’s new hair was slowly turning green.
“Crap!”
She turned down a corridor, finding a small alcove where she could take out her compact mirror and fix her hair. Concentrating, she watched it change from green, through blue to black, and then, with a wince, she managed to get the coppery streaks to appear through it, to mimic Nica’s. Satisfied that her appearance was restored, Manikin closed her eyes and took some deep breaths. Her mind went back to earlier that day. She could hear FX as if he was standing next to her, briefing her on the tech stuff, and for once, he had her complete attention.
“The Safe-Guards have one major weakness,” he reminded her. “All of their information comes from the Controllers. Your disguise won’t fool a digital facial or voice recognition system, if WatchWorld has Nica on their files. And you know a peeper can x-ray your teeth and identify you from your dental records.
“But if they can’t contact Control, if their communications link is down, then they have to go with the information they’re carrying on their own hard drives, which is pretty minimal. And that link is basically just a mobile phone signal, which I’ll be able to disrupt for a few minutes. Peepers lose signal more often than WatchWorld is willing to admit, so it shouldn’t look too suspicious.
“So as long as you look and sound enough like Nica to fool the people in the building, you should be able to fool the peeper. Your fake ID will pass too, as long as the peeper can’t verify the chip online.”
That was FX’s part in this. To cut the Safe-Guard off from its base long enough for her to fool its technology. But getting past the peeper was only half the challenge.
“The box is taped into a ventilation duct on the roof,” Nimmo explained. “But you don’t have to go up to the roof to get it. The duct runs down behind the wall in my old flat. There’s a cord hanging down from the package, that you can reach through a vent in the hallway. Pull on the cord, and the package will fall right into your hands.
“Then you have to get out,” he continued. “That’s the real problem. Because we can get you close to the building before you change into Nica. And we reckon both Vapor’s and Easy’s lot will let Nica go inside—everyone wants to see what she’s going to bring out. Everyone thinks Nica is the key to getting hold of the box, or the brundleseed, or both.”
“But then I have to get out,” Manikin said.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “You have to be Nica to get in, but if you come out looking like her, somebody’s going to snatch you, whether you’ve got what they want or not. And the same goes if you come out looking like Manikin. So you have to look like somebody else—somebody who has no connection to this whole mess.”
“But if the peeper scans you and finds you carrying anything that looks like a disguise, like a wig, or prosthetics or even something that would cover your face, it’s going to get suspicious. You have to be able to change your appearance without carrying a disguise with you. You can throw stuff away, but you can’t really add anything.”
“And that’s why you need the brundleseeds,” Scope said.
Standing in the corridor of Brundle’s building, Manikin checked her appearance again. Her hair was fine now; she was getting the hang of controlling the color, though it had already caught her out several times. The same went for her skin color. Both were now adjustable, thanks to the implants grown using the brundleseeds. These organic implants could not be detected by a peepers x-ray vision. And there were no controls anywhere on her body, because the implants worked as part of her own nervous system. She could control all of them just as she could her own fingers. Another implant in her throat enabled her to manipulate the muscles there to raise and lower the pitch of her voice beyond anything she could do naturally, all of which gave her a means of changing disguise that was undetectable.
As soon as she had the box and was clear of the Safe-Guard, she would switch. She’d rip off the simu-skin birthmark. Her jeans were reversible, blue on the outside, gray on the inside, and she would ditch her jacket. Her high heels would be thrown away, to be replaced by the pair of plimsolls she had in the plastic bag clutched in her hand. Plenty of girls carried a comfortable pair of shoes for the commute to and from work. She’d change her hair from black to deep red and darken her skin until she looked Asi
an. The intention was to resemble another girl they had found who lived in the building. Then Manikin would walk out into the street, and right past all those watchful eyes. At least, that was the plan.
A few more deep breaths, and she had composed herself. Her pulse had calmed down, and she no longer felt as if she was standing on a bridge, working up the nerve to do a bungee jump. This was a job, like so many other jobs. This was what she did, what she was. It was time to go to work. Stepping back into the lobby, she climbed the stairs to the top floor.
The Safe-Guard was there, standing in the middle of the corridor, as if it had been waiting for her all this time.
Manikin let her nerves show a bit. People got nervous talking to Safe-Guards. It was the combination of law-enforcer authority and the lack of a face behind the visor that freaked out most people.,
“Hi … er … I’m … I’m Veronica Brundle?” she said, as if she was checking her identity with the tall figure, rather than informing it. She held out her ID card. “I’m here to pick up some of my dad’s things.”
By now, FX would have disrupted the peeper’s communication signal, so it should be flying solo, without guidance from the Controllers. It scanned her card and took a moment to reply in its asexual, monotone voice.
“Yes, Miss Brundle. You have been cleared to enter the living areas on this floor. There is no access to the laboratory area.”
Manikin nodded. Nimmo had walked her through the layout of this floor, so that she would look familiar with it. He had given her keys to both apartments. She was amazed that Brundle had trusted him with a key to his home. Perhaps he and Nimmo really had been friends—unless, of course, Nimmo had stolen that too.
She walked past the peeper and let herself into Brundle’s apartment. As Nimmo had assured her, there was a collection of backpacks and bags in the cupboard by the door. Picking out a small backpack, she transferred the plimsolls into it, tossing her plastic bag in the bin. Wandering around the apartment, she took some objects at random, putting them in the backpack. She could return them to Nica later, Manikin just needed this to look like she really was here for personal items. Coming out of the apartment after a couple of minutes, she tried not to look at the Safe-Guard as it watched her unlock the door to Nimmo’s flat. The array of lenses behind the peeper’s visor gave it the emotionless gaze of an insect. It made no attempt to hide the fact that it was observing her every move.
This was where things were going to get a bit iffy. She went straight to the vent in the hallway. With a small utility tool, she unscrewed the grille and pulled it off the wall. The peeper came to the door and stood watching her. This had to look suspicious, but according to the letter of the law, she wasn’t doing anything wrong. If the Safe-Guard had questions, it must have been waiting for guidance from its Controllers, which it couldn’t get.
There was a cord hanging down the aluminum shaft inside the wall, just as Nimmo had said. Gripping it with her right hand, she gave it a yank. With a soft clatter that echoed down the duct, the box, wrapped in layers of plastic, dropped into her outstretched hands. She pulled it out of the vent. Avoiding turning her eyes towards the peeper, Manikin opened the plastic and took a long look at the black leather case. It was sealed shut, and she didn’t want to risk damaging it, so she pulled the cord and plastic off it and threw the wrapping on a sideboard. Then she slipped the case into her backpack.
Overcome with a desperate urge to run out of the room, she paused for a few seconds instead, keeping her breathing slow, and willing her heart to try and do the same. Was the peeper suspicious? Did it want to question her? Did the person behind that visor, as a normal person would, wonder what she was doing? Walking straight up to the Safe-Guard, she gazed unafraid into its inhuman face.
“What’s it like for you in there?” she asked. “How does it feel, to be turned into this thing every day?”
But of course, it did not answer. Stepping past it, she walked out into the corridor and made her way towards the stairs.
CHAPTER 30
TAKEN
TROTTING DOWN THE stairs, Manikin planned out her next few moves. There was a utility room at the far end of the corridor on the fourth floor, where she could change disguise and dump the bits she didn’t need. She was already taking off her jacket as she descended, which was how she happened to have it draped over her forearm as she reached the fifth floor and ran right into Frank Krieger. He was wearing a casual brown suit and shirt. Apologizing, he stepped back, reaching for his jacket pocket. Manikin tensed, ready to raise her hands in defense.
“Miss Brundle?” he asked, flipping open a police identity card. “I’m Detective Sergeant Pembry. Something’s come up regarding the circumstances surrounding your father’s death, and we need to ask you a few questions. Would you mind coming with me?”
Manikin hesitated. None of the rat-runners had expected anybody would try anything inside the building—not with the Safe-Guard so close. They weren’t prepared for this.
“Would I mind coming where?” she asked, her mind racing.
“Just down to the station,” he replied in an easy voice. “It won’t take lo—”
She threw her jacket into his face, swung her foot up into his balls, then brought her knee up into his face as he doubled over. Grabbing him by the hair, she pulled his head past her and brought her elbow down between his shoulder blades. Then she kicked off her shoes and bolted for the next flight of stairs, taking them three at a time.
She heard Krieger saying something above her—calling somebody over a radio. Swerving around the turn in the stairs, she made it down to the fourth floor in time to see Hector charging up towards her. She could try getting past him—one on one, she might have a chance—but he only had to hold onto her long enough for Krieger to catch up and they’d have her. And whatever the scrotes intended doing, they obviously weren’t too worried about alerting the bloody peeper.
Changing direction, she sprinted down the corridor. Passing the utility room she had intended to use, she reached the tall sash window at the end of the hallway. Wrenching it open, she looked out. She was four floors up and there was no way down. Manikin pulled the bag from her back and hurled it out.
Four stories below, Nimmo was there to catch it. Seconds later, he was gone, off into the rat-runs. Wonder if we’ll ever see him again, she thought, her face twisting into a scowl. Manikin pivoted, her guard up, ready for a fight, but Hector and Krieger were approaching her cautiously, their eyes flicking between her and the window. They’d seen what she’d done. Breathing hard, she was bitterly aware that these men would have little problem beating a teenage girl. But she was going to make sure they got hurt in the process.
Then she looked past the two men, spotting a figure coming down the stairs beyond them.
“Mrs. Caper!” she called. “Mrs. Caper! Hi!”
The weaselly woman lifted her head and waved hesitantly. Veronica Brundle would not have normally been so eager to get her attention. Manikin walked past Hector and Krieger, not giving them a second glance as they exchanged looks, unsure of what to do. Perhaps they weren’t as willing to take their chances with witnesses, now that they knew she no longer had the case. Manikin joined Mrs. Caper at the stairs.
“Hello, Veronica, love,” Mrs. Caper said, in a friendly but curious voice, regarding the two strangers with interest. No doubt her nose for gossip caught a tantalizing whiff. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again anytime soon. How are you, my dear?”
“Having a bit of a rough day, to be honest,” Manikin responded. “I was just here to pick up a few of Dad’s things. You know, after the fire. Horrible, seeing the place like that. What do you think happened? Are you on your way out? I’ll walk with you.”
“Of course, my love,” Mrs. Caper said, eyeing the two men one last time, before continuing on down the stairs. “I was just popping out for my magazines. Yes, that fire was a terrible thing. It was a bunch of those rat-runner vermin who set it, you know. Some gang of little
thieves. Almost got themselves killed! Fell right down through the ceiling of my kitchen, don’t y’know! I don’t suppose you know if your dad’s insurance is still valid, do you?”
Manikin cast a quick look back at Vapor’s men, before turning to listen to Mrs. Caper’s account of the day the vermin dropped in. Strolling down the stairs into the lobby, they made their way to the front door, with Manikin making all the right noises as she listened to Mrs. Caper rabbit on, and fended off the woman’s attempts to learn more about Veronica’s ‘two friends upstairs.’
Pulling open the doors, they stepped out onto the path. Manikin hooked her arm into Caper’s as they walked past the line of cars parked at the curb, heading towards the shop on the corner of the street.
Manikin had not missed the minivan with the darkened windows that stood at the curb with its engine running. She tensed, ready to turn and run at the first sign of a door opening.
“Wherever are your shoes, my dear?” Mrs. Caper asked, looking down at Manikin’s feet.
On reflex, Manikin looked down too, and that was when Mrs. Caper struck her over the head with something hard and heavy. The door of the van slid open, and she was dragged semi-conscious into the vehicle. With a screech of tires, it pulled out, and roared down the street.
FX stood, trembling in shock, as he watched from the bus stop on the far side of the road.
“That was the Turk!” he blurted into his phone. “Jesus, Scope, they’ve got Manikin. Move-Easy’s got my sister!”
