‘So, you’re both fit and rested?’ he probes. We look at each other and nod. ‘Then suit up and make your way to the studio. Eve is awake and expecting Holly.’ He drops a file on my lap and leaves the room.
I glance at Hartman. ‘Open it!’ he says, so I peel off the red tape and open the brown folder.
A dozen photos slip on to my lap. Photos of Eve. She’s wearing a white dressing gown, her wild hair is refusing to be tamed by the band holding her plaits and her face is red and blotchy. The room around her is completely trashed and the feathers from inside her pillow hang in the air.
‘This must be after the meeting.’ Hartman states the obvious.
It’s going to be a long night.
6
Bram
The locker room is deserted. No one else is working so late. It’s me and Hartman. Just how we like it. I walk past my copilots’ lockers – Jackson, Locke, Kramer, Watts. They’ll all be back in their dorms, reading through their new assignments, but they’ll be wondering what Hartman and I are up to.
It’s nothing new, me and Hartman getting summoned out of hours for unscheduled meetings with Eve. Life isn’t always predictable. Sometimes Eve needs us and we have to be there. Tonight is one of those nights. There’s no agenda for Holly on tonight’s assignment. She’s simply going to be who Eve needs her to be – her friend.
There is no script. No key messaging. Pure improvisation. That’s why I’m here, not Jackson or Kramer. They may outrank me, but they don’t know Eve like I do. If Eve wants to talk about her childhood, I know it. I was there. They have to wait for Locke or Watts to load up a history file and find the information they require to have a successfully convincing conversation. Not me.
We open our lockers and I pull out my thin black kinetic suit. It’s well worn, but still as state-of-the-art as they come. Millions of microscopic sensors line flexible fabric, ready to capture my every movement. I strip naked and slip it on. It forms around my muscles like a second skin. Being a pilot requires a certain level of physical fitness and the job itself keeps me in shape. It’s demanding. I grab my visor, head-strap and pressure gloves, and turn to face Hartman, who’s been busy programming tonight’s assignment on his laptop on the bench next to me, a strip of red liquorice poking out of his thick lips. His job is more mentally demanding than physical.
It takes two people to pilot Holly: the programmer and the pilot. Hartman is my programmer, my co-pilot. If Holly walks out on to the Drop and Eve grabs a jacket, Hartman programs one for me too and it appears in Holly’s hands. If Eve wants to gossip over a late-night snack, Hartman makes me a virtual mug of tea. He controls every aspect of Holly’s appearance and everything she digitally interacts with during a session with Eve. Is he the best at it? Maybe not. He’d be the first to admit that. But he makes up for what he lacks by finding ways around the system. Are they always legal? Hell, no. But if it gets the job done the EPO are usually happy to overlook his hacking tendencies. They want results. They don’t care how they get them.
My job? I am Holly. My movements, my mannerisms, my physicality: it’s all captured by the hypersensitive pressure points that are woven into the kinetic suit. My facial expressions are analysed, adapted and applied to Holly’s face in real time, as is my voice. When I’m suited up, I am Holly. When I enter the studio, two floors below the Dome, Bram stays at the door. This is my duty, my part in the future. I am Holly.
‘I’ve loaded up the night program we used a few months back. It’s not perfect but it’s the best I’ve got at short notice,’ Hartman says, swivelling his screen around to show me Holly’s appearance, how Eve will see me.
‘That’ll work fine,’ I say, my mind already shifting. I’m numbing Bram’s emotions, Bram’s feelings. Switching off from my father, ignoring the ache in my neck from Jackson’s fist. They are not Holly’s issues, they are Bram’s.
I am Holly.
We enter the darkened studio and I hear the electric hum of the scanners warming up, and the static electricity in the air emits small blue sparks on my visor as I slip it over my cropped dirty-blond hair. The room is large. Big enough to run in if I need to. It can simulate any event or environment that Holly might encounter in the Dome with Eve.
I flip the visor down in front of my eyes and prepare for connection. Whatever Holly sees up there, I see down here. Whatever I do down here, Holly does up there. We are connected. We are the same person. I am Holly.
‘Okay, Holly is loaded and ready for connection.’ I hear Hartman in my earpiece. ‘Ready, Bram?’
I don’t reply.
‘Sorry … ready, Holly?’ he corrects himself. Four years together and he still can’t get the basics right.
‘Ready. Idiot,’ I reply, and shoot him a look through my visor as he sits behind his control station illuminated by a subtle red light in the corner of the studio.
‘Good luck. Rendering Holly now. Connection in three … two … one,’ he says in my ear, as the Dome appears in front of me.
I look around at the dark greenery. I’m standing in the upper garden zone, a little walk from Eve’s sleeping quarters, and I remember the night program Hartman has loaded from a few weeks back.
‘Sorry I forgot to change the location.’ His voice crackles in my ear.
A few weeks ago Eve and I took a late-night stroll through the garden. She was anxious about the Potentials and wasn’t sleeping well. Holly’s assignment was to help her relax.
I walk past the trees and flowers as they glow in the blue light cast by the incredibly large full moon looming over my head on the other side of the hexagonal canopy. It’s nothing like the real moon, more like the one you see in your dreams, the perfect kind that floats effortlessly, magically, over the world. This is Eve’s moon.
I see the light from her room at the top of a small spiral staircase and walk up it. The studio floor beneath my feet reacts to what I’m doing and moves silently to simulate the experience of walking upstairs.
I reach the top and stand in front of a full-length glass door. I stop for a moment and take in my reflection. Pastel pink pyjamas. Natural blonde hair with a subtle wave. Piercing green eyes. Thin lips and a pointy jaw make Holly elfishly pretty. Then my focus adjusts from my programmed pretty features to the naturally beautiful Eve.
I can see her sad eyes staring out at me. She hides her face in what remains of her pillow.
I press my thumb to my little finger, which holds Holly’s position momentarily and mutes my voice from the Dome allowing me to speak to Hartman without Eve hearing.
‘Don’t open the door ,’ I tell him, pre-empting what he was about to do. ‘She’ll let me in. ’
I release my fingers and raise a hand to tap on the glass. My kinetic gloves vibrate as I knock. It feels real.
I hear the sound of my simulated knock echo around the inside of Eve’s small bedroom.
‘Not tonight, Hols.’ Eve’s voice is muffled by the pillow.
I don’t reply. I give her a moment.
She turns her head and looks at me again. ‘I just want to – to be alone.’ She sniffs as more tears run sideways down her face.
‘Come on, Eve. Let me in?’ I ask.
She doesn’t move. ‘I don’t want to …’
‘We don’t have to talk. Let’s just … sit,’ I suggest.
She looks at me. She’s thinking. She knows I could just come in, if they wanted me to. The doors can be unlocked with the click of a button. Everything can be controlled remotely in the Dome. But I like giving her the control. This is her place, not mine, not the EPO’s.
‘Eve, you can trust me. It’s me,’ I say.
Through the translucent visor I see Hartman’s head give me a look. Perhaps I emphasized me a little too much.
Eve looks more closely this time. She stares through the glass door into Holly’s eyes. It’s like she’s looking through my visor and into my own.
She knows.
She immediately climbs down from her bed, steps ov
er the mess she’s created and swings the glass door open. She raises her arms, places them around my neck and sobs.
She can’t feel me. Not really . Touching Holly is like touching a ball of static. They made us do it repeatedly at the academy. It’s warm, fizzy, but not real. We’re not supposed to touch Eve physically. Vivian thinks it breaks the illusion of reality but tonight’s an exception. Tonight Eve needs it. She holds the weight of her own arms, places her cheek on my shoulder and accepts the sensation on her face. My suit reacts and lets me feel the weight of her and the soft tremor of her chest as she cries. My stomach jumps at this simulated embrace. Holding her: this isn’t something many people get to do.
I say nothing and wait for her to run out of tears as we stand in the light of her moon.
‘Let’s walk,’ she says, as she takes my hand and leads me down the staircase. I know where she’s going and, as we reach the bottom step, I speed up to walk alongside her. We silently move through the greenery towards the opening in the canopy. I see the wind blow through the strands of her curly brown hair that have broken free of the plaits and glance at my wrist. In a matter of seconds Hartman has understood my gesture and the next time I look at my wrist a hairband is waiting there. I let go of Eve’s hand for a moment, pull it off and tie my blonde hair away from my face to match hers as we step through the opening on to the Drop.
‘So …’ She sighs.
‘Good day, then?’ I say sarcastically.
‘Fab.’ She smirks, giving me a thumbs-up. ‘All went according to plan. I can already hear those wedding bells.’
I chuckle and she looks out over the sea of clouds below us. ‘It won’t be like that again, Eve,’ I say.
‘Won’t it?’ she asks. ‘You should have been there, Hols. He could barely look me in the eye. It was like my face was …’ She stops and shakes her head.
‘It wasn’t anything to do with your face. It wasn’t anything you did. It wasn’t your fault in any way at all.’
She looks at me in disbelief.
‘This was a complete and utter screw-up by them ,’ I nod towards the nearest camera invading our conversation. ‘And, believe me, they know it! I mean, of course these guys are gonna be dumbstruck when they see you – you’re the only girl on the planet! It’s pretty obvious, if you ask me, and they should have taken that into consideration before marching you into a room with a Potential.’
Eve smiles.
I know I shouldn’t have referenced the camera or insulted the EPO’s actions but I have the authority here to do what needs to be done to gain Eve’s cooperation.
‘I don’t think they’re going to be happy with you saying things like that,’ Eve teases.
‘Yeah, well, sometimes you’ve got to peel the stickers off the Cube,’ I joke and stick my middle finger up at the camera.
Eve cracks up and covers my hand with her own. ‘That’s what you’ve always said.’
‘It’s true.’
She’s back.
We sit on the Drop for hours as Eve’s moon creeps overhead. We talk about life, about the world, the future, men, love, everything. She’s interested, inquisitive, smart.
‘So who’s next?’ she asks.
‘I’m sorry?’ I reply, wondering what she’s talking about.
‘Potential Number Two, who is he?’
‘Oh. Erm, he’s nice,’ I tell her, raising my eyebrows knowingly.
‘Hmm.’
‘No, really. I think you’ll like this one,’ I say, as convincingly as I can, knowing that the next Potential is about as dull as cardboard.
‘Why can’t they just be like you?’ She’s taking in the view.
‘Well, not everyone’s perfect,’ I joke. ‘Besides, I think we’d find the whole repopulating-the-planet thing a little tricky, if you know what I mean!’
‘No, I mean you ,’ she says, turning to look straight through Holly’s eyes, down two storeys, past my visor and into my own.
My heart stops. The hairs on my skin stand on end and I freeze. Is she talking to me?
I’m speechless. Completely blind-sided. My mind slips from Holly and I’m myself, face to face with Eve.
She’s never done this before.
‘Bram!’ I hear Hartman calling into my earpiece, snapping me back to reality, Eve’s reality.
‘Is it morning already?’ Eve asks, as we shield our eyes from the intense sunrise creeping over the distant horizon.
The answer is no. This is Vivian ending our meeting.
‘I think you should get some sleep, Eve. Go back, shut the blinds and rest. Forget about today. It won’t happen again.’
She looks into my eyes once more and I nervously tuck my hair behind my ears, forgetting that I’d already tied it back. Shit, I’m shaking.
‘Okay, night, Hols. Thanks,’ she says, as she walks towards the doorway. She waves over her head as she yawns and disappears inside, leaving me alone on the Drop.
I turn and gaze at the sunrise, which hasn’t moved since it first appeared. It’s paused. I chuckle to myself as the display in my visor begins to fade and Hartman’s voice irritates my eardrum.
‘Disconnection in three … two … one. You’re clear.’
I sit on the floor, pull off the headset and unzip my kinetic suit. I’m sweating.
‘That girl’s going to get us into trouble,’ I say, as Hartman closes his laptop and walks over to where I’m slumped.
‘No, she’s not,’ he replies. ‘She’s going to get you into trouble.’
7
Eve
‘And one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Brush through the floor and into fifth. Lovely, Eve,’ says Mother Jacqui, in her soothing voice, which she modulates to enhance the direction she’s giving. Not only is she one of the youngest of the Mothers, but she’s also the most agile – even though she’s almost seventy she can still touch her toes and bring her foot up behind her ear. Until recently she could also outrun me. I’m not sure whether I’ve become faster or she’s become slower, but either way, those qualities have made her responsible for Holly’s and my physical education. This covers everything from swimming to ballet, netball to gymnastics, karate to running, all to keep me fit and active. To make sure my body is in full working order and prepared for what’s to come.
I’ve never complained. There’s no denying the release that comes with exerting myself. The buzz makes me feel alive as the blood rushes through me, into my fingers and toes, especially when I’m boxing: they hang up a bag and let me hook, jab, kick and punch to the rhythm of the music. I always feel exhausted when I leave, and more alive than ever.
In contrast to the aggression I love in boxing, they give me dancing – which always leaves me exhilarated, sometimes even enchanted. Especially ballet, which is such an emotive form of storytelling. When I was younger I used to sit and watch Mother Jacqui twirl and spin around the room in awe.
I’m allowed to watch old footage of staged productions every now and then. They were grand affairs in huge theatres, where everyone got dressed up as though it was quite the event. I understand why. The emotion, the detail, the magic – a body can express so much in the way it moves. It takes me somewhere else. It’s captivating.
I’m not at that level, but in many ways I feel like I am when I’m in class. In those moments, when I close my eyes, I’m transported. Not to a stage where I’m watched by an audience of thousands – I’m watched enough already – but to an empty auditorium where I perform only for me. Where I dance to the beat of my own drum. Occasionally I open my eyes and am surprised to be in the dance studio.
This is exactly what I’ve needed to calm my mind after the incident with Connor. In this room none of that matters.
I sense Holly behind me, breathing deeply after an intense class of pointe work. I always feel sorry for her in these classes. She’s not a natural.
‘Now bring your right arm up and over, and lean slowly into the barre.’ Mother Jacqui’s voice is low and breath
y, as she demonstrates what she’s asking of us. ‘Feel that puuuuuull … Keep your arm long, Holly.’
Holly grunts in response.
‘Plié and stretch,’ Mother Jacqui sings. ‘And lower into a reverence.’
I do as she instructs, my body thankful as it bows into the curtsy and welcomes the end of the session.
‘Well done.’ She smiles, giving a little clap, clearly happy with our progress. She walks to the corner of the room and pulls her uniform grey trousers over her ballet tights, then slips her feet into her black shoes and her pale pink blouse over her head – plain except for the embroidered white logo to the left of her chest. This is the everyday uniform of the Mothers. It’s practical and nondescript. That’s another reason why I love to see Holly walking into a room with her ever-changing wardrobe choices – it gives me something new to look at.
‘That was a tough one,’ I puff, once Mother Jacqui has left the room. I grab the barre with both hands, then lean over to lengthen my spine.
‘You’re improving,’ Holly says.
I look up to see her wearing a patronizing grin.
‘They’ve been working me hard,’ I say matter-of-factly, straightening up. Holly’s wearing an identical outfit to my own – pink tights and a black crossover leotard. ‘They’ve even made me have another go at Mandarin.’
‘Again? If you haven’t mastered it by now you never will.’
‘Thanks for the encouragement.’
‘No, I …’ she falters. She never fluffs, which makes me think she pities me for what happened at the first encounter.
I clench my jaw. Then I open my mouth and out comes some broken Mandarin.
‘What?’ she asks, her brow dipping in confusion.
‘Exactly.’ I laugh, amused that I managed to quote Sylvia Plath in Mandarin.
‘Potential Number Two looks decent,’ she says, jumping on my good mood.
‘He does,’ I say dismissively. Soon I have to meet Diego.
I was distraught after Connor. Holly came to see me afterwards, but not this Holly. I can’t be as open and raw with this one.