Synthetica Read Online Free PDF

slowly after her. Mrs Persimmon bustled to the door
and opened it, looking at Anais expectantly. Anais stayed where she
was.
    “So that's it then?
I don't get to ask any more questions?” She struggled to keep the
anger out of her voice. Mrs Persimmon' perfect smile wavered. “I
just have to accept my job and that's that?”
    “Well,” she
glanced out of the door as though wanting someone to walk by and
rescue her. “Of course you don't have to follow my
recommendations, but as we do go through all the trouble, not to
mention the expense, of signing you up for training and making sure
you have a guaranteed job for life, it would be a little silly to
throw all that effort away. Should you chose to reject your given
career, I do think you'll find it very hard to get another position,
especially this late on in the year. And as your chosen job is based
on your personal data, it follows naturally that you should pursue
the career to which the information finds you most suitable, does it
not?”
    Her hundred-watt smile
returned, and Anais gave up. She stalked past Mrs Persimmon,
ignoring her as best as she could. But she couldn't resist a parting
remark.
    “By the way,” she
said turning around, just as Mrs Persimmon was closing the door. “Is your hair natural?”
    Mrs Persimmon looked
surprised.
    “Why, yes it is,”
she said looking rather pleased as she patted her stiff curls. “My
father chose it.”
    Anais gave her best
impression of the patronising smile Mrs Persimmon had treated her
to.
    “Pity,” she said
sweetly. “But there's always a way to fix it. I'll message you the
details.”
    And feeling an immense
satisfaction at the look on Mrs Persimmon' face, Anais leant forward
and closed the door between them.

He stopped in the middle of his work and slowly turned to the old
TV in the corner of the dingy room. His grey eyes gleamed as the
camera panned around and showed a black body bag on a hover
stretcher being taken away from the scene of the crime. On the other
half of the screen, a photo of the murder suspect flashed up – the
man was slightly scruffy looking, highly unusual for citizens of the
city, his mauve hair was greasy, and his eyes were curiously blank.
The photo vanished and the golden haired newsreader who set his
teeth on edge reappeared, smiling her silly, vapid smile.
    A slow smile curled across his own lips. The test had worked.
    He reached over the clutter of wires and pieces of plastic that
littered his desk, and picked up an extremely battered mobile phone.
Once again, old technology proved to have the upper hand in this
modern world that these despicable people had built for themselves -
mobile phone signals were no longer monitored. He punched in a
number with his gloved hand and raised it his ear.
    Time for phase two.

Three

    Anais sat under the shade of one of the neatly cut trees that lined
the edge of the quad, watching as students continued to flow in and
out of the City Hall. Those going in had looks of varying degrees of
nervousness on their faces; while those coming out were either
smiling and laughing happily, or dragging their feet across the
ground, looking dejected. Anais knew which camp she belonged to.
    Despite the warmth of the day, Anais was cold inside. She had been
so furious with Mrs Persimmon, that it had taken all her willpower
not to wrench the door back open and shout at her some more.
Instead, she'd forced herself to walk away, back down to the
reception area. After a quick glance around to confirm that Dalla
wasn't there, she'd decided to get a drink from the vending machine
and wait for her outside. It did nothing to improve her mood when
the machine read her biometrics from her ID chip and refused to give
her a bottle of lemonade, instead choosing to dispense a lumpy
looking grey protein shake.
    Anais took another sip of the shake, grimacing at the lemongrass
flavour. It did nothing to dispel the hard knot that had formed in
her gut. She still found it hard