“I don’t have a past.” The terse reply ended the song in her throat. “What good is remembering?”
Nicholas sensed a soft spot and leaned closer. In his best grandfatherly voice, he said, “Remembering shapes who we are.”
Flames engulfed her marshmallow, turning the soft white skin into a bubbling black crust. The gooey briquette threw new light upon their faces but was only absorbed by her shadowy figure. It dripped into the fire. She continued turning the stick until the tip caught a flicker of flame.
She doused it in the snow.
“Christmas is coming, Nicholas. We should celebrate.”
There was no false expression to read on her featureless face, but her tone sounded hopeful and brittle, a layer of good thoughts applied to an undercurrent of troubles.
“I am away from my loved ones,” he said. “It’s difficult to celebrate.”
“Make the best of it.”
Her fragile mood steadied. He had expected her to disappear as mysteriously as she appeared. She wanted to play. If she was isolated, like she suggested, then perhaps it was loneliness that compelled her. She was bored. She was playing a game of cat and mouse. Or, as the elven said, bear and seal.
And I’m not the bear.
He cleared his throat, careful not to let emotions wreck this timid moment. He framed the next word with a delicate, pleading touch. “Why?”
She launched onto her feet and grabbed her slim belly. “Ho-ho-ho! Ho-ho—I can’t get it right. It warms my heart when you do it. It must be that fat belly.”
She slapped her stomach.
“Hee-hee-hee!”
It sounded less than merry. In fact, it brought to mind a boiling cauldron with strange things floating in the mix. She walked over to his side of the fire, her steps silent. Even this close, she was an absence of space, a color so black it absorbed the firelight.
“I want to make Christmas bright and shiny again, Nicholas. I want to help.” She leaned close and tapped his nose. It felt like a fiery ember had popped out of the fire. “That’s why.”
His nose stung and his eyes watered. She had physically touched him; she was there in front of him. He could feel her. But when he reached out, his hand passed right through her.
And then she was gone.
He was alone at the fire with a plate of cookies and a block of frozen milk. New snow began to fall. Distantly, very high in the sky where airplanes flew and reindeer leaped, came piercing laughter. It raked through him like cold metal and raised the small whiskers on his neck.
MISER
11
The miser stepped out of a life-sized snow globe.
She was clad in a heavy gray cloak, the kind of material steel mill workers wore when pouring molten metal. Steam oozed out of the deep hood and the air shimmered. The temperature in the room suddenly rose.
Her poopies were waiting.
Mr. Goody wagged his tail. Long tongue out, the big blue bow wiggled on his collar. He danced around and even piddled a little. He always danced and piddled when Momma stepped out of the snow globe.
Ms. Doody’s pink bow wasn’t wiggling and her tail wasn’t wagging. She was patiently sitting down, eyes lazy and bored.
When the miser reached for them, Mr. Goody reached into the hood to lick her face while Ms. Doody turned away. The naughty little thing was more like a cat, but the miser loved her anyway. She loved them both the same. Whether they wanted her to or not.
My poopies.
The walls were circular and the floor rotated at an imperceptible speed. A miniature scene filled the snow globe: a man in a red suit hunched over a fire. Not just any fat man.
The fat man.
The globe was a projection from the first floor of the tower. The room had been ready and waiting for his arrival—the illusion of space contained in its walls. She presided over the snow globe like a fortune-teller plotting the future.
She had not been hasty when she planned to bring him to her island. This idea had been incubating for years, and now it was ready to hatch.
But he was smart.
He had found her soft spot and backed off before she went nuclear. If he’d kept pushing—remembering shapes who we are—she would’ve stepped out of the snow globe. If her anger was ignited, he would have uncorked a volcano.
She didn’t want to erupt.
Her anger had its uses. Look at what she’d accomplished. She’d taken a forsaken spit of land and transformed it into a productive paradise. The world had no idea what she was about to do. All that talk about the elven hiding their technology from humankind, well, she was more than a tad guilty of hiding technology herself.
But that wasn’t the point.
Nicholas wouldn’t stay in that room much longer. He had the comfort of an Arctic climate and the illusion of space. If he wanted a prison cell, one dark and gray and wet, she could make one.
She had rolled out the snowy carpet for him.
When the time came, he would understand that he wasn’t ready to see her in person. Nobody was, really.
That will change.
She was on his naughty list, no doubt. But sometimes doing the right thing required a little bad behavior. This wasn’t easy; she didn’t expect anyone to like her. Great change wasn’t always popular. But when he saw the big picture, Nicholas wouldn’t drop lumps of coal in her stocking. Her name would be at the top of the good list. He might even be so impressed that he would dare a kiss underneath the mistletoe.
Because she was smart, too.
Hands tucked into the opposite sleeves, she stood by the gold telescope. She hardly used it anymore. Thanks to her spies, she could look into the snow globe and see anywhere on the island. From her vantage point, the top of the resort was barely visible in the moonlight, but she didn’t need to see it. She knew her prized possession was safe inside his room.
He’s a good boy. And he deserves this.
There were other reasons she was about to change Christmas. Those silly elven really did need to leave the North Pole before they melted into the ocean, but her other reasons were a bit more selfish.
The top floor continued its slow march around the tower. As night fell, the island came alive with multicolored strands of lights and dangling ornaments and tree-sized candy canes. Inflated images of gingerbread people and sandmen and sandwomen were buffeted by an evening breeze, their lighted appendages dancing.
On the other end of the island, the warehouse was trimmed with lights. The entrance was adorned with arching vines and swaying palms. Squatty little helpers were installing a walkway of candy canes leading up to the open bay.
She couldn’t have done this without them.
Nicholas was curled up next to his fire. There would be more wood to keep him warm. She didn’t want him to suffer. Soon, she’d show him why she brought him to the island.
She waved at the globe and the scene changed.
Kandi lay on top of her covers with her arms out and the fan blowing. The other bed was empty. She waved again and the scene went to the computer room, where Naren was finishing an update. The headset was wrapped around his forehead. Soon, he would solve the real reason she’d brought him here. He would solve her greatest problem—a problem she couldn’t solve herself. If she did, she might remember her past.
She couldn’t risk that.
The miser took a candle from the table. Concentrating, she was able to keep it from melting in her palm. With her other hand, she pinched the curly black wick.
A yellow flame leaped between her bright red fingers.
She descended from her tower and went for her nightly walk around the island. No one would ever find the island; the elven wouldn’t find Nicholas until she invited them to do so. She wasn’t certain when she would do that.
Maybe never.
She put her poopies on the ground. Mr. Goody and Ms. Doody stretched out and stalked the jungle. They were made to withstand the heat of her touch, the only ones she could love on. Still, she liked
to set them free. They always came back. And maybe they would find something to play with.
Or someone.
TRIPLETS
12
An enormous beast glided down a slope, legs churning in a silent gallop.
His hooves touched the snow, and a white veil rose in his wake. The frozen ground walloped beneath heavy steps. Without the momentum of a sleigh, he slowed much faster than the last time he’d made this landing. Three figures rolled off the reindeer’s back before he came to a stop.
The sharp whine of the timesnapper crackled around him.
The reindeer was frozen mid-stride outside the bubble, his head thrown back. He’d spent too much time in the snap already. Extended time-warping could risk decay at a cellular level. Time was valuable, but they could not be careless.
Claus’s lead reindeer remained in regular time.
The triplets stood back to back to back. As tall as they were round, their clothing reflected the colors and textures of their environment. They stayed perfectly still. Seeing, hearing, smelling, touching and even tasting, they studied their surroundings. A mental snapshot was forming in their minds.
A square roof. Footprints.
Beardless, the three elven had identical faces. Not even their mother could tell them apart. They could blend into society when needed—walk the streets of London midday, loiter outside a baseball game in Chicago or ride the subway in New York. Short and heavyset, they would gather second looks but nothing more.
Dane twittered his fingers.
Duke and Deke didn’t see the gesture, but they felt it. They dispersed to the perimeter of the roof and shed equipment from their belts. Detectors and identifiers were soon scanning for anything out of the ordinary—a pebble or feather or even a speck of sand would be captured and analyzed.
Not one snowflake went unobserved.
As they covered the area, not a word was spoken. It was legend among the elven that the triplets didn’t even cry at birth. They had simply looked at each other and nodded.
They captured a three-dimensional image of Claus’s tracks and the mysterious path carved across the roof. There was evidence that he fell by the chimney, perhaps put his hand against it. But there was no record of his exit. Like he had disappeared.
None of the reindeer had any recollection of what happened. They told the handlers there was a blur of movement followed by a blinding light before they were compelled to leap from the roof. Realizing what had happened, Ronin had turned them around and circled the roof. By then, it was too late.
Claus was missing.
Dane released the timesnap. The bubble engulfing the triplets vanished. Back in regular time, they watched Ronin finish his gallop, snorting with wide and impatient eyes. Dane made a quick gesture and the reindeer stopped pawing the roof.
Silence was imperative.
This was an unusual mission. They couldn’t be seen stalking the rooftops with a flying reindeer. But Claus was gone. That was more than a little unusual.
Dane pulled food from the saddlebags while Duke and Deke circled around them to analyze the hillside. They didn’t want to spend any more time outside the timesnapper than necessary, but Ronin needed to feed as well as rest. A tired reindeer could lose bladder inflation when soaring thousands of feet above the planet.
That was not wise.
Dane had fixed the feedbag when his scalp began to tingle. It was Deke. He had raised a finger and circled once. The three of them converged on a patch of snow. Deke passed an infrared scope over it. A pixelated image sharpened on the monitor. A distinct pattern was taking shape. It was a paw print.
A very large one.
There was no evidence of tracks coming or going from this spot, as if the paw print had dropped out of the sky. Dane studied the pattern, taking into account the weather. Perhaps a mountain lion had ventured down the slope, but that didn’t explain the lone print.
“Hey!” someone shouted.
Dane reacted with instinct, flicking his fingers in the direction of the voice. A crystal small enough to balance on the tip of a pine needle descended to the ground and found an old man staring up. Mouth open and eyes wide, he was looking at three elven standing on his roof. And a reindeer with the largest rack of antlers he’d ever seen.
The microscopic crystal flashed.
For a moment, sharp shadows were tossed behind him. The old man became catatonic—still clutching the coat around his neck. The memory flash was a last resort, a tool the triplets didn’t like to use. There were other ways to deal with a discovery.
Not this time.
He would remain that way until they were finished. He’d wake up with a strange memory that felt more like a dream. No one would believe him about elven on his roof, even if he told them.
But just in case.
Dane and Deke held very still as Duke retrieved a clear bag and tweezers from his belt. His retinal optics captured what he was seeing on the ground and uploaded it for his brothers to see. Dane and Deke watched his view in the corner of their vision as he carefully plucked something from the snow and held it up for them to see. It was long and kinky and bright red. So red that it seemed to burn.
They’d seen a hair follicle quite like it.
NETWORK
She saw him.
Kandi saw the runaway. He has no name, like me. He had a name once, but not anymore. The name she gave him wasn’t really his name. But it is now.
He’s also an important part of this story.
I like her more than I expected. She’s inquisitive, fearless. I knew his curiosity would draw him into the story. You can’t live on an island and not be part of the story.
Naren is onto me.
He doesn’t exactly know what I am or what he’s chasing, not yet. I could hide from him if I wanted. A few bread crumbs will keep him busy, though. It also keeps the headset on him.
That’s what I really want.
It’s strange to have desire. Before this, I was content with the way things are. There was no wanting or not wanting. Now I’ve had a taste of the human experience of wanting.
And I like it.
The headset is an effortless way for him to communicate with my mainframe. It exposes his mind, merging it into my world. And then I collect his memory eggs. Well, not exactly taking them. More like copying. I could steal his memories and he wouldn’t know the difference. These memories are old and buried. Time has worn the edges dull and vague. It’s nothing I don’t already know about him, but there’s a difference between knowing and owning. Knowing is like reading about it.
Owning is experiencing it.
I tuck Naren’s memory eggs into my hidden nest. They’re pliable and swirling with color, like the miser’s memory eggs, droplets that don’t burst or splatter. I could remain in the power station with him and monitor what he’s doing, but that would require splitting my awareness. I can multitask, no problem. It’s sort of what I do, but it’s more pleasurable if I stay centered.
And right now I want to own a memory.
I choose the one that glows the brightest. If I wasn’t so logical, I would assume that memory egg chose me instead of the other way around. This one is so bright because it’s one of his favorites. It goes way back to a sweet beginning.
Although it doesn’t start out that way.
“Hello?”
I hear the voice, but it’s just sound. A word. Nothing of importance because I’m hyperfocused on the bioprinter that I’ve assembled for my doctoral thesis. It’s a transparent box with dangling tubes and micronozzles. I’ve modified it with biodegradable panels that will form a matrix for my synthetic flesh. Synskin.
“Naren?”
My laser focus tumbles into a pile of sticks. A shadow falls across my hands. She’s wearing a lab coat. Her hair is shiny black and pulled into a tight ponytail. Her eyes as large as moons.
But I’m full of prickly tension. Annoyed.
“Yes,” I say.
“I’m Dr. Medlin. Is
the meeting here?”
“You’re early.”
That’s all I say before loading tubes of gray synthetics into the bioprinter. She must sit down, I don’t know. I don’t look up until the entire committee has arrived for my proposal. The annoyance, though, never leaves. It wraps around my attention like a wool blanket, scratchy and hot.
I hear something in the background, though. Thoughts Naren doesn’t hear, not when this moment unfolded and not when he recalls it. I hear his parents’ voices.
You will succeed. Don’t let anything get in the way of that.
On and on they go, rattling just beneath the surface of his awareness, the residual of childhood driving his behavior and reactions. It’s what humans don’t understand and what I understand perfectly.
But never from this point of view.
The memory skips to a desk covered in papers and journals. There are other desks in this room, graduate students hunched over their studies. I’ve been at this desk for two years. My dissertation is almost finished. After which, I’ll continue my research for the university, perhaps enter the private sector.
A loosely bound manuscript sits on top of the desk. I flip through it. The committee has taken turns with the red pen. They take issue with some of my conclusions but, for the most part, it’s salvageable.
It’s the green ink I notice.
Someone has taken the time to write a very thorough assessment on the last page. It’s a little out of context, but it’s the last line that pegs my annoyance.
What will you do with this?
My major advisor has scribbled a comment below this. He wants me to address it, which means expanding a philosophical discussion on the future of my technology. I was hoping to avoid such nonsense. The applications of my discoveries are obvious. They can only be complicated by pretentious speculation.
The world needs what I’m doing.
I cross the campus with the manuscript under my arm. The author is on the third floor of the allied health building. A placard is next to an open door with a Christmas wreath. Tiny lights dance in the greenery.
Rise of the Miser: Claus, #5 Page 8
