[pause]
I miss Stephen. Despite his peculiarities, he loved me well, and was the last to leave me. For the Stephen sculpture, I will save the most beautifully formed, colorful feathers from the birds I collect. I will seek out feathers that have no tears in their vane, and that have the softest, fullest down at the base of the quill. I will search for gentle gradations of color that surpass any genetic necessity of survival. These I will weave into Stephen’s hair, or perhaps sew them into the curls of his beard. If I thought I could spare bird skulls or beaks, I would add those to the Stephen sculpture as well. Alas, I must wait and see how many corpses I find.
I will add decorations to the sculptures of Ray and Debra, my parents, as well. Perhaps if I pierce them with one fine long beak each, and save the feathers for Stephen, I can be thrifty with the materials for my sculpture, and quell the whispering that haunts me as a fiend when I feel I have slighted them. Ray and Debra deserve every honor I can give them. Although Stephen undertook to educate me, spent more time with me, and stayed with me the longest, Ray and Debra gave me the physical affection which so repulsed Stephen, and generously shared their allotted portion of food with me. In our limited, enclosed world, their protection of me served no function related to survival of the species. And yet, they protected me. In moments of detached scientific musing, I wonder if their nurturing was merely an instinctual tendency, formulaic and inescapable. I ought, in fairness and because of the unprovable nature of the question, give Ray and Debra the benefit of the doubt. Whatever the motivation, they cared for me.
Despite my desire to achieve an intellectual detachment that is compromised only in my art, the deaths of the other humans have tinctured my mind with a quiet bitterness that creeps upon me when I allow monotony to settle in. It is my sculptures and my canvas that revive me—my creation of something new in a closed environment which theoretically only recycles and recycles and recycles. Through my creations I become divine, and also serve the useful purpose of cataloging, depicting and representing the ruin I have survived. I am sometimes struck with the idea that you have no need of these representations, that you too, on the other side of the barrier, have birds and squirrels, leopards and crocodiles, deer. Our stock came from you. And yet.
[pause]
Enough for today. Tomorrow I will send another message, throw another crumb along the trail toward me. I picture my messages, capsules flowing away from my world, fanning out in the distance, or, perhaps, creating a mountain of messages that avalanches away intermittently. A Doppler line of words that inexorably points to me. I need only wait for the first of them to reach the shores of your awareness.
Except, sometimes I imagine that you are just outside the barrier, receiving my messages, one by one. Reading my thoughts and cataloging concepts. Sometimes I imagine that as I press myself against the cool, reflective barrier—and although I cannot see you—you stand on the other side watching me, studying me as Stephen once studied his animals, enjoying the academic study, but unwilling to touch me.
Are you there?
Are you there?
Davyne DeSye writes from a cozy spot nestled at the base of the Rocky Mountains in beautiful Colorado, USA. She is an author of science fiction, fantasy, horror and romance stories. Her latest novel, Carapace, is due for release in June 2017. For more information, visit her website at www.davyne.com.
Anyone Can Ask About Enhancement
Terry Jackman
Art: Jackie Duckworth
They’d got to cuddling when Vita mentioned it, then frowned as if she wished she hadn’t. Pol laughed. “For Enhancement? Are you kidding? Me? You seen those people?”
The question was rhetorical of course cos everyone had seen Enhanced, if only at a distance. Never for long. They came, they did whatever weird thing they’d come for, always wearing darkened visors that disguised their thoughts and feelings, then they disappeared. Pol had never got too near but those who had—who’d talk about it—said they felt repulsed. Enhanced were an exclusive echelon within the Company. They left a chill behind them, and they altered people’s lives. And maybe they weren’t even human any longer?
That thought stopped his laughter. “They act like they’re our gods.”
“Why shouldn’t they?” She pushed away. “They get the best, a special section of the city, credit ratings we can’t even dream of, leave to travel.” Vita dropped her voice. “I heard they’ve even left the planet.”
“Yeah? You know a lot about them suddenly.”
“You hear stuff, in reception. And I read about it once.” Her tone was airy but her face looked… furtive?
His attention sharpened. “You applied!”
Oh, she denied it, several times, but when she left it was without a smile. Sadly he acknowledged it was often like that these days; she came in all warm and eager, but afterwards… she looked around as if she wondered why she’d come. She didn’t ask him up to her place any longer either.
His place wasn’t so bad, was it? Small, but neat; a bed just long enough to take his length, the usual wall for storage then the counter and the shower. Basic room allowance, but he kept it clean and tidy.
Now he’d better wash away the scent of sex before he went on-shift this evening.
Two long strides and he was in the shower. Pitted plascreen sealed in the mist of the recycled spray which once again was running tepid and uncertain. Twice this week supply had faltered. Ah well, they’d deal with it, when they chose to. He was pretty lucky really, rating a rare single unit in this good multilevel instead of rowdy quarters in a concentrated singles’ sector. Stepping out again he measured his ‘apartment’, seeing it as she might, the bare simplicity and basic fittings. Still half dressed, he sat down on the bed and faced the facts.
It wasn’t bad, but it would never be enough for Vita. She already rated half the area again than he did, being an ancillary where he was still a Tasker. Soon she’d pout and say they had no future, look for someone higher up the ladder.
A despairing voice inside his head protested, “But we’re good together, and it’s not one-sided, she keeps coming back.”
“But she won’t live with you.” The second, sneering voice poured acid. “Not in any Tasker allocation. For Vita it’ll be Exec or nothing.” And he couldn’t give her that, the pay, the perks, the status; didn’t matter if he took more risks or laboured extra shifts. Unless…
Her perfume lingered on the sheets. He breathed in deep and stared up at the sterile metal ceiling, heard the sighing in the air vents. She was all he’d ever wanted. He could live without more status, or possessions, but she seemed to need them. She felt… cheated. “She loves me, really, but she can’t accept I’m nothing special.”
Special. Like. Enhancement.
The words expanded, filling all his senses. Pol pushed it away, revolted, then he slowly drew it back and faced it. Unlikely as it was, it was the only answer to his problem. The Enhanced got good apartments, privileges, status; everything she wanted.
Arguing against his fear he told himself, “You’d work less hours, no more shifts and rotas. You’d live easy, if they took you. And you’d still be you. You’ve never been a snob, or bad to people, and Enhancement couldn’t force a person to be antisocial. Hell, your neighbours always have been. You just hear about the worst, that’s all, cos face it you don’t travel in their circles. Exec down to Tasker, people are still people.”
In the coming weeks he reached some tentative conclusions. At his level most of what was ‘known’ about Enhancement was mere rumour, not to be relied on. But there was a slogan. “Anyone can ask” the Company advised repeatedly on all the public walkways—but they didn’t even air recruitment programmes in the Tasker levels. The only thing he knew for sure was folk like him were first in line to be ‘dispensed with’ as the company described it.
A friend of his had been dispensed with. Pol still saw him sometimes. He didn’t want to end up on subsistence, cleaning washrooms, growing dull and vacant. Yet one error by some tired tech was all it took. The risk was always there and he was only ‘viable’ as long as he was tagged as healthy.
Backward and forward; good and bad; he’d settled nothing, scared of losing her but still unable to persuade himself to a decision. Till the line inspection.
No one knew that it was coming; the foremen hadn’t pushed them to work faster, or look more efficient. No one knew except maybe Execs up in their towers. But the shielded window up above them lifted slowly, with a muted whisper almost hidden by the hum of autos and the rattle of the loadlines. It was mid-shift, everyone was busy, but there was a moment’s silence he could almost taste between the rows of macro-units. Then each man and woman bent assiduously, faking blindness.
Enhanced. Not one but two. They stayed some time. Pol saw them up there looking, asking questions. When they finally began to turn away the people round him breathed much freer. Only Pol stood rigid.
He’d forgotten to keep his head down, half the line away from where they’d loomed, his wits gone begging, staring upward. Even at that distance one of them had noticed it. A glossy head swung back to face him, mirrored visor baleful. Then the man raised one gloved hand, and slowly raised his visor, and as if compelled Pol pulled away his shielded helmet. Cool, black eyes met Pol’s wide blue ones. Time, existence, stumbled. Then recovered.
Nothing actually happened. The Enhanced replaced his visor, backing from the window. Once they left there was a buzz of talk, but Pol stood silent. When a neighbour spoke to him he jerked, looked blankly at the other man then stepped away and left his station, stripping off his dense protective suiting. “Feeling sick,” he told the foreman. It was half true.
After a sleepless night he dressed with care in the best of his Tasker issue then, six hours before his shift was due to start, he rode the ramps and walkways to the Company’s headquarters. Two long hours of unfamiliar travel, questions, disapproving glances, while the spring inside him coiled tighter. There, a gate guard raised his eyebrows. Entering Execs looked curiously sideways and he felt too big, too clumsy. Still, tight-lipped, he moved to enter.
“You got a pass?” The guard looked unbelieving.
“I heard anyone could ask, about Enhancement.”
“Yeah?” The brows rose higher. “Well, that’s what they tell me. This’ll lead the way. But don’t stray, boy, or you’ll be arrested.” The guard stood back and watched him fumble with the unfamiliar handset. When he finally stepped through an Exec with a senior rating patch called, “Morning, Joff,” in passing then, as loudly, “What’s he doing here?” The door guard muttered something. “What, a Tasker?” Stifled laughter, light and careless. “No chance.”
Pol flushed red at the appalling breach of manners but he didn’t dare protest, his feelings weren’t important here. He went the way this finder took him, yellow if he got it right and red if he went wrong. Commanded by a colour.
ENHANCEMENT
The word was etched across the arch, he’d almost walked right under it, his eyes down on the finder. Now he looked around he faltered. Everything in here was hushed; discreetly lit and coolly spotless, a melange of pale textures. This entrance could have held a hundred folk like him, the glassy floor a lake to drown them. There was no guard this time, no barrier to stop him but it took him several deep breaths to find his courage, scared each breath might smear a shining surface. When he walked, his feet sent muffled ripples of sound around and outward. Ghosts of echoes eavesdropped when he faced the callscreen and his throat constricted.
“Welcome. Please state the reason for your visit.”
He’d almost blurted Vita, they’d have thought him crazy. “Er, I came to ask about Enhancement?”
“Are you considering application?”
