Read Online Frek and the Elixir by Rudy Rucker - Free Book Online Page B

simple joy of being alive.
    For the moment he and Mom didn’t talk about anything real. The watchbird was hovering right next to them. Mom showed him the garden and he said it was nice. They picked some apples from the low-hanging branches, and he said they tasted good. Mom went and got his angelwings out of the garage. Frek wasn’t quite sure why she wanted him to fly. To run away? But the watchbird would track him and bring the counselors.
    He stared hopelessly at Mom laying out the wings. It was going to be a mess trying to put them on. No way was he going to be able to do all the right steps in the right order. His mind was like a sieve. He stood there worrying, soon forgetting all about the angelwings.
    He felt sure he’d get well on his own if Gov would just give him more time. He could feel the healing at work within him; it was a combing sensation, like fingers running through his hair—as if he were combing his brain, fluffing up his familiar old modes of thought, getting his personality back together, bringing his memories on line. But tomorrow the time was going to run out. Some people said you had an immortal soul. Would he get a new soul when they changed his brain? If the Three R’s even worked, that is. The facilitator toon had talked about a high success rate. That was a roundabout way of saying that some patients died. Maybe Gov would deliberately make sure Frek ended up being that kind of patient. Yes, tomorrow Frek was probably going to die. He probed the thought, weighing it against the feel of the late afternoon breeze, the smell of the garden, the light slanting through the gathering clouds.
    â€œDon’t look so gloomy, Frek,” said Mom, actually laughing at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, but you should see your face. I’m going crazy. Let’s not give up yet. You don’t feel like flying?”
    â€œUh—”
    â€œWell, then, let’s play badminton first!” she exclaimed, as if she’d been waiting to say this. “It’s a new set, I got it this week to distract the girls from worrying about you. Look.” She darted into the garage and brought out a pair of long-handled racquets, beautifully gnarled wood with springy meshes of fibers.
    â€œThey’re from a please plant,” said Mom. “The strings are good, aren’t they? And, look, Frek, here’s the birdie. ” She produced a rubbery little pellet with a fringe of feathery fronds.
    They went over to the lawn beside the garage so as not to step on the angelwings. They played without a net, not keeping score, just batting the little birdie back and forth. It was easy. The watchbird was intrigued by the shuttlecock’s motions; it kept buzzing back and forth, chasing it.
    Mom began lobbing the shuttlecock higher and higher. It would settle slowly down toward Frek with the watchbird buzzing after it, and then he’d whack the badminton birdie back to his mother.
    â€œOops,” said Mom. She’d just kicked a hole in the lacy turmite mound, and you could already see some of them swarming out. A pungent, vinegary smell came from the angry turmites. Mom casually moved a few steps away from the mound and hit the birdie to Frek again. He was down past the far end of the garage.
    As they continued to volley, Frek noticed something odd about Mom’s motions. She kept looking from him to the watchbird to the turmite mound behind her, which meant she had to keep awkwardly turning her head. Doing this over and over. At first he thought it was that she was worried about the turmites stinging her, but then, all at once, he got the picture.
    â€œOw,” said Mom, suddenly stepping to one side and bending to brush a turmite from her ankle. The shuttlecock and the watchbird were flying straight toward Frek. This was it.
    Focusing all of his attention, Frek swung his racquet through a full sweep, stretching the length of his body from the tips of his fingers to the