Little Green Pills
by Chris Morton
One
Robots assembling robots and me at the stack, six hours a shift and then another four after my spell at Fish. Two years and what’d I got? I tell you. Enough bleeting rage to fill a multidimensional sphinx. And I’d had it, you know? Betters. Went up to my super after the first six and told him.
He’s this big hulk of a droid. A regular mountain.
And I told him, it, whatever your prefs. Said I was done and said he’d see me in two but I laughed in his pudge of a face and replied, like, see you in hell.
Then I ripped out my code, chucked it on the floor and strode outa there, no looking back to see if my gesture had had any effect.
Went to Fish for the sandwich and lime. Filled it with eths and had two, then three, then stumbling back to the factory, punched at the door and what do you bleeting know, they’d taken us series.
Hit that button for a good halfs. Then went back to Fish for more lime and adds, fell asleep, woke up in a fuzz and went back again.
Got called up to the office. This hag of a girl saying my attitude … attitude?!
The promises been made.
And she was like, my assessed character was the correct match for observation at level one when I started and due to no improvement shown in the regular assessments; and it was all like this, going ’bouts how they’d been fair, done the requires and if I wanted better, then good luck in trying.
And then we kinda sat there staring and she said she’d come up with another offs ifs I was willing – and it hits me kinda briefly, like what was I gonna do for creds?
So I asked what it was. All like, couldn’t care for stree either way but leaned back in the chair, watching her.
“Hit me,” I said, though even with my level one intels, I could tell it was somes dodge.
“It’s a pill.”
“A pill,” I repeats, like. Not as if I’m a user but I’ve had plenty of ’em. Mostly hallucoes. Space adventures to Martia for those of us who can’t even afford a zeppelin ride; dragon fighting on Zephra island; being a hero in the Juniper wars. Took a bad one once that left me paranoid for six months; aliens climbing the walls at work, at home, along the streets. Faces moving.
“A pill?”
“Not that kind,” she told me. Not like the others, and I said, I’d no ideas what any others were and she laughed out loud. Real husky.
Calming down, she said this one was to improve my level. Experimental. Still trying it. Trying on a few subjects and there I was, the subject.
“Sures,” I answered. And she handed it over, saying I should take it right aways. A little green bead with stripes of grey.
“This will improve … my brain?” I asked her with only her laughing and slides over some water.
“Report in as usual tomorrow. One of my colleagues will be here to meet you.”
Two
Went home with no affect and waded the streets like with the usual feelings of seeing the hanging visuals of stuff I’d never be able to buy and the robots passing me, higher status androids that took the piss. Upgrade your status one sign said. For that you need money. For money you need status. Better offs striding along with the droids. Important missions.
Bought a manga and dived in to Bleach. Sat in a dark corner of the joint, on the edge of what ends up as the dancefloor laters at night – just me in theres, no lime, no eths. Fruit and manga – ’bout this woman abusing astronauts. Blood and guts. She wants to be the only one left. When she is, she needs food. Plenty of that around. On ice.
“Hey, Jo.”
I looked up. It’s Cheese. “Bleet you doing here Cheese?” It’d been a month, you see. He’d headed down Tokyo for a job loading chips and he’s good like that. Two million’s his record. Blinding, dull. But he’s got ambitions an’s almost up to three in stats.
“What’re doing?”
“Quit the obs,” I told him.
“Ya freaking me?” No need for details though. Gave him the bit ’bout walking out, ’em begging me to come back, saying they’d give me a chance. Put me on two.
“Believe that?” he said.
He’s well tall, Cheese. Pics him looking down at me sat there on the step – smoky dance mist waving ’bout us. He was wearing his bacl travelling stuff. Tight. Yum.
“Just got back?”
And he sneered kinda tired an’ looking at my juice. “Brain fried, huh?” I asked him. All those chips and he knew I knew; knew he was after music and afters.
He got us both one and came back to sit. We moved, through to a table and his stuff he threw in the stabs locker; took off his jacket and shirt and we kissed for an hour or that, feeling an’ drinking. The place filled up and the music got louder. Thudding. Lights brighter. Flashing and we were on the pack, in ’em an’ thrashing it out.
Sweating and ready to conquer the world as we left, was ’bout three then. Spewing tunes following us out as we stumbled back along the paves; no carrier, though plenty shooting past. Taxi? Must be kidding. We joked ’bout how one day. Level ten’s Cheese’s ambition. By thirty. Then he’ll marry me – least that’s what he’s saying.
“Bleeting yab.”
We held hands up the wells to my box. Left his stuff at Bleach. Get to my box an’ we don’ need wish anyways. Just our bodies, you guessed it. Cheese’s that kinda friend. Marry me? More likely go for some level twenty. Chances.
Woke up in the middle of the night in a sweat. Cheese purring to himself.
Outside there’s sirens. Squads pending down on some gang. Moves over. Take a couple for show.
At the sink I gots water and my throat – describing it’s kinda lame. Like tar. Tar and metal. Liquid running through it like a pipe. Stomach’s the bin.
Fell over, one hand clutching the sink. Other hand’s dropped the glass – shattered all on the tiles. Cheese’s still sleeping.
Then pass out like that, feeling kinda wonderful.
Three
Morning was like, you can guess. Eths’ never been good the day afters, howevs they distil the shree and that’s somes even level ones know. Though they say synth’s the bean – but who’s gonna find the creds for that?
Discrims – but what’re we cares?
“Bleeting …!”
That was Cheese. Rolling over. He’s gotta go. Kiss kiss. “Thanks for havin’ us.” Yeah, right, Cheese. Pleasure’s all mine. He’s out and just me and the brush. Glass cuttings. Damps the blanket and all in the blower. Chose some nice dress for once, ambled along to work.
Danced along the side of the paves. Taxis and carriers. Droids and the morning rush. The holos sang down, proud of me, the soon to be level two and who knows? Take enough of those things and there’s no stopping me – shove ’em down; give us the lot!
Upgrade ya status and fly me to Martia.
I punched at the wall. The door and it shunted in perfect moves. Was watching it, understanding it.
And there was this guy. Tall and grey. Thin an’ hardly there and he was like, “Come this way,” an’ I followed him down.
Sloping. One-seventy-two degrees. We were off to a lower floor. Nevs been down, usually ups to the tenth. This guy, he’s like not speaking and all series.
He took me to this room. Slid me into a chair.
Straps.
An’ he was like, “Tell me what you feel.” While there’s me, looking round at swirling walls of smoke. The movement, it struck me again – that strange understanding of movement. Like, I knew where it was going and understood where it was before and knew why and it was all connects. The movement of the smoke I mean. Not real, just videoscreens. Virtual. Yet there was a pattern and I got it.
“Dunnos the word,” I said. “Know what ya asking but dunnos the word.”
He was sat in another chair opposite. Just the two of us. The chairs were made of Cererian steel and I knew that too, though how, you gotta ask.
“Good,” this guy replied. Sats and that.
“Ya wan’ me to take another?”
“In time …”
He had a fist against his chin, his profile still fuzzy. Concentrating on the smoke, I guess. An’ then the walls, moving. Shuddering, but just a fraction. I told him this and he seemed kinda interested.
“Moving, how?”
“Just, you know.”
“Shifting?” he asked.
“Vibrating,” I managed.
He had a pad and was writing stuff on it. Swiping. “Good,” he was saying. Then he got up and left and it’s just me an’ the smoke. Like that for an hour. Memorising. But there was more an’ where the hell was my other pill anyways?
He came back on the sixty minute dot. Pad again.
“Tell me about your mother and father,” he asked.
“What’d’ya care ’bout ’em?”
And he was silents, like. Watching me. An’ knew I was stumped. Could tell. Already things were getting more ’an bit weird. So I got up and demanded another pill. Gotta see, “Gotta see,” I was saying. “Gotta see more.”
And he sat there, nodding.
“Five minutes,” he said. “Five minutes and five more questions.”
Four
Was moving back and to in the room and he came over all quiet and circling but was just a feeling.
I was in the chair, still at him and he at me and number one question and it was what’s the square route of forty-eight? and I told him six point nine cos it was obvious, like. And the number two was what colour’s rain? and I knew the colour when he asked – like it hit me and we was staring each other but I still couldn’t tell you anything ’bout his face; just that sort of guy.
“Don’t haves the word,” I told him.
“But you can see it?”
“The colour, sure …”
“How far away is my chair from yours?”
“Six hundred and twenty two cents,” I said to him, immediately, like; not really thinking ’bout it.
“Since I entered this room, how many times has my heart beat?”
“Four twenty,” I said, again without the thinking.
“What is your name?”
I stood up, kicking over my chair, really circling him this time. Me against him. Me in control. “Where’s my next bleeting pill?”
“Your name?”
“What’s it matter?”
And he seemed sats with that cos he stood, then shaking my hand an’ left while I was just roaming, circling and then banging on the door, asking for the pill, screaming – by then my head hurt cos morning and back at work – dragged to somewhere, asked these questions. Felt like doin’ more than screaming … roaming place an’ kicking walls. Bleeding toes.
Five
Two and a half theres, and a droid came to let me out, escorting me back to the hag’s office. Head’s all fuzzy and on the way kept telling the droid, this big ugly one, that my name was Jo and it’d all been a mistake. “If I could just have another pill …”
“Sit down,” the hag told us.
“I …”
“You’re doing fine,” she reassured us.
In another chair, twitching my fings.
Slipped it over, a glass, water and all.
Popped it down.
“T’tha it?”
“That’s all for today.”
“Back in the afts?”
“Depends on you,” she was saying. “Off to Fish?”
“Like always,” I answered, rocking in my chair but decides and not moving.
Tell us ’bout your parents. Forgot your name? Square route of forty-eight?
“Six point nine two eight two zero three …”
I sat there, mutts.
“Bleeting Cheese,” I was mumbling. “How many girls like me he gots?” cos I was seeing it all, hopes and dreams: they just push you along whereas reals is all of us; dying slows and me a swell. Whole lot of us, like the robots. Lives, dies. Expires and moves on; world moves on – ants, hives. Pushing it and for what?
“More pills,” I told her, shaking in my chair. “I gotta see more.”
Twitching monitors an’ her hair was grey and fizzy, dead follicles but somes breathing, eyes all bloodshot and “Jo,” she was saying, cos that’s my name.
She wanted to put me at ease. Controls.
“Jo,” I said back, repeats. “And yours?”
“Claire,” she said, human and scared somes. “You need to slow down, Jo. The effect has proved stronger …” and she hesitated and said, “quicker,” and I knew she was worried. Way she looked. Big huff, deciding on words, then: “You are the first.”
“This experiment? The pills?”
“Yes.”
“First human?” I asked, cos I knew they must’ve tried it on animals. “What’s it before? Monkeys? Dogs?”
“Mice.”
“Mice?!” Frigging bleetsh! “You go from mice to us? How stupid you think I was?”
Hesitation. Then: “There was pressure.”
“Yeah, gots it.” I stood. “Get it in a human, quick as poss.” Me, the blank slate. Level one an’ thick as canvas. I stared down at her.
“Your emotion –”
“My what?”
It was a kind of intelligence she told me. Emotion – an intels they didn’t predict. She said I didn’t need another pill, that I should slows, again with the slows and no pill.
Tense.
Her head nodded, but then I got a thought.
“Them pills. They’re … what’s the word. Nano –”
“Nanobots,” she replied, still with the worries an’ hard to guess.
“Robots,” I said. Robots. Robots assembling robots and me watching – the level one me, watching and what’d I become?
“You may experience a few unexpected changes.”
“A few …?”
“And I’d suggest you …” She coughed an’ seemed undecided on somes. Then: “Go home and sleep,” she told me.
“You’re letting me out?” Cos if I was her I wouldn’t. But I swerved, said nothing extras and no kicking over or trashing. “Tomorrows?” I asked.
She nodded an’ I stretched. No point in argues. They had stuff to decide, full of cares, I could see it.
Six
“Hey, Cheese.”
“What?”
“Think I’m emotional?”
“Emotional?”
“Yeah, you know.” I’d gone to the window, looking out at the swarm. Bells and carriers. Dusk and one by one the neon had come to life.
I was back in my box an’ Cheese had turned up.
“Somes said to me today,” I shouted back at him. “They said, Jo, you have emotions.”
“Yeah?”
“They said it makes me intels.”
“Intels? You intels, Jo?”
Cheese had come over, all cares and grabbed me. Sats and not shaking no more, but then laters I was spinning. We were under the sheets, damps and simple.
“Hey Cheese, you wanna go again?”
But Cheese was out, sats and snoring, the pig. Got what he wanted, whereas me, I’m in the bathroom; neck, sparks, stomach’s hard and it’s not the blue.
Stood in the pulsing darkness, I counted a two point eight humidity: two point eight three five one two seven three five four six nine seven …
Seven
I said to Cheese (who’s like turning in his sleep) that I thought somes was up but he was like, “Come back to bed.”
But then laters, he was awake, properly this time an’ on top of me weirded out by whatever an’ not just the neck now – under my skin, at the belly an’ metal.
He was standing over me, freaks.
“What the hell they do to you?”
“T’s’all right, Cheese.”
“Jo,” he was whispering. Totally lost it.
“T’s’all right,” I said again. “Level two.”
But I could see his brain working. Weighing up the pros and cons. There were creds in his bag but he saves and stocks, Cheese. Got a plan. He’s always got one. Whereas me …
I stared at him more.
“Two others,” I was mumbling.
“Two …?”
“Yeah, two others. Like me.”
There it was, clears. The guilt and no question. Two others an’ I’m the third. Girl in each city: so obvs an’ I’m dips.
“Leech!” I was yelling. Suddens. “Leech!” an’ I’d smacked him one – picture Cheese on the floor, scrambling around, stuffing things into his pack.
“User!” I was screaming, an’ his right arm was bleeding.
“They pretty?”
“Ya crazy bitch!”
I shoved passed him, went to the bathroom and there was metal at my neck. Little tentacles poking through. Stomach hard as bolts.
“I don’t want this anys!”
Eight
Thirty-five seconds later an’ I’m up and following Cheese – out my box, on the paves but no sign of him.
Just me an’ the minions. Drones, sparks an’ neon.
“I dunnas wan’ this anys!”
I was repeats, roaming about randoms.
This kid on a pod came up to me. “What is it?” he was saying.
“Doesn’t look like a robot.”
“A new model.” That came from his mate. There were two of ’em.
“So human-looking.”
“I dunnas wan’ this anys!” I was squirming and that.
“She’s in pain.”
“It’s not a she.”
Closing my eyes and blocking, blocking it all, all of ’em out.
“We should help it.”
“How?”
“Call someone.”
“Call who?”
Then one of ’em said somes about police and that shook me.
I stood straighter, snarling.
Frightened faces and they scarpered.
Nine
Found a sheds by a store, for crates and was there ’til they picked us up – six hours. Must’ve been tracking. Then back to this room again. More questions.
“What do you remember about your childhood? What is your name? The square route of sixty-five?”
Prods and questions. Get us outa here. They say write this. I say bleetsh to ’em all.
I’m throwing down this pad an’ pen. They wanna play, let’s play.
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