Becoming Human Page 4

  Ben could barely contain his excitement. A real life spy, right here in the middle of New London! A grin transformed his face, and his mood.

  The man glanced in his direction. Ben met his eyes and looked away. You weren’t supposed to look at a spy. They were undercover.

  The man was dressed in musty old clothes: a long brown coat with matching hat, like the ones the old detectives used to wear in the antique comic books he collected. He thought all spies wore black ninja outfits. But maybe that was what made a good spy—when he didn’t look like one.

  The man glanced off to the side and Ben noticed his skin: patchy and pale in places. He sat on his hands to keep his excitement under control. The movement attracted the man’s attention. Ben didn’t dare look at him. The stranger could be anyone, working for the government, or sent by his mum. He wasn’t supposed to be out alone, and out of habit he checked over his shoulder.

  Thinking of his interfering mother annoyed him. He’d heard her complain to friends that he was just like his father: always somewhere else, never where she wanted him to be. She called his actions “getting into trouble”. He preferred to call it “going on an adventure”. Ben dreamed of becoming an actor so he could live the life of his adventure-story heroes: dodging bullets, getting into trouble, travelling to places like Syria and Nepal. The closest he came to that was his Saturday trips around New London, while his mother slept in late. Anywhere was better than home, waiting for her wake up after another late-night session on the Light Box.

  Ben slipped his small backpack off his shoulders and perched it on his lap. He pulled open the flap and peered inside. The night before, he’d packed enough supplies to cover his entire trip. He pulled out his DPad and checked where he was. His avatar had loaded it with a map covering a five-mile radius of the area; he didn’t expect to get further than that. When his mother wasn’t hogging the Light Box, he would ask his avatar to come up with interesting plans. And if his mother asked, Ben had taught it to lie about his whereabouts. But lately, she’d stopped asking, which suited him just fine. She had said to a friend that a lack of male presence in the house had made her only son “wilful and difficult to manage’. Ben hadn’t understood exactly what that meant, but there were certain things he had to do without her. She was a girl, and girls didn’t always understand.

  He’d packed a compass this time. Last week had been a bust. He’d walked around for hours, almost forgot what bus to take. Peter had loaned him the compass for a couple of weeks in exchange for some of his antique comics. It had been a good trade. Ben had already read those stories a hundred times. The compass went well with his real life adventure stories. Peter had told him to check how the compass pointed to his house so if he got lost, he could find his way back. He wondered whether Peter might consider a permanent trade on the compass for a few more comic books. Or, he could simply tell him he’d lost it. He would decide later.

  The sight of his strawberry jam sandwiches and a carton of juice in his backpack made him hungry. A sharp chill ran the length of his spine when he realised the man was watching him. He clutched the bag tighter, worried the spy was after his compass.

  ‘Hello,’ said the man. ‘What’s your name?’

  Ben’s defences went up. ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘My name’s Stephen. Forgive me for staring but I don’t live up here and I have never been this close to your kind. I have only read about you or seen photos. Can you tell me what you are?’

  Ben’s brow creased. He looked around for any sign of his mother. ‘I’m English. And this is New London.’ He sucked in a deep breath but the butterflies wouldn’t settle. ‘Are you from Syria or Nepal? I didn’t know they spoke English like us.’

  Stephen shook his head. ‘Neither place. I live here, just like you. I just don’t live in this city.’

  They both sat perfectly still, an eerie silence building between them. Stephen spoke again.

  ‘Forgive me. I should rephrase my original question. What do you call yourself?’

  ‘I suppose you mean my name,’ said Ben, a little confused. If he really was a spy, he should have known that. ‘Do you know my mum?’

  ‘Who is your mother?’

  ‘Diane Watson.’

  ‘I don’t know anyone by that name.’

  Ben nodded, satisfied with the answer. Stephen looked trustworthy enough. ‘My name’s Ben. Pleased to meet you.’ He thrust out a small hand towards Stephen who hesitated before accepting it. Stephen’s cold skin surprised him and he pulled his hand away. The stranger did the same but more gently, rubbing the back of his hand where Ben’s small fingers had rested.

  ‘Your hand is warm. Warmer than I’d expected, to be honest,’ said Stephen.

  ‘I was going to say yours is quite cold!’ Ben relaxed a little.

  ‘I guess there are some notable differences between us.’

  Ben stared up at the stranger. He had so many questions, but he didn’t know where to start. ‘Why is your hand so cold?’

  ‘It has always been this temperature. This is quite normal for me. Why is yours so warm?’

  ‘Everybody’s hands are warm. You’re the one that’s different!’

  Stephen nodded. ‘I wonder what else is different about us?’

  Ben could tell he and Stephen would become friends. But he would need to relax a bit before he met the rest of the gang. He wondered who Stephen would like better, Peter or his avatar.

  Stephen shifted in the seat. Ben worried his new friend was thinking about leaving. ‘Why is your skin colour so strange? I mean, your neck is really pale, but your face is brown.’ He reached out to touch a visible patch on Stephen’s neck. Stephen pushed his hand away.

  ‘I wear a covering because my skin is unable to tolerate the strong rays of the sun. The covering is patchy in places and produces inconsistent results. My skin is the colour you see on my neck. Can you tell me why yours is so much darker in colour?’

  Ben smiled. ‘My teacher says it’s because I have mel... melon in my skin. It helps turn my skin to brown.’ He held up his arm to examine his olive complexion. ‘You should know that already, because that’s the kind of thing grown-ups know. But maybe you don’t ‘cause it looks like you never tan!’

  They both sat in silence as an engine-red automated bus pulled up to the kerb. Several people alighted from the back while a queue disappeared into the front. There was a series of beeps as passengers scanned their identity chips on the touchpad to the left of the computer-guided navigation system. Neither of them made a move to board the bus.

  Stephen trusted his instincts that told him the black-haired boy he’d spotted a week ago was the one to approach. Even though the child seemed harmless enough, Stephen shifted uncomfortably at his proximity to him. It was important that Ben trust him. His natural curiosity could give Central Council the answers they needed. He planned to take advantage of his curiosity, even if it meant pushing away the overwhelming desire to leave.

  He risked everything, being out in the open, but he hadn’t even begun to explore the differences between their species yet. He could tell the complexity of the questions were more than Ben could handle. Intellectually, the Surface Creature’s children were less advanced than their Evolvers, but he needed to press on. He hadn’t studied how to talk to the younger ones, only the older Surface Creatures. He realised his mistake in not doing so. He had assumed the conversation would be the same.

  The passengers on the automated bus stared through the window at him. Stephen wrapped his coat tighter around him and pulled the lip of his fedora downwards. He touched the eliminator in his pocket that absorbed the static his body naturally emitted. It was obvious just how necessary the disguise was. His proximity to so many Surface Creatures terrified him, even though he had the ability to outrun all of them.

  He battled the constant urge to flee but he couldn’t run; a part of him needed to know what they were. He was drawn to the child for reasons he couldn’t explain, and this mission was
too important to all the Indigenes. He had to stay. The automated bus moved off, and Stephen relaxed as the danger temporarily passed.

  He no longer recognised the place he sat in. So much had been altered in the last thirty years; the Indigenes’ living environs and the raised platforms where the Central Council had once stood to speak to the population were gone. He could no longer pinpoint the exact areas where he used to play or where the dome-shaped buildings had once been. It was as if they had never existed and the Surface Creatures had always lived there. Beyond the city borders in the great outlying expanse and beneath the surface, it was a different story. There lay the real planet, the one that the Indigenes were attuned to.

  He checked his air and chastised himself for wasting precious minutes lamenting a past life that no longer existed, that they would never get back. He needed to get the conversation back on track and get Ben talking some more. He pondered his next question. Would the boy have been so willing and open if he knew what he was or how dangerous he could be?

  But Ben beat him to it.

  ‘Why don’t you have any hair?’

  Considering some of the photos he had seen, Stephen hadn’t expected that to be an obvious difference. ‘I don’t need it where I am from.’

  The child swung his little legs on the bench then leaned forward to look at Stephen’s eyes. ‘Your eyes are funny-looking. Can you see like we can?’

  While the child was too young to understand the complexity of the answers, he possessed a certain level of astuteness. Stephen needed to take a few calculated risks so he opted for the truth. ‘I am capable of seeing in the dark. I’m wearing protective lenses so that the sun doesn’t damage my eyes. They’re unable to tolerate the bright light.’

  Ben nodded but didn’t show any adverse reaction. Stephen’s assumptions were right: the boy was eager, but his ability to understand or retain information hadn’t fully developed yet.

  ‘Are you cold?’ said Ben.

  It was an unusual question. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because you’ve been shivering for the last two minutes. I was just wondering if you were cold.’

  ‘Actually, the opposite. I am too warm.’

  ‘How come?’ The child reached over to touch Stephen’s hand. His first instinct was to pull his hand away but he allowed him to make contact.

  ‘My body does not react well to this environment. I don’t know how to regulate my core temperature here. I live within an entirely different atmosphere.’

  ‘Why? Where do you live? New Taiyuan? I hear that’s hot. It’s not that hot here, you know. It’s only going to get to twenty degrees today.’

  It was reasonable to think Stephen lived in a hotter climate. His blood would have been thinner, making it harder for the body to insulate properly in a colder place. But the opposite was happening: his core temperature was heating up while his extremities remained cold.

  ‘That wouldn’t explain your pale skin though.’

  ‘No, it would not,’ said Stephen. ‘And no, I do not live in New Taiyuan. I told you, I live here.’

  Ben leaned back into the contours of the bench and swung his legs. Stephen crossed his legs from right to left and rested his hands on his knee; a pre-rehearsed move. He wondered whether it would be better to regroup and organise another meeting. When he checked the time again, his priorities changed.

  ‘I have to leave. I need to be somewhere else.’ He made a move to stand up.

  ‘No! I don’t want you to go.’ Ben folded his arms. ‘I want you to stay here. You don’t have my permission to go.’

  ‘I’m afraid I will be late for another engagement if I stay.’

  ‘But I want you to stay here.’ Ben’s lip quivered and for a moment it looked like he might cry.

  The boy’s reaction was a good sign. It meant he would be open to meeting up a second time. Whether Stephen could bring himself to show up again was another matter.

  ‘Could we meet again, but somewhere else?’ said Stephen, keeping a close eye on the Surface Creatures that had gathered at the bus stop. It was far too exposed here.

  Ben gave him a gap-toothed grin. ‘Where?’

  ‘A place not too far from here. Belgrave Square Gardens. Do you know it?’

  He nodded. ‘I go there on my own sometimes. I like to play on the swings and monkey-bars.’

  Stephen suggested they meet the following Saturday at the bench near the large tree in the gardens. It should be sheltered enough there. He tipped his hat to the boy—another practised move—and departed.

  Ben watched Stephen leave, noticing how he moved quicker than everyone else. He’d said some funny things about his eyes and skin and other stuff that he didn’t really understand. He started to plan his secret trip for the following Saturday. His mum would probably sleep in again so he didn’t see a problem with getting out of the house unnoticed. If he needed to, he would lie and say he was going to play with Peter. Pete would cover for him if he promised to give him some toys in exchange for his silence.

  He decided not to tell Pete about Stephen yet. He wanted to keep his new friend a secret for a while longer. But his avatar would need to know so he could lie to Ben’s mother. His mother was oblivious to the fact he’d bypassed the child protection features on the Light Box and disabled his avatar’s ethical setting.

  It was only seven thirty and Ben didn’t feel like going home just yet. He boarded a bus to Belgrave Square Gardens and decided to check out the place Stephen had suggested they meet. He was caught off-guard this time. Next week he would prepare better questions.

  5

  Laura O’Halloran hurried across the road towards the nearest replication terminal for lunch, one of many located close to the Earth Security Centre, in Sydney. She waited for the first set of doors to open, then stepped into the cavernous core, along with fifty or so others. The doors closed behind them and they huddled together in front of a second set. When the harmful Earth air inside the core was decontaminated, the second doors opened. She pushed forwards into the environmentally controlled terminal and removed the gel mask from her face. She tugged at the Velcro strips that covered the zipped part of her grey ESC uniform. Her fine blonde hair fused with the strip and she tugged it loose. The tight feeling around her neck lessened as she loosened the top section.

  A heady mix of lavender and stale body odour lingered like the unpleasant air outside. She held her breath, keen not to taste the air as she joined the queue of people waiting to use one of the replication machines. A hunched-over woman stood in front of her. Laura placed her age somewhere in the hundreds, given her posture: a side effect from overuse of the genetic manipulation clinics. A large sweaty man pressed up against her back in the confined space and she let out the breath she was holding. There was no escape from the toxins, inside or out, crawling over her thin, pale body like a snake looking for warmth. People watched her, as they normally did when she wore her ESC uniform.

  The queue inside the narrow corridor moved forward briskly. Efficiency and speed had to be the norm in a world crammed with twenty billion people. The woman in front of her selected a beef stew and a glass of water. Laura ordered a chicken sandwich and a Coke. The woman eyed her choice.

  ‘Don’t order that, dear. There’s something wrong with the chicken replica. Looks and tastes like solidified porridge. Quite disgusting.’ Her nose wrinkled.

  ‘What’s good?’ said Laura.

  ‘Anything except the chicken. Larry, who runs this place, says they’re trying to get replacements for some of the particle cards but the companies are adamant there’s nothing wrong with them. Going to have to fix the graphic cards too, he says. They’re years old now and don’t work properly. Have you seen how unappetising some of the choices look? Should take those foods off the menu, if you ask me.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Laura changed her order to lamb slices with potato cakes and mint jelly. The woman nodded her approval as she collected her food from the base of the machine.

  Th
e line progressed steadily towards the pay station.

  She had felt eyes on her the moment she walked into the replication terminal, but now one set was burning a hole in the back of her skull. She turned around and saw a man in his early forties, with slicked-back hair and a beard, looking straight at her. His jeans were secured with an old belt that kept them from slipping off his beanpole-shaped body. She had seen many like him before; the city was filled with a range of junkies from druggies to tech overloaders. His eyes were wild, unsettling.

  If wasn’t the first time she’d been challenged in public.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘You lot over there think you’re so fucking great.’

  ‘Is there something you want to say to me?’ She braced herself for a verbal attack; she was largely immune to the abuse her uniform attracted.

  ‘My mother is in debt because of you. Owes your crowd a ton of money. She can’t sleep ‘cause she’s expecting your lot to break down her door and arrest her.’ The man wagged his finger in her direction. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘You need to take it up with the World Government. I work at the ESC.’

  Laura worked on Level Four of the ESC—Document Control and Storage—where she spent too many hours filing away information about tax matters. In other sections, workers checked, processed and filed traffic violations and countless transactions that the inhabitants of Earth had charged to their accounts. ESC had nothing to do with setting taxes or chasing down tax-evaders. That was the World Government’s job.

  ‘Same fucking thing if you ask me,’ said the man, leaving his place in the queue and walking over to her. He pointed his finger at her face.

  Laura shrank back. She smelled his putrid breath, and could see the track marks on the druggie’s right arm as he used it to block her path.

  The man’s finger was now inches from her. ‘You lot are all the same. Sucking the life out of innocent people like me and my family. You make me sick.’

  The large man behind her stepped forward, and placed a hand on the junkie’s chest. ‘Looks like you’re queue-jumping and we don’t tolerate that in here. So either you go back in line or I throw you out the door. Your choice. If you’re lucky, I might leave one of your bones unbroken when I slam you into the pavement.’