Stone unclenched his teeth as the worst of the pain subsided and gazed at the mark on his shaking arm. Its sight burned into him with pride. The five roughly shaped crosses were colored with many shades of burnt flesh. The pain continued to fade gradually as the others in the room congratulated him and cheered. Jeremy patted him on the back after taking a look at the mark for himself.
…
“Alright,” Jeremy announced, raising his voice over everyone in the room, “now we should get back to it, lots of ground to cover. Can you begin to explain, to all of us, what you’ve gotten ahold of?”
The woman reached into her bag and pulled out a device. It looked similar to the desktops used in the STORK offices. This one, however, was a screen that had been rolled and folded for storage. She unfurled the flexible translucent cloth made with the latest nanotechnology and shook it once to stiffen its face and edges until it became like glass. She then placed the screen onto a small metallic holder, the only thing touching the device, which held it at a forty-five-degree angle adjacent to the tabletop. The screen was quite large at its full size and it became fully colored at her command, brightening the entire room.
“This is the answer to our problems, everyone.” She called a name, “Nelson, stop being so shy and come meet everyone.” She smiled as the screen’s microscopic pixels turned and changed hue, a mist of color came together to form an image with a childlike appearance, but with the cruelest expression any of them had ever seen on such a young face.
“Hello Debra, and greetings to all, it’s nice to meet you; although, no need for you to introduce yourselves.” The man on the screen snickered, saying, “I may have already done some snooping on my own while in the clouds.”
“Snooping?” Jeremy asked.
“Ye-”
“Nelson is an Artifi-”
“I do loathe that title, Debra,” Nelson interrupted her. His face darkened with wrinkles as his expression changed to display sadness, “I thought we’d been over this.”
“Nelson, remain silent until further notice.” The man on the screen zipped his mouth, literally. A zipper appeared on both sides of his mouth as he rolled his fingers over his lips, sealing them. He loved sarcasm and irony. Debra often wondered if it was some sort of bug that needed fixing.
“Explain now.” Jeremy crossed his arms and leaned back, staring at the smirking man on the screen.
“I know it’s probably shocking to y’all that I’ve brought this man into our group and meeting, but I’m telling you that this is the answer to our oldest puzzle. We don’t have to starve anymore and we’ll have money to accomplish our goals.”
“What all does this thing know, exactly?” Jeremy stood and paced behind the couch, thinking -- thinking of the possible things that could go wrong.
“What doesn’t he know? He’s information incarnate.”
“Where did you get it?” he asked, bending closer to the screen just as Nelson mimicked him, also making himself appear to lean closer to Jeremy.
“He was a bank teller from First Unity Bank, managed pretty much everything in the system from transactions to cyber-security and stocks. Technically, Nelson’s a clone of the bot still working at the bank and I’ve repurposed and reprogrammed him to do just the opposite of what he was designed to do before.”
“He’s going to steal?” Jeremy asked, pacing away from the screen, his back illuminated by the white glow of the screen. “From the bank?”
“Not from the bank. Nelson will steal directly from STORK. I plan to plant him in their financial department.”
Jeremy sat back down and stared down at his fidgeting hands, as if they could somehow answer all of his questions. The AI on the screen had gone onto cleaning his virtual space, burning papers from within a file cabinet labeled cache. Stone didn’t like looking at the flames. His arm seemed to burn again as he watched them rise against the ceiling of whatever sort of virtual space Nelson lived in.
“How can we trust him?” Jeremy posed the single truly important question of the night.
“How can we trust Stone?” she retorted. The words made Stone’s heart skip beats and his bones stiffen, as he tried to appear unfazed.
“You must be joking.” Jeremy’s face twisted between confused and angry, “Stone is a great asset to all of us. This bot, however, is a complete and total stranger.” Jeremy calmed his tone, rested his head against his arm for support before continuing, “I don’t know this bot. I don’t know his functions, and I don’t trust anything that isn’t here, physically, for me to strangle if he betrays us.” Nelson pulled at his collar and gulped. “And here he is, still mocking me.”
“Those are just bugs. I’ve set his sarcasm too high on accident. I can easily adjust it in no time at all. I wanted him to be a little more fun to work with. He isn’t disrespecting you, he will obey your every command and he can never betray us. It’s impossible, I promise.”
“He’s a program,” one of the janitors chimed in, “and who’s to say he doesn’t break, become corrupted?”
“Who’s to say his original creators didn’t code some backdoors into him? “The other added, both of them speaking in heavy European accents.
“I’m no amateur,” Debra defended herself. The attacks and questions began to eat at her. “I’m more skilled than the people who coded him originally. They were lazy. His architecture was a mess. I know what backdoors look like and I know how to rebuild. Nelson is an improved shell of his former self with all the usefulness learned over the years, reordered and made new with an obedience to us alone.”
“Debra, no one doubts your abilities here,” one of the janitors reassured. “It’s simply a lot of trust to put into something, or someone, that has yet to earn it.”
“Can’t expect us to immediately accept Nelson, when we can’t even shake hands” the other laughed.
“Alright y’all, that’s quite enough now,” Jeremy interrupted, clearing his throat after a short chuckle. He looked over to Debra, “I think we’ve made our concerns loud and clear.”
Guilt crept over Stone’s skin as he watched the judgement take place. He felt more deserving of scrutiny than Nelson or Debra. Stone didn’t even fully understand why he was sitting in that living room to begin with. Who was he to be defended? He should be the one mocked, poked, and prodded. His mischief easily pleased the others and that’s all it is -- mischievous tagging of walls like a toddler with a crayon. The guilt made him squirm in the chair just as Debra glanced his way before quickly diverting her eyes.
“Nelson, lose your attitude when speaking to me,” Jeremy said with a pointing finger, breaking the uncomfortable and awkward silence. Debra smiled subtly, her lips flickered upward with hope. Stone watched them turn after hearing Jeremy’s words, hoping he could dial down his guilt.
“Yes sir, I’m heartily sorry to have displeased you. I promise to never offend you again.” Nelson’s baby face dropped as he expressed a great deal of remorse over the group’s disappointment, “Also sir and all others hearing my words, I do promise that you will come to know me as the most loyal creature you’ve ever encountered. Your wish is my command and for as long as I process, I’ll spoil you worse than any grandparent.”
“Sounds more like it!” Jeremy laughed, amused at the bot’s sudden and perfectly respectful change. “Debra, I want him starting small -- to gauge him.”
“Consider it done.”
“We’ll consider these next few weeks as a trial period, a proof of concept, so to speak. What y’all think?”
The group chimed with resounding agreement, eager to find a better source of funding. If they come to trust Nelson in the next few weeks, his financial procurements will take them to a new level. No longer would they have to rely on the donations from the thinning pockets of Zealot advocates.
…
The meeting concluded shortly afterward and the guests began cleaning up. Stone helped eagerly, paying close attention to Debra as she put away her devices. The other th
ree Zealots gathered their things and followed Jeremy outside, where he blessed their trips home. He had always done this for his precious Zealots, hoping that his prayers would be heard in Heaven. Surely the Lord would protect them on their way home. They needed the help of all the saints and angels in Heaven on their mission.
Stone cleared his throat to speak to Debra. The absence of the others made the room awkwardly silent, his own heartbeat seemed to resonate inside of it.
“I really like Nelson…” Those were the only words he could muster, as he rolled the screen for her.
“Thanks, me too,” she responded tersely, just as he expected. His ice-breaking efforts couldn’t have been any more embarrassing.
“So,” he attempted again, “when Nelson gets approval, are you going to brand him too?” His heart fluttered as his formulated question received a sweet giggle from her.
“That’s pretty funny, I hadn’t thought about it. I guess could make it into a nice, fun little virtual ceremony. Also, I didn’t mean to put you down earlier. I was just trying to reason with them. I’m sure you’re plenty capable with our tasks at hand.” To which Stone nodded and smiled, relieved that she didn’t hate him. Then changing tone, she inquired, “But, speaking of branding, how’s the arm feeling?” She reached, grasping his hand and turning it to see the marks.
“It feels about like I expected. The initial pain wore off quickly, though.” He tried to sound tough. “Not so bad now.” Her tiny paw-like hands felt ice cold as she gripped him, letting go as the door opened and the draft came in along with Jeremy.
“Jeremy, make sure you help him with the branding. It’s going to need some attention. Can’t let our best get infected,” she quipped cheerfully, patting Stone’s back. “Y’all have a good night.” She winked as she turned to leave. “I’ve got a lot of work to get started on. Nelson’s going to be a handful tonight.”
“Well, don’t work too hard! Get some rest too,” Stone gushed, rushing to open the door for her. Jeremy watched the young man. He could detect the budding of a crush in his roommate’s eyes.
…
Stone closed and locked the door once he was positive that Debra was leaving, but he continued to stand near the door for a moment. His imagination filled with scenarios where she knocked, needing to retrieve something she forgot, but it didn’t happen. He heard laughter from down the hall and turned to see that Jeremy was on to him.
“Aw, ain’t that cute,” he said, watching the silly grin leave Stone’s beaten face. “Never knew you were such a gentleman, Stone. Are you sure you didn’t want to walk her home?”
“Hey, that’s not a bad idea. She needs to be protected, don’t you think?”
“She’s a tough cookie, I wouldn’t sweat it. She’d probably end up protecting you, instead, if any danger came up.” Jeremy was smiling and lightly punching at his arm.
“I’ve got loads of questions.” Stone wanted to change the subject and made his way to the kitchen to find some water. “Like, what exactly is my job? What purpose am I to serve?”
“Everything and anything required of you.”
“Like?”
Jeremy looked at him, not answering immediately. “Get that aloe in the cabinet next to you. You’ll need to put that on the branding wound and grab some bandages from the bathroom closet. Clean it a few times a day and always use a fresh bandage.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, infecti-”
“Come on! I’m talking about the job.”
“We all have the same job -- to perform as needed to accomplish our mission and to destroy those that oppress our people. Also, you’ll help me in the workshop, starting tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes, I’m going to teach you how to make buildings crumble.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Once in a blue moon, the members of the close-knit family in Irondale took a day off work duties to relax and recharge. Between Amelia and Maria providing maid services to the constant repairs required of those who worked on the solar panels, days filled with relaxation didn’t come very often. Even though everyone felt relieved to finally have a day off, they missed the company of one of their members terribly -- Stone.
Michael felt ashamed of himself for his rage-fueled outburst, which was bad enough on its own, but the constant chastisements everyone in the house threw at him made it even worse. None of them were too happy with him, and even the priest expressed great disappointment at Michael’s attempt to defend himself.
A week had passed since the fight; and, a week since Maria and John moved in. The couple slept on their bed, surrounded by moving crates and suitcases. They grabbed clothes or toiletries from them each day, as needed. Maria quickly grew tired of the constant back and forth, searching every other box when she only needed a fresh pair of socks or one of her old books. It didn’t bother John too much. He happily tossed piles of his clothes in the corner and plucked what he needed from it. It only became a concern when Maria cracked her whip.
Cole kept himself busy to avoid thoughts about the night before, when Stone visited to claim his belongings. The morning after, Cole awoke and felt a case of the blues forming in the pit of his stomach. He often turned to his creative outlet to vent his worries and other negative feelings during times like this. He missed his brother terribly. Standing before a canvas, he covered it in a variety of painted colors and shapes, depicting a dream he had earlier in the week. It made him wonder if it originated from the debate between his cousin and brother, or if it were a vision of some sort arising out of a news broadcast.
Recently, he also discovered glitches in his Auris. The device had been feeding him information while he slept. He noticed that he’d wake up every now and then with the biases of others scripting his subconscious. It disturbed his inner peace, but he knew not to trust the strange advice and opinions, consulting his priest for clarity when things troubled him too deeply.
The dark basement, lit only by a single floodlight, provided a musty refuge where he could plunge into creating his art. This private retreat, which was once planned to be used as a chapel, always renewed his spirit. He cranked the music up loud enough to drown out the head-splitting voices of his loud family. Flood damage from previous years caused many of the sound-insulating ceiling tiles to fall down in several spots. Amelia added the repair to Michael’s honey-do list, but he never had time to get around to it. Even so, Cole enjoyed his solitude. He sometimes watched the light bleed through the floor planks above and observed how the many unknown crawling creatures squirmed within its shadows.
Drips of white, crimson, and black paint littered the cold concrete floor, escaping his brush as he brought it from workbench to the easel he had erected in the room’s center. He was almost finished with this painting. Standing there for a moment, he looked at it and wondered if he should add something else once he blacked in all the shadows.
Occasionally, he displayed his works throughout the house, provided they didn’t depict scenes that might disturb visitors. The others, he stacked on the workbench -- the ones with gory scenes and disturbing creatures that no one upstairs cared to view. He nailed some paintings on the walls around him. These depicted the images of saints he hoped prayed for him from Heaven. Occasionally, he glanced up at them, imagining they stared down at the canvas in progress, judging it with unmoving, unchanging faces.
…
“This one’s definitely not going upstairs,” he spoke out loud to his rendition of Saint Lawrence, nailed upon the wall. This pious saint had been grilled alive over a gridiron. Continuing aloud to no one and anyone, he added, “It’s definitely not something Amelia would take pleasure in looking at for sure. Now, Michael might think it’s cool, but nah, it’s a bit grotesque.”
I’ve seen more grotesque sights, he imagined Saint Lawrence saying from beneath the flames of his martyrdom. Such had been the humor the saint was said to have. According to the tradition, he laughed upon the searing gridiron, informing
the Roman troops that he had been fully cooked on one side and that they should flip him over. The horrifically dark humor and apparent indifference to his own suffering became the source of Cole’s appreciation for him.
Generously filling his brush with black paint, Cole drew it across the edge of the canvas as he searched out the places destined to become cloaked in darkness and shadow. His creation depicted a gorgeous chapel with an incredible garden in the back. If it weren’t for the billowing fire blazing hot on the church building, the garden would have been painted lush and green. Its broken stained glass windows appeared almost fluorescent as fire illuminated them from within, casting their bright colors upon the ground outside. Cole brought his brush toward them, searching for unpainted specks of white within the depths of the shadowy scene. He stood back again to inspect it as a whole, noticing one of the silhouettes stood taller than the other.
“Maybe it’s supposed to be Stone and me,” he said, talking to the saint once again. “It’s about the same difference in height.”
It’s your painting, Cole. Shouldn’t you know who it is? He imagined the saint mocking him once again, with a hoarse Latin accent.
Still talking out loud to no one, “Was a dream I had -- never saw their faces, but who knows, maybe I’m right. The church probably just symbolizes everything going on right now. Stone would probably love it; and, he’d be the only one who could truly appreciate it. I mean, Michael would too; but, if he were still around, Stone would insist on hanging it in our room.”
“Cole!” a man’s voice shouted from above the stairs, resonating over the music booming from his stereo. “Hey, hoss, lunch is ready!”
I’m guessing this painting is finished, he mused. Otherwise, I would have ignored the chow call. He turned down the music and followed the mouth-watering aroma of black-bean burgers and seasoned fries, which wafted down the basement steps to his nostrils. He bounded up the stairs and into the kitchen where the others, already filling their plates, took their usual places at the large table.
Sowing Season Page 6
