by Red Harvey
"Wall user 'Mom' is at home."
Her mother's pocket interface rested on the nightstand, set to silent. Ada picked it up and read the message blinking on the screen, (Where are you?), from Kressick. Forgetting an interface was like forgetting your right arm. Contacts, affiliations, personal files, and more were stored on the small box-like device. More advanced models were locked to recognize fingerprints and retinal scans, featuring slim designs and glass-alloy construction. Gemina's interface was not an advanced model.
Ada tapped on Kressick's name. He would know where her mother was, like he always did. Kressick answered via video chat, his face anxious and worried. For Ada, his expression was like looking into a mirror.
"Do you know what's happened to your mother?" A trembling hand pushed through his sweaty, pixilated hair.
"No, do you?"
"Yes. I'm here with her at Tranquility Hospital. She's in surgery."
Relief crashed through Ada, but the words “hospital” and “surgery” threw her off.
"What for?"
"The State authorized the doctors to remove her artificial heart and replace it with her original one."
Ada suspected the State to be capable of such maneuvers, but the situation was too fantastical to believe, and it was happening to her mother. The removal of her synth meant one thing: Gemina Corentin was an Undesirable.
People would whisper about her, stop seeing her, and then refer to her as "that Unknown down the street".
"Her old heart." Ada shook her head of the cultural details, focusing on what was important. "That'll kill her."
"I said the same thing to the State rep that was here. He showed me the contract your mother signed, stating what they would do if failure of payment ever became an issue." Like it has now, was what he left unsaid.
"I still don't understand why she had to pay any money at all. I've heard the synth ads, and they all say Amnesty is a viable option."
Amnesty, the way to pray your troubles away. Instead of paying the State, citizens had the option to take out loans or synths, and commit to attending service at State-sanctioned facilities in lieu of monetary commitments.
"What they don't tell you about is the fine print, and it's riddled with fees that balloon up year after year, with interest on top of that." Kressick's face twisted up into a bitter sneer.
He was a happy man, usually. This new look scared her.
"This---can't be legal." It was all Ada's brain would allow her to answer.
Her words were slurred, slowed down, as if they came from far away. It belonged to the Ada from months before, the one in a near-vegetative state. Her mother had driven her out of the fog, but Ada was slipping back to that place, her safe place. It was like floating. She wanted to float. Not dealing with anything too hard. She could feel herself losing hold of the ground, disappearing into the gray clouds.
On the other end of the chat, Kressick recognized her need for a tether. He cleared his throat.
"Ada, you need to be here."
Ada blinked the fog back, but not entirely. It was at the edge of her consciousness, ready to be recalled when needed.
"I'm coming," she said.
What she really meant was, I'm here.
For now.
~ * ~
By the time Ada arrived at Tranquility, Gemina's surgery had concluded. Ada learned this after getting a status update from the staff doctor.
"Your mother survived the surgery." The doctor was a small man. His dark skin sagged, and Ada fleetingly disparaged, Will I look like that in thirty years?
The good news of her mother's survival put her mind in a shallow mode, which shifted with the doctor's next words.
"However," he adjusted his glasses before continuing, "her old heart is barely keeping her alive. She'll need to stay on hooked up to a machine indefinitely."
Ada responded with silence, still comparing the few wrinkles in her skin with the doctor's.
The doctor pressed on, "The indefinite part is up for debate. With your mother's advanced age, she could last weeks, months, or even just days. It's hard to say. You can go and see her. Make sure to visit the payment center before leaving."
Before walking away, he gave Ada an awkward pat on the shoulder. He smiled and advised her to purchase the latest model of the Clean and Clear. He tapped his interface, assuring her that he had just sent a 20% coupon to her device. She didn't notice when he left. The fog from earlier threatened to overtake her.
Kressick was seated in the waiting room. He was crying. Ada was too angry to cry. How could the State take a heart back? Why offer a synth if repossession was an option down the line?
These were questions Ada asked of Kressick. He ceased crying long enough to answer her: the State felt repossession to be a fair clause, because if they took back a synth, they graciously gave back the old merchandise at no charge to the customer. The State saw it as a second chance to live, even if the chance came with a short expiration date.
Kressick urged her to visit her mother, and Ada blankly nodded, shuffling to the room number he’d given her. Upon entering room 112, Gemina seemed on the verge of expiring. Her brown skin had faded to a duller yellow. Her hair, usually thick, dark and lovely, was spread out on the pillow in thin clumps. An inch above her hospital gown, a jagged line started at her chest, leading downward. Only hours before, Gemina had been active, vibrant. Nothing like her current shrunken state.
Ada's hands crackled. She told herself to calm down, but the crackling barely abated.
"What's wrong with yer eyes?" the patient in the next bed drawled.
"Nothing." Ada shoved her hands in her pockets, directing her eyes at the floor.
She stole a glance at Kressick, but he was in the hallway, speaking with the payment department. He kept gesturing, his movements fluid, but growing more and more agitated.
"Mom?"
Gemina didn't move. A tear slipped down Ada’s cheek, landing on her mother's bed sheet. She reached for her mother's hand, but was stopped by the patient in the next bed. He grabbed Ada's arm, dropping it just as quickly with a curse.
"You shocked me! Jesus-tits, that’s not normal!" He cradled his arm, eyes wet and accusing.
Handling it carefully as possible, Ada closed the curtain to separate her mother's area from the other patients. Her actions singed the curtain, though minimally. She knew it was too soon to try to touch her mother. Her emotions were out of control, and in her mother's delicate condition, one small shock could be fatal.
As she stared at her sleeping mother, Ada resolved to concentrate on what could be fixed.
She patted the satchel of bills she’d brought.
“I’m gonna fix this, mom,” she whispered before leaving the room.
~ * ~
"What do you mean? She only owed five-thousand, and I have five-thousand." For the second time, Ada pushed the bag of money at the attendant, and for the second time, the attendant slid the bag right back.
"She owed five-thousand on the first synth, yes." She click-clacked on an old computer, squinting at the screen. "For a new synth and install, the cost is 6 million dollars."
Kressick scoffed. He stood beside her, one hand on her back. She shook him off, even as she secretly acknowledged the power of his calming presence.
"That’s ridiculous. Her first synth didn't cost that much." Ada motioned around her. "And this isn't even a State hospital. How the hell can that be the cost?"
The attendant held up her hands. "I don't make the prices. The cost updates each year, along with install techniques.” She shrugged. "Everything adds up. And default on past payments places a risk factor on a second loan for your mother."
It all sounded simple, and damn reasonable. Ada chose to react very unreasonably.
"Fuck cost. Put that in your shit computer!" She slapped her palm on the glass wall separating her and the attendant.
In the next second, the computer fizzled out, smoke escaping from the screen.
; "What just happened?" The attendant stepped back from the machine as if it were set to explode next.
A man behind Ada and Kressick backed away to the wall. He cowered as Ada passed by. Kressick offered the stranger a gesture of supplication, along with a mouthed "So sorry".
Ada didn't notice the commotion her outburst had caused. She walked briskly to her car, her mind wrapping around several ideas to help her mother. An ATM wouldn't work. Undoubtedly the machine wouldn't have enough funds available for one withdrawal, digital or not. Kressick, while well off, didn't have six million dollars at his disposal. Her options were dwindling even before they began.
On top of everything else, Ada would be forced to delay her trip. She hated that she thought that way, but there it was, more ugliness bubbling to the surface.
Behind her, Kressick still followed, promising to help her in any way he could.
Her mood improved at his words, and she assessed him with new eyes. It wouldn't take long to find a solution to her mother's problems, especially if Kressick helped.
A week at the most, and Ada would be able to leave.
A week.
Four
A week passed.
Ada remained.
She told herself she had to stay, for her mother, to help maintain the house (not that she did much in that department).
Another week passed.
Even though she had missed two shifts at work, Ada’s boss didn’t care. Turnover was so high that as long as employees mostly showed up, things were copasetic.
One shift, she was sent home early. Ada had gotten into an argument with a customer about the price of an incorrectly shelved item. The customer had called her Undesirable, and she had responded with “Not as undesirable as your wife finds you.”
The five-grand sat in an envelope atop Ada's bedroom dresser. Every time she entered the room, she glanced briefly at the envelope and tried in vain to forget about it.
She visited her mother in the hospital daily, which yielded little conversation. Her mother remained comatose, a weak heart barely keeping her alive. Whenever Ada was at her mother's side, she reminded herself not to touch anything. She forgot only once, when she burned a small hole in her mother's bedsheet.
One afternoon, the thought of the money wouldn't disappear. No matter what she did (shower) (sleep) (sit and stare), she couldn't think of anything else. An internal tug-of-war was taking place inside of her, (just go, it'll be easy) (no, I can't) (goddamn you, your mother is sick and you're still afraid).
Ada took the envelope and buried it at the bottom of her clothes hamper.
Another few weeks passed.
The payment department of the hospital called Ada every few days. There was a decision to be made: begin a payment agreement for a new synth, or unplug her mother. Tranquility Hospital had a limited number of beds, and they were only willing to keep Gemina for a few more weeks, a month at most.
Ada told them she would have an answer soon.
It was a lie.
She didn't know what she was going to do.
She could've shared her burden with Kressick, but the fog crept in, dictated her actions. Inaction served her much better, and he knew nothing of the momentous decision approaching.
Work at the store resumed as normal. Ada kept her mouth shut when customers were idiots, and she was allowed to remain for the entirely of her paltry shifts.
At home, there was never anything good on TV. The news was littered with much of the same: Prominent propaganda, mass shootings, kidnappings, and new churches being built. Ada tuned the TV to international channels. Though they hadn't been broadcast in her area for twenty years or more, she was able to find what she was looking for, with a bit of maneuvering.
First, Ada envisioned clouds, stars, the vastness of space. She found imagining helped her powers along, and it would take quite a bit of imagining in order to be successful.
In the purple void, she saw a different type of star, like an unwieldy ball of tech. A ring of metal tech, transmitting data streams in an endless current. Her astral-self picked over hundreds of silent telegraphers, until finally she found one to transmit what she wanted.
Astral fingers disappeared inside the machine to program her address in. It wouldn't do to have Prominents knocking on her door, wondering how she had de-crypted and re-programmed one of their satellites, so she buried her information under thousands of fake addresses, all created in nano-seconds. Instantaneously, her television enabled to stream thousands of international channels, something the State had banned some time ago.
Even still, she couldn't get interested, and ended up putting the TV in the storage closet.
Occasionally, Ada ran into Kressick at the hospital. He asked her how she was. She kept up the pretense of being "fine" for five minutes before making an excuse and leaving. He might be able to help her, but she'd lost the will to ask.
Asking for help. How humiliating.
Upon sunset, Ada had every intention of leaving the next morning, sick mother be damned. Her bag would be packed, and she would think, no, I need that sweater for tomorrow. In her pursuit of one clothing item, her hands would unpack the entire bag.
Ada fell asleep each night thinking she was crazy.
~ * ~
On the fifth week, Kressick visited.
In Ada’s fog-like state, she couldn't think of a reason not to let him inside.
She opened the door without a greeting.
He offered a half-smile. "Hello dear. May I come in?"
She stepped out of the way, and Kressick stepped over the threshold. He carried a high-price piece of tech, the one thing to break through the fog.
"What's that?"
Kressick looked down at his hand casually. "Oh, it's my interface. Been glitching lately." He held it out to her. "Would you mind taking a look?"
The invitation seemed like a trick. "You think a former teacher like me is tech savvy?"
"Your mum, ah." Kressick cleared his throat, and went on anyway, "Your mum said you're quite handy with such things."
Understandably, Kressick thought his mention of Gemina might upset Ada, but she was more interested in his tech. It wasn't clunky like her interface. Ada plucked the thing from his hands. It was light, new, with advanced holographic capabilities and a clear touch screen. It seemed to be made of glass.
"Hmm."
She made her way to into the kitchen, studying the interface as she went.
"Hmm?" Kressick echoed. "Don't you want to know how it's glitching?"
She didn't need to tell Kressick how unnecessary that would be. As soon as Ada touched the machine, it whispered any and all malfeasance to her. In her short sojourn to the kitchen, Ada whispered back a solution.
"Fixed it."
She set the tech on the kitchen table.
Kressick picked it up and found it to be in working order. The lights on the clear screen loaded faster than they had before.
"That was...efficient," he said.
Rudely, Ada prepared only one cup of coffee. Kressick shrugged off the exclusion. He gave the cabinet a good knock, waited, and then opened the door to grab a mug. Ada had never seen him do it before. His use of roach-avoidance-tactics nearly made her spit out her coffee out in between gulps of laughter.
"What?"
Ada sipped her coffee. "Nothing."
Kressick carried his mug to the one piece of updated tech in the Freyr household: the food modulator.
He placed the mug in the beverage slot and spoke. "Coffee please. Two sugars, no cream."
Whirring and seconds later, hot coffee poured into the mug in a neat stream. There was no mention of Ada not having spoken to the machine to get her coffee. A few coffee sips later, and then:
"Why are you still here?" Ada arched a brow, adding emphasis to the light blue glow in her eyes.
"Excuse me, I wasn't aware you wanted me gone."
Half in jest, Kressick sauntered from the kitchen, but Ada recalled him back.
He had yet to sit, his politeness disappeared behind a frown. "Your mother's sick, not dead. Why do you think I would want to leave?"
"I don't really care. Just curious."
They both sat at the table, the younger one full of arrogance and hurting, and the older one full of confusion and hurting.
Her mother was sick, marked for death at Tranquility, and yet her boyfriend remained. Ada wondered why he stuck around. She had been bored for the last month, and though she would never say it, she found Kressick charming.
"Gas lines in England are shorter, and the energy bills are cheaper," Ada offered when Kressick didn't speak.
"Yes, gas lines are non-existent in England because we promote the use of electric cars." He responded with an air of superiority that most foreigners used, and she liked him all the better for his honesty. "And yes, our energy bills are substantially less because the government invests in energy sources like solar, wind, and thorium, while you Americans keep digging, digging for more oil.” It was more politics than they’d ever shared together, but then he shifted to another topic, “But, I came to this country not looking for someone like your mother. I came here because I have a daughter. However, I've stayed for your mother, and I will continue to stay for your mother."
The tone of the conversation brought Ada to a new state of awareness. Fleetingly, she wondered if he was her father, under her proverbial nose the whole time.
"Please don't say 'It's you, Ada. You're my daughter'." With bated breath, Ada waited for the answer, even as she hoped she sounded casual.
Kressick laughed, and it was the sort of laugh that transformed a person. His face was beautiful to watch. Ada could see some of what her mother must have been attracted to. The thought made her uncomfortable.
"No, no," he said. "It's not you, dear. Actually, I have a daughter who attends college at Cambridge."
"Cambridge?"
Kressick nodded.
"Boston’s a long way from Aurora,” Ada noted.
"I came to Colorado on business."
Bullshit. His answer came smoothly, but Ada sensed a half-truth. The big businesses in Colorado were composed of fracking and farming. Both were largely automated industries, and she knew he wasn't invested in either. Kressick didn't give her a chance to call him out.
