Authors: L. J. Kendall
He looked back at himself, then shifted his attention to the would-be bus passengers. Their expressions ranged from fascinated delight – on the face of the girl at the far end – to something like horror on the face of the woman closest to Sara. There was something comical about the look. In fact, there was something comical about the whole situation! He stared at the woman a moment longer before her expression – a combination of shock mixed with a determination not to lose her seat – tipped him past the point of wry amusement.
The spell broke as his concentration shattered in gales of laughter.
People turned toward him in surprise. A moment later, Sara heard him and also turned around. As one, the people on the seat flinched away, which only made him laugh the harder.
Sara, clearly puzzled, cocked her head to one side, watching him. Slowly she began to smile, too. He doubted she understood his amusement, but simply seeing him laugh seemed to make her happy. She jumped over the seat and ran to rejoin him, hugging him silently. He casually ran an Imaginal eye over her, noting his own Suggestion to wait quietly was still laced through her thoughts, binding her.
Back at the bus stop, the people on the seat slumped in relief.
Leading her away down the block, he looked back briefly as they rounded the corner, only to collide with a nightmarish figure as he turned back. One massive arm cushioned the impact before claws fastened on his clothes. The thing stood over two meters tall, its lupine muzzle only inches from his face.
The lower torso was goat-like, with hooves instead of feet. The head was like a wolf's, but the hands were black-furred and tipped with wicked-looking but clearly impractical recurved claws. Pointed ears, also furred, flipped up on his head, and yellow eyes squinted against the bright afternoon sun. Despite their extreme illegality, backyard “furry mods” had proven impossible to eradicate, all across the world. Didn't these fools realize they could pose as much a potential threat to the human race as d'Artelle's mind-raped cadre of genetic engineers?
'Spare some scrip, fren. Any corp scrip.'
The voice was low, a growling bass. Peripherally, he was conscious of Sara's gaze on them both, fascinated.
'No.' He took a step back, but the man-thing's hand did not release its hold on his coat.
'Chit, fren, ’m no half-comp. Wagie like you, poz ya got scrip. You c’n spare some.' The lips curled back from cruel yellow teeth, the canines fascinatingly long.
Instinctively, Harmon Percepted the thing's Imaginal state: vicious, and becoming more so as it started goading itself into anger. Some sort of drug in effect, too, one that blurred and blunted the normal beauty of the dance of the Imaginal form. He shifted his perception back to mundane reality, back to the foolishly mixed set of half-complete gene alterations the once-man had toyed with. New Humans indeed! 'You're like a metaphor for our own modern society,' he stated coldly. 'A pathetic, will-less wreck of something once human. A sad waste of millions of years of evolution. Your kind
disgusts
me.' He let his own anger sharpen the spell he flung. '
Go away
.'
The Imaginal pattern snapped over the man's confused and weakened spirit form like a religious revelation. The hulking figure jerked back as if electrified, then fled.
Sara gazed up at him in admiration, mouth working as if about to speak, when her expression shifted to a mixture of confusion and then frustration. Puzzled at first, he remembered his Suggestion that she should remain silent, just as her face screwed up and words burst forth again. 'You spelled him, Keepie! You made him run away!'
He glowered at her, as annoyed by her incriminating words as the fact that she'd been able to snap the mild compulsion. 'Shh, girl. Yes, I did, but I could get into trouble for using magic like that. Even charged with assault!' He turned and watched the figure disappearing from sight, then looked to see if anyone had overheard her. 'Even for hopeless scum like that,' he mused. He caught the eyes of his young charge. 'Do you know what he was, Sara?'
'A troll?'
'Trolls and ogres are victims of the Melt virus. No, that was someone who thought his own shortcomings could be corrected by replacing highly-evolved human characteristics with more primitive animalistic patterns. Someone who thought the fears and weaknesses still remaining after those alterations, could be overcome through
drugs
.'
She frowned, clearly not understanding, but also clearly refusing to admit it. 'Where are we going, Keepie?'
'I've decided we'll take a cab back. You attracted too much attention back at the bus stop.'
'I did? How?'
He rolled his eyes, but knew that until he explained she'd pester him. 'Those people were sheep, Sara. Gray people, leading small, dull lives. Safety and security are all they desire. But you are not like them, are you?'
She shook her head.
'So they recognized you as something different: perhaps something threatening. But be aware: although such people don't matter individually, as a mass they can be dangerous. So it is best not to scare them too badly. Do you understand?'
'Uh huh, I do, Keepie,' she nodded.
A few minutes later, freshly distracted, she tugged at his arm, pointing at a youth dancing around a light pole and hitting it with a silvery stick, shouting.
'What's the matter with
that
one, Keepie?'
For a moment he wondered whether they'd happened upon some fool's random psychotic episode, when he spied the glowing red armband that signaled the active use of a consensual AR system. Another educational opportunity! Perhaps the trip would prove to be worth the expense after all.
So he explained to her about Altered Reality, how the boy's optic nerves and other sensory inputs were being fed input from some remote multi-player game simulation. That the boy probably saw his stick as a magical sword, the light pole as some kind of threatening monster; while the red armband warned people he was immersed in an active simulation.
'What if he hits ordinary people?'
'The computer system portrays them as things to be avoided. If he did hit one, he'd be charged with assault.'
In the cab back to the Institute, he took the opportunity to explain how life's challenges had to be met from within, not avoided through artificial means like drugs or AR or its worse forms, like the illegal and addictive “NuLife,” that activated dangerously many parts of the brain, especially the emotional pleasure centers, amplifying them until normal life seemed pale and dull in comparison.
Sara listened, rapt, occasionally giggling. He was pleased to read her thought that such people were crazy.
Chapter 21
Sara admired her new clothes as she made her way to the basement. It'd been fun going into the City – the sights, the sounds, and especially, all the people! Buying the clothes and trying them on had been fun, too.
Sometimes her uncle had complained, since some of the clothes didn't have much cloth for the price. It was almost like the less cloth there was, the more it cost. But it was nice how the material fitted her snugly, instead of all sloppy and floppy.
Some of the saleswomen had acted kind of funny, though. Disapproving. And she was
sure
that Uncle had done magic on some of them, and they didn't even know! When he saw she'd noticed, it'd become like a secret game, just between the two of them. She'd been kind of sad when it was time to go back to the Institute. But Keepie had promised that as her figure continued to “develop” they'd go out again and buy more.
She hardly had to think about bypassing the security systems, she'd done it so often. It was a routine now: stick, Bork, toolkit – and the new bits, since they'd banned her. And today, she felt a new confidence in herself and her abilities. She felt
good
in the new clothes which Uncle had bought her, like she was at the center of things somehow.
She remembered his words with pride: 'You have a very fine figure, you know, Sara. Very fit; very healthy. Your new clothes really show the good care you take of your body.'
Now she was on her way to show Godsson her special new Hunting outfit. Made of soft brown imitation deerskin, the shorts clung snugly, plus they had fringes for decoration; and a halter top. It left her plenty of room for movement, and revealed much of her red-bronze tan. Some of the male workers had certainly seemed to admire her legs, she'd noticed. They
were
quite strong. She stood on one leg, and bent and flexed her other before her, watching the play of muscles.
On a whim, and just for fun, she put down all her visiting-equipment and kicked her left leg out and up, catching it in both hands as her knee kissed her nose. She savored the deep stretch in her "glutes", then wiggled, just to feel the tickle of the fringe of her new shorts. Dropping her leg, she did a little jump spin, enjoying the tickle one more time.
But ahead of her was the start of the section of corridors with the IR sensors, so she picked up and then unfolded the damp blanket, wrapping it around herself before picking up Bork, stick, and toolbox and moving on. Once she'd realized they'd just told the computer she was interesting, it hadn't been too hard to work out how to fool it again.
She couldn't wait to show Godsson her new outfit! After she'd unwrapped the damp and tatty blanket that hid her body from the heat cameras, of course. They'd changed all the access codes, of course, but because they hadn't actually asked how she'd worked them out in the first place, it hadn't been hard to follow her uncle and watch as he'd entered the new ones. Though he had got more careful, and kind of moved his body to hide the panel with the buttons. But he didn't notice the small mirror she'd temporarily stuck to the ceiling directly above and angled just so. It took a few days, ’cause it took time to move and position the mirror as she learned each new code. She was glad there were only three doors. She'd also guessed that they might have undone her training of the computer, so she'd carefully done her repair-girl exercises, but this time in disguise. She wore a workman's cap and a pair of high heels, all of which she'd got Keepie to buy for her, as well as sunglasses. All just in case they'd told the computer to pay special attention to
her
. He'd looked especially unsure about the high heels for some reason, but hadn't been too hard to convince. Of course, she didn't tell him they were just to make her taller. She'd studied on the net about how computers recognized people. There was heaps and heaps of stuff about it, though it was harder to find things that weren't all scientific impossible-to-understand words and tables and graphs.
She wondered if Keepie knew science-y stuff like that?
After gathering all the pieces of her disguise, it'd taken a whole week to re-train the computer to recognize the new, not-Sara repair-girl, but it'd actually been kind of fun breaking the improved security.
She could see Godsson's cell now, and checked her new clothes one last time as she moved to one side of the corridor, staying well away from the room opposite his. The new inmate in there was… upsetting. He always seemed to be hurting himself. She felt sorry for Godsson, jammed up against someone like that. It gave her the creeps just to think of being so close to him during her short visits. What must it be like for Godsson, who spent all day next door? And the woman on the other side, labeled “AS” on Mr Shanahan's security cameras, was worse. Sometimes she was brought upstairs so Uncle could heal her. She had creepy eyes; always darting around like she was seeing things sneaking up on you, but even if you looked, real fast, there was never anything there.
When she got to Godsson's door she knocked hard on the thick window. In a little while he came out of his bathroom and smiled.
'Sara,' she thought he said, watching his lips move. He made his special greeting gesture, which always reminded her of someone who was a bit deaf, holding a hand up to his ear.
'Godsson! Look at my new clothes!' She stepped back from the window so he could see more of her, then threw open the damp blanket so he could see, but the security cameras couldn't. 'This is my special hunting outfit!' She held still so he could get a proper look. But his face kind of froze into a weird, stiff expression.
'Sara! That is hardly seemly. Especially on one so young.' And then, he deliberately looked away!
She was dumbfounded. Frowning, then, she looked down at herself; held one leg out to one side to admire the slim muscles and smooth skin; with her fingertips, she dusted the silky surface of her stomach, prodded to check its firmness; and looked back at Godsson in puzzlement.
Maybe he'd actually said he could hardly
see
me
, she thought? Maybe he thought she'd been teasing him.
'Where do you want me to stand? I thought you
could
see me from there.' She stepped a little closer, stroking the tight material of her top. 'It's real imitation
deer-
skin,' she pointed out.
'The problem is, Sara, that I
can
see a great deal of you. I should not see so much.'
'Huh? Why not? Don't I look good? I know I
do
; I do
lots
of exercise.'
Godsson began to sound cross. He hardly
ever
sounded
cross
. 'Sara. You are clearly at the age where you have to pay special attention to dress with proper modesty, so as not to encourage lascivious thoughts in men. Dressed like
that
, you are an invitation to… to….' He sputtered to a stop.
'To
what
, Godsson?'
'To rip those clothes off you! To engage in unsanctified and wanton sexual acts!'
He was actually panting, she noted in surprise. But more interesting were the strange words he was using. She knew “sex” was some secret grup thing. She
hadn't
known, though, that it involved taking off clothes…. which led to another thought….