Geoff Ryman - Lust Or No Harm Done

From the distanced high singing, Michael knew. Mark's favourite opera: Der Rosenkavalier. Mark closed his eyes and ruminated on another section of orange.

Time passed. The cassette finished with a click.

Mark asked, 'Do I have to stay for the second result?'

Michael was surprised and slightly hurt that Mark didn't want to know. 'I'm afraid so. If you go, the samples will disappear.'

Mark rolled his eyes. 'Oh, God! That means she'll come out all worried and want to counsel me. And if the result is different then she'll want to take a third sample.' He put his head in his hands. 'I don't suppose it occurred to you that I've been through all this once before and that I never, ever wanted to go through it again?'

Mark's eyes glared up at him from under the bushy eyebrows. In life, Mark had never been this angry with Michael.

'It didn't really, no, I'm sorry.'

'If you want to have a fuckfest, you'll just have to take a few risks like everyone else, except that you never had the stomach for risk.'

Michael didn't know what to say. Mark turned the cassette over and went on listening to opera.

Finally, Margaret came back. Michael noticed that she had tiny feet. They gave her a delicate, slightly Chinese walk. Her face had gone splotchy. As she approached, she placed her hands either side of her mouth, as if to hold her face in place. 'Mark. I hardly know what to say.'

Mark stood up and began to wind the earphones around the Walkman. The opera kept playing.

Margaret reached out towards him and gripped his arm. 'Michael told me you are worried about inconsistent results. I'm afraid that the first test was positive and the second is negative. It's not usual, but it does happen. I'm so sorry. I'm afraid we'll need to take the test again.'

'That won't be necessary. That is all the result we need, thank you very much.' He jammed the singing Walkman into the bag.

'Mark, you can come in tomorrow, if you like.'

The tumble of rocks looked back at her. 'That won't happen. I am very, very sorry that Michael put you to all this trouble. I'm going to ask you not to worry me, or to try to rectify the situation. Thank you for your concern.' He turned and strode away on long legs.

Margaret followed. 'We might prove there is nothing wrong! There are treatments now, treatments that work!'

Thank you!' bellowed Mark and let the door fall shut after him.

Michael stood up to go, sick at heart.

Maggie intercepted him. 'Michael, the first test showed almost no T-cells at all. He is already very sick. Michael, I don't know what your relationship is, excuse me, but should you have the test too?'

'No,' said Michael, suddenly bitter. 'I never slept with him.'

He died and I was in America. Michael's face crumpled and his eyes went bleary, and to escape he pushed the door open with his bum.

'Oh love,' said Margaret.

You think I'm a good person. You think I'm someone who's done all he can to help someone else.

'Give me a call! Tell him we can help him!'

That's the last Michael saw of her, in her Chinese shirt, reflecting in several directions as the door of her clinic swung shut. How is it that you care, Maggie? How is it than anyone cares?

Mark was two streets away, waiting by the car. He was staring up at the sky and listening to his Walkman. It still wheedled out Rosenkavalier. Shrill distant women's voices sang their farewells. Just for once, in London, there were stars.

'Can you send me back now?' Mark asked, without looking at Michael. He was quite calm, angry no longer, but his cheeks and mouth were covered with an even, glossy coating of tears.

'You could stay,' offered Michael.

Mark turned and looked at him with determined eyes. 'This is unbearable,' he said.

'Look Mark, I'm sorry for all of this; I shouldn't have done it this way. But if you stay, you could listen to music, you could go back to Robert, you could live.'

'It's unbearable, because once you're there,' Mark flung a hand up towards the sky, 'you don't really want to come back. You had no business bringing me back.'

'Just try, for a day or two?'

'I died Michael. I made them withhold treatment. Dying took hours, and I couldn't move or even see, but I could still think, and I had to think my way through dying. I had to work at it, it was an achievement. Can you please send me back now?'

'All right,' sighed Michael.

Mark made to put Robert's photograph into his pocket and then seemed to remember he could not take it with him. He put it back into the plastic Sainsbury's bag.

The great stone face turned once more to Michael. 'Don't do this to anyone else,' Mark said.

'Get ready then.'

'I am ready.'

'Goodbye, then.'

God, this was awful, it was like killing someone.

'Goodbye,' whispered Mark, his expression softening. His cheeks were pink and freckled and he reminded Michael of how he had looked at Sussex.

The singing of the Walkman stopped. Air closed over Mark like a lake and he was gone.

Michael was alone. Inside the bag, there was only the newspaper, and the orange, whole and uneaten.

The next day, Michael telephoned Margaret.

'Hello Margaret,' he began. 'This is Michael. I just wanted to say thanks for last night. Are you OK?'

'I'm sorry?' Margaret laughed indulgently, as if she were still Bottles. 'I'm a bit slow this morning. Michael who?'

'Michael Blasco, from school, I came round to the clinic'

'Michael? Michael, hello!' Margaret was surprised and delighted. 'It's funny, I was thinking about you just the other day. How are you, long time no see!'

The backs of Michael's arms pricked up as if there were a cold wind. 'I'm fine. I, uh, I came round to the clinic Wednesday night.'

'Oh, dear.' Margaret laughed at herself. 'Did you? I've got a head like a sieve. I'm so sorry, I guess I just didn't recognize you. I mean, did you say "Hi, I'm Michael from school?"'

Michael considered. 'No. Not really. I popped in to get some information for a friend.'

Her voice modulated carefully downwards. 'Was it all right?'

'Yeah, yeah, he came in to the clinic and had the test. And it was negative. He's OK. I just wanted to say thank you for the work you do. It's good work.'

Michael ended the conversation quickly. He had learned one last thing.

If you were part of their story, you could be forgotten too. Oh, people could meet you both, shake your hands, they could tell you your friend was handsome and that they wanted to meet up again. And then they would forget. Not right away, but gently so everything healed shut. They'd forget everything, and if you were part of everything, then they'd forget you too.

Angels came, Angels were here, they could talk, and when they went, they were forgotten as quickly as dreams. And the stories they made were forgotten too.

Michael would be forever alone with his memories. Maybe we're surrounded by miracles, he thought. Maybe there're miracles every day, only we're programmed not to remember them. He opened up his notebook and read.

A physical copy

someone I know (later: also someone I don't know!)

in train, tube and 2 x in my flat, 1 x in office (location has no effect)

Can call up at will and banish (I may not know I've done it!)

other people appear to interact

His behaviour, my behaviour both sexual

the real person is straight (can be!)

copy says real person dreams what happens

Can't call up people without sexual element (sexual element can be love)

Can call up dead

Can control behaviour

They have free will until I override it

they can be male or female