A small green light blinks in the upper right corner of my visual field. I have a new text. I focus on it to indicate I’m ready to read. It’s Neda.
There you are. I’ve been waiting for you to come back.
“I was a mess this morning. I’m better now. Send.”
Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it. Are you in the hospital?
So I guess she doesn’t have GPS tracking on me . . . or she’s playing dumb. “Home. Send.”
Okay. And are you really all right? It’s all over school. They’re saying you tried to kill yourself.
I sigh. “I was thinking about it. Send.”
And now? Be real.
Now? I’m still thinking about it. “Now I’m under lockdown at my house, and they made me agree to try some sort of treatment Gary’s arranging.” Whoa. When I read what I just said, it sounds super creepy. What the hell have I gotten myself into?
“Cora,” says Franka, “I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation, but a guest has arrived.”
“Okay . . . who is it?”
“Your father said it is an acquaintance of his, but he is indisposed at the moment. He asked if you would please answer the door and show the guest, Rafiq, to the library.”
Gary loves to meet with his colleagues in the library. I think he enjoys showing off his collection of real paper books, sealed in glass cases to preserve their delicate pages. He loves it when they admire his mementos from all over the world, a handblown Murano-glass vase from Italy, fearsome Indonesian wooden masks with curved teeth and bulging eyes, an ox-hide Zulu shield and spear, a Japanese katana in its sheath, prominently displayed on a stand on his desk. I don’t like going in there, but . . .
He’s giving me a chance to be helpful and socially appropriate—and I sense a gentle or else here.
“Sure. Fine,” I say to Franka. “Neda, I have to go act normal for a while so I don’t end up getting my brain zapped at the hospital. I’ll com you later. Send.”
Whatever. You suck but I love you anyway. Take care of yourself and don’t make me come after you. She attaches a fabbed vid of a squirrel wearing boxing gloves. It’s almost enough to make me laugh.
I summon up a mirror on my wall screen. Ugh. I look terrible. My short hair is sticking up everywhere, and on me it does not look cute. I smooth it down, throw on a clean tunic and pants, and pad barefoot down the hall. The marble floor of the corridor is warm thanks to Franka, not icy like it was when—
I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my head away from the staircase when I reach the foyer. Gary wants me to show him that I can be a stable, normal human and that I’m willing to do as he asks. I need to do both if I want to stay free. I smooth my hair down again as I approach the front door. “You can open it, Franka.”
The door swings open. Standing in the portico is a young man. Maybe a few years older than I am. Early twenties?
I gulp. Like, I actually hear myself do it. “H-hi.” God, I’m staring. Black hair, olive skin, bold eyebrows, and the most soulful eyes I’ve ever looked into, fringed by thick black lashes.
He smiles, and something goes soft and melty inside me. “Good morning.” His eyes flick to the side, probably reading his Cerepin display . . . except, he doesn’t have a Cerepin. “It’s a few minutes after noon, though, so that’s not quite right. Good afternoon!”
I smile. I can’t help it. His awkwardness kills some of mine. “Good afternoon! Come in.”
He’s still smiling. “Splendid.” He steps inside and holds his hand out. “Rafiq. Nagi.”
I shake his hand. It’s warm and dry, and mine probably feels like cold raw meat. “Cora. Dietrich. I’m Gary’s—”
“Daughter.” Rafiq releases my hand and manages not to wipe his palm on his pant leg, which I appreciate. He looks around the foyer and then refocuses on me. “It’s really nice to meet you, Ms. Cora Dietrich.”
“Um. Cora is fine.”
“Cora it is.”
“Gary wanted me to show you into the library.” I point. “It’s this way.” I lead him across the foyer, keeping my eyes trained on my destination. My bare feet are getting slick against the floor.
“It’s the most beautiful day, weather-wise,” Rafiq says, oblivious to my weirdness, or maybe just nervous to meet with my dad. Sometimes Gary invites young Parnassus associates over, a kind of audition for future management. I give Rafiq the side-eye. He looks a little young for that, and he’s dressed in tan pants and a simple black shirt with a collar. He doesn’t have any visible diamond-dust tattoos, and he doesn’t appear to be wearing makeup, but then again, this guy doesn’t need to. “I’d love to take a walk later,” he adds.
We pass a window and I peer outside, toward the sloping back lawn and the river. The canny gardeners are hard at work, making sure it always looks like a paradise. “I guess it is kind of a pretty day.”
Rafiq’s eyes light up, like I’ve just made his day. We reach the library. “Franka, where’s Gary?” I ask.
“Dr. Dietrich is running late,” Franka replies. “He asked that you entertain his guest for a brief time.”
I cringe. “Okay.”
“It looks like this is an unpleasant task for you. I’m sorry,” says Rafiq.
“No! Oh, god, no, I’m sorry. It’s not you. I’ve had . . . a tough day.”
Rafiq tilts his head. His eyes are so, so warm. “If that’s true, then you’re being especially generous, spending time with me.” His voice is warm, too.
“Do you want to sit?” I wave my hand at the couch and then plop onto a cushy armchair to the right of it.
“Thank you.” He walks over to the sofa and sits down, his back and shoulders straight and proper. “May I ask what made the day so tough?”
I shake my head, my throat tightening abruptly, my eyes stinging.
“That was intrusive of me. I’m sorry again.”
“Not your problem. Just . . . can we . . .”
“Do you like fish?” he asks.
My mouth drops open. “What?”
“I’m changing the subject. I like fish. Watching them. How they swim. The canny fish don’t quite capture the movements of the organic ones.”
“I can’t tell the difference.”
“I can.” He is looking at me intently now.
“I guess I’m not that observant. I’ve never really tried—they’re close enough.”
Rafiq is still watching me. He has the smoothest skin. “Close enough,” he murmurs. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“Hey! Sorry about that,” Gary says as he strides into the room with Mom. They’re holding hands. She’s a higher-up at Parnassus, too, and their relationship is common knowledge. I guess both of them are going to meet with Rafiq.
Wearing a bright smile, Mom looks back and forth between Rafiq and me. “So you two have met.”
Rafiq nods. “Cora has been wonderful company.”
“What do you think of this young man, Cora?” Gary asks.
This guy’s job depends on me saying something nice? “Well, in the forty-five seconds I’ve known him—”
Rafiq leans toward me. “It’s been three-hundred-five seconds,” he whispers out of the corner of his mouth.
I snort and do some quick math. “Okay, in the five minutes I’ve known him, he seems . . . polite.”
Rafiq has one lush black eyebrow arched.
“And he enjoys sunny weather and long strolls outside?”
He’s still got that eyebrow arched, looking expectant.
“He’s got a nice handshake. Very firm.”
Gary chuckles. Mom’s grin widens.
“And obviously he’s very precise about the time,” I add.
This time, Rafiq chuckles. “That’s a good one,” he says.
Er . . . “Also, he smiles a lot.”
“Too much?” asks Gary.
“What?” I turn to my parents. “What are you asking me?”
Gary puts his arm around Mom, who looks a little anxious. He squeeze
s her shoulders. “Does he smile too much,” he says, as if that clarifies anything at all.
Rafiq is no longer smiling. This poor guy.
“No! No. It’s . . . nice,” I say. “Friendly.” I mean, despite everything that’s happened today, he actually got me smiling.
Mom now looks more relaxed, but Gary’s eyes are narrowed. “Hmm,” he says.
If I cost Rafiq his job or a promotion, I won’t be able to forgive myself. “Guys? Can I . . . talk to you . . . over there? Or something?”
“You can say whatever you want to say in front of me,” says Rafiq. He doesn’t look upset, but I don’t know him well. He might be dying inside for all I know. “I don’t mind.”
Mom and Gary look at each other.
“Rafiq,” says Gary, “go to sleep.”
Rafiq’s eyes fall shut, and he goes perfectly still.
A wave of hot tingling rolls outward from my chest. “What-what-what . . .”
Rafiq sits upright on the couch, feet flat on the floor, hands folded in his lap, looking completely relaxed. His chest does not move. No part of him moves.
“I think he just passed an important test,” Gary tells Mom. “Don’t you?”
I tear my eyes from Rafiq. “He’s a canny.”
Mom nods. “But the most advanced one you’ve ever met! He’s got biosynthetic components that are revolutionary. He’s really special, in other words.” She looks anxious again.
“Amican—that’s the manufacturer—hasn’t even put them on the market yet,” Gary says. “I had a contact there do me a favor.”
“We really think he could help you,” Mom says.
I swallow the sudden excess of saliva pooling in my mouth. “This is what you were talking about. The thing you wanted me to agree to.”
“You need someone available for you twenty-four seven,” Gary says. “For the foreseeable future, that’s what Rafiq’s going to do. He’ll keep you safe, and he’ll help you heal.”
“A babysitter.” I stand up, trembling. “You got me a canny babysitter?”
“No, honey!” Mom says. “He’s a therapeutic companion.”
“He’s going to help you talk about what happened,” Gary adds.
Mom’s jaw clenches. “That’s not his primary purpose. He’s supposed to help her get better, like we talked about.”
Gary puts up his hands. “That’s what I meant.”
“I don’t care what you mean,” I say. “I’m not doing this.” I walk around the chair and head for the hallway. “This is nuts.” My cheeks are hot enough to melt plastic. I liked him. I thought he was cute. And he’s a robot. I shudder and clutch my stomach as I make my escape.
“Cora! You get back in here right this minute!” Gary’s voice is like a neural disruptor, stopping me in my tracks. He is scowling when I turn around. “You said you’d give this a chance. I took you at your word.”
“I had no idea what you guys had in mind!”
“Cora,” says Mom, her voice trembling. “It’s going to be okay. We just want—”
“Is it worse than the hospital?” Gary asks loudly. His index finger hovers close to the Cerepin nodule on his right temple. “If so, I can have Leika take you straight there.”
“This isn’t fair,” I shout. “I deserve some privacy, not some creepy canny following me around constantly and pretending to be my friend!”
“Privacy to do what, exactly?” Gary asks.
Mom has tears in her eyes. “I hate to say this, but we can’t trust you right now.”
“I can’t get better if I’m being smothered.” Nor can I pop a few pills and get a decent night’s sleep, or turn off my Cerepin and drown myself in the Potomac. But I guess that’s the idea.
“If you show us you can cope,” Gary says, “maybe I’ll change some of his settings. But not until then.” He comes over to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Come on, CC. Your mom and I only want you to get better. We’re already dealing with so much. Please do your part—by letting us take care of you. Will you do that for us?”
I look up at him. His eyes are too familiar. Too like his daughter’s. Suddenly, I feel like I’m standing at the edge of the roof again and the wind is gusting hard. I glance at Rafiq, who is not real. Who is like one of those canny fish. A good enough fake to fool me. Probably because I am a fool.
“Yeah,” I say. “Okay. You win.” Looks like I’m going to have to do some fooling of my own.
“Oh, thank god,” Mom says, all choked up.
Gary presses his lips together and nods. “Good. This will be good.” He turns around. “Rafiq, wake up.”
Rafiq opens his eyes and blinks several times, shifting in his seat as if he’s making himself more comfortable, only I know now that he’s somehow been programmed to move like that so that he looks real and alive. His gaze glides over to me and my parents, and he smiles. He looks innocent. Hopeful.
I turn my face away.
“Did I get the job?”
“Congratulations, Rafiq,” says Gary. “You’re hired.”
Chapter Four
Data review.
Internal narrative: on.
4:23 p.m., November 21, 2068
Hannah’s gaze scans a ballroom, in which 8 crystal chandeliers light the space, and 50 rows of chairs face an archway of authentic flowers. People have gathered on either side of an aisle lined with a silk runner. Hannah curses under her breath as her attention closes in on a girl with blond hair formally styled in a twist with a red rose tucked into the swirl. This girl is Cora. She is wearing a full-length dress of purple tulle.
She is speaking to a young male with wavy brown hair. Cross-reference with facial-recognition software indicates the male is Finn Cuellar, 16 years of age, hereafter referred to as “Finn.” As she interacts with Finn, Cora’s smile is significantly more genuine and intense than in 76% of previously analyzed vids. She laughs at something the young man says. Her fingers brush his sleeve.
Hannah draws in a sharp breath, as though stunned or surprised.
Her vid display is briefly overwritten by an incoming com.
Mei: Want me to rescue Finn?
Another message comes in 2 seconds after the first one:
Lara: She won’t keep her stupid hands off him. Want me to slap her for you?
Hannah chuckles. “New group message, Lara, Mei. I’m glad she’s having fun. Finn can take care of himself. Send.”
Her words appear in the top left corner of her vid display.
Mei: This sucks, Hann. You sure?
“What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t trust him? Send.”
Lara: The smart kind?
“Are you saying I’m stupid?”
The app inquires as to whether she would like to send her latest comment.
“No,” Hannah mutters. “Never mind. New message. Cora.” When the prompt appears, she continues. “I’m helping Maeve get ready. You should get in here. Send.”
She turns, letting the door to the ballroom close behind her, and walks down a hallway. Canny attendants stride past her carrying large arrangements of purple, red, and orange flowers.
End of vid capture, 4:28 p.m., November 21, 2068
4:36 p.m., November 21, 2068
Hannah enters a dressing area with multiple wall screens, all on the “mirror” setting, and cushioned chairs positioned in front of tables, each displaying an array of decorative cosmetics. Maeve Jenkins, soon to be Maeve Dietrich, sits in one of those chairs as a canny stylist pins a curl into place on the back of Maeve’s head. Maeve is wearing an ivory-colored dress with a corseted top and a ruffled skirt. She smiles into the mirror when she sees Hannah approaching. The mirror reveals that Hannah is wearing a purple dress identical to Cora’s, and her short brown hair is sleek, with curls against her temples.
“There you are,” says Maeve. She searches the mirror, then turns around and looks over her shoulder. “Is Cora coming? She was supposed to bring the pearl bracelet.”
“I’m sure she’ll be here any minute,” Hannah says, her gaze flicking around the room, alighting on a door marked “Restroom” and 3 other tables with chairs. “And I think I saw her put the bracelet in her bag before we left the house.”
Maeve’s face relaxes in an expression of relief. “It was so important to Gary that I wear it today.” She purses her lips, indicating contemplation. “Are you sure it’s okay with you, though?”
“It was my idea,” says Hannah. “My mom would be happy that Dad found someone as nice as you. And I’m happy, too.”
Hannah looks down as Maeve reaches up to take her hand. “Your dad’s a pretty special guy, Hannah,” says Maeve. “I want to keep making him happy, because that’s what he’s done for me. Given me my happiness back.”
“Dad’s one of the good ones,” Hannah says.
Maeve nods. The canny that was styling her hair steps back and pauses, head tilted.
“It looks wonderful, Phaedra,” says Maeve before looking at Hannah again. “Speaking of good ones, you said I was going to get to meet your special boy today?”
Hannah smiles, but her orbicularis oculi muscle does not contract. “Finn. He’s Dr. and Mr. Cuellar’s younger son.”
“Oh, yes! Did I meet him at the Independence Day barbecue? He’s cute! And so nice. He was showing Cora how to play the holographic croquet, wasn’t he? I hadn’t seen her smile like that since we moved.”
Hannah laughs and smiles, but facial-muscle movements again indicate her smile is not genuine.
Maeve tugs at her hand. “Hey, are you all right? Have you talked to your dad today? I know he wanted to talk to you before the ceremony.”
“He found me,” Hannah says. “And he told me what he’s doing.”
“And?” Maeve furrows her brow, and her eyes examine Hannah’s face. “We just thought . . . it would make our family complete. Your dad thought you would be okay with it.”
“I’m fine,” says Hannah. “I’m happy. I love Cora.”
“I know.” Maeve bows her head and holds Hannah’s hand between both of hers. “I’m so thankful that you and Gary came into our lives. You’re the best thing that ever happened to us.”
Hannah kneels quickly and tips Maeve’s chin up with her fingertip. “Don’t you dare ruin your makeup by crying!” she says, but her voice is gentle and indicative of good humor.