The Mad Scientist's Daughter

“I was thinking.”

  What do you possibly think about? Everything in the universe?

  “I have to go to high school next fall.” She rolled over onto her side. Finn sat down at the base of a twisting old oak tree. Leaves and twigs were caught in his hair. His pale skin shimmered from the rain. He looked like a fairy.

  “Yes, Dr. Novak told me.”

  Cat sighed. “I don’t want to go.”

  Finn didn’t say anything. Cat rolled over onto her back. The rain fell harder, weaving through the net of leaves overhead, smelling faintly of metal.

  They stayed there for a long time, unspeaking.

  * * * *

  Cat started at the high school in town. Her parents could still tell her what to do. That first day, everyone stared at her when she walked into the courtyard with a bag slung across her chest. She wore a dress she had made from looking at videos on fashion sites on the Internet, but she could tell instantly it was all wrong, she was all wrong.

  The other students whispered about her all day, and then all week, and no one spoke to her except her teachers. Between classes, when she had to walk through the crowded, noisy, humid hallways, Cat’s heart pounded and her breath came out short and gaspy. People stared at her and the weight of their eyes was so heavy Cat thought she might burn up. She was constantly dizzy. She walked close to the rows of lockers to keep herself upright, one hand running over the line of padlocks.

  She had spent too much time alone in the woods, in front of a loom, with Finn.

  During lunches those first few days, Cat walked off campus to the neighborhood across the street. The houses made her nervous, but during the heat of the day nothing stirred and no one looked out their windows. She ate the lunches she packed at home in the shade of an enormous hibiscus bush, then walked back to school for her afternoon classes.

  On Friday one of the security officers caught her. She was sent to the office, her heart panicking. They searched her bag for drugs. When they didn’t find anything, the assistant principal came and sat down in the chair beside her and said, “You’re not in trouble, but I’m going to call your parents to let them know what happened.” She paused, twisting her mouth in concern. “You can’t just go traipsing off campus during lunch.”

  On the ride home after school Cat dug her nails into the palms of her hands and tried not to cry. Her mother just leaned her head against the window and looked tired.

  The weeks went by. Cat didn’t make any friends. She was behind in her math and engineering classes even though her teachers all acted like she should be ahead. She was bored by the business and marketing classes. She thought she’d like her English class but everything they read was simple and boring. There was only one art class, an elective for seniors.

  When she complained about this to her parents, her mother said, “We let Finn coddle you, sweetheart. The math is good for you. You’ll be better prepared for the job market.”

  Cat was full of hate. It was the only way to describe it. She walked around campus during the day thinking I hate I hate I hate. She hated her parents, she hated the kids at school, she hated her teachers. She even hated Finn, because he hadn’t stopped this from happening.

  A month went by. Then, on a day so hot and bright it felt like August, a boy came up to Cat as she sat beneath the magnolia tree in front of the school. She had finished her lunch and was sketching on her electronic drawing pad. The boy walked right up to her and stared at her until she glanced up. She knew he was popular. He exuded an air of being adored.

  “You’re Novak’s daughter, right?” He tilted his head to the side and squinted.

  Cat nodded and looked back down at her drawing. It was a woman’s face. It didn’t look like anyone in particular.

  “What’s your name?” the boy asked.

  Cat tilted her head up at him. He was smiling. She didn’t trust him, but she told him her name, and he nodded thoughtfully. “So Novak finally let you out.” He crouched beside her and looked her in the eye. “I’d always heard he had a daughter but no one told me she looked like you.” He grinned. “Wish they had.”

  Cat gazed at him with a sense of mild alarm. She didn’t know what to say.

  “I had a tutor at home,” she said. “That’s why I didn’t go to school.”

  “A tutor! Shit.” The boy ran his hand over the top of his hair. His name flashed into her mind: Erik Martin. “You know everyone talks about your dad.” He laughed. “The mad scientist. That’s what my uncles all call him.”

  Why would you tell me that? But she only tightened her fingers around the edge of the sketch pad.

  “Yeah, I dunno. I met him once. He seemed cool.” Erik leaned back on his heels, wobbling. He put one hand out for balance. “There was some crazy robot thing with him, though. Almost looked real. He said it was his assistant.”

  “That’s Finn.”

  “Wait, it has a name?” Erik threw back his head and laughed. “Oh fuck, man. Wait’ll Andrew hears about that—”

  “He’s not an it.” Cat clenched her drawing pen in her fingers. Sweat dripped down her spine.

  “He?” Erik stood up and frowned at her. “Nah. You don’t understand. They can’t be hes. They’re just machines. You wouldn’t call your oven a he, would you?”

  “No,” said Cat. “Because an oven is just an oven.”

  She stopped. Erik looked down at her, his features darkened by the shadow of the magnolia tree.

  “Just like Daddy, huh?” he said. “My uncle says that’s the problem with letting damn scientists come live around here. Brings in money, I guess. Brings in a lot of creepyass robots, too. Like, that one time I saw it, it kept staring at me, and—”

  “He’s not an it,” Cat said. “He’s a person.” All the hate she carried around inside was building up like a second skeleton. It tingled in the tips of her fingers. She slid the drawing pad off her lap.

  “A person?” Erik’s eyes narrowed. “No, it’s just a machine made to look like a person.” He rocked back on his heels and tilted his face up toward the sky. “So they can steal jobs from us easier. It plain ain’t right. That’s what my preacher says.” His face dropped down. He looked Cat straight on. Her entire body shook. “I mean, your dad made it, right? A human being? Way I see it, any robot that close to a person is an abomination.”

  He spoke so casually, as though it were a fact, as though he had no idea how it hurt her.

  And for a second the entire world fell away, and Cat felt only a white-hot anger burning at the core of her heart, radiating out through her limbs. Then in one clean motion she slid to her feet and fell upon Erik Martin, her hands curled up tight into fists. They hit the ground, Cat on top, Erik squirming and shrieking beneath her. She heard feet pounding against the sidewalk. People jeering and yelling. Cat slammed her fist into Erik’s nose and heard a crack and cried out at the burning pain in her own knuckles. He scratched at her face, and she scratched back. Her hair was flying everywhere, and the sun illuminated all the red in it like she’d caught on fire.

  Hands grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her away from Erik. He crawled backward over the grass. A column of blood was smeared across the lower half of his face, from his nose to his chin. Cat tried to catch her breath, her chest heaving.

  “The hell did you do to her, Martin?” shouted the security guard. He tossed Cat aside and stalked over to Erik. The hand Cat had used to punch him was covered in blood, her knuckles jutting out at unnerving angles.

  “Nothing, man! We were talking. She fucking went crazy.” Erik stood up and wiped at the blood on his face. The security guard whirled around.

  “We have a zero-tolerance policy toward fighting at this school,” he said to Cat. “Now, if he touched you—”

  “He didn’t touch me.” Cat glanced at the dissipating crowd of students. No one would meet her eyes but she felt the lingering ghosts of their stares. And for once it didn’t bother her. She felt strong, powerful. Amazonian. “He said something about . . . abo
ut my father.”

  The guard rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’ve heard enough. I’m taking both of you to the office. Come on.”

  He took Erik’s upper arm in one hand and Cat’s in another and led them up the front steps, into the cold, dark school building. Cat heard the sound of blood dripping across the tile floor, and she rubbed her hand against the edge of her shirt.

  Erik leaned around behind the security guard. “Bitch,” he hissed.

  “Martin! Don’t you say another word to her.”

  The assistant principal kept Cat and Erik separate while they waited for their parents. She sent Cat to the nurse’s office first, and the nurse poured hydrogen peroxide over the cuts on Cat’s knuckles. Cat clenched her teeth but didn’t scream. Her hand was swollen and red and wouldn’t straighten out. The nurse wrapped it in a bandage.

  Both Cat’s mother and father came to the school. When Cat walked out to meet them they regarded her silently, her mother’s eyes narrowed into two angry slits. Her father looked disappointed. This was worse.

  “A fight, Caterina?” her mother said. “A goddamn fistfight? What were you thinking?” Cat didn’t say anything. She looked from her mother to her father and back again. The adrenaline from the fight had disappeared, and now she was exhausted.

  “They’ve suspended you for the rest of the day,” her mother said. “I hope you’re happy.”

  Her father frowned.

  When they arrived back at the house, Cat threw her bag on the couch and headed toward her room. But her mother slapped her hand on Cat’s arm and made her sit down. “Tell me what happened,” she said. Cat’s father came into the living room and sat down in his reclining chair.

  “You won’t like it.” This was the first thing Cat had said to either of them since they picked her up.

  “No, I don’t expect we will.” Her mother glanced over at her father.

  “He said—” Cat stopped. She looked up at the ceiling. She already knew what their reaction would be. Her hand ached. “He said Finn was an abomination.”

  “For Chrissakes,” said her mother, just as her father said, “Oh, Cat.”

  “Are you happy?” her mother said to Cat’s father. Cat wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. “I told you you shouldn’t have brought that thing here—” She looked at Cat and held up a finger. “Don’t start with me, either.”

  Cat buried her head in the arm of the couch.

  “Sweetie, I don’t think it’s that big a deal—”

  “Daniel! She punched a boy in the face.”

  “Oh, please, Helen. That was Frank Martin’s kid. You’re going to tell me he didn’t deserve it? The little shit’s got date rapist written all over him.”

  “I can’t believe we’re arguing about this.” Her mother stood up and pulled at the ends of her hair. “You’re grounded,” she said to Cat. “No. Scratch that. I’m not letting you stay in this house anymore than I can help it. I’ll . . . sign you up for community service. Something.” She stomped out of the living room.

  “Daddy,” said Cat. “Daddy, I’m sorry, I just—”

  “I know,” said her father. “Give her time to cool off.”

  “You’re not going to send Finn away, are you?”

  Her father sighed and stared out the window. The sunlight reflected off his glasses. He looked immeasurably sad. Finally, he said, “There’s no place else he can go.”

  * * * *

  That evening, Cat walked out to the garden. Everything was dead from the autumn heat. She sat underneath her citrus tree and turned on her music player and closed her eyes. She was able to move her hand now, though only barely. In her mind she watched the fight with Erik Martin over and over again. She remembered how she felt afterward, her hair loose and wild, her hand dripping blood. She wondered what she looked like to all those spectators. She wondered what they would say about her when she went back to school tomorrow.

  When Cat opened her eyes Finn stood over her, watching her in the violet twilight. Cat took off her headphones.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said.

  “Oh God, you, too?” Cat sighed and kicked out her feet. “Did he tell you why I did it?” Cat knew her mother never talked to Finn if she could help it.

  Finn shook his head.

  “I was defending you,” she said. Abomination. Her face flushed with anger.

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because you’re my friend! Jesus!” Cat threw up her good hand. “Why is that so hard for everybody to understand?”

  Finn sat down in the grass next to Cat. The hot, dry wind blew his hair across his face, covering up his eyes’ faint silver gleam. “You’re my friend, too,” he said after one of his long, mechanical pauses. “But I don’t think violence is ever acceptable—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” Cat paused, looked up at the stars. “Remember when you taught me all the constellation myths?”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with—”

  “I loved those stories,” said Cat. “I loved all the stories you read me. They don’t really encourage us to read in school. It blows. All calculus problems and computer programs. Finn . . .” She looked over at him, the tips of her hair tickling her bare back. “Finn, do you think I’m pretty?”

  Finn stared at her. “Pretty?”

  “You know, beautiful. Hot. Whatever.”

  “I do not—” Finn stopped. His eyes vibrated, and his brow furrowed. “May I think about this?”

  Cat immediately regretted asking him. She laughed to make herself think it didn’t matter. “It’s not really a thinking-about sort of question,” she said. “Forget it. It’s okay if you don’t.”

  “I believe it is for me.” His eyes continued to vibrate. “A thinking-about sort of question.” Cat heard the inflections of her own voice, as though she were listening to herself on a recording. She stretched out on the grass, lying on her back, her hands over her head. She didn’t know why it mattered if he thought she was pretty. Cat had never considered her own prettiness before that moment. So why now? No one told me she looked like you. But Erik Martin was an asshole.

  “I bet everyone at school hates me now.” She looked at Finn sideways through the grass. “At least you don’t hate me.”

  “I cannot hate,” he said. “The programming inside me won’t allow it.”

  But Cat had turned her face back toward the night sky. The cicadas were buzzing and the night air was warm and sweet on her skin and she didn’t comprehend at all what Finn had just said to her.

  THREE

  Because Cat had, apparently, broken the nose of the most popular boy in school, two girls in eyeliner and knee-high boots came up to her in the courtyard the morning after and told her the fight was the most badass thing they’d ever seen.

  “Holy shit,” said the first girl, whose name Cat later learned was Miranda. “Holy shit, you don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to smack that smug little bitchass face of his.”

  Miranda and the other girl, Ashley, took Cat over to the place where their friends slouched in the branches of the courtyard trees, looking like clothes hung out to dry. The air there smelled of cigarette smoke. Cat had noticed them before, these people, this clump of trees, but they had always looked through her as though she were invisible.

  “Okay, assholes,” said Miranda. “This is Cat. Be nice to her.”

  And so Cat suddenly found herself with friends her own age, friends who were not Finn. The travails of school became instantly more sufferable, though Cat never quite felt as though she belonged. Her clothes weren’t really right, no matter how many times Miranda and Ashley went shopping with her online—she didn’t inhabit them properly. She disliked the taste of cigarettes and the burn of them against the back of her throat. She didn’t recognize the names of the augment games Miranda uploaded onto her comm slate, and she hated the raucous, screeching music they listened to in Ashley’s bedroom after school. But none of them asked her leading questio
ns about her father or about Finn, and none of them wanted to be engineers, even if they also didn’t like to read. Although Miranda did like photography.

  “Let me steal your soul,” she always said, stalking around smoky parties with her camera. It was an old analog camera, one that used up rolls of ancient film she bought from a vendor through the Internet. Miranda knew how to develop the film and the prints herself. She had a lab set up in the spare bathroom in her parents’ house, the lone window taped over with aluminum foil and moth-eaten black fabric, a red light installed above the mirror.

  “I told them it was, you know, chemistry,” she explained to Cat while swirling a sheet of photography paper in a tub of oily chemicals. Cat watched the images appear, the darkest parts first: the pupils of the eyes, the muddy shadows. The photograph showed one of the bands that played the VFW hall on Friday nights, the lead singer screaming into his microphone as he leaned over the edge of the stage.

  In an ostentatious display of trust, Miranda lent Cat one of her old cameras, a Nikon FM10. “Break it and die,” she said.

  Cat kept the camera in the top drawer of her desk for a few days before she used it. She didn’t know what to take pictures of—Miranda already had the VFW shows covered—and she didn’t want to waste film, even though Miranda had told her that was the point.

  “You want to burn through miles of film,” Miranda said when she told Cat she’d let her borrow a camera. They stood in her bedroom, Miranda holding the camera out in the space between them. “You have to. Just to find that one perfect shot.”

  “That’s so wasteful.”

  “That’s the beauty of it,” said Miranda. “The beauty of waste. We don’t see it much anymore. Everything becomes something else.” She dragged on her cigarette and made quotation marks with her fingers. “Progress.”

  Eventually, Cat took a few pictures of the garden. She took a picture of the river. They were both such dull subjects. So she decided to go after her family: her father hunched over a soldering iron and circuit board in the laboratory, her mother frying steaks in the kitchen. She smiled indulgently as Cat peered through the viewfinder.