by Gemma Malley
‘Okay people, having a shower now!’ She winked again, this time at the camera in her hallway, then she put down her tablet and bag and headed straight for her bathroom, with its carefully positioned camera that she could avoid if she wanted to. And she wanted to. The truth was, she wanted all the cameras to disappear for an hour or so. She felt shaky. Felt really strange. And she knew why. It was Milo’s voice. The way he’d spoken to her. It was like he was someone else. Like a stranger. She was supposed to be in love with him; he was supposed to be in love with her. He was. She was. But not with the person who called her eight minutes ago. Not the person who’d issued her with an ultimatum.
She turned on the shower and kicked off her shoes, then leant against the window ledge, letting her head fall back for a few seconds. She steeled herself and started to take off her top. It was no big deal, she told herself. Milo had been angry. He had overreacted. But also, she’d kind of betrayed him and she knew it. Had done it on purpose. And as she unbuttoned herself she suddenly knew why she’d done it. To see how he’d react. To test him. And now she knew.
She took a deep breath. What had she expected? A wry smile? An indulgent shake of the head? He worked for Infotec. He had helped her. Helped her hugely. Had asked her to do something for him. And she had effectively put two fingers up at him. Just like she always did when people tried to get close to her. This hadn’t been a test. It had been sabotage. And this time, she knew deep down, she’d really screwed up.
She thought for a moment, then called up a number, using her private channel; she didn’t want the world listening in on this conversation.
‘Hello?’
‘Milo, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, like you said. I just … I wanted to get a reaction, I guess. It’s what I do. I push people until they push me back and then I tell myself it would never have worked out. But with you, I want it to work out, Milo. I really do. So I’m sorry. I was stupid. I’ll …’ She heard a bang and frowned. ‘Oh, wait, there’s someone at the door. Jeez, calm down. You’d think the building was on fire.’ She started to button herself up again; wanted to look half-decent before opening the door. A bit of her hoped it might be flowers, an apology from Milo for flying off the handle. ‘Look, Milo,’ she continued, walking out of the bathroom. ‘I’ll retract the blog. I’ll do whatever you want if you’ll …’ There was an almighty crash and she stopped in surprise as her front door fell forwards and two men walked into her apartment. She screamed in fright, then edged backwards. There was no need for hysterics. The men were on camera. They’d be stopped in moments. ‘Milo,’ she said, trying to keep her voice calm. ‘There are two men here. You’ll see them on camera. They have just broken down my door and they’re coming towards me. Milo? Are you there?’
There was a pause. Then she heard Milo sigh. ‘I wish you’d retracted it within the five-minute timescale I gave you,’ he said, sadly. ‘Then none of this would have happened. I’m sorry, Frankie.’
‘Sorry?’ Frankie asked uncertainly. She was pressed against the bedroom door; the men coming towards her looked relaxed, unafraid. They were twice her size, dressed in nondescript khaki. Behind them was a girl, a girl who looked like her, wearing the same clothes she had on. She was hallucinating; she had to be.
‘Sorry it had to come to this. Goodbye, Frankie.’
The line went dead; immediately the men lunged at Frankie, one of them pressed his hand around her mouth, whilst the other grabbed at her hand and wrenched her chip out of her palm. ‘Won’t be needing this,’ he said gruffly as Frankie’s world went strangely silent, and with one swift movement, they carried her out of her apartment.
10
Frankie was dragged out of her apartment, down the stairs, out into the street, where she was bundled into a van. No one was around to see; the road had been cordoned off by an Inforcer van. But even if they’d seen, she had no chip; there would be no record of what was happening, and so it wouldn’t have happened. Frankie felt disoriented; there were no messages in front of her, no one empathising with her, telling her that she looked amazing. There was nothing. It was like she didn’t exist.
The van started; she was in the back, half lying, half sitting. It was dark, but she could see that the van was empty except for a couple of old blankets. It smelled terrible, of rancid food. She felt all around; found a spanner in the corner, an old carton of juice. She pulled her knees into her chest and breathed through her mouth. She was shaking; she knew she had to calm down, had to think. But her mind seemed incapable of rational thought; it flitted around in starts, her heart thudding, her stomach lurching every time she thought of something else uncomfortable. Milo. He had known about the men. Sent them, even. No one had seen; the cameras must have been shut off. This had been orchestrated. She had no idea where she was going; no way of contacting anyone. Where would they be taking her? What would the men be doing with her? Meting out some kind of punishment? For daring to publish that blog?
Had that been what she and Milo were all about?
Had she really been that stupid, that naïve?
No, impossible. Milo wouldn’t … She felt her stomach constrict. Wouldn’t what? Send two men in a van to pick her up? Shut down her communication?
The van stopped and she lifted her hand to bang on the wall. ‘Help,’ she shouted out as loudly as she could. ‘I’m suffocating here. Please, help me.’ She shifted down towards the doors. Moments later the door to the van opened and one of the men looked in.
‘You shut up,’ he said menacingly, but was immediately caught off guard by a foot kicking out at his face followed by a spanner being swung at his forehead. He stumbled back, swore, waved his arms around before falling to the ground. Frankie didn’t wait to see if he was okay; wrapping one of the blankets around herself, she started to run. She recognised the street immediately; the van hadn’t got too far, just a few blocks from her apartment. She crossed the road, ran around the corner, and then she stopped. Because in front of her was a screen. And she was on it. Only it wasn’t her. It was someone else. Someone else who looked just like her, wearing her clothes, or clothes just like them, sauntering down Honore Road, smiling. And underneath was her latest message, only she hadn’t written it. ‘OMG, can you believe some criminal gang hacked my accounts and put out that awful blog in my name? Terrifying. Well if they’re trying to make us scared, or trying to persuade us that Infotec have anything to hide, it won’t work. They won’t stop me that easily! Xxx’
For a moment, Frankie froze. As she stared, responses started to appear underneath it. ‘Wow, Frankie, that’s so scary. UR amaaazing.’ ‘Didn’t think it was you … forget the idiots, Frankie. We love U!’
‘Thanks you guys.’ Another message from ‘Frankie’ popped up on the screen. ‘Better get to my lunch now!’
‘Move. Now.’ It was someone behind her, grabbing her hand, pressing something into her palm. A new chip. Communication, thank God. She turned quickly but whoever it was had gone; she could see the men from the van running towards her. But she didn’t move; she waited. They were on a busy road now; they couldn’t do anything, knowing that she would cause a scene.
‘You need to come with us,’ one of the men said, approaching her cautiously. ‘Come nicely and everything will be fine.’
‘Don’t.’ The message flashed in front of her eyes, jolting her. This new chip was empty – no contacts, no history, nothing. Nothing except for this message. Which, frankly, was pretty unnecessary. She had no intention of going with those men again.
‘You mean you’ll shove me back in your van,’ Frankie said, her voice low. She was doing her best to stay calm; they were very visible here. The men couldn’t drag her away here, she told herself. Not without drawing attention. ‘Who the hell is that girl up there pretending to be me?’
‘Pretty isn’t she?’ the man said, pointing at the screen. ‘That’s Frankie now, you understand? Not you. You’re no one. But come with us and you’ll live. Otherwise …’
‘Otherwi
se?’ She stared at him icily. ‘Otherwise, what?’
Frankie didn’t wait for an answer. She turned and she ran, along the road, into an alleyway, pounding down the pavement. She barely recognised the streets; felt naked with her chip utterly empty, no contacts, no messages, nothing.
‘Turn left.’ A message appeared, but Frankie ignored it. She needed to get back to her apartment. Needed to work out what was going on, what she should do. She felt strange, unbalanced, like the ground was moving underneath her feet as she walked on autopilot, her pace picking up as she got nearer to home until she was running; never had she been so desperate to get home, to close her door, to take a shower, take a bath, clean this day away, allow her space to think. And finally she was there, outside her building. She couldn’t believe what had happened; it was like a bad dream, like some strange aberration that made no sense. And yet it had happened. The police van had gone, but she still had the blanket wrapped around her to prove it. She dropped it, kicked it away. Then she lifted her hand to the door fob.
The door didn’t open.
She tried again, but the door stayed resolutely closed. She tried banging, but it was no good. Of course it was no good. She wouldn’t get through the door without her chip.
‘You know you’re not getting in there. Stop wasting time, you have to hide.’
Frankie took a deep breath, then took a few steps back. And then, without thinking, she ran at the door, pounding it with her fists, shouting at it to open. People were staring at her but she didn’t care; it was her apartment. She needed to get in.
‘This is where I live,’ she shouted, to no one in particular. ‘This is where I live.’
A man stopped, looked at her kindly. ‘Maybe your chip is damaged,’ he said. ‘Call the Infotec helpdesk. They’re very friendly.’
Frankie stared at him, then she started to laugh. ‘Friendly? You have no idea.’
She turned back to the door, ran at it, gave it a kick.
‘Excuse me,’ a terse voice came over the building’s speaker. ‘Please desist from your activities. This is a five-minute warning.’
‘Run, Frankie. Please. I’m trying to help you here.’
The man shrugged at her and walked away. A five-minute warning. Five minutes until the police were alerted automatically by the camera software, which had registered some kind of vandalism or threatening behaviour.
Frankie knew all about five-minute warnings, but had never been on the wrong side of one. They had always been a reassuring sound, a voice of reason reminding some foolish person that their aggressive behaviour would not be tolerated, reminding them that they were being watched, monitored. Now the voice sounded menacing, terrifying. Was Milo watching her? Was he watching her right now? She felt tears pressing against her eyes and looked up at the camera.
Then, her chest heaving, she dialled a number, a number she knew from memory.
‘You do not have clearance for this number. For Infotec head office please dial 0.’
She tried the number again.
‘You do not have clearance for this number. Please do not retry. We have your number. Thank you.’
She shut down the line, looked back up at the camera. ‘You bastard,’ she mouthed.
‘He’s not going to take your call. The two guys chasing you are at the bottom of this road and they will kill you if they get you, so please will you get moving now?’
Frankie shook her head. ‘I’m not running anywhere,’ she wrote, seething. ‘Who the hell are you, anyway? Just leave me alone.’
Angrily, she turned, walked across the road towards the café where she often bought breakfast. She would wait there, watch her apartment, see who went in, who went out. Her stuff was in there. Her whole life was in there. If Milo wanted to punish her, to show her how tough and powerful he was, then fine. Whatever. But this was going too far. He couldn’t lock her out of her home.
She walked up to the door. But as she pulled it, she heard a sound she hadn’t heard in a very long time. A low beeping sound. The door stayed resolutely closed. She stopped, took a deep breath. This was crazy. She banged on the door. ‘Will someone let me in please?’ Through the windows she could see a screen with the Frankie imposter on it. ‘OMG, late for my next appointment,’ she was saying. ‘Can’t wait to get my award later!’
Frankie’s eyes narrowed and her heart began to thud in her chest, but she took a deep breath, forced herself to calm down. No one had noticed. No one had noticed it wasn’t her. All her adoring fans, all her millions of Watchers, loved her so much they had no idea that she’d been replaced by a total stranger.
A waiter rushed towards her, smiled, pulled open the door. ‘Hi!’ he said brightly. ‘Sorry, must be a problem with our machine. Would you wait there? I’ll get the manual processor.’
Frankie smiled sweetly; a minute later he returned with the processor, which he held up against her hand. And then his smile faded. ‘I’m sorry,’ he shrugged. ‘You have no credit logged. No access.’
‘No access?’ Frankie stared at him angrily. ‘But I come here all the time. You know me. I’m Frankie. You know I’m Frankie.’
He looked at her uncertainly. Then he turned to look back at the screen where other ‘Frankie’ was rushing into a swish restaurant across town, her trademark leather jacket draped around her shoulders. He looked back at her, his face a little harder this time. He trusted the screen, Frankie’s chip, more than he trusted his own eyes. ‘I’m sorry, but the machine says you have no credit. It shows no link to a bank, a card, nothing. Maybe take it up with your bank?’
‘My bank,’ Frankie said, raising an eyebrow. She could feel someone behind her; the men were closing in, tight smiles on their faces. They wouldn’t want to cause a scene, but then again, she couldn’t get into a bar; no one would be surprised if the Infotec Inforcers dragged her away.
‘Could be a technical fault?’ the waiter said with a tight smile. ‘Now, have a nice day!’ And with that, he retreated; the door closed behind him. Frankie held her hand up to the reader again and heard the low beep. Access denied. She left it there, heard the beep again. Then she kicked the door.
‘Please desist from your activities. This is your second and final warning.’
Another message popped up. ‘I thought you were clever, Frankie. Stop acting like an idiot and get the hell out of there.’
She stared up at the camera. ‘Screw you,’ she mouthed, then she started to run.
11
‘Turn left.’
Frankie shook her head and continued to run. Her head, usually full of messages from a million strangers, was strangely clear, and it made her feel disoriented, dizzy.
‘How the hell did you track down my new chip anyway, stranger?’ she messaged back as she panted. ‘Do you work for Infotec or something?’
‘No.’ The message came straight back. ‘Where are you going? To the Library? You’re going to the Library aren’t you. You know that’s the first place they’ll look? Please, follow my directions. I can see them and you. I can get you somewhere safe.’
Frankie rolled her eyes. ‘It’s thanks to you that I’m in this mess,’ she said, irritated that the stranger had read her mind so easily. She was headed to the Library; it was the only place she had to go. She loved the Library; was so proud that her parents had been among the people who had fought to keep libraries open to all, no cameras inside, no chip restrictions allowed. Her parents had joined the protests for knowledge to be available to everyone, even the drunks, the destitute, the outcasts, and had instilled in Frankie the importance of learning, of knowing the truth. Anyone who had a chip could enter; activity was monitored via chips but no cameras were allowed. Critics had said that libraries would be overrun, that they would be taken over by the destitute, by those who wanted to avoid being seen, who were determined to wreak havoc on those who lived peaceably.
But it hadn’t happened. Every so often someone was found asleep under a bench; every so often the old and confused
wandered in with no barrier to stop them. But mostly things stayed pretty much the same. Same people, same activity. And it was about the only place she was sure she could get into.
‘Bad idea. Very bad idea. Turn left here, then right, straight away. It’s a small road with no cameras. Run down to the bottom and there’s a tiny alleyway on your left. Turn onto it.’
Resentfully, Frankie read the message in front of her eyes.
‘Why should I listen to you?’ she asked. ‘Assuming you’re who I think you are, you’re the reason this is happening to me.’
‘I’m not the reason. Infotec is the reason. I’m trying to help you. So please, turn left.’
Frankie hesitated, then, hearing footsteps behind her, she did as the stranger told her, keeping her head down. When she got to the alley, another message appeared immediately.
‘Go into the café on your right and ask to use the bathroom. It’s in the courtyard behind. You need to jump over the back wall, and there’s a path. Follow it.’
Frankie paused again, wondering what the hell she was doing, then reluctantly followed the instructions. This time the chip allowed her into the café; evidently it was less fussy about its clientele. She ran through it mumbling something about ordering a coffee, and escaped into the courtyard. The wall was five feet tall and not the easiest thing to get over in super skinny jeans that didn’t give much at the knee, but she managed it after a few attempts and staggered down the path that greeted her. She was hot now, hot and angry.
‘Where the hell are you taking me?’ she demanded.
‘You don’t recognize it? Turn left at the bottom of the path and wait there for a few minutes.’
‘Wait? For what? For Milo’s friends to come and pick me up?’
‘No, for something else. Someone else. Just wait.’
‘Just wait? No please this time?’ Frankie asked, her eyebrow raised. Who was this joker, she wondered to herself. And how did she end up taking instructions from him?
