Analog SFF, September 2009

by Dell Magazine Authors

  "I didn't know.” He shrugged. “Sorry. And don't let me stop you."

  "That's okay. Maybe we can make dinner out of it instead."

  "I ... was hoping to finish the work here and get straight home."

  "Oh. I understand. Well, at least come out and eat with us."

  Andrew conceded that much, and sat through a tolerable lunch with Alice and her parents. Timothy brought out a chilled spinach salad, serving out a plateful for his daughter before helping himself. Lauren didn't obviously condescend, but Andrew noted how she sat a little closer to Alice, her chair turned a little more her way, than necessary.

  They both turned out to be lawyers, little surprise if they had been wealthy enough to have Alice frozen so soon after it became possible. He probed them on the Supreme Court's recent disability ruling, and was irked to find them both on the opposing side. Perhaps they noticed the clash of ideas, because they finished up and excused themselves before either he or Alice was done eating.

  He thought of something to ask Alice, both to clear the air and to help him figure her out. “Why haven't I heard of you before?"

  Alice scraped the remnants of her salad together. “Why should you have? I'm certainly not famous."

  "I try to know who in the city is frozen. There are several hundred of us adults here, about as many others still adolescent or younger. There's strength in numbers."

  "You make yourself sound like an activist."

  "I am one, at least on the side. We need to band together to assert our rights. There's no counting on full-growns to give us our due."

  His jab might have gone home, but Alice gave no sign. “I've never gotten much into politics. Too busy with work, maybe."

  Andrew didn't mask his frown. “You're never too busy to stand up for yourself. Or others."

  Alice didn't, or couldn't, meet his eyes. “Ready to get back to work?"

  "Sure. Um, after I use your bathroom.” Alice pointed the way, and over he went.

  He returned to the workroom a few minutes later, to find Alice looking over a news story on a personal computer to the side of her main workstation. He got close enough to read over her shoulder, and his guts lurched. A college student had been raped down in Kentucky. The victim was twenty—with a physical age of nine.

  Alice gave a start, finally noticing Andrew was there. “Horrible,” she whispered.

  "Hope they string him up,” Andrew said. He looked again, and did a double take. “Who would send you that as an e-mail?” he wondered. “Seems awfully creepy."

  "My parents,” she answered evenly. “They keep an eye out for violence against ... us.” She looked back at him. “Is this the kind of thing you fight against?"

  "Yeah. Sometimes. Um, let's get back to work."

  Andrew soon forgot that uncomfortable interlude in his persistent drilling of Dinah. He kept throwing out suggestions for improving it, which Alice kept implementing with a consistent grace. When she wasn't tweaking program parameters by brain-interface, she was doing it by voice, speaking in gentle tones to Dinah. Her manner made Andrew uneasy somehow, but he didn't dwell on it.

  He lost track of the hours at some point, but Alice stayed more aware. “Maybe we should leave off for today,” she said, “and finish this up tomorrow morning."

  "Already? It's only—” To Andrew's surprise, it was a few minutes past seven. “If it's all the same, Alice, I'd like to keep going, get this done in one day. Wouldn't you rather not have to work tomorrow?"

  "I'll be working tomorrow either way. I have to write whole new code for this version of Dinah, maybe some for the original too. How long do you think you'll need?"

  He gave it a second's thought. “We should be done by nine-thirty, ten at the outside.” He caught her frown, and couldn't resist some archness. “Am I keeping you up past your bedtime?"

  Alice colored, then pulled herself up straight. “Actually, yes. I turn in at nine most nights."

  "What? Even on weekends?"

  "Our bodies need the rest, whatever day it is. We can't get by on seven or eight hours and function optimally."

  "Sure we can. That's why God invented coffee."

  Alice turned back to the monitor, shaking her head. “Young bodies aren't invulnerable. Not even ours."

  "Well, fine. I'll try not to handle you too roughly and leave you bedridden in one night."

  There was a gasp, and it wasn't Alice. Lauren McGirt was in the doorway, looking scandalized. “We're working later than expected, Mother,” Alice told her. This relieved Lauren only a little. “Have dinner without me. I'll eat later."

  "All right.” Lauren slipped out, leaving the door ajar.

  Andrew was still looking after her, rudely amused, when Alice tapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Andrew,” she said. “If this is going to take so much time, let's not waste any."

  * * * *

  Andrew shuffled into his apartment, tossed the briefcase onto his old sofa, and headed straight to the refrigerator. Alice had stuck it out, working till quarter past ten without a complaint. She could work long, and well. That made her that much more baffling.

  He kicked a stool across the kitchen floor, over to the microwave. He threw a frozen dinner in to cook, then hopped down and got a beer out of the fridge to hold him for the eight minutes. As he took his first drink, he pondered the curious case of Alice McGirt.

  She was more than that infantile he saw in the playground. She was very smart, probably a couple steps ahead of him, and plainly knew her work. Dinah was a real accomplishment, especially if it was as much a solo project as Alice suggested.

  Dinah was also, he thought, a clue. It was always a “her” to Alice. While she would tolerate his verbal abuse of the program, her speech to it was gentle, soothing, as if placating a sensitive child. Was Dinah a surrogate, a Pinocchio for someone who could never have her own children?

  That's what her parents had done for her. They'd taken a full life away from her, then worked to keep her timid and fearful in the curtailed life she had left. They clung to her, and she to them—and she seemed glad for it. They kept her, in many ways, a child, and she didn't know how to break free, or even that she should. Were there a way to reverse her freezing, she probably wouldn't take it. It would seem ungrateful.

  Andrew had known how to handle his own parents. Alice would need someone's help in breaking her shackles. That someone was going to be him.

  The microwave beeped. He hopped onto the stool to retrieve his dinner, nearly burning his hands, and sat down to eat. Before he could get his first bite, a yawn overcame him. Maybe it wasn't her stamina he should have worried about.

  Alice needed a friend like him, someone to act as her guide and mentor. He could awaken her consciousness, pull her away from the smothering grip of her parents for her own good. No, for all their good, even Timothy and Lauren. Convince Alice that her presence was inhibiting her parents’ lives as well as her own, and he would multiply his leverage.

  Of course, the time-honored way of getting a young adult to leave the nest was to have her make her own nest with someone else. Andrew wasn't inclined that way with Alice. She looked nice enough—not beautiful, but pleasant—but her personality had that flaw. Which was the point, of course: making her a better person.

  Still, if he could cultivate an attraction in her, without any false promises, it might be worth it. He could play that by ear.

  All this, of course, required more interaction with her. He was sure that opportunity would come, though. All he'd have to do was wait.

  * * * *

  He reported the weekend's progress to Tiffany Albano on Monday morning. Albano had heard nothing from Alice, but promised to keep him in the loop. With that, Andrew headed back to his desk, and his usual work.

  Jason walked up. Andrew tensed, but “Did things go well with McGirt on Saturday?” was all Jason said.

  "They did, thanks,” Andrew replied, still wary.

  "Any idea when the project will be done?"

/>   "Not yet. Ms. Albano's waiting to hear."

  "M-hm.” Jason walked three steps away before turning back. “Do you think you'll get another play-date with her?"

  Andrew thrust out an arm. “Get out, McCarthy!"

  Jason chuckled. “Now, now, Andy, you won't have any friends if you don't play nice.” He bounded away, leaving Andrew to fume.

  Nothing much new came from Tiffany. She reported that Alice was working on their program, and would report in at the appropriate time. Andrew let it go at that, and concentrated on his work, with only fleeting thoughts about Alice. Familiar patterns reasserted themselves, and by Wednesday it felt as though his contacts with Alice had never happened.

  So seeing Alice walk into the office that afternoon was a bit of a shock.

  She came in with a brisk gait, a satchel slung over one shoulder. She looked like a pupil carrying her backpack, though her business wear certainly wasn't the current elementary school fashion. It did flatter her, though, and his eyes lingered a second longer than intended.

  "Andrew.” Alice had turned his way, and he snapped out of it. “Could you point me toward—oh, there she is. Thanks anyway."

  Tiffany had appeared at her office doorway. Alice walked over, pulling a hard drive out of her satchel that was slightly bigger than a brick and looked like it weighed more, too. “Here's the beta version, Ms. Albano. Didn't care to trust it to an upload. It's yours to test for—” Albano shut the door, and Andrew could hear no more.

  Andrew didn't even pretend to work for the next few minutes. He went over various plausible ways he could contrive another meeting with Alice, without making his purpose obvious and scaring her off. The best he could manage was to volunteer to do more testing at her home, whether Tiffany wanted him to or not.

  Albano's door opened. “—it upstairs to them right now.” Alice stepped out. Andrew prepared a line about how fast she had worked, and rose to intercept her.

  Alice made it moot by walking right toward him. “Andrew, I have to get this other copy upstairs to one of your VP's, but I wanted to talk first."

  "Um, sure. I..."

  "Ms. Albano says she'll be reviewing the program with you, and wants to keep getting your input, now that you have some experience with it. Might I suggest a working dinner tomorrow night, to go over it?"

  So much for subtle plans. “That sounds fine, Alice. Would Bouchard's be a good place?"

  "Yes ... though it's a little far. Could I ask you to pick me up?"

  "Sure.” No comments about why she'd need a ride. He didn't want to spoil this now.

  "Thanks. I'll make the reservation, say for six?” She nodded, hoisted her satchel, and went on her way.

  "I'll see you tomorrow,” Andrew said after her. He dropped back into his chair, his head foggy. A couple of co-workers stood nearby, but wisely kept their comments down to whispers. Another was not as reserved.

  "Boy, you move fast, Andy,” Jason McCarthy said. Andrew was still too muzzy to get immediately irate. “Lemme know what color panties she wears. I'm betting she's partial to the Pooh-bear kind. Still, if you get nailed for statutory, don't say you weren't warned."

  That was too far. Andrew sprang up, ready to clobber him, heedless of consequences.

  "Mr. McCarthy!"

  The shout froze Andrew, before realizing Tiffany wasn't calling him. She stood in her doorway, pointing right at Jason, then jabbing her thumb over her shoulder. “My office. Now!"

  Looking more stunned than Andrew had just been feeling, Jason walked to his fate. The loitering co-workers scattered. Andrew slowly got back to his work, keeping the smile on his lips just half-formed. He wouldn't let himself expect too much out of Jason's trip to the principal's office. That would be the one way to spoil what had become a very good day.

  * * * *

  "So, why did your parents freeze you?"

  Andrew dropped that question just before the entrees arrived, figuring it would buffer his bluntness. He had nudged talk with Alice away from business, managing it earlier and easier than he'd expected. They had talked about their respective colleges, about friends—none of whom, oddly, they had in common—and he let her talk about her family while he ducked the matter.

  Alice took a long first taste of her salmon, and Andrew began thinking she was doing her own dodging. “Oh, this is very good. You should try it next time.” He made some positive noise, figuring his gambit had failed. It hadn't.

  "They had two reasons,” Alice said. “Longevity was number one. With my physical development stopped where it was, all the infirmities of old age were going to be spared me. Telomeres, aging effects of sex hormones, all of that. They may have expected me to be immortal—they don't say so now—but they definitely expected I'd have a greatly extended lifespan."

  Andrew nodded. “Extended, yes. Greatly, the jury's still out. Aging may not be as genetically coded as we thought, and the hormone thing only goes so far, at least in full-growns. And we haven't provided thorough data yet. The oldest of us is still only, what, thirty?"

  "He's thirty,” she echoed. “Born exactly a year and a day before I was."

  Andrew still wasn't used to that. Guessing her age in the park was one thing; it was another matter to learn from her lips that she was two years his senior. He heard Kazuo's voice inside his head, talking about older women.

  "Whether this doubles my lifespan, or does more,” Alice continued, “I intend to live my extra years to the fullest. Otherwise, it's a waste of what my parents did for me."

  To you, not for you, sprang to Andrew's mind. “And second?” he asked instead.

  "Intelligence. It really excited them, Mom especially, to think of the plasticity and receptivity of a young mind being maintained indefinitely.” A smile curled up, dimpling her face. “That theory's turned out easier to confirm."

  "Yes,” Andrew said, “and a lot scarier to full-growns than a longer life."

  The dimples vanished. “How so?"

  "You mean you've never noticed their reactions? How much do you get out, Alice?"

  She gave him a blank look. “Humor me, Andrew. Pretend I'm as old as I look."

  Andrew ignored the veiled irony. “Well, if you're an average adult, having someone who looks seven or so be plainly smarter than you is horrible enough. What's worse is knowing that ‘kid’ is literally built to absorb new information faster and easier, and is going to become more intelligent and skillful faster than you can ever hope to, and probably have all those skills longer than you'll be alive. They're intimidated, feeling inferior—rightly so, in lots of cases—and they strike back. Sometimes it's the petty, patronizing slights; sometimes it's the systemic prejudices they throw up, and that we have to tear down brick by brick.” He sat back, not too tired to sum it up quick. “Living longer just disturbs them. Being smarter threatens them."

  He noticed a couple frowning heads tipping his way. Maybe it was time to throttle back the honesty a little. Getting thrown out of Bouchard's as a disturbance to other diners was no textbook persuasion technique.

  Alice chewed pensively, then winced. “What's wrong?” Andrew asked.

  "Nothing,” she said, quickly rubbing her jaw. “An old—nothing."

  Andrew guessed at what something it was. The earliest freezing manipulations hadn't fully tweaked the genes for tooth development, among a few other slips. All the secondary teeth developed, for which there was no room in a child-sized mouth. Alice probably had eight molars extracted during her teens, maybe from inside the gums before they could erupt. She hadn't been sheltered from everything, he had to admit.

  Alice had recovered by now. “There's nothing guaranteed about our intelligence and skills. You've got to work on them, no matter who you are. And honestly, Andrew, people haven't reacted that way in my experience. Not generally, at least."

  Good she has some general experience. “But you'll admit to specific instances. Count them up some time, Alice. You may find it more general than you think."

  "Fi
ne. I can tell you about one general instance. I've been playing with a local chamber orchestra for four years now. I have never had a fellow player show me a bit of envy. If I'm becoming a better musician, it gives them joy, not fear."

  "Oh, I'm sure it doesn't threaten your violinists. If your orchestra has another flutist, though—"

  "Max semi-retired to make room for me. He still plays piccolo when we need one. I think he's a bigger fan than my parents. And now it's turnabout time,” she said, with not too much haste. “Why did your parents freeze you, Andrew?"

  "Oh, out of pure, selfless enlightenment,” Andrew said, the sarcasm heavy. “Mom and Dad were committed Greens—still are, I assume—and took personal responsibility in not overburdening the planet with excess population. Not having any children at all was the optimal choice, but a close second was having a child who, by design, could never himself reproduce. So they got to have their family, and only needed to defer their sacrifice one generation."

  Alice nodded slowly. “I know some parents have ecological motivations,” she said, “but maybe you're filling in the blanks more harshly than is merited."

  "Oh, no, I'm inferring nothing. They were right up front with me about what a wise thing they had done. Told me I should be glad to be so short, too.” He took a drink of wine, then held up the glass. “Smaller people consume fewer resources. Unless they're really thirsty.” With that, he drained it.

  "Please don't order a second,” she said. “You are driving."

  "I know, I know. You should take advantage of that, and have a couple yourself."

  "I don't drink,” she said. Andrew wasn't remotely surprised. Any excuse to act like a child, and she took it. “Anyway,” she continued, “whatever their mistakes may have been, they're still your parents. I hope you've reconciled with them."

  "Don't need to. Haven't seen them since college, except by phone a couple times. They're behind me."

  Alice shook her head. “Our parents are never behind us, as long as they're alive. I hope you come to see that before they're gone.” He said nothing, and she took a moment to eat and think. “Do your other frozen friends, like Kazuo, feel that way about their parents?"