Moxyland - Lauren Beukes [35]
At last I'm prepared to get round to the MetroBabe audio file. I drag it into my player and crank up the volume. I'll be damned if I have to suffer through the incessant infant-stuff alone.
'…surrogate breast milk is a risk, Noeleen, but it's a qualified risk if you go through the correct channels, and get a certified provider who can provide you with a full medical history. You can get cocktails specially made to order, get your provider to take vitamins and nutrients tailored to the very specific needs of your baby's gene map.'
Across the office, a couple of people raise their heads. Genevieve mouths at me, 'Can you privacy that?' but I ignore her.
And finally Mpho materialises at my desk, pushing a stroller, the dull grey of the plastic marking it as a prototype fresh off the printer. 'Hey, L. Hope you haven't been waiting too long. I thought I'd get a demo model from product development so we can really nail this thing. Oops, nearly forgot!' He produces two lattes with a flourish from the cup-holders. 'Mamzelle.' In four days of getting room service together, you'd think he would have picked up that I take my coffee black.
'But couldn't you just add those to the content afterwards? Or, I don't know, give your baby supplements, Dr. Redelinghuys?'
'Thanks, babe.' I deliberately let the coffee slip through my fingers so it drops into the bin, spilling its contents en route. Someone else will clean it up. I probably should have done the same with the flowers, just swept them off the desk into the rubbish. Mpho looks shocked.
'So, M,' I emphasise the consonant, how it's really not a name. 'You ready to tackle this baby thing?'
'I'm sorry. Was there something wrong–?'
'I'm lactose-intolerant, Mpho. Thanks for asking.'
'Shit. I'm sorry. Let me get you another one.'
'Can we just do this?'
Mpho is insistent. 'Seriously, let me get you another one. I'll be right back.'
'No, honestly–' but he's already dashed off.
'That's a good question, Noeleen, but really I think we have to look at the way the body system processes nutrients, and how that's passed on to your baby. She really needs all this goodness in a way that's palatable to her still-developing immune system, that she can readily absorb, especially when it comes to HIV antibodies–'
I click it off. As if actually having a drooling, mewling, puking little troll weren't enough. If I had to listen to this shit all day, I'd kill myself.
There's a good reason I need to get this out of the way asap. I'm expecting a tech support callout any minute to deal with a damaged adboard. I stayed up all night coding upgrades with some neat little added features of my own for the security software they're going to have to install today, and then covering my tracks to ensure it looks like they've always been there.
When the maintenance team head out, I need to monitor them remotely to ensure there aren't any unexpected surprises that might betray me when the software update goes live. But of course, I'm not supposed to know that an adboard has been hit. Not yet. So I wait.
Mpho finally gets back, balancing a filter ultra and a selection of every variety of sweetener and cinnamon/chocolate/mint additive possible, just in case. I drink it black just to spite him, not that he notices.
'What did you do to your hair?' he asks, in a little-boy-wounded way. He should have seen it before I had the Communique inhouse stylist tidy it up this morning. 'I liked it long.'
'I get bored easily.'
You'd think I would know better than to get involved with someone in my own department. But I'm really crap at resisting sexual tension. Oh, it's entertaining for a few weeks, the fuzzy sting that rushes down your vertebra to your groin when the eyes meet, the banter spiked with