Short Circuit
Wesley Noads reached the checkout with his basket. He glanced at the contents and then at his list. Crocodile eggs? He couldn’t believe he’d picked them up. They went on to the Returns conveyor. The basket beeped as he removed the offending item. All around him, people were going through the same process of discarding stuff. Many put more than half of their goods on the conveyor. One middle-aged woman emptied her whole basket and went back into the aisles. She’d succumbed to the adviruses completely and forgotten to get what she wanted in the first place. Must raise the threshold on my Memplant, he thought. Too many getting through. They must have pushed up the intensity beyond the legal limit again.
Placing his basket in the checkout, he waited for the synthetic female voice to tell him that his biometrics were valid and payment had been made. He carried the basket to his car. As usual, the holographic ads on the outside were fully active. Slim young men and women with genefixed smiles extolled the virtues of ChinaFord vehicles as they drove around in them. Wesley switched off the sound with his remote and opened the boot. At least he wouldn’t have to listen to that prattle for the moment. Amelia had bought the burnt orange car and negotiated a cheap deal. The downside was that the car was a mobile advertising display in daylight hours with surround sound and 64-bit colour. If he’d had his way, Wesley would have switched off the ads for good but that would result in the arrival of a large bill. If he didn’t pay it, the car would stop working within thirty days. So he put up with the irritation. As he drove home, the sound came back on drowning out the smooth hum of the electric motors. He closed the windows and switched on the entertainment centre to block out the constant distraction. The voices of Howling Wolf, Sonny Boy Williamson and Muddy Waters boomed out from six embedded speakers and spoke to him across the chasm of a century.
Amelia loved Saturday afternoons, especially in the summer. Around town on her own, she could shop till she dropped. She’d already had to make two trips back to the monocoque to unload but hadn’t finished yet. Today she was going for the burn! She slid back into the shopping mall and took the lift to the third level. A horde of irrational desires jostled for her attention as she drifted along the mall. One of the contenders finally won and she scurried into a boutique full of outrageously priced tat. Picking up a diaphanous pink creation, she floated into a changing room on a cloud of muzak. A perfect fit, she thought, and almost totally revealing apart from that small opaque area around the crotch. That’ll turn a few heads! With the pink fantasy swinging in a bag, she left the store and repeated the operation until it was impossible to carry any more. Back at the monocoque, she was surprised by how much she’d bought: the vehicle was overflowing. Driving home she couldn’t see out of the rear and side windows at all.
Climbing the creaking wooden stairs to their apartment over the deli at the posh end of Moss Side, Wesley could hear Tony’s music: as usual, it was loud, raucous and totally antisocial. The door opened automatically at his approach and he immediately went to the master panel he’d installed and turned the music down to a low mutter. Tony shot out of his room.
‘Dad, I was listening to that. It was just getting to the best part!’
‘Yeah, hi to you too. Use the ‘phones if you want it that loud. Remember the rules?’
The thirteen year old scuttled back to his bolthole and the music cut off as he plugged in his headphones. As Wesley unloaded in the kitchen, he heard Amelia come in. Then she went out again. There was a lot of rustling out in the hallway and Wesley stuck his head out to see what the noise was. Amelia was stacking bag after bag along and up the walls. He surveyed the labels. All designer stuff. Expensive. She stopped her labours with the final package and closed the door. Bags started sliding across the floor and blocked the hallway. She stepped over them and kissed him on his cheek.
‘Been shopping for a few things,’ she said.
‘You’ll need to clear some space won’t you?’
‘It’s OK, some of my gear went into degrade mode last week.’
‘You keep buying all this stuff and never seem to wear any of it. Haven’t you been running the AV?’
‘Oh Wes, you know how I love the serendipity of it all. None of the girls on the zine runs the anti-virus either.’
‘I’ve been thinking we should watch our spending for a while.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Tony has been going on about the new Manchester United strip. They’ve changed it again and his stuff is obsolete for the second time this year.’
‘It’s OK, I’ll put it on the card. There’s a deal on at the moment.’
‘And there’s the car to pay for.’
‘Yeah, but I got a good deal on that. You said so yourself.’
‘Have you looked at the account recently? Your last batch of genefixes pretty well cleaned us out!’
But you said you liked me like this,’ said Amelia stepping back.
Wesley scrutinized her. No longer plump and dark haired, she was slim and blond. Her skin was now a permanent golden brown and her eyes blue. He wasn’t sure that he really like the golden bimbo stereotype. He’d partnered a woman nearer to his own black racial origins and now her genefixes had turned her into something else. The genefix counselor had refused to sign the certificate but Amelia had still found a way to get the fix. She wouldn’t tell him where she’d got it and was vague about the cost. All he knew was that it was a cash transaction. Only dodgy deals were for cash nowadays. Wesley blamed Amelia’s colleagues on the fashion zine where she worked. They’d all gone the same way and if you put them together in a room it was difficult to tell them apart.
‘Can we have a look at what you’ve picked up this time round and do a clean up?’ said Wesley wearily.
They sat down in front of the wall screen. Wesley called up the Memplant support program and told it to scan Amelia’s implant. Knowing it would take some time, Wesley went to the kitchen to make coffee. He brought out a pair of steaming mugs as the screen finally stopped filling up with names of adviruses. Wesley gave the clean-up command, knowing that all he was doing was preparing her for the next shopping trip. She’d be a clean slate, ready to be exploited yet again.
Later that evening, they were watching TV as usual. Tony clicked on the novelty news list.
‘Hey, look at this: a dog that talks.’
The top half of the screen showed a large Doberman called Max being interviewed while he sat in the driver’s seat of a car. Not only could he talk but he also drove the car with the help of the on-board AI. Other windows on the screen showed shots of smiling employees at VelMA Software.
‘I bet that genefix cost a fortune,’ said Wesley. ‘And he must have an implant to connect to the AI.’
‘Hey Dad, when can I have the speed genefix? Some of the other guys on the team are getting it. They’ll be much faster than me. I won’t be able to keep up,’ said Tony.
‘You had yours before you were born Tony. You don’t need that genefix: you’ve already got it.’
‘A Memplant then? I’d do much better at school.’
‘You’re too young, you know that. You have to be eighteen to have one,’ said Amelia.
‘And they need to be used carefully otherwise you can have all sorts of problems’, added Wesley glancing over at Amelia.
A month later, on her way to a fashion interview, Amelia was waiting for a train. Her thoughts were mainly about the constant rows she had with Wesley about her spending and her Memplant. She’d almost decided to run the AV to shut him up but had yet to do it. It would save money, she thought, but it would be less fun, especially at work. The girls had an ongoing contest to see who could accumulate the biggest collection of compostable fashions. Amelia was level pegging with Gloria, the leader. She never really used her Memplant to the full: not like Wes. For him it was a natural extension to his normal memory. Not only that, as long as he was near a node, he could access on-line libraries directly. Amelia never seemed to do things like that, even in her job. She almost wished she could have the thing removed but that wasn’t possible. Once it was fitted, your implant grew connections straight into the hippocampus. It was part of you for life.
When the train arrived Amelia stepped on and found a window seat. Behind her, a young man worked on a palmtop. His long blond hair flopped forward as he watched the screen, scanning the passengers for Memplant vulnerability. There was a target just in front of him. He sent a transmit command from the palmtop and watched with satisfaction as the virulent advirus was acknowledged by the woman’s Memplant. Another recruit to the AGMY cause, he thought. No need to hector or persuade – just instant conversion. Pity she’s already genefixed but that makes it even better. He carried on scanning and found a contact further away in the next carriage. The signature didn’t look quite the same as the previous one but it was near enough. He transmitted once again. A message appeared on his screen: Intrusion rejected. Your identity has been logged and legal proceedings initiated. Fuck, he thought, it’s an AI. Closing down the palmtop, he scrambled towards the door. He wasn’t sure if immediate human intervention was imminent but wasn’t going to wait to find out. At the next stop, he got off and ran.
Suddenly Amelia noticed that a middle-aged man was staring at her. That wasn’t unusual: ever since she’d gone for the golden bimbo look, most men did. He leant forward.
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you OK?’ he said. ‘You went into a trance almost as soon as you sat down and we’ve passed several stations.’
‘I’m OK. Thanks for asking,’ she replied, flashing her perfect ultra-white teeth. Amelia looked out of the window at the passing countryside and realized that she must have drifted off for a short while just as the man had said. The train passed through a small village and she could see a spire poking its head above the other buildings. This started her thinking back to her childhood visits to the local evangelical church. Mom was always dragging her along to those interminable happy clappy services and telling her that God was everywhere and knew if she did anything wrong. The house was filled with crucifixes and framed religious epithets. Amelia had rejected her mother’s religion and its trappings long ago but what if she’d been right all along?
Her interview with the latest-thing-since-sliced-bread fashion accessory guru, Harry Wong, was a great success. He specialized in adorning women with cloned living body parts. Models could be seen sporting anything from a slab of gilded lung tissue to a brooch fashioned from a pair of testes with trailing vas deferens. At first Amelia was a little reticent about trying on some of his creations even though she had seen pictures of them. In the hand, they came as a bit of a shock. After donning a tattooed small intestine as a belt and a garter of plaited penises, she soon lost her reserve. Neo-visceral fashion was such fun! She returned to the office later without any further reflection about her brief absence from consciousness. Her main thought was how she could afford a cloned kidney clutch bag.
When she arrived home she found Wesley and Tony watching the news. It was the usual stuff: water wars in Africa and the Middle East and relentless drought in Australia.
‘None of that would have happened if they were true believers,’ said Amelia.
‘What?’ replied Wesley.
‘The truly righteous would share resources. God would look after them.’
Tony and Wesley stared at her.
‘You’re beginning to sound like your mother,’ said Wesley. ‘Have you been to see her?’
‘No, I’ve been working – an interview – I told you.’
‘So where’s all this religious stuff come from?’
‘I’m born again. The Lord has entered my soul.’
Amelia sat down at the computer and logged on to the As God Made You site. Since her train journey, a few weeks ago, she had made contact with new friends all over the world. They were part of a network of like-minded people determined to see the end of genefixing and a return to God’s natural genetic gifts. She particularly admired Stephanie who seemed prepared to go to any lengths to further the cause, from simple demonstrations to assassination. Now she wanted Amelia to get involved in direct action.
Wesley walked up behind her and glanced at the screen.
‘You’re not talking to that AGMY woman again are you, Amelia?’
‘Why not? She’s a good friend and I want to help her in God’s work.’
‘God’s work? They’re just a bunch of bigoted thugs.’
‘They are not thugs! God guides them and they do his sacred bidding.’
‘You must be joking. A lot of them end up in total reprog. No minds, no personalities, no life of their own. Do you want to end up like that?’
‘I don’t care. God’s will is what counts.’
‘What happened about reversing your golden bimbo genefix? Can it be done?’
‘Er… no. The fixer wanted too much and the doc wouldn’t even discuss it. Said it was an illegal fix and he couldn’t get involved.’
‘So how do you stand with AGMY over that. Will they throw you out?’
‘You’d like that wouldn’t you? No chance. Stephanie says I am a beacon of hope to all those afflicted by genefixing.’
Wesley was talking to his close friend Harvey. As usual, they’d met after work and were sitting in the Red Lion pub about half a mile from the apartment. The early evening crowd was there, a rich mix of artisans, IT professionals and sales and office staff from surrounding businesses. The two were huddled at a table near the door. Whenever, anybody came in, a fresh breeze and a beam of sunlight flashed briefly across their faces.
‘So, what’s happening with Amelia? Is she still spending like there’s no tomorrow?’
‘Not any more. She’s been born again.’
‘Her mother was a religious fanatic, wasn’t she?’
“It’s not just that. I think her Memplant has been infected with an AGMY virus. She’s besotted with them.’
‘Have you had a go at clearing it out?’
‘Yes. I persuaded her to check it but it didn’t show up in the scan. It seems to have got past the buffer and embedded itself further down in the implant’s architecture.’
‘She could have a software upgrade. That would probably fix it.’
‘I’ve suggested that but she won’t do it. The last time I mentioned it she stormed out and didn’t come back for two days. Tony’s getting pissed off because she’s out most evenings at AGMY meetings and ignores him even when she is at home. It’s like there’s a barrier between us now. She’s almost a different person.’
‘That AGMY lot are crazy.’
‘Don’t I know it! I hacked into her e-mail the other day. It was supposed to be encrypted but it was pretty low-level stuff. Looks like she’s already done something for them. Some sort of raid. If she carries on like this she could be arrested as a terrorist. Have you got any ideas? I’m totally stumped.’
‘There may be a way round it,’ murmured Harvey.
She was asleep at last. Wesley lay on his back listening to Amelia’s regular breathing. He swiveled his head and looked at her serene expression. If only he didn’t have to do this. All she had to do was have an upgrade and gain control of her implant, but she refused every time he mentioned it. Last week, they’d had yet another row about AGMY and it had taken until the next day for the frost to thaw. That was when he’d decided to deal with the problem Harvey’s way.
Wesley dropped his arm down the side of the bed and felt for the small matt black box. The WIX - wireless implant exterminator - fitted neatly into his hand. The device had been easy to get. A quick transaction on a Chinese auction site and it arrived three days later labeled as an educational aid. OK, it wasn’t legal but he had to use it. She’d be better off without her Memplant and he’d get the real Amelia back – the one he loved – not this impostor. And they’d get back a proper family life. Turning towards her, he carefully levered himself up on his elbow. An LED winked red as he flipped a sliding switch on the box.
He now realized that he’d have to get out of bed and work from the other side, otherwise the beam might hit him as well. Amelia grunted as he slid off the bed. She turned over. Wesley froze and then got back into bed. He aimed the WIX at the back of her head. The LED winked green – implant located. His thumb pressed the X button. The LED stopped winking and became a steady red. Job done – no more implant. He switched off the device and flipped it under the bed, hardly believing it had been that easy. She’d thank him eventually. Maybe she wouldn’t even notice the difference. With these thoughts circulating, he lay back and drifted off to sleep. At seven the next morning, Wesley woke to a feeling of tranquility. A new phase was about to begin. Amelia was still asleep, so he went to the kitchen to make breakfast. He was just sipping his first cup of coffee when Tony appeared.
‘Dad, something’s happened to Mom. I went in to see her and she seemed a bit strange.’
‘How do you mean strange?’
‘Better see for yourself. Come on!’
Amelia had dozed off and was dreaming. Face hidden behind a black ski-mask with only her eyes and mouth visible, she dodged and weaved, spraying fallen cyclists with righteous drizzle. Her hand with its aerosol was an extension of the right arm of God. One of the riders was getting up, pulling his bike up after him. The cleats on his shoes made it difficult for him to get his balance. She kicked his ankle and he went over again in a tangle of carbon fibre wheels and splayed fingers. She sprayed him full in the face and went on to the next victim. He coughed and spluttered as the spray invaded his lungs. The lenses of his sunglasses were covered in a fine mist and he wiped them with a blue mitt leaving oily smears. Amelia sprayed him again for good measure.
She was awake. A teenage lad loitered inside the bedroom door while a large smiling black man was offering her a cup of coffee.
‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘And who’s the kid?’
