by Tony LaRocca
Jaeger tore Matthew’s fingers from the gap in his shoulder. Time snapped back to its normal flow, and the data swarm enveloped them. The general clamped his arms around the boy, and dragged him back to the Sage’s unwritten miasma of gray.
Within an instant, Matthew’s rage subsided. Shame and fear rushed to fill its place.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Jaeger examined the boy’s shoulder as the pixelated blur of his skin knitted back together. “The separation seems to ignite your anger,” he said, as if discussing the weather.
“Yes, sir,” Matthew said. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Hmmm,” said Jaeger. He turned Matthew’s hand over, and glanced at the boy’s swollen, purple fingers. Matthew clenched his teeth, and forced himself not to cry out. “It will heal,” the general said as he let go. “Rage can be a weapon. It can hone your senses and your will, but only if you control it.”
“Yes, sir.”
He looked the boy over, causing Matthew to examine himself. His exposed ankles dangled from pants that were now too small for him. He closed his eyes, and his clothes grew to fit his larger frame.
“And by the way,” said Jaeger, “the algorithm doesn’t change based on the faces of which blocks are chosen, that’s the trap. It’s actually based on the faces of the shape nearest the one you choose. You have to examine all the available data before you make assumptions.”
“What about the last one?”
Jaeger sighed. “If there’s only one left, you don’t need an algorithm to tell you which to choose, do you?”
Matthew flushed. “No, sir,” he said.
“Very good,” said Jaeger. “You have helped your family a great deal, but I need to be able to depend on you to carry out my orders without question. Do you understand? In the heat of battle, there can be no second–guessing.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jaeger nodded. He waved his hand, and the torus–shaped conduit appeared once more. “Go back to your lessons,” he said, and entered the tunnel. After a moment, the ring collapsed on itself, leaving Matthew alone in the void.
In the days that followed, Alyanna tried to ignore her need to draw. She focused instead on her son, crying inside as he aged too fast. He was a pre–teen now, eleven or twelve, and she did not know how it had happened. Brown and yellow bruises spotted the knuckles of his right hand. He had not healed them, and she was afraid to ask why. She pushed her anxiety deep into her stomach, where it could not hurt her.
There were times when her cravings became unbearable, when she needed to grab a pencil, and just bleed her overflowing soul onto the paper. During those moments, she tried to escape by curling up on the couch beside Matthew, and watching virts. She wondered if he really wanted to be there, if he were just keeping her company instead of the other way around.
The truth was, being a full time mommy was pretty useless when your son was four going on twelve. She wondered how soon it would be before he hit puberty. To whom would he turn for guidance? 0800? Jaeger? Would they program in a virtual blow–up doll for him? The thought, halfway between revolting and hilarious, made her choke. Matthew looked at her with his ever–aging eyes.
“I have to get up,” she said. He leaned away from her as she stood. She opened the end–table drawer. A tablet and charcoal pencil were inside, just like at home. She took the pad, and flipped through its blank pages. She ran the fingers of her good hand over them, feeling the rough texture of the paper.
She had gotten used to eating with her left hand. She had come to realize that the human body could adjust to almost anything. She lifted the pencil in her left fingers, and placed the point on the pad. Keep it simple, she told herself, just a shape: a circle, a rectangle, something like that. She made a square. Not too bad, she decided. It was lopsided, but at least it was recognizable.
Matthew stood beside her. “What’re you doing?” he asked.
“Shush,” she said. She tried again. A circle, she thought, you can make a circle, can’t you? She dragged the charcoal around in a bizarre, dented egg–shape. She tried to make the ends meet, and missed.
“Damn it,” she said.
Matthew leaned over her shoulder. “Oh, you’re trying to be ambidextrous,” he said. “You’ll get it. You just need practice.”
“I know I’ll fucking get it,” she said. She looked up, and saw the hurt in his eyes. “Oh Jesus,” she said, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said as he backed away.
“No, no it’s not,” she said.
He swallowed, hard. “Am I still so annoying?”
“Stop it, please,” she said. “I’m so sorry I ever said that.”
He looked at the floor. “Sigma told me you weren’t even there when I passed out, and they took me away,” he said. “Where were you?”
“Oh, Honey, you can’t possibly understand.” She reached out to him, but he ran from the room. She heard the front door slam.
She crumpled to the couch. She knew it was just a pubescent outburst, but she did not care. She looked at the ceiling. “All right,” she said. “I want to talk to you, Bitch. You and Jaeger, right now.”
Nothing happened.
“Come on,” she said. “I know you’re watching.”
“You seem upset,” said Sigma from the doorway. Alyanna stood, and faced her.
“Where’s Jaeger?” she asked.
“General Jaeger doesn’t come at whim. I can arrange a meeting, but his schedule is pretty full. Civilization is falling, you know.”
“Listen to me, then,” said Alyanna. “You stay away from my son. You people put me here to help him. Why are you trying to drive us apart?”
“Our brother is growing,” Sigma said. “We’re teaching him the truth, helping him to be all that he can. Or are you just angry because he is so far beyond you?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Follow me,” Sigma said. She turned, and strode from the den. She stopped at the foot of the stairs. Alyanna remained by the couch. “Oh, I see, you’re not going to take orders, is that it?” asked Sigma. “Very well.”
The world rippled. It felt as if something had poked its fingers into Alyanna’s skull, grabbed her eyeballs, and twisted. She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, she and Sigma were in Matthew’s room.
“When I tell you to do something, it gets done,” said Sigma. “Open the top drawer.”
“Go to hell,” Alyanna said. She felt her arms and legs move without her control. She marched to the dresser, and opened the drawer. A pad lay inside.
“Must I make another demonstration?” Sigma asked. “Go on, open it.”
Alyanna turned the cover. The first sketch was of their house. She could not help feeling impressed, and a little envious. Matthew had detailed and shaded their old home to a photo–realistic degree. It was as if she were standing in front of it on a clear morning. Even the glass dome of her studio reflected the shadows and highlights of the clouds. She flipped the page. A charcoal rendering of Bananas, with every hair and whisker copied in pain–staking detail, lolled its tongue at her. The next picture…
Something caught in her throat. Her image looked up at her, her face shy, with a young girl’s smile. The shading seemed to melt away into the paper, as if her son had drawn her through smoke or mist. A light glinted in her eyes that she never felt had been there in real life. The drawn Alyanna seemed much more beautiful, and so much more alive and confident than the real one.
“That is how he sees you,” Sigma said. She took the pad from Alyanna’s hands, and placed it back in the drawer. “He’s good,” she said, “even better than you. How can you tell me you want that for him, when you complain about his education?”
“I have no problem with his education,” Alyanna said, her voice shaking. “My problem is that you’re telling him things—”
“We’re telling him the truth,” Sigma interrupted. “That is his education. You want the sovereign ri
ghts of a parent in this? You don’t have them anymore, and they were never yours in the first place.”
Alyanna gritted her teeth. “I want to talk to Jaeger,” she said. Sigma snorted, shook her head, and vanished.
Alyanna looked around her son’s room. The bitch had a point. She was not his mother, she never had been, and he did not need her anymore.
That’s not true, the voice inside her argued. He’s still a four–year–old living inside a painting.
But she was not so sure anymore.
That evening, Matthew lay on his bed, unable to sleep. He did not know why he still needed to, but he occasionally did. 0800 said it was because the zhivoi–paint was based on his psyche, and sleep was an integral part of the human mind. He pulled his sketchpad from its drawer, and thumbed through it.
Sometimes he had horrible dreams, nightmares where he melted and changed, where his arm became a serpent that chased him, its rows of broken–glass fangs snapping at his legs. He scratched his shoulder. The crackling energy beneath his touch annoyed him. Then something about the pad caught his eye, and the itch was forgotten.
His sketch of Bananas had a slight bend in the lower left hand corner. Had his mom been in here, snooping? What the hell gave her the right to do that? These were snapshots of his true self. He had a choice. He could use his talents to bring them to light, or bury them deep inside, hidden from himself and the world.
Well, not the world, just his mother.
But she was not even his real mother, nor had the man he had always imagined to be his father been his father. Why had he not been raised here, with his real family? What had been wrong with him? He knew the reasons behind his surrogate adoption, but it still hurt, and he did not care. He wished he could show his real parents his drawings. He would not feel ashamed to share them.
All but one, anyway.
He flipped to the last page, the one he prayed his mother had not seen. But had Sigma? He could not tell. He had shown it to 0800, and had tried to get him to promise to keep it to himself. But the Cylebs were all parts of a whole, tendrils of fire in the blazing sun that was General Malachi “Orange Clown–Face” Jaeger.
He appraised his work. He had drawn her thick, luxurious hair flowing free around her oval face. He imagined the way her profile curved in real life: slender at her neck, and then swelling again at her breasts. He chose a pencil, and shaded her nape with broad, careless strokes. He wondered what the scent of her skin was like.
Great, he thought, feeling pressure against his shorts, now I’ve got a boner. He had soaked up petabytes of media since entering the Sage. He knew about spanking off, and felt an urge to try it, but he was too embarrassed. How could he do that when there were thousands of eyes upon him?
Someone knocked on his door.
“Just a second,” he said, pulling the blanket over his pad. Damn it, Mom, he thought, just leave me alone. He looked down. Yep, he was presentably limp. He opened the door.
No one was there.
“Mom?” he asked the hallway. Nobody answered.
He heard the knocking again. It came from the closet. Puzzled, he went to the door, and opened it.
Sigma stood inside, her arms crossed. “I thought maybe I did something wrong,” she said, a half–smile on her face.
“No,” he said, his voice cracking. “That is, I didn’t realize—”
“May I come in?” she asked.
“Yeah, sure,” he said. He stepped back, and let her pass. He peered into the closet to make sure no one else was inside, and closed it.
Sigma crossed the room, poked her head out of the door, and looked up and down the hallway. She touched the zigzag design of the wallpaper. “That’s pretty awful,” she said. “May I?”
“Sure,” said Matthew. She closed the door. It shimmered, and vanished.
“Good,” she said, “now we can talk.” She breathed in sharply through her nose. “Matthew, I need to ask you a question, and if you feel you can’t answer, I’ll understand.”
“Okay,” he said, confused.
“Did the general make you remove your arm to assist him at Watervliet?”
He bit his lip. “Yes,” he said, “but it’s okay, I do it myself all the time.”
“I see,” she said, her face expressionless. “And when he cracked the lock, did you follow him?”
“No,” he said. “He told me to come back here.”
Sigma nodded, her face still blank. “Thank you,” she said at last. “News around here is that you’re quite the artist.”
He felt a warmth creep across his cheeks. He shrugged. “I’m okay.”
“Qualifications are relative,” she said. “If it’s something you enjoy, then do it for its own sake. Do it over and over. You’ll learn, and the Sage will grow. You’re very lucky, you know.”
“Why?”
“Because you have a pure connection with the Sage, stronger than any of us, even the general.” Matthew’s eyes widened. “It’s true,” she said. “There’s one thing we never shy from, and that is the truth.”
“You never lie?” he asked.
She flicked her thick hair back. “Some say we do, because we don’t always tell the entire truth. Some say that’s worse than lying outright. They may be right to feel that way, who knows? But they’re outsiders.”
“Is Mom an outsider?” he asked.
“Even if she did get the neural hookup, she could never truly be one of us.”
Matthew felt a sinking pang for his mother. “I love her,” he said.
“Of course you do,” said Sigma. “How could you not?”
“Yeah, but…” He stopped, feeling a rush of anger. “I think she was here, snooping around.”
“She was,” said Sigma. “She saw your drawing of her.” Matthew blinked, feeling a hot flush rise to his face again. “It’s very good,” Sigma said as she put her hand on his cheek.
Oh Jesus, he thought, the boner’s back. He turned from her, praying she did not see.
“What’s there to be embarrassed about?” she asked. “I could understand if you hadn’t done your best, but why be ashamed of something you can do? That’s the way outsiders think. And you’re not an outsider, are you?”
“Nope,” he said. Christ, he thought, she’s at least twenty years older than me—thirty, in real life. Get a grip.
He turned around, making sure to keep eye contact with her. That way, she would have to keep eye contact with him. His shoulder itched and burned. “Would you like to see?” he asked. “I mean, if you haven’t already.”
“I’ve seen the sketches of your dog and your mother,” Sigma said. “0800 passed on your request that I don’t look at the rest.”
“It’s all right, I mean, thank you,” he said. He pulled back the blanket, and handed her the tablet. She flipped through to the end, and her face broke into a surprised smile. God, he thought, please don’t let her laugh.
“It’s wonderful,” she said. “I’m flattered that this is how you see me. Thank you.”
“You can have it,” he heard his voice croak.
She tore it from the notebook, and stepped closer. For a bizarre moment, he thought she would kiss his forehead.
“I don’t understand something, though,” she said. “If you didn’t want your mother to find it, then why didn’t you hide it?”
“Where?” he asked.
“You’re in the Sage,” she said. “Hold your hand out.” He did as told. “Now, imagine that right here is a bubble.”
“Right here?”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, anywhere. Now, move your hand, and pretend that you’re cutting a hole into it.”
Matthew did as told. A white line appeared. “Holy cow,” he said.
“Now, put your pad inside, maybe your charcoal too.” He followed her instructions. “Now, name your bubble. Say it out loud, if it helps.”
“Drawing Tablet,” he said. He moved his hand across the line again, and it sealed before his eyes.
“Congratulations,” said Sigma, “you just created your own pocket. You can access it anywhere you want.”
“Wow,” he said. “Wait till I show Mom.” The thought escaped his mouth before he could stop it. He blushed again. Shit, he thought, what a babyish thing to say.
“Well,” she said, smiling at his embarrassment, “it’s up to you, but that would be showing off, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess,” he said. She winked, and opened the closet door.
“Hey, Sigma?” he asked. She turned, her head cocked. Jesus, he thought, does she have any idea how cute she is when she does that? “If I’m a part of the Sage, I mean, if I can make pockets and whatever, does that mean I can help Mom draw again?”
Sigma blinked. For a moment, it seemed as if she were about to cry. He wondered what he had done wrong.
“No,” she said. “It’s kind of you to want to help, but changing her interface is beyond us. The body suit responds to the signals her muscles receive from her mind, and her mind knows the limb is useless. The only way she could have use of her right hand back is with an artificial arm, or in here, if she agreed to a neural interface.”
“Then why won’t she get one?” he asked. “That way, she wouldn’t be an outsider anymore.”
Sigma shook her head. “Maybe she’s thinking of the baby girl inside her,” she said. “I don’t know.” She waved her hand, and the bedroom door reappeared. “Goodnight, Matthew. You are a very sweet…” He inwardly cringed, waiting for her to proclaim him a boy. “…young man,” She entered the closet, closing the door behind her. When he opened it again, she had disappeared.
In the morning, Alyanna and Matthew did not look at each other over breakfast. I hope you’re all enjoying your soap opera, Alyanna thought. Here we are, the best reality show in the Sage.
“Do you want some cereal?” she asked, taking a bowl from the cabinet. She felt hot. She wiped the back of her hand on her forehead. It came away wet.
“Don’t strain yourself,” he said.
She smacked the bowl on the counter. “Hey,” she said, “I said I’m sorry. Someday you’re going to have to learn that’s enough. What more do you want?”