by Naomi Foyle
“Don’t worry.” Sydney nodded at the gates of Yonsei. “Da Mi is going to sort everything out.”
Damien highly doubted it. Really, he should be checking notice boards in the universities north of the river. Trouble was, he didn’t believe that would work either. And even if it did, Immigration would probably just follow him and his false passport to the airport. But if he was going to end up in the slammer, what the hell, it would be nice to have a few more memories of Sydney to sustain him.
Sydney’s lips were a glossy pink today. Underneath a blue GrilleTexTM vest, she was dressed in white jeans, and a white crewel-knit sweater. “You look great. Very Abba,” he told her.
“Thanks . . . I think.” Flashing an even whiter smile, she took his elbow and led him briskly through the campus grounds, past massive, modernist buildings, outdoor amphitheaters, and a group of students practicing Taekwondo beneath some trees.
“I love this place,” she gushed. “It’s like, really classical, don’t you think?”
The combination of monumental architecture and Spartan dedication to a national martial art made Damien think of the Nazis. But why spoil his last day with Sydney by disagreeing with everything she said?
“There’s a tent town up there somewhere,” he said, pointing to the forested mountain flank rearing up behind the campus. “That’s what that beggar on the tube was going on about. It’s illegal, but the police let them get away with it in case the prophecies are true. If the Hammer doesn’t hit on the Solstice, the dogs will move in.”
Sydney gave a mock shiver. “Isn’t it a bit cold to be camping? Hey, this is it.” They had reached a tall building with a Korean-style tile roof. “I think it looks like that pagoda in Insa Dong.”
He couldn’t help himself. “Or a prison control tower?”
She punched him on the arm. “Be nice.”
Sydney collected two visitors’ passes from the doorman and sailed across the lobby to the elevators, Damien trailing in her wake. This place was surreal. A schmancy fountain, gold-plated railings in the elevator, and, when they disembarked on the eleventh floor, a plush pink-carpeted corridor complete with tinkling water features.
“How does the uni afford all this?” he asked.
Sydney shrugged airily. “GRIP made a donation. Here, this is Da Mi’s office.”
She stopped in front of a pair of frosted-glass doors. The long, rose-colored handles bore more than a passing resemblance to female labia.
“Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory,” Damien commented. “Minus the willy.”
“Damien! She’ll hear you!”
With a hushed whoosh, as if they had in fact been listening, the doors swung open. Sydney led Damien into the room, and the doors closed behind them with a sigh.
The pale gray sky swirling beyond the wall of windows suffused the office with a moon-like glow. If you could call it an office. There were no bookshelves that Damien could see, just Korean scrolls and artworks, all in shades of white. Beneath the long windows, a glass tank housed three large white turtles. Beside it, flanked by two sculptures on pedestals, stood a gleaming white desk. From behind it, a small, immaculately coiffed and lacquered Korean woman rose to greet them. She was dressed in a red tailored tunic-thing: great album cover, Damien thought.
“Sydney. Damien. Please have a seat.” Dr. Kim gestured at two milky-white leather flexi-chairs in front of the desk. Damien followed Sydney. The ivory carpet was soft as quicksand beneath his feet.
Sydney plopped herself in her chair and fiddled with the temp-control button on her vest. Damien sat down gingerly. He didn’t like the way flexi-furniture clung to you. Like sleeping in waterbeds, or being embraced by drunk people, the feeling made him a trifle seasick. He positioned himself slightly forward. This one wasn’t so bad. Not sneaking up between his thighs just yet, anyway.
Dr. Kim sat down again, a little stiffly. “Help yourself to a honey drink,” she said, gesturing to a teapot on a stand between them.
As Sydney poured, the scientist trained her gaze on Damien—at least, that was what it felt like: a train engine bearing down on him, two dark pools of light for headlights. Up close, her eyes seemed a little large for her face; though in fact her head also seemed a little big for her body. Maybe she had some kind of dwarfism? In which case, he shouldn’t be staring. Unnerved, he examined the sculptures beside the desk. One was an elongated model of a mother and child, Modigliani-esque, the other a silver double helix. There was a plaque at the bottom of it, engraved in Hangul. Perhaps it was some kind of Korean science Oscar. If his mouth hadn’t felt so dry, he would have asked.
“It’s good for the immune system,” Sydney urged, handing him a cup.
The honey drink was nauseatingly sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. “Umm. Delicious,” he murmured, and lowered the cup to his lap.
“Aren’t you having some, Da Mi?” Sydney asked, in a peculiar, pantomime-y tone of voice.
“I’d love to, darling, but unfortunately it might fuse the wiring.”
Damien shot a puzzled glance at Sydney. She was clutching her drink and wriggling in her seat, eyes shining like a child’s at the circus.
“It’s so convenient to be able to meet you without getting snared in traffic,” Dr. Kim continued. “Damien, I hope you won’t feel uncomfortable shaking the hand of my personal ProxyBod. We call her Pebbles, don’t we, Sydney?”
Damien mouthed “What the fuck?” at Sydney, who was now vibrating with glee.
“Go on, shake her hand,” she insisted. “It feels so real.”
Damien rose and took the outstretched hand. The skin felt plumped up, and a touch leathery. And while not limp, the fingers didn’t exactly grip his. Flicking his eyes over the scientist’s body, he noticed a black cable feeding out of a pocket, disappearing under the desk. Christ. That explained the creep factor.
“Pretty hi-tech, Dr. Kim.” He sat back down in his chair, which remolded snugly around his hips. “Is that a modem cable?”
“The modem is wireless. But the batteries run out quickly. I’m plugged in today,” the Pebbles thing replied. Though of course it was Dr. Kim speaking, from wherever she was. Once you knew what was going on, you could see that the mouth didn’t do much more than open and shut and make the occasional pucker. The deep frown line between her eyebrows was pretty much a constant too.
“It’s fantastic, Da Mi!” Sydney squealed. “You totally fixed that problem with the lip synch. Sorry I didn’t tell you Damien, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Your hands are cold, Damien,” Dr. Kim observed. “Please, drink your honey. It will improve your circulation.”
Pretending to take another sip of his drink, Damien scrutinized the Pebbles creature over the rim. Its waist was very small, he realized, as if the designers had decided that a cartoon figure and doll’s head might make such a freak show more attractive. Still, the voice was very realistic, and there was a certain stately grace about the way the body moved. Though there didn’t seem to be much she could do about that smile.
“So you’re at home? With a cat-suit on?” he ventured.
“More or less. At the moment Pebbles can only stand or sit, but my engineers are working on an exercise machine that will enable her to walk. Can you imagine the possibilities of such a technology, Damien?”
Damien put his cup down. “Could I get one to do a jail sentence for me?”
Just possibly, the glued-on smile broadened a fraction. “Multi-locational appearance is indeed one marketable application. But gaming sector opportunities are my current focus. I understand you enjoy video games?”
“Sometimes, yeah.” He threw a questioning glance at Sydney. But she was glued to the spectacle of the not yet walking, but very much talking Da Mi doll.
The Pebbles thing pressed the tips of her fingers together. “Damien, if I offered you the chance to help develop the next wave of virtual reality gaming, and solve all your legal and financial problems at one stroke, would you be interested?”
Outside, a shaft of sunlight pierced the clouds above the crawling city. In the tank, one of the white turtles blinked and drew its head back into its shell. Damien shifted uneasily in his seat, which puffed up slightly in response. This was supposed to be reassuring, he knew, but it made him want to cringe. He dug his elbows into the armrests. “Maybe. It would depend on what was involved.”
Pebbles tilted her head. “If I outline Project ProxyBod for you, would you accept a gift of two hundred thousand won in return for strict confidentiality?”
The sunlight was coldly burning through the window now, coating Pebbles’ face. The bloodlessness of the skin was more obvious, its taut stretch across her cheekbones mask-like in the glare.
Sydney squirmed excitedly as the ProxyBod opened a drawer and handed Damien a white envelope full of man won bills.
Pebbles set his teeth on edge. But the money was harder to dislike. The money was doing what money did best, sitting there quietly in his hand, emanating reassurance and even a whisper of joy.
“Mum’s the word,” he said, more jauntily than he felt. He folded the envelope in two and stuffed it into his back pocket. “Did you want me to sign for it?”
Pebbles’ face seemed to tighten a notch. “This encounter is being recorded through a camera in the iris of my right eye,” she said, evenly. “If there are any problems later with the media or rival companies, our lawyers will have the best possible evidence of our verbal contract.”
So that explained the X-ray vision. Damien stole another glance at Sydney, hoping for some quick confirmation that Da Mi was mad as a bag of spanners. But Sydney was beaming blankly at the ProxyBod.
“There won’t be any problem, Dr. Kim,” he said, in the most reassuring tone he could muster. He could always swear Jake and Sam to secrecy too.
“Good. Now, Damien, have you heard of Virtuoso gaming equipment?”
“Sure. It simulates lucid dreaming. Unless it makes you . . . what do you guys say? . . . woof your cookies.”
It was a failed, knee-jerk attempt at being a patronizing Brit, and he knew it. The Dr. Kim Barbie doll sailed smoothly on. “Virtuoso games have a negative physical effect on a few people. Perhaps we can arrange a trial session for you,” she offered.
“You gotta try it, Damien,” Sydney said excitedly. “It’s amazing.”
“But in the meantime,” Dr. Kim continued, “can you imagine using Virtuoso equipment not just to play in your own headspace, but to manipulate a cyborg avatar in a real room or landscape? To be hooked up to sensors enabling you to actually feel and smell that environment? An environment in which you had a perfect body, great strength, and cameras for eyes? Wouldn’t it be tempting to make that not your second, but your first life?”
Cyborg avatars. The wet dreams of super-geeks. “Not for me. But I can see that some people might go for it, yeah.”
“Some very very wealthy people are among them. I am currently working on such a project, an exclusive environment for a limited number of clients, set in a Renaissance castle and grounds. Damien, your skin tone is exceptionally white. Our client has stressed the desirability of such a shade for a game starring a Goth Princeling and Princessa. Thanks to Sydney, we have eggs from a pale-skinned woman, which together with your sperm, will enable us to meet their requirements.”
Outside, the clouds sealed off the sunlight, restoring the room’s shadowless, pearly glow. Beside him, he could practically hear Sydney holding her breath. But he wasn’t going to reward her with a look. No. “Sorry, Da Mi,” he said slowly, “I don’t think I quite understood that. You’re going to use my sperm and Sydney’s eggs to make children that will grow up into robots?”
“Not at all, Damien. Yes, we will create and clone embryos containing a mixture of your DNA and Sydney’s. But we won’t incubate these into human beings. Using stem cells from the embryos and ordinary tissue engineering, we can rapidly grow adult human epidermises on a matrix of collagen fibers. The resulting forms, one male, one female, will be mounted on jointed fiberglass shells, flushed with preservatives and fused with a complex interior electronic system. Their facial features may of course resemble yours, but in no way, legal, moral, or biological, could they be considered your children.”
Was this woman, pardon the pun, for real? “You’re growing human skins in labs? Isn’t that illegal?”
“Not in Korea. Here it’s considered a creative response to advances in biotechnology. Think of these gaming avatars as the biological equivalents of two CGI morphed photographs of you and Sydney.”
“Do you see why I couldn’t ask you, Damien?” Sydney had a giggle in her voice. “I mean, we’re not even going out.”
He’d deal with her later. “Yeah, okay, Sydney,” he muttered. “But Dr. Kim, I’m sorry, I still just do not get this. What’s wrong with plastic skin suits? Or silicon, or whatever?”
“To be frank,” Pebbles said crisply, “ProxyBods also have erotic commercial potential. The texture of the bodies is thus of utmost importance. As a feminist, I am extremely interested in providing alternatives to the global trafficking of women. I do hope that you can see your donation as a vital contribution to a world of greater liberty for all. In return, I am sure I can persuade Immigration to drop the charges against you. And in addition, the gaming consortium has authorized me to offer you a cash incentive of twenty thousand US dollars.”
Twenty thousand bucks. Whatever currency you translated that into, it was a fat stash of readies. Damien leaned back into his chair, which gave his shoulders a subtle massage. He winced, and sat up straight again. Beside him, the pressure from Sydney’s fingers was sending pink streaks through her armrests.
Outside the clouds were moving on the gray scale from cigarette smoke to petrol smog. Damien let the silence lengthen. In his bowels, he felt a powerful, tugging desire to get up and walk out. But he overruled the impulse. Despite her twisted mind, this woman obviously had buckets of cash—cash that he desperately needed. And even if he did decide he’d rather go to jail than sell his DNA to some warped sex gamers, he couldn’t leave the office just yet. There was too much he wanted to know.
“Excuse me, Dr. Kim, but when you were looking for samples before, was that also for the ProxyBods? Sydney said it was for your fertility clinic.”
Sydney jumped up in her chair. “I didn’t mean to—”
Pebbles raised a hand. “I didn’t want her to frighten you with a crude approximation of the truth. If you’d agreed, of course I would have revealed the actual circumstances of the donation. I hope you can forgive the tiny subterfuge.”
She sounded less than convincing. But then, could you expect sincerity from a ProxyBod? Damien narrowed his eyes. “Okay. But why should I trust you now? How do I know that you won’t be cloning me, or letting these embryos grow up into sex slaves, or whatever?”
“Damien.” Sydney hissed. But Pebbles shushed her with a finger to the lips.
“I’m glad you’re asking questions, Damien. Naturally you have concerns. But let me assure you that clones of living humans have no appeal to the gaming sector. For one thing, they wouldn’t want any of their products to be held accountable for any crimes you might commit. And of course you’ll have a watertight legal guarantee that GRIP will protect your genetic fingerprint.”
Outside, the clouds were now charcoal-black. On the vast network of roads beneath them, drivers were switching on their headlights, preparing for a storm. And was it his imagination, or could he see lights flickering on the mountainside, the Hammer tent town turning on its solar-powered lanterns and torches? Inside, the overhead lighting dimmed, and a couple of standing lamps lit up, casting shadows across Dr. Kim’s desk. Damien wiped a finger of sweat from the back of his neck. Maybe a heater had come on.
“I’d rather know what Immigration have decided before I get involved in anything here,” he said as neutrally as possible. Beside him Sydney repressed a groan. Why did she care so much? “I don’t even know exactly how much they wa
nt to fine me.”
“I have the MoPho number of the officer in charge.” The scientist reached for the phone on her desk. “I’m sure he won’t mind if I call him at home.”
With a rigid forefinger, the ProxyBod punched a number into the handset. As she conducted a rapid-fire conversation in Korean, Damien inspected the turtles. What was he hoping for? A sign? They were huddled in their shells, like moon rocks.
“Ne, ne.” The ProxyBod put its hand over the mouthpiece. “They’ve calculated your earnings based on the schedule they found in your apartment,” she hissed. “The fine is twenty million won. For every five hundred thousand you can’t pay, they’ll jail you for a week.”
Damien sank back in his chair. It lovingly squeezed his hips. Which didn’t help his math. Not that the figures took a genius to compute. Unless he could find a tenant for his flat or took up this crazy offer he’d be doing months in a Korean jail when the Hammer struck. On top of whatever he’d get back in England once he was eventually deported. If England was still there, that was, and not under six feet of water.
“How much have you got?” Sydney whispered. He shook his head. She was perched on the edge of her seat now, looking incredibly anxious, and yet also, somehow, in a state of wild anticipation. Dr. Kim obviously had the girl wound around her little ProxyFinger. Before he could wonder why, Pebbles abruptly ended her phone conversation and handed him the receiver. He took it gingerly, and held it to his ear.
“Dr. Kim very important to Korea,” RoboCop barked. “She want help you. We want you help Dr. Kim, then leave Korea. No fine, no deportation. Only order to leave. Okay, bad boy? We find you two times teaching English, Dr. Kim not help you. Understan-dee?”
“Understand.” Damien hung up. Sydney was looking at him expectantly. It was impossible to read the expression on the ProxyBod’s face. Stay calm, he thought. Stay calm.
“I just have to promise to be good, and I walk,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Sydney snapped her fingers. “I told you Da Mi could work miracles!”
