If Then by Matthew De Abaitua

memory, and what can be discarded, and with broken sleep comes broken memories.
    No one is even necessary.
    Lewes was one of the land assets acquired by an Asian fund algorithm. Alex had been tasked with the experimental transfer of the intellectual copyright of big tech into nature, and put together a deal with the Institute. She explained it to him on numerous occasions but all he remembered was the phrase “black box bio-technology”.
    “Does this mean we now live inside the black box?”
    Bioware for the townspeople was a condition of the contract, the stripe for all, and the implant for a few. He volunteered because he was strong, had no dependents and because he prided himself on his adaptability. He questioned Alex Drown at the very beginning, when she was advising the council on their decision.
    “The Process will make a fair society,” she explained. “Instead of using market forces to distribute goods to meet needs, the Process monitors the lifestream and physiological condition of each individual within it, and then manufactures and distributes the required goods. The overriding imperative is fairness.”
    “Can you define fairness?”
    She could. “Fairness is composed of over a hundred and twenty metrics; these are simplified using Fourier transforms into a short stream of numbers, and then the Process monitors and nudges these metrics when they exceed or fall into unacceptable levels.”
    “Into unfairness.”
    “Yes.”
    “What if we want to come out of the Process? How do we do that?”
    “The contract is very clear. The town has to see the Process through to its next iteration. There is no get-out clause. If the Process is interrupted in its beta phase then the asset loses value.”
    “By the asset, do you mean the town?”
    “The asset is the people and the land unified with the Process. Each component of the asset, on its own, is of negligible value.”
    “Is there someone we can appeal to, if we get desperate?”
    “The Process,” said Alex.
    “What if I change my mind?”
    “Irrevocable decisions form character, James,” said Alex. “It’s a hard decision but by your age, you should have used up all the easy ones.”
    After the procedure, he awoke in the Institute. His scalp itched with the implant. Alex tuned him into the Process; he felt a surge of heat at the base of his skull, and staggered around the overgrown lawn of the stately home waiting for his head to explode.
    The window of their flat, set on the curved corner of the building, was exposed to the winter gale. It was cold to the touch. In the street below, the horse turned and turned again then set off with deranged resolve down Market Street. He put on another layer of clothes and spent the evening under blankets on their burst sofa rereading novels by candlelight, while Ruth concentrated upon the sewing machine.
    The next morning, he went to prepare the armour for eviction night, and took Hector with him. They walked down the hill and into the Phoenix estate. The development of the estate had been abandoned in the Seizure so half-built new homes and shopping units coexisted with rotten warehouse timbers and the weed-strewn backroads of light industrial edgelands. The sky was low and secretive, and snow bunched in the gutters and spilt through the broken roofs of the yards. James made deep footprints, Hector did not. Ruth had traded a quilt for a herringbone tweed overcoat for the soldier, although it was too generous for his trim frame. Hector wore all the clothes they had given him under and over his uniform, so he had four pairs of socks on his feet, pyjamas under his khaki tunic and slacks, and his balaclava topped with a beanie hat. From his pack, he produced a canteen, took a swig, then offered it to James.
    “Are we talking again?” asked James, as he accepted the canteen.
    The soldier waited for him to take his drink.
    The previous night’s snow had frozen into ridges and treacherous fissured patches. Their