The Cure, 05.1: Delivery Part One
|05.1|
DELIVERY
PART ONE
| EXTRACTED FROM NEĒREĒ TĀU /
HOME LOT 2807 OF 81SUB / 30.8.3433 / 7:18āam |
| KNIJÄ: TWO WEEKS, TWO DAĀYS OLD |
We cannot take it anymore. Knijä’s birth is now public knowledge, this information now synced into everyone’s U-feed and U-calendar. People are beginning to show up at our entrance. Immediate family, friends and co-workers have U-mailed, U-called and arrived at our home lot, yet we have not let a soeūl in. Those in our inner circle are beginning to grow suspicious.
Knijä was everything we wished for at first. Gleaming blū eyes and a bare scalp that would eventually fill with the shimmer of blonde hair. She was meant to be passive and quiet. Yet in a few short daāys Knijä is a mere shadow of what she was in the Receiving Room.
We cannot allow anyone to see her, no matter how much we wish we could show her off to the whole of Metravā. In the darkest, deepest, most secretive place in my braāin I cannot help but think something is wrong with Knijä. I feel it every time I look at her.
She is not like us.
Anxiety begins to boil within meē as I feel an advert pulse. “Try AntiNeg-Thought Medīcation todaāy as a supplement with your First Meal! U-mans do not think negatively, so you should not think negatively either!”
The advert is splattered up in front of meē in distracting pixels, startling meē as I end my conversation with Dr. Singkū.
“She should be over shortly,” I explain to Noeāl as he holds Knijä, his arms wrapped around her protectively.
“You should not think that way,” he cautions.
“I know.” I pinch the pixels so that they disappear into the air like a film of popped bubbles. “Parents are not usually challenged like this, Noeāl.”
He looks as if he is about to say something, however his stare just lingers in the room.
“U-chip: music, home playlist,” I command. A soft background of music instantly drifts throughout the room from the Home Receivers in our multīspace.
I allow the comforting Synthetī music to wrap around meē like a soft embrace. I cocoon myself in this as I try to not let my mīnd wander to darker territory. Remember what we were taught in edūcation, I tell myself. Do not think differently and do not be different. There is no ‘U’ in conformity.
Suddenly my U-chip pings with a notify from the home lot, letting meē know that someone is at our door. “Noeāl,” I call out as I make my way to the front entrance.
“Doctor,” I greet in the most neutral tone that I can manage.
“Do not worry, Mrs. Tāu,” she says with the oddest twinkle in her eye. “I am here to explain as much as I can.”
–
| EXTRACTED FROM NEĒREĒ TĀU /
HOME LOT 2807 OF 81SUB / 30.8.3433 / 7:21āam |
Moments later, we are sitting in front of her in our multīspace, Knijä on Noeāl’s lap and tall glasses of Waterlite in front of us. Dr. Singkū inspects our daughter, nods and looks us both in the eyes.
“I need to turn off your U-chips before we can talk any further,” she almost mouths.
“Turn off?” Noeāl asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Not so loud,” she urges him. “Command the Receivers in your ears and home lot to turn off and then put out your wrists.”
I look at my husband, meeting his stare, both of us knowing we have no choice. What else are we to do in this circumstance? We both talk into our U-chips, commanding the Receivers in our ears as well as the Receivers in our home lot that connect to our U-chips to turn off. We put out our left wrists and Dr. Singkū presses down on them both firmly. Our U-chips pulse after a moment, notīfying us of their shutdown. They then remain silent.
It takes a moment to realise the difference, the absence of the constant hum of the U-chip operating throughout my body. I feel cold. Indifferent and incomplete. I reflect back to when I first woke in the Begin Centre of 81Sub Memorial. My mīnd feels clearer and free, almost as if someone has unhinged a wiring or has lifted a roof off my braāin.
“I feel strange,” Noeāl admits out loud. “Everything seems too—”
“Sharp?” Dr. Singkū asks. “Clear? Unfiltered.”
“Yes,” we both say at the same time, and I look at my husband in a knowing gaze.
“Well then,” she looks to the right and a strange sound echoes from the entrance, almost as if she was waiting for it.
“A knock,” she explains. “U-mans do not knock, they notīfy their arrival.”
“What is a knock?” I ask.
“It is the sound of a knuckle rapping on a surface, something that would put our perfect skin at risk,” the doctor says with a grate to her voice. “There will be a package at the door for you.”
“What is inside?” Noeāl asks, intrigue filling his face.
“Everything you need,” she explains, leaning over the table and wrapping her fingers around our daughter’s tiny hand, “for little Knijä to blend in.”
The Cure will be published in full on Monday the 15th of August.
The Cure is written by J. R Knight, illustrated by Paul Ikin and edited by Kayla Marie Murphy.
The first 15 instalments of The Cure will be published week by week on The Knight Life. This chapter is in two parts, and the next instalment (Delivery Part Two) will continue this Thursday.
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