Authors: Richard Gohl
Mark ran his fingers through his thin, dark hair. “I suppose...”
“Grow a beard, whatever, it’ll be a whole new you… undercover...”
“The physical changes—you said it takes a year?” Shane’s face was non-committal. Mark continued and said quickly, “How do I get the transfusion?”
“You’ll go to the medical center…”
“And how much do I need?”
“Don’t worry. It’s not a big deal.”
“But doesn’t the blood need regular cleaning?”
“No, no, no, no… only for old, old Napeans. I’m pretty old and I don’t have to do that. When you’re new it’s not that important. You can go for years without it. You’ll need a couple of sessions, though….” Shane was keen to get back onto the case: “So we know they live in the south. Wesley Carter was traced to street eight, level one, under the northern transdome—that was their little decoy. They’re not from up there at all. They live down south.” Shane was clearly energized by the topic, leaning forward with elbows on the desk, eyes wide. “Find out where they are and let me know. We grab them; you begin the rest of your very long life.”
Mark nodded.
“I’ll see you back here in two weeks.”
Memory Lane
IT HAD BEEN nine years since the death of his wife and the boy’s mother. Shane had decided not to live with another woman. He didn’t have the time. When not at work he was spending time with Ryan, and when Ryan was asleep there was always something or someone to catch up with on the network. His interest in network “fun” had slowed at the arrival of Ryan. He now used it mainly as a source of information on real workers. Ryan, on the other hand, was developing a keen interest in the world outside.
“Dad, Robbie and I were wondering: can we go out for a walk?”
“You know it’s not safe—and they’ll take you away.”
“It’s so boring! Aren’t there any other boys in the city that I could maybe visit?”
“Ry! We’ve been through this! I was supposed to leave you down there. Children aren’t allowed up in the city. I loved you so much that, against the rules, I brought you back with me!”
Ryan was nine, and the only person he had ever known was his father. He had been a secret all his life. It had always been just the two of them, and Robbie, of course. Ryan stared into the distance, silent now.
“Don’t forget you’ve got Robbie! He feels left out too sometimes!” said Shane. “I know Robbie’s not real, Dad. I saw inside his arm... remember?”
“Maybe he is different, but he’s one of us.”
“Dad?”
“What?”
“I’m different too, aren’t I?” stated the boy. “We all are...”
“No! Dad!” Ryan said in frustration. “I look different! Am I going to be a ‘down worker’? Are they going to take me away and make me a slave?”
“Of course not! No one’s taking you anywhere.” Shane grabbed Ryan, put him in a faux headlock, ruffled his hair, and then gave him a hug.
Ryan’s nano-enzyme therapy had changed his appearance. As a small child, he had a head of light brown very curly hair, green eyes, and white skin, which would have been prone to freckling. Now, after being on the therapy for a year, the tight curls had turned into dark waves, the eyes were now black, his limbs were lengthening, and his skin was starting to bloom with a darker, golden pigment.
“That’s why I’m hidden, isn’t it?” asked Ryan.
“You’re hidden because the world can’t afford children anymore.”
“Well?”
“Well what?” Shane struggled to control his irritation. The child wanted to resolve the unresolvable.
“Can the world afford children?”
“Well, you’re here!” said Shane. “Are there other boys like me, Dad?”
“In a few years you’ll find out—you can go out when you’re more Napean, and then you can meet as many people as you like.”
“But I am a Napean.”
“You’re getting there. Now, enough complaining; let’s do some thinking!”
“Ohhh!”
“Don’t make that noise! Now, sit down there.”
“Are we doing tele?” asked Ryan.
“Yeah! You want to be a proper Napean, don’t you?”
“Mmmm,” Ryan didn’t sound convinced.
“Okay, close your eyes,” said Shane.
“I am.”
Shane sat down and hit the “recline” button on his chair. The lights dimmed automatically, and he simultaneously squeezed both sides of his temple, activating “IN,” the iris navigation lens permanently sitting on his right eyeball. With his tongue on the roof of his mouth, he controlled a needle point of light which could be moved across the nine transparent blue light icons and access points.
“Now sit down. Relax!”
“Do I have to?”
“Hey! This is important! Relax! And close your eyes… close them…”
“Nothing’s happening,” said the boy.
“You can’t talk, buddy. Don’t think about talking.” Shane began to talk more slowly. “Take everything out of your mind and put it in a big bag. Now pick up the bag and put it in the cupboard and close the door.”
“I can see you, Dad! You’re swimming in an ocean!”
“That was quick—but try not to talk,” replied Shane. “Use your mind to tell me.” It was amazing how rapidly Ryan was able to slip into the telepathic zone or frequency.
Shane:
What else? What else can you see?
Ryan heard his father’s voice.
“It’s a dolphin. He’s near you,” the boy yelled excitedly. “Jumping out of the water!” Shane smiled. “Okay. Your turn. I’m waiting.”
“Shush, Dad. I’m trying.”
Shane:
Good boy! I saw it! Your lion! With a big mane sitting up in a tree, looking very full!
“Yes. He just finished hunting an antelope…”
“…And I heard you too,” said Shane encouragingly. “You said the words ‘African lion, African lion.’”
“Yep, that’s what I said.”
“Yeah, I got it. Clever boy. Well done.” Shane wondered if it was possible to love anyone more. Then, routinely, he felt the guilt of taking Ryan away, that he had deprived someone else of this bright child. That sunny face, cheeky eyes and when he was serious or surprised, when he lifted his eyebrows, an array of horizontal lines appeared that didn’t look quite real. Shane thought he knew every cog in the boy’s reasoning processes, cogs that turned the wheels of his values and beliefs. Yet the son still proved a daily source of wonder and surprise for the old man.
Ryan saw what his dad was thinking.
“Dad, what did you look like when you were young?”
“Oh, I can’t remember…”
“Can I see a picture?”
“I don’t have many. I lost a lot of them.”
“Why?”
“They were accidentally wiped by magnetic pulses from the solar flare. It’s funny, there are a few images stored in my mind of that time and none of them are mine—they’re not my memories.”
“Where are your memories, Dad?”
“All gone.”
“Did you use them all up?” “I must have. I forgot them…”
“I know, Dad. I was only joking!” Shane had a few digital copies of very old images from the years around 2140.
“Look, this is me at a school sports day.”
A handy function of the Iris lens was its ability to outwardly project a small image, seven centimeters by seven centimeters, twenty centimeters out from the eye.
It was a picture of Shane at school, barely a teenager, running a hundred-meter sprint. “Make it bigger,” demanded Ryan.
Shane sent the image to a projection unit on the table and it threw a three-meter square picture up onto the wall.
“Wow, Dad!” In the picture, Shane was taller than the other competitors. He was wearing a red T-shirt and black shorts, and he was clearly winning.
“Is that you?” said Ryan. “Yeah.”
“But your face! It’s completely different!” ‘I was a real person then—like you.”
“Oh.”
In the photo, Shane had bronze-colored hair and light brown eyes. His cheeks were puffed out.
“You’re in mid-air!”
“Yeah, the photo was taken just as I…”
“Who took the photo?” asked Ryan.
“Well, I…” He couldn’t remember. “Probably my dad or mum, or a teacher.”
“What is that… on the ground?” asked Ryan.
“Grass.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a plant—like those ones on the middle of the city and in the forest precinct. Grass grew on top of dirt and felt really nice on your toes.”
Shane showed Ryan several more old photos that had survived. Riding a horse, shaking hands with the prime minister, and then suddenly as a Napean, and then with Mia.
“There’s Mum,” said Ryan brightly. “Correct.”
“Was Mum a Napean?”
“Of course,” answered Shane. “Do I look like her?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve told you before. She wasn’t your biological mother…” Shane could see the mechanism in Ryan’s mind ticking away. “And before you ask, she lived in the real world and couldn’t look after you anymore.”
“Yeah, I know.”
There were lots of pictures of Ryan and Shane together: baby Ryan, toddler Ryan, Ryan getting arty, Ryan in the bath, Ryan with Robbie.
“Dad?”
“What?”
“What happened to your mum and dad?”
“They died.”
“Did they go to the Life Centre?”
“No. Back then people just died when they got old or sick.”
“Why didn’t somebody fix them?”
“Well, they tried to but they didn’t know how.”
“Were people pretty dumb back then?”
“No, they weren’t. And it’s time for you to go to bed!”
ETP Newsflash
“A CONCEALED OFFSPRING was discovered today in 490 precinct—spiral towers. The resident claimed responsibility for the offence. The origin of the child is unknown but he is believed to be around ten years of age and using stolen N.E.T. resources. Protestors attacked the man while in Service transit. He was then placed in protective custody until processing. The offender is believed to be a city guard. The offspring waits until the first of December at Life Centre.”
The Life Centre
IN HIS CELL, Ryan covered his face with his hands, pushing his palms hard into each eye and a thumb in each ear blocking out all external stimulus. In his mind’s eye he saw a large disc. The disc turned into his own face as if he was looking down onto himself. Ryan focused harder than he ever had before as the image of his face, all dark purple and blue, morphed into his father’s face. His dad was lying on a bed, eyes closed, facing the ceiling. Ryan’s eyes scanned the terrain looking for that place, that opening through which he may pick up that feeling, a current of energy carrying his father’s voice. A click and then a faint whirring sound:
Ryan:
Dad, are you there? Dad... Dad... Dad... Dad... Dad... Dad… Dad..
Shane:
Ryan, I’m here.
Without an exchange of words, father and son shared a moment of joy in the idea that the other was alive and that they were in each other’s presence.
Ryan understood that his dad would find him and that he should go with the Subs. Ryan’s dad saw an image of Ryan at home with Robbie.
Shane:
Be strong. We’ll return home soon.
Ryan’s ETP with his dad ended abruptly.
“Kid! Get up!” It was a Life Centre nurse. “Huh?”
“It’s not your lucky day.”
“Why?”
“Well... you were all set for a sweet feathery ride into eternity. But…” The women started folding Ryan’s sheet and blanket. “Sorry, kid. They’re takin’ you. Deep down underground... with the Subterraneans.”
Ryan bowed his head. The nurse felt sorry for him. “It’s where you’re from, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, I s’pose.”
“Well, ‘course it is. You’re a boy! We don’t have Napean boys,” she said in a loud voice.
Ryan said nothing.
“Hey,” said the nurse crouching down to look at his strange little face. “You are going to live! You’re very lucky!” Ryan was alive because of his dad. Shane was alive because of Magellan’s requirement for him to continue the investigation. Shane had agreed only if they let Ryan go.
Another nurse came to the door of the cell with a guard. Ryan’s heart leapt, and then sank when he saw the familiar city guard uniform, looking just like his father.
“Ryan Wing. Please follow me to the east gate where you will be accompanied to your new home in the underworld.”
“Yep.”
The Napean staff at the center all stared at him as though he was about to change color, melt into his shoes, or explode. It never happened—a human child being allowed to leave the center.
The staff, both male and female, were ideologically against Ryan leaving, but they were not used to seeing small people. His acceptance of the situation and the quiet strength despite his small stature seemed to move them.
Ryan was an experiment. Ever since his first major dose of N.E.T., Shane had been giving him small amounts of blood, a technique called copy transfusions, to keep his cells fresh. It seemed to work. But now he was on his own.
A magnatrain took them silently through the city straight round to the east gate. It was getting late. Ryan followed the guard, and another guard followed behind Ryan. As they stepped out under the sheltered walkway, Ryan struggled to inhale the hot dry air. Consistent twenty-knot winds blew in from the north often at temperatures of sixty degrees Celsius. He felt like his clothes were being burned from his body with each step.
“Where am I going?” he asked.
“A home for real children,” said the guard.