Seoul Survivors

by Naomi Foyle

  “So they’re not natural blondes?”

  “If cloning for color is unnatural, Damien, then so is using henna hair dye or marrying someone you think would be a good parent. People have always altered and engineered their physical appearance, and they’ve always practiced selective breeding. We are temporal beings, and it’s human nature to want to help shape the future.”

  He felt the urge to needle her. “Control other people’s futures, you mean?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Do you feel as though you’re being controlled right now?”

  She’d obviously done Psych 101. Feeling caught out, he muttered, “I didn’t think I had much of a choice, no.”

  “But your options were the result of your own actions, no? We create our own futures, surely. And whatever decisions you’ve made in the past, you haven’t ended up in a bad spot.”

  Was he imagining it, or had she undone a button on her blouse? Hating that his eye had even flicked beneath her chin, he resolutely met her droll gaze. Somehow the amusement he’d detected in her demeanor when he entered seemed less guarded now—well, of course, she’d got what she wanted and now she could afford to toy with him outright. But if she was loosening up, might she give a trade secret away?

  “Cloning human beings, though?” he pressed, ignoring her personal remarks. “Wouldn’t that be taking Confucian conformity a step too far?”

  Christ. Had he gone too far, given Sydney’s game away? If he had, Da Mi gave no sign of it. “Clones—identical twins—Koreans,” she said, smoothly. “Every human being is unique, Damien, no matter what they look like or what culture they belong to. But have you ever wondered what the world would be like if physical appearance were truly irrelevant? What that would teach us about sharing, fair play, the true meaning of love?”

  Damien felt his testy need to challenge her inaudibly escape him, like a slow leak out of a tire. Let this woman have her freaky ideas; he had his own, involving asteroids and floods and getting the hell out of this country.

  “I guess that’ll be your next project, then,” he said. “Look, Dr. Kim, I’ve got stuff to do. If my donation’s okay, could we settle up?”

  “Of course.” She turned back to the desk and he followed, his feet sinking into the plush ivory carpet. Was it his imagination, or was she weaving a little? She steadied herself with a hand on the desk, unlocked a drawer and withdrew a bulging white envelope.

  “You’ll want to count it. Come, let’s sit down.” She took her seat and gestured at the other flexi-chair. Reluctantly he lowered himself into it again. “Do have some honey drink,” she urged. “It will help replenish your amino acids.”

  He squirmed as the seat re-embraced him. “I’m fine, thanks, honestly.”

  “As you wish.” She offered him the envelope, her right hand ceremoniously tucked under her left elbow. He pulled the bills out and counted them as she sipped her drink. Two hundred American one-hundred-dollar bills.

  “Kamsahamnida. That’ll go a long way. As will I.” He stuffed the envelope in his jacket pocket. “Spunk money” didn’t have a great ring to it, but it was cash, and a lot of it.

  Da Mi opened her own jacket. “And here’s your passport. It expires in a month, but I expect you know that.”

  She had unbuttoned her blouse. He could see an expanse of faun brown skin and the black lacy crest of her bra. “Thanks,” he muttered, slipping the document in the back pocket of his jeans. She leaned back in her chair, the folds of her blouse exposing half an inch more of her bra.

  “Are you sure you won’t have some honey drink? I made it extra strong today.”

  This was too much. “Cheers, Da Mi, but I ought to be going.”

  Da Mi liberated a flake of mascara from an eyelash. That dreamy smile on her face, Christ, she looked almost stoned. “Of course. But please—before you go, I want to give you a present.” She took a small box out of her pocket and passed it to him. Inside was a jade ring, its comma shape a bit like Sydney’s watch.

  “The Chinese say that jade stones are drops of dried semen from the celestial dragon. This is for you, from GRIP, with our thanks. Goodbye, Damien, and good luck.”

  He stuffed the box into his pocket. “Thanks, Dr. Kim. You too.”

  She lolled back in her chair, regarding him indulgently. He cast one more look at the turtles, baleful in their glass enclosure, and exited the office with as much dignity as he could muster. In the lobby, he tossed the ring in the rubbish bin. Then he strode out of the building as fast as he could and broke into a cantering run.

  Part Six

  ROYAL JELLY

  39 / Getaway Plans

  At last Damien was back. Sydney buzzed him up and waited impatiently on the landing. As soon as he got off the elevator she grabbed him for a hug, but he was stiff and remote in her arms.

  “Are you okay? How did it go?” Nervously, she pulled him into her apartment.

  His face was pinched, as if he had a headache. For a minute she thought he was going to say he’d backed out. But he took a chunky envelope out of his jacket pocket and slapped it down on the table.

  “I got this. But I don’t feel good about it, Sydney.” He flopped down on the sofa and rubbed his face in his hands.

  “You must be exhausted. I’ll make you a honey drink. It’ll make you feel—”

  “God, no,” he groaned. “I’ll have a tea, please—with milk. Here, I picked some up at the market.” He pulled a package of Red Rose out of his jacket pocket, passed it to her and sat silently as she boiled the kettle. She made the tea; he took it without saying thanks, blew on it and slurped.

  She eyed the envelope. It was stuffed with money. Why wasn’t he happy? “Look,” she said, crossing the room to her wardrobe. She took out her own two special envelopes: one marked “won,” the other “dollars.” Squeezing beside him on the sofa, she showed him their heft. “How much do you think we have between us?”

  He didn’t look that interested. “Enough not to work for a year, maybe two.”

  He didn’t get it. She put the envelopes down and stroked his arm. “Maybe if we play our cards right, we’ll have enough not to work for the rest of our lives.”

  “Yeah? If I donate my liver? Or how about my left leg?”

  She ignored that, let him take another swig of tea. “No,” she said, patiently, “of course not. But if you want a cut of the VirtuWorld profits, I could ask Da Mi—not now, but later, when the park’s making loads of money. I could tell her we’re still friends and I think we should pay you some royalties. Who knows, maybe you could play a part in the Banquets, be the King’s younger brother, maybe.”

  “Christ, Sydney,” Damien said irritably, “you’re up to your neck in confidentiality agreements. Don’t blow all that for me. I told you, I’m not interested in being some corporate mascot.”

  She folded her arms, shifted away from him. “I’m just trying to help,” she grumped.

  He sighed, then he reached over and pulled her close. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  His breath was warm on her neck. “Okay,” she pouted as he stroked her back. “But you don’t have to be mean. I just don’t get why you’re not excited.”

  “I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all. I have to be out of Korea by Friday, so I should get to a travel agent’s today, check out my options. Plus I need to sort a few things out with Jake and Sam.” He straightened up, fishing for his MoPho in his pocket.

  Sydney leaned back against a cushion. “Why don’t you just book online?”

  He was inputting the number. “The travel agents have way better deals.” He put the MoPho to his ear and left a message: “Hey, Jake, it’s half-two. Rise and shine. I got good news. Call me.”

  His sharp profile cut the air as if slicing out a hole through which he might vanish. Watching him slip the MoPho back in his jeans, panic seized her. “Do you still want to go on holiday?”

  “We should do more than that.” Damien pushed her into the corner of the sofa and kissed h
er throat. The envelopes of money crinkled beneath them.

  “Like what?” Wrapping her arms around him, she breathed in the scent of his hair: hemp seed and licorice, that Dutch shampoo all the foreign guys were buying this year.

  Damien sat up, his hands on her knees. “Like head out to Canada together—right away. We could buy a car, do a road trip in BC, do Christmas in Jasper or Banff. In the New Year we could check out the prairies—I heard Winnipeg’s happening right now.”

  “You want me to go to Winnipeg with you?” She was utterly baffled. “Winnipeg’s fucking freezing right now. And I’ve promised Da Mi—”

  “Sydney,” he cut her off, “I know I’ve sold my soul to her, but your precious Da Mi makes my blood run cold.”

  She opened her mouth, but Damien raised his voice. “Let’s talk about VirtuWorld for a minute. What’s it really all about, huh? Cookie-cutter people, designer babies for whoever can afford them? What’s going to happen to the rest of us plebs?”

  Sydney wriggled up straight. “Damien! I know Da Mi. She wants to help society evolve. She’s been so good to me; you wouldn’t believe it.”

  “She’s a witch, Sydney. I’m positive she organized my arrest. And I don’t know what’s in that drink of hers, but she was knocking it back in that office like there was no tomorrow, and acting pretty strange, like she wanted to fuck me or something.”

  “Da Mi? Wanted to fuck you? Are you crazy?”

  “I’m telling you, it was like she was on drugs!”

  “Da Mi is a doctor. That drink calms you down,” Sydney shouted. “You should have had some; then you wouldn’t be acting like this.”

  “Wake up, Sydney: she’s a power-junkie. She’s nice to you because you’re her star exhibit! And just think about it for a minute: even if this theme park malarkey turns out to be the genetic wonderland she claims it is, aren’t you going to get sick of playing the same tired role year in year out, being ogled like an animal in the zoo?”

  Sydney scrambled to her feet. “Fuck off, Damien! I let you in on this so I could help you be part of something successful for a change, not so you could insult my friend and trash what I’m doing with my life!”

  They glared at each other. Then Damien sighed and reached for her waist. “Sydney, I don’t give a rat’s arse about success. I just want to spend time with you, not some VirtuWorld mannequin.”

  She said nothing, but she didn’t push him away.

  “Come on.” He hugged her closer. “Let’s take off—give it a go. I’ve always fancied going to Canada, and you can show me around. We’d get on, you know we would.”

  “I can’t. I’d feel really bad about letting her down.” She spoke into his neck, her breasts squashed against his chest. He rubbed her back.

  “She’ll find someone else to do the banquets. Or you can visit; that’d be okay.”

  Shaking her head, Sydney eased herself out his arms and sat back down on the sofa. It wasn’t nearly as simple as he thought. “She’s like a mother to me,” she pleaded.

  “So fly the nest.”

  Sydney buried her head in her hands. “Damien, I can’t just up and leave. I’ve got the apartment and my modeling to think about. And Da Mi wants me to meet the surrogate mothers in December.” The envelope full of her saved won was beside her. She took out a handful of bills and thrust them at him. “Let’s take a little holiday in Asia—on a beach somewhere. Or we can go shopping in Shanghai; I don’t care where, just somewhere fun. Okay?”

  He sat down beside her and put the money on the coffee table. Then he placed his fingers on her wrist and lightly tapped her Gotcha.

  “She told me jade was made from the spunk of the cosmic dragon. Did you know that?”

  Sydney laughed. “Oh, Da Mi—she’s great! See?”

  Damien stroked her hand, slowly, as if he was trying to memorize it with his. “Look,” he said, at last, “I’ve been planning to get to Winnipeg for Christmas for ages. Jake’s got a friend there who might be able to get me a job in film. And I’d like to see snow. How about we go to Tokyo for a few days, and if we have a good time, will you promise to at least think about coming with me to Canada?”

  She jutted out her chin. “If you promise not to hassle me the whole time!”

  “I’m not trying to hassle you.” He paused. His eyes were almost stricken, as if he was afraid she was going to bite him, or laugh in his face. “It’s just—you remind me of someone who needed me once, when I wasn’t around. I know it sounds stupid, but I have a feeling maybe I’m supposed to help you instead.”

  She didn’t need anyone’s help anymore. But still, it was a sweet offer. She stuck out her little finger. “So you won’t bug me or insult Da Mi, and I’ll come to Tokyo and think about showing you round Canada. Pinkie-promise?”

  He crooked her finger with his own. “Pirate twins.” They squeezed each other’s fingers, a deathless vow that soon became an arm wrestling match. Finally Damien let her slam his hand down into a cushion.

  “I win!” she crowed, then screamed as he flung himself on top of her. He reached up under her shirt to tickle her, and somehow ended up playing with her breasts. Her face was flushed; her tummy felt creamy and warm. As her left nipple hardened in his fingers she opened her legs and wrapped them around his waist. He pressed his groin against her. Something hard vibrated against her thigh.

  Damien lifted off her. “Sorry, Sydney—that might be Jake.” One hand still on Sydney’s breast, Damien fumbled for his MoPho, checked the screen, and pressed it to his ear. “Hey, Jake—did you get my message?”

  “Your message? No—fucking MoPhos.” A note of panic rose in Jake’s voice. “Day, I’ve been calling you all morning—tell me you’re not at Immigration yet?”

  Damien smiled down at Sydney, who was fingering her other nipple and casting him a teasing, sex kitteny look. “No, I’m not at Immigration.”

  “Fantastic!” Jake’s usual confidence snapped back. “You gotta meet me right away. There’s a guy here, sofa-surfer just got himself a university job, wants to take your flat. He’s shown me the cash, Sam phoned your landlord: all this guy needs is the keys!”

  No shit? So he’d sold his soul for no reason except to avoid owing Jake and Sam half a month’s wages. For a moment, Damien felt sick all over. He rolled off Sydney and sat up, rubbing his temples. She pulled her shirt down, looking up at him in concern.

  Oh fuck it—what was done was done. Now he’d have even more money to play with. He patted her knee. Two minutes, he signed, followed by a thumbs-up.

  “Hey Jake, that’s great.”

  “Plus, he’s gonna give you an extra three hundred grand for all your furniture—you still got all that stuff I left, right? Wardrobe, coffee maker, bed-mat?”

  “Sure.”

  “Excellentro. So if you come down here, we can take him up to the flat, then Sam and him can deal with the landlord and you and I can go down to Itaewon.”

  Itaewon? Oh yeah, the passport and SIN card—Christ, it was all happening so fast.

  “Yeah, that sounds good.” He could go to the travel agent’s while he was running around too.

  “Just hurry up, will you? This guy’s waiting with his money and I don’t want him to change his mind.”

  “No worries, I’ll be right there.”

  He hung up. “Sorry, Sydney, gotta go. Jake found a tenant for my flat. Can I stay the night here again if it goes through?”

  Sydney stretched her legs over his knees and wriggled her toes. “Oh, I suppose.”

  Jake was wearing a Burberry trench coat and carrying a briefcase; his dreads were tied up with a velvet ribbon and tucked under a trilby. Damien watched him check his teeth in the mirror behind the bar, and exchanged an amused look with Sam and the prospective new tenant, a beanpole American called Darren. Darren had uncombed ginger hair and was wearing a fringed sheepskin jacket; just a kid from the boonies, but he seemed nice enough. He was drinking a beer, but Damien refused his offer of a drink: the clock
was ticking. Jake locked up and they all crammed in a taxi to Tae Hung Dong.

  “Wow, great view, dude.” Darren whistled as they reached the top of the stairs.

  “Penthouse suite, what did I say?” Jake crowed. “The sunsets are amazing. All you need’s a bit of weed and that’s your night-life sorted out, right, Day?”

  “Jake, what I always tell you?” Sam broke in. “Don’t oversell. Let buyer make up own mind.”

  They all laughed. Damien led the way to the flat and unlocked the front door. Inside, the flat was cold and dusty and there were unwashed dishes in the sink, but Darren didn’t seem to care. He inspected the kitchen galley with a single swoop of his big head, stuck his nose in the bathroom and then strode into the middle of the living room.

  “You can get internet here?”

  “No problem.”

  “Hot diggety! And no neighbors! You got yourself a deal.” He reached into his pocket and took out an envelope. “Here’s the key-money.” He looked confused. “Should I give it to you now, or after I see the landlord?”

  Damien glanced at Jake. “I gotta get down to Itaewon. How about we swap now? I give you the keys and you go with Sam to Mr. Han’s?”

  He and Darren made the trade. Damien stuffed the envelope in his inside jacket pocket, where it nestled beside the other two, practically a bullet-proof vest. “I’ll just clean up a bit,” he said. “I’ll be gone by the time you get back.”

  Darren twirled the key ring round on his forefinger. “Hey, no rush, dude.”

  Sam checked his watch. “You want use bathroom, Darren? We gonna sit cross-legged for half-hour, maybe more.”

  “Really?” Darren’s eyes widened. “Okay. Good plan.” He tipped an imaginary cowboy hat at Damien and ducked into the toilet.

  “Sam—thanks a million, mate,” Damien said. “I’ll see you later, right? Back at Azitoo?”