The Glimpse (7 page)

Inwardly, she cursed.
So stupid!
He’d been there with her father this morning. He knew she was lying. She dropped her gaze.

‘Did it remind you of other shocks?’ the male Board member asked.

‘No,’ she answered, starting to panic. She braced herself 52

for the Warden’s interruption, struggling to think of excuses that would explain the lie. But the Warden said nothing. So she forced herself to continue.

‘The shock of discovering that I’m not Pure,’ she said,

‘is something I saw a therapist about and have now thoroughly dealt with.’

‘What about your mother’s death? Shortly before your fifteenth birthday you contacted the Guildford Register’s Office for your mother’s death certificate. Why?’

Ana took a deep breath. She’d gone through this story so many times with the Board, she sometimes found herself believing it. The true memory she had of living on the farm and waking early one morning to find her mother missing and a car engine running in the locked barn, felt like information from an interface projection – images superimposed on real life.

‘When I was ten, my father told me my mother was il and had been hospitalised with cancer. I think he wished to soften the blow of my mother’s sudden death. Nine months later, he took me to see a dying woman. He said it was time for me to say goodbye to my mother.’

‘Yes?’ the male Board representative said, wishing Ana to go on.

‘The woman resembled my mother, but I doubted it was realy her. After many years of wondering about it, I decided to contact the Guildford Register’s Office for my mother’s death certificate. When the Board informed me my mother had died by car-exhaust asphyxiation, I was surprised and upset, but not shocked. I had already accepted that she was gone.’

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The male Board member adjusted his glasses and leaned towards his screen.

‘Why do you think your father lied about the woman?’

‘He thought he was helping me. His psychiatric training taught him I would need closure.’ She spoke flatly, but she couldn’t totaly restrain her disgust for this particular part of her story; her nostrils flared. Her father hadn’t taken her to see the dying woman to help her. He’d done it to shut her up; to stop her from asking him questions about her mum al the time.

‘Say the first thing that enters your head,’ the male Board member instructed.

Nodding, Ana focused on the task at hand. Free association was one of her strengths. She almost enjoyed the mental gymnastics. Answers were strictly limited to food, nature, or science – her father’s Golden Rule.

Replies had to come without the slightest hesitation, or else they’d know she was censoring herself.

‘Rain,’ he prompted.

‘Rain,’ he prompted.

‘Drops,’ she answered.

‘Red.’

‘Rose.’

They continued back and forth for over a minute:
Black

– Bird; Open – Flower; Light – Sun; Defective –

Genetic; White

– Milk; River – Stream; Silence – Vacuum; Darkness

– Dawn.

When the bombardment of words ended, the Board members both leant over their screens again. They had a program that automaticaly analysed her answers and gave a percentile estimate of mental disturbance.

Anything over 54

forty meant a whole day of intensive testing. Ana steeled herself for the results. She hadn’t got over thirty yet.

‘Twenty-two,’ the man announced, as if that settled it –

Jasper’s abduction had not sparked the onset of depression or psychosis.

Ana sighed gently with relief. The woman unfastened a leather case and took out a packet of papers.

‘Behaviour test,’ she said, placing a few stapled sheets square with the edges of the coffee table. ‘Creative test .

. .’

She laid another block of pages beside the first.

She laid another block of pages beside the first.

‘Every morning,’ the man added, vigorously tapping the creative test with his forefinger, ‘as soon as you wake up, write at least one page. The Board wil return in three days.

Questions?’

Ana shook her head. Her entwined fingers itched and her cheeks felt hot, but she knew better than to fiddle. It was almost over.

‘I have a question for Ariana,’ the Warden said.

Ana’s shoulders tensed. She turned to look at him.

‘I feel,’ he continued, ‘that I need to understand Jasper a little better. Could you help me with that?’

She nodded, her dislike for the Warden growing. His lilting accent was starting to annoy her as much as his bad manners.

Dombrant circled Ana’s armchair and plumped down in a seat between her and the Board.

‘The Big3 – schizophrenia, depression, anxiety disorders.

Over forty per cent of the population are Big3 Sleepers or Actives.’

‘Forty-two point eight per cent,’ Ana said.

55

‘Exactly. If one parent is affected by the Big3 the likeli-hood of a child developing some variation of the inherited hood of a child developing some variation of the inherited ilness is very high.’

‘And your point is?’

‘Wel, it’s not like you’ve got Readin’ Disorder or Mathematics Disorder. Don’t you find it odd that Jasper isn’t bothered by the fact you’re a Big3?’

‘At first I was surprised, yes. But I think after Tom’s accident, Jasper felt there were no guarantees, even for the Pures.’

‘So, has Jasper shown any unusual attitudes towards folk in the City?’

‘What would you consider unusual, Warden?’

‘Friends outside the Communities for example.’

‘Oxford accepts Carriers, Sleepers and even Actives.

Jasper might have made friends with some of them, I wouldn’t know.’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘Oxford accepts Carriers, Sleepers and Actives. I believe there are currently three of them at the university. None in Jasper’s year.’

‘If you know already, I don’t see why you’re asking me.’

The Board representatives huddled over their screens, no doubt conferring about the hostility slipping through her comportment.

‘Jasper had a friend caled Enkidu. We want to get in touch with him.’

Ana shrugged. ‘I’ve never heard of him.’

‘Ah,’ the Warden replied. ‘He’s turning out to be something of a mystery.’

‘Do you think he has information about the abduction?’

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‘I’m not at liberty to discuss the investigation at this time.’

Ana’s face stung as if he’d realy slapped her. ‘Isn’t that what we’re doing?’ she said. She stood and moved over to the sideboard below the flatscreen. With her back to the room, she began rearranging the tal vase of sunflowers.

‘What can you tel me? Has his father heard from the abductors? What do they want?’

‘Wel, it depends who they are. Could be a mercenary group doing it for a ransom. Could be paranoids, thinkin’

Jasper’s involved in a plan for Novastra to take over the world. Could be religious fanatics taking a stand against the use of Benzidox. Could be the Enlightenment Project.’

‘So they haven’t made contact yet?’

The Warden yawned, stretching his arms, irritatingly noncommittal. She extracted a floppy sunflower from the vase by the head of its stem and turned to him.

‘Wel,’ she said, ‘with the little information you have managed to scrape together, what would you say are his chances?’

chances?’

‘We’re hopeful it’s just some mad City folk after a bit of attention, knowin’ it would make a stir because of who his father is.’

Ana’s throat ached. She pressed the stem of the sunflower she held between her finger and thumb, crushing the stalk flat.

The male Board representative coughed. ‘The Board has decided we wil come back to see you tomorrow morning, Ariana.’

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Ana snapped the broken flower at the top of its stem.

The severed head dropped to the floor.

‘Of course,’ she answered, cooly regarding the Warden.

‘Warden,’ the male Board representative said, ‘do you have any other questions for Ariana today?’

‘That’s it,’ he replied. ‘For now.’ He leaned forward, nabbed two more biscuits from the tea tray and stood up.

The Board members both shut off their screens and tucked them back into their cases. Their insignia, a golden triangle in a dazzling white circle, now shone from their interfaces.

Ana held up her wrist. ‘May I?’ she asked.

The woman nodded. Ana unstrapped the pulse monitor The woman nodded. Ana unstrapped the pulse monitor and handed it back.

‘The Board wil show themselves out,’ the man said.

‘And so wil the Warden,’ Dombrant said. Winking at Ana, he crammed both biscuits into his mouth.

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6

Surfing

Ana watched from the kitchen window as her visitors strode across the courtyard and down the drive. The movement sensor on the metal gates picked up their approach. The gates swung open. As the Board marched through, the Warden turned and looked at the house. His eyes found her in the window. She glared at him, knuckles turning white around the tea tray. An expression of curiosity crossed his face. He smiled, doffed an imaginary hat and folowed the Board on to the street.

Ana flipped the tray. The china cups, milk jug and remaining biscuits crashed into the sink.

‘The Board would like to come back and see you tomorrow, Ariana,’ she mimicked. ‘Any more questions, Warden?

Yes,’ she answered in the Warden’s Irish accent, ‘I’d just like to know why I’m such an arsehole.’

She stomped into the living room and waved a hand across her chest to power up her interface. It came on, automaticaly synching to the flatscreen. She considered caling her father and teling him it was a fiasco and it was caling her father and teling him it was a fiasco and it was al his fault for not warning her about Warden Dombrant.

But he would try to calm her down. He’d tel her she was over-reacting, that she needed to get a grip. Ana was sick to 59

death of controling herself. She wanted to scream, swear, smash things up. There was no way she could endure another session with the Board tomorrow without losing it.

She’d end up teling them where they could shove their stupid association tests and creative writing.

For three years she’d kept her head down and done as she was told. Was she going to sit back and keep quiet now?

Was she going to put her trust in the Wardens when Jasper hadn’t? Warden Dombrant was spending time questioning Jasper’s behaviour and who Jasper was friends with, when he should be tracking down the kidnappers.

Ana navigated to the BBC News website and stroked her index finger through the air, scroling down the front page. On the left side of the flatscreen appeared al the day’s breaking stories. She tapped her finger in the air over the article titled: Novastra CEO’s Son Abducted
.

A page opened up featuring an old photo of Jasper and his father playing golf.

She scanned the article for information. It covered little more than the seven o’clock news. As yet, no demands had been made and no contact established. An information hotline number flashed at the bottom of the information hotline number flashed at the bottom of the page.

Her gaze rested on the image of Jasper. Pressure filed her chest as she imagined him stuck in some underground hole, blindfolded, thirsty, beaten up or worse, much worse.

She had to try and help him.

Ana initiated the interface virtual keyboard by pretending to touch-type. The keyboard appeared on the dark coffee table in front of her. She tapped in the words

‘abduction’, ‘Novastra’, ‘Benzidox’. The projected words hovered 60

distortedly in front of her chest. She pinched their virtual forms with her fingers and dragged them up to the search engine box on the flatscreen. Within seconds, dozens of pages from al over the net appeared on the screen.

TOMORROW’S UNITED CHRISTIANS CLAIM

NOVASTRA’S BEN-ZIDOX DESTROYS FREE

WILL.

HUSBAND OF NOVASTRA EMPLOYEE SAYS

DANGEROUS EN-LIGHTENMENT PROJECT

SECT ABDUCTED HIS WIFE.

ANOTHER NOVASTRA EMPLOYEE

DISAPPEARS, ESCALATING

FEARS OF A BRUTAL ABDUCTION.

Ana scrutinised the results. She’d known controversy surrounded Novastra, but counting Jasper, that made three abductions for the pharmaceutical monopoly in the last twelve months. Her fingers hovered in the air in front last twelve months. Her fingers hovered in the air in front of her.

She thought back to the concert. When Jasper had said he was in trouble, he’d spoken of an acquaintance he’d met yesterday morning. The acquaintance had gone mental in the street and been picked up by the Psych Watch. It seemed probable Jasper’s abduction was somehow connected. The situation wasn’t as simple as Warden Dombrant wanted her to believe. The Warden had been concealing something, waiting, watching, calculating. Which is why he hadn’t puled her up on the lie. With a shiver of anticipation Ana typed ‘Enkidu’ and

‘Psych Watch’.

The top search result referred to an ancient Mesopot-amian poem about a king who befriended a wild man caled Enkidu. Al the other results referred either to the poem or 61

to the establishment nine years ago of the Psych Watch, the Board’s right hand, enforcing their dictates and keeping the streets free of dangerous Actives.

What she needed was a list of al the Psych Watch arrests in London yesterday morning. She navigated to a missing persons website, one she’d become familiar with last September when she’d been searching for information about Tamsin. The website published the names of those seized from the streets so families with missing relatives could trace a loved one that had been taken by the Psych Watch to a Mental Rehab Home.

There were thirty-six entries for yesterday morning between nine and eleven-thirty. Ana scanned through the names but there was no one caled Enkidu. She started names but there was no one caled Enkidu. She started over again at the top of the list, clicking on the provided links for more information. Some included eye-witness accounts of the seizures, some of the more violent episodes had smal articles written about them. Ana was about a quarter of the way through the list when she came across a short piece which had featured on several local news sites: Yesterday morning, an ex-member of the Enlightenment Project experienced a sudden psychotic break and pounced on an unsuspecting young Pure man. The Psych Watch arrived in record time to halt the attack.