FORMATTING NOTES: Italics indicate the character's thoughts and 'conversation' with her 'operating system'. Text linked with underscores_like_this_example denote the operating system's communications. The operating system is also named allegra, with a small initial letter.

 

Title: I'm All Yours

Chapter 1: They said I shouldn’t talk to you

Dear Allegra, they said I shouldn't talk to you anymore now that I've pubesced. Well, who else can I talk to, then? No, don't list out those names sorted by frequency of contact for me. Right now I just want to talk to my FACE. Yes, that's you, allegra.

Identification_ALLEGRAqpalz923_citizen_level_delta.

I know you're actually myself. Well technically you're the interface with the Fully Amplified Cognitive Enhancement system we all get when we pubsce. Don't unzip the firsttimeuser files, I read them already.

The_user_may_interact_with_the_system_interface_as_a_virtual_person_for_initial_startup. 

I'm not a minor anymore, I can talk to whoever I please.

This_operation_is_not_recommended_for_longterm_application

Shut up, allegra.

It sounds like one of old Hypotenuse's questions that he saves for the last quarter aw of Applied Probability. Calculate the odds that I'd be going down Main Conduit in First City in a transporter (you know I prefer the RITS). Easy, huh? Now do the odds I'd have a Zomb beside me. Yes, a Zomb, not a droid. What, you got that already? Make that a NAKED Zomb then. And while you're at it, you can figure out who's responsible for this mountain of messed-up-ness. You can do that, right? Crunch those numbers. I bet it's ten to the power of … some number that ends with 'lion' probably.

Alert_biological_support_system_overload_approaching_caution_level

Alright, alright, I'll stop here. I'm calm, allegra, really. Not agitated at all, so don't send in the endocrine nanobots! I don't need doping for this. It's just shopping. Shopping for my Zomb.

I pull the override plug on my FACE. In the three seconds that it takes for the interface to fade into my peripheral vision, I hold my breath, releasing it together with the return of non-augmented sight. I always hate this part. It's like waking from a dream, except it's reality that you're waking up to. And sometimes reality just…. What's that word that Hypotenuse says was a popular expletive in his youth? Oh, right, sucks. Reality sucks. And thinking about Hypotenuse twice in less than an hour… that can't be normal, even if he IS my biological progenitor.

Condition_irregular_level_non-threat

A status screen slips discreetly into focus.

"Quiet, allegra." I mutter under my breath, brushing the screen out of my vision. Some time ago, the transporter had signalled that it would arrive in 30 sec. It did this because passengers often don't realise they've stopped since there is no perceptible difference being inside a moving and stationary transporter. That's why I prefer the RITS—if I'm moving forward at 250 kaym, I want to feel that I'm moving, not sitting still in a little room with brushed metal walls.

"Disembark." The side of the transporter nearest my destination dismantled itself at my voice. That's the only thing that I find endearing about the transporters—they don't let you out unless you tell them you want to get out. The transporter wall did not reassemble after me. That's right… I'm not alone. I glance over my shoulder. The Zomb looks at me placidly, still in the exact same position we started our journey in.

"Come." The curt command sounds heartlessly cold to me, but the Zomb obediently exits to stand in front of me, head slightly bowed for full eye contact with me, hands held behind the back. I know the bow is to accommodate our height difference (30 sim or so), the hands are in default standby position, but I'm just not comfortable with the resulting subservient posture. The nakedness just tips the already unnerving situation into the nightmare category. Well, not really naked. There's actually an outer covering all over, now that I can bring myself to take a closer look. It seems to be the same material as that in personal hygiene privacy booths, the kind that's usually clear but you can make it strategically translucent or opaque.

Friend_detected_in_vicinity_Identified_CLEFoedka777_Estimated_contact_in_3 sec

Not enough time to evade her. Suck.

"Heyo, Allegra!" Clef and I air hug. Her current hair colour is neon pink, with LEDs spelling out the name of her latest hetfriend. It matches her bodypaint.

"You finally got yourself a Zomb! I'm electrified for you!" Clef cannot speak without exclamation marks. I mumble something, which she totally disregards. Her hoverboard is circling us in a predatory pattern. "Where did you find it? The labourmart?" I mumble again, since it's quite clear that she isn't talking with me, but at me. "Anyway, he's DROOLICIOUS!" She floats away, which is good because I'm getting slightly nauseous from being in the middle of a pink whirpool.

I've just been seen with a naked Zomb by the fastest social updater that I know. This is definitely a nightmare category situation. Zomb. I hate the sound of the word.

"Perhaps the term Promised would be more agreeable to you."

I jump at his voice. Then I remember that as a Zomb, he can 'hear' my most conscious thoughts. Kind of like the LANs that were the precursor of the BITIL. Promised. It's a quintillion times better than Zomb. But it's also stirring up emotions that I'd rather not confront right now.

"Zech." It was his name, but you'd never know that from the total lack of reaction he's giving me.

His name was—is—Zechary. We promised to be friends. Then I went and made him my Zomb.

2: Losing myself in you

FORMATTING NOTES: Italics indicate the character's thoughts and 'conversation' with her 'operating system'. Text linked with underscores_like_this_example denote the operating system's communications. The operating system is also named allegra, with a small initial letter.

 

Title: I'm All Yours

Chapter 2: Losing myself in you

"Zech." It was his name, but you'd never know that from the total lack of reaction he's giving me.

There's probably a procedure for this.

ZOMBCON_startup_folder_available_Access_files?

Not now, allegra.

This_action_is_highly_recommended-to_ensure_safety_and_efficienty_in_zomb_operation

Yes, I know I should have installed the files at the Zomb facility while I was waiting. But how hard can this be? It's just the standard plug and play set-up, right?

Info_all_configuration_parameters_are_at_default_setting_until_modified_by_user

I get it. This is the off-the-shelf, generic, non-personalised Zomb.

I sidestep allegra. He is frozen in his half bow, expressionless. Good thing he's apparently not privy to my internal communication or he'd be thinking that I'm hardly the most reassuring person to be the current decision-maker. I try again. "Zech. That's your name."

"Name: term of reference to said unit. Input assimilated. Future responses to 'Zech' calibrated."

It's Zech's face I'm looking at, Zech's voice I'm hearing… but he talks exactly like allegra.

"You can modify my mode of oral communication to your preferences."

He heard that? Note to self: prioritise learning how to control broadcast of thoughts. I call his name again.

The response is instantaneous this time. "At your service, Mistress."

I cringe. "My name is Allegra, not Mistress."

"Default term of address is Mistress. Change?"

A band of pressure is tightening around my head.

Alert_biological_support_system_malfunction_level_caution_Deploy_nanobots?

Yes, allegra, go ahead and fix this malfunctioning biological unit. I surrender. I can't do this without doping after all.

I can't even control my own reactions. Who put me in charge of another person? Wait, is a Zomb technically a person?

"Command Timedout. Reverting to default term of address."

My head feels better, along with a mild endorphin-induced sense of wellbeing. Those endocrine nanobots have their uses.

"Zech, you will address me as Allegra." I said firmly.

"Change term of address. Confirm?"

"Yes. Now come." I start walking towards the apparel depot, a docile Zech at my heels.

Just before the entrance, I stop. He stops in lockstep, as if these were dance steps we'd practiced for days. He's anticipating my movements to synchronise his own with mine.

"We haven't decided what clothes to get you." I say aloud. I order my own clothes off-site and get them delivered, so this is actually my first visit to the actual physical depot. Now that I'm standing at the entrance of the building, the sheer size of the place is quite daunting. I probably need to activate my GPS to find my way back to the exit later.

"I am already in the default body covering," he tells me helpfully.

"Yes, and I don't like it. That's why we're here."

"Understood. We will proceed with the procurement of apparel to replace the default covering."

"Exactly. So if I have some idea of what you want, we can find it more quickly, right?"

He looks at me blankly. Not that he has been particularly expressive up to now, but this is a different kind of blankness, the kind you get on a display unit when the operating system is in suspended mode. "Unable to process input."

"I meant, what kind of clothes do you like?"

"Unable to process input." After a while, he adds, "Source of problem: like."

I mentally kick myself. He's a Zomb, he's had his personality suppressed. How would he know what he wants and likes?

"What did you use to wear before, then?"

He appears to be thinking. But it's not working. "Input incomplete. Unable to infer reference for before." He's no longer expressionless, but the bewildered confusion that's taken over isn't much better.

"Before, like, you know, in the past." I'm not really thinking about my answers. I know I'm the cause of his distress, but I don't know what to do.

"Past… can't access… what is before… before… what …" His eyes literally roll up in their sockets and he comes crashing down, muscles twitching.

I'm an idiot. Of course he can't access his past. It's in storage, neatly filed away under his Zomb serial number.

Alert_zom_operating_system_malfution_level_critical

"Override! Shut down!" I scream, even though I don't actually have to vocalise the word for allegra to execute the command. He stops twitching, his body and limbs splayed at odd angles. I realise that I'm on my knees. The nanobots are just about able to keep me from full-blown panic. I force myself to breathe normally, boosting the nanobots' valiant efforts.

"Reset all. Zomb startup."

His eyes flicker open. He sits up. "At your service, Mistress."

"Your name is Zech. And you will address me as Allegra." I say wearily. Nobody can say I'm not a fast learner.

"Input assimilated. Future responses calibrated." He literally springs to his feet and offers his arm, alerted by my unvoiced mental intention to stand up.

"Let's go get you some clothes, Zech." His outer covering is smooth and cool to the touch. I hate it.

He definitely heard that. But all he says is "Yes, Allegra. We will proceed with the procurement of apparel to replace the default covering."

About one aw and several hundred apparel choices later, I exit the building with a now fully-clothed Zech. Who says shopping is relaxing? I'm running my nanobots ragged fixing my biological malfunctions, level: caution. I mean, undoubtedly, Zech is aesthetically pleasing in a physical sense. I know that, and I won't pretend that this wasn't one of the reasons he'd gotten my attention to begin with. Zech is indeed very agreeable to the eye, or as Clef had so eloquently put it, DROOLICIOUS. He doesn't look like the typical pasty cit-dweller smack in the middle of the BMI range with a machine-maintained minimal level of muscle tone. He's what you'd expect someone from three or four centuries ago to look like. But I wasn't ready to be accosted by what seemed to be every single personnel member in the apparel depot, each one vying to put him in an ensemble of their choice. From artificial scales to vamp-chic to enhanced-nature to bodypaint, they all had the PERFECT look for him.

I finally snapped. I forced my invading Malware into an input terminal through my palm interface. The code tore down their firewall like paper and swept into their operating system to display the same image on every display panel in the building. "I want THIS outfit. Now."

We take the RITS home. I've used up my carbon credit quota for the day on the transporter that got us here. That's the Rapid Individual Transport System; I have to explain to Zech, because I haven't installed his cit-dweller database yet. We get plenty of second glances, but by then I'm well into an endorphin high, courtesy of my loyal nanobots, so I don't mind. He does look good in that black shirt and slim-cut jeans. Maybe boots would have completed the look better than canvas shoes, but that was the image I had pulled from my database. Then I realise… it was what he'd been wearing the first time I saw him.

Alert_personal_communication_from_central

That makes me sit up. Central doesn't contact individuals unless you've done something really anti-social. But when I see the caller code, I relax a little. It's just Symphonye, calling with her official channel.

"Heyo, Symphonye. How is my favourite biological progenitor?" I deliberately disable the visual. Symphonye's frown turns me into a snivelling pre-pubsce, and I'm quite certain she is frowning right now.

"Don't try to distract me, Allegra. You know what you did at the apparel depot."

I sigh. My poor overworked nanobots rush bravely to the battle front. "I didn't mean to. They were just… too overwhelming. It was self-defence."

"I am not discussing your motivation. You wiped out their entire system. The whole depot has had to suspend operations."

"I'll fix it. Make it better than the original."

"You do that. Consider yourself cautioned, Allegra. Don't make me review your Delta level."

"I won't." She cut the connection, and I silently add "I'll be your good girl, mam." I close my eyes to force back the tears that are overrunning even the most heroic efforts of my nanobots.

Zech has been observing the exchange in silence. He takes a step forward and puts his arms protectively around me. It's probably the default response to me displaying signs of distress. But the warmth of his body brings me more comfort than all the nanobots' tinkering have done all day.

3: My very first roommate

FORMATTING NOTES: Italics indicate the character's thoughts and 'conversation' with her 'operating system'. Text linked with underscores_like_this_example denote the operating system's communications. The operating system is also named allegra, with a small initial letter.

 

Title: I'm All Yours

Chapter 3: My very first housemate

The warmth of his body brings me more comfort than all the nanobots' tinkering have done all day. I wish I can stay enclosed like this for the rest of the trip, but we're getting more than second glances now. Zech is bringing out the voyeur in everyone. You can let me go now, I think at him. Wordlessly, he releases me. We stand side by side like strangers until we arrive at our stop.

There is an ITIcom waiting for me. The caller code says it's from VECTORnbmc934. I frown. He's never had much to say to me before. But I access the com anyway.

"Heyo, Allegra. That was heroic, hetfriend." He sounded excited.

"What are you talking about?"

"The apparel depot. You annihilated them."

"Who told you it was me?" As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know it's a mistake. First Clef, now Vektor. I'm doing an impeccable job of shredding my public image to date.

"I'd recognise your touch anywhere. The precision is phenomenal. I'd write you a Trojan as a paean if I wasn't so jealous of you." Vector actually likes writing malware more than legitimate programs. Mercifully, he isn't very good at it.

"I'm not sharing the code with you, Vector."

"I wasn't expecting you to." He is not the slightest bit put off by my brusque tone. "What were you doing at the depot anyway? You buy all your belongings off-site." 

You wouldn't know that if you weren't tabbing my Netivities. Keep it up and I'll fry the configurations in your PH booth one day.

"I was getting something for my… Zomb." No way I'm telling him that it's actually because I didn't want a naked Zomb in my living space and couldn't wait the 3 aws for delivery of off-site purchases. Anyway, even if I buy his clothes off-site, I'd still have to do a body scan first for the custom fitting. That's a deeply unsettling thought.

"Understood! New toy. Who can wait to start playing?"

I end the com to prevent any escape of whatever lingering thoughts of body scanning. Oddly enough, if it were any other Zomb, I'd have absolutely no problem with it. But with Zech… I sweep my cogspace clean. There's work to do. First, the depot. My diagnostic botprog tells me that unlike what Vector believed and what Symphonye had said, I hadn't destroyed their entire system, just the retail support components. The inventory, personnel and other major components are intact, just isolated. Repairing that takes half an aw or so.

That is my innate ability, the reason why I am Delta level just two years out of pubsce. I see code. Not as numbers, but the way others see shapes and colours. For me, writing a program is conjuring up images, like painting a picture, or daydreaming. Some days it's a gift, like now—programming an entire operating system usually takes 3 days. Except it was my impulsive malware coding that got me into this mess to begin with. 

What did Hypotenuse say I have? A double-edged knife or blade or some other ancient weapon.

The depot cautiously acknowledges instalment and full operation, then tentatively slips over a customised catalogue of styles 'consistent with your initial selection', dripping trepidation from every pixel. I just order whatever is on the first two pages. Finally, I turn my attention to the core of this entire thing.

He is seated on the only other chair I own, back straight, hands primly folded in his lap. I suppress a sudden desire to shake him. 

That's not the way you sit, Zech. You somehow fold up your frame and simultaneously spread it out to fill the space you have like water in a clear vessel. Not like some overawed novice at his pubscend ceremony. 

He shifts uneasily, picking up my agitation but unable to perceive the finer details. He is unconsciously trying to relax his posture to fit my mental picture, but the result is an untidy slouch.

"Suspend all, Zech." I sound like a petulant prepubsce whose animation program won't run right. His eyes close and he slumps like a broken doll, arms collapsed over the back of the chair, head hanging slackly to one side. I decide to start with the configuration for oral communication. So he can't sit like Zech or think like Zech. At least I can make sure he talks like Zech.

Why do I have such a problem with Zech?

ZOMBCON_startup_folder_available_Access_files?

Good answer, allegra.

This_action_is_highly_recommended_to_ensure_safety_and_efficiency_in_zomb_operation

So access the files already. But don't install anything yet.

Allegra promptly unzips the half million or so files. Even for me, that takes almost 2 aw to skim through. Dealing with other people's code is much harder than writing my own. Kind of like running over pebbles wearing someone else's shoes. A crash jolts me out of my cogspace. Deprived of voluntary muscle control in suspend mode, Zech has slipped off the chair. I hurry over to prop him up. He feels rigid and slightly feverish.

I don't have the strength to put him back on the chair. So I just kneel here, holding him upright by the shoulders. I feel defeated and totally exhausted. All I wanted was a friend.

Friend_definition_fellow_citizen_contacted_at_least_twice_since_last_update_of_contacts_database

Thank you, allegra, but not that kind of friend; the kind of friend you read about in the archives. 

Instead, I am holding this … shell of a person. His head flops forward to rest against my shoulder, like an infant burying his face in its caretaker's embrace.

The thought I have been avoiding all day sweeps aside my defences. It's my fault he's like this. The guilt hits me so hard that I feel it like a physical blow. Allegra's emergency mode kicks in and sends in a nanobot wave. In the meantime, I begin to sob, still holding on to him. Unchecked, tears drip off my face to decorate his hair like little jewels.

4: These words are all I have

Title: I'm All Yours

Chapter 4: These words are all I have

I wanted a friend. And here I am, holding this … shell of a person. When the nanobots have finished with me, I take him out of suspended mode, then I do a reset all. We skip through the startup routine in silence, since I've picked up the basics of narrowing down the conscious thoughts I want him to receive. I'm so tired I just want to keep lying down. He picks me up and deposits me on the nearest raised horizontal surface—the couch. Some of his default responses are quite useful after all.

Alert_biological_support_system_subsystem_energy_approaching-risk_level_Time_elapsed_since_last_resupply_8.78 aw_and_counting_Recommended_action_resupply

Prompted by allegra's message, he speaks for the first time since we'd left the depot. He's using the settings that I randomly selected at startup on the assumption that whatever it is, it has to be better than the default allegra-speak.

"May I assist you in selecting your choice of sustenance, my lady?"

I wrinkle my brows. Why do they even INCLUDE this option? "I'll dial something up on the autochef."

"Would you permit me to take on this task? I believe I am sufficiently well-versed in your preferences to select a meal pleasing to you."

At least he's comprehensible. It looks like it's going to take more work to get him talking to my satisfaction. I set him free in the kitchen and close my eyes. I don't think he'll destroy anything. Between him and the autochef, I should at least get something edible.

It turns out he does know what I like. I make him eat with me.

Info_zomb_maintenance_subsystem_biological_input_designated_nutrient_mix_is_recommended_for_optimum_zomb_performance

Shut up, allegra. I'm not eating by myself while he absorbs nutrients through his skin or something.

Leaving the clean-up to the domdroid, I spend a mildly amusing (but mainly frustrating) half aw choosing Zech a voice. It's more complicated than it first appears, because each voice is linked to a different personality, based on the ideas of the person(s) who had written the Zombcon code. So if I want him to speak a certain way but not behave a certain way, I have to make choices—heaping mountainous piles of choices.

After navigating what feels like a few kaym of option menus, I am ready to give up.

That's irony for you. The programming genius who lives her life in default setting because she's overwhelmed by option menus. 

At the point when I feel that if I have to make another choice, my brain will have a meltdown, I consider wading into the source code, but I'm really too tired for that.

"I can tell you're very tired. Let's continue this afterwards." At least this version—a variant of the 'CaringType5' option set—comes with emotions. A little too smooth. But that's the best I can do so far.

I shrug. "I guess so. I definitely need PH."

He smiles triumphantly. Lightning-fast, he scoops me up in his arms. I only realise his intentions when we approach the personal hygiene booth.

"I'll do the PH myself!" I shriek.

"Don't push yourself so hard. Let me take care of you." The concern in his voice is almost believable. 

And his offer is oh, so tempting.

I roll my eyes. The problem with having a friend who's everything you want, I am starting to realise, is that you have to specify every last thing that you want. The minutiae that make up a person are the result of one great accumulation of choices; choices that we don't even think about when it's for ourselves, but when it's for someone else, it's downright crushing.

Secluded in the safely opaque PH booth while he hovers anxiously outside, I consider my choices as the microsonic waves gently remove debris from my skin.

One: I could grit my teeth and go through the entire spectrum of option menus in a quest to reproduce the Zech I'd known. 

You'd probably have killed yourself before you're anywhere near your goal. How well do you know him anyway? Can you vouch that the Zech you'll end up with is the same one you met at the Labourmart?

Two: I could forget I'd ever known a person named Zech and create a friend that's ideal for me. After all, that's the whole point of having a Zomb, isn't it? 

Ask yourself why he's a Zomb. You're the reason why his body is not his own anymore. How can you even consider this any further? You're already a coward. Are you going to be a thief too, and take his body as your personal plaything?

I hate both choices. But what else can I do?

5: The ghosts of my memory

Chapter 5: The ghosts of my memory

Update_vital_signs_stable_Brainwave_scan_consistent_with_REM_sleep

I'm looking for something, but I don't know what. So how would I know where to look for it? I don't even know this place I'm in—where do I start? There's somebody in front of me, running. That's right… I must catch him.

Alert_Physiological_state_inconsistent_with_brainwave_scan_Level_non-threat

Found him! I realise he is what I've been looking for. But … he has no face. Is that what I'm looking for? His face? What's this in my hand? A mass of nanobots…. Shaped like an ancient weapon… what's it called… a knife?

Alert_biological_support_system_malfunction_level_caution_Emergency_mode_on_standby

This thing that I'm looking for, maybe it's inside him. A knife… is for cutting. I need to get inside him… need to cut… he's all warm and red and squishy inside. But I still can't find it. Wait… what have I done? This warm redness is… is this… blood?

Alert_biological_support_system_malfunction_level_RISK_Initiating_emerg...

I sit up, gasping. My sweat-soaked sleepwear is clenched in my fists. As my racing pulse submits to Allegra's nanobots, the ambient lighting brightens to reveal Zech, wide-eyed with apprehension.

"What's wrong, Allegra?"

Something lurches inside me. That is almost exactly how he had said those words to me before… before… I savagely shove the memory back behind my conscious thoughts.

I am still panting. "I … I need to use the PH."

I'm certain he knows I'm lying, but he moves aside. I clamber out of bed and escape into the booth. 

Of all the places, is the sicking PH going to be my refuge from now on? Times like these, I wish I had more expletives in my active vocabulary apart from "sicking". Only prepubsces use that word.

When I come out, biological support systems all regulated, he's waiting with a glass of water, but he puts it down because he knows exactly what I want right now.

I fit exactly in the arch of his arms. What are my options again? One: remake the Zech I'd known. Two: forget the Zech I'd known.

When my face is against his chest, all I can hear is his heartbeat, strong and steady. I hate both options with equal fervour.

This body that I've taken from him, why do I draw such comfort from it? Remake him or forget him. Remind me again why I hate choices. Remake… or forget… or…

Or I could retrieve his memories from storage and give him back his life.

I grasp the thought and hold it close to me. It feels like a weapon—threatening yet reassuring all at once. Nobody else must know. I know they won't let me do it, not for the reasons I'm giving. Not even Allegra. I know her loyalty to me is absolute. She is me after all. But the nanosecond I make an illegal move, she will involuntarily betray me to Central. I'm a cit-dweller. My FACE is my life; but my FACE is also the means of Central's total control over my doings.

That's why I have Ditty. Ditty my Avatar. Avatars are on the verge of legality, the datastream equivalent of going out in the city with a portable distortion field around you. To generate Ditty, I basically re-encrypt my FACE code. Using Ditty is not failsafe, of course. Those who know how can dig up your true FACE by going through just two levels of encryption, three at the most. But I don't think that will happen to me. Not for the petty misdemeanour I'm about to commit.

Petty misdemeanour. That's all that getting my hands on Zech's supposedly confidential data files through unregulated channels amounts to—just a petty misdemeanour. That's how little that data is worth in First City. Unregulated channels I know quite a number of, since that's where I get a substantial part of my spending credit from. I do odd jobs discretely for citizens whose Avatars contact Ditty through several strata of redirected comm. And of course, I make sure that whatever it is I'm asked to do, it's not illegal. Alright, maybe some of the jobs fall in the same legal territory as Avatars, but I'm very careful—obsessively so—in this aspect of my life.

"Suspend all, Zech." I don't want any interference from his misguided nurturing in what I'm going to do next. As he slips to the ground in an ungraceful heap, I clear my cogspace.

Send Allegra into suppressed mode. Access your list, the one buried in your subconscious. Go through the triple passcode and psyche scan. Select the safest "channel", not the fastest or the cheapest. I put Ditty on and initiate the comm. Don't use ITIcom. The name says it all: Involuntarily Tracked Interpersonal Communication. You don't want this comm tracked, oh no. Ditty inputs the codes to use UnRestCom—Untracked Restricted Communication. As Allegra, I've just about used up my UnRest quota for the year. But Ditty is not even on the record, so she has unlimited UnRest time.

A few min of UnRest; Zech's Zomb file label—the first fifty thousand base pairs of his DNA; 2.67 aws of restless pacing; a reasonably large credit transfer; one download.

And then I hold Zech's life between two fingers—a small, gently glowing orb of ultracompressed data, the size of my thumbnail. If I were downloaded into pure data, I wonder if my orb would glow with the same colour?

I move quickly to cover the trail. Scramble UnRest log, take Ditty off, lock subconscious up, wake Allegra. I get in just under the daily 3 aw cap on suppressed mode FACE. How sicking sweet, Central misses you if you keep to yourself for any longer than 3 hours. Final step: bring Zech back.

His first words on waking up? "There's still 2.54 aw until the daycycle starts. Shouldn't you be in bed?"

I scowl. "Can you not talk like a suffocating prepubsce caregiver?"

He smiles gently. "I don't understand what you just said. But if you want, I can hold your hand til you fall asleep."

6: The promise

Chapter 6: The promise

I stare at this person who's telling me he'll hold my hand until I go to sleep, right after I insulted him. 

Update_error_found_Zomb_unit_is_legally_a_non-person

That was nasty, Allegra. Keep your information to yourself unless I ask for it.

"So how about it? Bed?" He's totally sincere.

"You have no reason to be so nice to me," I mutter under my breath.

He hears the thought rather than the words. "I just want you to be happy, Allegra."

"Is my happiness very important?" I'm trespassing into Zomb programming here; treading on dangerous ground and I know it, but I can't help myself.

His answer is a simple "Yes."

"Do you care more about my happiness than anything else then?"

"I do."

Memory whips across my consciousness like a firestorm. Fighting is useless. I am swept back to the last time he'd said those two phrases in succession…. In the Zombing chamber.

I don't even remember exactly what the chamber looked like. There was a work table, flooded in light from the fixture over it. The surface of the table was some kind of pliable foam like the seats that cup your body in the RITS. On the table… Zech's body, restraints across every major axis and joint. 

Were they afraid he would run away? Had any Zomb candidate ever done that?

The attendant was a level Zeta man of indeterminate age, wearing an all-purpose worksuit and a well-practiced expression of sombre concentration.

"Shall we begin?" His serious tone was as well-practiced as his expression.

"Yes." I'm sure I sounded just as serious as him, but I remember having an insane desire to giggle at that moment from sheer nervousness.

"Withdrawing sedation," he murmured unobtrusively. My pulse began to speed up.

Zech's eyes opened and he squinted against the glare of the lights.

"State your name, status and origin."

He turned his head towards the voice, as far as the restraints allowed. So far my nanobots were doing a stellar job imitating normal biological function.

The attendant, however, was looking at me. 

You're the proposer, you're supposed to start. 

"Allegra of First City, I mean Allegra qpa…," I stumbled over the words. My second attempt was better. "Allegra qpalz923, citizen, level Delta, of First City." I repeated it to confirm.

Zech turned again, towards my voice this time. The harsh lighting threw shadows across his face, obscuring his expression. His response was slow enough to make little beads of sweat break out on my forehead. I willed the nanobots to come through: Come on, nanobots… this part should be easy; all you have to do is support his normal response to the question.

Eventually, he said, "Zechary Young, freeman, of the Burbs." He didn't quite sound like himself, but only I knew that.

Freeman. I started. I hadn't known that anybody used that term anymore.

The attendant cleared his throat. "Let the names and status of the Promising parties be logged in the record for the commencement of the Promise." Of course every piece of damning evidence was being recorded. It would all go into his Zomb file for storage.

"Zechary Young, freeman, of the Burbs, at this moment as I speak, are you in full conscious possession of your mental faculties?" I gripped my palm interface hand with my other hand as I thought, that's hardly a fair question to direct to somebody who had been drugged more deeply than the Marina Trench until just a moment ago. Especially when it isn't him who's answering but my nanobots, manipulating his vocal apparatus.

This response is slightly faster than the first, but it still takes him some time to reply sluggishly, "Yes."

The attendant didn't ask me the same question. Presumably anybody who hadn't run off shrieking from the chamber by now was in full possession of her mental faculties, if not her sanity.

The attendant launched into a long speech. "Allegra qpalz923, citizen, level Delta, of First City, proposes to enter into a Promise with you, Zechary Young, freeman, of the Burbs. Upon entering this promise with Allegra qpalz923, you agree, of your own free will, to surrender all volition over your mental and physical activities to the direction of Allegra qpalz923. Upon implementation of the Promise, your memories up to the moment of Promise will be separated from your corporeal form to be stored in dataform, up until the time that this Promise is dissolved." 

He paused to let that Zech process that. Good thing, because at that moment I was having trouble processing all that too. Now those words are forever seared into my psyche.

"Zechary Young, do you fully understand, apprehend, and accept this Promise?"

Zech was still looking at me, but I couldn't meet his eyes. I held my breath and stared at his chest. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale… It's all up to you now, nanobots.

"I do." The two syllables settled on my conscience like a slab of steel. 

It's done; no turning back now.

"Let it be recorded that the Promise has been completed between Allegra qpalz923 and Zechary Young." After a while, he added quietly, "Sedation resumed."

The attendant turned to me. "We'll be removing the original memories now before we install the Zombcon programming. There's a waiting area outside."

"No. I want to—I need to see this through."

He shrugged. "As you wish."

He gave me a chair, which I was really grateful for later on. I wasn't plugged into their system, so I didn't know what procedure was happening at which point of time, but I could see the effect on Zech. It was then that I understood the need for all those restraints. It appeared that he was being electrocuted. I didn't know if it hurt, or if it was just another involuntary muscle spasm, but he was screaming. I pushed my fingers into my ears to block out the sound, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from his body, alternately twisting into tortured, grotesque shapes and collapsing into a quivering nerveless mass of tissue.

I'm watching him die. 

I wasn't, of course, yet in a way, it was; the Zech that I'd known died in that half aw on the table. He was mercifully still for the next half aw it took for the data to be compressed. In the interim, life-support appendages deployed, keeping his brain-dead body alive. Then I watched the same manic broken-puppet dance all over again as the Zombcon programming was installed. The birth of the Zomb was not one iota less excruciating than the death of the person. 

I'm the cause of all his suffering, and I can't even offer him a scrap of comfort.

The attendant's hand on my shoulder brought me back to myself. "I'm sorry, but you have to leave now."

"Is it over?" My throat was raw. I realised I'd been screaming along with him.

"No, there's one last step. We need to colonise him with our nanobots and test out the biological support systems. You have to leave the chamber for that. It gets …. squishy." He made a face at the last word.

Yes, send in the nanobots… they're the goal and the means for all this after all. 

"Make sure you put a great sicking heap of them in," I muttered as I walked out.

He didn't answer me, but when I reached the door, he called out, "Don't worry, we'll return you any nanobots originally found in him."

You should. Those are my nanobots you'll find in him.

7: Excuse me, do I know you?

Chapter 7: Excuse me, do I know you?

I will always remember how I watched Zech die, and come to life again a Zomb. The memory starts to transition into the incidents immediately following the Zombing, those at the Apparel Depot to be exact. Now that memory I can suppress without much effort.

He has been patiently waiting for my response to his hand-holding offer throughout my not so pleasant reminiscence.

"You go to sleep first, Zech."

"But you're more tired than I am."

"I want you to go to sleep."

Reluctantly, he gets on the couch and obeys me. I feel mean, but I just can't handle his tender loving care right now.

I sit cross-legged on the floor and just stare at him for a few min. I take in the symmetry of his features, the tiniest hint of waviness in his black hair, the faint shadow of a few unshaved hours too many… My fault. I've been hogging the PH, haven't I?

Something puzzles me. He is definitely a burb-dweller, I confirmed that when I ran the background check on him. Yet the degree of sun damage on his skin is like no other burb-dweller—the lack of damage, that is. The atmospheric UV shield gradually thins out over the burbs as you leave First City. So unless he's spent part of his prepubsce within city limits, or had a nocturnal lifestyle… something doesn't fit. Shows just how well you know him, doesn't it? I notice how his lips curve upwards in a perpetually cheerful direction. The first time I had seen him, he was being berated by a client. Yet he had not looked the slightest bit annoyed. I could do with someone who keeps his head under pressure. That had been my thought at that moment. I lose myself in that memory.

He looked up warily as I approached his cubicle. "Demanding customer?" I inclined my head in the direction the client had left.

He shrugged. "Wanted a Promise."

"This isn't the Promise section, is it?" The signage at the entrance of the Labourmart had informed me tersely that: Labourmart has 4 sections. East: First-time Promise candidates; West: Repeat Promise candidates; North: Non-Promise candidates; South: Open Labourmart. 

Zombs available in three quarters of the area. I'd come to the right place if I wanted a Zomb… only I didn't.

"No. And just so we're both clear on this…" He looked me straight in the eye. "I won't let myself be Zombed, whatever your price."

"Neither would I." I replied gravely.

He tilted his head in surprise. Then he burst out laughing, to my surprise.

"Good. So we're safe from each other at least. What are you looking for?" He held out his hand. He had a rudimentary palm interface, but I could see that it wouldn't read the data sliver holding my job specifications.

I flicked the sliver at him anyway. He caught it smoothly and examined it briefly before sticking it into a terminal in the cubicle, and placing his palm interface in the port. His eyes took on the glazed blankness of data uploading.

He took much longer than Allegra would have, but eventually he blinked and nodded. "I can do that."

I held out my hand in turn, palm interface upward. He grasped it and we stood hand in hand while he sent over his qualifications. I remembered thinking how long it was taking, used to the near-instantaneous exchanges of cit-dwellers. To distract myself, I ran a background check on him as soon as I had enough data to start. Everything checked out fine. He was ideal for the job.

"Do I pass?" There was an amused tinge to his query. I realised I was still holding his hand, not realising that he had finally finished the transfer.

I removed my hand with whatever dignity I could muster. "When can you start?"

He mock-solemnly announced, "As a member of this esteemed Labourmart that is renowned for offering only the finest services, I strive for the highest standards, hence I am ever ready to be of assistance. Even as you speak, I can be at your command," finishing with a theatrical little bow. Then he grinned. "Or so the Labourmart management would have us tell you. But it's basically true. For the right price, that is."

I thought I would have found that annoying, but I surprised myself by smiling too. "Of course." I put down another data sliver with the delayed-approval credit transfer. "If you find that's the right price, meet me at the coordinates I gave you earlier. Second hour of next day cycle. Agreed?"

He'd paused just the slightest moment, then without even checking the data sliver, he held out his other hand, the one without the interface. "Done. Shake."

I hesitated, but was saved from further embarrassment by Allegra's discrete info screen on the meaning of that archaic expression. I took his hand and jogged it limply. "I look forward to working with you, Mr. Young," I said, because that's what Allegra had told me I should say.

He chuckled. He found me very amusing, it seemed. "I'm Zechary. My friends call me Zech." So was I his friend now?

"I'm Alle…" I stopped in confusion. Hadn't he gone through my data sliver? So shouldn't he already know my name?

"Ellie? Nice name. I'll see you tomorrow then, Ellie."

I opened my mouth to correct him, but I didn't do so. Even though I'd hardly known him, when I'd looked at his enthusiastic expression, I just hadn't had the heart to bring him down. I smiled again at the memory, echoing the faint smile he wore even now, in his sleep.

How well do you know him anyway? Actually, I can say that I've known him for his whole life so far, from the moment of his death to his rebirth. Yet I know very little about Zechary Young after all. He is still wearing the black shirt and jeans, just as he had been in my memory. 

What else could he wear until the depot delivers? You sure didn't get him any sleepwear.

There is a streak of something on his cheek, probably left by me earlier. I run my finger down the streak to remove it. He stirs at my touch, making my finger veer off course. Down it goes, over his lips to the tip of his chin. He shifts his position. That makes his shirt ride up, exposing a tantalising strip of bare hip. I find myself flushing. As I pull the offending fabric back down, I inadvertently brush against him.

Physical_intimacy_subsystem_from_Zombcon_not_activated_Activate?

No, no, sicking no! Stop, Allegra, stop right there!

I almost screamed that out loud. I cup a hand over my mouth reflexively. My cheeks are burning.

8: To have and to hold

Chapter 8: To have and to hold

Physical_intimacy_subsystem_from_Zombcon_not_activated_Activate?

No, no, sicking no! Stop, Allegra, stop right there!

Allegra's query has just unearthed the wriggling, jiggling mass of denial that is my feelings about the whole idea of Zombs. In fact, I've never thought as much about Zombs in my entire life as I have in the past two day cycles. I now know the total control that Zomb owners have over their Zombs. 

The first time I heard 'owner', I thought it was a repulsive term. Now that I'm a Zomb owner too, does that make me repulsive?

I'm not blind to the fact that some (Many? Most?) Zomb owners do use their Zombs for physical pleasure. It's completely legal under the terms of the Promise, and the reason why Zombcon programming includes the Physical Intimacy subsystem that I nearly triggered. And if you go out in public with your Zomb in its default covering, it's a subtle signal that you're willing to share the pleasures of your Zomb—for a suitably large credit transfer, that is. That was why I had been so worked up over Zech and I being seen together before the depot incident. By now, the damage was done anyway. 

I'm sure Clef has informed everyone on her formidable list of contacts that Allegra is having so much fun playing with her new Zomb that she wants to share!

For some cit-dwellers, an attractive Zomb is the ultimate accessory. To cater for the demand, there are supposed to be these 'Zomb farms', ready to match you to a Zomb candidate of whatever shape, size or colour you could desire. I don't even want to think about how they achieve that. Zombing is supposed to be consensual. That's why there is the Promise, with its formal offering and acceptance of terms. It's meant to protect the Zomb candidate, in the sense that nobody can be Zombed without his or her consent. Yet when you consider who ends up being the Zomb most of the time, there is a definite hollow ring to the consensual part. The majority of Zomb candidates at the Labourmart are burb-dwellers, or former cit-dwellers who've been evicted for illegal activities. They have no permanent home, no possessions, and no way to make their lives any better. I can understand how Zombing looks like a really good idea to them. So much so that there are Repeat Zombs. When one owner gets tired of them, they simply look for another. 

Only the desperate enter the Zomb Promise because they want to. And Zech wasn't desperate, was he? The desperate one…. was me.

There are cit-dwellers who become Zombs, of course. But their Promise contains the exact time span of their Zombing stint, and I'm quite certain I wouldn't be able to get my hands on any of their memory files for any price. They do it out of love, or so it is claimed. 

What is love anyway? Some archaic notion that's totally impractical and downright dangerous, if you ask me. I do understand the concept of love, but I don't see any good points in it. Certainly not if love makes you let yourself be Zombed for somebody who may or may not treat you as kindly as you do yourself. In the history archives, they say that if you love somebody, you want to give all of yourself to that person. But a giver needs an owner. If love is merely ownership, tell me then, where is the line between owning and loving somebody? What makes owning a person different from owning any other piece of property?

Hypotenuse told me once they had Zombs too in the old days. Only they called it 'slavery' and 'prostitution', and the owners only had possession of their physical bodies. Me, I own all of Zech—body and mind. 

Three centuries ago, I suppose that would have meant that he loves me.

The daycycle has started.

Zombcon_defautl_waking_time_in_30sec_Override_previous_sleep_command?

I confirm Allegra's query, yawning. I don't think I've slept at all enough the past noctcylce. It's probably a good time to use one of those rest days that Central says I have a backlog of. Central manages the work and rest days of every cit-dweller, since every cit-dweller works for Central. Even Vector the aspiring malware writer has a safely mechanical job at the domdroid depot. That job gives you your living credit, and if you want spending credit, you work for it in the half day that you're not doing your Central job. And my job? Makes no difference in the short term whether I do it or not, so I confidently inform Central I'm taking a rest day. I get the usual reprimand about giving earlier notice, but the rest day is duly approved.

"Are you ready for breakfast?" the auto-awakened Zech wants to know.

"I need more sleep. Go do PH on yourself in the meantime." And then I stumble into the sleeping area and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep of exhaustion.

Six aws of sleep later, I'm refreshed. Zech, post-PH, is dressed in a fresh outfit recently delivered from the apparel depot. Curled up on the couch with a warm drink, I'm getting a pedicure from Zech because I can't get him to stop trying to do something caring for me. As he carefully applies varnish, brows furrowed with concentration, I study his memory orb. He has shown no curiosity about it. Zombs don't ask about things they don't need to know about. 

I hardly know anything about him. 

The things I need to know, or think that I need to know, are all in this little glowing ball. His memories and his beliefs, his likes and dislikes, his hopes and fears, his strengths, his weaknesses… As soon as I return it to him, they become his again, and there is no guarantee he will share any of it with me. In fact, given the part I've played in his recent experiences, I shouldn't be surprised if he never wanted to see me again, what more tell me all about himself. My fingertip brushes against a contact point.

Access_point_detected_Open_memory_files?

Don't tempt me, Allegra. 

Data_index_accessed_Please_select_files

Just a peek then. He'll never know, so it won't change anything.

The only person I have to convince right now is myself. Frankly, I don't need much convincing at all. With a silent apology, I plunge into the datastream. The indexing system is unfamiliar to me, so I hazard a guess at a point in time in what I think is the recent past. Immediately, my senses fill with his perceptions, I feel his physical sensations, even see his thoughts. I am now Zech, yet still myself. I pause to get used to this surreal experience I'm having.

As I adjust, I realise that I've probably chosen the wrong point in time. My body—Zech's body—felt too small, with immature muscles on fragile bones. His hands, when I looked at them, retained much of the chubbiness of prepubscence.

"You went outside again, didn't you?" An older man's voice, melodious yet harsh-edged with anger.

"Just a little while. I dropped my ball and I was looking for it." Zech's voice was recognisable though yet unbroken. "I'm sorry, papa." He was earnest, I could see it in his mind. He really cared about this man's feelings. 

Papa?

Papa, definition_archaic_term_referring_to_immediate_male_biological_progenitor

I couldn't see the older man because Zech was looking at the floor, but I recognised the manipulative undertow in his voice. 

He's playing mind games with Zech.

"Why must you never go outside? It seems you've forgotten."

"Because… if I go outside, I'll spoil my skin." Zech is relieved that he is still talking. Why? What else would he be doing if he weren't talking?

"And?

"And… if I spoil my skin… nobody will want me."

"Nobody will want you for what?" Their conversation was like an interrogation.

"To be a Promised one."

"And why is that bad?"

"Because it'll make you sad."

"You want me to be happy, don't you?" The tone was gentle, but I could feel the threat contained in those words.

"Yes, papa." Zech was on the verge of tears.

"What will make me happy, Zechary?"

The young Zech choked back his tears. "When I become a Promised one."

The man's cold lips brushed Zech's forehead. "Very good, Zechary. I know you'll make Papa very happy."

9: When I grow up

Note: The 'I' in the last few paragraphs (after the dotted line) is Zech, not Allegra. 

Chapter 9: When I grow up

"If I spoil my skin… nobody will want me."

"Nobody will want you for what?"

"To be a Promised one."

I terminate the memory file, appalled. But now some of the pieces begin to fit together. Zech… had been prepared, probably from birth…. to be a Zomb… on a Zomb farm? That explains his physical appearance. But it also opens up new questions. If he had been conditioned to accept his fate as a Zomb, why had he been so adamant about not entering a Promise at the Labourmart?

"Is something wrong, Allegra?" Me physically recoiling at the distasteful memory has disturbed Zech.

I send him off to play with the autochef. 

I need to know more… no, I want to know more. 

It's probably a bad idea, but I access another memory, a later one.

I—he—was lying down. His limbs felt unnaturally still. Then I realised he was restrained. Overhead, a glaring light source made him squint. Someone had just said something. A pause, then he responded, "Yes."

The voice continued with another longish speech. He wasn't paying attention. Apparently he knew the words already. My senses were limited to his, limited in turn to staring up at the headache-inducing lights. He didn't even bother to turn his face towards the voice. 

Why does this place seem so familiar? And that voice in the background—where have I heard it before?

"…do you fully understand, apprehend, and accept this Promise?"

He was in a Zombing chamber.

I nearly terminated the memory in shock. Actually, this should come as no surprise. After all, he'd never said he had never been Zombed before. 

Yet why do I feel so… betrayed?

I waited for those two syllables to come from his mouth that would confirm the Promise, breathing along with him. And then I knew from his mind and his muscles that those syllables weren't coming, but something else.

"No."

I couldn't see anything beyond the light because he was so tightly restrained. But I could hear sounds of consternation.

The same voice demanded, "What is the meaning of this?" It's him. Zech's 'papa'. 

What, he's the attendant for the Zombing?

I felt along with Zech the abject misery that papa's voice inspired. But what Zech said was, "I can't. Please… let me go."

A face loomed over him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Even so, the cold anger of the voice cut into him, conjuring echoes of past screams. "I will not repeat this, Zechary. Give your consent before you regret it."

"I…won't…be…Zombed!" It took everything he had, but he got the words out.

There was a short, menacing silence. Then a curt "Commence sedation." Zech began to struggle, but the restraints were made for far more than his efforts. Papa was talking to someone else in the room. "I do apologise for this, Sir. I assure you I'll deal with this as quickly as…." The voices trailed off as the sedation took effect. And then there was nothing.

I come back to myself, to the familiar surroundings of my living quarters. Zech… had fought against the fate imposed on him by 'papa'. Between that memory and our meeting at the Labourmart, he must have freed himself from papa's control.

And then I came along and cheated him of his freedom. 

My cheeks are wet. I give them a hurried wipe with my sleeve before Zech notices. He's coming over, smiling.

"Food's done, Allegra. Do you want me to bring it over?"

Every act, every moment of him being nice to me is a laser-cutter twisting in my guts. 

This is wrong. You should hate me for taking everything from you. 

When he realises what I've done, he probably really will hate me. But if that is the price I have to pay, I will. My resolve has been strengthened. I'm going to make everything right again.

We eat in silence. My mind is swamped with a trillion thoughts, and he can't keep up with me to hold a conversation. Afterwards, I lock myself in the PH booth again. The PH booth—a fitting hiding place for the dirty cheat and thief that I am. I don't want to admit it, but my reason for doing so is pure selfishness. Before I return Zech's memories and he hates me, I just want to know what his life was like before I ruined it. I take out the data orb and choose one moment near the end of the record. 

Please, don't let this be the Zombing memory.

I was Zech-and-me again. This time, I deliberately made my own consciousness as faint as possible. I want to feel all of what he had felt. He was looking at someone—a female, about his own age, with a mess of copper curls held off her face by a thin metal circlet. She looked vaguely familiar.

"Why do you want to go to the Thrashedzone?" I-Zech-asked, genuinely puzzled.

She tilted her head slightly and frowned. "I put that in the job specs, didn't I? To map topography, scout resources, and document lifeforms, in descending order of primacy. Was that section of data corrupted?" 

That businesslike tone, the tilt of the head … I know who the girl is. He's talking to me. 

That was the last Allegra thought I allowed. From this point onwards, I immersed myself completely in Zech's memory.

…………………

I keep my rising impatience out of my voice. "I know that. But it doesn't tell me why you want to go there." She doesn't know how treacherous the Thrashedzone is. If I'm helping her put herself at unnecessary risk, at least I should know the reason.

She shrugs. "It's my job with Central. They're the ones that want to know what's out there."

I sigh. "It's called the Thrashedzone for a reason. There's nothing there."

Her response is a shake of her head, making those curls dance like fire. "It's been half a century since it was sealed off. It's bound to be different now." I can see that she doesn't like to be contradicted.

I make my last point. "I've been out there at least twenty times. I don't see anything worth Central's time… or yours."

She gives me a long look. Her eyes are blue one moment, green the next. I brace myself for a sharp reply, but her tone is surprisingly mild when she finally speaks. "Time heals everything, even the things we think we've destroyed."

Normally, I'd laugh myself silly at empty words like those. But something about the way she says it makes it seem quite believable. This girl is affecting me in a way I've never experienced before. I'm not sure if I should be annoyed… or intrigued.

"Anyway," she continues, turning away from me, "What I'm paying you for is to make sure I get in and out in one piece. You don't have to worry about why I'm doing this." I get the feeling that she didn't mean to say what she'd said earlier.

She isn't used to the uneven ground out here; she stumbles and nearly falls. Before she falls face down, I grab her arms and pull her towards me. That brings our faces really close together, close enough for me to smell something sweet on her breath. "I do worry about that, because I want to be sure that whatever reason you have for taking this risk, it's worth it."

She gives me a halfhearted little push, a slow flush rising from her neck to her face. "I'm not worth your concern, really." I let go of her arms and she wobbles a bit, but stays upright. "Think of me as just another thrill-seeking cit-dweller like all the other ones you've taken out there."

She's brushing me off, probably thinks I'm just out to con her of a few easy credits. I'm not going to take that. "I'm responsible for everyone I take out there. Every one. Including you. But I can't do it all myself. We need to work together out there. That wouldn't be possible if you hide things from me." Even as I finish the last sentence, I wish I had kept it back. I'm not trying to start a quarrel with her.

However, she responds with unfeigned surprise. "Hide things from you?" Then she smiles ruefully. "You're not a cit-dweller, or else you'd know just how hard it is to hide anything if you live with a FACE. Anyway…" Her words are tinged with sadness. "Nobody knows everything about somebody else. We just make the best guess we can."

 

10: Headstrong or weak-hearted?

Note: This entire chapter is from Zech's perspective because Allegra is living his memories. So the 'I' here is Zech all the way.

 

Chapter 10: Headstrong or weak-hearted?

"Nobody knows everything about somebody else. We just make the best guess we can."

Again, her words ring true to me. I wonder if all cit-dweller girls talk like her. Now that I've taken another look, her two eyes are in fact, different colours. One is bluer, one is greener.

She tilts her head slightly again, then says, "The equipment will arrive in 5 min." Indeed, there is a low throbbing in the ground. Something heavy is approaching us.

"How do you do that?" I blurt out.

"Do what?"

"Know things. After you do…" I imitate her little head tilt. "…that."

She smiles. "Is that what I do? I've never looked at myself when I talk to Allegra."

"Allegra?" I'm confused. I thought Allegra was her own name. I'm also put more than a little off-balance by her smile. It's transformed her doll-like face into… before I can try to describe it, it's gone.

She's sombre-faced again, explaining, "My FACE. It isn't really her name, I just call her that."

Her FACE. That's right, that's what cit-dwellers call it—they have some kind of computer built into their brains. "What's it like?" I ask. "Having a FACE, I mean."

Her expression doesn't change this time, but after a while, she answers me. "Like having a voice inside your head. And seeing things other people don't see."

"Not being rude or anything, but around here, we just call someone who does that a loony."

"Loo-ny?" She does her head-tilt, then smiles her intoxicating smile again. "I suppose it does sound like that. It's quite useful—enough info, Allegra, I don't need to know all the twenty synonyms for loony—but sometimes a bit irritating." I'm assuming that the part in the middle is addressed to her inner voice, but yes, I can see how having a voice in your head might make you a little ...unusual.

A transport looms out of the perpetual dust cloud that envelops the edge of the Burbs. Contact with Allegra's palm interface makes it split open to disgorge two ComBiSuits in our sizes… and a Mutt.

I can't help getting excited. The Mutt is so new it's sparkling even in the dust-filtered daylight. "How did you know the Mutt is my top choice?"

"What 'Mutt' are you talking about? This is a Multi-Terrain Mobility Unit. I chose it because that's what your data says you have the most expertise with." Her tone is cautious. Maybe she thinks I made it up.

I run my hands lovingly over the controls. "If it's like the one I had, I could make it fly for you."

She shakes her head. "It isn't an aerial vehicle. Are you sure you know how to handle this?"

"I didn't mean make it fly literally… never mind." Yet another thing I'm learning about her: apart from her poker-facedness, she also interprets things rather literally. "I assure you, I know all about the Mutt."

She nods. "According to your data, you certainly do have considerable skill and experience with the vehicle." She doesn't sound totally convinced, though. "You said you have one of these?"

"Had. I was forced to sell it when I broke my arm last trip out and couldn't work for a while." She opened her mouth to say something, but I beat her to it. "My companion was fine. I broke the arm cause he landed on top of me when he crashed his transport."

I waited for her to voice her doubts about my fitness as a guide. But again, her comment was totally unexpected: "Companion…. Synonym for archaic term 'friend'. I like that."

This girl is beginning to fascinate me. She is unlike any cit-dweller I've encountered. Granted, all the others I've actually worked with have been men, but then I really don't think male and female cit-dwellers should be that different. She is unlike anyone I know, in fact. While I was daydreaming, she has unpacked an array of equipment I haven't seen before.

"These need to be attached to the transport in a certain orientation. You should check that they do not interfere with normal operation." Head-tilt. "Allegra says it's fine based on her simulations, but I want your confirmation as the field expert."

She's putting extra bits on the Mutt? That worries me enough to make me concentrate on the task for quite some time. She watches me impassively, but the remarks and questions she throws at me once in a while tell me that she understands exactly what I'm doing.

The final gizmo I'm examining is giving me a lot of trouble because it keeps flipping upside-down. "Why do you need all this extra weight anyway?" I grumble under my breath.

She hears me. "All these are scanners and sensors. Our objective is to gather data, so they're the centre of the mission."

"I suppose you designed them?" I half-jokingly ask.

Her reply is very serious. "No, I just modified the mounting parts. But I wrote the program that will use their data to work out the topography and other aspects." I stop what I'm doing to look at her face. Is she returning my joke? Apparently not, because she continues, "I've only been able to run simulations of the program so far, but I need to gather actual data to work out the possible problems so that I can perfect the program and troubleshoot later on when it's running. So this can be considered a trial run. It'll also enable me to work out which of the equipment is impractical or useless, and whether I need more equipment."

I'm so overwhelmed that I can't speak for a few sec. She looks rather self-conscious "There, I'm not hiding anything from you."

I finally rally myself to state the obvious. "So you wrote the program for this project, you planned the implementation, you engineered the tools, worked out the logistics, and now you're going to pioneer it? You're basically doing everything yourself!"

"I suppose you could put it that way," she concedes, then continues in a slightly challenging tone, "You can check everything if you doubt the quality of my work."

I shake my head. "I'm sure Central checked everything three times over before they gave you the job." My reward is a small, albeit rather triumphant, smile from her. "I just want to ask one thing. How old are you?"

"2 years post-pubsce," comes the prompt reply. I have to stop myself from asking her if she's playing an elaborate prank on me. I'm almost triple that time past pubsce, and whatever I've accomplished so far just fades into total insignificance against the magnitude of her abilities.

She takes the part that I've been struggling with and casually tosses it aside. "We can leave that out this time." Head-tilt. She goes over to the ComBiSuits and removes a small container from each one. "Time to introduce the air-filter system."

"What do you mean, introduce the air-filter? It's a mask, so we just put it on, don't we?"

"Masks fall off. And you can't talk to me wearing a mask since you don't have a FACE." I can't argue with that. I've had more than one near disaster from the cit-dwellers not hearing my warnings through my air filter.

She knows from my resigned expression that she's proven her point. "So we're using these." She opens one of the sealed containers and breathes in its contents. With her free hand, she offers me the other container.

"What… is this?" I ask apprehensively, taking the container. It's so light it appears to be empty.

"A lab-grown symbiote. It'll incorporate into your respiratory system and either neutralise or isolate all the hazardous elements you breath in so that you can excrete them."

She's basically asking me to infect myself with a genetically-modified organism. I stare at the container for a few sec longer.

"It'll die out in a few days." She adds encouragingly.

Against my instincts, I do what she had done.

"It needs four aw to establish itself, so in the meantime…" She puts herself in the driver's seat of the Mutt. "You can teach me to operate the vehicle."

I shake my head. "It isn't something you can learn in four aw."

She tries to reason with me. "If anything happens out there, it'd be good to have a back-up driver."

"Nothing will happen out there as long as I'm the one driving. And if anything happens out there, we won't need a back-up driver, because most likely we'll both be dead!" I retort.

Head tilt. She's consulting with her inner voice. "Don't be so negative, Zech. I won't drive if you don't want me to. I just want to learn how. I'd really like to… I'm a fast learner, I really am." Brilliant blue-green eyes, solemnly pleading. "You'll teach me, won't you?" Then the full blast of her devastating smile. "Please?" Whatever else it may be, that inner voice of hers is a brilliant strategist.

I sigh. Why am I letting her influence me like this? I hope I don't regret this later, but I go over and start to explain the basic controls to her.

11: Take fate by the hand

Note: It's back to Allegra's POV from now to the end. 

 

Chapter 11: Take fate by the hand

Widen your eyes to show sincerity. "You'll teach me, won't you?" Smile. "Please?" It took a computer program to teach me how to flirt. My senses assert themselves with the embarrassment that is triggered by that memory. In my own head now, I go through the lesson on handling the Mutt, as he calls it, from his perspective. I learn a few interesting things from his thoughts as he's teaching me, but I'm not really paying attention. The ocean of guilt that's growing inside me threatens to engulf me. It seemed Zech had liked me in spite of my quirks, was growing to like me more and more as we spent time together. What would it do to him to find out how I'd deceived him? 

I don't need allegra to calculate the odds that he'll hate me. The problem is, the more I see of his memories, the more desperately I don't want him to hate me.

Info_indication_of_distress_from_zomb_unit_Respond?

I sigh. I suppose I've been in the PH booth too long and it's triggering Zech's anxiety response. At least I've learned how to pause the memory datastream. I do that, and tell Zech to organise my wardrobe by type and colour as a delaying tactic, knowing he is unable to refuse. Then it's back to the orb.

I anticipate what's coming next, and I'm not sure if I want to relive those particular moments, but neither can I bring myself to end this. We'd gone through the controls and I'd backed up my claim to learning fast by memorising those in 15 min. He was grudgingly impressed, although he did not say so to my face. Then (with a little prompting from allegra) I worked at getting to the practical part. He was markedly less enthusiastic on that, but I finally wore him down into giving me a ride, "Just to check that nothing falls off."

We went a little way out, but because the symbiotes had not begun functioning yet, we stayed outside the Trashedzone boundary. I remember the little things about the ride rather than the scenery, which was endless dust anyway. In my memory instead is the broadness of his shoulders, obscuring my view so that I had to peek from under his elbows at how he manipulated the controls. And then there was the sudden sharp turn and its consequences: the unfamiliar forces nearly sweeping me off my seat; the strength of his back as I inadvertently hurtled forward into him; my hands slipping off the passenger handgrips to grasp at his waist; and finally his hand, curling protectively over mine as we came to a halt.

On his part, I saw with him the flash of something that wasn't dust, felt him instinctively take evasive action, experienced the shock of having me first crash into and then clutch at him, shared his concern for me as he brought the Mutt to a stop.

"Are you hurt? Sorry, I was avoiding the beastie," he explained.

I recalled feeling too agitated to ask Allegra for a definition. "What's a beastie?"

"A living thing that isn't human. They wander into the Burbs sometimes. You probably don't have them in First City."

I regained some of my composure. "You mean other lifeforms. It's third on our list, remember?"

He shrugged. "Beastie, lifeform… whatever you call them, most of them aren't friendly. So keep alert when we really go out there."

The result of the beastie incident was that for the next aw or so, we practiced manoeuvres other than going straight forward. I gave up using the built-in handgrips and locked my arms around him, hanging on with all the strength I could muster. At that moment, I hadn't been aware of it, but when I saw everything from his point of view, I realised he had been fully in control for every moment of those twists and turns. I saw, more than a little indignantly, how he even took a perverse pleasure in discomfiting me and making me react to the physical shock of each unexpected movement. I suppose I should be happy that at least my squealing was being associated with something other than being miserable.

He finally stopped the Mutt when I told him I was getting nauseous. My nanobots just couldn't handle the constant pitching and rolling of my body. By then, I was having decidedly malevolent opinions about him, especially when he actually laughed at my queasy expression. But when I saw his thoughts at that moment, he was actually quite worried about me. The laughter was just his way of disguising his feelings. He was also feeling a considerable amount of regret, which he likewise couldn't articulate. I had threatened to vomit on him if he didn't stop laughing. By way of compensation, he had rubbed my back, which had no connection whatsoever to my nausea but somehow, made me feel better.

He finally managed an apology. "I'm sorry if I overdid it. I thought you could handle it."

However, that only put me into self-vindication mode. I declared, "I can handle it, and I will … once I get used to it. And that will be by the next ride, I guarantee you that!"

I saw how he controlled his amusement and bit back the retort he had in mind. I found that strangely moving, especially when the amusement gradually turned into respect for what he perceived as my resilience and determination.

We took a short break after that. I introduced him to the rations I had chosen, and got some amusing reactions from him when he tasted them. Eventually we ended up laughing together, which defused the tension that had built up.

I calculated the time left until the end of the day cycle. "We should get back to the transport and put our CombiSuits on now."

"I take it you've recovered then? Fine, let's go." He swung himself into the driver's seat with easy grace and offered me a helping hand.

I didn't take it, nor did I get on. "Let me drive us back."

He crossed his arms. "No, no, and no."

"I know how to. And I'm not going to do any acrobatics."

"Do you know which way the transport is?" he challenged me.

I pointed. "It's 32.5 kaym that way." He frowned, which told me I was absolutely right. "Look, Zech, I'll make an agreement with you. Let me drive, and the moment you think I'm doing something wrong, you can stop me."

That wasn't good enough for him, apparently. "And?"

I weighed the odds for a moment. I had nothing to lose by going all out. "And if I don't do a good job, I promise I won't ask you to let me drive again."

As he considered that, I put on my most earnest expression and looked at him intensely, the way Allegra had instructed. After what seemed like aws, he got up with a resigned expression. "Alright, but I really, fervently hope that I'm not going to be sorry I did this."

The way things turned out, he certainly would have been sorry…. if he had still had a mind to be sorry with.