Authors: Mark Souza
“Stop it,” Sasaki said. Moyer was so stunned he almost didn’t hear it. And when he did, he wasn’t sure what it meant. Stop what? Was Sasaki trying to communicate, or were these merely two random words bounced from his scrambled brain to his mouth like pachinko balls. The confusion must have registered on Moyer’s face because Sasaki said it again, but this time with a deliberate pause between the words. “Stop... it.” From Sasaki’s tone, it seemed as though it was a warning.
A group returning from lunch passed through the break room and Sasaki released Moyer’s arm. Sasaki’s eyes grew distant and glassed over again. He returned to slowly chewing his sandwich and stared blankly at the wall.
Monday, 5 March
The next time Moyer saw Anna Bonderenko, she was alone in a small room separated from him by a two way mirror fitted with an electro-magnetic filter. She focused intently on the glass and made it plain when she flipped him off that she knew she was being watched. The room holding Anna had a single chair, a small table adorned with old magazines, and most importantly to the test, net access.
Moyer saw the surprise on her face when she found the net available. Her net use was being monitored. Moyer was curious to see who she would contact, or what she would access first. He wondered if Berman had security agents on alert to pounce on whomever she got in touch with. In the end it didn’t matter. Anna contacted no one. Instead, she browsed through fashion sites and the faculty blog at the university where she used to teach.
The Worm implantation went smoothly. There was no noticeable change in Anna, not even a twitch in her net telemetry. It was as if the event had never happened. At the end of the hour she was dismissed and the next subject brought in.
Monday, 12 March
The air vanished from Robyn’s lungs when Mrs. Wagstaff called her out for a demonstration. She hadn’t been paying attention and at first she wasn’t sure if she had heard her name. Eve Ganz swatted Robyn on the bottom and nudged her forward. “Go gittum, killer. Make us proud,” she whispered.
Robyn lumbered to the front of the class half in a daze, dreading being made a fool of again. Mrs. Wagstaff positioned a chair next to a small table and signaled Robyn to take a seat facing the class.
The chair was diminutive, a child’s chair. The eyes of the class were on her, tired eyes, unsympathetic eyes, looking down on her. Robyn felt very small and alone. She instinctively wrapped her arms around the doll strapped to her chest. She wasn’t sure if she had done it to protect the doll, or for her own protection, the way she used to cling to her teddy bear as a girl.
“Today’s topic is nutrition and feeding,” Mrs. Wagstaff announced. She opened a cupboard, pulled out a plate, and set it next to Robyn. The plate was segmented into three equal parts with dividing walls to keep the strained food from migrating, orange in one section, green and beige in the others.
Mrs. Wagstaff placed a box beside the plate. Inside was an assortment of spoons: table spoons, tea spoons, ornate silver spoons, plastic spoons, and a hammered copper one.
“Can the replicas eat strained food?” Robyn asked.
Mrs. Wagstaff shook her head. “No. You can let your husband mind your replica.”
Robyn unlatched the papoose carrier. Pain oozed from her back and neck as the weight slipped from her shoulders. She drew in a deep breath and let it slip out. The tension in her sore muscles eased. She handed the doll to Moyer. Mrs. Wagstaff stepped out of the classroom. When she returned, she was pushing a highchair with a toddler strapped inside.
“Everyone,” she said, “this is my grandson, Jeffrey. He’s here today to help us in our feeding demonstration.” Mrs. Wagstaff wheeled Jeffrey next to Robyn. Jeffrey stared at her, curious and unsure. Robyn smiled and the corners of Jeffrey’s mouth curled upward. “Anytime you are ready, Mrs. Winfield.”
Robyn checked that Jeffrey was securely strapped into his chair. He was. A bib rested on the backrest. Robyn secured it around Jeffrey’s neck with a bow. She picked the smallest spoon in the box, one with the end coated in soft rubber. Though the highchair had a tray, Robyn elected to keep the plate of food beside her.
She scooped up a spoonful of orange mush and took a taste. Carrots. Something about straining affected the flavor. She didn’t care for it, though Jeffrey did. As the spoon approached Jeffrey’s mouth, Robyn opened hers and Jeffrey imitated. She glanced up at Mrs. Wagstaff who lurked nearby watching, her face stern.
The green slop was next. Peas. They tasted familiar, but the texture was unpleasant. Again, Jeffrey didn’t seem to mind. As he finished his last bite, he happily gurgled and blew bubbles flecked with green.
Robyn scooped a spoonful of the beige paste. She assumed from the color and consistency it was pureed chicken. She tried a taste. A foul musty flavor filled her mouth. She spotted a trash can and made a desperate dash for it, spitting out the contents in her mouth. Mrs. Wagstaff was glaring at her. “Something is wrong with it. It tastes funny,” Robyn said.
“Class,” Mrs. Wagstaff said, “what did Mrs. Winfield do wrong?”
Robyn cast her eyes down at the floor and withdrew into herself as protection for the criticism that would come next. There were only two people she could count on in class who wouldn’t pick her apart given the chance. Mrs. Wagstaff had set the tone early, Robyn was the class whipping boy and she couldn’t bear the humiliation of it any longer.
Mrs. Wagstaff scanned the class expectantly. “Anyone?” She waited a few moments and broke into a broad smile. “Very well. In fact, Mrs. Winfield did everything right and set a wonderful example.”
Robyn gawked at Moyer, astonishment plain on her face. Her eyes caught on Eve Ganz who wore a proud grin and had her arms spread wide for a congratulatory hug. Moyer was beaming, their doll resting on his chest in the papoose carrier. Moyer lifted the doll’s arms and clapped its hands in mock applause. Robyn stood and skittered into Eve’s embrace. Eve whispered, “You did good, kiddo.”
Mrs. Wagstaff waited until Robyn settled before she spoke. “Let’s review what Mrs. Winfield did step by step. First, she built a rapport with the child. She smiled. She verified that he was secure in his high chair and wouldn’t fall. She fitted him with a bib to keep him clean. She picked the proper spoon, something small enough that a spoonful wouldn’t choke him, and cushioned so he wouldn’t be hurt if he bit down. She kept the plate from him so he wouldn’t throw it or put his hands in the food. And she sampled the food before she fed it to him, and because of it, didn’t feed him the tainted chicken. All in all, a very admirable performance.”
Jeffrey pounded his hands against the highchair tray and grinned. One of the men laughed and Jeffrey drummed on the tray again and chortled. Mrs. Wagstaff didn’t appear the least bit amused. She wheeled Jeffrey out of the classroom and spoke to someone in the hallway, Jeffrey’s mother Robyn assumed. Afterward, Mrs. Wagstaff returned to continue class.
Chapter 16
Tuesday, 13 March
A
nna Bonderenko looked twitchy and scared. Dark circles ringed her eyes and her hair was matted and dull. She blinked incessantly as if the lights bothered her and checked the door every few seconds as if she expected someone to burst in.
“Are you all right,” Moyer asked.
“I-I can’t sleep,” she said. “Thoughts keep spinning round in my head and I can’t make them stop. I think I’m going nuts.”
“Please take a seat,” Moyer said. Anna sat with one leg tucked under her and fidgeted as if she couldn’t get comfortable. Her arms seemed thinner than before, her skin translucent and bluish under the harsh overhead lighting. She raised a hand to her mouth and gnawed at her nails. Her cuticles were edged with dried blood where she had bitten them below the quick.
Her eyes were red and swollen, and bounced about unable to settle on any one thing for very long. It was as if she was straining for a way out of the trap. Inflamed blood vessels encircled gray irises.
“How long has it been since you slept?” he asked.
“Three days – no, four – I think. I can’t keep anything straight.”
“Other than sleep problems, how is your health?” Moyer asked.
“Okay, I guess, except I can’t eat. Sometimes I’m not hungry, and other times I know they’ve poisoned my food. You can’t trust the guards. They know I’m about to be released, and to them, that means I’m going to win. They don’t want any of us prisoners to win.”
Moyer shuddered. What had he done? The Anna Bonderenko he knew was gone and all that remained was a paranoid, frail, and frightened little creature. He found it difficult to draw in a full breath.
“Let’s get the questionnaire out of the way. I’m going to ask you the same questions as last week, and I want you to answer on a scale of one to five like before. Don’t try to remember your previous answers, but consider the questions as if this is the first time you have heard them. Do you understand?”
Anna nodded jerkily.
“Do you agree with your conviction?”
Anna shifted her legs into the lotus position and rocked forward and back in her seat. “I was guilty of the charges brought against me. I don’t see what other choice they had – a two, I guess.”
“Do you agree with the policies of the Consolidated Board of Directors and the Chief Executive Officer?”
Anna nodded. “A one; I think they are doing what the people expect of them.”
“Do you feel the government should tolerate dissent?”
Anna began chewing her nails again though there was little left to chew. “People should be able to express their beliefs or opinions. But at the same time, the government should protect the opinions of the majority. I don’t know. A three I think. No, wait, that seems wrong. No; a three. I’ll stick with a three.”
“Should a professor be able to select their own curriculum?”
“That seems nice on the surface, but there is so much to consider. The interests of the state should be protected, and something can be said for a uniform curriculum.” Shiny tears spilled from Anna’s eyes. The tracks met at the point of her chin. They fell onto her blue prison pants in dark spatters. She made no attempt to wipe them away. “I don’t know what I feel. A three, maybe.”
Moyer felt a stinging ache beneath his own eyes as tears welled. He blinked fast to move them along before they became visible. Berman was surely watching from somewhere.
He then asked the last question on his questionnaire, “Do you wish to have a child?”
Anna nodded. She attempted to draw in a breath. A hic was followed in quick succession by another before she totally lost control and began crying. Her nose filled with mucus, and as she bawled, a bubble formed at one nostril. She wiped at it with a bare forearm leaving a glistening streak across her skin. When she noticed, she covered her face with her hands as if she had come to awareness and was ashamed.
Moyer moved close and put an arm around her shoulders. She was quaking. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. Moyer held her. Her cheek was hot where it pressed against him. He rocked with her and stroked her hair. As he did, he caught a glint of light from his wedding band reflected off the two way mirror on the far wall.
“It’s a brain fuck, like you said,” he whispered. “Remember who you were before and what you felt then. All the rest is a trick. Remember Anna Bonderenko, the dissident English professor. That’s who you are.” Anna nodded against his chest.
Moyer was well into his third glass of bourbon when the latch turned on the apartment door. He sat on the sofa with a gold cap askew on his head blocking out the net. Maybe the cap was a mistake. He could use some distraction, anything that might drown out the guilt.
Robyn backed into the apartment with the replica in her arms, Madonna with child. She was growing into her new role as mother faster than Moyer could ever have imagined, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He wondered how much of Robyn’s time would be allotted for him once the baby arrived. She stared at him with an odd mix of confusion and disapproval on her face.
“Drinking on a weekday? Did something happen at work?”
“You could say that.”
She plucked a blanket off the table, swaddled the replica and laid it in the crib she’d bought on her last shopping trip with Eve Ganz. Moyer resented playing second fiddle to something squeezed out of a mold in some factory, even if it did resemble a baby. He knocked back another swig of bourbon and shuddered. He hated the taste, but its ability to dull his senses was magical and that’s all he wanted.
His wife leaned over to tuck the replica in. Her blouse draped forward exposing the swell of her breasts. Moyer nearly laughed at himself in disgust. He was peeping at his wife for sexual titillation like some love starved teenager. How sick was that? Had they had sex since the replica came into their lives? Would circumstances improve when the real baby arrived? He snorted out a laugh at that thought.
“So, what happened at work today?” She sat next to him on the sofa and glanced at the gold cap on his head before settling her eyes on his. His ESP was at times as developed a sense as the nose of a bloodhound. From Robyn he detected a bouquet of emotions, hints of pity and compassion, and patience stretched frighteningly thin.
“I think I killed someone,” he said.
Robyn’s eyes narrowed. A furrow formed between them. “What do you mean,
killed someone
?”
“Just what I said. The program I’m working on links into the net chip. We’ve been running experiments to see how effective it is.”
“Is this the program Petro mentioned at dinner?”
Moyer nodded. “Do you remember the girl Petro mentioned?” Robyn’s nostrils flared. Clearly she did. “She’s part of the experiment. When I first met her, she was brilliant, educated, opinionated, and strong-willed. Then we implanted a regime of sanitized mores that should have been harmless. I interviewed her today. She doesn’t have the wherewithal left to order a sandwich. She’s no longer a functional human being. Whatever she’d been before is dead. And I did that. I’m a fucking monster.”