The scooter would only get him so far; AnSIL expected that from the beginning. He stood in line for fifteen tense minutes before presenting his ID card to a soldier cop, who eyed him suspiciously and read Bert’s old travel permission letter carefully. “Turley, scan this in and open the gate,” The guard yelled over his shoulder to a guard who was busy filling out forms.
Turley was obviously a rookie who was given the duties that no one else wanted, a servant to the public servants. He stood quickly and beckoned to AnSIL, “This way, remove your glasses and walk between the sensor barricades but otherwise follow me.”
Turley looked up at the black rectangle that showed up on the scan, “Empty your pockets. Slowly please.” He rested his hand on his electro-laser pistol and silently loosened the strap.
AnSIL followed officer Turley’s orders and produced the inheritance tin, opening it before Turley could flag it as a possible bomb.
“Did I tell you to open it? No, I didn’t,” Turley stepped back for a second, seemingly to catch his breath, “Okay, dump the contents on this table.” He gestured to a small glass shelf attached to one of the scanners.
AnSIL complied and Turley watched carefully as he bent down to pick up a fallen pen. The officer scanned the inheritance code and grunted in surprise when it was verified.
“Alright…” Turley pressed a button on the recorder beside him, “A dial, debit case, projection and hard-copy map, three pens and a notebook, a book of poetry, a poncho and survival blanket, a sonic scrubber and a piece of… clear crystal?” “Bathing salt, sir,” AnSIL corrected.
“Bath salts?” Turley raised his eyebrows and looked closely. “It’s mined on old-world, neutralizes odor,” AnSIL answered, wondering if bath salts would be his undoing, “That’s all I know.”
“That would explain why it doesn’t smell like armpit,” Turley grunted and seemed to loosen up after he ran a quick search and found the salts on the net, “You learn something new every day.”
Turley looked back at the line of people backing up behind AnSIL, “Chipper… be on your way.”
After packing things back up, AnSIL stepped out into the orange glow of the sunset and walked away as calmly as he could muster, he wasn’t sure where he was going but he had to get there before curfew. Auto-tanks were already moving into place and an officer was telling a private garbage truck driver that he’d have to make his remaining stops quickly.
Bert heard a beep from his net terminal and reached across his desk to answer.
A confirmation request appeared from the Fed Travel Ministry with the certified permission letter that he’d signed a year before.
Bert quickly entered his confirmation and FTM identification number, shut down the terminal and called up SILer, “He’s heading for the city. The idiot just used my permission letter in zone 91933, ground level. Go finish him.”
(What I’m listening to: No Excuses by Alice in Chains)
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
5
“No. Security andros don’t just drop everything and help family friends. What the hell was her objective?” Bert glared out the window at the cityscape. “She seems to have a personal connection with him,” SILer informed his boss.
“Do you have a complex on her?” Bert asked impatiently. SILer nodded thoughtfully, “She can’t pick up groceries without a receipt showing up on my sensor report.”
“Good,” Bert paced, “I don’t want that thing causing any more trouble than it has.”
The Pratt-Martin building loomed over Tracy as she drove toward the lake. The massive archway was the site of countless public events, a world wonder in its own right, galvanizing the reputation of its ruthless owner. Spotlights shone up at the building and the sunset beyond framed it, pretty as a picture.
“How’s life, ma’am?” the gate guard asked and turned to scan her identification. “Troubles and intrigue,” Tracy said, staring thoughtfully ahead.
“Thank heavens for that,” The guard said with a smile as he returned her card, “Otherwise we’d be out of a job.”
Tracy looked at the guard in surprise. She hadn’t expected any real reaction from him, “Very true.”
“You have a successful, intriguing day,” The guard said when his computer beeped confirmation and he raised the gate for her.
“And yourself,” Tracy replied simply before driving into the parking garage. Humans were a puzzling lot. Just when you think you’ve figured them out, they grow a new personality.
Tracy parked her car in a quiet sublevel garage. Humans wouldn’t have noticed that the guards on the far side of the garage were watching sports on one monitor rather than cameras, they may have noticed that specks of coating from one part of the floor had a different kind of crunch to it because it was cheaper. Where the human brain would ignore most of its input, Tracy saw every glint and shadow, heard every whisper on the floors above, below and in the elevator ahead of her.
“So, what do you think?” A man in a grey wool suit asked Tracy when the elevator doors closed behind her.
“They’re hiding something alright,” Tracy answered smoothly, noting that this was Martin’s secure elevator car, no cameras and no microphones, “Calista’s synth bolted from the funeral.”
“The security fellow?” Rod Martin asked from the other side of Tracy.
“No, I spent the afternoon following him around the town looking for the sex toy,” Tracy answered, “SILer seemed very intent on killing his synthetic brother. …He told me that it was a tranquilizer but I can recognize a rail mag when I see one.”
“Good girl,” Rod smiled, glanced at the other man in the elevator and turned back to Tracy, “So, your new objective is to locate said synth, find out what he knows and why he’s running. It could be juicy.”
Tracy nodded quickly, “Yes sir,” and proceeded out of the elevator on her intended floor.
Rod Martin waited for the doors to close and patted his friend on the back, “She’s good, we’ll get him for you.”
The man removed his hat and brushed some dust off of it, “You really believe that your dinner party bouncer can break this?”
“Count on it,” Rod nodded seriously, “That’s the best system that money can buy. She protects me in my sleep.”
“-It- is a step above those little robotic guard dogs, it simply looks better in pumps.”
(What I'm listening to: "Treason" by Mushroomhead)
“Do you have a complex on her?” Bert asked impatiently. SILer nodded thoughtfully, “She can’t pick up groceries without a receipt showing up on my sensor report.”
“Good,” Bert paced, “I don’t want that thing causing any more trouble than it has.”
The Pratt-Martin building loomed over Tracy as she drove toward the lake. The massive archway was the site of countless public events, a world wonder in its own right, galvanizing the reputation of its ruthless owner. Spotlights shone up at the building and the sunset beyond framed it, pretty as a picture.
“How’s life, ma’am?” the gate guard asked and turned to scan her identification. “Troubles and intrigue,” Tracy said, staring thoughtfully ahead.
“Thank heavens for that,” The guard said with a smile as he returned her card, “Otherwise we’d be out of a job.”
Tracy looked at the guard in surprise. She hadn’t expected any real reaction from him, “Very true.”
“You have a successful, intriguing day,” The guard said when his computer beeped confirmation and he raised the gate for her.
“And yourself,” Tracy replied simply before driving into the parking garage. Humans were a puzzling lot. Just when you think you’ve figured them out, they grow a new personality.
Tracy parked her car in a quiet sublevel garage. Humans wouldn’t have noticed that the guards on the far side of the garage were watching sports on one monitor rather than cameras, they may have noticed that specks of coating from one part of the floor had a different kind of crunch to it because it was cheaper. Where the human brain would ignore most of its input, Tracy saw every glint and shadow, heard every whisper on the floors above, below and in the elevator ahead of her.
“So, what do you think?” A man in a grey wool suit asked Tracy when the elevator doors closed behind her.
“They’re hiding something alright,” Tracy answered smoothly, noting that this was Martin’s secure elevator car, no cameras and no microphones, “Calista’s synth bolted from the funeral.”
“The security fellow?” Rod Martin asked from the other side of Tracy.
“No, I spent the afternoon following him around the town looking for the sex toy,” Tracy answered, “SILer seemed very intent on killing his synthetic brother. …He told me that it was a tranquilizer but I can recognize a rail mag when I see one.”
“Good girl,” Rod smiled, glanced at the other man in the elevator and turned back to Tracy, “So, your new objective is to locate said synth, find out what he knows and why he’s running. It could be juicy.”
Tracy nodded quickly, “Yes sir,” and proceeded out of the elevator on her intended floor.
Rod Martin waited for the doors to close and patted his friend on the back, “She’s good, we’ll get him for you.”
The man removed his hat and brushed some dust off of it, “You really believe that your dinner party bouncer can break this?”
“Count on it,” Rod nodded seriously, “That’s the best system that money can buy. She protects me in my sleep.”
“-It- is a step above those little robotic guard dogs, it simply looks better in pumps.”
(What I'm listening to: "Treason" by Mushroomhead)
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
4
Tracy smirked, “You’re thinking that my personal interest in the “yang” incubus interferes in family business.” She released the safety strap on her holster. SILer shrugged and turned to walk behind the store, “Only because you haven’t drawn your weapon.”
“I can draw and fire before you can remove the safety on yours,” Tracy answered and followed him. SILer turned his pistol in her direction playfully and she immobilized it a pinch from two fingers.
“Mean little machine,” SILer smiled and turned to leave, pausing when Tracy held his weapon for an extra second.
“Do you actually think you’ll find him?” Tracy asked as she looked behind a stack of boxes.
SILer raised an eyebrow and pushed the door to the employee restroom open, “Probably. There’s not a bone of intrigue in his body.”
SILer flashed a security badge at the store manager, who had protested the appearance of people with drawn weapons in his store. The manager apparently couldn’t tell the difference between security and law enforcement badges at a glance because he nodded quickly, “Oh, okay.”
“We’re looking for a man with bright blonde hair, almost white. A synthetic like me, have you seen him?” SILer asked the manager. “No sir,” The manager answered.
Tracy looked at SILer, “He’s telling the truth,” She made her way through the back rooms of the store with her gun drawn.
They searched the store, several other businesses and another graveyard before stopping to strategize at the second chapel.
“Look, I have to get back,” Tracy finally said, “I’ll search his face on sensor cams. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
SILer nodded silently and watched Tracy walk out of the chapel before dialing Bert, “Yes sir, I thought you would. I’ll get a rental.” He listened to Burt’s instructions and replied, “That will complicate things if we have to end things publicly. They’ll ask why you didn’t report the synth unit missing.”
Bert cursed, “Damnit… you’re right.” He thought a moment before ordering, “Alright, I’ll go back to Ishi with SILvia and you stay here as security at the lifter port. Vacate that house so we can say that he was taking care of things and we didn’t know he was gone until it was too late.”
**
Tracy picked the grass-stained outfit out of the store trash and frowned, AnSIL never was cut out for duplicity. Her neural network slipped into the back door for city sensor net security. Several vans matched possible time and distance locations but so far, no one on the street looked like AnSIL.
There were no depressions in the grass nearby, no scuffmarks that matched the color of AnSIL’s shoes. Tracy scanned the area slowly though and a wash towel across the street caught her attention, a quick spectral resonance check and she found that it matched AnSIL’s blood type. The towel wasn’t there before. He must have been close when they were searching for him.
“What are you doing?” She whispered quietly as she picked the bloody rag from the trash bin. Deciding that she wouldn’t be helping anything if SILer spotted her, she returned to her car and turned in the direction of home.
The sensor/stop light seemed to stare back at AnSIL, a metal helmet protected him from normal scans, his road armor obscured his measurements and his scooter had been reserved with cash. He’d thought of everything, even the sunglasses that he wore were tinted with welding-grade gold.
A bright safety-orange car pulled to a stop beside AnSIL and he nearly lost his balance when he took a quick look at it. SILer sat within arms’ reach, hacking into city sensor data.
(What I'm listening to - "Go it alone" by Beck)
“I can draw and fire before you can remove the safety on yours,” Tracy answered and followed him. SILer turned his pistol in her direction playfully and she immobilized it a pinch from two fingers.
“Mean little machine,” SILer smiled and turned to leave, pausing when Tracy held his weapon for an extra second.
“Do you actually think you’ll find him?” Tracy asked as she looked behind a stack of boxes.
SILer raised an eyebrow and pushed the door to the employee restroom open, “Probably. There’s not a bone of intrigue in his body.”
SILer flashed a security badge at the store manager, who had protested the appearance of people with drawn weapons in his store. The manager apparently couldn’t tell the difference between security and law enforcement badges at a glance because he nodded quickly, “Oh, okay.”
“We’re looking for a man with bright blonde hair, almost white. A synthetic like me, have you seen him?” SILer asked the manager. “No sir,” The manager answered.
Tracy looked at SILer, “He’s telling the truth,” She made her way through the back rooms of the store with her gun drawn.
They searched the store, several other businesses and another graveyard before stopping to strategize at the second chapel.
“Look, I have to get back,” Tracy finally said, “I’ll search his face on sensor cams. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
SILer nodded silently and watched Tracy walk out of the chapel before dialing Bert, “Yes sir, I thought you would. I’ll get a rental.” He listened to Burt’s instructions and replied, “That will complicate things if we have to end things publicly. They’ll ask why you didn’t report the synth unit missing.”
Bert cursed, “Damnit… you’re right.” He thought a moment before ordering, “Alright, I’ll go back to Ishi with SILvia and you stay here as security at the lifter port. Vacate that house so we can say that he was taking care of things and we didn’t know he was gone until it was too late.”
**
Tracy picked the grass-stained outfit out of the store trash and frowned, AnSIL never was cut out for duplicity. Her neural network slipped into the back door for city sensor net security. Several vans matched possible time and distance locations but so far, no one on the street looked like AnSIL.
There were no depressions in the grass nearby, no scuffmarks that matched the color of AnSIL’s shoes. Tracy scanned the area slowly though and a wash towel across the street caught her attention, a quick spectral resonance check and she found that it matched AnSIL’s blood type. The towel wasn’t there before. He must have been close when they were searching for him.
“What are you doing?” She whispered quietly as she picked the bloody rag from the trash bin. Deciding that she wouldn’t be helping anything if SILer spotted her, she returned to her car and turned in the direction of home.
The sensor/stop light seemed to stare back at AnSIL, a metal helmet protected him from normal scans, his road armor obscured his measurements and his scooter had been reserved with cash. He’d thought of everything, even the sunglasses that he wore were tinted with welding-grade gold.
A bright safety-orange car pulled to a stop beside AnSIL and he nearly lost his balance when he took a quick look at it. SILer sat within arms’ reach, hacking into city sensor data.
(What I'm listening to - "Go it alone" by Beck)
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
3
AnSIL couldn’t believe that he was at the same funeral as Bertram P. Schumacher. The master of the house and the cloned toy sharing polite company with some of Lake Lietinhas’ most fashionable mourners.
Tracy was present to represent the Martins. The family security bot, she always seemed more interested in AnSIL more than SILer, though. She also appeared to be governed by a somewhat more “human” chip, than most flesh and blood clones.
AnSIL had never seen Garnet Wade in solid colors before; he usually wore some sort of flowery clothing. Today, his cane was nearly plain but AnSIL finally spotted a tiny chrysanthemum on the end of the handle. The architect was one of Calista’s favorite people at the book club; she’d known him in college, before he made a name for himself.
Trevor Bell stood between Mr. Wade and Mr. Schumacher. Bert’s lawyer and business partner, Bell either felt terrible about losing Calista, or he was a good actor.
The priestess’ gravelly smoking voice gave her a somewhat gruff appearance but she spoke eloquently on points of existence and reasons for the living to press on.
Cynthia Wash brought her litter of children and spent the entire time trying to hush them. She herself was as elegant as her exotic husband, though he seemed be detached from the children and more intent on listening to the priestess as though some of the ideas were new to him.
When the talk was over, AnSIL excused himself to go to the restroom and found himself washing his face and staring in the mirror.
How could he disappear? In the tin, Calista had provided him with a tiny, short range radio frequency jammer for the SIL chip but that would only prevent him from being picked up by traffic sensor poles.
AnSIL took the tin from his pocket and pressed a button on an injection needle to activate the jammer chip and pressed the needle against the flesh between his brows. The SIL chip controlled him through his frontal lobes. The jammer would sit like a cap overtop.
Finally, AnSIL gathered his courage and pushed the needle into his forehead. He turned a lever that opened the needle and injected his jammer chip.
Breathing heavily, Ansil took towels from the linen closet and put it over his forehead. Head wounds bled more than he’d thought. A look out the window on one side of the bathroom and AnSIL saw SILer and Bert talking quietly and looking over their shoulders at the chapel.
AnSIL rushed to the other side of the bathroom and struggled to open the window. Finally, he reached back inside and retrieved the tin from the counter before falling backward out the window.
SILer opened the door to the restroom and his countenance went icy. There was no one in the stalls but he found a drop of blood on the sink drain. The window was closed but it had been forced open recently.
SILer drew his pistol and typed in the security code; he twisted a dial on his earphone and reported to Bert, “Problem. He’s gone. Not sure if it was on purpose. This might be foul play.”
Bert slowly turned to face Tracy and covered his phone. “If there’s anything I or any of the Martins can do…” She began to say.
“Thank you,” Bert replied and then told SILer angrily, “Find him.”
SILer squatted in the chapel yard between the restroom window and the hedge, he saw an AnSIL-sized depression in the grass but only one trail leaving. Holding his earphone, he pushed through the hedge and peered out at the shops beyond. He didn’t even see any platinum blonde servants around.
“What’s wrong?” Tracy asked. SILer hadn’t even noticed her walking toward him.
“You, sneaking up on people,” SILer replied quietly. “Where’s AnSIL?” She asked him.
“Well, since you already know that he’s missing, do you want to skip the formalities and help or flit off to do something important?” SILer shot back.
“Did he run or was he taken?” Tracy queried. “I don’t know,” SILer answered impatiently and strode out into the parking lot of a grocery store. “If he ran, would you shoot him?” Tracy asked, following him.
“I haven’t asked Bert yet but probably, that’s standard procedure,” SILer answered.
“That’s cold,” Tracy said quietly. “It’s a trank shot,” SILer informed her, “What about you, can you shoot him?”
(Editor's note: I'll be adding the "What I'm listening to" as a sort of recommended mood music. This weeks What I'm listening to is: Farewell by Apocalyptica)
Tracy was present to represent the Martins. The family security bot, she always seemed more interested in AnSIL more than SILer, though. She also appeared to be governed by a somewhat more “human” chip, than most flesh and blood clones.
AnSIL had never seen Garnet Wade in solid colors before; he usually wore some sort of flowery clothing. Today, his cane was nearly plain but AnSIL finally spotted a tiny chrysanthemum on the end of the handle. The architect was one of Calista’s favorite people at the book club; she’d known him in college, before he made a name for himself.
Trevor Bell stood between Mr. Wade and Mr. Schumacher. Bert’s lawyer and business partner, Bell either felt terrible about losing Calista, or he was a good actor.
The priestess’ gravelly smoking voice gave her a somewhat gruff appearance but she spoke eloquently on points of existence and reasons for the living to press on.
Cynthia Wash brought her litter of children and spent the entire time trying to hush them. She herself was as elegant as her exotic husband, though he seemed be detached from the children and more intent on listening to the priestess as though some of the ideas were new to him.
When the talk was over, AnSIL excused himself to go to the restroom and found himself washing his face and staring in the mirror.
How could he disappear? In the tin, Calista had provided him with a tiny, short range radio frequency jammer for the SIL chip but that would only prevent him from being picked up by traffic sensor poles.
AnSIL took the tin from his pocket and pressed a button on an injection needle to activate the jammer chip and pressed the needle against the flesh between his brows. The SIL chip controlled him through his frontal lobes. The jammer would sit like a cap overtop.
Finally, AnSIL gathered his courage and pushed the needle into his forehead. He turned a lever that opened the needle and injected his jammer chip.
Breathing heavily, Ansil took towels from the linen closet and put it over his forehead. Head wounds bled more than he’d thought. A look out the window on one side of the bathroom and AnSIL saw SILer and Bert talking quietly and looking over their shoulders at the chapel.
AnSIL rushed to the other side of the bathroom and struggled to open the window. Finally, he reached back inside and retrieved the tin from the counter before falling backward out the window.
SILer opened the door to the restroom and his countenance went icy. There was no one in the stalls but he found a drop of blood on the sink drain. The window was closed but it had been forced open recently.
SILer drew his pistol and typed in the security code; he twisted a dial on his earphone and reported to Bert, “Problem. He’s gone. Not sure if it was on purpose. This might be foul play.”
Bert slowly turned to face Tracy and covered his phone. “If there’s anything I or any of the Martins can do…” She began to say.
“Thank you,” Bert replied and then told SILer angrily, “Find him.”
SILer squatted in the chapel yard between the restroom window and the hedge, he saw an AnSIL-sized depression in the grass but only one trail leaving. Holding his earphone, he pushed through the hedge and peered out at the shops beyond. He didn’t even see any platinum blonde servants around.
“What’s wrong?” Tracy asked. SILer hadn’t even noticed her walking toward him.
“You, sneaking up on people,” SILer replied quietly. “Where’s AnSIL?” She asked him.
“Well, since you already know that he’s missing, do you want to skip the formalities and help or flit off to do something important?” SILer shot back.
“Did he run or was he taken?” Tracy queried. “I don’t know,” SILer answered impatiently and strode out into the parking lot of a grocery store. “If he ran, would you shoot him?” Tracy asked, following him.
“I haven’t asked Bert yet but probably, that’s standard procedure,” SILer answered.
“That’s cold,” Tracy said quietly. “It’s a trank shot,” SILer informed her, “What about you, can you shoot him?”
(Editor's note: I'll be adding the "What I'm listening to" as a sort of recommended mood music. This weeks What I'm listening to is: Farewell by Apocalyptica)
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
2
The silence beat down on AnSIL, sitting on his bed with his head in his hands; ordered to leave the only home he’d known. There would be no mercy for a rogue synthetic and he wouldn’t have any help from Bert or his “siblings.” Blood or not, they would be as loyal to Bert as AnSIL was to Calista.
AnSIL took a flat panel “dial” from his pocket and opened it to stare at the brass rings inside. One half was a watch and the other was a compass.
Good old Calista, she must have known his fate from the start. Her interests were always culture beyond the gates of Lake Lietinhas. She never shared Bert’s desire for affluence but she attended dinner parties and city events to represent the family.
AnSIL was bought as a present, something to keep the slightly younger woman busy. A synthetic boyfriend, but she had to teach him nearly everything.
Calista taught him to read, she taught him to drive, sent him on errands that forced him to think for himself and all the while, he thought that she was making him a better incubus. She wasn’t really doing it for herself; she was terminal. She was making sure that he would live after she was gone.
Opening the lid of his inheritance tin and unfolded a map, he looked at the surrounding world grimly. There were gates and checkpoints and cameras and police on seemingly every corner. AnSIL couldn’t use the cell she’d given because they all had trackers. When he had folded the map and put it back in the tin, he screwed it closed and turned around to face his sister.
“Can I sleep in here?” She asked for the first time, “It’s scary now, without her.” AnSIL nodded in agreement, “It is.”
**
AnSIL awakened with a start to find Bert at the foot of his bed admiring the group silently. Bert put a finger to his lips, “Shh, you want to look your best at the funeral.”
AnSIL looked across the bed, SILvia snored beside him and SILer slept beyond, all in matching royal blue bedclothes with the family seal.
Bert whispered, “I have business,” And left the room.
**
The siblings made breakfast quietly, their usual childlike behavior replaced by solemnity until finally, they began to less and less subtly compete for efficiency and speed of preparation. Eventually, this ended with SILvia getting cut and two very sheepish young men following her to the first aid kit.
“Come here, my boy,” Bert beckoned to AnSIL as he passed in the hall and turned to walk into the living room. AnSIL glanced worriedly at the others and followed obediently.
“By now, you’re probably wondering what I have planned for you,” Bert said, “As you know, a good percentage of my customers are female and I need someone who knows what’s going on in their brains.”
Bert tapped his forehead, “You’re it. In the meantime, get everything together and get ready to move. She wouldn’t want us to sit around and sulk. She was vibrant,” Bert said energetically and then his mood turned pensive, “That’s what I loved about her. She’d want us to live.”
AnSIL and SILer exchanged quick, knowing glances.
“Now, go get dressed, you two. I need to talk business with SILer,” Bert stood and waved AnSIL and SILvia to their rooms.
Opening his closet with one hand, AnSIL turned on the intercom, pressed ‘Security mode,’ and coded in before selecting the living room.
“Do you think he believed it?” Bert asked impatiently. SILer’s voice sounded cold, “He was made to read people, so- no.”
Bert sighed, “Alright, make him fall off a bridge or something but do it tonight.”
AnSIL took a flat panel “dial” from his pocket and opened it to stare at the brass rings inside. One half was a watch and the other was a compass.
Good old Calista, she must have known his fate from the start. Her interests were always culture beyond the gates of Lake Lietinhas. She never shared Bert’s desire for affluence but she attended dinner parties and city events to represent the family.
AnSIL was bought as a present, something to keep the slightly younger woman busy. A synthetic boyfriend, but she had to teach him nearly everything.
Calista taught him to read, she taught him to drive, sent him on errands that forced him to think for himself and all the while, he thought that she was making him a better incubus. She wasn’t really doing it for herself; she was terminal. She was making sure that he would live after she was gone.
Opening the lid of his inheritance tin and unfolded a map, he looked at the surrounding world grimly. There were gates and checkpoints and cameras and police on seemingly every corner. AnSIL couldn’t use the cell she’d given because they all had trackers. When he had folded the map and put it back in the tin, he screwed it closed and turned around to face his sister.
“Can I sleep in here?” She asked for the first time, “It’s scary now, without her.” AnSIL nodded in agreement, “It is.”
**
AnSIL awakened with a start to find Bert at the foot of his bed admiring the group silently. Bert put a finger to his lips, “Shh, you want to look your best at the funeral.”
AnSIL looked across the bed, SILvia snored beside him and SILer slept beyond, all in matching royal blue bedclothes with the family seal.
Bert whispered, “I have business,” And left the room.
**
The siblings made breakfast quietly, their usual childlike behavior replaced by solemnity until finally, they began to less and less subtly compete for efficiency and speed of preparation. Eventually, this ended with SILvia getting cut and two very sheepish young men following her to the first aid kit.
“Come here, my boy,” Bert beckoned to AnSIL as he passed in the hall and turned to walk into the living room. AnSIL glanced worriedly at the others and followed obediently.
“By now, you’re probably wondering what I have planned for you,” Bert said, “As you know, a good percentage of my customers are female and I need someone who knows what’s going on in their brains.”
Bert tapped his forehead, “You’re it. In the meantime, get everything together and get ready to move. She wouldn’t want us to sit around and sulk. She was vibrant,” Bert said energetically and then his mood turned pensive, “That’s what I loved about her. She’d want us to live.”
AnSIL and SILer exchanged quick, knowing glances.
“Now, go get dressed, you two. I need to talk business with SILer,” Bert stood and waved AnSIL and SILvia to their rooms.
Opening his closet with one hand, AnSIL turned on the intercom, pressed ‘Security mode,’ and coded in before selecting the living room.
“Do you think he believed it?” Bert asked impatiently. SILer’s voice sounded cold, “He was made to read people, so- no.”
Bert sighed, “Alright, make him fall off a bridge or something but do it tonight.”
Thursday, January 8, 2009
1
“AnSIL, I want you to listen to me like- like an Incubus concentrating. Every time we take you in for a checkup, they reset that chip in your brain that makes you so wonderful because it’s also… honey, it’s gonna kill you. Bert won’t pay to let you go when I’m gone and he can’t sell you so you have to get to this man, Woodrow Raymond, he promised to fix your chip. You have to run now, so pick your moment. Don’t tell anyone, just run.”
The screen flickered and AnSIL was left in the darkness of the tiny screening room. Without Calista, he had no purpose. He was made for her. Still, he didn’t want her last wish to be in vain.
He reflected quietly for several minutes before opening the door, took the vid card and put it in his pack to join the others in the central solarium.
They always had their little quarrels with one another but today they sat as siblings, surrounded by officers of the court.
“AnSIL, SILer, SILvia. Subtle,” Officer Barnsley looked up at the pathetic, huddled group from her notepad with a look of pity on her face, “SILica based drones, I take it?”
“No ma’am,” SILer answered, “We’re synthetic humans but we’re running on some old silicon-iridium chips.”
“Right,” Barnsley glanced back at her pad, “Sex, violence and shopping. What does ‘seconds’ mean?”
“Imperfect,” SILer answered, “We were prototypes that weren’t picked up for production.”
Barnsley looked over the group, her eyes settling on SILvia, “You’re platinum blonde and fit like them, you’re not a succubus?” She pointed at the others.
“No ma’am,” SILvia answered shyly, “Same platform, different chip.”
Barnsley glanced out the window at her new recruit, who was talking to the neighbors, “We’ll have a patrol car check in every hour or so. Call if anyone gives you trouble.” She rushed out the door.
The officer who held the door for Barnsley approached, “AnSIL, SILer and SILvia. Silica drones, right?”
**
AnSIL sat on his bed, his fingers ran over the relief border around the poem he’d read to Calista the night that she died:
Never a winter’s peace
Old oak stands atop the hill
A bulwark, centuries old
Each year, reposing
She sleeps beneath the earth
But I, never a winter’s peace
Slipping feet and bloodied brow
Earthen, ashen world for now
In heart, in truth
In broken soul once thrown away to you
Once given but never once ret…
“Tasset?” SILer stood, leaning against a doorpost with his arms folded. AnSIL nodded, “It was her favorite.”
“I was gone,” SILer finally broke an uncomfortable silence, “He sent me to check on the ‘port.”
“That’s exactly where she’d want you,” AnSIL sighed and closed the book.
“What do you mean?” SILer looked insulted. “Living,” AnSIL answered, “Doing exactly what you were told and not making a fuss over her.”
SILer looked at the floor, “Damn you’re good,” he smirked. AnSIL suppressed a laugh, “Good as you.”
“This may be a surprise to you but I was always jealous,” SILer admitted, “You were close to her in a way that wasn’t my place, you could protect her in a way that I never could.”
AnSIL sighed, stood and walked across the room to put the book in his pack as he raised the courage to say what he thought, “Which was moot the moment we walked out that door. I always wished that I could turn on the other part of my chip.”
SILer shook his head, “It’s overrated,” he looked at AnSIL’s pack, “Are you going somewhere?”
“I suppose we’ll all be moving soon,” AnSIL sat on his bed, “Bert only wanted to live here in theory.”
“Bert’s coming tomorrow for the funeral. He’ll be here for the day and we’ll be cleaning things up and selling the house. Oh, good news,” SILer said as he left the room, “The doc says you’re out of the initial phase. No more checkups.”
The screen flickered and AnSIL was left in the darkness of the tiny screening room. Without Calista, he had no purpose. He was made for her. Still, he didn’t want her last wish to be in vain.
He reflected quietly for several minutes before opening the door, took the vid card and put it in his pack to join the others in the central solarium.
They always had their little quarrels with one another but today they sat as siblings, surrounded by officers of the court.
“AnSIL, SILer, SILvia. Subtle,” Officer Barnsley looked up at the pathetic, huddled group from her notepad with a look of pity on her face, “SILica based drones, I take it?”
“No ma’am,” SILer answered, “We’re synthetic humans but we’re running on some old silicon-iridium chips.”
“Right,” Barnsley glanced back at her pad, “Sex, violence and shopping. What does ‘seconds’ mean?”
“Imperfect,” SILer answered, “We were prototypes that weren’t picked up for production.”
Barnsley looked over the group, her eyes settling on SILvia, “You’re platinum blonde and fit like them, you’re not a succubus?” She pointed at the others.
“No ma’am,” SILvia answered shyly, “Same platform, different chip.”
Barnsley glanced out the window at her new recruit, who was talking to the neighbors, “We’ll have a patrol car check in every hour or so. Call if anyone gives you trouble.” She rushed out the door.
The officer who held the door for Barnsley approached, “AnSIL, SILer and SILvia. Silica drones, right?”
**
AnSIL sat on his bed, his fingers ran over the relief border around the poem he’d read to Calista the night that she died:
Never a winter’s peace
Old oak stands atop the hill
A bulwark, centuries old
Each year, reposing
She sleeps beneath the earth
But I, never a winter’s peace
Slipping feet and bloodied brow
Earthen, ashen world for now
In heart, in truth
In broken soul once thrown away to you
Once given but never once ret…
“Tasset?” SILer stood, leaning against a doorpost with his arms folded. AnSIL nodded, “It was her favorite.”
“I was gone,” SILer finally broke an uncomfortable silence, “He sent me to check on the ‘port.”
“That’s exactly where she’d want you,” AnSIL sighed and closed the book.
“What do you mean?” SILer looked insulted. “Living,” AnSIL answered, “Doing exactly what you were told and not making a fuss over her.”
SILer looked at the floor, “Damn you’re good,” he smirked. AnSIL suppressed a laugh, “Good as you.”
“This may be a surprise to you but I was always jealous,” SILer admitted, “You were close to her in a way that wasn’t my place, you could protect her in a way that I never could.”
AnSIL sighed, stood and walked across the room to put the book in his pack as he raised the courage to say what he thought, “Which was moot the moment we walked out that door. I always wished that I could turn on the other part of my chip.”
SILer shook his head, “It’s overrated,” he looked at AnSIL’s pack, “Are you going somewhere?”
“I suppose we’ll all be moving soon,” AnSIL sat on his bed, “Bert only wanted to live here in theory.”
“Bert’s coming tomorrow for the funeral. He’ll be here for the day and we’ll be cleaning things up and selling the house. Oh, good news,” SILer said as he left the room, “The doc says you’re out of the initial phase. No more checkups.”
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