by Red Harvey
When her mother was through with her second nightly sermon, Ada stood.
"Where are you going now?" As she spoke, her mother kept her gaze on the screen.
"I don't feel like listening to Prominents spout crap on television all night long." Ada walked to the stairs, shaking her head.
"Crap? What crap?" The absent-mindedness of the questions told Ada her mother had already forgotten them.
The television volume returned to deafening. Halfway to her bedroom, she heard one of the Prominent speakers say, "Electric cars. Pfft. A dying technology. They're unreasonable machines, unreliable machines. The people who drive them are hurting the oil companies, costing hard-working people their jobs. Prove you believe in the free-market system by buying a new car, one that runs on good ol' gasoline."
~ * ~
For Ada, morning came slowly. She stared at the cracked ceiling for most of the night, considering legitimate ways to earn money, but seeing none. She was left with one choice, and the wrong one.
How badly do you need to do this? August asked.
I'm doing it for you, she answered.
The aroma of freshly baked croissants brought her out of bed, as her mother knew they would, which was why she usually made them. Downstairs, she found her mother and Kressick Lyman at the breakfast table. He smiled at her, and Ada smiled back. Mornings were not her favorite time of day, and she hated to smile, and yet, she always smiled around Kressick.
"Morning," he said, his dark eyes sparkling. For an older man, Ada conceded he was well-kept: thick black hair, skin as dark as Ada’s, and a solid frame encased in slacks and a polo shirt. He looked like he didn’t belong in their neighborhood, let alone their house. Yet, most mornings, there he was, all lovey-dovey with her mother.
"Morning," she replied.
She grabbed two warm croissants from the cooling rack and shuffled to the food modulator. Before opening the cabinet door in pursuit of a coffee mug, she rapped on the wooden surface, then waited. Nothing happened, and she was satisfied as she opened the door. A roach ran from the inside, then dropped to the counter. With a soft curse, she jerked back.
In the next instant, she zapped the bug dead. It sizzled on the counter, a black pile of ash. Ada moved a cereal box in front of the carnage, hoping it went unnoticed. Kressick buried his nose in his coffee cup without comment.
Gemina cleared her throat. "Well, Kressick stopped by this morning for breakfast."
Between bites of bread, Ada said, "Mom, everyone in the room knows about sex and has sex on occasion. Let's drop the pretense."
Kressick laughed, while Gemina gasped.
"I told you it was obvious, love."
His accent was pretty cool, Ada also had to admit. He had to be the only British dude in all of Colorado.
"All right then, forgive me for forgetting how grown you are, Ada. It'd be nice if you would let me pretend since you're living under my roof and all," Gemina huffed.
Stick your head in the sand and pretend away, Ada was tempted to say. "I won't impose on you for much longer, Mom."
She had sung the same tune for months. Yet, she really believed it each time she said it. Only now, things were different. She finally had the information she needed. All her trip required was funding. And ideas. Minor things, really.
"Where will you go?" Gemina's question implied there was nowhere to go.
"I'm not sure." Which was a lie. Ada knew where she wanted to go. She just didn't know how she was getting there.
"You don't know." Gemina clasped a hand over her heart and was soon doing breathing exercises.
"Is your heart all right, dear?" Kressick set down his coffee and stroked her back.
"It's fine. I do that out of habit." She inhaled and exhaled at a steady pace.
"I'd hate to think you wasted all that time and money on Amnesty for a heart that doesn't work."
Ada wasn't sure, but she thought his comment held a cutting edge.
She pointed at the stack of bills on the counter. "You caught up on your payments, Mom?"
Her mother stocked shelves at a nearby grocery store. She had managed to get Ada a job there as well, as a cashier. Between their wages, there was barely enough money each month to buy food from their own workplace. Though, Gemina managed to keep them fed and to make her payments on time, or at least, that's what she told her daughter.
Gemina glared at Ada, while Kressick looked confused. "Payments?" he murmured. "Even with three years of Amnesty, you still have to make payments?"
"Yes, they're supplemental to the Amnesty," she said in a hushed tone as though speaking to a gynecologist.
Ada had made the mistake of taking her mother to the gynecologist once. Somehow, she had been convinced to stay in the patient room with Gemina. The entire awkward affair had been full of her mother’s near whispers, followed by the male doctor straining closer and squawking “What’d you say?”
Money and sex were sensitive topics, and her mother didn't like discussing them front of guests. Gemina especially didn't like to mention their economic problems in front of Kressick. Ada found it amusing her mother hoped to suppress any and all topics about money, when their housing situation underscored their lack of funds.
"Are you sure you're all caught up?" Ada asked again.
Evading the truth was a tactic she had learned from a pro. When things were dreary or too serious, Gemina liked to pretend they didn't exist. Ada used to wear the same hat, with a more realistic approach. The happy disposition she inherited was gone, and bitterness had sprung in its absence.
Gemina laced both hands together, her knuckles turning white. "Not entirely."
The truth about the payments set Ada back.
At that same time, she and Kressick said, "What?"
"I know, I know. It's more than I was ever expecting to pay."
The sheepish look on her mother's face was similar to a child being caught playing doctor in the coat closet. Though, the situation called for a greater seriousness than a childhood dilemma. Ada could tell Gemina was unaware of the implications skipping payments on her synth could mean. She wanted to slap her mother for her stupidity.
"How much do you owe?" Ada forced herself to ask nicely.
"Not much. Five grand."
"Five grand." For any Prominent in the city, the price of a new outfit. For people like them, six months worth of food. "What are you gonna do?"
"It'll be fine. I can request more Amnesty in exchange for payment."
That's not gonna work.
Not one person spoke. There was nothing really that could be said.
The quiet helped Ada reach a decision, one she had been wrestling with. Until this moment, she had been playing detective. It was an occupation to break up the monotony of working at the grocery store, and to help her forget about the general shit-state of life:
She used to wake up to the most wonderful man she’d ever met, and he was gone.
She had been called “professor”, and now, customers at the grocery store called her “trash”.
Her mother, her rock, was dying.
Upon August’s death, Ada had started down a path, and there was no going back. The interaction with Dorrie had cemented everything, and this latest revelation was just the nudge she needed.
Moral and legal ramifications be damned. She was left with little choice now.
~ * ~
Instead of attending her shift at the grocery store, Ada planned on robbing it. Well, robbing the adjacent ATM, anyway.
It seemed fitting to steal from the place that had payed her and her mother so very little.
Altogether, all Ada had to fund her plan was one hundred dollars.
Later, she would have much, much more.
With the small stipend, she purchased a short blonde wig and mustache at a nearby toy story. When she saw her reflection in a store window, she laughed. The disguise wasn't enough.
Outside of the grocery store, she would take out the security camera. As soo
n as the thought entered her brain, the camera perched on the roof crackled in assertion. Easy peasy. She couldn't do a thing about the o-planes that were most assuredly hovering miles above the city skyline, but crime went on regardless of the constant vigilance.
"Please identify yourself, Citizen."
She stared at the ATM screen, following the paths of the wires in the machine, telling it she already passed the eye-scroll. Red pathways transitioned to green, indicating the bypass was successful. The machine took her lies like spoonfuls of data-coded sugar.
"How can I help you today?"
Withdraw, she told the machine.
"How much would you like to withdraw?" the female voice asked quite pleasantly.
Five thousand dollars.
"Five thousand dollars. Is this correct?"
Yes.
A whirring sound, and the money appeared at the bottom of the ATM. Ada stuffed the bills into her bag without a zip in her conscience. Just as her mother had always taken care of her, Ada would take care of her.
"Thank you for your business, Citizen."
Nonchalantly strolling to the car, Ada got in then pulled away. About halfway home, the car chugged along, then died. She groaned in frustration. Somehow, the car hadn't charged up all the way.
Over the last few months, the battery charged less and less, losing power after a couple of hours. Ada had been meaning to change it out. Had she the funds for the details in life, she might've gotten around to it. As she sat on the side of the road in her lifeless vehicle, she regretted the oversight.
August would've remembered to change the battery.
He would've done so and not expected any thanks in return, just the small smile he would come around with, the one that said, I know you're scatter-brained, but I love you still.
Despite the fact it wouldn't turn on, she pushed the power button again. When it didn't start, she sighed.
Five thousand dollars isn't worth much sitting around in my pocket.
Not like the State would repossess her mother's synth in the literal sense, or if they did do that sort of thing, Ada had yet to hear of it.
The State was capable of inducting Gemina into a re-education camp, and downgrading her status. At one level above an N.A., she might become Undesirable, never spoken of by name and hardly ever seen.
Ada flashed back to the children, racing after the woman she’d nearly run over. The absolute desolation in the woman’s eyes was nearly has haunting as her dangling jaw.
Her mother could not become one of those.
"Call Mom," Ada spoke to the purple wristlet that never left her arm.
The interface repeated the command back to her before dialing.
Gemina picked up on the third ring. "Hi, honey. Where are you?"
"Car died again," Ada said.
“I told you to change the battery. Call the tow and get home." Gemina sounded distracted, but stern.
"Mom, I don't have money for a tow." She assessed the rustling sounds, then asked, "What are you doing?"
"Packing."
"Why?”
Rustling and a faint bell toll.
"Dear, someone's at the door, hang on." A pause then, "Hello?" She spoke with unknown guests: "No, I paid that."
The line disconnected.
Ada's heart picked up in pace, but she shoved the panic away.
"Call Mom," she barked at the interface.
No one picked up. Three re-dials later, and she was plunged into a world of worry. Sammies must have arrived, inquiring about her mother's supplementals. The same supplementals her mother hadn't paid.
I don't have time to wait for a damn tow that I can't fucking pay for.
The five thousand dollars was a separate matter. If Ada wasted even a bit of it, it could mean her mother's life. She needed to find another way home.
"Car on." Her voice was hoarse as she was near tears.
"Insufficient battery," was the car's response.
"Car on!"
It was five miles to the house, so walking there, or even jogging, would take twenty minutes.
"Insufficient battery."
"Stupid piece of shit car!" She pounded on the steering wheel with each word.
Twenty minutes was too long, and there was no one to call.
Good job alienating all of your friends.
Her anguish became physical, sending blue sparks flying into the dashboard. For a moment, the car whirred to life. Ada held her breath expectedly, expelled quickly when the car refused to turn on completely.
"Insufficient battery." The car sounded breezy about the dire situation.
"Yeah, thanks.”
Every light in the car winked off as the last vestige of energy drained away.
"Insufficient batt...er...ry."
Battery. Battery. The word stuck in her head. All the car needed to run was a battery, and the human body operated a lot like a battery, or so she'd heard from someone.
'Cause ya can't go wrong with information from the elusive someone, her mom used to tell her during her high school years.
I'll get to you, Mom, to make sure you have a lot more corny sayings to let me in on.
Ada believed if she channel her energy, she could power the car to get her home faster than walking or waiting for a tow.
Though, she didn't really know what she was doing. Her powers had only recently manifested, and she was still learning how to use them. Zapping roaches and overriding ATM machines came easily, like breathing. Powering a car would, hopefully, come as easily.
She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, the type her mom would be proud of. She imagined her mom on the brink of one of her many anxiety attacks and found it hard not to smile. Just doin' my breathin' exercises, she would say.
Deep breathing worked, as it brought Ada out of the panic bubble. In a state of rest, her mind reached out to the engine. She imagined the car surging with electricity.
The car sputtered, and inside, Ada ignited as well. Her heart fired when the car did. Immediately, she felt a tug, like an invisible harness around her chest, tied to the engine, pulling and pulling, but she wasn't going anywhere.
"Route to home," Ada gasped.
The pain in her chest was a firestorm.
"Routing to home. We will reach your destination in three minutes."
Three minutes? Another ten seconds dragged on, taking her lungs with them. Already her chest burned. No, her chest was freezing cold. Every breath tasted like swallowing a handful of nickels.
As the car drove on auto-pilot, Ada struggled to stay awake.
Three
"One minute to destin. A. Tion." The voice of the car interface faded with the dying engine.
Ada lay unconscious in the front seat. She was unaware her car had stopped on a busy roadway. Cars waited behind hers. Horns blared, people cursed and yelled, but Ada didn't wake.
Even as cars pulled around hers to go on their way, a concerned citizen called a Statie.
The car arrived soon after, featuring the yellow logo of two intersecting handguns, contrasting sharply against the black paint. The Statie waved all the other cars to continue maneuvering around the stopped vehicle.
She tapped on the driver-side window of Ada's car.
"Citizen."
She brought out her iris scanner, but put it back in her pocket when she saw the driver's eyes were completely shut.
Suddenly, Ada cracked one lid open, then the other. Recent events were a blank in her mind, but they came tumbling back with the next impatient tap on her window.
"Citizen."
Her mother was in trouble, and her car was dead. Out of habit, Ada mumbled for the car to turn on. It remained powerless, and she cursed her stupidity.
Through all of this, she ignored the Statie outside of the car.
"Please remove yourself from the vehicle." The woman’s hand rested on her weapon holster.
Ada considered her options, bleary as she was. Once a Statie had their hand on their we
apon, there wasn't much reasoning with them.
Do I have time to deal with this shithead?
In the next second, she thought, No, no I don't.
So, she worked some voodoo, and was on her way:
After opening the car door, Ada sent a small zap (or what she assumed was a small zap) at the Statie's legs. With her drained energies, Ada accidentally hit the Statie's head. The woman's face contorted and relaxed simultaneously. Her arms and legs swung about like she had planned a dance but couldn't bring herself to remember the steps.
The Statie was still dancing as Ada ran to her mother's house down the street.
Wonder why she twitched like that.
She stopped once to rest, hands on her knees. A second time she stopped to retch in the street. Not even a block away, a homeless man was doing the very same thing. A car honked as she heaved up her food in chunks. She gave them the finger from her bent over position.
Home was an empty space. The first sign her mother was gone was the locked door. When Ada tried the unyielding doorknob, her heart retracted. She had left her house keys in the car. Her idea to break in the house subsided after she remembered the hide-a-key under the mat.
"Mom!" Ada's voice was a roar in the still house. "Mom!"
She moved from room to room. Upstairs, she found two pieces of luggage in her room. In Gemina's room, there were two open bags, half-full. Clothes were scattered about the bed.
The State wouldn't repossess, huh? a sneering voice told Ada.
She settled slowly onto her mother's bed. Her head was inflamed, and her chest was numb. The desire to close her eyes was strong, but she knew if she lay down, she wouldn't be getting up.
"Call Mom," she managed in a hoarse whisper.
A panel on the bedroom wall lit up in response to her voice.
"Calling Mom."
Several rings later, Ada heard only static.
Older interfaces had trouble connecting on the updated Prominent networks. Static was common in place of a call.
"What is Mom's location?"
