checked for a drugged state. Nothing touched us, at least
nothing I felt. The design was Terry Mwakambe’s. The monitoring was
shared by everybody, in shifts. The paranoia was Miri’s. Unlike her
grandmother, she didn’t want the Supers to secede permanently from the
United States. But like her grandmother, she’d nonetheless constructed
a defended refuge that government officials couldn’t touch. A
sanctuary. She’d just done it better than Jennifer Sharifi had.
“Permission to dock,” the freckled kid said seriously. He gave a
little half-mocking salute and grinned. This was still an adventure for
him.
“Hi, Jason,” Christy Demetrios said. “Hello, Drew. Come on in.”
Jason Reynolds. That was the kid’s name. I remembered now. Kevin’s
granddaughter Alexandra’s son. Something about him tugged at my memory,
a nervous quick shape like a string of beads. I couldn’t remember.
Jason docked the boat expertly—they all did everything expertly—and
we went ashore, Jason with quick bounds and me in my powerchair.
A hundred feet of genemod greenery, flowers and bushes and trees,
all of it part of the project. Plants grew right to the water’s edge.
When the sea threatened, a Y-shield switched on, capable of protecting
even the most fragile genemod rose from a hurricane. Beyond the garden,
the compound walls rose abruptly, thin as paper, stronger than
diamonds. Miri told me they were only a dozen molecules thick,
constructed by second-generation nano-machines that had themselves been
made from nanomachines. In my mind I saw the walls’ glossy whiteness,
to which no dirt could adhere, as hot dark red motion, thick and
unstoppable as lava.
Nothing here was stoppable.
“Drew!” Miri ran to meet me, wearing white shorts and a loose shirt,
her masses of dark hair tied back with a red ribbon. She had put on red
lipstick. She still looked more like sixteen than twenty-nine. She
threw her arms around me in my chair, and I felt the quick beating of
her heart against my cheek. Super metabolism is revved up a lot higher
than ours. I kissed her.
She murmured into my hair, “This time was too long. Four months!”
“It was a good tour, Miri.”
“I know. I watched sixteen performances on the grid, and the
performance stats look good.”
She nestled into my lap. Jason and Christy had discreetly vanished.
We were alone in the bright, newly created garden. I stroked Miri’s
hair, not wanting to hear just yet about performance stats.
Miri said, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I kissed her again, this time to keep from looking at her face. It
would be blinding, white hot with love. It always was, when she saw me.
Always. For thirteen years.
He was capable of complete
obsessiveness
, Leisha had said about her father.
He just wore
people out
.
“I miss you so much when you’re away, Drew.”
“I miss you, too.” This was true.
“I wish you could stay longer than a week.”
“Me, too.” This was not true. But there were no words.
She looked at me, then, a long moment. Something shifted behind her
eyes. Carefully, so as not to hurt my crippled legs, she climbed off my
lap, held out her hands, and smiled. “Come see the lab work.”
I recognized this for what it was: Miri offering me the best she
had. The most valuable present in the world. The thing I desperately
wanted to be part of, even though I wouldn’t understand it, because not
to be part of it was to be unimportant. Insignificant. She was offering
me what I needed most.
I couldn’t do less.
I pulled her back onto my lap, forced my hands to move over her
breasts. “Later. Can we be alone first…”
Her face was the curving shape of joy, too bright to be any color at
all.
Miri’s bedroom, like every other bedroom at La Isla, was spartan.
Bed, dresser, terminal, an oval green rug made of some soft material
Sara Cerelli had invented. On the dresser was a green pottery vase of
fragrant genemod flowers I didn’t recognize. These
nothing I felt. The design was Terry Mwakambe’s. The monitoring was
shared by everybody, in shifts. The paranoia was Miri’s. Unlike her
grandmother, she didn’t want the Supers to secede permanently from the
United States. But like her grandmother, she’d nonetheless constructed
a defended refuge that government officials couldn’t touch. A
sanctuary. She’d just done it better than Jennifer Sharifi had.
“Permission to dock,” the freckled kid said seriously. He gave a
little half-mocking salute and grinned. This was still an adventure for
him.
“Hi, Jason,” Christy Demetrios said. “Hello, Drew. Come on in.”
Jason Reynolds. That was the kid’s name. I remembered now. Kevin’s
granddaughter Alexandra’s son. Something about him tugged at my memory,
a nervous quick shape like a string of beads. I couldn’t remember.
Jason docked the boat expertly—they all did everything expertly—and
we went ashore, Jason with quick bounds and me in my powerchair.
A hundred feet of genemod greenery, flowers and bushes and trees,
all of it part of the project. Plants grew right to the water’s edge.
When the sea threatened, a Y-shield switched on, capable of protecting
even the most fragile genemod rose from a hurricane. Beyond the garden,
the compound walls rose abruptly, thin as paper, stronger than
diamonds. Miri told me they were only a dozen molecules thick,
constructed by second-generation nano-machines that had themselves been
made from nanomachines. In my mind I saw the walls’ glossy whiteness,
to which no dirt could adhere, as hot dark red motion, thick and
unstoppable as lava.
Nothing here was stoppable.
“Drew!” Miri ran to meet me, wearing white shorts and a loose shirt,
her masses of dark hair tied back with a red ribbon. She had put on red
lipstick. She still looked more like sixteen than twenty-nine. She
threw her arms around me in my chair, and I felt the quick beating of
her heart against my cheek. Super metabolism is revved up a lot higher
than ours. I kissed her.
She murmured into my hair, “This time was too long. Four months!”
“It was a good tour, Miri.”
“I know. I watched sixteen performances on the grid, and the
performance stats look good.”
She nestled into my lap. Jason and Christy had discreetly vanished.
We were alone in the bright, newly created garden. I stroked Miri’s
hair, not wanting to hear just yet about performance stats.
Miri said, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I kissed her again, this time to keep from looking at her face. It
would be blinding, white hot with love. It always was, when she saw me.
Always. For thirteen years.
He was capable of complete
obsessiveness
, Leisha had said about her father.
He just wore
people out
.
“I miss you so much when you’re away, Drew.”
“I miss you, too.” This was true.
“I wish you could stay longer than a week.”
“Me, too.” This was not true. But there were no words.
She looked at me, then, a long moment. Something shifted behind her
eyes. Carefully, so as not to hurt my crippled legs, she climbed off my
lap, held out her hands, and smiled. “Come see the lab work.”
I recognized this for what it was: Miri offering me the best she
had. The most valuable present in the world. The thing I desperately
wanted to be part of, even though I wouldn’t understand it, because not
to be part of it was to be unimportant. Insignificant. She was offering
me what I needed most.
I couldn’t do less.
I pulled her back onto my lap, forced my hands to move over her
breasts. “Later. Can we be alone first…”
Her face was the curving shape of joy, too bright to be any color at
all.
Miri’s bedroom, like every other bedroom at La Isla, was spartan.
Bed, dresser, terminal, an oval green rug made of some soft material
Sara Cerelli had invented. On the dresser was a green pottery vase of
fragrant genemod flowers I didn’t recognize. These
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