Rosalie flapped something over her head. Was that flimsy material cardboard? Day hadn't seen cardboard since they had breakfast cereal boxes when she was little. Where had the droid maid found cardboard?
A soft beeping filled the air, coming from a red light pulsing beneath the skin of Rosalie's wrist. The maid had put in an emergency call.
"Cut the call," Day said. Her voice sounded croaky. As though it had been wiped out with her consciousness and was slow to come around.
"I can't stop the call Miss White. Look." Rosalie kneeled down and held up Day's wrist. Day's arm felt floppy, out of her control. It reminded her of the time she broke it and had a general anaesthetic for the operation.
Day's wrist monitor was on full flashing emergency mode. Words scrolled along in Russian, Spanish and English, the three principle northern world languages:
Immediate help required.
"Rosalie, cut the emergency call, or I'm firing you."
"But Mr. Lang would fire me if I didn't make the call. And they've already processed your accident."
The droid sounded nervous. Sometimes you had to wonder, if they weren't legally obliged to show the serial number on the neck, would you be able to tell the androids from humans?
At school, Day and her friends had been so sure of themselves. They were certain they could spot a droid from the real thing, any day. Five units of obligatory psychology had been dedicated to it.
"Cancel the request," Day said.
"But Mr. Lang..."
"Mr. Lang won't know you cancelled the call," Day said. "But if you persist in asking for medical assistance, I will fire you Rosalie."
Rosalie pressed the pulse in her neck and the flashing on her wrist stopped. Then she overrode the alert on Day's monitor.
"Why would you go out there?" she asked. "Why take such a risk with your health?"
"My health?"
"Yes, you must stay in good health. It's most important. Especially now."
Day allowed Rosalie to sit her up. She rubbed her temples where a headache was setting in. Odd. It wasn't like she could smell nitrogen dioxide or some kind of poison in her nostrils. If the air poisoned her body that fast, you would think she could smell it, right?
"Especially important now," Day repeated, letting Rosalie's words sink in. "Why?"
Rosalie clapped her hands. "I saw the approval papers in Mr. Lang's drawer. It's very exciting!"
Day's heart pounded. All sense of tiredness vanished. A buzz of adrenaline fed straight into her brain.
"Okay, Rosalie," she said in a chirpy voice. "It's almost ten thirty. I'm meeting Mr. Lang for lunch at the studio, I'd better get showered."
Rosalie nodded and smiled. Day got to her feet and forced herself to walk from the living room when she wanted to run.
Approval papers for what?
She entered the bedroom. Rosalie had made the bed with fresh lilac-scented sheets, thumped the curtains, and vacuumed the rug. Everything was immaculate.
"Lock," Day ordered the door. It clicked as she headed for Ed's drawers and opened the top compartment where he kept an old pen and stationary. Why had Rosalie been rummaging in here, anyway?
A sheet of smart-paper brought Day's search to a halt. Embossed on the top of the transparent film was a full moon with a waxing crescent on its left and a waning crescent on its right—the symbol for Family Support Services.
Day slipped the sheet onto the holo-table. It lit up with information. The letter was dated two weeks ago. She skimmed the contents. It was a child permission license granting Ed and her the right to have a child.
A ball of fear rose in her throat. Would they have automatically stopped the resisters from going into her water? Wouldn't they need her voice recognition approval?
Ed had asked her to voice sign something a couple of weeks ago. She'd been half asleep, and she'd just wanted to get rid of him because he'd been pushy and annoying.
Her hands shook as she put the smart-paper back in the drawer. No, Ed would never do something like that. He didn't take "no" for an answer, but when he'd mentioned wanting a child, he'd accepted her response. What was the rush? She was only twenty-one. She had another six years to decide.
Except obviously he hadn't accepted her answer, or he wouldn't have the license in the drawer, valid for the next six months.
She pulled off her sweatpants and vest top and walked into the en-suite bathroom.
"Shower on," she said. Water spurted from the shower head. She dipped her hand into the stream. It was hot within seconds. Entering the shower, she tilted her face to the pounding drops. Anxiety mixed with fury curdled in her blood.
This was crazy. What was happening to her life?
She would get a medical scan in one of those cheap booths in the shopping mall before meeting Ed for lunch. Then she would know what she was facing when she confronted him. Right now, she wanted to punch him in the face.
***
The reserve chauffeur drove her to the mall. Ed always used their principle chauffeur for work, and as Day rarely went anywhere, Gavin was happy to be out of the cupboard.
He drove with two hands on the wheel at all times. His chauffeur hat sat on a jaunty tilt. He whistled along to a local radio station.
Day gazed through the window. Once they were closer to the town center, the streets grew busier. Social humanoids walked droid dogs, rode bicycles, or carried shopping with fresh, sealed goods for those wealthier residents who refused automatic fridge stocking.
It was hot outside, but the androids didn't sweat and the dogs didn't pant.
Gavin dropped her at the tunnel entrance. Inside the tunnel, she covered her mouth as the door closed, and the walls sprayed her with disinfectant. The oxygen levels stabilized, and the moving floor took her inside the mall. The tunnel closed behind her.
Most of the shopping mall floor was moving in a crisscrossed pattern lit up by arrows, which showed direction. The androids were all on the moving floor.
Day stepped off it and skirted around the edge of the enormous glass hall surrounded by balconies. She switched off her wrist monitor.
Shopping arcades and public spaces were the only places the monitor allowed you to switch off because there were detectors in the floors and walls. If you kneeled down and had a heart attack, a dozen of the nearest detectors would light up and the emergency droids would sweep in.
Day found a health booth and requested a full body scan. With her wrist monitor switched off Ed would never know she'd got the test. She was being paranoid again. Ed wouldn't know unless he checked her monitor activity log, and why would he do that?
If the world was a reflection of her inner self, as Will van De Berg liked to say, then she was one screwed up person. She had a boyfriend she didn't trust, her friends were thousands of miles away, and most of her social interaction was with holograms and androids.
The booth wasn't very high-tech. She had ten minutes to wait for her results. She was meeting Ed in another twenty. Wondering what to do with the time, Day browsed a shop with chip-tattoos you could insert under the skin and alter to different settings and colors.
A robotic assistant was presenting the product when a woman caught Day's attention. The raven-haired lady was riding the escalators. Big sunglasses obscured her face, a sleek black dress accentuated her curves, three bags of designer clothes hung on her jeweled arm. She oozed a seductive boldness.
Human for sure. And the only human Day had spotted so far. Maybe it was boredom or intrigue driving her, or maybe the need for human contact, but Day didn't think twice. She skipped onto the moving floor and took the first escalator.
She followed the woman, passing a long line of boutiques. The woman turned down a side walkway and entered a shop with a reception desk. A droid with blue hair, and beautiful skin greeted her. 3D letters appeared in the sparks of light above the receptionist's head.
Day hung back and watched in the mirrored reflection of a hall pillar.
The woman removed her shades and laughed at something. Then she leaned over the counter, kissed the droid on the mouth and slunk down a hall, disappearing behind a luminous opaque wall.
Day drifted towards the shop entrance, mesmerized. The whole display confirmed her deepest feelings. There was something dead about her life. Something dead about her and Ed. They were wilting, fading away.
As the salon picked up her movement, sparkling letters appeared again above the receptionist's head. Now Day stood at an angle where she could read them.
Welcome to JANUS.
The receptionist smiled. Then her head swiveled one hundred and eighty degrees, revealing a second face. The hair shimmered from blue to electric pink.
"Welcome to Janus," she said.
Janus was the name of a two-headed Roman god Day had learned about in history. The god of doorways, of beginnings, and of the rising and setting sun.
Day was backing away when the whole entrance turned into a projection screen.
"Do you wish you had more drive?" a hologram woman in a clean-cut suit asked, walking towards Day. "More ambition? Maybe you wish you felt more confident or adventurous? How would you feel if only you were tenacious, optimistic, adaptable, reliable, sociable, health conscious?
Whatever you need to inject your life with passion, to find true love or inspiration, we have it here at Janus. Janus allows you to live a dynamic, exciting life. Discover the adventure. At Janus, it's never too late to become the new you."
The projection disappeared, and the screen returned to glass.
Day blinked at the emptiness.
Seven days to try out seven different personalities—that's what Will recommended. Would it be cheating to get them implanted? Wouldn't that still teach her how to change her beliefs about who she was and what she could do?
Sure she'd be getting a little help, but she'd been trying for weeks without help and getting nowhere. At night, she'd lie awake, galvanized with the desire and determination to take control of her life. In the haze of oncoming sleep, she could grasp at this other person, the person she wanted to be. But when her feet hit the bedroom floor in the morning, it was like the whole house sapped away her free will.
"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked.
"No, no thanks. I was just looking."
Day backed up from the automatic doors, returned to the main walkway, and stood in the middle of the mall for a minute, considering. Then she checked her watch and hurried back to the health booth to get her results.
Blood surged through her body in a tidal wave of panic as she held up her wrist monitor to be identified. Day wasn't sure she ever wanted to be a mother. But she was adamant she didn't want it now. Not with Ed. She couldn't imagine a worse nightmare.
And if she was pregnant, there was no escape. Abortions hadn't been practiced for over forty years. Woman only got pregnant now after making an official request and being granted a child license. Getting pregnant was difficult, even for women under thirty. Pregnancy was a treasured privilege.
The booth asked her how she wished to receive her results. She selected a virtual copy and the air in front of her illuminated with information.
Blood count, bloody type, Rh, antibodies, hepatitis antigen, urine infections, rubella antibody, cancer detection, cholesterol levels, hormone levels...
The final report showed no anomalies and no pregnancy.
She took deep breaths and calmed down. Her heartbeat returned to its normal pace. The sweat on the tips of her cheeks and forehead evaporated. She put the report in the virtual trash and stepped away from the scanner.
Now to face Ed.
Now to find out what he thought he was doing procuring a child license behind her back.
Thanks for reading! Don't hesitate to comment if there's anything you think is weird, incomprehensible or explained badly... or if there's anything you particularly liked :) That works for me too!