Lizard Girl & Ghost

by Olga Werby

  13. Keeping Secrets

  I’m walking down a busy shopping street somewhere out in The Far Cinct. Ghost walks next to me, tail wrapped around my arm all the way to my shoulder. The eels love it. They try to swim down my arm, but there’s just not enough room for them in there, so they swarm around my shoulder, each trying to get in momentary contact with at least a pouf of gray pelage. When they do, little blue-green sparks fly out, making Ghost’s fur puff up. He looks positively adorable as a gray duster. I laugh. He purrs. My snakes hiss. Everyone has an opinion.

  “Do you remember anything about the project you worked on with Tom? The molecule thing?” I ask. I feel a tightening around my arm—it’s one of the ways I know that Ghost is nervous. My eels are rhapsodic. Sick creatures. “They really like it,” I say, nodding to my arm.

  “Just my tail,” he says and gives me another squeeze.

  Sparks erupt from my shoulder. Avatars and other cyber denizens of The Far Cinct walking next to us duck out of the way or speed up, leaving a large, clear perimeter around us. Good. My snakes approve—they are very protective. They hiss louder to make a point: that we (yes, I’m now a “we”) are dangerous. I laugh again. More sparks. Some shopkeeper yells at us to move along, saying that we are scaring his customers. But he keeps his distance.

  “I don’t remember much.” Ghost’s voice gets all serious.

  I pay attention.

  “Doc showed me photos and newspaper articles about what happened.”

  I nod. I know just the ones.

  “Does anything ring a bell?” I’m glad Ghost is willing to talk to me about his death. It can’t be an easy subject for him.

  “Not even a buzz.” For all the gaps in Roman’s memory, Ghost still has a sense of humor. I don’t believe Doc programed that in; it had to belong to him. The real him. Roman Chernovsky, boy genius. Ex-boy genius. Ghost.

  “But now you know what it is, right? You might not remember, but you’ve studied, right?” I know I sound desperate. I just don’t have the science background to understand all of the technical details, and it would take too long to learn what I need to know, so I use Ghost as my informational shortcut.

  “Yes, I have,” he says, and I feel better. “Tom and Roman—forgive me for talking about myself in the third person. I—”

  “You’re forgiven. Just get on with it,” I press him.

  “The molecule is a protein. Well, I mean they are proteins…”

  “Ghost?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I never took biology. Or chemistry. Just give me the short version. You know? For the brain dead?”

  “You are not brain dead!”

  Not yet, a stray thought interjects itself into my mind. “Thank you,” I say aloud. “Just dumb it down, please. I promise not to take offense.”

  “Okay. So, the molecule is shaped to fit…” He pauses and looks at me.

  I smile encouragingly.

  “The brain receptacles?”

  “Good. Very good,” I encourage him.

  “It’s like having a million little information processors inside your body.”

  “I’m with you so far.” My snakes nod in agreement.

  “And they work like connectors to the data packets we can send via electrical signals.” He looks at me cross-eyed—very funny on a cat face. “So, it’s like an intelligent data to brain interface. When you hook into your CT connection, you have a lot of processing to do. It takes a long time to learn how to be here. These cyber molecules help the human brain do some of that heavy lifting.”

  Yes, I remember that. I’ve been using the cyber terminal connector since I was just a year old. All kids are required to start training that young. If you wait—some people hold off on letting their kids learn early—that person can never become a native user of the cyber world. And everything is now based in cyberspace—work, school, entertainment, medicine, everything. Anyone who is not a native is at a disadvantage for life. Thus, the early start. Not that it means that kids are allowed to roam free in here. Coming out here with Doc was the first time I plugged in without parental or teacher supervision. But look at me now.

  “So, you came up with a way of making it easier to learn to be out here?” I ask.

  “Pretty much. Tom and Roman…” He glances at me again.

  I smile encouragingly. My eels spark.

  “Tom and Roman wanted to help the population that fell behind. One injection, the theory went, and that person would be able to function like someone who learned to use the connection from a very early age. And of course it would have helped people who had social, cognitive, and physical handicaps. The molecule would help blind people process visual information easier in cyberspace, even if they never learned to see in the real world. People on the autism spectrum would have more tools at their disposal to interact in cyberspace safely. Paraplegics, or anyone with some sort of physical handicap, would get instant assistance with movement and fine motor control and manipulation of space.”

  “Wow. That would be incredible.” I consider the implications. I also realize that this never happened. People had who never learned how to use cyberspace as babies are still suffering and so are all of the others Ghost just mentioned. “But it never worked?” I ask.

  “It works,” Ghost says. “I’m proof that it works. You’re proof, too.”

  “How am I proof?”

  “Well, you’re in a coma. And yet, here you are.”

  “Here I am,” I echo. “So why hasn’t this taken off? Why doesn’t everyone get injected with your molecule?”

  “It clearly doesn’t work as well as Tom and Roman hoped,” Ghost says. “I died.”

  “But not all the way.”

  “No, but significantly. Probably in all ways that count for most people. And you suffered a trauma when you were exposed.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, it’s not perfect.”

  “But hasn’t Tom been working on making it perfect? He’s had what? Almost twenty years?”

  “Fifteen, I believe. Doc says my death hit Tom hard. He still went on to win that DaDA competition, but it was mostly Claudia pushing for it. If it wasn’t for her, Tom would have given up after my death.”

  I didn’t know that.

  “Does Tom know you survived?” I ask.

  “Not yet.”

  “Not yet! Why are you keeping this a secret? I don’t understand!” I yell. I scream. I spark. People move farther away from us. If Tom doesn’t know about Ghost, then he is not working with all the information, then he might not have the tools he needs to save me. “You have to tell him, Ghost. You have to let Tom know that you and I are okay out here.” I start to cry. He pulls away from me. I go dark. Why all the secrets? I lose my connection.

  14. What’s Up Doc?

  “Jude?”

  I don’t respond. I’m angry. Scared. They said they were helping me, but they are keeping secrets from my dad, from Tom. I’m going to die while they play their stupid games.

  “Jude?” Doc goes on for a long time, calling my name over and over again.

  After one hundred and twenty-three “Judes,” I finally answer him. “What’s up, Doc?”

  “Thank you,” he exhales. “You have every right to be angry, Jude.” One hundred and twenty-four.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Pixie, Ghost, Slick, Sleazy, and I talked it over and decided it would be safe to tell your dad and my dad about Ghost.”

  “Good. And did you?”

  “Not yet. We wanted to tell you our rationale for waiting.”

  “Grrr, hrrr.” I make incoherent noises.

  “Jude?” One hundred and twenty-five. “Jude?” One hundred and twenty-six.

  “Okay, what was your rationale, Doc?” I finally ask.

  “Once we tell, you’ll be able to join us in The Far Cinct.”

  “And is that a bad thing?” I hate being cut off from everyone when I don’t have to be. Dad could visit me in cyberspa
ce and we could talk. He can tell me he loves me and that I’m still his little princess. Why would Doc and his minions keep me away from that?

  “No. That part would be good, Jude.” One hundred and twenty-seven.

  “So, what’s the problem?” I don’t understand. “Is it your mom? Ms. Evil?” Doc knows how I feel about his mother, he is not insulted. He feels the same, I’m sure.

  “She owns the technology, Jude.” One hundred and twenty-eight. “My dad gave her all the patents as a wedding gift. He said that she was the one who made it all work. Without her, he would have abandoned the whole project.”

  “Ghost told me.”

  “He did?” Doc pauses and thinks about something. He is a slow thinker. “I didn’t know.” Obviously!

  “Doc, she was the one who injected me with the stupid molecule. Why would she be a problem now?”

  “Yeah, I knew that. She has plans to create a cyber afterlife. You know? For people who die. Like a private heaven.”

  “She’d be rich,” I say. “But isn’t she already rich? Doc, what are you trying to tell me?”

  “She’s my mom. I don’t want to hurt her, Jude.” One hundred and twenty-nine.

  She’s the one who hurt me. “Why did she inject me?”

  “She thought she was helping you.” She thought no such thing. “It was just in case this kind of thing happened, you know?” No, I don’t. “I was given the molecule thing ages ago—that’s why I’m so good out here, Jude.” One hundred and thirty. “And you were sick. So, it made sense…just in case… But it’s not an approved treatment. It’s not like an antidote to death or anything. It works well in life. Really, Jude.” One hundred and thirty-one. “I even gave it to Pixie. And she’s just fine now. Just fine.” Uh-huh. “But then Mom found out about Ghost.”

  “You mean you never told her about him either?”

  “No. It was a fun secret to keep. But she found out somehow. And then it turned out that Ghost was much less Roman than she thought. She was hoping he was a perfect replica of her friend in cyberspace. But he wasn’t, Jude.” One hundred and thirty-two. “He’s a shadow of who he used to be. I mean, I’ve tried, but he was so fragmented when we found him. He’s the best we can make him. And I bet we can do even better with you, Jude.” One hundred and thirty-three.

  Doc rambles on like this for a long time—one hundred and fifty-seven Judes worth. When he leaves, I have no idea what he had been trying to say to me. How did I get sick? I thought it was the injection that made me ill. But Doc made it sound like it was something else. I have a vague snippet of a memory—I’m lying in bed with a fever, surrounded by pink. Just the color, nothing else. Like Pixie’s fur. Was this before I went out on a date with Dude or after? There was no time after…

  I am scared and confused. I’m trapped in my glass coffin. I want my dad. I want Ghost. I want things to return to how they used to be. I don’t want to change. Am I changing?

  15. Daddy’s Little Princess

  “Hey, Lizard Girl!”

  I feel a kick on my leg and twist and almost fall as my snakes strike at the offender, momentum pulling my head down with a snap. I would have to teach my ophidian babies some discipline and manners. It takes me a moment to get myself oriented. I’m sitting in a white chair, in a white waiting room, in some obviously virtual white-walled medical building. I have snakes on my head, so it can’t be the real world, can it?

  “Where am I?” I ask, scanning the room. The first thing I notice is Pixie standing too close to me. She radiates a slight pink glow, giving the room a much-needed touch of color. My lizard avatar has sucked in the room’s whiteness. I’m white and so are my hair snakes; only my roaming eels are dark underneath my pearlescent, milky scales. I strain and the green extravasates back to the surface, spreading through my body like a popped pimple. I know, I know—a nauseating metaphor. But I’m a teenager, what do you expect? Homer?

  “Nasty.” Pixie pulls away from me.

  “I don’t like white,” I tell her. To me, white is an absence of substance, and I have a lot of substance.

  “Fine by me,” she says. She is the only one of Doc’s feline friends in the room with me. “We’ve arranged a little father-daughter powwow. I thought you might want to tone it down a bit for the old man.” She gestures at my green, scaly avatar.

  “My dad is coming? Here?” I’m excited and scared all at the same time—I have so much explaining to do.

  “Isn’t that what I just said?” Pixie sits in a plush white chair in the corner of the room. Her little pink fingers with giant, pink nail-polished claws drum the armrests, the long, pink, furry legs are crossed, and the toes of her kitten-heel—with deadly, one-inch stilettos—are tapping out a beat that my rhythm app responds to. I’m guessing it was her pointy foot that hit my ankle. And isn’t she way too young to dress like that?

  “Can you stop that?” I point to her foot and to the ripples pulsing up and down my scaly body. “My dad has never seen my avatar before.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be pleased,” she purrs.

  I look down and see that my mighty boobs are still the size of watermelons at the peak of harvest season—I never had a chance to take care of that. I groan. Damn. I got those to impress Dude, but they are mighty embarrassing now. I cross my arms and try to get some of my snakes to slither down my shoulders and provide a partial modesty shield.

  “Who are you kidding, girl?” Pixie sasses like she is in high school. The kid is a fifth grader, for goodness sake.

  “Cut it out,” I wave her away, trying to sink deeper into my chair. “When is he coming?”

  “Your dad?”

  Who else? I give Pixie a glare and she just laughs.

  “Sleazy is bringing him.”

  Of all the options, why him? I groan again.

  “Ghost arranged for us to have this little room,” she continues. “It’s discreet and comfortable, don’t you think?”

  “Why? Why do we need discreet?” Pixie doesn’t have time to answer me. One of the walls goes translucent and Sleazy steps through a door membrane with my dad in tow. The wall behind them solidifies, giving us privacy from the outside world. To my consternation, I don’t have a chance to see what’s on the other side.

  My dad’s avatar looks just like he does in real life. It’s not even a younger version of him. It’s not taller or more imposing. No superhuman enhancements at all. Just him. I jump up into his arms. I’m at least three feet taller. We almost topple to the ground.

  “My princess!” he cries. I mean he really cries. I can see tears in the corners of his virtual eyes. Damn. I can’t be that sick, can I?

  “I’m okay, daddy,” I say over and over again. He just holds me.

  Finally, I push away. “Daddy?”

  “Oh, Jude. I’ve been so… so…” He doesn’t finish his thought, just squeezes me again. “Doc told me this would work. I didn’t believe him, but here you are.”

  “Here I am.” I smile at him encouragingly. “So, it’s Doc now, is it?” I try to break the tension—Dad always called him Bartholomew before.

  “I didn’t think it was possible. But Doc and Claudia insisted we try to connect you. And it worked. It worked!”

  Claudia? I had no idea Doc was working with Claudia. Well, I knew, but not like this. It makes me nervous. Claudia’s agenda has always been her own. But Dad loves her. I can’t even begin to tell him that there is something off about that woman. Never could. He won’t listen. Love is blind. But where does that leave me? I look over at Pixie. She just shrugs. I miss most of what Dad is saying to me.

  “…Tom has been working at the cyberspace archives for many years. He believes—”

  “Dad?” I interrupt him. “Does Dr. Blake believe I am infected with his molecule?” I ask.

  “What? Tom? Why?” My dad is confused. He doesn’t know!

  Does Doc’s dad know? What’s going on? I’m confused. I glance at Pixie.

  She is just sit
ting there, picking at her fur, combing for tangles or virtual nits. I consider my next move. It’s like playing chess, except I don’t know how to play. I have never been a strategist. I’m more impulsive, more spontaneous.

  “Jude?” Dad’s expression looks like I haven’t responded for a while. Oops. I hate when my mind takes these side trips. “Jude? What are you talking about? What molecule?”

  I guide him over to a set of white chairs facing each other, away from Pixie. I take one and point to the other. Dad sits, but he never lets go of my hands. It’s a desperate kind of holding. He is scared to let go. Poor dad.

  “Jude, talk to me. What’s going on?” he asks.

  “Dad, tell me about Dr. Blake.” I need a good way to introduce the problem to him. I hate that Doc hadn’t told him anything yet.

  “Tom? Why? What do you want to know? Obviously, he’s Doc’s dad.” Obviously. “Claudia was his wife…” He stops and looks at me for some hint of the direction of inquiry.

  “Dad, I just want to understand. Doc has been helping, right?”

  “He’s been great. Especially considering he’s been sick, too.”

  “Sick?” Now I’m confused. I glance over at Pixie.

  She ignores me.

  Shrew. Pink nuisance. Backpfeifengesicht. I promise myself to get back at her.

  “We found Doc at his friend’s house.” I note that Dad doesn’t look at Pixie. Does he not know who she is? I am really confused now. “He had a bad fever and his brain swelled—”

  “Is he okay now?” I’m horrified.

  “Doc is great. Bounced back in just twenty-four hours. But you seem to be taking your time.” Dad smiles weakly at me, terror behind his eyes. “The doctors thought you were both exposed to the flu that’s been going around. Maybe it happened when we went to the park together. That was a few days before the epidemic was announced.” Park? When did we go to the park? I don’t remember the park. I don’t remember any flu epidemic either. “Bartholomew is younger, so he was able to fight it off faster. You know how kids are.”