The stories in this volume compose FAB = -FBA, SUM FLUX V.2.3. See more stories, and check out the authors featured in this edition here.
In today’s jobless, aimless, automated society, I am one of the lucky few with purpose. I rise, sometimes with the sun, and I rinse my beloved face, squinching my cheeks between my hands in the mirror, watching the skin sag little by little every day. My hair is mostly gray now, though I have just turned thirty. I am wearing out, the life that was hardly given to me was stolen back just as quickly. Every day is dear.
I often wonder where my face came from. Did he trace these crevices and curves with the same quiet reverence as me, lingering over this caterwauling nose and these sunken eye sockets with a lover’s adoring fingers? I doubt he ever woke from a nightmare like the one I had last night, where my face had been wiped clean, my fingerprints disappeared, leaving me nothing but a blank slate spook with no history, no present, and no future.
But no. Like I said, I am one of the lucky few. And today, I am going to The Prairie, one of the sprawling, gleaming death houses, to sit with an old woman and listen to her last stories. My Aunt Rose told me that in her youth, a dupie would never have been entrusted with the caring and keeping of the human elderly. We were considered nimble, but mindless, unsuited for anything but the most backbreaking physical labor. Her friends died young: lungs clogged with factory smog, limbs torn off and ground to bits, passing out from sunstroke in the field, and kicked awake.
But then, came the great Rethinking and the even greater Liberation, she'd say, when the powers that be considered how much money they could save if all humans were liberated of their workload and replaced with free dupie labor. That's what they called it, Rose would sigh. Freedom. But when Mr. Smith got laid off after 20 years without so much as a thank you, did he feel free? No, he came storming into the office the next day and shot up the dupie at his desk.
I know none of this firsthand. My life has been a fortunate one, plucked as I was from the growing room by Rose, who was living stealth under stolen papers that asserted her humanity, and working as a nurse. She raised me as her own child, procured documentation for me, and taught me our history. She bought me the mirror and told me it was as much my face as anybody’s. When I was grown, she pulled connections and got me this job.
Everyone loved Rose, and so they loved me, too. When she died at the age of 50, I was smothered in flowers and cards and goodwill. Too soon, too soon, they murmured, shaking their heads.
***
Today I am visiting Althea Graham, whose patient sheet tells me she has just turned 97, and has requested to Divulge for the first time in her decade of living at The Prairie. I am curious about her—we have never met, as she lives in a penthouse suite that sprawls an entire floor, eats alone, and rarely attends the socializing events hosted by the death home.
The elevator opens into the living room of her apartment, where I find her sitting stiffly in a crimson brocade chair. Behind her, a cabinet of ornately-spun glass ornaments was carefully dusted. She barely glances at me, just tells me that I may sit on the sofa, which I do. I begin as I am trained to:
Thank you for choosing to Divulge, Ms. Graham. Please know that you may tell me anything in absolute confidence. As you may know, my mind will be cleaned after this visit, and you can trust completely that I will not remember a thing. Please begin as you are ready.
***
Althea’s voice is barely a whisper:
The night before my seventh birthday, my mother and father came to the nursery to say goodnight. I was in bed, but not asleep-- toes tapping underneath my blanket, eyes fixed upon the doorway. My parents had been away in another country for the past week—I couldn’t remember where—and I was impatiently waiting awaiting the gift they always brought back for me.
My father entered first. He was a bully of a man whose bulk filled the entire nursery. My mother followed him, slipping through the door, a small box clutched in her lacquered nails. I sat up and let them kiss my cheeks, but I was angry at them for almost missing my birthday.
They hushed me and said don’t be so ungrateful, we’re here now, and look at what we have in this box for you!
It was a doll, rouged and curled and dainty. Unimpressive. I had many dolls. The doll is really a bit of a joke, said my mother. You’ll understand it when you’re older. How much older? I asked.
Oh, when you’re seven, I think you’ll have a good idea, and she winked at me, then left me alone to stew.
My nurse shook me awake at dawn, telling me that I was expected downstairs in twenty minutes. I remember that she served me tea, but it was too hot to drink, and muffins, which were too dry without tea, so I was hungry when she dressed me in something stiff and starched. Everything was done briskly; the walls echoed with my father’s tapping foot.
Happy birthday, sweetheart! he crowed as we came downstairs. We're off to get you the best doll in the world. The car is waiting, have you got everything?
Through the window, I watched the countryside get swallowed by the city. We stopped underneath an enormous building, matte-black and windowless. I found it hard to distinguish the details of the building; my eyes were pulled into the darkness itself. I was confused. I had expected a toy store or one of the doll-palaces where my parents sometimes brought me.
I rubbed my eyes against the noon sun as my father pulled me from the car and into the black building, where a tall man in a white coat greeted us. He was pale as powder and moved like a phantom, his feet hardly connecting with the ground. Beyond that, I couldn’t say what he looked like. His face was moldable, meldable, determinedly unknowable, but the tenor of his voice suggested excitement.
Welcome back to C&P Labs, Mr. Graham. We are honored to share this pivotal moment in our research with our generous benefactor.
I wouldn’t have missed it, Dr. C! replied my father.
And you’ve brought your daughter. What a thrilling moment for her, as the original. Does she know everything? asked the phantom doctor. My father smiled smugly down at me.
Not yet, he said.
We followed the phantom through the labyrinthine building and my father told me he had been supporting the research of Doctors C and P since well before I was born.
They have been working on the most exciting experiment recently, one that many scientists are working on across the world, but none have found success with yet, he said.
Duplication! murmured the phantom. Successful duplication of a human subject! Difficult difficult thing—but we’ve done it. And what’s more, complete manipulation of the duplicate’s mind.
My father could barely contain himself. He picked me up, laughing.
Just imagine the possibilities, my love. No more undesirable or unsafe jobs for humans—a dupie can do it just as well, and far more willingly! A dupie in a coal mine. A dupie fighting fires. A dupie cleaning streets.
We rounded a corner, and began walking towards a smoky glass door at the end of the hallway. I was lost in my confusion, and blurted out what I thought was the most obvious question:
But where is my doll?
Aha! said the phantom. Right through here!
We entered a chamber that was absurdly bright and nearly empty. In the center of the room was a large orb constructed of hundreds of inky black panels, which fluttered lightly every few seconds.
My guests, what you are about to see are the final stages of the duplication process. At this moment, the duplicate is being prepared to enter the outside world. A small panel next to the orb beeped. Dr. C checked over the screen and made a few notes.
The Orb will now begin to open, he said, and the panels began to pulse, slowly at first and then more rapidly. In just a few seconds, the entire orb resembled a heaving flock of birds about to take flight. Just when it seemed the panels would fly off the orb, they settled back into place. Suddenly, the top of the orb began to disintegrate, as if made of ash, not metal. The top was followed by the middle, then the bottom, until all that was left of the orb was a pile of black coals scattered across the floor. And on top of the coals--
My own body, naked and small.
I screamed so hard I choked myself into unconsciousness, and when I awoke, I was still screaming.
What is that? Where is my doll? Father, where is my doll? My father held me to his chest.
Well, sweetheart, you see, you are actually quite, quite special. You are the first original. The first ever to be duplicated. That thing over there—well, you can think of it like a doll. It might look like you, but it is very simple. It is the first of its kind in the whole, whole world. And you know what, darling? It’s all for you to keep. You can dress it however you like, play games with it, braid its hair...
The doll stood placidly, dressed in a paper gown, her skin glistening with newness. Dr. C floated around her, taking measurements, and noting them on the panel.
I stared at the thing, the doll, the dupie, and then she looked at me with unfathomable eyes, still full of the darkness of the womb. Eyes that weren’t mine. Something infinitely fragile—like the spun glass-- formed in my chest. I was certain that she could, at any moment, reach easily through my exterior and crush this inner thing between her infant fingers.
***
That’s all, Althea says, stopping abruptly, and finally raising her eyes to meet mine. There is one long dangerous moment, and then it slithers past. I nod, and thank her once again for Divulging. I stand. I leave her there, the brittle woman, daughter of power, mother of ills.
The pills we take to wipe our minds clean after each Divulgence can be rendered useless with a little tincture of Rose’s invention, which I sip on the elevator ride down. I am a lucky man to have my memories, I think while offering my tongue to receive the pill. I was a lucky man to know her.
Title image by Jon T
 | A guest post by
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great premise Cassidy, what does it mean to be human indeed? Nice reflection on an all too close speculative reality.
Aww shucks, y'all!! ☺️ Coming from the greats!