It seemed that the wake-up trilled in his ear only a minute later, but he was far too well trained for anything as mundane as sleepiness to interfere with him getting up when he had to. Besides that, his thoughts were so instantly of Sonmi, that nothing could have kept his eyes from opening to check on her.
To his surprise, she was looking straight at him as he sat up and turned to her. Well, she had probably heard him stir. But once again, she looked as if she were trying to figure out something… almost as if she were working on a complex mathematical problem in her head.
"Do you have a question?" he heard himself ask.
He couldn't help hoping she would ask him something, anything, and he felt a bit disappointed when she blinked and shook her head. Still, she kept staring at him, and he at her.
He finally broke the surreal fascination of it all by clearing his throat and standing up. He quickly downed his next dose of stimulant. While he waited for it to kick in, he got ready for another round of exercise. There was nothing else to do, and it would help clear his grogginess.
But then, he felt hesitant to take off his shirt and begin. What was the matter with him? He always exercised without a shirt… was it because of her? But he had done it that morning without a second thought, while she sat right there. What was different now?
The difference is, she's watching you now, the voice in his head told him.
He didn't look in her direction, but he could see out the corner of his eye that it was true. While that morning, she had remained completely absorbed in her study as he moved about, she was now quite clearly sneaking glances at him between her digis.
So? She was ascending, and curious. It was all natural… even good. He would just have to shut her out somehow, or he'd go crazy with self-consciousness.
He had already done his usual speed and strength training that morning, so after warming up, he started a challenging series of lifts and poses that required more concentration, and wouldn't give him many chances to look at her. He focused inward while he slowly went through the series, and as he lost himself in the exercises, he allowed his thoughts to wander.
He was just used to solitude; to spending much of his time, whether on Union missions or not, alone. And now he was unaccustomed to his new charge's constant, close presence. That was it.
He was an introverted minimalist, largely by necessity, yet also by taste. He had a flat similar this one in a tower several blocks away that he used often enough, but it wasn't his home. If he had a home at all, it was in Union, and by proxy Old Seoul, where Union met and coordinated all their efforts. His life revolved around his work with the rebellion, and he had a strong bond with his comrades. But that was rooted in their desperately united, seemingly doomed efforts to change their world, rather than an independent interpersonal connection… at least now. Some among the rebels had been close friends when they first found their way to Union as youths, but the struggle cut short many friendships, and superseded them all.
On the exceedingly rare occasion Hae-Joo fancied a bit of light conversation, he could find it at a social-bar. On the slightly less rare occasion he wanted sex, he went out and found that, too, often, though not always, at the social-bar's equivalent for those with a sensual urge. It was never too difficult to meet someone he found reasonably attractive, and freely willing to exchange nothing more than sexual release.
This willingness was essential to him. Although casual trade among Consumers of sex for small gifts and favors was normal enough, it had always seemed ugly to him. He had steered clear of the ubiquitous houses of sub sexworkers after a single, conventional visit in his youth. Though he had left with both curiosity and urges satisfied, the place had disturbed his soul, before he heard the word Union or had any real knowledge of the twin forces of poverty and brutality that drove the sub sextrade. Before he knew why, the wrongness of the place had conveyed itself to him. There was a hopelessness behind the sexworkers' seductive glances, an utter lack of joy concealed in their deftly practiced eroticism... and many of them had been younger than him, some shockingly so. Still, such venues were quite popular among pure-bloods who preferred to simply pay credits for sex with other pure-bloods, with no other consideration.
The many fabricant sex establishments, offering everything from super-quickies to so-called deluxe experiences with a bewildering variety of endlessly smiling models, had failed to draw him in even once. Back when he was a young Consumer schooled in Unanimic doctrine, he had thought his lack of interest was because fabricants were not really human beings; a preference which plenty of other Consumers seemed to share, since the sub sexhouses would otherwise have long gone out of business. But not much later, Hae-Joo realized the truth: such establishments chilled him because the fabricants genomed and conditioned for that form of "service" were just as human as he was.
He had had a handful of physical infatuations with free individuals that lasted a bit longer than his usual one or two encounters, periods of uncomplicated mutual pleasure. Yet he had never felt a deeper connection to any of those partners, nor had any of them probed past his lies into the real nature of his vague "work."
True intimacy seemed to be something found only in the old pre-Unanimic stories, yet another aspect of life lost to authoritarian repression and Consumer culture. In any case, neither social nor sexual diversions occupied more than a tiny space in his adult life.
He hadn't really had friends when he was young, until those formative adolescent years that set him inexorably on the path to Union. Since he had been born into the privileged Consumer class, everything supposedly required for a convenient and enjoyable life had been readily available to him. And that seemed to be enough for the vast majority of his fellow elites; however, Hae-Joo had found himself discontented and lonely from a very early age. Science and athletics, both of which he excelled at, had offered him just enough stimulation to get by at school. But in his free time, he had found himself depressingly bored and unable to connect with his apathetic parents, shallow peers, and the constant, inane entertainment and advertising Unanimity practically forced down Consumers' throats.
Then, Hae-Joo had slowly discovered and sought refuge in old pre-Unanimic books, vidis, and music. Somehow, these works from the time before Consumer culture was fully entrenched drew him powerfully, offering beauty, freshness and inspiration he could find nowhere else. Gradually, he also became active in the scattered networks of fanclubs for such works. And among the fans, he finally found peers with whom he shared common interests, and a human respite from his loneliness. A few of the fans eventually became real friends.
At first Hae-Joo had only sought out literature, music and vidis that were officially available. But some works were more controversial than others, and they were often harder to track down. Inevitably, the suppressed works began to draw him strongly when he reached his teens, to his parents' consternation. Censorship had only tightened as he grew up, with many of his favorites getting outright banned, their fanclubs forced underground. This very crackdown had provided him his gateway to the highly secret, ever-hunted rebellion as a young teen.
A couple of his more hardcore fanclubs started meeting in grimy hovels in Old Seoul after curfew. It took him a little time, but Hae-Joo soon mustered up the courage to join them. And he found himself fascinated by the liveliness of the filth and disorder, the struggle of the desperately poor subs, the emptiness in the eyes of fabricants and pure-bloods alike forced to sell themselves on the streets, and much more that he saw in the old city.
He came across a cryptic leaflet or two that referred to "the Movement," with what seemed to be coded directions to a meeting. He couldn't have found the meeting even if he had wanted to, and always left the leaflets where they lay, half afraid one of the occasionally patrolling Enforcers would spot him looking at them. Like most everyone, he had heard the words before, and he knew what they referred to: self-proclaimed enemies of Unanimity, subject to immediate euthanasia. While sneaking out after curfew and skulking across Neo Seoul into the old city as he had taken to doing was no joke, it didn't come with a death sentence…. just a few weeks in the Neo Seoul prison.
But Hae-Joo found his curiosity rising. After all, many of the creative works he loved were also condemned by Unanimity, as was the entire network of crowded and dirty slums that made up the old city… which excited him far more than the city of massive, glittering towers on the other side of the damway, where he came from. It was simply easier for the time being for the authorities to let the slums stand and rot, than to raze them and get rid of all the wretched subs.
There was life in Old Seoul. That was what excited him. He had a feeling it was the relative neglect of the authorities that allowed its heart to beat so strongly… and, just perhaps, it also had something to do with this Movement.
Then again, the leaflets might be planted by the Enforcers themselves to ensnare any would-be dissidents. But as Hae-Joo began to spend less and less time at home, and ever more time in Old Seoul, both meeting his friends and wandering the streets alone, he wondered more and more about the mysterious rebellion. Did it even exist at all? If so, what were its goals, and what could it possibly hope to accomplish?
It was a younger boy named Jae, a member of one of Hae-Joo's clubs and another for some recently censored, hundred-fifty-year-old mystery series that Hae-Joo didn't even like, who uncovered additional clues… including the most important one.
The kid had been a bit of a know-it-all, and liked to act as if he'd already figured out all the rebels' secrets himself. Hae-Joo shared his fascination, but he'd warned him more than once about running off his mouth with Movement rumors in fanclub meetings and elsewhere. But Jae just wouldn't shut up. He claimed to be conducting his own investigation on the streets, that he could figure out who knew bits of information and wouldn't report him to Enforcers for asking. He eagerly and recklessly spread everything he managed to find out, true or not.
There were already whispers that the Enforcers were tracking the fans of forbidden works; they were, in truth, minor dissidents themselves. Hae-Joo's clubs were now constantly changing meeting places even in Old Seoul, often at the last minute, in the hopes of avoiding being monitored. They were wary of accepting any new members, for fear of informers, and slowly, all but the most hardcore fans were just ceasing to show up as censorship increased and punishments for even minor offenses got more severe. They really, really didn't need their activities to get even riskier thanks to Jae blabbing what could well be nonsense all over the place. However, as annoying as it was, Jae did whet Hae-Joo's curiosity with his tidbits.
A leader had risen to unite the rebels, and he was called An-Kor Apis. He was from Afrasia, and he had formerly been a Chief Enforcer. The Movement existed in all twelve states, and even in the four off-world colonies. In Neo Seoul, it only formally met underground—literally. It was said that among the world's megapoleis, the Movement was strongest in Neo Seoul, and so, Apis chose to base himself here. And the Movement maintained an apparently limitless online library of forbidden artistic and scientific materials… it was that last rumor that tantalized Hae-Joo the most.
However, for all his posturing, it took Jae an embarrassingly long time to discover that a member of his own mystery fanclub, a quiet teenager who'd recently stopped coming to meetings, was an actual sympathizer for the rebellion and even planned to join. That youth must given him a much-needed lecture about watching his mouth, because Jae was more careful about what he said after that.
Jae did do Hae-Joo the favor of convincing the young sympathizer of his trustworthiness, and arranging for the two to meet. And in that first conversation with him, an AmerCorpian his age named Mitchell, Hae-Joo finally got the answers to his questions… and his eyes were opened.
Upon hearing that the Movement really and truly existed, that the rebels called it Union and its purpose was to spread freedom and truth, Hae-Joo felt as if he had been handed one of his life's crucial keys: heretofore unknown, and therefore not consciously missed, but for which he had been searching for his entire life thus far. It was almost like something he had already found and known in the distant past, only to lose… yet now he had found it again.
Like all Consumers, Hae-Joo had known long before he visited the old city that subs lived harsh lives; that they were routinely killed if they attempted to rise too high above their station, or, more rarely, if they became too numerous or otherwise troublesome. He was also well aware that fabricants' existence consisted of genoming, accelerated growth in wombtanks, six months of rigid behavioral conditioning followed by memory erasure, twelve years of labor, and finally, "processing." Young Consumers were even taught about it in school. All of this wasn't exactly pleasant to think about, but it seemed natural and appropriate—as long as you believed the Unanimic dogma that subs were inferior humans, suited to lower lives, and that fabricants were not really human beings at all.
Under the rules of Unanimity, subs, the much larger class of pure-bloods, had the right to live and work in impoverished misery; they were simply not born to have the easy, pleasant life of the Consumer elite. But fabricants had no rights of any sort; they were not born at all. They were products manufactured by Corporations to do work for pure-bloods, primarily Consumers. Fabricants did not think or feel as pure-bloods did; they were perfectly engineered and conditioned for their particular work and circumstances. They appeared content, or at least calmly obedient, wherever you saw them. This all fit the natural order.
Had Hae-Joo really believed this? Or had he simply shoved his discomfort to the back of his mind, and refused to question it? To his day, he wasn't sure exactly what Mitchell had said in that first conversation to turn his world upside down… other than the truth: subs and fabricants were human beings, just as he was.
They experienced pain and pleasure, just as he did. They had thoughts and emotions, just as he did. They were no less deserving of a good life than he was, nor did they suffer any less in their harsh circumstances than he would. The subs were simply taught that they did not deserve any better, while the fabricants were ruthlessly genomed and conditioned to withstand their suffering better... and to conceal it. The fabricants differed from pure-bloods as a result of the brutal physical and mental control Unanimity wielded over them, not by their essential nature.
If one believed that any human beings had souls, then all of them must… even those grown in a wombtank. To treat one human being as less than another was evil. The entire system of Unanimity was based on such discrimination, and was, therefore, evil.
What was more, Consumers were in their own way as much controlled by Unanimity as the subs and fabricants. Consumers took their comfortable, pleasure-filled lives for granted, but if one spoke a word against the system, one's life could suddenly be worth less than that of a functional fabricant. The massive prison building, which dominated all the skyscrapers in Neo Seoul, was filled with Consumers now labeled deviants, criminals and dissidents. All prisoners were cruelly isolated, and only a fortunate few minor offenders returned to the outside world otherwise unscarred. A large number became the subjects of Unanimic medical and psychological experiments, while many others were sentenced to euthanasia. The mere sight of the prison, toweringly visible from every corner of the city, was a constant reminder of Unanimity's power to crush those who broke its laws.
Unanimity forced its agenda into all aspects of Consumer life. All writings, vidis, music, scientific journals, and other creative endeavors were subject to Board publishing approval. Works created without Corporate oversight were seldom approved, and thus condemned to oblivion. Consumers were drilled in Unanimic dogma in school as children, kept busy in meaningless, Board-selected jobs as adults, and pressured to buy and consume as much Corporate food, merchandise and entertainment as possible throughout their lives. The Board enforced compulsory sexual sterilization on Consumer youths and maintained strict eugenic control over all reversals, conceptions and births. It also held approval over all medical treatments, and readily scheduled euthanasia for Consumers, young and old, that it deemed unprofitable to keep alive.
All human beings had the right to live freely. Unanimity deprived human beings of this right. Therefore, Unanimity must be opposed and ultimately destroyed.
Hae-Joo did not know why only he, Mitchell, and apparently few others had come to believe this truth, in comparison with the billions under Unanimic control. He knew his own parents were incapable of grasping it, and he did not even try to explain his awakening to them. Perhaps the lies were simply too deeply entrenched, the truth too inconvenient… as inexorable and inconvenient as the deadlands gradually claiming nearly every corner of the earth that had once been green, and the oceans slowly rising to cover almost every large city in the world.
But Hae-Joo knew that even if his resistance to Unanimity amounted to no more than a drop in one of those oceans, he could no longer be part of it of its system… and even if the world as he knew it was doomed to destruction, he would devote himself to the cause of spreading the truth among humanity before its end.
The off-world colonies might survive. They were barely populated, each a tiny microcosm of a Unanimic state, with hardly any Union presence. In the earth's vast cities, at least, there were still places where rebels could disappear, while the colonies had none. But more importantly, they supported life and were somewhat self-sufficient. They just might carry on independently after the cataclysmic fall the earth seemed headed for.
Even if only a few of earth's children endured after the fall, somewhere in the galaxy, to carry on humanity... even if none endured at all... Union owed it to the infinite collective of human souls, past and future, to spread the truth while it could. Every person who learned and shared the truth was another drop of water… and a multitude of drops could form an ocean.
And so Hae-Joo had followed Mitchell, and officially joined the rebellion.
Like most Union members, Hae-Joo had completely cut all ties to his former life. He had already begun to spend days on end in Old Seoul, and he wondered briefly when his parents would notice that he was gone for good this time. He sent them no message of goodbye, nor did he ever communicate with them again. Better to let them think he'd been murdered by some desperate sub, or thrown in prison for his growing deviance… for their safety, as well as his. Despite his lack of connection with them, the decision did cause him pain; yet he never regretted it.
His connection with Mitchell had grown strong indeed, as they passionately dedicated themselves to the relentless training and desperate innovation required to oppose Unanimity. They had spent the first year side by side in Nea So Copros, pushing and encouraging one another, sharing almost every experience, whether triumph or suffering. And Mitchell had always seemed to understand what Hae-Joo thought and how he felt, without him even having to say it.
Then, Mitchell had been sent back to United AmerCorpia to work as a spy for the world Union collective. He was now one of their greatest assets, a crucial source and channel of information, having attained a very high position in the Consumer ranks and close Board connections. Meanwhile, Hae-Joo had served as both field agent and science officer in Neo Seoul, rising to join Union's top leadership in Nea So Copros. Since they had begun their separate assignments, he had had no personal contact with the man who had so profoundly influenced him during their youth. He thought from time to time of how difficult it must be for Mitchell to play a top Consumer so perfectly, knowing how deeply the man espoused the ideals of the Movement. Yet Mitchell, while reading others brilliantly, had always been good at playing his own feelings close to the chest, and everything he did was for the greater good of the Movement. Hae-Joo still considered Mitchell the best friend he had had in his life.
A number of Hae-Joo's other friends and acquaintances from the underground fanclubs also eventually joined Union, including Jae, who had become like an annoying yet dear younger brother to him. But within a year of joining, at age seventeen, Jae was killed along with twenty other teens when Enforcers stormed a meeting he had set up himself to recruit fans into the rebellion. Jae had been reckless, but he had been so eager, and so brave… it had been the first time Hae-Joo grieved for a friend, and the last time he had wept. And he had wished Mitchell could have been there with him, to mourn the death of the boy who had brought them together.
As the years went by, several of Hae-Joo's other old friends and plenty of the comrades he made after joining Union were also killed. Others simply disappeared; they were either wasting away in prison or experiments, or dead by now as well. Hae-Joo had mourned them all, but he had never been able to shed tears again after Jae.
All of the rebels were likely to lose both their lives and their cause soon if they could not force a turning point in their fight, overwhelmed as they were by the crushing intrusion of Unanimity into every sphere of life. And that was where the audacious plan of discovering, rescuing and mentoring a free-willed fabricant to speak for their cause came in.
Mitchell, in one of the few times Hae-Joo had seen his face since their training, had been the first to voice the concept. It had come to him after he obtained access to data from Unanimic research in a number of areas, including fabricants. He had introduced the idea a little over a year ago during a digi meeting of Union leaders and agents in all twelve states, plus one brave contact from each of the four off-world colonies.
All had swiftly agreed on the idea's brilliance, on the incredible impact it would bring the rebellion… if they could just find a fabricant who had begun ascendance, somewhere. In over a year of searching throughout the world, the Union agents had found none… until they discovered Yoona-939's unfolding awakening. And then, Yoona-939 decided to wake Sonmi-451.
Because he was most familiar with the research on fabricant conditioning and had himself birthed the idea of recruiting a fabricant to Union, Mitchell had consulted by communiqué in the Nea So Copros collective's discussions on Yoona-939 and Sonmi-451. Mitchell had supported Hae-Joo's push to break both fabricants out as soon as possible, despite the increased risk involved in a double escape and ascendance, and the belief of many that Sonmi-451 was not ready and would jeopardize the whole mission. Unfortunately for Yoona-939, Hae-Joo and Mitchell had been overruled by the majority of the leaders, General Apis chief among them.
As he balanced on one hand, Hae-Joo found himself focusing again on the single known ascending fabricant that remained in the world. She was upside down in his current view; still, he could tell that she was looking at him. She quickly turned back to her digis, but he had a feeling she had been watching him steadily for a while.
Let her. He felt much calmer now. It was all right for her to look. With the life she had had, and all that she was managing to do now, she had the right to do just about anything, as far as he was concerned.
He continued his series for another hour, allowing himself to observe her continuing study when he could. She was going at an even quicker pace than she had earlier, yet paradoxically, she also seemed more relaxed. But she was just as prettily engaging to watch as she read and learned… murmuring to herself, manipulating the digis with her nimble fingers, her expressions changing thoughtfully... it filled him with pleasure to watch her. And he allowed himself to be aware of her turning to watch him now and then, and focused elsewhere when she did. Somehow, it no longer bothered him.
Amusingly, she seemed to have become aware that he was observing her as well. He could not have said how he knew; something in the way she glanced up occasionally, in his general direction though not directly at him, before, apparently, losing herself in her studies again... she could as easily have been reflecting on something she had read or seen, but he thought not. He pretended not to notice that she was aware of his attention; she had the right to her awareness. It even felt good to have her so near, and that she knew he was watching her... as if she belonged there...
As he reached the end of his series, he felt fully awake and refreshed, the stimulant having kicked in nicely. He lowered himself to his feet from his final pose, and went to the cupboard to help himself to another protein pack.
She probably wouldn't want her liquid protein until just before she slept in a few hours—and suddenly, it occurred to him that she had been sitting and kneeling the entire day, while he had shifted around and worked out for hours. She was used to being physically active for nineteen hours a day in the diner. It would only be healthy to get her moving a bit now.
"Sonmi," he said softly for the second time, enjoying the feel of her name on his lips. And she seemed pleased to hear it again, too, turning to him with clear eagerness.
"Would you like to move around a bit? You've been studying all day. I can put on an exercise program for you."
She stood up slowly. She didn't really know what he was talking about, but she seemed ready to try something else new. He pulled up a simple, effective program on the orison and showed her a demo on the habitat screen.
"That's how you'll start," he said, as the model lay on her back and slowly lifted one leg upward, pointing and flexing her foot. "The program will show you exactly what to do, and adapt itself to you. The mirror will be lightly visible, so you can match the model's movements."
Her eyes had gotten that wide, awed look again. "Okay—why don't you put something else on?"
He looked through the closet, came across a short, strapless dark blue bodysuit, and wondered why on earth he had gotten that for her. He certainly hadn't been thinking of workout attire when he'd hurriedly ordered her wardrobe… it must be part of a set in one of the collections. But it should do for now, it looked... tight. Perfect for exercise. And she was sure to look stunning in it...
Seriously, Chang? he thought as he handed it to her, and she left to change.
But he couldn't quite control his thoughts; he was only a man, of flesh and blood. What he could do was be polite, and not gawk when she came out or while she exercised.
Despite his best efforts not to look directly her way, his eyes landed on her for a single, admiring moment when she emerged. He turned away before she could catch him staring; the last thing he wanted to do was embarrass her, and she probably felt exposed enough as it was. Though she was used to wearing those tiny fabricant outfits and shifts… well, no matter. He controlled herself, and watched her only peripherally as she went slowly to the screen and lay down, matched the model's first pose, and began to work her way through the series.
She had a beautiful body, strong despite her apparent delicacy, and a natural, supple grace… she was only a few minutes in, and he realized he was well and truly staring at her.
Fortunately, she seemed absorbed in the movements and oblivious to him. So he went and had another quick, cool shower, and occupied himself when he came out with a little reading of his own. With his back to her… just to be safe.
Reminiscing on his fanclub days had made him nostalgic for the old books and vidis that had started him on his journey to the rebellion, and to the present day. He opened the Union link, digited that mystery series Jae had been such a fan of, and began to skim the first book. In it, the feisty young journalist of the title had a chance encounter with a quiet old physicist seeking to share a dangerous truth… only to discover him dead soon after, shot through the mouth in his hotel room. Later, she met a conflicted younger physicist struggling to make a moral stand, but then he, too, was eliminated by the same dark force that had begun to hunt her… finally, the crucial missing report resurfaced in a most unexpected way, revealing a deadly conspiracy at an early nuclear power plant.
Even though mysteries weren't his thing, he could tell this one had every cliché in the genre. That had probably left him lukewarm the first time he read it, too. But the story, to its credit, revolved around a bold indictment of a malignant Corporation. Perhaps that was both why it had survived to this day, and why it had been censored by Unanimity… the current Corporations couldn't have appreciated its similarity to them.
Strange, to think how some works of art survived the ages to be reread, re-seen and reheard, while others were lost forever. But then, no work or deed was ever truly lost… works were recreated and deeds redone, with ever changing meaning to the people who experienced them when they resurfaced.
He closed the mystery series and, on a whim, digited the original screenplay of Sonmi's beloved Tim Cavendish. The screenplay was actually banned, though somehow the vidi had slipped through the censors—probably because it appeared to be a silly, hammy farce on the surface... that lead actor was so horrible, he was almost wonderful. But the themes of the story itself were of escaping imprisonment, and trading selfishness for cooperation; of taking risks for friends, and achieving freedom and rebirth… all very dangerous ideas to Unanimity. Hence the censorship. The ideas came through all the more purely when one simply read the screenplay's pages, as Hae-Joo had a long time ago, unable to resist checking out the original, forbidden version of the story.
It supposedly written by Tim Cavendish himself, after his own life experiences… Hae-Joo wondered what he had really been like. How much of his story had been the truth, and how much of it elaborated, or completely made up… perhaps so the author could cast himself in a more favorable light? Although, Cavendish didn't write himself an altogether sympathetic character at the beginning. He came off as a bumbling, flakey sort in the introduction, pompous and self-deprecating at the same time—quite an entertaining combination, actually. Maybe that was all the author had been after, whatever had truly happened.
There were some very funny moments strewn throughout the story, like the darkly hilarious incident at the beginning, when a thug threw the smug critic who'd panned his book off a roof. Hae-Joo hoped that he never came across a character like that in real life… though he could certainly handle him if he did. And that bit of random slapstick toward the end, when a helpful drunk smashed a keg over the head of the brutal nurse from the elderly home… a scene which Hae-Joo found exceedingly, and somehow personally, amusing.
Cavendish the character had a nice arc; his misadventures led him to cast in his lot with some charming elderly comrades, with whom he bust triumphantly out of the elderly home, becoming a bit of a hero. It really was cute. And he even got back together with his long-lost sweetheart in the end: icing on the cake, as they used to say.
He sensed someone behind him, and turned to see Sonmi. Who else could it be? he thought wryly.
Her session completed, she looked pleasantly exerted, her face, bare arms, upper chest and long, slender legs all wearing a light sheen of sweat. He swallowed hard; hoped she didn't notice, and smiled at her, focusing on her glowing eyes. "Did you like it?"
She nodded; and after a moment, she smiled... seemingly nervous with the unaccustomed expression of a genuine smile, as opposed to one for diner Consumers... nervous yet sincere, and utterly charming.
She glanced eagerly at his digis. "This is the written story of Tim Cavendish?"
He tore his eyes away from her, and looked back at them in surprise. She sure had skimmed the pages he had up quickly—or had she been reading behind him for a couple minutes already? She did move quietly.
"Yes, it's the screenplay. I think it's even better by itself than the vidi they made of it..." He turned back to her, and had to swallow all over again. "If you want, you can read it before you go to sleep."
She immediately started to sit down beside him, but he said gently, "Why don't you shower and change first?"
If she sat next to him right now in that skimpy bodysuit, her skin glistening with sweat… dear, sweet Humanity.
She was agreeable, choosing a white nightgown and a robe with pink flowers and disappearing into the bathroom. He let out a deep sigh of relief, and… not relief. Hunger. Longing.
Stop it, Chang! Just stop. He must be insane. He shouldn't even allow himself to dream of what was running through his head right now. His job was to protect and teach her; it was fine to like her, but not to want her like this. It was physical, and yet much deeper… an ache that went through his very being… he'd never felt this for anyone before. He had no business whatsoever feeling it for her; nonetheless, he did.
And yet, he and the rest of Union had based all their plans on the idea that a fabricant could completely ascend… could become entirely free of her conditioning, and able to make her own choices, based on her thoughts and feelings, like any other free human being…
Perhaps, if… when Sonmi reached that point, she could choose to… be with…
He could not permit himself to follow that line of thought any further. It was ridiculous for him to hope for such a thing. That she would fully ascend, yes, but that… no. His duty was to keep her alive and to help her learn. Once she had learned enough, Union would ask her to make an enormous decision, a choice of immeasurably greater significance than any longing that might ache through him.
And then, if she chose to do what they all hoped she would… unhappiness engulfed him like a void.
Yet Sonmi would know just what she was getting herself into, and exactly what was at stake. She would make her decision based on what she felt the cause was worth… just as Hae-Joo had, when he dedicated his life to the Movement.
Amidst such dark reflection, Hae-Joo realized that he had felt truly happy watching Sonmi enjoy herself so much over the course of the day… happier than he'd been since the inspirations of his youth, before they had led him to the dark truth of his world... happier than he could ever remember being in this life.
Even if he couldn't be with her, he could be content if he only knew that she would be happy, whatever happened. But he knew that that, too, was a futile dream in their harsh reality.
He distracted himself from such hopeless thoughts with a practical consideration: he had to deal with his physical desire. So far, he had touched Sonmi only in his role as guide and protector… guiding her first timid steps out of the diner… offering her a steady hand when she hesitated in front of the elevator, and positioning her beside him… it had felt right to help her with such little gestures. But now, he realized that he had also enjoyed the fleeting physical contact they provided.
He wouldn't touch her again, unless it was truly necessary; surely, he had more than enough discipline for that. And she must never learn how he felt. If she ever did… suddenly the thought of Yoona-939 and Seer Rhee turned his stomach. No. He would protect her from all he could, including her ever feeling that she must give her body to a pure-blood's use simply because he wanted her to. It didn't matter that what he felt went far beyond mere desire… that he could not conceive of using her, ever... it didn't matter at all. And she was coming out now.
She looked fresh and fetching in her pink-flowered robe, and his heart skipped a beat once again. He simply couldn't help himself.
He turned away from her for a moment, and tried to pull himself together. He was a free being; he had the right to have feelings. He couldn't force himself not to feel them. That was what Unanimity conditioned fabricants to do, and it was wrong. It had been wrong for them to do to her, and it would be wrong for him to attempt on himself.
But neither would he force his feelings on her. She had too much to learn, and do, and be… however he might long for her, he would only be kind and respectful, and help her do what she must.
But he was allowed to feel happy again as she approached him, sat down beside him, and started to read Tim Cavendish. He was. He was also allowed to enjoy reading with her... he hadn't planned to, but what else was there to do? So he stayed with her, and they read together.
They didn't speak, but made eye contact when one or the other was ready to for the next digi-page. Sometimes he finished first, and sometimes she did; oddly, he did not feel awkward to meet her eyes so frequently. She didn't seem to, either… but had she ever, really? He saw her briefly with red hair again, the two of them bent over the yellowed pages of a single, old-fashioned leatherbound book… meeting her green eyes before turning one of the delicate, paper leaves... yes, they had done this before.
Done what? He dismissed that strange thought.
Even though he knew them all already, the funnier parts still got him close to snickering. Visions of the cheesy vidi were indelibly linked in his head to the descriptions in the screenplay, yet Cavendish's lanague in them was so darkly witty and humorous, that the author's imagined, sardonic voice somehow elevated the scenes in Hae-Joo's head. He stifled his snickers politely; that made her glance at him curiously. But her amusement was also evident, because her lips twitched toward a smile… whether at the story, or at him, he didn't know.
An hour or so flowed pleasantly by as they read the entire screenplay, and somehow, he felt at peace. Just having her close by him, comfortable and content, was enough. He didn't think about the future; he didn't have to right now, nor did he want to. The present was too nice.
The manufacturers had eliminated the yawn reflex from fabricants. But when they finished the last page and he looked at her, he could tell that she would have yawned then if she could, despite her smile. No wonder: it was almost midnight, the time she usually retired.
Without him saying anything, she went and got herself a carton of liquid protein, returned to his side, and began to drink it in her slow, steady way... he could tell she was reflecting on the day as she drank, for subtle expressions flickered across her face, with none of the hypnotic blankness she had shown the previous night.
When she was finished she got up, carefully hung her pink-flowered robe in the closet, and went to her bed. She put the pillow and blanket aside, lying down on the mattress in just her white nightgown.
He sat by her bed, as he had the previous night. But now, he programmed the screen for ambient illumination resembling the sky outside, in which the smog reflected faint, diffuse light from the constantly bright city. It was dim, but not completely dark; he would still be able to see if anything drastic happened. He had a feeling nothing would, that night. He also silently increased the habitat temperature a bit. It would be a little balmy for him, but he wanted her to sleep comfortably, and not to worry about her getting cold without that blanket she didn't seem to like.
Her eyes were still open, but clearly tired. "Good night," he bid her softly. She looked back at him, and her lips twitched slightly into another tiny, pretty smile. Then her eyes closed.
Quickly her breath settled into that swift, regular rhythm. He watched her quietly… tenderly... and let himself meditate once more.