The Misrule series Box Set

by Andy Graham

  Much as it galled Rose to admit it, the woman was right. She’d only missed appointments by mistake initially. The more appointments she’d skipped, the easier it had become and the more creative the excuses had been. She’d come to see it as something of a game, rewarding herself when she felt she’d got one over on them. In particular, when she’d got one over on this woman. Wrapped in the morning-after guilt that was heavier in daylight, those games seemed less innocent. “I’m not thinking straight these days,” she said. “I’ve been forgetful. Ill and—” A single, raised finger set her teeth on edge. Being polite to this woman was straining her to the limit.

  “That’s why you have a physician and automatic memos. The system has laws. Society has rules. Without these rules there would be no system, no society, just anarchy. The rule of law is there for everyone’s good – yours and mine. We are all equal in the eyes of the law, no matter how famous your father may have been.”

  “But you’re talking about murder.” Rose leapt to her feet. “Murder sanctioned by the state.”

  “Sit down, Ms Franklin, or I’ll have you sedated again.”

  She sat. Her legs were going numb. Her back ached; it always did these days, especially at night. “I didn’t mean to speak out of line. I’m tired and sore. Nothing is helping. I’m allergic to the standard medication for this pain,” she explained, ignoring the tapping on the screen. “I don’t want to take the risk with the other drugs. I don’t want to be the one percent that suffers side-effects. You’re already looking at a statistical anomaly. I shouldn’t be in this situation. I shouldn’t be...” Even now, it was hard to say.

  The tapping stopped. “If you would work with us, we may be able to modify some of the existing products to make them compatible with your genome.”

  “No.”

  “You’re basing your decision on opinions that have no medical or scientific training to support them.”

  “I said no.”

  The cold gaze that met Rose’s was marred by the mole on the tip of the nose. Slightly off-centre, and somehow defiant, it made sustaining eye contact difficult. “You’re choosing not to take medications which have been proven to work.”

  “I already said no.”

  The interviewer shrugged. “That means you are suffering voluntarily. It’s a simple choice, Ms Franklin.”

  “I don’t want agony or martyrdom. There must be another way. There’s always another way,” Rose added, hearing her mother’s voice shadowing hers.

  She stamped her feet, trying to get the sensation back. Something nudged her in the midriff. An involuntary smile crept across her face as she wrapped her arms around her stomach. “I was seeing a physical therapist for a while. That helped. Then the sessions were stopped from one week to the next with no explanation.”

  “As I can see here...” More tapping. The blue eyes glazed over as e-lenses were activated.

  Rose sighed. She tried to ignore as much of the new technology as she could, despite the many conveniences she was apparently missing out on, but it was everywhere — from the suits to the geeks and the insufferably cool. Even the self-styled Phobes were realising they had no choice but to embrace the insidious creep of technology. These people had flaunted their un-enabled status for years, wearing their suspicion — or was it ignorance? — like a badge of honour. Once held in a kind of mystique, most were now just seen as odd.

  “Trials were done and came up with no lasting benefit.” The woman was reading from a document only she could see. “The profession has been reassigned.”

  “Outlawed.”

  “Reassigned, Ms Franklin. It’s called progress.” The interviewer blinked twice to shut down the feed. “Without it we’d still be using rocks to treat headaches.”

  “But it helped me, friends of mine.”

  The official dismissed her argument with a casual flick of the wrist. “Nothing more than placebo or regression to the mean. And the latter, simply put, means most things get better if you let them.”

  “I don’t care, the sessions helped.” Rose fought down the bile in the back of her throat. “I can’t feel my toes,” she said, a hint of petulance lacing her voice. Without waiting for permission, she stood. Feeling flooded through her legs. The surge of pain it brought was almost pleasurable. “Now what?” She rocked back and forth and wondered how far she would get if she started humming. Maybe the verbal slap-down would be worth it, just to see the woman’s expression.

  “For the discomfort? You talk to your physician. That’s his field, which you would know if you had attended appointments as required.”

  “No, not that, the other thing.” Her fleeting attempt at a smile faded and she crashed back down into her chair.

  It had been a shock when they’d first told her. Either they’d missed it on the initial scans, or the digital degradation problem was bigger than the government wanted to admit. As a result it hadn’t been caught until she’d passed the official threshold for dealing with her condition the humane way. They’d been furious and Rose was sure someone had paid for it. Avoiding them had worked for a while. The bittersweet pleasure about her guilty secret had grown, despite knowing full well she was running out of time. What she hadn’t foreseen was the nature of their solution.

  “You have already had the choices explained to you,” the official said, “but I will state them again so we are clear.” Each word had the finality of a headstone.

  Rose knew what was coming; she’d tried fighting it, rolling with it, but nothing had made any difference. There wasn’t going to be any last-minute reprieve. No one was going to burst in through the door to tell her she could go home now. The reflections of the button lights in the ceiling danced on the polished surface of the heartwood table. Rose stopped listening. She knew what the woman was saying.

  “You know the law, Ms Franklin,” the speaker said once she had repeated Rose’s options. “You only have yourself to blame. What you are doing is forbidden.”

  “So is murder.”

  “This is not murder. We do not murder people. We protect our people but are unable to do that if there is any ambiguity about who they are, where they are and what they are doing. If you had not avoided the tests and visits, you would not be in this situation now.” She sounded almost bored to Rose’s ears. “I don’t know how you thought this would work out, pregnancy has a very definite end to it.”

  The e-lenses were double-blinked back on and the woman leant back into the hissing chair. On the desk-screen, a list of Rose’s misdemeanours flashed up. Some of them were minor, even in their eyes: walking in high-risk areas like the dead city of Tye across the river, not meeting the required amount of daily exercise and failing to meet the recommended number of feeds on her EV, her electronic vitae. Even her very public refusal to accept their free offer of an online image consultant had been deemed harmless. Rose was secretly proud her penultimate feed had lasted a full evening before being deleted. Her final one hadn’t even made the screen.

  The EV was high on her list of things to axe if she were ever to get into power. The mandatory online account, where she, like all normal citizens, was expected to list her life history, her activities and opinions, rankled. She rubbed the moisture off her cheeks. When had personal privacy and opinion become a competition of hyperbolic exhibitionism? When had life been reduced to a show reel of sound bites and photo ops to play the judging game with friends and strangers? When had primal emotions such as grief and joy become mundane? When had good been relegated to mediocre, and even excellent was not good enough? She scooped up handfuls of her jumper and wrapped them round her wrists like manacles.

  “Now,” the woman swivelled back to face her, “the wearing of those baggy jumpers you favour is considered retro rather than anti-social. However, leaving your swipe behind, not docking in at home and work, and missing appointments with your home appliance maintenance team are a lot more serious.”

  Rose cradled her stomach as the words washed over her, wondering i
f she would ever see her ankles again. She didn’t want to be ogled all the time, and this skewed balance of information was a constant irritation. She wasn’t interested in politics, procedures and processes. She wanted to know about the private lives of the people watching her, their bank details, medical records and phone calls. What were their fancies, obsessions, peculiarities and search habits? Did they watch or listen to anything the public should know about? Did they write on paper? The politicians knew about her, why couldn’t she know about them? She wanted to draw her own conclusions, no matter how biased they may be. That was better than being some kind of semi-virtual prey to be dissected, categorised and turned into a sequence of statistics to be fed back into the machine. But more than that, she wanted to know what secrets the woman opposite her was keeping. Something gurgled in the drain in the corner, disturbing her thoughts. Rose shuddered to think what had once run through these sewers.

  “You developed a reputation, Ms Franklin. It was inevitable we were going to check up on you. I was concerned,” the woman added quietly.

  “I have nothing to hide.”

  “Make your choice, Rose, or I’ll do it for you.” Her eyes twitched as they followed the info stream on the e-lenses, seeing everything except what was in front of her face.

  Rose was trapped. Her travel privilege had been revoked. Even if she could somehow get out of Ailan, the nearest countries had similar rules to hers and Reciprocal Parity of Law. And if what she’d heard about the countries that didn’t have such an agreement was only half-true, then they weren’t an option.

  She shuddered, fighting back the tears. She was on her own and had to make a decision. At least they were giving her the choice at the moment. She was thankful for that small mercy, to have some small degree of autonomy over her own body. Wavy brown hair caught in her hooped earrings. She shook it free. What was wrong with baggy jumpers, anyway? They were comfortable, not retro.

  “... cheaper and easier this way ... the state shouldn’t have to support those who can’t support themselves ... ” The voice sniped at her, pinning her to the chair. It stirred up memories that made Rose want to retch. She gasped for breath, fighting the growing dizziness. The button lights on the ceiling spun in ever tighter spirals. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks, making dark patches on her sweater. Had it really come to this? The moment she’d been running from for the last few months? “I’ll do it.” She blurted the words across the table into a sudden silence.

  “Excuse me?” The suspicion in the woman’s voice was plain.

  “I’ll do it,” Rose repeated before she could change her mind. “But first, answer me a question.” She took a deep breath. “Could you do it? Make this choice?” She just wanted to know, just to know.

  “That isn’t relevant.”

  “Please, Dr Laudanum, I’ll sign your form – just tell me, what would you do in this situation? Regardless of our history. Tell me what you would do, woman to woman.”

  “Don’t play the gender card with me, Ms Franklin. Any sense of sisterhood we may have had was lost when you flouted the law.”

  “Sisterhood? After what you did to my father?”

  “Leave your father out of this.”

  “Like you left him out of your schemes?”

  “Make your choice, Rose.”

  “Like you made your choice to kill him all those years ago?”

  “I did not kill Rick Franklin.”

  The fire in Bethina Laudanum’s eyes silenced Rose. The anger in her stomach twisted into a brooding hollowness. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to have to make a choice like this?” she asked.

  “I would not be in this situation. Your question is irrelevant. Sign.” Laudanum nodded to the screen.

  They watched each other in silence. The plunk, plink of dripping water under the drain marched on. Laudanum blinked first. “Be part of society, Rose. It’s where we all belong. I know it can be frustrating but life is better this way. The loss of personal freedoms you rail against is a small sacrifice to pay for the health and safety of us all.”

  “Loss of personal freedoms?” The words curdled in her mouth. “You want me to choose which of my unborn twin children to give up on their first nameday and you call it a ‘loss of personal freedom’?”

  Bethina Laudanum stood up and sat on the front of the desk. She moved with an athletic grace that was almost gladiatorial. It reminded Rose of her partner before he had left her. The way Donarth had danced, walked, fought and loved. The confidence that came with fluid, coordinated movement that had first caught her eye now made her want to gag. She had been pregnant with their children and he had left her. How could a man who had been everything she could have wanted in a partner do that? It made no sense and that hurt her all the more. Her throat tightened as the emotions threatened to break her again. No. No more tears. Don’t let his actions dictate your future.

  “The scourges of pre-Revolution society are gone,” Laudanum said. “Crime rates, rape, abuse, corruption and terrorism are at their lowest levels since current records began.”

  “Because you changed the classifications.”

  “Food banks have been abolished.”

  “Hunger hasn’t,” Rose said.

  “Centralised health services provide better care and save money, which can be reinvested.” Laudanum’s voice was rising. It appeared Rose wasn’t the only woman whose patience was being tested. “Genetic technology has heralded a new golden age of medicine. Annual vaccines have relegated many diseases to history. The antibiotic crisis that threatened the entire civilised world a few generations ago has been resolved. We’re developing gender specific analgesia and are harvesting the ocean floors for bacteria that promise to further revolutionise medicine and farming. Even mandatory exercise and dietary requirements have helped reduce illness and raise life expectancy. It’s better on this side, Rose.”

  Rose waited for the impassioned echoes to die away. She had counterarguments but no strength to use them. She was also shocked by what Bethina was offering her. “A paper hanky?” she asked, startled.

  “Special reserve. Government issue.”

  Dr Laudanum’s pristine white suit swished as Rose took the tissue.

  “There’s not much left, to tell you the truth, and it seems a waste to use it on bodily fluids, but it’s a luxury of sorts.” Laudanum gave her a half-smile. “A perk for having to spend my days down here.”

  Rose felt its graininess between her fingertips, then shrugged and blew her nose. The flimsy tissue disintegrated in her hands. Laudanum passed her another one, averting her eyes as Rose tried to clean herself up. It was a small victory, but she’d take what she could. She went to put the tissue in her pocket.

  Dr Laudanum shook her head. “It will be recycled.” She motioned for it to be placed on the desk. “And this last exchange never happened.” Her voice softened. “So you’ll sign the form voluntarily?”

  Rose wiped her eyes, nodding.

  “It’s safer this way.” Laudanum’s voice was almost gentle. “The herd protects; the pack doesn’t.”

  “You’re also able to follow the herd.” Rose bit off every word. “Monitor it and record its long, healthy life with no risk of confusing anyone with anyone else. That’s why you’re only allowing one child of all twins born to live, aren’t you? Because it’s easier to track people that way.”

  “Rose, please. Why would we do such a thing?”

  ”Because if you can track my child easily, you know everything about him, not just his hobbies, interests and illnesses, or what page he has reached in his book, but where he goes, how many steps he takes to get there and how long he sleeps. Want to know what’s in his fridge? What or who raises his pulse or makes him sweat? No problem. You can adjust the automatic memo feed to manipulate the herd into being where you want it to be, doing what you want it to do. Don’t shake your head at me. We all know the automatic memo glitches need more than just debugging. Is that the herd you mean? Is this the protec
tion the herd gave my father?” She stared at Laudanum, defying her to interrupt now. “The pack brings independence and freedom.”

  Laudanum’s manner iced over. The chair hissed as she sat down. Rose wondered whether she had chosen it precisely because of the noise it made.

  “Different sides of the same coin, Ms Franklin. Surely, every parent wants their child to grow up healthy in a crime-free country?”

  “Stop. I’m tired of your clumsy attempts at emotional blackmail.”

  “Facts trump feelings, Rose. If you flip that round then society is doomed. And by signing this form, in your own way, you will be making a valuable contribution to the society you claim to support.”

  “What?” A surge of panic sent Rose’s pulse spiralling out of control. “What does that mean? You just said you won’t kill the child you take from me. What are you going to do to my son? Tell me? Tell me!”

  “We all have to make sacrifices for the greater good, all of us, no matter how big or small, old or young.” Dr Laudanum’s voice faltered for one moment.

  Rose screamed like she had fifteen years ago, the last time she had seen this woman.

  It took both soldiers that had been standing guard outside to restrain Rose. They let her go once she had calmed down so she could sign and complete the forms. She supposed a voluntary signature gave legitimacy to the government’s actions and, unlike the scores of parents across the country that were losing children, allowed the lawmakers and takers to sleep better. Rose didn’t care anymore. Somehow, in the fury of emotions and physical confusion that threatened to crush her, she had found a tiny corner of refuge. How long that acceptance would last, she didn’t know.

  She left without a word. The guards flanked her as they escorted her out of the sub-basement. The relative understanding she’d heard today had been harder to deal with than the anonymous refusals of the last few months, especially when that compassion had come from Bethina Laudanum.