EPILOGUE
She could see dust swimming through the air in a sunbeam. Uriah’s body still lurked in the unlit section of the floor, as did the clunky cylinder with holes in its door. As this last was beyond repair, she would have to settle for what was only mentally Marshall. Not that that was what counted least.
If she left right now, it was quite possible that her lover would either die permanently or fall into the hands of the Lunar government, which even she was smart enough to know would be a darker arbiter of his fate than Death.
So why was she just standing there?
Jane’s eyes drifted away from the suspended organism to that half-sphere. She crept over to it, lowered herself to her knees, and struck its surface with her fist as if knocking.
Uriah.
She remembered what he’d said about helping people he didn’t care about. It was stupid, of course, but then why had he risked his life for Sabrina? Or her, for that matter? He only wanted to please one person, right?
She was he, so it was no wonder she had liked him. Still, it hurt to think about why she had liked him enough to save him, for she knew perfectly well there was no way she could’ve known benevolence to Uriah would give her access to Marshall.
Uriah’s lifeless face stared at her with frozen contempt as she looked back. Oddly enough, that looked like the same expression that took form whenever the real Uriah had talked about what he’d thought Livingston did to Pat. It … reminded her of something. Something she’d seen in a memory Sabrina had taken her to. Whatever it was, it hovered just out of reach, vague and frustrating. She looked again at the device, then at the window through which a superabundance of light filtered.
Marshall was sitting up in bed, tapping away furiously at his handheld computer, as she stood in the way of the sunlight that would have obstructed him otherwise. She asked him what he was doing.
“Well, Janie, remember Mister Livingston? I’ve – found some things about his past. Horrible things, involving harm to a child. I think he’s gonna hurt someone else, and considering he has the power to change the brain itself, to disturb people’s thoughts themselves –”
“You’re not in trouble, are you?”
“No. Everything’s gonna be okay, sweetie, I promise. I just, I have somewhere to go. Fuck!”
So Uriah really could trust the person he was built to please. Jane could only wonder who that one person she was built to please was, yet all the same she loosed a burst of heat at the device before her knees, stood, and walked upstairs without a glance back at the body.
###
About the Author
Anthony DiGiovanni is, as of this writing, a not-so-humble high school student who writes whatever fiction he pleases when he isn’t busy butchering songs on the saxophone, crunching numbers, or nerding out in some manner.
Connect with Anthony Online
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/anthonydigiovannitheauthor
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/8083189-anthony-digiovanni
Legal Disclaimers
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events described in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, corporations, or government entities is purely coincidental.
Quotes by actual persons are either used with permission or in the public domain. Stock images included in the cover design are used with permission from Freerange Stock, LLC.
Dedication and Acknowledgments
For the readers who believe humans are a part of nature, too. Not as if that’s a license for anything.
This story would have remained little more than a neat yet vague idea if it were not for:
First, my English teachers. You not only kept me from wallowing in the limbo of writers who embarrass themselves with their unbelievable characters – whose actions cannot receive a description that lacks a gerund error, cliche, or inconsistency – but you also gave me constructive criticism, building the sort of confidence in my craft that lets me know I’m not just a hack agonizing over words no one wants to hear.
Second, my parents and brothers, who somehow managed to put up with my bizarre writer’s mind and ego as I wrote this, with relative patience and care, no less.
Third, my amazing friends, none of whom told me not to quit my day job if the subject of my fiction came up. That might have something to do with my not actually having a day job at the time.
Fourth, the author of each novel I have ever read, because a writer can learn as much from the duds as from the heartbreaking works of staggering genius. Props to Randy Ingermanson in particular for introducing to me the latter phrase, not to mention his stellar fiction (especially that which he co-authored with the honorable John Olson) and writing advice.
Fifth, the administrators of my grade school’s annual Young Authors contest, without which I may never have seriously entertained the notion of following through on my second-grade dream.
Sixth, my beta readers, whose feedback both encouraged and humbled me through the surprisingly fun revision process.
And finally, you, dear reader. Though the odds are that you never personally asked me to write this, it is your presence as a person evidently interested in these words that has sustained my motivation to publish this novel. If you enjoyed this book and take the time to recommend it to fellow readers, or to rate/review it on Goodreads or an appropriate retailer, I sincerely thank you and hope you will find my future works just as engaging.
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