Quicksilver

by R. J. Anderson

  “Oh, of course it does,” said Milo, poker-faced. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that myself.”

  I punched him in the arm, hoping to catch him off-balance. But his bicep had about as much give as rubber-covered concrete, and he didn’t budge a millimeter. “The point is,” I told him, “we can’t get rid of the relay until we’ve made sure it won’t activate again. We can’t risk some random person coming across it and beaming themselves who-knows-where.”

  Milo looked unconvinced, but he didn’t argue. He matched my brisk pace as we turned onto a side street, the sounds of traffic receding as we walked along. We passed a long row of barn-shaped wartime houses and finally stopped in front of an old factory with rust-colored brick and metalwork, its closed doors offering no hint of what lies inside. Only the faded number painted over the entrance reassured me I’d found the right place.

  “Wow,” Milo said. “Check out the picturesque old-world charm. What’s that sign on the door say? ABANDON … HOPE…”

  “Very funny,” I said, walking up the steps and hauling the door open. “Actually, it says there’s a Tae Kwon Do studio upstairs. Are you coming or not?”

  “Remind me to tell you about the year I spent taking Tae Kwon Do sometime,” said Milo, following me in. “Between that and the violin disaster, I could write a book on How to Fail at Being Korean—wow, those stairs are really steep.”

  “Good thing we don’t have to go up them, then,” I said. There was no visible sign for the makerspace on this level, but I’d read the directions on the brochure and knew where to go. “This way.”

  We headed through a fire door into a narrow hallway with grey-white walls and no windows to be seen. Most of the doors we passed were shut, but the open ones gave glimpses of sagging ceilings, exposed wiring, and debris-littered cement. From somewhere upstairs came a steady pounding, and the whole place smelled like wood shavings mingled with incense or possibly marijuana smoke.

  “This is fantastically squalid,” said Milo. “We may never get out of here alive.”

  “You have no sense of adventure,” I told him sternly, but deep down I was glad he was with me. All these empty hallways and closed doors reminded me uncomfortably of what it was like to be Mathis’s prisoner, and it would have been hard to get through this place on my own.

  We turned the corner and there was the sign for the makerspace, with a large friendly arrow pointing to the right. My pulse quickened with anticipation—but at the same instant my feet came to a stumbling halt.

  “Niki?” asked Milo. “What’s the matter?”

  I’d stopped three meters from the junction, staring into the middle distance. My throat had closed up, and my lips were dry. I couldn’t move.

  “Hey.” He stepped in front of me, waving a hand through my line of sight. “Earth to Niki.”

  Weak as the joke was, it snapped me out of my paralysis. I focused with an effort and said, “Milo, I asked my parents if I could come here weeks ago, and they said no. If they find out…”

  “They’ll do what? Hello, you’re a teenager. This can’t be the first time you’ve gone against—” He broke off as he saw the look on my face. “You’re not serious.”

  “I couldn’t. I mean, I didn’t want to. Not really.” I’d argued Mom and Dad into changing their minds sometimes, and now and then I got around them on a technicality. But I’d never disobeyed a direct order from either of them, for reasons I couldn’t explain even to myself. “And now … I don’t know if I can.”

  Milo frowned and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Why did they tell you not to? Don’t they want you to go into engineering?”

  “That’s not the problem,” I said. “They just think it’s too much, too soon. And maybe they’re right, but—”

  “The alternative’s worse. Yeah. I get it.”

  “So do I. I just can’t get my body to cooperate.” I leaned forward, trying to force myself to take the next step. But my feet stayed rooted to the floor.

  Milo frowned at me, his head tilted to one side. Then he broke into a slow, wicked grin. I didn’t even have time to brace myself before he ducked down and swept me, literally, off my feet.

  I spluttered a curse and tried to wriggle free, but Milo didn’t falter. He marched down the hallway, executed a military turn, and carried me over the threshold of the makerspace.

  “Oh no,” he said in mock dismay. “Look where you are. How did that happen? Clearly, it was all my fault.”

  I wanted to be irritated with him, and part of me was. I didn’t like being touched without permission. But he hadn’t put his hands anywhere he shouldn’t—in fact, he’d been a positive gentleman about it. It was hard not to be impressed by how easily he’d picked me up too. So I collected what was left of my dignity, and said, “You can put me down now.”

  “Uh, hi,” said the young man at the desk as Milo lowered me to my feet. “Can I help you with anything?”

  Milo made an over-to-you gesture, and I realized to my relief that his ridiculous strategy had worked. The panic that had gripped me in the hallway was gone, and I could move again.

  “We’re here for the Open House,” I said, giving the man my most winning smile. “Is it okay if we come in and look around?”

  0 1 1 0 1 1

  Not only was Front Desk Guy happy to see us, he even gave us a tour. The makerspace wasn’t that big, just two modest rooms with a small lounge area between them. But it had plenty of equipment. First, we wriggled through a curtain of clear vinyl strips to visit the woodshop and heavy tool room. They had lathes, sanders, a miter saw, and a couple of drill presses—most of them old and battered but still in good working condition. A scarred wooden worktop ran along the far wall, and in the middle of the room two men were arranging bits of scrap metal on a table, chortling and elbowing each other like old friends as they worked.

  After that we came back out into the lounge, a rough square of old sofas and armchairs with a coffee table between them and a wall of bookshelves behind. Among the books on programming and electronics I glimpsed a complete set of Monty Python DVDs, a Yoda-shaped coffee mug, and a stuffed bison with six legs that caused Milo to break into a grin. Up a slight ramp we found the clean room, which had a soldering station even better than the one I had at home, four computers in various stages of disassembly, a plotter, a laser cutter, three different kinds of printers … and, to my immediate interest, an oscilloscope.

  There were a few other people scattered around—a grey-haired woman frowning over her laptop, a pair of gangly college students poking at an old PC tower, and a little boy playing with a flight simulator. In the back corner a young man with a ponytail and a skull earring was building a sculpture from laser-cut plastic, while an older man tinkered with a 3-D printer. None of them spoke: most barely glanced up as we walked through. But I wasn’t offended—I knew the feeling of being so absorbed in a project that nothing else existed, and I was happy to leave them to it.

  “So,” said Front Desk Guy, when we returned to the lounge. “Any questions?”

  I glanced at Milo, but he only shrugged. It was up to me, then—but I hadn’t really expected anything else. “I’m working on a surprise for my dad,” I said, with a hint of bashfulness. “He’s into amateur radio, and he’s always wanted to do a moon bounce. So I … I’m hoping to build him a transceiver for his birthday.”

  “Wow,” said FDG—I had to call him that because he wasn’t wearing a name tag, and despite his enthusiasm, he’d forgotten to introduce himself. “That’s awesome, good for you. So were you looking for some help with that? You should talk to Barry. He’s our radio expert.”

  “That’d be great,” I said, keeping my expression humble and a little nervous. Just an ordinary teenaged girl with an interest in electronics and a few modest projects under her belt, nothing extraordinary here. “But I was wondering, could I maybe bring the kit here to work on it? Because our house is pretty small, and I don’t want my dad to see it until it’s ready.”


  FDG blinked. “Uh, well, we only have Open House twice a month. You have to be a member to get in any time you want, and that takes—”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m new, and you’d want to get to know me better before you could vote me in. But I only found out about this place a few days ago, and Dad’s birthday is coming up fast. I’d be glad to pay a month’s membership up front, if that would help. And I’ll bring my own supplies, and only work when the regular members are here. I mean, it’s not like I can get in the door otherwise, right?” I gave him a hopeful smile.

  “Hmm,” said Front Desk Guy, sizing me up. “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Give me a sec, okay? I need to talk to somebody.” He galloped up the ramp to the clean room.

  Milo flopped onto the sectional sofa, and after a minute I sat down in the armchair on the other side. A set of interlocking wooden hexagons sat on the table next to a sign reading PLAY WITH ME, but I wasn’t in the mood. I was trying to make out the conversation from the next room, as the Desk Guy’s chirpy tenor alternated with a deeper rumble that sounded ominous.

  What would I do if they decided not to let me in? I needed that oscilloscope, for one thing, and I could hardly build the whole transceiver in my basement. I’d be ordering all kinds of new parts and supplies, and there was no way I could expect my parents not to notice…

  “Hey,” said Milo, nudging my foot under the table. “It’s going to be fine. They’ll love you. This is what they’re here for, and besides, you offered them money.”

  I leaned forward, breathing into my hands, then bolted to my feet. FDG had reappeared at the top of the ramp, with 3-D Printer Guy beside him.

  “Hi there,” said the older man, walking to meet me. “I’m Len.” He gave me a brisk handshake and said, “I hear you’re building a transceiver for your dad. And you’re on a tight deadline.”

  “Yeah,” I said, reminding myself to bring out the shy smile again. “His birthday’s in a couple of weeks, so I’d really like to get it ready as soon as I can.”

  “Understandably. And we’d like to help you. But we have a strict Health and Safety policy for insurance reasons, and we can’t allow anyone under eighteen to work here without direct supervision. If you had someone older with you, like a parent or guardian—”

  “What about me?” interrupted Milo. “I’m eighteen.”

  It took all my concentration to keep smiling, and not whip around and stare. Keeping me company on my first visit was one thing, but to come back here day after day? I’d never expected Milo to make such an offer.

  And yet if he was serious, how could I refuse?

  The two makers exchanged glances. “Well,” said Len. “We can’t guarantee anything. But we’ll discuss it with the board at our next meeting.”

  “When will that be?” I asked.

  “Monday night.”

  Nearly a week away. I’d hoped it would be sooner. But I still had a lot of parts to order, and they’d take a few days to arrive in any case. In the meantime, I could get started on designing the circuit board and trying to track down a vector network analyzer, which was the one piece of equipment even Sebastian couldn’t afford.

  I only wished I knew how much time I had left to do it. But when I’d asked Sebastian, he didn’t seem to know any more than I did. Too many variables, he’d written. Just work as fast as you can.

  “Okay,” I said, trying not to let my worry show. “Thanks.”

  FDG rummaged underneath his desk and popped up with a duct-tape covered clipboard and a pen that looked as though it had been chewed by a Rottweiler. “We’ll need your names, addresses, and a phone number or e-mail.” He thrust the clipboard at me. “After the meeting, we’ll give you and your boyfriend a call.”

  I started to protest that Milo wasn’t my boyfriend, but then I realized that would just complicate the issue. It wasn’t like I could pass him off as my brother or cousin, not without fabricating an adoption story at any rate. And if there wasn’t some obvious reason for him to want to hang around and watch me solder components for hours on end, the board might decide he wasn’t dependable enough to take the responsibility.

  So I slid closer to Milo as I scribbled down my contact information and touched his arm lightly when I passed the clipboard on. Not enough to startle him, just to show we were comfortable with each other.

  We could work out the details later.

  0 1 1 1 0 0

  When Milo and I left the makerspace, the sun had dipped below the rooftops. We walked the two blocks to the bus shelter without speaking and stood there watching the traffic for a while. Finally, I cleared my throat and said, “That was … what you said back there … thanks a lot. I wasn’t expecting you to do that.”

  Milo squinted out the doorway, shifting his weight from one running shoe to the other. “Yeah, well,” he said, “I wasn’t expecting them to mistake me for your boyfriend either. And I definitely wasn’t expecting you to go along with it. So I guess it’s been a night of surprises all around.”

  There were forty-three centimeters between my elbow and Milo’s, and every picometer of it was charged with Awkward. I steeled myself and plunged in. “Sorry if I embarrassed you. I didn’t know what to say, and—”

  “You think I was embarrassed?” He gave me an incredulous look. “Why would I be? I scored about a billion Dude Points just walking in the door with you. Believe me, you don’t have to apologize.”

  I didn’t blush often, let alone for long. But right now I felt like I’d stuck my face in an oven. “Milo…”

  “I know. I’m just a friend, and you want to make sure I’m okay with that, because you’re a nice person. I get it, Niki. It’s fine.”

  Somewhere along the line I’d got out of the habit of reading Milo—stopped running my usual diagnostic on his expression, stance, and tone of voice. In other words, I’d started trusting him.

  But now I saw the tremor in his jaw, and I knew he was lying. It wasn’t fine at all.

  “That’s not what I mean,” I said, fighting to keep the anger out of my voice. Because it wasn’t Milo I was angry at, it was the whole stupid world. A world where relationships like the one I’d had with Brendan were normal, and the one I had with Milo was not. “There’s no such thing as just a friend, Milo. Friendship is one of the most important things there is.”

  Milo stuffed his hands into his pockets and glanced up the road, as though hoping the bus would come and rescue him. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

  “I’m serious,” I insisted, stepping in front of him so he’d have to look me in the eye. “I hate it when people talk like friendship is less than other kinds of—as though it’s some sort of runner-up prize for people who can’t have sex. I had a boyfriend once, but I never liked being with him the way I like being with you.” I held his gaze, refusing to falter or look away. “You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had, Milo. And that is everything to me.”

  Milo was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “You mean that, don’t you. You’re not just trying to make me feel better.”

  “I’m not,” I said. “I’m really, really not.”

  His eyes lowered, and his expression turned pensive. Then he looked up again and said, “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “I mean, that’s good by me.” He gave a slight, tentative smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  I let my breath out in relief. Finding out Milo legitimately cared about me and wanted to be around me, even if there was no chance of the two of us hooking up, was enormous. I wanted to show him how glad I was for his friendship, how warm and bubbly it made me feel to have him by my side. I wanted to take his hand, lean my head on his shoulder, maybe even hug him.

  Only knowing he liked me as something other than a friend—not more than, I’d never say that—held me back. I didn’t want to be unfair to Milo. But I didn’t want him to think I was repulsed by him, either. I wanted to give him something personal and precio
us, so he’d know how much his friendship meant to me.

  “Milo,” I said, “I’m going to tell you something I’ve only ever told one other person. And when I do, I … I hope you’ll understand.” Passionately hoped, in fact. Because if he said any of the things Lara had said to me when I told her, it would be hard to forgive him for it.

  “I know,” he said. “You’re gay, right?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m not sexually attracted to anyone. At all. Ever.”

  Silence. I could see Milo blinking behind his glasses, his brain struggling to process this new information, and I prepared myself for the inevitable barrage of questions. Have you seen a doctor? A psychiatrist? Were you abused? Are you scared? What if you haven’t just met the right person yet?

  But when Milo spoke it was cautiously, his brow furrowed in thought. “What do you mean by that, exactly? You said you had a boyfriend once…”

  Brendan Stewart, long gone and unlamented. Great hair. Great body. Great kisser, according to other girls he’d dated. But if so, his talents had been wasted on me. “I went out with Brendan because it was what he wanted,” I said. “I thought if I tried to act like a real girlfriend, maybe I’d start to feel like one. That I’d want him to kiss me and put his hands on me, instead of counting the seconds until it was over. But … I never did.”

  “Oh,” said Milo.

  “I mean, it didn’t help that he was a selfish pig who wouldn’t take no for an answer. I would have broken up with him anyway, even if I’d liked the physical stuff. But going out with him made me realize that I wasn’t shy or uptight about sex. I simply wasn’t interested.”

  What I didn’t say was that by that time, I’d also found out I wasn’t alone. I’d discovered a forum on the Internet that was full of people—many of them young, healthy, social, even attractive—who felt the same way. They weren’t against sex or trying to keep other people from having it. They just didn’t feel the need. And once I’d seen that, it had given me the courage to stop trying to change myself.