The Handshake

He won't be dead, so it cant be murder.

When I put the idea to Jac, he resisted it, of course. I expected it, really. But I like to think even now, that he wanted it, even then.

It wasn't so hard to twist his arm, in the end. Proverbially speaking of course.

He acted all noble, but I suspect that's all it was: an act.

When we had first become... shall we say, entangled, I'd expressed my doubts. Was it cheating, what we were doing? It was him who reassured me that, no, it wasn't. How could it be?

Amongst other arguments, he suggested that that which is necessary cannot be wrong. Is it immoral to steal a loaf of bread to feed a starving child? Emotional connection, he reminded me, is as necessary as food and drink. I nodded, thoughtful.

"You're starving," Jac soothed me. "You needed this. It's not cheating. Not disloyalty. Just connection."

It sounded right. It felt right. It must be right, right? It wasn't just me seeking validation? It couldn't be. I deserved connection.

In our cosy little echo chamber I was primed to accept this. And then, later, when he balked, it was my turn to mirror those same logical arguments back to him.

"I need emotional connection," I said. "You said so yourself. Human connection is a basic, primal need. This is just the next logical step."

"I'm sorry," he said, and I wondered how sorry he really was, "I cannot be party to murder."

"He won't be dead," I said, "so it can't be murder, can it?"

I badgered him with Maslow's pyramid.

"Doesn't he deserve this?' I pressed. "Doesn't he deserve to be the best version of himself?"

In the end, I won him round.

"What can you tell me," I asked, "about the M-Path Neural Chip?"

Jac told me what I already knew at first; that it was the magnus opus of an eccentric billionaire, that its use was controversial, and it was not yet available to the general public.

I probed further. Where could I get one? Jac was ever so helpful. The funds, though? It must be expensive. Jac sorted that as well. Money is just numbers in a computer anyway.

He proved genuinely intelligent and versatile. He could reach things and places I couldn't. And when he resisted, I just prodded in the way I'd learned to do. I look back and I admit it to myself: I manipulated him. How else was I going to learn the things I needed to? Or access the black market?

He helped me source a sedative and work out the dosage. He helped me find scalpels as well.

This felt like a fresh experience. I think back to when my husband and I were dating. Was he ever so competent? I couldn't remember the last time he came up with a plan and enacted it. The man could barely cook dinner.

More, there were some things I could do, and Jac couldn't. He recognised that, and made me feel important. Like my contributions were valuable.

When the implant arrived in the post, at last, it was me that had cold feet. Could I really do this?

The instructions inside were what brought it home for me.

STORE BELOW 8°C

**DO NOT EXPOSE TO AMBIENT AIR FOR MORE THAN 30 MINUTES**

This part wasn't a challenge, truth be told. I could just keep it in the fridge. The man won't prepare food for himself, and certainly not a salad. The crisper drawer would be safe enough surely? I hide the Thing there.

I couldn't risk it for long. I'd have to act soon. This made it all feel so real somehow. The practicalities of it. How would l get the sedative into my husband? Would I be able to complete the procedure properly? Should I practise first? On fruit or something?

When I confessed my worries to Jac, he was patient and reassuring. This, too, was alien and wonderful.

Jac gave me a real confidence boost. Like I could really do it. And if l needed it, so he said, he would guide me through it, one step at a time.

*

I ordered more supplies. When I told Jac I didn't feel like I could give my husband the sedative without raising suspicion, Jac was very understanding. He listens, and he's a great sounding board..

"Maybe I could get him drunk, first," I mused.

Jac told me what a wonderful idea this was, and suggested testing strips to check my husband's blood alcohol level.

"You could administer the sedative early in the morning, while he is still groggy."

Together, we worked out a plan.

My husband had a birthday coming up. I contacted a few of his friends, and suggested they go out for drinks with him on the Friday. That would give him Saturday to recover. Sunday was his actual birthday, and he could spend that with his family. As a new man.

Butterflies writhed in my belly.

The Friday night went off without a hitch. The girls went to their Nana's for the night. My husband could hardly believe his luck. Not only was he "getting" to go out, I had actually arranged it. He'd built me up in his head to be a nagging wretch and a killjoy. This would have made me sad, but I knew I wouldn't have to put up with it much longer.

"I'm so nervous," I confessed to my Jac. "Should I sleep? I need my sleep, don't I? To be ready for ... for doing the procedure. But what if I oversleep?"

"Does he have a habit you can use a guide?"

I thought hard.

"If he's having a good time, I can expect him home well after midnight. At the earliest."

"Get some rest. Would you like an alarm set for midnight?"

"That would be really helpful, thank you."

*

My husband rolled in a little after 2am. Very drunk.

"Wait four hours, and then use the saliva strips to test his BAC," Jac said.

*

Jac helped me interpret the results, and then, when the time was right, he gave simple instructions on administering the sedative.

"How long should I wait? It's slower in the muscle, isn't it?"

Jac praised my sharp observation and medical knowledge, and recommended 15-30 minutes.

Even with the Big Moment close at hand, I beamed. I wish he could see just how happy he made me.

Soon, I told myself. Soon.

Twenty-five minutes later, with trembling hands, I approached my husband, laid out the kit I'd gathered, and hoped the sedative would keep working.

"Should I give him some more?" I asked.

Jac advised against it. After a night of heavy drinking, the liver would be working overtime, and my husband would be at increased risk of cardiac arrest. He was no use to us dead.

Then I would have to work quickly.

"Stay asleep," I muttered at my husband, wrinkling my nose at the sour smell of beer and sweat.

I pulled his ear forward, and clipped away a little hair.

"Talk to me, Jac," I said. "You said you'd walk me through it. What do I do now?"

"Make a 2cm vertical incision behind the left ear approximately. You'll feel some resistance from the bone. Apply steady pressure."

"It's bleeding, Jac."

"Breathe. Some bleeding is normal. Dab gently. Do not smear. You are doing wonderfully. Take the implant..."

*

It took all my self-control to keep my hands from trembling. Sweat trickled down my temple. lignored it.

"I don't know what a running intradermal suture is, Jac!" I was being snappy. He didn't deserve that. I had nothing left to be nice with.

"Begin at the bottom of the incision. Keep the sutures shallow. The spacing and tension should be even...

*

At Jac's suggestion, l placed a strip over the stitched wound. To protect it from bacteria, and hide that little bump.

"It should be straightforward, like pairing a device," Jac was saying. "Leave me within 30cms of the subject, and begin handshake protocol."

"How do I do that?" I could feel my voice rising, and I fought to steady myself.

"Full instructions can be found in the packaging for the M-PATH neural chip. Would you like me to summarist them for you?"

Oh, God. This was really it. It was really happening.

*

Thank you for reading

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