to say goodbye to the place, nitpicking as he might with a lover when he saw the breakup on the horizon.
Stooping in front of his watermarked chrome kettle, he flattened out the two uneven ends of his tie. How would the morning go? He thought himself in through the revolving doors of the V office. At the reception desk he would say Hi. My name is Doctor Kester Lowe. Alexis Farrell is expecting me. She said to report to her for my induction . He would say it in a confident tone, without stumbling over his words or having to check his Book for the details. The receptionist would say Doctor Lowe – of course! Please, this way. Nice and straightforward. That bit couldn't go wrong.
Flicking and tucking his tie into a fat knot, he continued the day in his head. Mrs Farrell would be looking over some important documents when he arrived. People would be fussing round her like cleaner wrasse. The receptionist would show him into her office and leave, bowing as she backed out of the doorway. The attendant employees would look up and then buzz out of the room, heads down, leaving just the two of them. Hello , he would say.
Where to go from 'hello' was the hard part. She would make some lewd comment. Or would she be different now that he was an employee? With people he knew already he would idly practise conversations in his head before he met them, but then he knew the sorts of things they might have to say to him. Perhaps she would make some comment about John's performance in the bar. Oh, him, he'd reply, then follow it with a lie about John – John wouldn't mind. He's just a guy from the department. He sometimes just tags along. He can't handle his drink. He's bipolar. Maybe slightly fewer lies about John. I see, she'd reply. Then she'd hit her Book and mist up the windows that looked onto the rest of the floor. All the employees outside would give him daggers through the opacifying glass. Time for your induction .
There was a beep. His Book. After pacing around for a bit, Kester spied it, sitting camouflaged on the edge of his smoked glass coffee table. The transparent body of the Book was a brilliant innovation – just looking through it gave you an AR view of everything you pointed it at – but Kester always forgot to set it to solid when he put it down and it would disappear into its surroundings effortlessly. Word was there was an upgrade coming that would make it change automatically when you put it down, but it hadn't materialised yet. He should have got the one with the red fingerplate and topline. As he picked it up the round button in the centre of the fingerplate recognised his thumbprint and unlocked. A good luck message from Betta.
Kester thought of Delilah. It had been over a week. Betta had been acting the go-between, but it had all been one way. Dee had met all of Kester's apologies with silence. Betta said she was waiting for him to turn down the job, but he had no idea why he would, or why she would think that he would.
Kester's eye wandered automatically to the picture of him and Dee that sat gathering dust on top of the fridge. He remembered the day it was taken – his eleventh birthday, a Friday in the summer holidays. That morning his parents had been deep in excited conversation when he came downstairs. The kitchen smelled of his Dad's aftershave and burnt toast. On the television they were claiming that the threat of AIDS was over and on some channels that all disease was beaten for good. Someone had invented a nano-device that built itself inside the sufferer's body and protected them from disease, taking over the functions of their broken immune system.
When Kester had finally managed to get his parents' attention, his Dad had jumped in and explained to him what the immune system was. On the television there were arguments raging. Some people seemed to be against the device for some reason and others were saying that scientists had bettered the design of the human body. Kester couldn't follow
Stooping in front of his watermarked chrome kettle, he flattened out the two uneven ends of his tie. How would the morning go? He thought himself in through the revolving doors of the V office. At the reception desk he would say Hi. My name is Doctor Kester Lowe. Alexis Farrell is expecting me. She said to report to her for my induction . He would say it in a confident tone, without stumbling over his words or having to check his Book for the details. The receptionist would say Doctor Lowe – of course! Please, this way. Nice and straightforward. That bit couldn't go wrong.
Flicking and tucking his tie into a fat knot, he continued the day in his head. Mrs Farrell would be looking over some important documents when he arrived. People would be fussing round her like cleaner wrasse. The receptionist would show him into her office and leave, bowing as she backed out of the doorway. The attendant employees would look up and then buzz out of the room, heads down, leaving just the two of them. Hello , he would say.
Where to go from 'hello' was the hard part. She would make some lewd comment. Or would she be different now that he was an employee? With people he knew already he would idly practise conversations in his head before he met them, but then he knew the sorts of things they might have to say to him. Perhaps she would make some comment about John's performance in the bar. Oh, him, he'd reply, then follow it with a lie about John – John wouldn't mind. He's just a guy from the department. He sometimes just tags along. He can't handle his drink. He's bipolar. Maybe slightly fewer lies about John. I see, she'd reply. Then she'd hit her Book and mist up the windows that looked onto the rest of the floor. All the employees outside would give him daggers through the opacifying glass. Time for your induction .
There was a beep. His Book. After pacing around for a bit, Kester spied it, sitting camouflaged on the edge of his smoked glass coffee table. The transparent body of the Book was a brilliant innovation – just looking through it gave you an AR view of everything you pointed it at – but Kester always forgot to set it to solid when he put it down and it would disappear into its surroundings effortlessly. Word was there was an upgrade coming that would make it change automatically when you put it down, but it hadn't materialised yet. He should have got the one with the red fingerplate and topline. As he picked it up the round button in the centre of the fingerplate recognised his thumbprint and unlocked. A good luck message from Betta.
Kester thought of Delilah. It had been over a week. Betta had been acting the go-between, but it had all been one way. Dee had met all of Kester's apologies with silence. Betta said she was waiting for him to turn down the job, but he had no idea why he would, or why she would think that he would.
Kester's eye wandered automatically to the picture of him and Dee that sat gathering dust on top of the fridge. He remembered the day it was taken – his eleventh birthday, a Friday in the summer holidays. That morning his parents had been deep in excited conversation when he came downstairs. The kitchen smelled of his Dad's aftershave and burnt toast. On the television they were claiming that the threat of AIDS was over and on some channels that all disease was beaten for good. Someone had invented a nano-device that built itself inside the sufferer's body and protected them from disease, taking over the functions of their broken immune system.
When Kester had finally managed to get his parents' attention, his Dad had jumped in and explained to him what the immune system was. On the television there were arguments raging. Some people seemed to be against the device for some reason and others were saying that scientists had bettered the design of the human body. Kester couldn't follow
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