Contents
Copyright
Happy REGARDS
The Library Ghost
Group Therapy
Runtime
Phoenix Down
Un-Dead
Come Home Alone
What You Remember
Dream Sweet
About the Author
Also By the Author
For Jack, Eri, Tobias, and Quinn.
You free me from the claw around my brain, and remind me that my leap of faith comes with a soft landing. Thank you for reminding me that I never want a life without Parole.
Special thanks to Lyssa, without whose lightening formatting this book would not exist.
Uli, the world is ugly in many ways. But a beautiful thought remains: somewhere in Parole, one man is Doing It For The Vine - where they'll forever live on Parole's free interwebs. Not all heroes wear capes. I hope you like the stories even half as much as he likes his robot cat.
Dakota and Cameron, thank you for the Book 2 thoughts and tears on which I feast.
And to Cassie, whose every day I hope is better than the last. I'll always Raichu the best words I can.
LIFE WITHIN PAROLE, VOLUME 1
Copyright © 2016 by RoAnna Sylver.
Cover art by Jillian Lambert and RoAnna Sylver.
Interior formatting by Lyssa Chiavari.
Edited by Tabby Brobston, Rachel Sharp, and Jules Robin Kelley.
Additional editing by Cherise Hawkins.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, trademarks and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law.
One month before CHAMELEON MOON…
☾
It was Evelyn Calliope’s birthday, and for one day everything was almost perfect. It almost seemed like Parole stopped being Parole. Her small house was full even on ordinary days. Full of plants, machines, people, and laughter. And today it was filled with balloons, brightly wrapped presents, and the smell of delicious treats slowly baked to perfection.
The first surprise came a day early, and it wasn’t for Evelyn. Not exactly.
“That’s a pretty drawing, honey,” Rose said as she sat down beside Jack and his collection of papers and crayons, all in varying shades of red and green. “Is that a cake?”
“Mm-hmm.” he nodded, adding another slightly more magenta, pointed shape to the top, completing the circle. He had a faraway look in his eyes that Rose knew well; she’d seen it often enough when Danae started work on an especially intricate project, or Evelyn was writing a new song. She supposed if she looked in the mirror when she was deep in thought, she’d see it in her own eyes. But this might have been the first time she’d seen it in her son. Maybe he’d discovered his calling, she thought with a little thrill. They hadn’t had a visual artist in the family yet that she knew about. Or maybe he just got really excited about baked goods. “Tomorrow.”
“That’s right!” Rose resisted her delighted urge to pick him up and hug him; that might break him out of his newly-discovered creative groove. “It is Mama Ev’s birthday tomorrow!”
“Mm-hmm.” he nodded again, still not looking up. He added a rectangular shape around the cake, like a frame, or as if it were floating in a doorway, held by unseen hands, or suspended by invisible strings. “Strawberries.”
“Her favorite.” She grinned. The warm love and pride that swelled in her chest was one of her favorites feelings, and Rose tried to savor like she did every time. The memory would make the next hard Parole day go a little easier. “What a wonderful idea. We’ll bake her a strawberry cake—a bunch just came in the other day too! Perfect timing!”
Now he looked up, shaking his head a little bit as if just now coming out of a daydream. “Is it a good present?”
“The cake? It’s the best. She’ll be so glad you remembered!”
“No, this! It’s not done yet.” He held up the drawing, eyes entirely clear and focused on Rose now. When he smiled, it was filled with pride in his work, though he still watched carefully as his mother took in the art, then the artist. Now it was her turn to look dreamy for just a moment, imagining all the art and birthdays to come. “Will she be happy?”
“I can’t think of anything she’d love more. It’ll be a perfect day.” Even in Parole, they still happened from time to time.
So when the next day came, Jack stood on a chair to reach the kitchen table, working with two of his mothers to create that elusive perfect day for the third. The house was decorated, bright, and cheerful, but the cake wasn’t quite done, and Evelyn was taking the night off to come home early. She’d be home soon, and every minute counted. In front of him was the masterpiece he’d designed—or soon, it would be. The kitchen was warm and filled with the mouthwatering smell of oven-fresh cake, and the fact that so much frosting had gone onto its hubcap-sized surface and not into their mouths was a testament to their dedication. Nobody was beyond temptation, but at least the cake was getting done.
And the top did read ‘Happy Birthday Evelyn’ now, in bright red letters.
Strawberries, big as both his small hands put together, pointed up around the top of the red-frosted cake in a ring like the points on a crown, and Jack and Danae were halfway around when they ran out. Rose went to politely request some more of her homegrown ingredients (it was very important to be clear with your intentions and say please and thank you, she reminded Jack before heading into the adjacent, skylight-bright and vine-thick room, petting the head of a giant Venus Flytrap as she went), leaving Jack and Danae to continue painting more red icing and food coloring onto any missed spots and sneaking licks off the spoons.
This kind of normal was the strangest thing in Parole.
And it never lasted.
Danae and Jack both jumped as a shrill cat’s screech cut through the air, followed by thunderous barking. Then, the rapid, harsh scraping of metal claws against wood and tile.
“Dandy?” Danae called, voice instantly tight with anxiety at the guard dog’s alarmed bark, putting down the large bowl of red icing and turning around quickly, just in time to see a metallic animal zip into the kitchen from her open workshop door.
It wasn’t Toto-Dandy. It was much smaller, and even though it didn’t look quite finished—more like a metal skeletal frame with a more-completed head than a fully formed animal—it moved much more like a cat, crouching low, almost flat, and scooting along the ground. It zigzagged wildly around the kitchen, briefly scrabbling at the kitchen door, before it ricocheted out into the hallway, ears flattened against its shining head. A moment later, Dandy himself followed, bursting into the room with a much louder, wilder, entirely doglike bluster.
“Oh no.” Danae paled, face filling with rapidly growing horror. “Dandy, no. Stay!”
The huge, black-fur and shining-steel wolf paused for a moment, staring at his two surprised humans as if weighing his options. Then he chose one. Toto-Dandy dove after the cat toward the living room in a fresh explosion of barks and answering furious yowls.
Crash.
Toto-Dandy was not always one of her more graceful creations. On his way out, the huge metal wolf slammed into the kitchen table, and everything on it jolted to the side and a good three inches into the air, including the lovingly crafted cake.
“No…”
Breathless, paralyzed, Danae watched it happen from across the kitchen, but it might as well have been from a mile away. Hor
rified, she couldn’t move a muscle—then she moved all at once. Her legs were propelling her forward before she knew to jump, arms outstretched, but she was too late and too far; she would never make it in time. The cake and its plate slipped off the table, fell—
And landed safely in Jack’s waiting arms. The huge cake was almost too heavy, too unwieldy, too much, but he planted his small feet and stood firm.
“Good!” Danae almost collapsed with relief before she reached him, but managed to steady herself, and then Jack, keeping herself between him and the noisy animals still yowling and barking up a storm in the living room behind her. “Oh, good job Jack, you’re my hero. You are my absolute hero.”
“I was just in the right place at the right time,” he said, and she had to laugh. One of Evelyn’s favorite saving-the-day phrases. Kids really did pick things up fast. Looked like he’d picked up the truth-and-justice part too.
“Yes you were.” She sighed, hands on his shoulders for a moment before slowly, gently taking the cake (almost bigger than the boy who’d saved it) and placing it on the kitchen counter, out of reach of any flailing animal appendages. “Now. Dandy!” she let out a sharp whistle.
A huge, black canine head appeared around the doorway to the living room, bright blue eyes wide. They didn’t need to be human, or even organic, to look guilty as hell.
“Over here.” She patted one thigh and pointed at the floor. “Leave the kitty alone, it’s a work-in-progress.” She could still hear somewhat grating hostile feline noises and caught a flash as it ran past at the end of the hall; it must still be in a panic and trying to escape.
Dandy didn’t move, but his head drooped a little lower.
“I know, boy, you’re just doing what you know best. But you know you’re not supposed to play with—”
“These should be enough,” Rose said from behind her with a bowl full of fresh, huge strawberries. Surprised, Danae turned to see her wife entering through the kitchen door that led outside, not the open doorway she’d left through before. “Serena didn’t feel like letting me borrow any more berries, so I thought I’d—”
“Rose, look out!”
“What?” Rose looked up sharply at the alarm in Danae’s voice—so she didn’t see the cat shoot between her steel ankles and disappear outside.
“No—no!” Danae’s face fell, then her eyes widened as a huge black shape careened past her and directly toward Rose. Danae launched herself into the air, landing on Toto-Dandy’s back and tackling him to the floor. “Dandy, stay!”
“Was that your new project?” Rose had fallen back against the counter, still clinging to the bowl of strawberries like they were precious gems. Or perhaps a flotation device, in case of an emergency landing. Jack had climbed down from his chair and seemed unsure whether to laugh at the strange sight, be nervous because his parents were, or both.
“Yeah! It was!” Danae struggled to keep her biggest and, right now, most infuriating creation pinned to the floor. The second he threw her off his back, he’d chase directly after the cat—she had to admit, Dandy’s instincts there were flawless. Though right now he seemed more like a mechanical bull than a wolf. “Took me six months! Almost done! Special stealth alloy! If it’s lost, gonna turn this one into a weedwhacker!”
“Okay.” Rose set down the bowl and chewed her lower lip, looking up at the kitchen wall clock. “Half an hour until Evelyn’s show closes. You stay here, finish the cake! I’ll find the cat!” Rose called over her shoulder as she dashed through the door, leaving it open behind her. A second later her head poked back through. “Everything’s going to be okay!” Slam.
“Yeah, that’d be great,” Danae muttered, still holding onto the thrashing metal wolf at least twice her size, wrestling him across the kitchen floor and back toward her workshop to cool down. “Come on, boy! Work with me! Jack, can you—”
“Dandy!” Jack was already at the workshop door, holding it open and waving. “In here, please!”
Toto-Dandy’s triangular ears perked up immediately at the sound of his voice. He moved across the kitchen and down the short hallway so fast that he dragged Danae a few steps before she let go, flopping onto the floor. She laid there for a few seconds, seizing the opportunity to rest and take a quick breather. Then she sat up to see Jack reach up to pet Dandy’s thick neck fur and get a face-lick in return; the giant synthetic wolf allowed the little boy to gently steer him through the door and shut it behind him, and Jack turned around with a triumphant grin.
“He listens to me.”
“Maybe next time I’ll just ask you to pass on a message,” Danae said, wondering if her guard dog’s priority subroutines were enough out of alignment to tinker with, or cute enough to leave. Maybe she’d just practice giving off a more confident Alpha vibe. Danae never felt right about messing with any of her creations’ heads, not if she could meet them halfway. Especially with something as easy as saying ‘please.’ That’s what Jack had done, she realized. It was the magic word, after all. “Anyway, got that under control. Now it’s time for the fun part,” she said with a conspiratorial grin. “Just gotta stick the berries on…”
“And then what?” his eyes grew round with anticipation.
“And then you get to lick the bowl!” She giggled when he did, relieved that they’d managed to get the day back on track. “Then we wait for Mama Ev to get home—and ahhhh, the look on her face! It’s gonna be sw—”
As they came back into the kitchen, something flew directly at Danae’s face. It hit before she even had time to scream.
☾
Outside and a few blocks away, two men headed down the narrow, smoky residential back street. Unlike most people in Parole who found themselves walking outside this close to sundown, they didn’t hug the inner edge of the sidewalk or peer around corners, glance over their shoulders as they walked, or even seem in all that much of a hurry, despite their destination. Or the sheer number of Eyes in the Sky who would love to see the both of them dead.
Nobody knew how many members made up the infamous CyborJ Syndicate. Nobody knew what the elusive leader of the counterculture cyber-revolutionary looked like, or if the virtuosic hacking force in question was one person at all. Rumor and speculation abounded as to his—or her—or their—identity, ranging from single allegations to long lists of names.
The only known fact came from observation. Ten years of devastatingly effective virtual blows against Eye in the Sky, and meticulously rebuilt electronic infrastructure. Parole had a working internet free of policing and surveillance thanks to their tireless efforts. And nothing, not even super-powered resistance, had saved more lives than their organization’s flawlessly synchronized operations. They moved with surgical precision and city-wide simultaneous strikes coordinated in perfect unison. CyborJ was everywhere at once, appearing like a ghost out of thin air, leaving a wake of technological devastation and/or wonders—and vanishing without a trace.
The most popular theory was that ‘CyborJ’ was actually an elite group within the Syndicate, comprised of at least ten and as many as fifty individuals.
Sometimes the truth was stranger than fiction. Sometimes it was more mundane. Sometimes it was both at the same time.
“Listen, Stef, babe, towering teddy-bear cyber-pirate sentinel who guards my slumber and my heart and my nerd-cave—which is pretty much my heart, and also my brain—much as I love Evelyn, and I do, I really do, she’s a freakin’ delight… they know I can’t stay away from the command center for more than a couple hours, right? Wait, they know who I am, right? I don’t know if I’ve actually told Rose directly who I am. And they didn’t tell anybody who I am? Right?”
The mysterious—but definitely singular—entity known as CyborJ pushed his black mirrored sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose and pulled the strings on his gray hoodie a little bit tighter, stuffing his long black hair more firmly down into the neck. He cracked his black-gloved knuckles a few times, a nervous habit, then tugged at the straps of his back
pack, adjusting them to better center the long, irregularly-shaped gift-wrapped box that stuck out and far above his head. He walked quickly down the street with long-legged, slightly off-kilter strides, pulled off-balance by the unwieldy package.
“Oh man, I can’t even remember how much they know about me. Stefanos, how much do they know about me? My brain’s so fried right now. It’s been a weird month…. year. Maybe it’d be easier if I really was like fifty people or whatever everybody thinks now. I mean, I made ‘em think that, but…”
He was definitely only one person: a tall but slightly hunched at the shoulders (terrible posture even without the backpack and long gift-wrapped box), thin, (even without regularly forgetting to eat) young Tsalagi Native American man in dark shades and a baggy, faded sweatshirt and torn jeans, moving in a vaguely-forward direction, but also constantly zigzagging and trying to look in every direction at once, all while obviously trying to appear as casual and normal as possible. It didn’t work. In Parole, like everywhere else, nothing tended to attract attention like such obvious attempts to avoid it. And right now he was looking more than a little on-edge and hypervigilant. Beneath that, exhausted, and like he wasn’t quite used to being out on the physical street, like he’d just stumbled out into a brave new century after cryogenic stasis, unfamiliar with the world in general. Or maintaining balance while walking.
Sometimes it was amazing how somebody so brilliant and powerful in one arena could be so vulnerable and make such an easy target in another. Fortunately, he wasn’t alone.
“Take a breath, Jay. You’re fine, they know, I’m not walking you into any place we can’t walk right back out of.” The second, much larger man beside him also walked just a hair’s-breadth behind, ready to extend one arm in case he tipped right over backwards thanks to the backpack and its top-heavy center of gravity… and the simple fact that stranger things had been known to happen when CyborJ abandoned his nerve center and started to walk down physical corridors instead of virtual ones. Things occasionally got… unexpected. “This is why you need to relax a little more, especially while I’m gone. Talk to people. Breathe some relatively fresh air.”
Life Within Parole Page 1
