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CHAPTER 4
As they loaded into the auto-auto, Nica complained into both her sister’s and Maria’s audioplants, “There really isn’t a closer PIC than Brunswick? I would have thought there’d be one in Camden or at least Rockport.”
“Hold on,” Maria raised a finger to stop her daughters from interrupting while she commanded the vehicle, “Auto-auto – Planned Integration Center, Brunswick, Maine, please.”
The simultaneously saccharine and robot voice intoned, “Of course, Maria. The projected drive time is 48 minutes.”
Maria turned back to her daughters, “What were you saying, Nica? Oh, right. Yeah, they closed the Rockland PIC because they didn’t think they could secure it. There have been a lot of demonstrations…mostly Pure Immunes busing in from across the border. Screwing things up for the integrated states.”
“Like it isn’t already screwed up enough,” Mona grumbled, then she shot Maria a look, “Mom, what the hale is this all about? Like, I’m always glad to miss school, but why the hushhush about it with Dad?”
Maria looked away from her daughter, as if studying the rock wall of Barrett’s Cliffs, annoyed at the reminder of her husband - and annoyed at the twinge of guilt fluttering in her stomach at absconding with their daughters for the morning without telling him. After a pause that lasted a moment too long, she answered honestly, “Because this is about my body as a Munie, Carmen’s body as a Ronie, and our body together as an Integret.”
Then she turned back to look her daughter’s in their eyes, “And, before you ask, I’m bringing you for two reasons. Because, one, you two should see more examples of adult integrets and the choices we need to make and negotiate. And…” her voice softened, “because I actually do need the emotional support to go through this and you two are the closest people to me who might understand.”
At her admission of vulnerability, Maria thought she saw Mona’s face drop a measure of teenaged sass that was usually dialed up to eleven. And she knew she felt Nica’s empathy flow off of her daughters’ skin and tingling on her own - detected by her own hyper vigilant Langerhans cells. Maria missed not knowing the mechanics of that. She missed feeling the emotions of another munie without being able to attribute it to molecular determinism. But Maria had chosen the path of the neuroimmunologist. The occupation was in her blood, literally, and now she knew too much for her own good. And because of that, Carmen had learned too much, too. And Carmen knowing too much, and using that knowledge, had been her - their - undoing.
Carmen had never explained why. She’d never explained the decision to take a break from life for fifteen years.
When they did it, there’d been no known precedent for it for it in the Intregrated States of Canadian America. Since that time, there’d been many instances of members of integrate pairs opting out of the shared experience, but Carmen and, by default, Maria had been trailblazers in a manner almost the direct inverse of their grandmothers. The yin to their yang. Ultimately, the Intregret Legal Body Adjucation Board had signed off citing bodily autonomy. They’d even suppressed Maria for five hours in the same PIC they were driving to now. During her suppression, they’d conducted private interviews with Carmen ensuring that she’d not been coerced in any way by Maria or anyone else. Maria had no visibility into those interviews nor access to any transcripts or videos. She only knew that the adjudication board had taken Carmen at her word. She was free to suppress herself using long-release implanted reversible synaptotagmin fusers. Her one request was a check-in with Maria no earlier than 12 years after the implantation and no longer than 15 years.
And there Maria was, taking the final turn up to the PIC, 14.5 years after saying hasta luego to her sister.
The PIC site had changed.
During Maria’s previous visit, the Brunswick facility had invited and welcomed guests with a meandering driveway through scenic woodlands. The drive up had been converted to a straight shot which slashed through multiple rings of barbed fencing, concrete walls, and towers with armed sentinels.
Maria heard Nica in her ear, “Geez, it’s like pre-Immune War North Korea here.”
Mona added, “Are they gonna let us out? Are you actually dropping us off at a military school?”
Maria laughed, “Now for that, I’d need to get your father’s approval.”
When the auto-auto finally brought them to the gate and came to a stop, three armed guards met them. Each wore a band on their left upper arms with a single letter. M, R, and I. Maria glanced and noticed that the entire security detail clustered in trios – all with an M, an R, and an I. Munie, Ronie, and Integret. For as unsettling as the militarization was, at least an effort was made to avoid projecting bias. Any terrorist group would need to attack some of their own if they tried to attack the PIC.
The M guard, and immune mind – Maria could sense it immediately – greeted them with a lip quiver that might have been his attempt at pleasantry.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes, I’m Maria Basquez.”
“And who is she or who are they?”
“They are my daughters, Nica and Mona. Here to provide emotional support.”
“Did you log them in when you set up your appointment?” the Munie guard asked.
“Yes.”
He handed them each a sealed container holding a sealed cotton-tipped applicator.
“DNA ID sample please.”
“Of course,” Maria said, before opening the packet and swabbing her cheek.
Mona did the same for herself and for Nica.
The guard dropped the applicators into a device. It glowed green and chimed twice.
The guard nodded and said, “Please proceed. You’ll find parking up on the left, Dr. Basquez.”
As the auto pulled forward, Mona wondered aloud, “What would have happened if our genomes didn’t match up with their system?”
And Nica asked, “And why do they have our genome on record?”
Maria shrugged, “Price of an integrated society, girls.”
“I guess…” Nica vibrated into the cochlear implant.
****
Inside the PIC, a grand common lobby announced itself with cascading water features and a menagerie of orchids. It almost made Maria forget about the armamentarium outside. Almost.
Dozens, if not hundreds of people, nearly all Integrets so far as Maria could tell, were moving purposefully while appearing to talk to themselves. Some wore bandages ears - clearly having had new audioplants surgically installed at the PIC.
Mona, whose Purkinje neuron tattoo thankfully had disappeared, said, “Are these people really only getting plants in now?”
As she looked for the intake desk, Maria said, “Maybe. Or they needed replacements. Or upgrades. Or firmware updates.”
“Wait, if we got an upgrade, would Nica be less annoying?” Mona asked, before suddenly tripping over her own feet.
Maria heard Nica laugh and say, “What’s wrong, Mona? You forget how to walk? Just let me know and I’ll take over for you.”
Under her breathe, Mona uttered, “Bitch.”
“Puta,” Nica sounded back.
“Stop it! This is the PIC! Don’t embarrass me!” Maria snapped.
“Fine,” she heard from both of them as they walked up to the intake clerk.
A person who looked like an individual young man wearing a half shaved head – the style of the moment for the collegiate set, asked, “How may I help you all?”
“My name is Maria Basquez. These are my daughters, Mona and Nica Basquez. I’m here on behalf of myself and my corporeal sister-in-stasis, Carmen Mayor. I’d like to bring her into consciousness. I’m a bit ahead of contractually mandated reanimation.”
READ CHAPTER 5