Ann
Slapping her hands on her desk, Ann leveraged herself onto her feet. "Do I have to hurt you?" she spat. "The. Answer. Is. No. We aren't keeping them for pets, we're not holding onto them for prolonged scientific study. We're getting rid of the stupid lupa or whatever the hell he calls it." She pointed at Korryn's surprised face. "Now leave. I have other things to do." Korryn stood, her slanted eyes sparking. "This is a great opportunity, Chief Timpson. You're wasting a chance to make a lot of money." "Money isn't what matters here, Korryn," said Ann, her glare sharpening into a glower. "Survival is." "Survival?" Korryn shook back black strands of hair from her face. Ann was surprised to see that they were about the same height. "That's the reason I came here! So we can do more than survive." Taking a deep breath, Ann straightened. "No." "But--" "Out." Korryn opened her mouth to retort. "No." Korryn closed her mouth, threw back her own angry glare, then turned around, her kitchen worker's coveralls swishing with each step. The door to the office dilated to let her through, the contracted with a snap. Ann sank to her seat. The conversation had been unexpected and unwelcome. Ann had been almost ready to read the message from her sister when Korryn had begged a few minutes' time. Now Ann felt the coursing, nervous energy of having been in a confrontation. Shouting matches were small squirts of adrenaline--nothing compared to stopping a brawl or throwing a punch or firing off her pulse-charges--but they were enough to make her distracted. Her stomach pinched with hunger, but ordering food at this moment, knowing that Korryn worked in the kitchen, was all but asking for the woman to add some spit to the day's soup. That brought another woe to her mind. Though not technically part of her purview, Ann was on the administration board, and thus knew that the current new crops that had been genetically modified to grow in Prosperian soil had failed. There weren't food shortages on the horizon, necessarily, but the colony was going to have to ask for more support from the outside. That was always a bitter bite to swallow; the whole point of Prospero was to prove that humanity could return to their planets. Prospero was the longest running experiment since…well, since postlapsarian times. That Ann might have to worry about food shortages among over ten thousand inhabitants was not something that she relished. And the fact that Seton had brought in the xeno made her anxious. Korryn's insipid plan notwithstanding, there was nothing about the animal that Ann approved of. While she didn't disagree with the idea that they could learn a lot by studying it--and Ann was excited for any major discovery--without a greater understanding of the way they worked, she didn't feel it was safe to bring it into her home. She snorted. Of course, if they didn't bring it into their home, how would they gain a greater understanding? Maybe she'd made the wrong choice… Her eyes flickered to her viz-panel. Smacking the black box, thus allowing her aedee to interface with it directly, she brought up her queue. Maybe she could get her mind off these problems by looking at something else. But the unread message from her sister was the only thing that she hadn't already looked at. Ann reached out to touch the message, then hesitated. The idea of what could be inside was worse than what was really in there, she knew. But, at the same time, she couldn't convince herself that she could jump in. She needed something to help keep her-- The drawer slid open and she plucked out the packet of Calm she'd put back earlier. Without hesitating, she drew it up to her face and squeezed her finger, telling the aedee to activate the packet's deployment mechanism. A puff of cold air frosted her nose and mouth and she inhaled sharply. Immediately, her nostrils, tongue, throat, and lungs began to burn. The discomfort grew for a few moments, making her squirm as she waited for the effect to come. Nothing. Nothing. Calm. It varied, each hit did. Sometimes it would come faster than the burning. Sometimes it would creep up on her, like sleep. Other times, she'd feel nothing at all and need another dose for even something resembling peace to settle. This time, it was like walking into an invisible wall of tranquility. Her muscles relaxed, her body slumped into her chair, and her mind started checking off every concern with a nonchalance that only a person high on Calm could affect. Worried about the message? the drug seemed to ask. Don't bother. It'll be fine. She giggled. Why should she care? Why should you care? But it was her job. So do it and move on. Who cares? That was the right idea. Sitting up, her face crooked with the smile of Calm across her white-streaked mouth, she pulled up the message. It was straightforward and mercifully emotionless--which was fine. That didn't bother her at all. It wouldn't have bothered her if it had been malicious and vindictive. Who cared? All it said was, Chief Timpson, I am the envoy of Desert Peak, here to help finish the Portal. I will be arriving by 1900 hours. Charalee Timpson and that was it. See? Who cares? But even the Calm couldn't push out the memories that came with seeing Charalee's name on her viz-player screen. It couldn't stop Ann from remembering the time that Charalee, older by three years, had hijacked Ann's aedee so that only a rude gesture could get the aedee to activate. Father hadn't been pleased to see Ann flipping her fingers in that way and had grounded from going on her first date. (Perhaps) aided by the Calm, Ann recalled the time when their parents had a group of friends over. Mother was a consultation specialist that helped negotiate business deals between private armies. It was tricky business and one that required everyone to feel as though Momma was on their side. At age nine, Ann had been cajoled, manipulated, and tricked by Charalee to interrupt the group party. She'd gone running in, wearing only a towel over her privates, shrieking about the heaps of abuse that sometimes happened. To this day, Ann couldn't remember how Charalee had convinced her to do that. It was one of the things that Ann despised about her sister--how much control Charalee had over her. Only after the debacle had subsided had Ann learned that her behavior had made the parties suspicious of Mother's ability to keep the business deal open. They'd lost out on the largest deals of Mother's career because of Ann's stunt. And, quite expectedly, they blamed Ann more than Charalee--who protested innocence, of course--and Ann had been denied her first aedee upgrade. But the worst memory, the one that cut the deepest, was when both she and Charalee lived together during their early trainings. Ann was headed toward private armies and needed digenetic modifications. Mother (Father had died by then) said no. Charalee had been in the family's pristine dining room, sitting across the table from Ann and Mother. "But, Mother!" Ann had said, her face tight with pain at the denial. "I don't want to hear it," said Mother, her clipped words sounding almost surgical in their pronunciation. "Your father and I never much cared for digenetic options. I birthed you naturally and only allowed an aedee port into your genes because it is the most convenient way to communicate with you. That you wish to change your body through programming is reprehensible. Your soul is far too sacred for that." "Mother," said Ann, her voice shaking as she tried to rein in her emotions, "you know that I can't be a part of any PA if I don't have digenetic modifications." "You're too special. Your soul is too important, and your body is sufficient to carry your soul forward." "No! It isn't! That's the whole problem! I'm fast, yes, but not fast enough. I'm strong, yes, but not strong enough." "I have always taught you that your body is the protection of your soul," said Mother, straightening up, her single braid spilling over her shoulder in a dark spiral. "It is where you reside. The you that will transfer again and again as you seek reincarnation. I don't want your body to become so twisted and changed that you mutate who you really are." Ann shook her head. "I'm not a neo-Hindu like you, Mother. I don't believe any of that." "Your belief doesn't change the truth." "Mother!" "I will not pay for something that I think will damage your soul." Ann had turned to Charalee at that moment, her eyes pleading and laced with pain, and made her mistake: "Charalee? Help!" Charalee had leaned forward--and in the Calm-induced vision of her memories, Ann could see each movement, each detail of the day, from the way that Charalee's choli top rustled as she moved to the angle of light from the distant star their spacestation orbited as it slid through the blinds at the far side of the room--and said very simply, "Mother's right." Dismay and disbelief warred within her at that moment. Every other conversation she and Charalee had had before then had indicated to Ann that Charalee was on her side. That, when this most crucial of conversations happened, Charalee would use her ability to convince--manipulate was a better word, but Ann avoided using that around her sister--their mother that Ann's plan was solid, worthwhile, and important. Charalee had been Ann's winning blow. And she'd betrayed her. "What?" Ann had asked, flabbergasted. "No, Char…" "I'm glad that she sees things my way," Mother had said, standing up. "I appreciate your honesty, Charalee. Now, I have a meeting I must get to." Mother had walked to the door, leaving her only daughters at the table. "Please. Let's not have this discussion again." Ann had stared at Charalee with tears brimming in her eyes. "How could you?" she asked at last. Charalee shrugged, then leaned over and plucked a date from the dish on the center of the otherwise empty table. "I changed my mind." "Why? You know how important this is to me." Another shrug. "If you get it done, Mother will be less likely to pay for my modifications." Unable to understand quite what she was saying, Ann shook her head. "What do you mean? You're going into preservation. You don't need anything beyond a basic aedee interface. You're a librarian, Charalee. There's nothing digenetics would do to help you!" Charalee chewed thoughtfully. "No, I think I'm changing my training. I'm twenty-three years old. I have a lot to offer. And Everest Peaks is interested in new hires. They have all these different ideas that seem like they could be fun." "Everest Peaks?" Ann blinked as her tears dropped from her eyes. "They're the PA I was interested in." "Really?" said Charalee in a tone that was only supposed to sound surprised. "What a coincidence." "She said no to me. Why would she say yes to you?" "Because, Baby Sister," said Charalee, leaning forward and shooting her a charming smile. "I get what I want." Ann had left then, too furious and betrayed to do anything else. That was the first time she'd tried Calm--a necessary acquiescence if she'd wanted to keep her sanity. She'd ended up having to go into debt that only recently she'd paid off--decades serving first Desert Suns, then, after they'd merged a few years back, into the new Desert Peaks Private Army, always doing whatever they asked because she'd signed a contract to get the digenetic changes that would let her work for them. Her time on Prospero was, in a sense, a quasi-retirement. A position she'd chosen for herself, instead of being given her by her PA bosses. But now, Charalee had breached even that victory. Her temple warmed, letting her know she'd received a new message. The feeling pressed through her drug-haze, and she was able to draw her attention to the viz-player. The message, a garish orange, waited for her to read it. Instinctively, she flicked her finger, telling her aedee to open the comm. Two words from Charalee hovered over the surface of the viz-player, clear and unmistakable: I'm back. |
What is this?This is a NaNoWriMo project that publishes, day by day, the chapters I'm writing for 2017. If you're confused, go to Chapter 1 Ann and start there. ArchivesCategories
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