“I don’t know how the magic can be defeated.”
And I didn’t even know where to start. “I’m sorry. I wish I knew how to help you.” With the words came the possibility, and I looked hopefully towards him – but he shook his head. “I cannot defeat the magic that created me. I have tried.”
“I’m sorry. I want to help you.” I sighed. “What would happen if I never opened the bottle again?”
“Oblivion.”
“Would you prefer that?”
“No. I like to talk to you.”
I smiled, relieved. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”
*
The phone call woke me up. I wrestled my phone from under my pillow, saw that it was Dad and smiled, sleepy-annoyed that he’d got the time difference wrong again.
“Hey,” I croaked.
“Astrid. It’s Dad. Don’t panic. There’s been a bit of a change of plan.” Of course: I panicked.
*
“Did you know?” The genie had barely taken form before I demanded answers.
“Know what?”
“Dad’s coming back from Dubai. He’s broken his leg in four places and they’re flying him home. Did you do that as a freebie?”
The translucent face frowned. “You made no wish.”
But it had been in my head. Had I made this happen? I sighed and dropped back onto my bed. Wretched magic: now I’d spend my life wondering if I could have stopped this happening by wishing Dad home. It was chance, misfortune, that was all.
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.” I looked at him sidelong. “I guess time travel is out of the question?”
I was half-joking, hope deflating when the genie shook his head. “That is beyond my magic.”
“Never mind. I guess I should look on the bright side. I’m getting dad back, like I wanted.”
*
I studied the map in the entrance to the hospital, tracking down Dad’s ward. There was another copy of the poster that had been in the antique shop to one side of the map. Do you know John Doe? flashed above the picture of the boy with his beat-up face. It seemed weeks since I’d seen it. So much had changed – but not for John Doe, I guessed.
I’d turned away from the map and the poster, heading towards Dad’s ward. Then a thought made me turn back and check where John Doe was. Dad could wait a few minutes. Glass bottle in my pocket, I strode towards the ICU, following the signs hanging from the ceilings.
I had to buzz to get in. The nurse on the desk, busy with paperwork, barely looked up. Fingering the bottle in my pocket, I smiled and said, “I want to see John Doe. This’ll sound crazy, but I think I might know him.”
The nurse gave an indifferent wave. “Last room on the left, take your time.”
John Doe’s room was silent but for the regular pulse and whoosh of machinery. I took the bottle from my pocket and pulled the top out, listening for the tiny sound that had so quickly grown familiar. The smell of summer was welcome in the sick room as the genie assumed his insubstantial form.
“I’m ready to make another wish, if I can get freedom for you. This is John Doe. Can – could you take his body and be free?”
“I could try.” I felt the genie’s gaze. “Are you sure this is your wish, Astrid?”
I faced him, as much as it was possible to face someone who wasn’t fully there. “I’m completely sure. I’m sorry you’ve been a slave for so long, but if I can set you free, that’s what I want to do.” I took a breath. He didn’t move. “You do want to be free, don’t you?”
He smiled then. “Does the caged bird long to spread its wings?”
I looked anxiously at John Doe. There could only be one chance at this. “What should I wish? I want to use the right words.”
“Just wish for what you want. The magic will take care of everything.”
I nodded, and pushed the empty bottle into my pocket. I took a deep breath. “I wish that the genie standing with me now should take the body of the man John Doe here, that body to be returned to health so that the genie enjoys life as a healthy human being.”
I took a deep breath. The scent of heat vanished and I was alone, the only sound that of the machines.
I looked around. No genie. John Doe hadn’t stirred. Did that mean it had worked – or had I wished the genie into a body only for him to die with it?
I found a moulded plastic chair in one corner. It scraped across the floor as I dragged it to the bedside, sat down and lifted a passive hand into both of mine. “Are you there?” John Doe’s hand had an IV pushed into the back of it, but I stroked the length of his fingers where I could reach. The sound of the machines continued unchanged, their regularity almost a lullaby. Steps rang in the corridor outside and I hoped the nurse wouldn’t walk in.
I held his hand between mine, curling his fingers around my own. “Please be there.”
A definite flicker, and then his eyelids opened. John Doe – or was it the genie? – blinked, as though finding it an effort to bring me into focus. I leaned forward. “Do you remember – do you know who you are?”
A long, long moment passed. The figure in the bed finally smiled. “Astrid. Woman of stars. Hello.”
THE END
—ABOUT THE AUTHOR—
Katy Haye spent most of her childhood and adolescence lost in a good book. Even now, and given the tedious necessity to earn a living in order to eat, she spends as much time as possible running around either her own or someone else’s imaginary world.
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SCIENCE FICTION
AVLYN
Jenetta Penner
Chapter One
My own mother is ranked beneath me. Incompatible.
Joy is the name she gave me seventeen years ago. Sometimes I imagine it as an invocation, a gift entrusted to guarantee a happy life, no matter what. But it’s inappropriate to question a name I barely use—given by a mother I barely know. Avlyn, the name I go by now, suits me much better.
My final meeting with her is scheduled in a few days, our once-a-year meal on the other side of Elore in her meager Level One apartment. She’ll prattle on about the weather and avoid the topic of Ben, my twin brother, or our bio father. Her chocolate brown hair, the color we share, worn long and loose, makes her lower-Level distinction obvious. When I leave, she’ll remind me she’s proud of my status and give me a tight hug I’ve little practice in returning. Thankfully, I wasn’t raised by her.
Reassignment by Direction to a compatible family is an honor. Especially if it’s an upgrade.
Lark is my compatible parents’ last name, as well as mine now. The name is compelling, of a bird, supposedly with a cheerful song. I’ve never heard one. People are few, so are birds, and the meaning strikes me as ironic for a Level Two compatibility family. The higher your Intelligence Potential, the more you’re required to stay focused, display less emotion.
Today is configuration day. It’s my seventeenth birthday, and the last day of university. My career, which I have no choice in deciding, begins tomorrow.
“This should be your day, too, right Ben?” I mutter. He doesn’t answer. When does someone who lives in your mind ever respond?
Butterflies fluttering through my stomach, I run my hand under the mattress of my bed and find it. A flat, hidden package wrapped in brown paper. Paper went out of general use years ago. I take it and rub the unfamiliar texture between my fingers—rough and old. A scrawl of childish letters adorns the surface.
I love you.
The backwards y brings a smile to my lips, but then disappears with a gulp at the forbidden words. A single pi
ece of tired, opaque bonding material holds the fold of the paper together. I flick it open, and out drops a tiny pendant attached to a chain, holding a simple gold heart. Because outward appearance is considered irrelevant, people don’t wear jewelry. And a heart shape? Shocking.
But also pretty.
I stroke the smooth metal, then shake my head. No… it’s out of place, from a time long past and gone forever, and yet something about it being my birthday makes me slip the charm into my pocket. That, and it makes me feel close to Ben. It’d been a gift from him on our fourth birthday, likely stolen from Bess, since he lived with her at the time. Of course I’d never wear it. If seen, Direction may pry into my personal life. If they ever found out I still thought of Ben, let alone talked to him, I’d be sent in for re-education. Probably demoted to a Level One. But safe in my pocket, no one will ever know.
I shove the paper back under the mattress, push up from the bed, and step toward the sliding bedroom door, turning back to look at my room. For a second, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, just like Father taught me, but the ache in my stomach I woke up with still bores inside me. I slip my hand over the sensor and move through the open doorway into the hall.
A faint auto light fades on to guide me through the vacant hall. My parents rise early, and I figure they’re already waiting for me to talk of the career configuration meeting later today, or worse, something dumb like spouse pairings. I’m dreading being chained to another person for the rest of my life more than any aspect of my citizen configuration.
Passing through the living room, I shuffle toward the kitchen, expecting the familiar busy motion of Mother in the dining area. Instead, I’m met with a blinking memo on the personal message screen alongside her image. Darline Lark, always put together, with sandy-brown hair cut in a short, crisp bob, the same as mine, but fairer in color. Sometimes, for a fleeting moment, her face looks kind, even warm, but here she only displays her standard, composed demeanor.
I tap the screen and the image flicks to life.
“Avlyn, your father and I had to leave early this morning,” her image says. “Remember your appointment at the medical station at university first thing. One last physical before the meeting. Lunch is on the counter.”
Mother pinches her lips together and the vid pauses. With a tap, the screen goes black.
I roll my eyes. She still orders my lunch every day and puts it on the counter for me to take to training. Silly. I’m not five. And besides, I won’t even need a lunch today. My position will start tomorrow, not primer school. I must have asked her twenty times to stop doing it, but every morning it sits on the counter. She doesn’t trust that I’m capable to do it myself. She never has.
My stomach groans. I touch the screen on the food printer to order my favorite, a blueberry muffin, ignoring the flashing green alert signaling the printer will need to be refilled soon. No sooner than I hit send, it makes zipping and whirring noises, followed by a beep. I release the door and grab the plain, printed plate, holding the fluffy, blue-splotched muffin. A sugary aroma wafts from the opening, making my mouth water.
I’ve watched informational vids on fresh food and pictured myself picking the fresh fruits and vegetables shown in them. I pick out a blueberry and pop it into my mouth, tasting the sweet, tart juice.
Wonder if the food from the printer tastes the same?
Despite the sweetness, I only manage to choke down a few bites of muffin before tossing it and the plate into the recycler to be remade into food and plates again. I pack a satchel with my handheld Flexx and the lunch Mother put out, just in case.
In the living room, an alert flashes on the media viewer. An official Direction message addressed to Avlyn Joy Lark.
My heart stops. On configuration day, besides a designated career, citizens also obtain the contacts of suitable spouse pairs. I’ve never even been on a date—courting hasn’t been allowed for over thirty years—but now strangers deemed perfect for me will come calling.
A shiver works its way up my spine at the thought. This day is already happening too fast, and it’s barely started.
Most look forward to the opportunity to be paired, but instead, I ignore the message and hold my breath until I’m out the front door and into the corridor. Almost tripping, I sidestep a hefty package with a Nutra Enterprise logo stamped on its side, our weekly order of food printer refill.
I release the breath and take out my handheld to reach my friend, Kyra.
Want to walk with me? ~Avlyn
Kyra and I often meet up on the way to university, and since today is my last day, I really want to see her. Who knows how much interaction we’ll have in the future? Probably none, since after the transition period communication with childhood friends is highly discouraged.
The vibration of her response comes quickly.
I’m downstairs. ~ Kyra
Today the elevator sounds too confining, and I need to work off this nervous energy. Each footfall echoes and booms as I take the seven flights of stairs down. For some reason, the noise is satisfying, turning up the corners of my lips. At the bottom, I spot Kyra through the sparkling glass of the foyer, vacantly staring at her Flexx. Her straight, blonde hair is pulled in a low ponytail, and her plain, light gray clothes are as utilitarian as the bleak khaki outfit I chose. Somehow she always looks amazing, with her naturally tanned skin and aquamarine eyes. In contrast, my pale complexion and hazel irises are common, but looks don’t make intelligence, so it’s stupid to care.
Once at the entrance, the door drifts open to the street, letting in a rush of cool, fall air. A fluid, pearly Aerrx delivery drone floats through and hovers past me, metallic tentacles clutching a delivery for a resident in the building.
The gigantic media screen affixed high on the building directly in front of ours flickers, and up comes Brian Marshall, the morning newscaster, wearing salt-and-pepper hair and a stern expression.
“Level Two and Three births are at an all-time high, and outpace those at Level One by fifty percent. This extraordinary news has come in time to commemorate thirty-five years of Compatibility Pairing and Birth Reassignment,” Brian reports.
He goes on to announce an interview tonight with an expert on disease, and why the vaccinations are necessary to ensure a worldwide pandemic like the Collapse never happens again. This evening, Director Manning will make an announcement regarding the newest inoculation roll out.
“Up next,” Brian says, “we’ll take you to the Elore Detention Center for an update on the latest rebel activity and arrests.”
The Direction emblem, a world wrapped in a swooping arrow pointed north to remind Elore to focus on forward thought, spins onto the viewer, and then fades, revealing an overhead view of the city. Above the screen is the spectacular dance of the Aerrx and Guardian drones as they shoot across the sky, loaded with deliveries. The display never fails to impress me. An air shuttle passes over too, making me shiver at the thought of flying. Not my thing.
Kyra breaks my concentration, saying, “Configuration day.”
“Huh?” I ask.
She shakes her head and gestures for me to walk toward university while folding up the thin, transparent material of her Flexx and snapping it to her wrist. It’s a few blocks from the apartment, and I appreciate the trek.
“Oh, yes,” I confirm in a low tone. “First the med checkup, then the meeting.”
A strange glimmer lights up her eyes. “Did you read your official message?”
The message? Nothing in that message would excite me today. All “configuration” means is that everything is changing. After our transition period, I won’t even be allowed to see Kyra anymore. She’s not much, but she’s all I have.
I’ve known her since the age of ten, when I got overly emotional one time at school. At the end of the day, she waited out front and walked me home. Kyra, an overachiever, believes she can “fix” me. She’s even told me so. She knows everything about me. I slipped up at twelve and told her that som
etimes I talk to Ben, my dead twin. For some reason, Kyra never breathed a word.
“I forgot,” I lie.
She stops and rests her hand on her hip. “You forgot? You’re not even curious about your pairings? With a good pair, you could secure a fantastic apartment right next to a Level Three sector with a view of the whole city. Not to mention anyone worth pairing with is going to get snapped up immediately.”
Not that any Direction pairs would be of interest to me anyway.
“What if I don’t want a pairing?”
“Of course you want a pairing,” she huffs. “Otherwise you’ll end up alone and unable to fulfill your obligation of children to society.” Kyra shakes her head. “You never think these things through.”
But I have thought this through. Being on my own will be easier.
I keep my head straight and continue walking without answering her.
“Oh, come on,” she insists. “You’ll be fine.”
We hike the remaining blocks, nearing university. The smooth sidewalk continues as we pass the front of housing buildings Level Two citizens live in, and the companies where we receive configuration. In an hour, I could be assigned to any of them.
“Sorry,” I whisper, drifting toward her. “I’m nervous. So much is changing.”
She gives me an expression of understanding. Her turn is Monday.
“Do you still think you’ll be placed into government?” I ask.
Kyra shrugs. “All my scores are pointing to that division, but I overheard my parents trying to pull some strings for the actual entry position.”
“Can they do that? I thought everything was decided in the testing system?”
“Probably not, but they want their union to produce a superior Level Two citizen instead of offspring influenced by an ‘overly emotional friend’. Their exact words.”
I flush, well aware she means me. Kyra has been a good friend, but her tact could use some work.
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