Adaptive Consequences Read online

  The waiters bobbed through the tables like they were ballroom-dancing, holding their serving platters closer than partners. It was a rare sight that Ai-ssistants weren’t attending, but then The Inspiro Dining Rooms was the place to go if you were feeling indulgent or celebrating. In the United Adaptive’s case, it was often both. The Inspiro was well-known for being the place where deals were brokered during the formative years of the United Adaptive and Global Governance Alliance. Only 20 minutes’ drive from the UA HQ, Province dignitaries from around the world flew in to talk crisis management and globalised commercial solutions, while the UA negotiated and procured contracts over the finest vodka and baijiu. Meanwhile, the rest of the world was lurching from one disaster to the next, the death toll lowering the global population by over 20% – a number, Jun had read, was akin to the 1800s.

  Though it had a reputation for welcoming the world’s socio-political elite, The Inspiro kept a modest, understated air; folded away in the mountains that mirrored the careful consideration of its napkins. Jun scanned the room, her eyes unable to rest on one place. The dining room held at least seventy tables; the low-lighting accented their dusky tablecloths. To anyone else, The Inspiro offered a warm welcome. Despite her instincts, this was Kau’s night, and it was vital she laughed at the right moments and cooed with interest at others. What Jun wanted more than anything, was to put her mind at rest. Reassure herself that Kau wasn’t making a terrible decision, that she wasn’t letting her son walk into the lion’s den, as she had.

  Jun felt a hand on her waist and turned to see Fan, who gave her one of his ‘looks’; a silent question, checking if she was alright. He knew she hated these kinds of things. It had been so long since she had mixed with the UA establishment. She had, thankfully, been spared from attending social things with his work. The endless demands it put on him, and his irritability at the slightest probing was enough to know it was a door best kept closed. Perhaps he sensed her resentment of the UA’s demands on his time. Not to mention the business with the Public Service Announcements, although they’d never brought it up again after that night, the night that Odgerel had died.

  It had been a few days since Solo’s mail. Despite Fan’s reassurances that it was for the best, the guilt and anxiety had wound itself around her, not him. She had barely been able to sleep with it dancing around in her head.

  Fan squeezed her waist, pulling back her consciousness. She kissed his cheek and tried to filter through the snippets of mundane conversations that jangled like coins in a jar. The women were nestled together with the men like macaroons, only sandwiched more tightly and with perfectly-styled hair. One of them, she noticed, had long elegant fingers which swirled around her face as she spoke. Jun fumbled in her pockets for a piece of thread to wind around her finger.

  The party began to sit down, and Jun was thankful to be next to Fan and Kau. Opposite her, a bear of a man pulled out his chair.

  ‘It’s Jun, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Fan has obviously been part of the UA Family for some time-’

  ‘And very well-respected too,’ a bronzed woman to Fan’s right interrupted. She was younger than Jun, by a good twenty years. Her hair, which Jun expected to have been oil-black at one time, had a peppering of grey. Jun wondered how her husband felt about it, the times his wife put the UA before important family meals like Fan often did, or holidays disturbed by calls or mails. A fleeting thought flashed across her mind and left an unpleasant taste in her mouth – what if that hadn’t been their situation at all, but exclusively hers?

  A woman sat next to the bear-man. She had a whippet-thin face, which was glued to her phone. She liberated a glass of wine from the table like she was scooping a handful of bubbles and threw it to the back of her mouth with abandon. Wiping a stray drop from her mouth, she said. ‘Almost as long as Anton, though the jury’s out on the respected…’

  The bear of a man Jun now understood was Anton, looked at the Whippet from the sides of his eyes. He carried on, ‘You also worked for the UA at one time?’

  Jun felt twenty eyeballs on her. Her mouth didn’t want to work.

  ‘Jun was a Neuroscientist, specialising in mental cognition,’ Fan boomed around the table, making sure everyone could hear. ‘She was part of the UA’s dedicated global Neurological and Brain Augmentation Team, until we had our son.’

  When she had been Dr Xie, she’d pioneered the Cognitive Repair and Rejuvenation program in Tiantan Hospital, and driven the Memory-Cloud project for the Neuroscience Research Institute, in Beijing. Her star had then risen to the United Adaptive. There had been the thrill of leading observations and procedures, and the rush of unlocking the brain’s potential. These days, thrills were exclusive to her students.

  ‘You don’t work for Them anymore?’ The Whippet said and momentarily stopped punching into her phone. She looked at Jun as though she had said something outrageous, and went to grab her wine again, but Anton moved the glass away. They glared at one another.

  ‘I lecture Neuroscience at the University of Russchin,’ Jun nodded politely, keen to shut the conversation down. A few of them exchanged glances around the table, before talking amongst themselves. The Whippet took a call. The younger Jun would never have joined an institution like Russchin. But after Kau, it had been impossible to join another lab or hospital. Doors closed in her face until gradually, she stopped looking for them. Her analytical mind accumulated the commonalities of her rejections and studied them like cells in a Petri dish. Her evaluation pointed only to one source. Thankfully, an old professor with connections at Russchin had made a generous introduction. She’d eased herself into the rhythm of education, conducting her orchestra of students, encouraging them to create the music that had abandoned her. She was sure a few ex-colleagues’ eyebrows had been raised, and smirks barely-stifled, at her appointment. A product of national border dissolution and Provincial autonomy, what Russchin lacked in heritage and gravitas, it had made up for with independent spirit. Till of course, inevitably, the United Adaptive assumed control.

  Jun could hear Kau talking about his new job, beside her; how it offered ‘a life-changing opportunity that before now, the Earth simply couldn’t…’. His tone was urgent, his body hummed with enthusiasm. He quietened his voice, perhaps aware he’d caught her attention, and she heard no more. That was the most he’d talked about it in her presence, saying he didn’t want to breach security, in a tone not too dissimilar from an Ai-ssistant. As he’d said it, Jun’s skin pricked as though it had turned into pins. She tried, discreetly, to listen in but felt someone’s eyes on her, like a warm and sticky breath against her neck. Her eyes met Anton’s; he smiled, and she felt obliged to reciprocate.

  ‘You asked me about my time at the UA,’ Jun said and felt Fan turn and stiffen beside her. ‘Tell me about yours? How long have you known my husband?’

  Anton smiled and gave a lazy laugh. ‘Fan, your wife asked me how long I’ve known you?’

  ‘The simple answer would be too long.’

  ‘When we were both a lot younger, well, I was a lot younger. You’ve always been past it haven’t you, old boy?’ Anton’s laugh crunched around the table like churned gravel.

  ‘Old enough to know all the skeletons rattling around in your closet,’ Fan said, and reached for his wine. He didn’t often drink, but he was already on his second glass.

  Anton clapped; his paws thundered together so loudly a few people from other tables turned to look at him. ‘Ha!’

  ‘Do you work in Geology as well?’ Jun said to Anton, trying to navigate the conversation to calmer waters.

  The Whippet had finished talking on her phone and returned to the conversation, glass in hand. ‘Geology?’

  ‘In my former life, yes, Helena,’ Anton said glowering at her. ‘But I’m afraid, we’re not able to talk about what Kau and I are up to. At least, not yet. All in good time though,’ he said and winked at Kau.

  Helena threw back another glass of wine and abruptly excused herself to get some
air. Jun didn’t want her to leave. She was refreshing compared to the stiff necks around the table, and her gut feeling about Kau joining the UA hadn’t abated. Perhaps Helena could help inch the dial one way or the other. She hoped for Kau, it was the other.

  ‘I’ll join you,’ Jun said. As she stood up, Fan readied himself to move.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he said quietly.

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ She patted his shoulder and wondered whether she would.

  Helena had already started towards the terracotta-tiled courtyard, which was interspersed with small Weeping Cherry Trees, their deep rose-pink buds cheerfully drooping. A couple of men in linen-suits turned as Helena and Jun joined them out on the courtyard. They took a few steps back from the bungalow-style building, and moved towards the undulating peaks in the distance, and the more immediate shadows in the courtyard. Jun collected a glass of water along the way. She handed it to Helena.

  ‘You’re not at all what I expected,’ Helena laughed. Her smile slowly disappeared, tip-toeing away as if it had never been there in the first place. ‘I’ve never spoken to anyone in that… position, before.

  What was hiding behind Helena’s carefully-phrased words? Their eyes gripped one another, but neither spoke.

  ‘How do you feel about Kau joining the ranks?’ Helena said, finally filling the silence.

  Jun remembered Kau and Fan’s words before they left. ‘It’s his decision…or so he and his father keep telling me. How do you find working ‘in the ranks’?’

  Helena shook her head. ‘I’m not a bureaucrat, but we all work for the UA in one way or another, right?’

  That was true, especially in the UA heartland. It was difficult to find jobs or prospects that weren’t funded, even partially, by the UA. Not just in their Province, but in the world. It hadn’t always been that way. Not when she’d started out.

  Helena swallowed her water hungrily. ‘I’m a producer. The evening news on Channel RC1 and the Weekly Adaptive Affairs show on Channel UniProv.’

  That explained the frantic calls and messages. The RC1 – Russo-Chin Province 1 channel reported all the news from their Province. The Weekly Adaptive Affairs show curated the notable highlights from all the Provinces globally and discussed their united impact. Her fingers would be on many pulses. Likely she’d know something about most people in that room. No wonder the men from the courtyard had shied away.

  ‘There’s been a new development with a Province-led story we’re reporting on. The girl whose family were killed, and she survived. Whoever did it, tried to break in again. They were looking for the home-comp hyperframe, but the Police took it with them.’

  ‘It’s awful,’ Jun said, remembering the news segment a few days earlier, just after she’d read Solo’s note. ‘I can’t believe what they’re saying, that the girl had anything to do with it…she’s so young.’

  Helena shrugged, and Jun kicked herself for being so clumsy. She didn’t mean to slam Helena’s reportage.

  At that moment Kau appeared, looking apologetic. ‘Papa wants to check you’re okay?’ he said and looked at them both.

  Helena gave a sly smile. ‘Check up on us more like.’

  Kau gave a nervous chuckle, ‘Yes, I suppose.’

  ‘We’re talking about the Chirchir family,’ Helena said and tapped her fingers on the glass, a crystallised heartbeat. ‘You know that story?’

  ‘Not much,’ he said. ‘The job’s been full-on. Ignorant to admit, I know,’ he said and gave a bashful smile. ‘I’ll go back and tell them you’re alright.’ He paced back to the table.

  ‘You do that,’ Helena mused after him.

  But Jun had stopped listening. Her mind was stuck in the stickiness of Solo. She and the Chirchir girl were both orphans, of sorts. Solo had her father, at least. She thought about Kau in Solo’s or the Chirchir girl’s position. She would want someone to support him. Jun might not have the answers to Solo’s questions, but could still help her in some way, maybe reach a new level of understanding. Solo was someone’s child after all, and she was someone’s mother.

  The only other someone that mattered, and the one she’d need to convince, was Fan.

  CHAPTER 2

  1st September 2037 – Week 1 (Day 1) of the study

  ‘Good morning to our Chun Compact Multi-Community District dwellers! The temperature is set to reach 44 °C at its peak this afternoon. Your UA meteorologists advise you to limit your sunlight exposure to 45 minutes maximum today and only when necessary. Please remember to SSH: sunblock, shade, and hydrate! Any questions or concerns, please consciously connect to the ‘Talk-To-Me’ zone on your home computers. Furthermore, some of you folks haven’t been communicating in UAEnglish, especially at home. The transitionary language period is over, so please, for the good of our collective world, PLEASE endeavour to do so, before we’re forced to take action. Enjoy the rest of your day!’

  The cadence of the morning Public Service Announcement, PSA, still echoed in Jun’s ears, as a hundred digital eyes tracked her journey to the lab, her Intuimoto’s self-driving hyperframe giving away its secrets. Invisible arms would inspect her health chips – the UA’s way of monitoring and promoting positive health, as well as tracking your locations and interactions – on the access road, familiarising themselves with the updates to her information. They would notify the lab’s security team of her proximity to the base, which finally came into view. The grandiose Department of Biology, Physiology and Neurology was made entirely of reflective glass, which shimmered like ripples on a lake, its depths just as hidden. Nestled between woodlands on either side, it had a zeitgeist, fairytale-mansion feel about it. Till you saw another beast of a building behind it, and another, and then another, seemingly as far back as the mountains themselves went. The hub of the entire United Adaptive burrowed in the valleys, a universe of its own, evolved in just over ten years. Jun shook off the synthesised PSA voice and consoled herself that she wouldn’t have to put up with them for much longer. They had a plan.

  While people were adapting and learning new ways of life, the PSAs had been useful, helping the world to work together, share information and learn new skills. They had helped teach UAEnglish as the world moved to a single language; communicate meteorological updates, where every millisecond counted; informed them of crisis after crisis and provided regular migration updates. Everyone had lived in constant flux and fear, but they had stabilised, and everyone had adjusted to the new one-state world. Everyone except the UA and the Global Governance Alliance it seemed. Now, the PSAs were a conductor for control and compliance. People weren’t even allowed to talk in their mother tongues anymore, and that had been the most disruptive of all. Jun had found it easier to live with typhoons and heat than dispense with Mandarin. Without it, she felt unanchored and lost, like she was denying a part of who she was. And she wasn’t alone.

  Jun and some like-minded Chun and wider Compact Multi-Community District – CMCD-Province dwellers were petitioning to put an end to the PSAs. They had arranged a meeting that evening to discuss their strategy. It was small fry really in the grand scheme of everything but wasn’t without its risks. With every encounter, Jun was reminded of the complicated web she was weaving for herself, but she worked so hard to evolve and protect humanity in one sense, it seemed counter-intuitive to not fight for it in the most obvious ways.

  ‘Morning, Pav, how are you?’ Jun shouted to the tallest in the huddle of lab security men and women, the last battalion of defence, which was more a gesture than a practical necessity; no one could get through the assault-course of scanners if they didn’t have clearance. DNA, health chip and body scans, all contained in one cocoon-like tunnel, where those that came out the other side were just about at liberty to fly.

  Pav gave a menacing first impression. His arms alone looked like they could rip lies out of you like ribbons. But as soon as he smiled, his body softened, and you softened with it. She remembered his mother had been unwell, and antibiotics were on lockdown again. Russ
o-Chin had been rationed and understandably, he’d been worried about her. ‘How’s your mum?’

  He grinned, and his bulk yielded; his mother must be better.

  ‘Thank you, Dr Xie, she’s okay. A week of the Master Tonic flushed it right out – her health chips show she’s balanced again, as much as she can be anyway.’

  Were mothers ever balanced? It had taken Jun a while to realise her mother was subtly skewed. As she walked through the sterile-white corridors and swing doors into the lab, white waving against white, she remembered it was her mother who’d persuaded her to walk down them in the first place. The year before last, the UA had courted Jun to join the Neuro-Augmentation Research Team. Some considered it the opportunity of a lifetime, but Jun didn’t see it that way. She winced remembering her parents’ disappointment.

  ‘Bǎobèi it’s an excellent opportunity. The UA is the most important organisation in the world; they’ll always look after you,’ her mother had said and tapped Jun’s hand with her whip-like fingers. Jun rubbed at the peppered sting.

  Her father was silent, his face pensive. ‘Jun, it’s been a few months this…procrastination; it’s disrespectful to keep them waiting so long. Make a decision and make the right one.’

  She looked at her father sideways and bit her lip before saying, ‘I have.’

  Her parents looked at one another and smiled; it was the same smile when she’d told them she was joining Tiantan Hospital. That had been nearly five years ago; it was disappointing to have waited so long to see it again, and even more because it was unlikely to last.

  ‘I’ve made my decision. I just don’t think it’s for me. I won’t have the same connection to people being lab-based. I won’t be helping them in the same way. I’m turning them down,’ she said and crossed her arms. It had sounded much better in her head.

  Jun had not so much eaten her words but had them forced down her throat. For two weeks, her parents had insisted she was making the wrong decision, reminding her what an opportunity it was until she finally relented and accepted the role. Jun had been rewarded with the sought-after smile, but there was no enjoyment from it at all. One day, she would make a decision based solely on her own whim, no matter what anyone else said.