Seoul Survivors (31 page)

Saturday, after breakfast, the women were sent back to their houses to rest. Mee Hee sat sewing on the veranda as Chin Mee swept the front path clean of leaves. So Ra sat beside her, polishing a set of silver cups. Across the courtyard, Older Sister was walloping a rug strung up between two pine trees. At last they heard the sound of two cars pulling up the driveway in front of the Meeting Hall.

“Dr. Tae Sun said to wait until they called us,” So Ra said softly, leaning over to stroke Mee Hee's sleeve. Chin Mee put her broom back in the kitchen as Older Sister bashed the carpet one last time. A strained hush fell over the houses as they waited to be summoned.

At eleven o'clock Dr. Dong Sun appeared on the path. His face was somber, his body tensed like a bow. Wordlessly, the women rose and followed him back to the Meeting Hall.

Dr. Kim, flanked by Mr. Sandman and Dr. Tae Sun, was standing at the top of the room, beside an open coffin. Su Jin's profile was just visible beneath its cushioned lid; her head was propped up on a pillow. The scent of lilies hung thickly in the air.

“They don't smell real,” Mee Hee whispered. Behind her, an undercurrent of excitement moved through the cluster of women at the door.

“Mr. San-duh-man!” she heard someone say.

So Ra squeezed Mee Hee's hand and gave her sisters a stern look. At the front of the group, Dr. Dong Sun took Older Sister by the elbow and gently propelled her into the room.

“Please. This is your chance to say goodbye,” he murmured.

Her mouth set in a tight line, Older Sister marched toward the coffin, followed, in single file, by the other women. At first the only sound was the shuffling of feet, but as the procession passed the casket, a broken rhythm of sobs and moans built up a jagged momentum in the Hall. Behind Mee Hee, Chin Mee began crying uncontrollably and had to be supported by So Ra. As she inched forward in front of them, Mee Hee braced herself for an awful outpouring of the grief she must have been bottling up inside her for weeks, but even when she was standing right in front of Su Jin's
body, though her throat was dry and her chest heaving, she couldn't squeeze out even one tear.

The Buddhists said that each person had a destined number of breaths to draw in their lifetime. That was why in meditation they breathed so slowly, holding the air in the depths of their bodies, releasing it to the count of twenty or thirty, letting it escape in a thin stream through one nostril at a time: the longer each breath took to complete, the longer a person could remain living on the earth. Perhaps, Mee Hee thought, staring down at the beautifully dressed corpse before her, the same was true of tears. Only a few months ago she was closing the lid of her own son's coffin. Perhaps, since then, she had cried all the tears she had been born with, and now there were none left to bury with Su Jin.

Or maybe she couldn't cry because it was still too hard to believe that Su Jin was dead. The bodies Mee Hee had seen before, in her village, had been shrunken husks, the life dragged out of them like a rat pulled out of a hole by its tail, every painful moment of their passing etched on their faces as if with claws. Mee Hee had cried bitterly, looking down at those bodies, her own heart raked by memories of her neighbors' struggles to suck just one more breath into their lungs.

In contrast, Su Jin looked like an expensive doll. Her tiny body was lost in the folds of a dark green
hanbok
, her lips were painted pink and her eyes rimmed in brown pencil. Beneath the make-up, her face was relaxed, almost flattened, as if it had been poured like
pajon
batter over her skull and left to collect in tiny ripples beneath her ears and chin. Only her nose retained the character of the woman Mee Hee remembered, its pointy tip looking as if it was still sniffing at the world.

In this room, with its narcotic perfume and graceful wave of mourners, death seemed not a savage ending but a transformation. Looking down at Su Jin, Mee Hee could almost believe that her friend had at last arrived at a place of beauty and dignity, the place she had been searching for when she left the village. All that her sisters could do for her now was to wish her spirit well.

Mee Hee took the bluebird pin out of her pocket and slipped it beneath Su Jin's clasped hands. The flesh was cool and waxy, but the weight of the fingers held the brooch securely against her belly. Maybe Su Jin had no further need of hope in this world, but her spirit might appreciate the gift.

Behind Mee Hee, Younger Sister reached out for the edge of the coffin. Mee Hee took one last look at Su Jin's face and stepped back.

At the foot of the casket, Mr. Sandman shook her hand, his blue eyes empty as a summer sky. “VirtuWorld is very sorry for your loss,” he said in passable Korean.

“Thank you for finding my sister,” she replied. Though she wasn't sure he understood, he nodded. His chin was set, as though he was grinding his teeth. He must feel so badly, she thought, being their protector but still unable to stop what happened.

She wished she could hold Mr. San-duh-man's hand for a moment longer, tell him that no one blamed him, that Su Jin had only ever wanted to follow her own will to wherever it would take her. But like a soldier in a military parade, his face was closed, his gaze fixed on a point floating somewhere above her head. Mee Hee made a half-bow and turned toward Dr. Kim. Dr. Kim would surely clasp her hands, offer words of compassion or wisdom to her village sister.

But Dr. Kim was staring straight ahead, her beautiful face tense and frozen. What was wrong? Was Dr. Kim angry with her? Fear throbbed in the pit of Mee Hee's belly. Her breath snagged in her throat and it was all she could do to keep standing.

Just as the floor was beginning to swirl, two strong silk-clad arms reached out and pulled her close. Dr. Kim was clinging to her as a bereaved mother clings to her surviving child. “Lee Mee Hee,” she said, her voice faint with grief, “I have failed you.”

“No, no,” Mee Hee stammered, “it was I who let her go. You have brought Su Jin home.” Mee Hee's cheek rested on Dr. Kim's blouse. A single tear spilled down her nose. She pulled away.

“You are so dear to me, Mee Hee,” Dr. Kim whispered. “I will keep you safe forever.”

Mee Hee stepped back into the line of women. Tae Sun was waiting beside Dr. Kim to greet her, both sadness and pride in his eyes. Shyly, she touched his soft hands, then, head bowed, moved on.

“Wow, Damien. You look like a piece of Korean pottery. Sort of green and glazed.”

Damien grimaced. “Cheers. I'll be my own souvenir. Fuck knows I can't afford to buy any.”

“Don't worry.” Sydney nodded at the gates of Yonsei. “Da Mi is going to sort everything out.”

Damien highly doubted it. Really, he should be checking notice boards in the universities north of the river. Trouble was, he didn't believe that would work either. And even if it did, Immigration would probably just follow him and his false passport to the airport. But if he was going to end up in the slammer, what the hell, it would be nice to have a few more memories of Sydney to sustain him.

Sydney's lips were a glossy pink today. Underneath a blue GrilleTex
^TM
vest, she was dressed in white jeans, and a white crewel-knit sweater. “You look great. Very Abba,” he told her.

“Thanks . . . I think.” Flashing an even whiter smile, she took his elbow and led him briskly through the campus grounds, past massive, modernist buildings, outdoor amphitheaters, and a group of students practicing Taekwondo beneath some trees.

“I love this place,” she gushed. “It's like, really classical, don't you think?”

The combination of monumental architecture and Spartan dedication to a national martial art made Damien think of the Nazis. But why spoil his last day with Sydney by disagreeing with everything she said?

“There's a tent town up there somewhere,” he said, pointing to the forested mountain flank rearing up behind the campus. “That's what that beggar on the tube was going on about. It's illegal, but the police let them get away with it in case the prophecies are true. If the Hammer doesn't hit on the Solstice, the dogs will move in.”

Sydney gave a mock shiver. “Isn't it a bit cold to be camping? Hey, this is it.” They had reached a tall building with a Korean-style tile roof. “I think it looks like that pagoda in Insa Dong.”

He couldn't help himself. “Or a prison control tower?”

She punched him on the arm. “Be nice.”

Sydney collected two visitors' passes from the doorman and sailed across the lobby to the elevators, Damien trailing in her wake. This place was surreal. A schmancy fountain, gold-plated railings in the elevator, and, when they disembarked on the eleventh floor, a plush pink-carpeted corridor complete with tinkling water features.

“How does the uni afford all this?” he asked.

Sydney shrugged airily. “GRIP made a donation. Here, this is Da Mi's office.”

She stopped in front of a pair of frosted-glass doors. The long, rose-colored handles bore more than a passing resemblance to female labia.

“Willy Wonka's chocolate factory,” Damien commented. “Minus the willy.”

“Damien! She'll hear you!”

With a hushed whoosh, as if they had in fact been listening, the doors swung open. Sydney led Damien into the room, and the doors closed behind them with a sigh.

The pale gray sky swirling beyond the wall of windows suffused the office with a moon-like glow. If you could call it an office. There were no bookshelves that Damien could see, just Korean scrolls and artworks, all in shades of white. Beneath the long windows, a glass tank housed three large white turtles. Beside it, flanked by two sculptures on pedestals, stood a gleaming white desk. From behind it, a small, immaculately coiffed and lacquered Korean woman rose to greet them. She was dressed in a red tailored tunic-thing:
great album cover
, Damien thought.

“Sydney. Damien. Please have a seat.” Dr. Kim gestured at two milky-white leather flexi-chairs in front of the desk. Damien followed Sydney. The ivory carpet was soft as quicksand beneath his feet.

Sydney plopped herself in her chair and fiddled with the temp-control button on her vest. Damien sat down gingerly. He didn't like the way flexi-furniture clung to you. Like sleeping in waterbeds, or being embraced by drunk people, the feeling made him a trifle seasick. He positioned himself slightly forward. This one wasn't so bad. Not sneaking up between his thighs just yet, anyway.

Dr. Kim sat down again, a little stiffly. “Help yourself to a honey drink,” she said, gesturing to a teapot on a stand between them.

As Sydney poured, the scientist trained her gaze on Damien—at least, that was what it felt like: a train engine bearing down on him, two dark pools of light for headlights. Up close, her eyes seemed a
little large for her face; though in fact her head also seemed a little big for her body. Maybe she had some kind of dwarfism? In which case, he shouldn't be staring. Unnerved, he examined the sculptures beside the desk. One was an elongated model of a mother and child, Modigliani-esque, the other a silver double helix. There was a plaque at the bottom of it, engraved in Hangul. Perhaps it was some kind of Korean science Oscar. If his mouth hadn't felt so dry, he would have asked.

“It's good for the immune system,” Sydney urged, handing him a cup.

The honey drink was nauseatingly sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. “Umm. Delicious,” he murmured, and lowered the cup to his lap.

“Aren't
you
having some, Da Mi?” Sydney asked, in a peculiar, pantomime-y tone of voice.

“I'd love to, darling, but unfortunately it might fuse the wiring.”

Damien shot a puzzled glance at Sydney. She was clutching her drink and wriggling in her seat, eyes shining like a child's at the circus.

“It's so convenient to be able to meet you without getting snared in traffic,” Dr. Kim continued. “Damien, I hope you won't feel uncomfortable shaking the hand of my personal ProxyBod. We call her Pebbles, don't we, Sydney?”

Damien mouthed “What the fuck?” at Sydney, who was now vibrating with glee.

“Go on, shake her hand,” she insisted. “It feels so real.”

Damien rose and took the outstretched hand. The skin felt plumped up, and a touch leathery. And while not limp, the fingers didn't exactly grip his. Flicking his eyes over the scientist's body, he noticed a black cable feeding out of a pocket, disappearing under the desk. Christ. That explained the creep factor.

“Pretty hi-tech, Dr. Kim.” He sat back down in his chair, which remolded snugly around his hips. “Is that a modem cable?”

“The modem is wireless. But the batteries run out quickly. I'm plugged in today,” the Pebbles thing replied. Though of course it was Dr. Kim speaking, from wherever she was. Once you knew what was going on, you could see that the mouth didn't do much more than open and shut and make the occasional pucker. The deep frown line between her eyebrows was pretty much a constant too.

“It's fantastic, Da Mi!” Sydney squealed. “You totally fixed that problem with the lip synch. Sorry I didn't tell you Damien, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Your hands are cold, Damien,” Dr. Kim observed. “Please, drink your honey. It will improve your circulation.”

Pretending to take another sip of his drink, Damien scrutinized the Pebbles creature over the rim. Its waist was very small, he realized, as if the designers had decided that a cartoon figure and doll's head might make such a freak show more attractive. Still, the voice was very realistic, and there was a certain stately grace about the way the body moved. Though there didn't seem to be much she could do about that smile.

“So you're at home? With a cat-suit on?” he ventured.

“More or less. At the moment Pebbles can only stand or sit, but my engineers are working on an exercise machine that will enable her to walk. Can you imagine the possibilities of such a technology, Damien?”

Damien put his cup down. “Could I get one to do a jail sentence for me?”

Just possibly, the glued-on smile broadened a fraction. “Multi-locational appearance is indeed one marketable application. But gaming sector opportunities are my current focus. I understand you enjoy video games?”

“Sometimes, yeah.” He threw a questioning glance at Sydney. But she was glued to the spectacle of the not yet walking, but very much talking Da Mi doll.

The Pebbles thing pressed the tips of her fingers together. “Damien, if I offered you the chance to help develop the next wave of virtual reality gaming, and solve all your legal and financial problems at one stroke, would you be interested?”

Outside, a shaft of sunlight pierced the clouds above the crawling city. In the tank, one of the white turtles blinked and drew its head back into its shell. Damien shifted uneasily in his seat, which puffed up slightly in response. This was supposed to be reassuring, he knew, but it made him want to cringe. He dug his elbows into the armrests. “Maybe. It would depend on what was involved.”

Pebbles tilted her head. “If I outline Project ProxyBod for you, would you accept a gift of two hundred thousand
won
in return for strict confidentiality?”

The sunlight was coldly burning through the window now, coating Pebbles' face. The bloodlessness of the skin was more obvious, its taut stretch across her cheekbones mask-like in the glare.

Sydney squirmed excitedly as the ProxyBod opened a drawer and handed Damien a white envelope full of
man won
bills.

Pebbles set his teeth on edge. But the money was harder to dislike. The money was doing what money did best, sitting there quietly in his hand, emanating reassurance and even a whisper of joy.

“Mum's the word,” he said, more jauntily than he felt. He folded the envelope in two and stuffed it into his back pocket. “Did you want me to sign for it?”

Pebbles' face seemed to tighten a notch. “This encounter is being recorded through a camera in the iris of my right eye,” she said, evenly. “If there are any problems later with the media or rival companies, our lawyers will have the best possible evidence of our verbal contract.”

So that explained the X-ray vision. Damien stole another glance at Sydney, hoping for some quick confirmation that Da Mi was mad as a bag of spanners. But Sydney was beaming blankly at the ProxyBod.

“There won't be any problem, Dr. Kim,” he said, in the most reassuring tone he could muster. He could always swear Jake and Sam to secrecy too.

“Good. Now, Damien, have you heard of Virtuoso gaming equipment?”

“Sure. It simulates lucid dreaming. Unless it makes you . . . what do you guys say? . . . woof your cookies.”

It was a failed, knee-jerk attempt at being a patronizing Brit, and he knew it. The Dr. Kim Barbie doll sailed smoothly on. “Virtuoso games have a negative physical effect on a few people. Perhaps we can arrange a trial session for you,” she offered.

“You gotta try it, Damien,” Sydney said excitedly. “It's
amazing
.”

“But in the meantime,” Dr. Kim continued, “can you imagine using Virtuoso equipment not just to play in your own headspace, but to manipulate a cyborg avatar in a real room or landscape? To be hooked up to sensors enabling you to actually feel and smell that environment? An environment in which you had a perfect body, great strength, and cameras for eyes? Wouldn't it be tempting to make that not your second, but your first life?”

Cyborg avatars. The wet dreams of super-geeks. “Not for me. But I can see that some people might go for it, yeah.”

“Some very very wealthy people are among them. I am currently working on such a project, an exclusive environment for a limited number of clients, set in a Renaissance castle and grounds. Damien, your skin tone is exceptionally white. Our client has stressed the desirability of such a shade for a game starring a Goth Princeling and Princessa. Thanks to Sydney, we have eggs from a pale-skinned
woman, which together with your sperm, will enable us to meet their requirements.”

Outside, the clouds sealed off the sunlight, restoring the room's shadowless, pearly glow. Beside him, he could practically hear Sydney holding her breath. But he wasn't going to reward her with a look. No. “Sorry, Da Mi,” he said slowly, “I don't think I quite understood that. You're going to use my sperm and Sydney's eggs to make children that will grow up into robots?”

“Not at all, Damien. Yes, we will create and clone embryos containing a mixture of your DNA and Sydney's. But we won't incubate these into human beings. Using stem cells from the embryos and ordinary tissue engineering, we can rapidly grow adult human epidermises on a matrix of collagen fibers. The resulting forms, one male, one female, will be mounted on jointed fiberglass shells, flushed with preservatives and fused with a complex interior electronic system. Their facial features may of course resemble yours, but in no way, legal, moral, or biological, could they be considered your children.”

Was this woman, pardon the pun, for real? “You're growing human skins in labs? Isn't that illegal?”

“Not in Korea. Here it's considered a creative response to advances in biotechnology. Think of these gaming avatars as the biological equivalents of two CGI morphed photographs of you and Sydney.”

“Do you see why I couldn't ask you, Damien?” Sydney had a giggle in her voice. “I mean, we're not even going out.”

He'd deal with her later. “Yeah, okay, Sydney,” he muttered. “But Dr. Kim, I'm sorry, I still just do not get this. What's wrong with plastic skin suits? Or silicon, or whatever?”

“To be frank,” Pebbles said crisply, “ProxyBods also have erotic commercial potential. The texture of the bodies is thus of utmost importance. As a feminist, I am extremely interested in providing alternatives to the global trafficking of women. I do hope that you can see your donation as a vital contribution to a world of greater liberty for all. In return, I am sure I can persuade Immigration to drop the charges against you. And in addition, the gaming consortium has authorized me to offer you a cash incentive of twenty thousand US dollars.”

Twenty thousand bucks. Whatever currency you translated that into, it was a fat stash of readies. Damien leaned back into his chair, which gave his shoulders a subtle massage. He winced, and sat up straight again. Beside him, the pressure from Sydney's fingers was sending pink streaks through her armrests.