Fin

by Larry Enright

  “Oh, good. Here’s your knight shining armor now,” Nova said to Mama.

  “You had me so worried, honey,” said Mama, putting down her paintbrush and hugging Fin.

  “You have no reason to,” he replied. “I said I would not speak of what happened earlier.”

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you, Fin.”

  “It is I who should be apologizing.”

  She held him at arms length. “Is that so?”

  He nodded. “I was unkind. You did not deserve that. I am so sorry, Mama.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “You’re such a sweetie.”

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “What’s it look like we’re doing?” Nova replied.

  “Repainting my door to cover the graffiti?”

  “We also fixed your lock and replaced the broken hinges.”

  “That was Nova’s doing,” Mama said. “Kron ‘lent’ us the tools and she borrowed the hardware from a third floor back side apartment that’s gone vacant. Do you remember the Steels? Strangest thing: they moved out just like that and left everything up for grabs.”

  “Yes,” Fin replied, closing his eyes to the memory of the Gray’s bloodied face. “I knew Steel.”

  Mama continued, “Oh, and just so you know, I wouldn’t mention this to Kron if I were you. He’s not exactly in the lending business, especially . . . well you know what I mean.”

  Fin didn’t react.

  “Don’t look at me like that, honey,” said Mama.

  “Like what?”

  Nova said, “Like you’re going to arrest us for stealing a couple hinges and a lock.”

  “It’s not that,” he said. “I just do not know what to say. This is all so very kind of you.” He turned to Nova. “Especially you. You barely know me, yet here you are doing this for me. Your kindness is quite unexpected.”

  Nova's look gave him the impression that she found him humorous though he hadn’t meant to be. “Forget it,” she said. "It's nothing."

  “I told you he’s cute,” said Mama.

  “If you say so. I had a different word for it.”

  The women shared a laugh. Nova’s was almost musical. Though Fin wasn’t particularly interested in music beyond the enjoyment of it, the thought occurred to him just then that perhaps he should consider further study of its structure and composition.

  “Is your name an acronym?” he asked.

  “It stands for Neural Advanced Vascular Actuated,” she replied.

  “That’s a mouthful,” said Mama.

  “You’re telling me.”

  Fin said, “A nova is a star that suddenly increases in brightness then dims over time. It also means ‘new’ in a language that was spoken before the Great War. It is a beautiful name.” He felt immediately embarrassed for no apparent reason.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Is Fin an acronym, too?”

  “Fibrous Intelligent Neurosynthetic,” he replied. “The word ‘fin’ also means ‘end’ in that same language. I am fluent in all major tongues, including some now considered dead.”

  “Oh boy, here we go,” said Mama. In a fake whisper, she added, “This is where he goes off on how smart he is.”

  Nova said, “Why would they bother to program you with a language nobody uses anymore?”

  The wall around Fin’s door was spattered with drops of paint from Mama’s brushing. He found the unstructured design of the splatters an interesting contrast to the geometrical pattern of the faded wallpaper.

  “I do not know,” he said. “I only know that they did.”

  “Well, they didn’t bother with that for me,” said Nova. “I only know one language—bad Periculese.”

  “And you do not speak it with any Cytown dialect with which I am familiar,” he noted.

  “Really? What dialect do I speak?”

  “Your inflections and affectations are similar to those commonly found among up-and-coming actors in Periculum’s Arts Sector. They wear their sarcasm and sharp wit as a badge of honor. Were you not a Cybernite, one could easily mistake you for a struggling young actress.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. It was just an observation.”

  “He takes a bit of getting used to,” Mama said.

  “You’re telling me.” Nova shrugged. "For your information, Dr. Shepherd said my design was the closest thing to human physiology yet. I guess that includes the way I talk. Big improvement, huh?”

  Fin struggled with the full impact of her reply. “I was not aware they were moving on to an improved model. Mine is still in testing.”

  “Humans are always improving on things. That’s what they do, isn’t it?”

  Mama laughed. “Is that what they call it?”

  Fin's Commlink blinked. He stared at the message from Ben Clayborn. The Eastern Bloc had executed two more agents. The commander wanted to see Fin in his office first thing tomorrow morning.

  “What’s wrong?” Mama asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “That's an awfully big frown for nothing. You'd think the Man had just handed you your walking papers without so much as a how-do-you-do.”

  “I wouldn't be surprised at anything they do," said Nova. "I didn’t find out I was being moved into this dump until they came for my bags.”

  “Dump?” said Mama.

  Nova apologized, saying she didn’t mean anything by it.

  “Where were you living before this?” Fin asked.

  She hesitated. “Same as you, I guess—the Polyclonic lab?”

  “Your command of human conversational speech is significantly better than mine. Did they upgrade your verbal processor?”

  “They told me they totally replaced it.”

  “With what?”

  “A new design, I guess. I don’t know. They didn’t say.”

  “I would love the opportunity to discuss it further with you.”

  “What’s the point? I already told you I don’t know any more about it.”

  Mama pushed Fin back from the door. “You’re blocking the light, honey.“

  He apologized.

  “Would you mind taking over candle duty?” Nova asked Fin. “I really need to get going. I’ve got a big day tomorrow—new job and all.”

  “Of course.” Fin took the candle and she began to walk away. “It was nice to see you again,” he called after her.

  She gave him a noncommittal wave before disappearing around the corner.

  “You like her,” Mama whispered. “I can tell.”

  “How do you know her?” he asked.

  “I know everyone in the block, honey. She just moved in. You should ask her out.”

  “Out?”

  “You know, on a date?”

  “I hardly know her.”

  “Men,” Mama laughed. “It’s a wonder you can figure out which side of the bed to get up on.”

  Fin’s face flushed a deeper blue. “Why did you ask for her help?”

  “I didn’t. I bumped into her in the hall on my way over. She saw the armload of junk I was carrying and asked what I was doing. I told her and she volunteered to help out. She’s a smart girl, nice girl, too.”

  “She does not seem to like me.”

  “She’s just playing hard to get.”

  “Hard to get?”

  “It’s a game women play. It’s got one rule: if you give up, you lose.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “So, ask her out. She’s new in town. Offer to show her around.”

  “I suppose I could do that if there were anything worth seeing.”

  The wind whistled through the hall. The candle flickered.

  “Someone left that stairwell door open again,” Mama said.

  “I had trouble closing it,” Fin replied.

  “How many times have I told you? You have to pull up on the handle or the latch won't catch. Ugh. Do you smell that? It’s those Drabs again. They’ve got a trash fire going under the overhang out by
the dumpsters.”

  “Did you notify the police?”

  “Why would I do that?"

  “The fumes are noxious.”

  “They don’t bother me when people close the door right."

  “It is a fire hazard and it is illegal.”

  She stopped brushing and stared at him.

  “You’re right. I am sorry,” Fin said. “They have the right to keep warm and dry. I will go close the door.”

  When Fin returned, he asked, “How long has the power been out?”

  Mama applied more paint to a streaked area on the door. “A few hours. Donny from down on two said something about another explosion at the generating plant.”

  “Was it bombed?”

  “You’re the one with the Commlink. You tell me.”

  “There was nothing on my alert stream about it.”

  “Honey, this isn’t Periculum. Nothing here makes the headlines.”

  “One of these days we will.”

  She frowned at him. “You mean the day they build a shield over Cytown or the day they give us clean water, clean air, and treat us the same as them?”

  “There is always hope.”

  “Dream on,” she said. She stood back to admire her handiwork. “There. All done.”

  Mama swung the door open so Fin could enter his apartment. He thanked her, apologizing again for that morning.

  “No worries,” she said. “You were just doing your job.”

  “You did not think I was doing it so well this morning.”

  “I still don’t.”

  “Oh.”

  “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. People don’t have to agree on everything as long as they love each other.” She patted his hand. “Honey, one of these days the light will go on inside that thick blue skull of yours and you’ll get it.”

  “I will never ‘get’ how evil can be allowed to exist and wrong professed to be right.”

  “When you’ve seen as much as I have, you will.”

  “But I have seen,” Fin began. He wanted to tell her about the valley in the mountains, about the trees and the grass, about the Ark. He wanted to proclaim from the rooftops of the Cyblocks that there was hope, but he couldn’t. He promised. She wouldn’t have believed him anyway. Nobody would have. “I do not think I was meant for this, Mama," he said. "Apparently, the humans do not think so either.”

  “What are you talking about? Did you do something to tick off the Man?”

  “I’m afraid it is what I have not done.”

  She patted his cheek. “Try not to worry. Believe me, it doesn’t help, honey. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You’re a smart one.”

  Mama had to make supper for Kron, so she gathered up her tools and left. Fin checked his apartment. With no power, there was no welcoming greeting from the Homecom and no light from the recessed ceiling panels. The dark rooms were empty. He closed the door and left, walking down the hall to Nova’s. He hadn’t noticed before but her door was different from the others in the Cyblock. He ran his hand over it. The material didn’t have the feel of a standard polyresin Cyblock door. It was made of a reinforced material he was not familiar with that had been painted to look like the other doors. On the wall beside it was a palm-sized square of wallpaper that his Commlink light revealed to have been cut away and then skillfully replaced. When he touched the square, he heard a soft beeping inside the apartment.

  “Yes?” Nova said from behind the closed door.

  “It is I, Fin.”

  “I know. You triggered the camera when you hit the biometric pad.”

  “You have cameras and a biometric lock? I was not aware they were issued in the Cyblocks. Even I did not have them.”

  “And that’s why your door was broken in and your place trashed.”

  “Yes, I suppose so. I am glad your apartment is secure.”

  “What do you want, Fin?”

  “I was just wondering if you would like to have dinner with me. There is a place I know not far from here where the food is supposed to be good. Mama says they make the best Reconstitute soup in Northend.”

  She opened the door a crack. “You're kidding, right?”

  A familiar smell drifted into the hall. “Flesh?” Fin said. “You are cooking flesh?”

  “It’s called a steak.”

  “Where . . .?” he began.

  She cut him off. “Is there a problem?”

  “No. No problem. I guess this means you do not want to have dinner with me?”

  “You catch on quick.” She noticed his reaction and said, “Look, it’s been a long day. Maybe some other time, OK?”

  “OK,” Fin replied. “Some other time. Thank you again for your help.”

  Fin left the Cyblock. The streets were empty, the rain deafening, always the rain. How could there be so much rain? And this darkness—what evil was this that man had created that could stop the sun from ever shining on the Cybernites? If only they could see the Ark just once as he had, then maybe they too would know there was hope. But there was only rain and darkness, emptiness and despair. He headed for Rosie’s. When he got there, he found Dirk and Tomb at the bar.

  “May I?” he said, gesturing to the empty stool beside them.

  “That seat’s taken,” said Tomb.

  “Then I will stand.”

  Tomb shoved him away. “The sign says no traitors.”

  “What sign?” Fin met Dirk’s gaze. “Dirk, what is wrong?”

  Dirk said, “You’d best hit the road, buddy, if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Not before I repay your kindness.” Fin put a few credits down in front of the Green bartender who was rinsing cups in the foul water of a dirty washbasin. “I would like to buy these gentlemen and myself a round of your best, please.”

  The Green pushed the credits back at Fin. “Your money’s no good here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Tomb said, “He means they don’t serve Creep-addict traitors here.”

  “I am not a Creep-addict and I am no traitor.”

  “You’re a Blue freak who doesn’t give a crap about anyone or anything. Hey, Dirk, maybe we should take him down ourselves. I’m willing to bet Trask wouldn’t press charges and I could sure use that bounty.”

  “He’s packing a Pulser, Tomb,” Dirk replied. “Besides, he’s SIA. It isn’t Trask we’d have to worry about.”

  “What bounty?” said Fin.

  “Tork’s gunning for you. He’s put a price on your head.”

  “Tork is in jail.”

  “Not anymore. He made bail.”

  “How?”

  “Beats me, but somebody somewhere pulled a few strings. Trask had to let him go.”

  “I am not afraid of him.”

  “Then you’re not as smart as you look.”

  “If Tork has put a price on my head it is because he is a coward, afraid of the consequences of murdering me himself. He hates me, but he will not kill me.”

  “I hate you, too,” said Tomb.

  “But I did nothing to you. It was Book.”

  “A lot of folks don’t see it that way,” Dirk said. He thumbed at the half-empty bar behind them. “Look around. Is there anyone in here who’s not staring at you right now?” Every Cybernite in the bar was either glancing furtively over his drink at Fin or outright glaring at him.

  The music stopped abruptly when the front door to Rosie’s swung open and a policeman moved in, gun drawn. He ordered everyone to stay where they were. A path cleared for him as he moved toward the far corner, closing in on two Grays sitting at a table there. One of them bolted for the back door. The cop took aim and fired. A thin green beam of light sizzled across the room burning a hole in the Cybernite’s back before exploding against the wall. The Gray crumpled and fell dead. The cop closed in on the other Cy, who emptied his pockets and laid everything he had on the table, begging for mercy. The cop pulled out his Commlink and punched in the Gray’s override code. The Gray’s exp
ression went blank. The cop threatened everyone in the bar that they’d be next if they didn’t keep up. He began escorting the Gray toward the front door. The music came back on.

  “Now’s your chance to show us which side you’re on,” Tomb said to Fin.

  “By doing what?” Fin said.

  “You could start by blowing that bastard cop’s brains out.”

  “He was only doing his duty.”

  “He’s a dirty cop doing the Man’s dirty business.”

  “That officer did nothing wrong, Tomb. The Lawspeaker would have intervened if it were otherwise."

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, he fried poor Dilly without so much as a how do you do,” said Dirk.

  “Everyone was ordered to stay in place," said Fin. "Any attempt to flee after a stand-in-place order gives the arresting officer authorization to use whatever force is necessary. The presumption of guilt is clear in these cases. So Council has decreed.”

  Tomb poked Fin in the chest. “You can shove your Council decrees up your ass. Dilly was our friend. He was a good Cy. His only mistake was falling behind, and he’s not the only one. His pal there is six months overdue.”

  “Are you saying that officer is here to collect extortion money? But he left that Gray’s credits on the table.”

  “That one’s not a collector. He’s the one they call the write-off. They send him to close out the account when they’re done trying to collect. That lets the rest of us know they mean business. You mark my words, if you let them walk through that door, Dilly’s pal will be dead before he hits the street and served up for breakfast tomorrow in one of those fancy Recon omelets you traitors eat.”

  The cop looked their way before pushing the Gray out the door.

  “We have get out of here,” Dirk said. “I’m still behind and I can’t afford any more trouble.”

  “Take my credits,” said Fin.

  “I don’t want your money, Fin. I don’t ever want to see your face again. Got it?”

  There was a flash of green light in the window and a cry outside. The Cys in the bar turned toward Fin. They wanted blood. They wanted his blood. They came at him. He took the credits he had offered Dirk, tossed them in the air, and ran. The Grays and Whites went wild, fighting each other for the pittance that would save them from the same fate as Dilly and his friend. In the confusion, Fin headed out the back door. A few of them followed him outside where the rain was falling like Creep-filled auto-injectors and the wind was swirling about the alley like a Cy in a drug-induced stupor. Fin turned on his pursuers, drew his Pulser, and fired a warning shot.