Uncanny

by Sarah Fine

  When she touches the brush to my skin, I scream. It’s too much, wet and cold and full of hurt, but I can’t get away from it and I can’t make her stop. She keeps smiling, keeps humming, and she pushes harder and harder with that paintbrush, denting me. “Hold still, CC,” she says.

  Don’t call me that, I want to say. Stop calling me that. I know exactly what it means. I’ve known for a long time.

  But I can’t speak, can’t get my tongue to move.

  She dips the brush in the paint again and holds the stalk of it in her fist. “Watch this,” she says, looking right into my eyes.

  She stabs the brush into my belly. I can’t scream now. She does it again and again, and I feel pulled apart, unspooled, unmade. She’s still smiling as she stands back to admire her work. I can’t move and can’t see what she sees. I never knew what she was seeing, even when we were looking at the same thing. “You’re finished,” she says. “Now you’re finished.”

  The earth trembles. My eyes open.

  “Cora,” says Franka. “It’s time to wake up.” She’s making my bed vibrate. “You said you wanted time to shower this morning.”

  I glance at the top left corner of my visual field and see that my ’Pin alarm is also going off. It’s nearly nine thirty. “Crap.” I push the covers back. My whole body is damp with sweat, and I’m shaking. I have a strong urge to pull the blanket back up and hide.

  But Neda’s due in half an hour—and she’s never late. I jump into the shower and get dressed quickly. Neda may be always perfectly groomed, but she doesn’t ever seem to fault me for being scruffy and rumpled, so that’s what she gets today.

  I ask Franka to tell Rafiq that I’ll be with Neda and that his presence isn’t required until later. She says he has received the message and looks forward to spending time with me after lunch.

  At exactly ten, Franka tells me that Neda’s just landed and is walking up to the house. I head to the foyer and meet her as Franka opens the front door. Neda grins when she sees me and opens her arms, and I hug her. “Let’s go in the den,” I say. My heart is thumping furiously as I try to figure out how to ask for her help without getting either of us in trouble.

  Neda, who doesn’t seem anxious at all, is chattering about her latest tangle with Aristotle, and about the gossip at school, and about Percy Blake’s new fashion vid, in which he made cheeky and apparently hilarious wardrobe suggestions for our former president, Wynn Sallese, who was impeached and charged with about ten million crimes, and who—I hadn’t heard?—got sentenced to intensive rehabilitation after being found guilty weeks ago. I marvel at how disconnected I’ve been—you’d think I’d at least have known the pres got sent to jail—but also at how fast Neda’s talking. By the time we sit down on one of the cushy couches in the den, I’m overwhelmed and feeling like I want to cover my ears with my palms.

  She takes my hands like she knows this. “It’s okay, Cora. Watch.” She reaches up under her hijab and taps a spot just below her right ear. Nothing happens, but Neda looks triumphant. “Now you can say whatever you want.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s an auditory shield. It conceals what we’re saying.”

  “But if Franka detects certain keywords, she’ll alert my parents. And if she detects an anomaly in the sound system, like white noise, she’ll investigate.”

  “Exactly, which is why what she’s hearing right now is everything I’ve said so far, just slowed down and played back. We have . . .” She is clearly looking at some readout on her ’Pin field. “About fifteen minutes.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “All you need to know is that I have some extremely cool friends, and I just had this tech implanted a few days ago. It’s not legal, technically speaking, but it sure does make me feel a little less . . . surveilled.”

  I roll my eyes. “Then I’m really jealous.”

  “I know—you’re under a microscope.” Her brows lower. “Have you checked to see whether you have vids of that night?”

  I nod. “And a detective is coming on Monday.” My chest is tight. “This may be the last time you see me.”

  “Stop that. I know for a fact you didn’t do anything to Hannah. I just don’t buy into Lara’s stupid rumormongering, and if she’s not careful, I’ll hack her and make her really sorry.”

  “She’s the least of my concerns.”

  “So, you’re going tonight, to the memorial at her house?”

  “Yeah. I don’t want to, but I think I have to.”

  “Are you going to bring Rafiq?”

  I shrug one shoulder. “I’d rather not.”

  “Tell me,” she says.

  “He went into my room and was digging around, and then he lied about it.”

  “I thought he was your therapist!”

  “I don’t know what he is, not really. He said he was doing it for me, but I think he was snooping. For Gary.”

  “Why would Gary . . .” Her voice fades off as her eyes widen. “You think Gary believes you hurt Hannah.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut as a flash of my nightmare from this morning blinds me. “I think he’s believed that from the start.”

  “Cor—do you think Gary brought in Rafiq just to twist you up and get you to confess or something?”

  I open my eyes. “I was hoping you could help me find out.”

  “I’ll try, but it’ll be tricky because I’m not the admin. A canny like Rafiq is going to have pretty specific security—and he’s likely to report any intrusion.”

  “I know. And I’m sure Gary’s the admin. I tried to wake Rafiq once, and he didn’t respond to my verbal command.”

  “So, we won’t be able to hack Rafiq when he’s on—he’d detect and deflect instantly. We have to put him to sleep, but we need—”

  “Gary’s voice saying the commands?”

  She nods.

  “And if I could give you a recording of him saying the words?”

  She grins. “Really? You got that?”

  “I had the weirdest conversation with him last night and got him to say the two commands. Well, all the words, at least. They have to be spliced together.”

  “Well, aren’t you a little genius. Let me upload and give me a sec. We should hardwire this so it’s not passing through Franka’s network.”

  I’m smiling as I pull up the vid from the archive. Neda pulls a filament cable from her pocket and docks one end in her ’Pin nodule and the other end in mine. A moment later we’re connected by the head knob, and Neda is watching the vid. “It’s the standard commands? ‘Go to sleep’ and ‘wake up’?”

  “Yeah. I’ve heard Gary say those to him before.”

  “Give me editing privileges.”

  I do. She toggles her Cerepin nodule, snipping the vid so fast I can’t even follow. “And there we go,” she says after a minute or two. “Let me use a little stutter-smooth function here . . . and done. Want to call Rafiq in here and test it out?”

  “If we do and it doesn’t work, he’s going to know I’m trying something.”

  “No, he’ll know I’m trying something, and I’m known for trying things.”

  I feel a rush of gratitude followed by a wave of guilt. “Okay. I just don’t want you to end up getting in trouble for something I’m doing.”

  Our eyes meet, and there’s a sudden shine in hers. “I know,” she says. “You’re always trying to protect me.”

  “More the other way around.”

  “Cora, for the moment we’ll set aside the way you always stood up for me even when you couldn’t figure out how to stand up for yourself, okay? Let’s just talk about now—you could have gotten me into major trouble by telling your parents I told you how to turn off the house, but you didn’t say a word. You could have told them I told you how to turn off your ’Pin tracking, but you didn’t tell them that, either. You’ve been protecting me this whole time, and now it’s my turn. That’s how we do things. Send me a copy of that vid.”

  Once I send h
er the spliced vid, we disconnect. But I’m already feeling bad about this. I’m already wondering what I’ve set in motion.

  “Got it,” Neda says. “Now let’s bring your robot guardian in here and send him off to dreamland.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Consolidation of processing.

  Analysis.

  Internal narrative: on.

  Dr. Dietrich appears to feel strongly that Hannah was not capable of behaving aggressively or violently toward her sister. When I made this suggestion to him, he responded with a threat.

  Further review of evidence from Hannah’s Cerepin is required. There is an archive of chats with her approved contacts that I will analyze now that I have viewed and coded all the vids on her previously internal drive. It is not that I wish to contradict Dr. Dietrich; to the contrary, I am programmed to obey his orders and to use my resources to complete the assignment successfully. If I can find some chats, searches, or other communications that either support the notion that Hannah bore no ill will toward Cora or contain no mention of wanting to harm her, this may please him.

  It may balance the single vid I have reviewed that offers a sense of motive for Hannah to harm Cora: the vid in which she watched Cora intimately embracing Finn in the wine cellar of his parents’ home only 12 days prior to the staircase incident. I have not presented this piece of information to Dr. Dietrich. I did not have the opportunity to do so.

  However, it is also nothing more than conjecture to assume that seeing Cora kissing her ex-boyfriend might have caused Hannah to attempt to harm her. And it is slightly more plausible that Cora, who has a history of instability, attempted self-harm, and physical aggression—including toward her sister—would have been the aggressor during the staircase interaction. The motive fits for Cora as well, in that if she perceived her sister as a threat to a new romantic connection with Finn, it may have led her to lash out impulsively, especially if verbally provoked.

  The possibility that Cora was the aggressor also fits with Hannah’s utterances during the 23-second vid. Hannah said, at various times, “Let go” and “Stop” and “Help” and “No.” Based on probabilistic analysis using my phrase database, these verbalizations are significantly more likely to be said by a victim rather than an attacker.

  I—

  ANALYSIS PAUSED FOR INCOMING INTERSYSTEM COMMUNICATION.

  01000011 01101111 01110010 01100001 00100000 01000100 01101001 01100101 01110100 01110010 01101001 01100011 01101000 00100000 01110010 01100101 01110001 01110101 01100101 01110011 01110100 01110011 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01110000 01110010 01100101 01110011 01100101 01101110 01100011 01100101 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100100 01100101 01101110 00101110

  LIVESTREAM.

  REPORTING LOG.

  INTERNAL NARRATIVE: ON.

  “Thank you, Franka,” I say aloud. “I will go immediately.”

  “I will notify Cora that you will be joining her and Neda shortly.”

  I move away from the wall where I had been standing, opposite the painting, and walk toward the den. It will be useful to see Cora in the presence of her friend. There is a possibility that I will be able to discern whether she has given this friend additional information regarding the night in question or whether she feels enough shame that she has hidden the information from all but me. If the latter is the case, this is a positive outcome, because it will mean that it remains possible to maintain and enhance her trust in me, thereby increasing the likelihood of disclosure. If she has chosen to disclose to her friend instead, it will be a complication that reduces the likelihood of success and one I will need to counteract in some way.

  As I approach the den, I hear Neda talking about legal action taken against the former president. She is speaking in an atypically slow cadence, perhaps because she understands Cora should not be agitated. When I am 4 m away, Neda becomes silent. I enter the room with a smile on my face, and Cora and Neda reciprocate. “Good morning to you both,” I say. “How may I be of service?”

  “Rafiq,” Cora says, biting her lip. “Can you ask Franka for privacy? I figured you could supervise . . .”

  “Of course, Cora,” I say. This is positive; she trusts me to provide the oversight. “Franka, please provide us with auditory and visual privacy until I signal otherwise.” I could request this internally with an intersystem communication, but I want both girls to see that I am following through in a trustworthy way.

  “Yes, Rafiq,” says Franka.

  “We were talking, and I’m just wondering if you’ve had any more thoughts on the concept of free will,” Neda says. “And whether you have it.”

  I am experiencing an anomaly in my processing again. I clear my throat, resetting. “This is something we could discuss for hours,” I say. My tone is amiable, unperturbed, and patient. I look at Cora to assess her emotional state. Her expression is unfamiliar on the whole, but with elements codable as fear, eagerness, and sadness.

  “Cora,” I say. “Are you all right?”

  She nods but appears to be avoiding eye contact with me. This is unusual except at times when she is severely dysregulated. I move toward her, initiating a protocol to soothe and comfort.

  “Hey, Rafiq,” says Neda.

  I look at her. She taps her Cerepin nodule as her mouth starts to move. I process an anomalous pitch—

  PROCESSING PAUSED.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  When Rafiq is “asleep,” he doesn’t look real. In total stillness, he looks fixed and plastic and weird.

  “What do we do now?” I ask. I hadn’t really thought too much about this part. My heart is kicking against my ribs. “Please tell me we don’t have to open up his head or something.”

  Neda gives me an offended look. “That is so last century, Cor.” She has the filament cable in her hand. “Does he have a fingertip port?”

  “Yeah. It’s how we . . .” I let out a breath. “I took some vids that night, Neda. Rafiq has seen them.” I watch as she examines his limp fingers. He must have some sort of system that keeps him from falling to the ground if he’s suspended while standing, but I wish we’d asked him to sit down before we did this to him. “I think it’s his right index finger.”

  “Yep. Here it is.” She is holding his hand, staring at that fingertip.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to check his settings. You wondered if he was working for Gary, if he’d been lying to you this whole time.”

  “Not sure I want to know.”

  “Knowledge is power.” She plugs the cable into his fingertip and then into her Cerepin, and spends a few minutes toggling her nodule and staring at nothing. “Did the vids show anything you want to tell me about?”

  “No!”

  “Okaaay.”

  “Neda . . .”

  “Stop, Cora.” She looks up and fixes me with a hard glare. “I’m gonna say this once, and then we don’t have to talk about it ever again. I know the truth, and I’ve known it for a long time—Hannah played nice, but underneath, she was nothing but a bully.”

  “She wasn’t—”

  “No. I’m talking now. And I’m telling you that I’ve always hated the way you beat yourself up and let her twist you into an emotional pretzel, trying to get you in trouble and make you feel guilty. I know you, Cora. I knew her. I knew her longer than you did. She was smart and pretty and artistic and cool and totally, totally manipulative. She knew how to work people. She worked her dad, she worked her teachers, she worked Finn, she worked Lara and Mei, and she definitely worked you. I don’t know exactly what happened that night.” She winces. “I felt terrible after I helped you crack Franka, because I realized afterward that leaving the two of you alone and unmonitored probably wasn’t a good thing.”

  “I barely remember doing any of it.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I also didn’t realize how drunk you were. But Hannah—she was all there that night. She was chee
ring you on.”

  “She didn’t force me to drink.”

  “Come on. You’re not giving her enough credit.”

  I sink into the couch. “Doesn’t mean she deserved what happened.”

  Neda sighs. “Doesn’t mean you deserved anything that’s happened,” she mutters. “I don’t blame you, Cora. Whatever happened, whatever happened, I will never blame you.”

  I love you. It’s all I can think. Not even my mom has said something like this to me. She’s so caught up in Hannah and Gary, and why wouldn’t she be? But Neda . . . “Thanks,” I say aloud, because I don’t want to freak her out. “You’re the best.”

  “Always have been. And . . . here we are.” She’s staring again, reading something off her visual display. “Whoa. Cora.”

  “What?”

  “I’m looking at this dude’s internal settings. His system is pretty complicated, but the GUI is sweet. It’s all right here.”

  “Um.”

  She smiles. “I’m looking at his personality. It’s an intricate little engine. But he has some primary features that we can adjust. Like . . .” She chuckles. “Our gorgeous Rafiq here is pretty much a psychopath.”

  I look up at Rafiq’s face, at his lips. “A psychopath?”

  “Yeah. His empathy is at zero. Like, off. Disabled. No ability to care about anything, basically, except following his primary assignment. I can’t get access to those directives—they’re buried under some kind of encryption I’ve never seen before, so it would take me at least an hour to crack.”

  I laugh. “That long?”

  “I can do other stuff, though. Like . . .” She toggles her ’Pin. “Hello, empathy. And now he has a bit of human feeling. Now let’s look at deception. He’s basically the best liar on the planet. But not anymore.”