Adaptive Consequences Page 7

  Jiazhen motioned to the observation room to ensure the cameras and audio were recording, but of course, they would be. Delphine focused on Zaye’s neuroimagery on the monitors, and Delun started the image generator. The illum wall flashed, and an image appeared. Jun’s throat tightened. She recognised its warped scene at once, harsh and stark like a strip light in her eyes. Dr Wei had the original painting hanging behind his desk, a Tamen oil. Her eyes shifted from side to side, absorbing the unashamed distillation of the old China, the one she had grown up in. Two women, scantily clad, their limbs awkwardly posturing like branches dismembered from tree-trunks, were surrounded inexplicably by watermelon, its pinky-red juice bleeding across on the canvas. In the background, were imposing buildings, the Shanghai of old, before everything changed. Every time she looked at the painting, she was transported back to her childhood, and the terror of the ever-sprawling mouth of the Yangtze. When she was little, she’d suffered nightmares about it; dreams that the water surged too fast and too high, and they couldn’t get out in time. Jun’s breath caught in her chest; that picture brought up too many bad memories; it was unpleasant enough seeing it in Dr Wei’s office, never mind here.

  Zaye’s legs stopped swinging. ‘I see the image.’ Zaye took a sip of her water; she could get nauseous from seeing images sometimes.

  Jun nodded, even though Zaye wouldn’t be able to see her. ‘Go on.’

  Zaye’s back suddenly went rigid, her face faltered. ‘Can you switch it off now?’

  Jun shook her head at Delphine. Zaye needed to confirm the image details as part of their assessment.

  ‘Sorry Ms Zaye, before we do, for the purpose of the test can you tell us what you see? We need to know to confirm the diagnosis,’ Delphine said, courteous and soft.

  Zaye spoke, devoid of her usual spirit and verve. ‘There’s watermelon everywhere. It’s carnage, like there’s been a food fight. Two Asian women are in a room, barely clothed. They’re unhappy. One is by a big window, looking out onto a city. The other is sitting on a chair, also staring out. I would guess it’s from before.’

  Jun and Delphine looked at one another. Delphine nodded cheerfully to a question she hadn’t been asked. History was being made.

  Jun consciously commanded the illum wall to shut down, and made the image disappear. She should be jubilant – and to some degree she was – but the picture lingered like a bad taste in her mouth. She felt tired suddenly, like the accumulation of working seven days straight without a break had hit her, winding the breath from her chest.

  Delphine would need to check the neuroimaging and data; Jun couldn’t analyse all that now. She didn’t have the time or wherewithal. She composed herself and walked to Zaye, resting a hand lightly on Zaye’s shoulder; her body collapsed at Jun’s touch.

  Zaye didn’t ask if she’d got it right, with a twinkle in her eye, as she had with the other tests. She sat there quietly as Delun removed the blindfold and electrodes. Despite the apparent success from today, Jun couldn’t stop a knot forming in her stomach, and the feeling they’d just crossed a line that they couldn’t come back from.

  ‘Excellent work Ms Zaye,’ Jun said. ‘Let’s get you back to your room.’

  The tassels from Zaye’s vibrant scarves murmured beneath the air conditioner. Zaye hung them around her desk to decorate it, framing its whiteness with colour when it should have been the other way around. In the meniscus of the scarves, a knotted charm on a red thread swung, it’s hypnotic rhythm steadied Jun. Zaye’s things cracked the room’s starchiness, like a pocket of colour on a white lab coat, and an antidote to the rectangular bed and modular desk, in the-cube-of-a-room. Zaye’s quarters were a Russian Doll of quads.

  ‘Well done today,’ Jun said and leaned against the desk giving Zaye a well-meaning smile. The specificity and vividness of her unprompted visualisation – the Tamen was a complex image – was astonishing, yet, Jun felt bereft. There was Zaye’s melancholy afterwards. Had the exercise exhausted her? Looking at Zaye now, she seemed to be brightening up again.

  ‘You didn’t like that painting,’ Zaye said, her eyes looked pensively at Jun.

  Jun laughed as a reflex and tapped the red knotted-charm. She wanted it to hypnotise her again. No, she didn’t like the painting. Given Zaye’s capabilities, it wasn’t out of the realms of possibility for her to intuit how Jun felt, but was it something she was passively aware of, or did she proactively seek it out? The fist of fear punched again. ‘From what you said, I rather got the impression you didn’t like the image.’

  ‘I didn’t. But neither did you.’

  They held each other’s gaze, and it was like Zaye could see far beyond her. ‘We appreciate your co-operation, Ms Zaye. Your results, so far, are exceptional. You are very special indeed.’

  Zaye shifted on the bed. ‘It’s not often you’re told you’re exceptional and special,’ she laughed. ‘But what we all do every day is exceptional – our capacity for compassion, creating life and giving birth. In my culture, there is no greater honour than to be a mother. There’s nothing more special than my love for my daughter.’

  At least some still had their culture, for now, thought Jun. The UA was carefully stomping out the world’s uniqueness, piece by piece, migration by migration, though Jun wouldn’t admit that to anyone. Except, perhaps, the anti-PSA group. She wouldn’t even admit it to Fan.

  Zaye breathed in profoundly, and flexed her muscles like a stretching cat. ‘Children are such a blessing.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Jun said and smiled.

  ‘But you will. Your son will be a prominent person, and you’ll both make positive changes for the world.’

  Zaye’s words bounced around the room, not quite catching in Jun’s ear. It took her a moment to piece together what Zaye had said.

  ‘I didn’t mean to alarm you.’ Now it was Zaye’s turn to put her hand on Jun.

  ‘You…you…you…’. The “didn’t” wouldn’t come.

  ‘Do you wish to know, Doctor?’ Zaye leant forward.

  Jun mirrored her and felt the full force of Zaye’s eyes.

  ‘Are you ready to know why you’ll be special?’

  The room spun around her, and an uncomfortable warmth prickled her body.

  ‘I understand we’re being listened to,’ Zaye whispered and looked at the observation room’s two-way glass. ‘And perhaps you’re not ready to hear what I have to say, but I don’t think there’s much time.’ She squeezed Jun’s hand again. ‘And please, call me Odgerel. Subject Zaye sounds so…formal.’

  Jun tried to consolidate what Zaye, Odgerel had said, but like plasma sliding between her fingers, it wouldn’t stick. She couldn’t remember calling her Subject Zaye to her face.

  ‘Dr Markov,’ Odgerel said, punctuating Jun’s thoughts.

  Jun heard footsteps biting into the floor, before stopping abruptly outside the living quarters. Jun turned around, and there stood Markov. His stance stiff, his face expectant.

  ‘Ms Zaye,’ Markov said, his voice low but cordial. His eyes moved from Jun to Odgerel, trying to decipher something unspoken; his body stiffened like it had been zapped with cold. He looked directly at Jun. ‘I wanted a quick word…if you both have finished?’

  ‘We’ve finished,’ Jun said, nodding goodbye to Zaye. She walked to the door whilst trying to avoid Markov’s sightline.

  ‘You didn’t like it though, did you, Dr Xie? The painting?’ Odgerel called after her.

  Jun stopped dead. She could feel Markov’s eyes burning into her, but damn him. She turned around to face Odgerel before leaving, and a smile blossomed on her face.

  ‘You’re right, Ms Zaye, I didn’t.’

  * * *

  ‘Good evening to our Chun CMCD residents! The current external temperature is 38 °C with a humidity level of 55%. As a reminder, it’s your last chance to submit your September Governance satisfaction survey. Remember, this is your opportunity to have your voice heard and directly influence the governance of your CMCD. I
f you don’t submit your survey, we’ll assume you’re either satisfied or highly satisfied, so please do complete to directionalise areas of encouragement or improvement. We received a 99% satisfaction rating for our last survey completed in June – let’s see if we can make it 100!’

  ‘What did you say this time?’ Fan said underneath his breath as they walked out of the Chun Governance Assembly rooms.

  Two of the Adaptive Governance Emissary Officers, who flanked either side of the exit, nodded to him. He gave them a watery smile.

  They stepped outside. The sun, thankfully, was set to graze the horizon in a few hours’ time, so they didn’t have to hurry to the Intuimoto. Fan gave a cursory look around before whispering, ‘I warned you not to say anything that would give the UA the wrong impression….’

  Jun wasn’t in the mood for a fight; she had more than enough on her mind without Fan compounding it. For the first time, as she had clicked ‘complete and send’, she’d doubted her responses.

  She and Fan were ushered into booths as they had at the lab. An Interface loomed in front of her. As the Emissary Officers explained, she should complete the survey in under five minutes.

  Jun had already expended a few minutes reading the first question over and over again. Her response, whatever she decided, would signal the direction for the rest of the survey.

  1.) Has your satisfaction of living in the Chun CMCD changed in the last three months?

  a.) Yes, it’s significantly increased b.) Yes, it’s increased c.) Yes, it’s marginally increased d.) It has stayed the same e.) No, it’s marginally decreased f.) It’s decreased g.) It’s significantly decreased

  Projected completion time dependent on answers:

  a.) Three minutes b.) Three minutes twenty seconds c.) Four minutes d.) Six minutes e.) Ten minutes f.) Twenty minutes g.) Thirty minutes

  In essence, it wasn’t a difficult task to complete. It had been answering honestly, and unashamedly, a few months ago that had started the ball rolling with the anti-PSA group. It was the members of the group she had thought of as she stepped into the booth, more specifically, Desai. His words from a week ago reverberated in her mind – they’re deemed and dealt with, as public enemy number one.

  Three minutes elapsed. Three minutes wasted. At the very least, even if she answered completely satisfied, she would have already taken six minutes in total. It was supposed to be anonymous. The theatrics of completing it at the Assembly and the individual booths were supposed to be a testament to your anonymity. But people would be watching her. The officiating Officers would have clocked the time of entry. Her chips could probably link her answers. Anonymity was just a word. Its meaning was recalculated long ago.

  ‘Please tell me you didn’t stand on your soapbox again,’ Fan said as they got in the Intuimoto; concern grew on his face.

  He hadn’t minded her ‘standing on her soapbox’ with the last survey in June. It had only been a few months ago, but so much had happened in between. His new job, buying their home, and moving in together. But he’d suggested she keep her thoughts to herself for this survey. He had used it as an opportunity to express his concerns with the anti-PSA group, for the fiftieth time.

  Fan put his office coordinates into the Intuimoto’s Interface.

  ‘Why are we going to your work?’

  That had been another thing that had changed in the past few months. Fan had been working later each evening, his work phone had been more visible. He’d explained it was just while he was getting used to the role, that he and a colleague were working on a ‘multidisciplinary approach’ for something revolutionary. Jun wasn’t so sure. They sounded like meaningless words, and meaningless words were the UA’s speciality.

  ‘I’ve got to pick up some interplanetary samples,’ he said. ‘I might need your help with them – they’ll have to come back home with me, I’m afraid.’

  She didn’t want this to become the new normal – Fan’s work life becoming synonymous with their personal one.

  ‘Are you going to tell me why you were so long in the survey?’ he said as they arrived outside his building.

  Jun still hadn’t answered the first question of the survey. Desai’s stories had sluiced around her brain. Desai’s team, like most things, operated with versatility. They created and maintained the PSA infrastructure out from the UA communications hub, but their brief included defending and futureproofing against ‘Interface-generated hack attacks’. But they also dabbled in darker arts. Not just dabbled, but when directed, pro-actively participated in monitoring conversations and communications of the very people, they were supposed to ‘preserve and protect’. Her face had flushed when he had said how routinely they did checks on civilians. At times, if they were listening to something interesting, even if it had been deemed ‘non-combative’, they’d stay tuned in for the entertainment of it.

  For every story of the teacher, the one the UA arrested for atrocities against children, there was the wrongful arrest of someone they thought was a rogue Autonarmist. ‘Psycho-emotive recognition sometimes got it wrong,’ Desai had said. It was their verbal shrug of the shoulder. The suspected ‘rogue Autonarmist’ was arrested at her daughter’s birthday party. She didn’t return until six days later, where she had been aquitted. Everyone was RetrigramAmmed, so there was no memory of the incident. That little girl and her guests would never know what really happened on her birthday.

  Jun’s finger had hovered over the Interface. A bead of sweat slipped from her forehead as she finally answered the first question.

  Desai had said none of their names were on the list for monitoring, yet. But who knew how long that would be the case? Swapping stories and briefs with colleagues, Desai had found out an old university friend of his had been monitored. She had a high-profile job in the UA but had applied to leave her job by mutual consent, claiming that she suffered from Bipolar. But they didn’t believe her and were trying to squeeze her out. No one was safe, especially UA employees. Least of all Jun.

  ‘你知道为什么’, Jun said quietly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the Intuimoto’s synthesised voice parroted at her. ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying. Please use UAEnglish. Dr Xie, this is your final warning.’

  Fan got out of the car. If he could have slammed the door, he would have. He looked at her as though there were things he wanted to say, but didn’t dare say them. He thumped his hand on the Intuimoto’s transparent frame.

  Jun knew she shouldn’t have said ‘you now why’, but she wanted to. Why should they continually be forced to live a life they didn’t want to, and be grateful for it? That wasn’t living. How could Fan not see that?

  She got out of the car and answered him this time in UAEnglish.

  ‘I stood up for what I felt. That’s why I was so long.’

  Jun’s fight, primarily, had been against the manipulation and intrusion of the UA, and their stomping out her culture – the PSAs were a symptom of a bigger problem. In truth, she thought they were nannying, and ignorant. She hadn’t really thought that the UA would exploit the PSA networks, but Desai’s account changed everything. She blanched at her own naivety.

  ‘We’ll talk about this another time but, Jun… you’re walking on a very fine line. They’re rebels to the state. You’re part of the state. No amount of clutching at Mandarin is going to change anything. The group isn’t going to change anything. You’re setting yourself up for serious consequences that go beyond slapped wrists from synthesised voices.’

  Jun turned away from him and looked to the shimmering UA bases peppered amongst the peaks. You couldn’t enjoy the natural beauty of the summits or Lake Baikal, without the homogenised UA buildings getting in the way. If she climbed high enough, there had to be a point surely, when she wouldn’t see them below?

  She heard Fan run off behind her, only to come back only a minute later calling her name.

  She turned around, but he wouldn’t look her properly in the eye.

  ‘I need you
to come in with me,’ he said.

  ‘But what if someone sees us?’ She and Fan had managed, up until now, to keep their relationship under wraps. She didn’t want to be so careless after everything they’d been through.

  ‘It’s Saturday. Evening. Come on, no one will see us.’

  ‘Security?’ she said. Fan knew she couldn’t very well go into his department; she needed a visitor permit to walk in the building alone, and that had to be submitted and sanctioned by his superiors and the security team.

  He beckoned her to the entrance, and she humoured him, if a little irritated. What was he playing at? They walked into smiles from the security personnel.

  ‘Good to see you, Fan,’ one of them said, jovially clapping him on the back. ‘It’s been a while.’

  Fan had been at work more than ever before. The Geology department’s security were facetious. She wouldn’t complain about her lot again.

  Fan laugh affably, before guiding Jun to the Tomograph.

  ‘This way, Dr Xie,’ the same guard said.

  As they both went through security into the main sector of his lab, his work phone began to sound. He was already in the building, and they were still trying to contact him. Fan gave her a weary look and guiltily pulled out his phone. As he answered it, he opened the double doors in front of them. To a background of Fan’s ‘yes’s and hmms’, she walked down the intimate corridor, the low lighting making it seem more mysterious than it was. The stone wall helped a slight chill in the air persist.

  Jun’s parents had supported her and Fan’s relationship. He was stable, after all, and the fact he worked for the UA, like her father, pleased them. Not that they ever explicitly said so. They didn’t have to, not after the fuss they’d made about her cousin Ami marrying a senior administrator at the UA Province Department. Then when Ami quickly found herself pregnant, everyone seemed over the moon. Jun hadn’t seen Ami much since, right enough. It was as though Ami had filed herself along with her husband’s papers and meetings.