“Well, I might be.” He should still be cautious.
“Please follow the amber line to an interview unit.” A thin stripe, glowing orange, surfaced in the floor behind him. No, it definitely hadn’t been there when he’d walked across it. Squaring line-built shoulders he marched down it, sinking deeper.
Inside the small white cubicle another disembodied voice took over. “Welcome. Please sit down and face the console.” Pol settled gingerly, eyes on the screen before him which became a live mosaic, more subtle colours, somehow reassuring. Or maybe, now he’d got this far the worst was over and his nerves had settled?
“Please sit back. The couch will adjust to your build and posture.” Consciously relaxing his bunched muscles, Pol followed the direction, trying to feel calmer. He had made the first decision. Sink or swim, he had gone this far.
“Thank you. The couch is programmed to handle all readings. If at any time these indicate you are unable or unwilling to continue this unit will terminate proceedings. This is a safety feature for your protection. Are you ready to commence?”
“Yes!” He’d gripped the arms then let go quickly, fearing it would tell against him, and he should have spoken softer. But the light dimmed and the cubicle had somehow managed to become a distant, insubstantial haze around him. Nothing but this couch felt solid. The voice sounded female. Dammit, don’t get sidetracked.
“Recording now. It will help this unit if you can relax more. Interview commencing.” Even before ‘she’ finished he felt a hundred ghostly touches. From the padded headrest tendrils wrapped across his neck and forehead, clinging on like cobwebs. Tiny silver filaments extended round his wrists and then there was a sudden, stabbing pain between his shoulder blades, though it was gone in seconds.
“Please do not be alarmed, small samples of blood and bone marrow have been taken. At the same time this unit has introduced a minute dose of an enhancing agent into your bloodstream. This may facilitate your own performance and at the same time measure your body’s ability to assimilate more treatments.”
Pol stared at the flowing shapes that shifted as the voice. He didn’t feel any different. Then he did. The outer layer of skin that held him suddenly felt dry and crusted, like the planet’s storm-blown surface. His perception tilted. Tremors, earthquakes, spread across his body. Super nova flared inside him, ice caps melted and a tidal wave of violent reaction drowned him.
The unit stayed silent until his breathing steadied then said cheerfully, “As required by law, all relevant information has or will be offered. Your initial reaction is favourable and does not bar you from proceeding. Do you wish to continue?”
Pol’s eyes felt wide, the air he breathed felt thinner. But he nodded.
“This unit has registered an affirmative gesture. Before your application begins you must also affirm your willingness to comply with directives on secured information.”
“What?”
“This unit is programmed to supply data on the Enhancement process, its history, development and current status; also to enumerate the benefits, or otherwise, of following said treatments. In order to safeguard this confidential data.” Here the voice slowed down a fraction. “This unit must be empowered, should your application ultimately fail, for whatever reason, to delete that portion of your memory retaining confidential data.”
Pol leaned forward. “Can you do that?”
“I am so programmed.”
“Is that legal?”
“Providing you affirm willingness.” Pause. “Failure to do so will terminate this interview.”
Another silence. Pol watched the screen, but nothing happened. No, of course not. He drew a breath, sat back again and spoke. “OK, I affirm my willingness to comply with your conditions. Will that do it?”
“Thank you. We may proceed.”
Like a child Pol immersed himself in story. He discovered that Enhancement went back decades, from its slow and tentative beginnings through a host of evolutions with inevitably some traumatic failures. Sarvij, its original inventor, was among the failures. The unit showed Pol holos of before and after, detailing procedures that destroyed the very man who had believed in their creation. The unit-voice remained aloof, the pictures not so. Pol’s heart ached for the man’s incurable condition. Why, a touch, a sound, a breath of moving air could cause him torment, despite all attempts at shielding, soundproofed quarters, drugs or padded clothing. Death had truly been the kindest answer.
Eventually the unit murmured, “You are under stress. Please drink.” A beaker rose, half full of yellow liquid. Pol didn’t query what it was, he simply grabbed and drained it all, and felt his tension lessen. Then he sat a while, head bowed, and thought of those who hadn’t made it. Then he sighed and straightened up. At once the unit said, “As required you have now been afforded all relevant arguments. Current procedures, as you have seen, are much safer but there remains some risk. Total rejection currently measures four point four six percent while total assimilation is three point two six percent, with responses between graded as explained. Will you affirm you understood this?”
“Yes, I do,” Pol answered grimly.
“Do you still wish to continue?”
Despite the relaxant—or because of it?—Pol’s mouth was still dry. “If it goes wrong, the Company takes care of me?”
“The Company undertakes all responsibility for the care and welfare of deserving cases.”
He didn’t ask for details, not after the holos. “Then… let’s get this over.”
Questions fired at him out of nowhere: reasoning and problem solving, memories, impressions, ethics, it became a stream of challenges that grew more complex, jolting his imagination. But he felt a rush of satisfaction as his brain ballooned to meet the challenge. He could cope with this! He’d been afraid his lack of book-learning would make him fail but this test didn’t ask for textbook knowledge, past the very basics, seemed to him to slide around that aspect.
The unit called a halt and food was offered; did he need it. He felt out of breath as if he had been running, couldn’t settle. Trying to be calm he asked, “What time is it?”
“The time is fourteen thirty-seven.”
He stiffened. “I should be at work. They’ll penalise me for it.”
“That has been dealt with, without disclosure of your presence here. Once you initiated the test your foreman was automatically informed you had been transferred to another factory.”
In case he failed. Then no one, even him, would ever know what happened? Life would go right on as if he’d never… but he didn’t want that any more, for all the doubts he’d come with. Now a magic door had opened, just a crack, but he had glimpsed another state of mind, another world, beyond it.
Yet more questions followed, often abstract and confusing with no clear answers. Pol began to falter but the voice was reassuring. “The interview is almost concluded. It is only necessary to ascertain your current pain threshold. Please stay calm and seated.” The shock was gone before he tensed to meet it but it left him wilting. All of this, but would he even rate an offer?
Friends stretched out in his apartment. Bands of real sunlight fractured into rainbow colours as they all raised glasses to their newest Total. Pol smiled back. Three months of treatments; fever, checks and rechecks, hesitations, disbelief. Six months to reach the magic lurking all the time inside him, brighter, keener. Total. One of the three percent. One of the Company’s gods!
He had three degrees now, all achieved as practice exercises. He could learn a language in a day and speak it like a native. He could taste the sheer joy of living, every nuance, hear and touch it, like his fellows. He was one of them. They bid him welcome, he could sense their pleasure, and relief that he would join them in their fight to save their people. When they left he sat and looked around at what he had. Here was the status, the material advancement Vita wanted. Smiling at that silly thought he rose and went to show himself to Vita. She’d have worried, now he’d reassure her.
Funny, she hadn’t thought about Pol for weeks now, why should a dress she’d never liked remind her? When he’d been transferred so suddenly she’d called at first, left messages, been angry, then she’d grown accustomed to his absence. But she’d missed him, more than she’d imagined. That had rather shocked her. So he wasn’t Upper level, he’d been strong and handsome, loving and unselfish, things she hadn’t valued till she couldn’t find them. When the door chime sounded she got up to answer, unsuspecting, then stepped back. A male Enhanced stood at her door. What had she done? But then the man said, “Vita?” and his hand rose as he tucked the darkened visor in a pocket.
“Pol?” She swayed, then beamed. “It’s you? It’s really you? You look so…” Then her voice trailed off, for Pol, her doting Pol, was backing from her, face gone rigid.
Terry Jackman (Mrs) is a mild mannered lady living in a quiet village in northwest England. After ten years selling nonfiction her first novel, titled Ashamet, is earning five star reviews—but she still wonders how her neighbours will react if they find out!
www.terryjackman.co.uk
3.8 Missions
Katie Gray
Art: Dave Alexander
The wind screamed in and out the remains of buildings. It tugged at his clothes, whistled through the holes punched in his helmet for the strap, rattled his ear drums. There’d be a lull in the fighting, if he’d timed this right, but he could hear cracks of missiles in the distance. And there were mines, and sizzling pools left by chemical weapons, and the iSoldiers.
He skittered down a rubbly slope and checked his scope. The signal was a blip and fading. Lock on. Point two clicks, north-north-east. His scope fritzed and he shook it, cursing. The static cleared. He looked up.
The iSoldier was standing over him, a towering figure silhouetted against the burnt-orange smog. The flickering light from a nearby fire danced in its armour, black and gold. He couldn’t tell if it was one of theirs. It was armed. Wrist gun. If he bolted it would shoot him dead.
Procedure. He rooted his feet to the ground and held up his wrist to show off his insignia. “Identify.”
