Asha has always been sick and now she's dying, but she has the choice to live at the cost of everything she knows to break the conspiracy keeping everyone indentured.
Welcome back!
Part 2 of Almost Everyone delves into Asha's home situation, and here we discover something along with her. Secrets about to be shed and cast into the open. Asha still doesn't know who, if anyone, she can trust.
The door to Asha’s room creaked as it opened. She paused and cringed, straining her ears for sounds of movement. It hadn’t woken Dad from his nap. The comm-slab on her desk beeped and a blue light flashed. She tapped the glass, revealing a note from Dad to pick out something nice for Mum to wear. Trailing her gaze to the hallway, she followed the thought to the wardrobe closet opposite her room. Mum’s good gowns were stored in there, where Asha never went except on her birthday.
She walked over to it with strength she barely had today and dug between the dusty plastic wrapped over each gown, parting them to let in the air so she could breathe. At the back of the closet, on the floor far in the corner, further in than she’d explored yet, was a dome-shaped device on an old box. Dad hadn’t said anything about Mum having a holodrive. Asha picked it up, wiped it free of years of clumped dust, and took it to her room. The door creaked closed when she nudge it with her foot.
‘Asha, 2047’ was displayed on the blue screen of the device which, surprisingly, still worked. She pressed the button. Billions of pixels resolved into a crisp picture, turning her room into a hospital theatre. Images of people moved around as she sat on the floor, watching the recording. Mum laid on a bed, panting, with Dad at her side. Nurses in green uniforms were huddled around her and pulled out a screeching baby. A mop of dark hair contrasted against the baby’s light brown skin, like Mum, Dad, and almost everyone in the world.
One of the nurses fitted a GraceletTM onto the baby’s small arm. They waited for the microcomputer in it to analyse the genetic code and diagnose all the flaws of Asha’s DNA, the damage inflicted by the virus so many, many years ago, before even Dad was born. Standard procedure these days. Nurses stood ready to record the data while her parents gripped their hands together. Mum didn’t move. With her neck stretched and her eyes wide, she watched the nurses’ movements around the baby. She was bleeding and her body swollen but she didn’t seem to notice. She stared at the nurses with a smile on her face.
The GraceletTM beeped. They waited.
“It’s on properly?” The head nurse examined the bracelet and shook her head. “I don’t get it.” Asha’s parents looked at each other.
“Is…” Mum pressed her lips together. Her brows creased and the dimple on her chin deepened. The nurses cast glances to each other. Their foreheads wrinkled.
“What does it mean?” Dad lowered his head and rubbed the back of Mum’s hand. Asha paused the recording and slid a finger over the holodrive’s screen. “What does it mean?” The recording played again. She’d forgotten how deep, soothing, and beautiful his voice used to be.
The head nurse picked up the baby and slid her into Mum’s arms. She looked down at the screaming infant struggling to keep her eyes open under the bright light.
“She’s an anomaly.” The nurse shook her head. “Maybe it’s too early to tell.”
“She’s perfect to me.” Dad brushed his finger down the baby’s reddened cheek, then smiled at Mum.
But Asha wasn’t perfect. She had flawed DNA just like everyone else. And that flaw had given her this sickness, whatever it was.
The recording stopped and dissolved. Framed snapshots popped up around the room from news segments Mum had recorded, the computer-generated images of the super-mutated strain of a retrovirus that had spread across the world displayed in a series of reds and yellows. Asha leaned forward and touched the button on the holodrive, waited for the images to evaporate into the air, then got up and started for the door.
She reached for the knob and her sleeve pulled back, revealing the marks of torture underneath. She ran a finger over one of the long scars on her arm while she stared at the worn carpet under her feet. Asha knew them better than she knew her own thoughts but she couldn’t bear to look. Footsteps shuffled down the hallway.
“Hello, Asha.” Dad adjusted the voice device on his neck. “You’re home early.”
She helped him down the staircase. He felt lighter than yesterday.
“It was a quick treatment today.” She forced a smile. The silence lingered. What was the best way to ask him? Would he have answered her this time? “Dad?” They stopped at the foot of the stairs.
He strained to turn his head and look at her. “Yes, my Asha?” His Asha, his hope. His eyes showed no flaw in her. What did he see then?
“What sickness do I have?”
“Asha.” He cupped her cheek in his good hand. Those eyes stared into her. The one was drooped and didn’t move, but she felt its lingering gaze. “Have you found something for your Mum?”
Of course he wouldn’t have given her an answer. “I did. I’ll go get it now.” She turned to face the living room as Dad walked to his chair. Mum lay in a bed with feeding tubes in her neck and a drip in her arm. Still sleeping. She barely woke up anymore. The beeps and humming of the machines that kept her alive followed Asha up the stairs.
The closet door hung open and the dust from earlier had begun to settle on the carpet. She grabbed her comm-slab from her room and walked into the closet, closing the door. The screen cast a bluish-white glow and illuminated the darkness. Retrieving the crumpled card from her pocket, she dialled the number.
“Dr. Mercy Nanjala speaking.” Her voice sounded higher through the comm-slab. “Hello?”
Why was she hesitating?
“Asha?”
Could she read minds, too?
“Yes.” Asha replied, her throat dry.
Mercy's breathing rasped through the line. “I’m so happy you called. Do you want to ask me anything?”
She could read minds.
“You said I wasn’t sick…” How would Asha ask this? If Mercy really could hear her thoughts, she’d know what she wanted to say.
Silence filled the space between Asha’s words and hers.
“You are but it’s not something any GraceletTM can treat. Those experiments they do on you are not for your tumour –”
“My tumour?” Asha shut her eyes and held her breath. Dad couldn't hear her talk about this to anyone.
“They didn’t tell you why you were sick?” A tapping noise echoed through the speaker. “We can help you, take you away and hide you from MediCorp. Would you like that?”
“I…” Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. “I can’t leave Mum and Dad. They need me.” What was she thinking? “Sorry I wasted your time. Good-bye, Mercy.” She tapped the screen and the light turned off. Grabbing the gown closest to her, Asha ran out of the closet and down the stairs.
Dad looked up from the syringe he had just inserted into one of Mum’s IVs. The corner of his mouth arched upward. “I remember when I first saw your mum in that dress.” He pointed a shaking finger at it. She followed the direction.
Mum’s white wedding dress hung over her arm. “Should I choose something else?”
Dad tried to wink. “It’s perfect.”
