by A. L. Davroe
I purse my lips. “You can start with why you faked my death. Why you made poor Delia have to endure that. And…” Oh my sparks, I don’t even want to think. “Does Bastian know I’m alive?”
He shakes his head. “No. The fewer people who knew, the better. Though I think he suspects.”
A wave of relief washes through me. At least someone isn’t evil. Even poor Meems was used in Uncle Simon’s diabolical plot.
“I tried thinking of everything,” Uncle Simon is saying. “But it all pointed to the fact that you had to die. I needed them to truly believe you were dead.”
I blink. “They?”
“G-Corp. President Cyr, specifically.”
I cock my head. “Why would you want them to think I was dead?”
He rubs his temple, glances at the pictures of my parents on the workstation. “So they wouldn’t try to kill you again. So that they wouldn’t actually succeed next time they tried.”
“What?” I whisper. G-Corp? Trying to kill me? But why?
Uncle Simon forces a smile, but it’s more like a grimace. “You see,” he says, trying to sound light, “I should have started somewhere else. Now you’re confused.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’d be confused no matter what.”
“What do you understand?”
“That you’re operating under some delusion that G-Corp is trying to kill me.”
He snorts. “I’m glad you have such faith in me, Ella.”
I hold out my hands. “Not much to work with here.”
He nods. “Point taken.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “G-Corp isn’t trying to kill you. They did kill you. At least, that’s what I am trying to make them believe.”
I roll my eyes. “Why?” I demand. “Why would they want to kill me? It doesn’t make sense.”
“So that you couldn’t continue on with your mother’s work,” he says very plainly. “That’s why they killed her. That’s why they killed your father, and why, very obviously, they tried to kill you, too.” Seeing that he has my attention now, he continues. “Your mother didn’t kill herself, Ella. She was killed. A droid came into this very house and shot her between the eyes with a pulse weapon. That pod accident that killed your father and did this…” He points at my stumps. “To you, was not a sensor malfunction—at least not an accidental one. That pod was meant to crash. You weren’t just collateral damage. G-Corp doesn’t off brilliant minds for no reason. You’re dangerous, Ellani, dangerous like your parents. Perhaps more so because you’ve got both of them in your veins and twice the reason to carry their torch.”
I blink at him, certain he’s gone mad. “Making video games?”
He grins, his eyes bright and full of fire. “Starting revolutions.”
For a long moment, the word hangs in the air. It’s as if he expects some great revelation on my part. But the room just feels stale and cloying. I close my eyes, trying to keep my sanity because one of us has to. “Uncle Simon, the only thing revolutionary about my parents was their relationship. And maybe, just maybe, if you stretch it, Nexis. But, honestly…” I lose my steam. I just don’t have the energy to try and lay the path straight for him. I’m so tired. And I have no idea how to combat such monumental madness.
Uncle Simon’s grin fades to a wistful smile. “You’re so much like your mother. She was so skeptical. But the passion? You get that from Warren.”
I wring my hands, suddenly more sensitive to Uncle Simon at the understanding that my father wasn’t only just mine. And neither was my mother. I remember Uncle Simon crying at her funeral, and I know he would have cried all the harder for my father. Could this be some crazy man’s attempt at keeping his last remaining relative alive? Is it possible that he’s made up this whole G-Corp conspiracy thing to explain why their deaths happened? When I look at it like that, I feel bad for Uncle Simon. “I’ve met mom. In the game,” I say, as if that could somehow ease the pain. “She’s the Oracle. Was she like that in real life?”
Uncle Simon lifts a surprised brow. “Yes,” he says. “She was. She had a powerful personality, but she had a weakness for you and your father. He always made her laugh, as though his very existence were a joke. And you…” He pauses to exhale and shake his head. “She always had such plans for you.”
“Plans?”
He smiles to himself and casts a furtive sidelong glance at the bank of computers. “Do you know who and what your mother was?”
I feel my shoulders tighten and lift with sudden unease. “Cleo Drexel. She was a Programmer.”
He stands and moves toward the window where he stares out at the wasteland for a long time. “Cadence is always blue. Adagio is always yellow.”
I nod, now certain he’s lost his marbles.
He glances over his shoulder, his face grave. “Why do you think Adagio is yellow?”
I think about this for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”
He turns away. “The dome is broken. The air they breathe in Adagio is no different than the air the Disfavored breathe out in the wasteland. Well, breathed.”
I flex my brow. “Breathed?”
“Most of them are dead, I think. Some kind of malfunction. The city began killing them. So they fled. They came here to Evanescence, and they went to Selestia.”
“Selestia?”
“It’s the other city Adagio is linked to. The tunnels go across Post-America, linking each of us in a chain that runs from sea to sea. As Cadence and Adagio are our sisters, so Evanescence and Selestia are Adagio’s sisters.”
I stare at Uncle Simon. “I never knew that.”
He shrugs. “Why would or should you? It’s not as though we have open trade or communication with our sisters. They are as mysterious to us as I’m sure we are to them. Your mother was amazed when she first learned of life inside Evanescence. Actually, I think appalled is a better word.”
“Wait,” I squeak. “You mean Mom didn’t grow up here? She’s from someplace else?”
Uncle Simon points out toward Adagio. “She’s from there. They came through the tunnels when the dome cracked. At first the old President Cyr didn’t want to let them in, but they camped against the Undergate for months. While he didn’t let them in, he forced his son, the man who is now our current President, to involve himself with a humanitarian effort to help the people on the other side of the gate. Still had to look good on The Broadcast, you know? Anyway, it’s said our President Cyr met and fell in love with Lady Cyr while working in those tunnels. When his father died and our President Cyr took control of G-Corp, his very first act was to open the gate to the refugees from Adagio. Most of them were quickly integrated into society, your mother included.”
I slump in my chair. If I had legs they would be weak. “So she’s not from here. She’s from there.” Should I believe him? With all the nonsense he’s spouted so far? “How’d she meet Dad?”
“Your mother was a Programmer, like your father. They worked together. Nexis is your mother’s brainchild.”
“What?” I breathe. “I thought it was Dad’s.”
He shakes his head, cutting me off. “No. It was hers; she just died—was killed—before she was able to complete it.” He moves away from the window and throws himself back into his chair in the manner of a man who is bone-tired of everything. “It was her life’s wish that the game be completed, so—diligent as ever—Warren took up the mantle.” There’s a brief pause, a slight tinge of bitterness in his words, but he covers them with a smile. “He quickly realized he needed help, of course. Even with my help neither of us was a match for your mother’s brain. It took us the better part of your life to complete the game.”
I rock my head from side to side, not wanting to believe but somehow understanding that all of this makes perfect sense.
“Now that your father is dead, it’s my j
ob to make sure your mother’s wishes are fulfilled.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why? Why not just let it go?”
He looks away, his expression distant. “Your mother was such a spectacular person. She was a Natural but never bent to the pressures of her own society or ours. She was unapologetically herself, strong-willed and rebellious. She was ravishing and enchanting in a way that made everyone around her love her.”
I suddenly feel pity for my Uncle Simon. I know that expression and that tone of voice. Katrina was the same when talking about Dad. “You loved her, didn’t you?”
He smiles sadly. “Love isn’t quite the word. I’d say inspired. She was brilliant in her vision of the world and of Naturals. She’s the reason I adopted Bastian. Did you know that? More than anything, I wanted to be part of her vision of the future. I wanted to work with her. But she only ever worked with Warren. He understood her. That was her reasoning. I suppose it took me much longer to mentally get to where she and Warren stood. Of course, I blame that on Lady Cyr. Your parents were handpicked to develop Nexis, did you know that? Out of all the Programmers in Evanescence, the only two to receive the grant to research and develop a breakthrough game. You know, until that game came out, I was the foremost Programmer in VR, and your father never would have completed the game without me.” There’s dark pride in his voice and more jealousy.
“You feel shortchanged because you weren’t selected?”
He nods. “Shouldn’t I be? I mean, in the end, I helped develop that game. Did anyone give me a Civil Enrichment Award? Do I see a single credit from the royalties? It should have been me from the beginning, not Warren.”
Swallowing, I rub my hands together and glance at Meems. It’s good to have her in the room, even if she can’t do anything. I lick my lips, uncertain if I want to know. “So, my captivity is about the royalties.”
“No,” he spits. “I don’t care about wealth. I don’t care about fame. What I want is to be part of the vision.”
“What do you mean, vision?”
Uncle Simon’s eyes wander up and around the room in a vast arc, examining my prison. “It’s not much different in here from when this was your mother’s workroom. Did you know it was hers before your father’s?”
I shake my head.
“She liked to work from home, so that she could be with you. She wanted you with her all the time.” He scoffs to himself. “She sometimes joked that you understood things far more clearly than even she did. A child’s mind, she’d say, is the best mind of all.”
I fidget. I don’t know where he’s going with this conversation. I just know he’s starting to make me a little uncomfortable. “Uncle Simon,” I say haltingly, “why did you come here today?”
He lifts his eyes and stares at me. In the depth of those eyes is the desperate determination of a madman. “I’ve been watching you play the game, Ella. We all have.”
We? My blood runs cold and my heart begins to thunder, making a lump form in my throat. “What do you mean?” I croak.
He stands and comes toward me. The chair responds to my nerves and begins to back away, but he grabs the armrests and keeps it still. He falls to his knees before me and grabs my hands. I try to struggle, tugging away and kicking with my useless stumps, frightened and confused by what he wants with me.
He wrestles my hands into stillness and leans in until we’re face to face. “Why did you stop playing?”
“I-I don’t know,” I say, my voice breathy and panicked. “I just didn’t want to play anymore. I didn’t see the point.” It’s half true. Tears are prickling my eyes. “Why bother with the Chamber? Everyone is dead, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Did you even try?”
I shake my head, somehow feeling ashamed though I don’t understand why. The tears slide down my cheeks, slow and painful. I look away. “I didn’t want to.”
Uncle Simon sits back on his heels and stares at me, his face intense in how ponderous it seems, as though I’m as complex a puzzle as the one loaded onto my flex-bracelet. “Why did you start playing in the first place?”
Wiping at my tears, I look down, embarrassed. I don’t want to tell him that I wanted to be closer to my father. Instead I say, “I-I wanted legs.”
“And you got those in the game.”
I nod.
He crosses his arms over his knees, his countenance that of someone who is ready to have a long, drawn-out discussion with a petulant child. “What made you stay?”
I bite my lips together. There’s no way I’m telling Uncle Simon about Guster. He’d probably laugh at me.
“Ah, I see,” he says, his voice quiet and knowing.
“See what?” I demand.
He begins patting his pockets. “I have something for you.” I watch him, suspicious-eyed, as he draws out a small data disk and hands it to me.
I examine the disk, a tiny silver sliver encased in a hard plastic shell. “What’s this?”
“Read it.”
I slip the disk into my flex-bracelet. A moment later a title flashes across the screen. The Collected Sonnets of William Shakespeare. Unable to believe what I’m seeing, I scroll down.
Sonnet 1
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed’st thy light’st flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.
Fresh tears sting my eyes as I come to the last passage. “Where did you get this?” I squeak.
“Where do you think?”
I shake my head.
“He came to me, looking for you. He wanted to give them to you himself, but he says you refused to agree to meet him here in Real World.” Uncle Simon lifts sympathetic eyes to mine. “Why?”
I look off toward the window, wishing I could dissolve into a puff of smoke, leave everything behind. “It wouldn’t have worked out here. I’m a different person in the game; we both are.” My fingers wander to my stumps, touching them like I did when I first lost my legs—reassuring me that it’s a truth I can’t deny. The small gesture isn’t lost on my uncle.
“I see.” As he reaches out and puts a hand over mine, he lets out a long sigh. “Ella, it’s no coincidence that you ended up going into that game. It’s no accident that you ended up on the quest that you did. Your mother and father made that game for you, Ellani; the whole thing was designed just to house your one simple quest.”
I lift my eyes to Meems again, desperate to know he’s lying. “Meems?” I whimper.
“Go ahead, Meems,” Uncle Simon says.
A moment later, Meems’s body relaxes out of its rigid pose. I meet her eyes. She will have been listening, even though she’s been in power save. “It’s true?”
She lowers her head.
“So,” I say, “that’s why you wanted me to play it so bad.”
“Besides it being part of my new programming, it was what your father wanted for you,” she reasons. “I would have encouraged you anyway.”
Hurt, I look away.
“I wanted to tell you everything,” Meems reasons. “But I could not. It is not in my programming.”
I scowl at her. “You’ve undermined your programming in the past. What about not reporting my hacking?”
&n
bsp; Uncle Simon clears his throat. “I removed that protocol from Meems’s chip. She retained the memory that it was wrong, but had been programmed to allow it.”
“Why would you encourage her to let me break the law?”
“For the same reason I did all of this.”
I flex my brow. “You said you did this because G-Corp was trying to kill me.”
“I faked your death because of that, yes. But all of this? Katrina, the imprisonment, the starvation, the withholding of prosthetics, continually reprogramming your G-Chip, Meems’s chasis, the game. All of that was training. We needed you to grow as a Programmer, to embrace the Trickster’s mentality. Your mother and father did the same, albeit in their own way.”
I think of Dad’s puzzles.
“Of course, Warren was too soft with you. Cleo wouldn’t have approved of him humoring your foolish notions of being a Designer. You’re a Programmer, Ella; you needed to embrace that.”
“Why? What’s the point? If G-Corp thinks I’m dead, I’ll never be a Programmer.”
“It was necessary for you to progress to the final level of the game.”
“But,” I argue. “I don’t understand. What’s the point of me getting into the Anansi Chamber?”
Uncle Simon smiles. “Anansi,” he repeats softly. “I haven’t heard that name in such a long time.”
I pull my hands free and demand that the chair back away from him. He lets me go, making no effort to come after me this time. He seems sober now, subdued by that one word.
“What is Anansi?” I demand, my voice breaking.
“Anansi meant everything to your mother. She put it in that game, wanted you to have it. She considered it your inheritance.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything about what it is,” I reason.
“A concept,” he says simply. Then, seeing that I don’t understand, he says, “In its simplest form, Anansi is a spider, a spider that teaches a lesson. More complex, Anansi became a virus to prove to the Aristocracy that they are not as invincible as they think they are. We rely so much on technology, but what we don’t realize is that our technology has taken on a mind of its own—has the capability to destroy us.” He casts a meaningful glance at Meems, who hunches her shoulders. “Our technology is what destroyed us in the Bio-Nuclear War. It’s what made us build walls against one another in the first place, and it keeps us addicted to it even still. We just don’t learn. When your mother came from Adagio, she tried to tell them, she tried to make them see. It was her role as Anansi to open their eyes, but no one believed her. They just forced the chip into her mind, made her conform to their reliance on technology. But your mother was smart. She was a Trickster to the bone. She knew how to use the technology they loved so much to make them see their own folly, but she died before she could carry out her mission. It’s up to you now.”
