Analog SFF, September 2009

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Andrew stopped his retreat. “Me!?"

  "You, Crawford, and you won't be doing it again. You're not going to see Alice any more."

  "First off, take a step back. Overbearing me with your height doesn't impress me, so pull the bully act on someone else."

  "Don't you play the poor little victim with me,” Timothy said. “I would have decked you already, if I didn't have to bend over to do it."

  "I can always stand on a chair. Anyway, how about saving some of your venom for the guy who actually attacked her?"

  "No, mister, you don't get off that easily. Lauren and I have been trying for years to shield Alice from something like this."

  "Yes, I've noticed that,” Andrew broke in. “Nice racket you had, keeping her in constant fear."

  "And now she's experienced some of what she had a right to fear. Do you—” He grunted, fighting off pain. “You saw her last night. Do you really think she's better off now?"

  Andrew's mouth stood agape. He had no good answer.

  Timothy's voice began rising. “Do you really think she should expose herself to the world like anyone else? Ordinary predators are bad enough, but now we've got the perverts, multiplying like some disease. All these pushes to awaken the libidos of the frozen, the erosion of taboos against sexualizing the child-like, and they come flooding in, ready to use ... to abuse..."

  The anguish came over him again. Andrew exploited the chance. “Then how could you have ever frozen her,” he demanded, “knowing what you'd be putting her through?"

  Timothy looked stunned. “We didn't know. We thought the world would be different for her. It's so terrible how people have reacted.” He recovered, and glared down at Andrew. “But you? One of her own? How heartless could you be, sending her out into the night that way? I know: the fight. I heard. Alice won't say why that fight brewed up, but I've got an idea."

  Andrew saw Timothy bunching up a fist. “That's between us. And I'll say it again: you can't protect her forever. She's got to face the world some day."

  "I know that! And she has to know why she needs to protect herself, from muggers, from rapists, from you!"

  He was drawing his arm back, and Andrew was wondering whether to fight back or play the martyr, when his function-all rang from the living room. Andrew went to get it, not quite at a run. “No, this isn't over yet!” Timothy said as he pursued.

  Andrew picked up the function-all, read the ID on the screen, and froze in place. Before Timothy could catch him, he answered it. “Alice! Alice, I'm—"

  "Is my father there?"

  Andrew looked up at Timothy's fuming face. “Matter of fact, he is."

  "Let me talk to him,” she said, as clipped as before.

  With an ironic smile, Andrew offered the device. “It's for you."

  Timothy snatched it away, his glare unaltered. “Alice, what is it? What's wrong?” Andrew couldn't make out Alice's end, and he wasn't going to get any closer to eavesdrop. He stayed still, following Timothy's side of the conversation.

  "Except that he threw you out to walk the streets alone at night."

  "Not before you got beaten, almost—"

  "No, you're not all right now, Alice! Wait, hold on."

  Timothy marched through Andrew's apartment, finding the bathroom and going inside. Andrew arrived behind in time to hear the door lock. He reared back to pound on the door, then decided to listen. He caught snatches, when Timothy's voice rose.

  "—just luck that you weren't hurt worse—"

  "—move somewhere safer."

  "—can't talk this way. I'll—"

  Andrew backed away from the door before Timothy opened it. He stormed straight out of the apartment, slamming the door just as Andrew exclaimed “Hey, my function-all!” He went into the bathroom and found it there, screen-down in the sink.

  He wiped it down and called Alice's number, but got only her veemail. He switched off without leaving a message, and briefly thought of chasing her father down to rebuke him. But no, he had an obligation to take care of. Timothy could wait: he'd still be a jerk later.

  It had been years since Andrew had been inside a police station, but if anyone there remembered running him in from that protest, they said nothing. He filled out a report on the attack, giving the best description of the attacker he could piece together from memory. Then the officers began with their questions.

  No, he couldn't describe the attacker better. It was dark, and he hadn't thought to bring his function-all to take pictures. Yes, she's age twenty-nine, and frozen like him. And precisely what the hell business is it of yours what our “relationship” is?

  His righteous offense was refreshing. He could finally vent some anger, make someone else uncomfortable. The officers did some gratifying cringing, and he let them off the hook before they thought about returning the indignation. He felt better, for a few minutes.

  Back at home, he steeled himself to call Kazuo, and felt relief when he got his veemail. “Kazuo, it's Andrew. I can't go out to dinner tonight. There was ... trouble with Alice. The recital was great, but after ... maybe I should tell you about it another time. I really screwed this one up, Kaz. I—oh, hell."

  He confessed everything, trying to purge himself of the poisons inside him. He ended up feeling as he usually did after a bout of vomiting. “Anyway, I'd be no fun at dinner tonight, so I'll spare you. Sorry to fill up your veemail file with all this. Talk to you later: maybe tomorrow, maybe ... well, bye."

  He stared a moment at his function-all, wishing he could take that outburst back, then put the device away in his bedroom. He didn't want it near him, to be tempted into a similar performance. He got to the threshold, then ran back and called Alice again, but cut off before her end could even ring.

  He spent the afternoon in a fugue. He nibbled a bit of lunch, watched a couple of programs, even did a bit of work when a guilty mood struck him. He never even looked at his alcohol cabinet, or touched the beer in the fridge. He wanted to save himself for a proper binge in the evening, so he could pass out and sleep through the night.

  Just before six, as the call of beer began to sing in his ears, his doorbell rang. He was halfway to the door before thinking to dread who it might be. He had almost decided not to be at home when the knock and the voice came. “Andrew, you home?"

  Andrew opened up. “Kazuo? What are you—"

  "Didn't eat already, did you?” Kazuo flourished his big takeout bag from Rajdhani's.

  "Um, no, but...” Kazuo was past him before he could say he wasn't hungry. Then the first whiff caught him. “Didn't you get my message?"

  "Sure. You didn't want to go out, so I brought dinner in.” Kazuo began unpacking the bag. “Are you going to stay miserable on principle, or are you going to eat?"

  Andrew liked his principles, but he liked Indian better. He fetched plates and silverware. “What can I get you to drink?"

  "I bought mango lassis. One's for you, unless you're going for something stronger."

  Andrew paused by the refrigerator, but the beer had quit singing by now. “I'll take it.” He set up the tableware and pulled over the lamb saagwala. “This is really great, Kaz. You didn't have to do this."

  Kazuo's smile weakened. “Well, I kinda did, to start setting matters right. Naan, basmati, or saffron rice?"

  "Basmati, of course. Give it. And set what right?"

  Kazuo had trouble looking him in the eye. “My advice on women. I really messed that up, Andrew. I played along with your whole cynical take on things. That might've been okay for you, but I should have been thinking about Alice's side."

  Andrew plopped down a last scoop of rice. “As I recall, you followed that advice with a serious plea for me to treat Alice differently. I don't see how it's your fault."

  "Because I didn't start and end with that lecture. I was giving you two messages."

  "And who picked the wrong one to listen to? Besides, you never told me to, well, go for broke the way I did."

  Kazuo grimaced. “Giv
en that I was reeling off ‘how to score with women’ pointers, it was kinda implicit.” He leaned his head on his hand. “I wish I knew how to apologize to Alice."

  Andrew hiked an eyebrow. “I thought that was my problem.” He chewed his first mouthful. “Are you gonna eat, or do I have to start cheering you up?"

  Kazuo gave in and started on his chicken vindaloo. “Serious, though, I'll go to Alice, take as much heat as you'd like, if that'll help patch things up."

  "Just eat, Kaz. We'll save the miracle working for a little later."

  * * * *

  He awoke Saturday morning feeling almost as bad as the morning before. He got halfway through his first cup of coffee before getting the urge to call Alice again. A second later, he recalled his luck the last time he called, after Kazuo left the previous night. No veemail; not even a ring tone on her end. Her phone was shut off. He was shut out.

  Andrew got through coffee and a slice of toast before his stomach rebelled and he abandoned breakfast. He got cleaned up in the bathroom, then stood staring at nothing for a few minutes, wondering what to do with the day. Each time his eyes drifted toward the mirror, he turned them violently away. He wouldn't say so to Kazuo, especially after last night, but his friend's gesture hadn't helped that much.

  Finally he walked out of the apartment, into a warm, overcast morning that felt like rain. His intent, as far as he had one, was to walk to Alice's condo and force some kind of resolution there. It would probably end up a worse debacle than yesterday, but he had no better ideas.

  Somewhere along the way, he realized his feet had carried him off the path to Alice's. He was about to change course, when he heard a child's playful shout nearby. It was from the neighborhood park, right across the street, almost empty from the early hour and threat of rain.

  Andrew stared that way for a moment, then headed over. The few kids and one adult paid him no attention as he walked across the grass and onto the packed dirt of the playground. Finding an empty swing set, he sat leadenly in one of them, motionless. When he began pumping his legs, it came awkwardly, a motion long abandoned, almost forgotten.

  He concentrated on the sensation of swinging, waiting for some new feeling. He gave it a few minutes, but it would not come. He didn't feel his cares falling away, didn't feel the simple joy of the moment wash over him. He didn't feel eight. He didn't even feel a mere twenty-seven.

  He let his momentum give out, then rocked himself in place with his toes. He stayed there a long time, even during a drizzle that cleared out the rest of the playground. He kept rocking, and waiting.

  Andrew heard the footsteps, but didn't look up. He was sure—and he had no idea how to start. He said nothing until a pair of sneakers came into view right next to him: low-tops today.

  "Did you know I'd come here?” Alice asked him.

  He finally raised his head. A bruise still disfigured her left cheek, and gloom tarnished the rest of her face. “I thought ... I guess it seemed the right place to find you,” he said. “Are you feeling better?"

  Alice shrugged. “No pain that aspirin doesn't help.” She eased herself onto the swing next to his, on his left so he only saw her unblemished side. “Andrew—"

  "No, don't say anything yet. I have a lot of apologizing to get through first.” He watched his scuffing feet. “I should have listened the first time you warded off my advances. I should never have said you were being a child. And I should have seen you home safely if I had to tie you up and put you in the back seat to do it. I'm terribly sorry for all those things, and more."

  "Not driving me home wasn't your fault, Andrew,” Alice said. “I walked out. If you didn't stop me, it's because I upset you so much over wanting to reform you."

  "No. You didn't."

  "Don't deny it. I saw how much I wounded you. If anyone should apologize—"

  "It was an act!” he cried. “The only reason I lashed out that viciously is because I was doing all the things I accused you of doing. I was trying to remake you, Alice."

  Alice fell silent. Andrew made himself look at her, though it made his heart wither.

  "The first time I saw you wasn't at your home. It was here in this park. I saw you while I walked to work. I could tell you were an adult, and I thought it so ... so beneath you to act like a child. Every time afterward that I've seen you, it's been through that lens.

  "I wanted something better than this—” He waved his arm across the playground. “—for you. I still do, God help me, even after getting to know other aspects of you.” He heaved a sigh. “It's tough to reconcile the Alice who programs AIs and whose flute makes me want to weep with joy, and the Alice who climbs monkey bars and lives with her parents. I haven't managed it, and I'm sorry.” His eyes sank back to the dirt. “So sorry."

  Alice took her time speaking. “How long are we supposed to live, Andrew?"

  "Hm? Nobody really knows. A minimum hundred and fifty years, likelier two hundred."

  "I've heard as much as three hundred. In all of those years ahead, we're going to see more medical advances. Odds are, one of them will extend our lives again, probably long enough that we'll be able to exploit the next big advance, and the next, and so on. We may not get actual immortality, but there's a half-decent chance we'll outlive the millennium."

  Andrew stirred his head enough to see Alice. She was strangely somber for someone with a thousand years to live.

  "From the articles I've read, the next big leap should come within fifty years, easily soon enough for our benefit.” She paused. “But not soon enough for my parents. Within a few decades, I'm going to see both of them die, Andrew. And then, I will have to live the rest of my years—of my centuries—without them.” A mist came over her eyes, then passed. “Maybe that explains why I'm holding on so tightly to them, while I can."

  Andrew took a while digesting this. “No offense,” he said carefully, “but from what I've seen, they're the ones with a tight grip."

  Alice nodded. “I think they really expected me to live forever. I know they expected the world to re-order itself around our existence. Neither one happened, not yet, so they've put a lot of effort into keeping me safe and sound, doing what they thought freezing me would accomplish."

  "They were wrong. The world never adjusts itself to you. You have to go and adjust the world."

  "Or adjust yourself.” She had started to swing herself, and Andrew unconsciously kept pace. “I've never known what to make of you, Andrew. You've got a strength of personality I admire, but you never seem to notice when it goes from helping to hurting. I want to be like you sometimes. Other times, I feel like I need to save you, from yourself."

  Andrew smiled lopsidedly. “So it was my forceful personality that attracted you."

  "Partly. That and ... other reasons, not as profound."

  He felt a prickle of embarrassment. People couldn't help falling for a pretty face. For once, he didn't mind so much.

  "What's going to happen between us, Alice?"

  Alice pulled up her legs, letting her momentum run down. Andrew let his feet scuff the dirt to stop his swinging. When Alice replied, she was looking up at the sky, as though hoping some better answer would fall from the clouds.

  "We're going to walk away from each other. We're going to figure out who we are, where we're going with our lives, without the distraction of considering how it will affect someone else. Once that's done, maybe we'll feel different about each other, or maybe we won't. We can go from there."

  Andrew swallowed. “How long?"

  "Whatever we need. Weeks, months, more. We have a lot of time."

  She hopped off her swing, with Andrew a beat behind. He struggled to say something, until she gently took his hand. “Goodbye, Andrew,” she said, and started to walk away.

  "Wait. Can I at least walk you home?"

  "I'm okay,” she said without turning. “I've never felt in danger going home from the park."

  "Still, I—"

  Now she turned. “Andrew, don't mak
e it harder. Goodbye."

  He stood watching her walk away for a long while. She was at the corner, about to cross, when she looked back. He couldn't see her expression for the distance, and she quickly turned away to cross the street.

  He felt too brittle and hollowed-out to move. The swings beckoned, at least as somewhere to sit for a while. Then a boy ran up and jumped onto the swing he'd been occupying. The moment had passed. He started for home, giving Alice's swing a parting push.

  * * * *

  That was three months ago. Time enough for some pains to fade; time enough for many things to change.

  Andrew had spent most of that Saturday morning tracking down faults on an order form at his company's website. He hadn't done any work on Saturdays until recently. Neither had he been doing it from home.

  The company was rethinking its policy on telecommuting, and office rumors had it that Tiffany Albano had spurred their reassessment. While she said nothing about that, she was dropping hints about looking forward to retirement in a few years. Andrew would have a shot at taking her place as webmaster, if he proved his worth. That meant putting in a few extra hours a week, to lay some groundwork.

  But he had laid enough for today. The order form had stopped acting up, so he could knock off with a clear conscience. He shut down the machine and left his bedroom office, to fix himself an early lunch.

  Midway through making his sandwich, he stopped. He hadn't once thought about how the placing of the refrigerator or the cabinets was different, because it hadn't felt different. He'd been living at Evergreen just over a month now, and finally it was feeling like home. Kazuo's vision had come true.

  That thought made lunch quite jolly for him. He'd have to mention that to Kaz today sometime. Indeed, he'd probably mention it when he called his parents in half an hour.

  He had made the first contact two months ago. They were both in reasonable health: his father had had no sequel to that mild heart attack four years ago. Andrew hadn't expected to feel as relieved as he was—at least that he wouldn't have to feel too guilty.