by D. P. Oberon
The hall glittered as if Saradi sat in a glass vessel floating through space. Many children and parents interacted with a floating planet occupying the middle of the hall. Each one was immersed in their own simulation.
“What’s this?” Saradi asked, intrigued. The holo font that floated above the planet said: Andromeda Galaxy, Planet Achala.
“This is one of the six habitable planets that the Greatest Scientist has discovered. We get live data from the actual probes. It’s amazing isn’t it?” Antoinette gushed.
Saradi felt her mouth go dry. This planet was to be one of humanity’s saviors. She found herself stupidly reaching out her hand. Her AI interacted with the simulation and she could feel a softness against her palms.
“We can see the surface of the planet too,” Antoinette said. She gestured, and then Saradi and Antoinette both stood planetside. On the ground.
Lush purple strands of organic matter scattered around them. They looked like tree trunks except the pulsed with light and their fronds looked alive.
“What is that?” Saradi asked.
“We suspect that’s a living tree. The trees in Achala they have a much higher-level of consciousness than the trees on earth ever did.”
Saradi lost track of the time as she ventured through Achala but eventually it was Antoinette that brought her back to the present.
“Novalie is with Mrs. Okotie-Eboh now. Shall we go?” the principal said, jerking Saradi out of her reverie.
“Let’s do it,” Saradi said. As she left she couldn’t remember the last time something filled her with that childish curiosity. She felt sad at leaving the interactive simulation.
Achala, she thought. What a beautiful name. Maybe there’s hope for us cockroaches after all.
As they made their way to the audience hall, Saradi was fully lost in thought, wondering about the planet. Until now, she didn’t care if she won a lottery. She knew the lottery would favor the young. But now? She would do whatever it took to ensure Novalie got a winning lottery ticket.
“Here we are and this where I leave you. The school’s AI will guide you to the correct bubble,” Antoinette said, stopping beside a door that led into another wide hallway.
In this huge and cavernous room, dozens of field spheres floated, a collection of glittering gold bubbles the size of small rooms. Inside each sat a teacher, student, and parents. Those were military grade field spheres, Saradi realized. Why would a school require that level of security? It dawned on her that empire leaders could talk discreetly with one another without observation or judgment.
“Thank you. That planet … that was something,” Saradi said.
“It’s absolutely my pleasure. We’re taking donations, and they will be matched dollar for dollar by the school. Today only. Would you like to help?” Antoinette asked, smiling sweetly.
And that’s why she greeted me personally, Saradi thought. She’d just been given the pitch, bought the hook, and here was the time incentivized offer.
“Sure,” Saradi said. She summoned a holo-display and initiated a transfer in an amount larger than she could afford, because well, pride. Claas is not going to be happy about this, she thought.
For the merest flash, Saradi saw Antoinette’s eyes widen at the figure. “I’ll take you to sphere,” the principal added. Saradi chuckled. Maybe her donation had been a bit too much.
Antoinette led Saradi to an unoccupied sphere. The filmy layer of the sphere opened and they stepped in. “Mrs. Okotie-Eboh, may I present to you Mrs Anantadevi-Alfsson?” Antoinette said.
“Hello Mrs. Okotie-Eboh,” Saradi said, holding out her hands. Niniola sported a large cap. Trailing tendrils of dreadlocks escaped at the back. Her large lips and eyes held a mischievous glint. She wore a teacher’s uniform and somehow it looked fashionable on her.
“Well, I’ll leave you two alone,” the principal said. She waved at Novalie who seemed to try to squeeze herself into a smaller shape. “Hi Nova.”
Saradi looked at her daughter. So the principal and her daughter were on a nickname basis?
Saradi waited until the principal had gone before taking a seat next to her daughter.
“I was expecting your husband to be here. It’s a nice surprise to see you here, Mrs Anantadevi-Alfsson,” Nini said.
Saradi felt irritated at her formality. “It is a surprise,” she said, turning to look at her daughter. “Hello, Novalie.” She made sure to emphasize her daughter’s full name.
“Well, let’s begin. Novalie has progressed extremely well in her holography, camerart, and syntexturing. She’s also displaying an excellent singing, acting, and instrument—”
Saradi said, “I’m not interested in soft skills. They are of no benefit in the real world. What are Novalie’s grades? The report summary I was given didn’t have them.”
Mrs Okotie-Eboh and Novalie shared a quick look.
“In these artistic subjects, grades don’t reveal–”
“What grade did she get?” Saradi cut through the teacher’s words.
Mrs. Okotie-Eboh paused. Her hands stilled in front of her. “Novalie has been awarded a C in holography, a D in camerart—”
Saradi waved it away. “Astro Physics, Advanced Spatial Mathematics, Biogeoengineering. Those three subjects in particular.”
Mrs. Okotie-Eboh’s tongue licked her lips. Gone was the attempt to divert the issue. She said, “Novalie hasn’t successfully passed those subjects.”
“Failed you mean?” The teacher nodded minutely. “She failed those subjects.” Saradi shot a withering glare at Novalie. Her daughter flinched. Saradi turned back to the teacher. “What do I pay this institution for? What do I pay you for?”
“The grades in no way reflect Novalie’s intrinsic aptitude.” The teacher inhaled a deep breath. “In all honesty, Novalie is struggling with personal issues that affect her studies.”
“What are you implying?”
“May we speak in private, as friends?” Niniola stood and nodded to Novalie.
Saradi turned to her daughter. “Wait outside. Do not wander.”
Novalie ambled out of the room, her head hung low. Saradi’s eyes narrowed at the display and she shook her head.
“Sara,” said Niniola, after Novalie had left the sphere. “I think Nova needs help.” Her forefinger pointed in the air and an actual piece of paper floated toward Saradi.
Novalie’s unmistakable art work, Saradi thought.
“Look at the painting closely,” Niniola directed.
Saradi breathed out in a long sigh. What was the woman getting at? The picture showed a man, woman, and young girl. It was their family, Saradi knew immediately. Claas lay on the ground, his face lopsided. Blood pooled in front of him. Novalie’s hands pressed against her ears and her mouth was wide open in a scream.
But the rendering of Saradi herself sent shock waves reverberating to the soles of her feet. Novalie had depicted her mother floating over her family in a ghostly body with a gnashing jaw filled with razor sharp teeth. She appeared like a giant storm cloud, her mouth roaring a comic bubble that said, “Fuck you!”
Saradi sat back in her chair. She didn’t touch the drawing. Niniola gestured and it disappeared back into whatever archive it was stored in.
“She drew it in art class,” said Niniola. “And when I walked toward her, she crumpled it and threw it on the ground. I picked it up and asked her if it was hers and then she burst out crying.”
Saradi shivered. She closed her eyes and inhaled, but the cold air failed to clear her nostrils. She could do with a drink right now. Vodka on ice.
“We have proactive counseling services at the school, and after Novalie had a fight with one of the other students … I think we should enroll her in those services. The counselors are very good,” said Niniola, coming to stand by Saradi’s side.
Saradi stood abruptly. “I don’t think so. But thank you. This has been an informative night.” She walked out of the room, ignoring Niniola who kept calling her name
.
#
Saradi returned to a silent house. Novalie drifted behind her mother. Saradi ordered her daughter to head to the living room and kneel down. It was a simple punishment, to keep one’s back straight and put all pressure on one’s knees, and it was effective. Especially with somebody as spineless as Novalie.
“Claas?” Saradi shouted. “Claas?” The house’s AI routed her call to the upstairs and she soon received a response.
“Yes darling?” he replied.
“I’ve just returned from parent teacher night. We need to talk. Here’s a hint: it’s about Nova’s failing grades and her revolting artwork.”
A minute later Claas floated down from the upper level. Saradi sat on one of the air-seats while Novalie knelt on her knees on the hard wooden floor. Claas immediately went to Novalie and picked her up. Her head slumped against his shoulder.
“Sara, what are you doing to her? That’ll hurt.”
“Did you know about this?” Saradi summoned the image of Novalie’s drawing from the neuralnet. “Not only that—” She waved and the drawing morphed into Novalie’s report card peppered with a C, D, and three Fs. “Those are the core subjects for people who want to get into the lottery. She needs to do well in those.”
Claas patted Novalie on the back. “It’s okay, darling.”
“Mama is going to change my school,” Novalie whispered to him.
“She’s not going to do that,” Claas said.
“Yes, I damn well am,” Saradi said. “She can go to a middler school where the children are bullied, and the girls have to learn how to stick up for themselves or they get smashed. Like the school I went to.”
Claas shook his head at her.
“You knew about this didn’t you?” Saradi accused him.
Claas gently put his daughter down. “Novalie, go to your room.”
“No, Nova kneel down,” Saradi ordered.
“I’ve never punished my daughter,” Claas said. “There’s no need. Nova, go to your room. Now.”
“Nova, you stay right here. She’s part of this.”
Novalie huddled between her parents’ hulking forms.
“Sara, there’s more going on than what you think here. I suggest we send Novalie to her room so that we can speak as adults. She doesn’t need to hear this.”
“She’s ten. Old enough,” Saradi retorted.
“I won’t do this,” Claas said, holding up his hands. “I won’t.”
Saradi’s next words ripped out of her mouth in a torrent of anger that had been seething within her since her discussion with Niniola. “You’re not doing this? Who the heck is paying her school fees?” She pushed at him. Claas fell back and tumbled over Novalie, who had been surreptitiously trying to sneak past the two of them. Novalie went down with a cry as her father toppled over her.
Claas picked himself up, bent over his daughter’s head and rubbed at it where Novalie hit it against the floor.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” Saradi forgot her strength most of the time.
Claas gave her a look that chilled her to the bone. He lifted Novalie, who clung to him like a sailor to a spar. He cooed softly to his daughter and kissed her hair.
“Why do you think she’s getting bad grades, Sara? Why don’t you use that big brain of yours to work it out?” he spat.
“I don’t see—”
“Are you blind? Nova’s behavior has been deteriorating ever since you accepted the Chief Strategy Officer’s role.”
“My career at Autobus-Mannschaft has nothing to do with this. Don’t you dare start. Not this. Don’t you make this about me,” Saradi said.
“Nova’s behavior deteriorated when Bheem left for the war. You took to drinking all the time, and you’ve completely avoided her.”
Saradi’s index finger trembled as it pointed at him. Her head twitched from side to side. She tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come and her stomach felt like somebody pressed against it and she couldn’t breathe properly.
Claas said, “You’re hardly home. When you are here, you constantly berate her for not being good enough.” He raised his fist like Zeus about to rain down thunderbolts. “You are the reason her grades are bad. Even her best is never good enough,” he huffed. “Nova lies awake at night waiting for you, for hours. Did you even know that? Did you know I’ve had to start putting sleeping aids in her food? Sara, you should stop drinking because it’s addling your mind. And you have to accept the fact Bheem’s gone. We’re still here, Sara. At least for now.”
The fire seemed to drain out of him. Claas turned and left. Novalie’s face pressed against his shoulder, her cries barely audible over Saradi’s screaming.
“Stop blaming me for her!”
Claas turned back. “You’re a workaholic.” His index finger went up. “You’re an alcoholic.” His second finger went up. “And I truly believe you’re borderline psychopathic.” His middle finger shot up.
The world turned red and through the rage Saradi shouted, “You’re the stay-at-home father. Why don’t you do your damn job?”
Claas stopped patting Novalie. For the first time in years Saradi saw a rage upon him. He shouted, “Fuck off, Sara!”
She flung the bottle of cognac and watched as it slammed against the wall. The liquid infused the air with vanilla and aged oak. Claas walked away cooing to their crying daughter. Saradi kept staring at her hands wondering how the bottle had gotten there.
Claas came down after midnight. His eyes were dark hollows in his face. Saradi decided to sleep downstairs on the couch. She couldn’t sleep. It wouldn’t take.
His calm voice held a timbre of resignation. That’s when Saradi realized her marriage could’ve ended right then.
He said, “I tried to hurt myself. That’s why at the gym I kept up my collar. I’m not blaming you but this doesn’t help. Here’s the ultimatum, Sara. We either go to counselling as an entire family or I apply for divorce and custody of Nova.”
Saradi covered her face. “I love my daughter. Don’t you dare—”
“Enough bossing from you, Sara. Are you going to come to the counselling or not?”
She stared at him through the gaps between her fingers, not wanting to uncover her face. “Yes.”
“The sessions are going to be intense,” Claas said.
“I’ve already taken leave.” She had asked Albert for leave during their flight back to High Paris from Yakutsk. She’d asked for it because she wanted to prepare a defense against what Albert Rene might accuse her of. But so far Albert Rene hadn’t called. Maybe she was safe. What more could go wrong?
She found out how wrong things could go the next day.
Chapter 10 – Embers of Hell
Saradi exhaled deeply as she stood outside Novalie’s locked bedroom door. Her hand paused against the swipe panel. Claas had let Novalie lock the door. They had told her when she reached ten she could lock the door, but most often Novalie’s door was permanently open.
Saradi knocked against the holographic circular swipe panel. The room’s speakers echoed the knocks inside.
“Nova? It’s mummy. Would you like to go for a Li Shi classirap concert?”
No response. Li Shi was Novalie’s favorite classirap star. Something was definitely wrong if she wasn’t responding to that.
“It starts at two thirty and we can have lunch at Vegan Degan beforehand,” Saradi said, using Novalie’s favorite restaurant as the cherry on top.
No response. Saradi splayed out her palms in frustration to the sides of her head. Argh, she mouthed. She thought of overriding the lock — she could do that as she was the authority for the house — but she quickly squashed that idea.
Saradi turned to go when her daughter’s disembodied voice floated to her from behind the door.
“Can I still go to La Terre Quavois?” Novalie asked.
“Do you promise to improve your grades?” She hadn’t been promoted to CSO because she sucked at negotiation, quite the contrary. “I
want B’s at minimum, Nova.”
An entire minute of silence followed and Saradi thought maybe she’d overstepped it when the door swished open. But nobody stood there.
Saradi stepped in.
Novalie’s room had been modelled after a paint board since she loved art so much. There was the art room section, the play room section, and her sleeping section.
Multi-colored strips ran vertically along the left wall of the play area in an array of bright oranges, reds, yellows, and greens. Shelves held Novalie’s favorite net-show characters: the Stardock Twins, Jinxing, and Marzious. At the bottom a large two box that stretched four meters divided itself into four with drawers shaped liked waves. That was Novalie’s playing area. A full neuralnet interface in the form of a sloping deck chair, child-safe, painted with an array of colors and stickers hovered to the side with a bunch of teddy bears strewn below it.
A private study the size of an entire bedroom carved out the space to Saradi’s right. Its walls festooned with glowing rainbows.
Novalie bowed down over a small green rug that faced a portrait of the deity Krishna, a blue god according to ancient Hindu doctrine.
“What are you doing?” Saradi asked, walking past the neatly pressed bed.
“Praying.” Novalie slowly rose up from the rug. She held her palms flat against one another and bowed over them.
“Since when did you start praying?” Saradi asked, hoping she didn’t betray the tinge of annoyance she felt. Saradi considered her own religion to be puritanical atheism.
Novalie murmured beneath her breath, “Hare, Rama, Krishna.” She ignored her mother for a few minutes.
Saradi waited patiently. She suspected she deserved it from last night.
“Finished,” Novalie said.
“Did grandma teach you about this?” Saradi asked. A photo of Saradi’s mother, Wattana, lay next to the altar.
Novalie said, “Give me a moment. I’m going to choose a dress.”
Saradi smiled. Maybe her daughter had a bit of backbone and attitude after all.
Saradi tailed Novalie toward the dresser and it opened. The sweet taste of blueberry bubblegum filled her mouth. Novalie loved the smell of blueberry bubblegum. Novalie’s clothes stretched across the whole back of the room, at least for ten meters.
