Scifi Motherlode

by Robert Jeschonek

  Cilla’s head throbbed, and her arms ached. As she swung again and again, she prayed to God to save the life of the boy at her feet, even if it meant the loss of her own.

  One of the spheres struck her between the shoulder blades, but she ignored the flash of pain. Eight balls thumped her sides and legs, threatening to report her to the superintendent as they peppered her with bruises. She cried out as one of the balls clocked her kneecap with staggering force.

  Tears flowed down her sunken cheeks, but she refused to fall. Knuckles white, she clenched the paddle in a death grip and swung, preventing the malevolent spheres from landing another blow on her motionless charge.

  The flames leaped around her, burning through to bare walls, consuming everything...finally catching even the end of her paddle when she swept it through a fiery fall of ceiling tile.

  Even as the paddle burned, Cilla kept right on swinging.

  *****

  Solemnly, the president of the United States of America stepped up to the podium. As the assembled audience fell silent, he took a moment to review the text of his remarks, displayed on the screen of the implant in the palm of his hand.

  Newsglobes captured his every move, hovering at a respectful distance. Their all-seeing lenses flexed in and out, perfecting the framing of their shots. Images of the leader of the free world were instantaneously transmitted onto the hivenet, accessible to every mind with the brainware to receive them.

  The president looked up, cleared his throat, and began to speak.

  "In this world of technological miracles," he said, "knowledge is abundant. Information is downloaded directly into the human mind. Thanks to the hivenet, the sum total of human experience is available to anyone at any time.

  "And yet, we have found no substitute for traditional learning," said the president, looking around meaningfully at the attentive faces in the White House rose garden. "No technology can match the magic that occurs in the face-to-face communion between teacher and student.

  "Traditional education is the backbone of our nation," said the president, and the audience applauded. "It is because of this that we single out a Teacher of the Year, an example of the excellence that enables our children and nation to flourish."

  Again, the audience clapped. At the president’s side, Principal Caesar beamed. In deference to the occasion, for once, he had concealed his naked body beneath a suit and tie.

  "In this, the final year of the century," said the president, "we will go a step further. In honor of the accomplishments of all our nation’s teachers over the past one hundred years, we will single out America’s finest teacher not only of the year, but of the century."

  The president nodded proudly. "Let me tell you, this woman is more than deserving of the title I am about to bestow upon her."

  The audience applauded with rising enthusiasm as the culmination of the ceremony approached.

  "She has served with distinction for over fifty years at some of our nation’s finest schools," said the president. "During her career, she has helped to mold the minds of some of our most distinguished and accomplished citizens.

  "Her contribution to our greatness cannot be overstated," said the president. "By embracing progress while holding fast to the time-tested tenets of American education, she has linked the best of our yesterdays to the best of our tomorrows."

  As the crowd applauded, the president consulted his palm screen. "I’m sure you already know her," he said, returning his sincere gaze to his listeners. "Every year for the past decade, she has been named America’s Teacher of the Year.

  "Now, she is about to receive the highest honor in the land for a member of the noblest profession on Earth. There is no one who deserves it more.

  "For excellence in the field of teaching...for contributions beyond measure to the success of our great nation...for unswerving devotion to the children of America...I hereby pronounce Cilla Sullivan Franklin America’s Teacher of the Century!"

  As the crowd burst into wild applause, the president turned and guided Cilla to the podium. She looked radiant in her frilly white dress, bathed in an aura of bright sunlight that shimmered around her and haloed her silver hair.

  "Congratulations, Cilla," said the president, handing her a translucent plaque that pulsed with rainbow light. "And on behalf of all citizens of the United States of America, thank you."

  "Thank you, Mr. President," Cilla said softly, peering around at the ring of newsglobes scoping their lenses in her direction. The globes made her nervous, reminding her of the eight-ball parental A.I.s.

  "You are a national treasure, Cilla," said the president.

  Cilla nodded and smiled, but was unimpressed by the flattery. To her thinking, the whole Teacher of the Century honor was meaningless, given the state of the world of education. How could anyone be honored to be a teacher when the schools were such a joke, when students and principals alike ran naked through the halls and the only learning taking place was the godlings’ learning new methods of mayhem?

  "Now, Cilla," said the president, the applause fading at the sound of his voice. "I have a surprise for you."

  Cilla glanced at the newsglobes again, then forced herself to focus on the president. As unimpressed as she was by the honor she had been given, she still felt a small thrill at being so close to the most powerful man in America.

  "Three months ago," he said, "you performed a true act of heroism. When an accident threatened the life of one of your students, you risked your own life to save him."

  It was no accident, thought Cilla, but of course she kept it to herself. The party line of the school administration, force-fed to the public by Ludwig’s pet, Caesar, seemed to be the only truth that mattered.

  "That student," said the president, "Byron Spencer, is alive and well today because of you.

  "And he is here today to share in this historic occasion."

  Cilla immediately brightened. She couldn’t help herself.

  It was the one thing she hadn’t expected. It was the one thing that could truly make her happy.

  As Byron walked out of a nearby door and headed for the podium, the crowd sprang to their feet and applauded like mad. In contrast to the way he had looked three months ago, battered and huddled on the floor of the burning classroom, Byron was bright-eyed and impeccably groomed, wearing a sharp navy blue suit and striped tie. His arms were full of red roses.

  At the sight of him, Cilla was overcome with pure joy. He was the only reason she was at the White House that day, the only reason she had kept teaching long enough to qualify for the Teacher of the Century award.

  Because of Byron, she had finished out the school year at All Einstein. After the life-threatening incident, he had bravely insisted on staying to complete his senior year. She had been unable to walk away then, knowing that the one good student in the place would be alone at the mercy of the murderous godlings.

  Normally, one seventy-five-year-old teacher would not have provided much protection against a school full of techno-savages...but Cilla had been shielded from the godlings until the award ceremony by Caesar’s bargain with Ludwig. She had become a guardian angel, using her special status to hold the savages at bay when Byron was endangered. There had been many tense moments, and Byron had taken his share of knocks, but she had managed to get him through his senior year alive.

  He was going to graduate. He was going out into the world, and she was sure that he would do great things.

  Seeing him there, alive and healthy and brimming with hope, meant far more to Cilla than the plaque in her hand or the applause of her peers or the president of the United States standing at her side.

  "These are for you, Miss Franklin," said Byron, handing her the bouquet of red roses. "Thank you for being such a wonderful teacher."

  Tears of happiness flowed down her face as she accepted the flowers. She wanted to hug him but held herself back...then gave in and hugged him anyway.

  That moment was all the reward she needed. Afte
r all the years of futility since the rise of the godlings, she had managed to help one more student, one promising student who loved learning and appreciated her. How wonderful that she could retire on a positive note, reliving one final time the teacher-student bond as it was meant to be.

  As she drew back from him, Byron beamed. "There’s another surprise, Miss Franklin," he said. "There’s someone I’d like you to meet."

  Still smiling, Cilla tipped her head inquisitively.

  "Come on out, Sara," said Byron, looking toward the door from which he had emerged.

  As Cilla followed his gaze, the door opened. A girl stepped out, smiling shyly.

  She looked close to Byron’s age, and about the same height. Her sandy, straight hair hung in a glossy fall to the middle of her back, a style that Cilla hadn’t seen in years. She wore a pretty blue knee-length sheath, and her green eyes sparkled like pale emeralds.

  "This is my younger sister, Sara," said Byron. "Sara, meet my teacher, Cilla Franklin."

  Shifting the roses and plaque to free an arm, Cilla shook Sara’s hand. It felt soft as the petal of a flower in her grip.

  "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Franklin," said Sara.

  "It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Sara," said Cilla, staring at the girl. Byron hadn’t been kidding when he had promised a surprise. Cilla could not remember him ever mentioning a sister...and yet, as she searched Sara’s features, she could see that the family resemblance was unmistakable.

  "Sara has been home schooled until now," said Byron, "but next year, she’ll be attending All Einstein High School. She’ll be a senior."

  "I can’t wait to have you as a teacher," said Sara. "Byron’s told me so much about you. You’re the only reason I’m going to All Einstein instead of continuing my home schooling."

  Cilla kept staring, completely thrown for a loop. She didn’t know what to say.

  The girl gazed hopefully up at her. "I brought you something," she said, pulling a hand from behind her back. "So we can get off on the right foot."

  It was a shiny red apple.

  As the audience laughed and applauded, Cilla stared at the apple in Sara’s hand. She was truly on the spot, now. Though she had filed her retirement papers, Caesar had neglected to tell Byron that she wouldn’t be teaching next year. Cilla had never mentioned it to Byron, either, and now she was stuck.

  When she shot a look in Caesar’s direction, he leaned over and patted her shoulder. "We’re all excited about next year," he said to Cilla. "Another batch of fresh faces for you to work your magic on."

  Then, he leaned closer and whispered in her ear. "And no Ludwig."

  Which was supposed to mean that she was in the clear, that the death sentence was null and void, but she knew better. Ludwig’s godlings could take her in the street, or at home...and there would be another horde to replace them in school the next year. She had seen them in the halls already, the eleventh graders, naked and tattooed and looking every bit as inhuman as the last bunch.

  But then there was Sara Spencer.

  "Sara aced her home school equivalence exams," Byron said proudly. "She got the highest scores on record."

  Sara blushed and looked at her feet, then back up at Cilla.

  Cilla could feel the intelligence radiating from the girl’s emerald eyes. Even if Byron hadn’t mentioned her test scores, Cilla would have known that she was in the presence of another excellent student, another hard-working and respectful young person, another hope for the future.

  Her brother’s sister, through and through.

  And she was a home schooler, inexperienced in the savage ways of the merciless tribal school culture. When it came to interacting with the godlings, she might as well have had "fresh meat" tattooed on her forehead.

  Sara fixed her with a gaze that was full of need and frank adoration. "I can’t wait till next year," she said softly.

  Cilla’s heart melted. Abandoning that child to the godlings would be like offering up her own daughter to be killed.

  In that moment, Cilla knew that she would be back in front of a classroom after all. She did not know how much protection she could offer this gentle, brilliant soul, but she knew that she could not turn her back on her.

  She had risked her own life for Byron Spencer. If she did any less for Byron’s sister, she would not be able to live with herself, anyway.

  Cilla took the apple from Sara’s hand. "See you in the fall," she said with a smile.

  *****

  One week after the ceremony at the White House, Principal Caesar refilled his glass with champagne in the secret sub-basement of All Einstein High School. Replacing the bottle on the table, he leaned forward and clinked glasses with Superintendent Alexander.

  "To the Teacher of the Century," Caesar said with an oily grin. "The pride of All Einstein High."

  "To Cilla Franklin," said Alexander. "Where would we be without her?"

  The naked men drained their glasses, finishing off with mutual sighs of satisfaction. Alexander drew fine cigars from the humidor and passed one over to Caesar.

  "Congratulations on the enrollment numbers for next year," said Caesar. "Having the Teacher of the Century on staff is quite a draw."

  "Word is, our state funding will be through the roof," said Alexander, clipping the end of his cigar. "So I want to see some belt-tightening around this place."

  Caesar accepted the clipper from him with a laugh. "We’ll cut till it hurts," he said, "and pass the savings along to ourselves."

  The men lit their cigars, then relaxed back into the depths of their high-backed leather chairs. A holographic fire danced in the faux fireplace between them.

  "I can’t thank you enough for keeping Franklin on board," said Alexander, puffing out a great draft of smoke.

  "Don’t thank me," said Caesar, and then he clapped his hands together twice.

  A boy with sandy hair and green eyes hurried to his side, smiling expectantly. He wore an old-style servant’s uniform with black coat and tails, knee-high knickers over white stockings, and ruffles at the collar and wrists.

  "Thank Byron," said Caesar with a sneer.

  Alexander chuckled. "Thank you, Byron," he said through a cloud of cigar smoke.

  "You’re welcome, sir," Byron Spencer said happily. "Can I get you gentlemen anything?"

  "Bend over," said Caesar.

  The boy immediately bent at the waist. Principal Caesar leaned forward and pressed his thumb on a spot in the middle of Byron’s scalp.

  At his touch, the scalp split apart. Panels slid smoothly aside, exposing a rectangular opening in the boy’s head.

  Tiny lights flickered inside in a high-speed flurry.

  "Ah, the miracle of robotics," said Caesar, peering into the hole in Byron’s scalp.

  "The miracle of false hope," said Alexander.

  "Good boy," said Caesar, tapping the ash from the tip of his cigar into the hole.

  "Should you be doing that?" said Alexander. "He cost us a pretty penny."

  "He’ll process and excrete it as synthetic feces." Caesar closed the port and settled back into his chair. "Stand up, Byron."

  Byron Spencer did as he was told.

  Caesar clapped his hands again, and Sara Spencer trotted into the room wearing a maid’s costume with a tiny skirt. She carried a feather duster in one hand and smiled serenely.

  "We owe Sara a debt of gratitude, as well," said Caesar. "She’s done her brother one better, bless her heart. Thanks to her, Cilla’s ours for another year."

  "And what about after that?" said Alexander.

  "Funny you should ask," said Caesar, puffing on his cigar. "Between you and me, I hear that Byron and Sara’s mom and dad might just have another little one on the way."

  The naked men laughed loudly in their cloud of smoke.

  "And now, if you’ll excuse me," said Principal Caesar, pushing himself up out of his leather chair, "I have an appointment for a tattoo removal."

  "Which one?" said Alexand
er.

  Caesar pointed at his male organ. "Ludwig’s graduated. Out with the old, in with the new."

  "You’ll have it replaced?"

  "As soon as I find out who the new chief is," said Caesar.

  "It’s good to have friends in high places," said Alexander.

  "You never know when you’ll need someone to do you a favor," said Caesar with a knowing smile. "Like torch a classroom or reprogram some A.I.s."

  Alexander laughed and raised his cigar. "To the godlings!" he roared.

  "To education!" chimed in Caesar. "It oughtta be a crime!"

  Off The Face Of The Earth

  As the life pours out of me, faster faster with each beat of my heart, I know at last that my son has truly gone to a better place. In the shimmering window that floats above me, I see him smiling, surrounded by loving faces and outstretched arms.

  A better place. A place away from me.

  Still, it’s hard to let go. I’ve come so far since he first disappeared, changed so much...and yet so little, I know, deep down. I couldn’t go all the way, couldn’t become the father he needed no matter how hard I tried.

  This was the best I could do for him. Killing and being killed.

  I hope it’s enough.

  Mike the Future Man crouches beside me, and I wish so bad he’d give me one last human touch, just touch my head or pat my shoulder or something, but he doesn’t. Maybe he thinks I don’t deserve it, or maybe he’s afraid he’ll catch something. Whatever.

  But at least he says one last thing to send me on my way. Kind words, and I’m grateful because I know it’s the only epitaph I’ll ever have.

  "You did the right thing, Sonny," says Mike. "Rest in peace."

  I have one more look through the window, and I see my boy lifted high and carried off toward gleaming towers of gold and silver, radiant with light. It’s not Heaven, but it looks like the next best thing.

  Not that I’d ever see him again if he was in Heaven, anyway. I know better, after the life I’ve lived. One right can’t undo a million wrongs.