entered her room to find her sitting up in her bed, frowning. 'How come I don't have any network?' she said. 'How am I s’posed to do my lessons?'
He looked surprised. 'That's a good point. I'd better get you access. What are you accustomed to?'
'Huh?'
'What apps are you used to?'
'Dumb ones. Lots of Scripture ones, and we weren't allowed out into the proper net. Even the games were dumb. Who wants to stack spinning blocks?'
'Well, I'm sure I can arrange better apps, although I don't approve of netgames. They shrink children rather than grow them. But you needn't worry about all that superstition they've been filling your head with. No. I think I'll have you forget all that, too.'
Sara looked at him sharply, scanning his face, but from her puzzled expression he could see she had read nothing further there.
Her expression cleared. 'When can I get access? I wanna play a game now .'
'Don't say “wanna”. “Want to”,' he enunciated. 'But there will be no netgames for you, Sara. Would you like me to read you a story, instead?'
She frowned, pursing her lips as she considered his offer. 'Okay.'
'Which one would you like?'
'This one,' she said. '“Where the Wild Things Are”.'
How appropriate , he thought.
'Would you like to sit up here with me, Uncle? I could lean back against you to see the pictures better.'
He considered the idea, uncomfortably. But it would help bind her affections to him. He himself would not so easily form an emotional attachment, of course.
'Very well. But if you fall asleep, I will put you to bed and you are not to grumble if that wakes you up.'
She beamed, bouncing on the bed. 'Okay!'
As he read, she gave a running commentary, so he hardly needed the mindmeld he had cast, after she settled into his lap: 'I'm not that naughty,' and 'Can I get a wolf suit?' and 'I'd eat him up!' By the time young Max had arrived on the island of monsters, though, her eyes, against her will, were drooping down.
He riffled through her memories, pushing aside a moment of guilt at the invasion. Annoyingly, a link to her freshest memories, the orphanage set, had re-formed. Surprisingly, although those memories were strongest, they were only loosely bonded to her own self-image. As he lifted her up and slid her beneath her blanket, she grumbled gently, but a nudge of her thoughts was sufficient to settle her down again as he took his seat by the bed once more.
Shifting his 'viewpoint' in her memory complex, he saw where a few cuts would break the linkages to most of her last four years. Delicately, he pinched off those links and watched the structure shift and settle, now disconnected. The new linkages would stabilize over time.
With those pushed aside, the deeper and stronger linkages became more apparent. But it would be inadvisable to work on them again, without the patient conscious: the risk of accidental alterations was too high. He limited himself to tagging some bundles of connections, and choking the access down a little to the more obvious sets. There was no rush. Besides, it would be better to proceed in small steps so he could check each change. Especially as he noted her energy levels dropping with each of his new corrections.
Deciding he had done enough for her second night, he gently withdrew his magical probes, ended the spell, and turned off the light as he left her room.
In his office once more, he leaned back in his chair and let his gaze wander over his physical bookshelves. A mere fraction of his digital library, but sometimes, physicality mattered.
Volumes on metaphysics, theology, philosophy, psychology, magic – his own bound research papers – physiology, and neurochemistry. All related to his driving interest: isolating the magical makeup of Man.
His eyes unfocused as he considered his new problem. Sara.
Word about his “disturbed” ward had already filtered through the thin ranks of the
He looked surprised. 'That's a good point. I'd better get you access. What are you accustomed to?'
'Huh?'
'What apps are you used to?'
'Dumb ones. Lots of Scripture ones, and we weren't allowed out into the proper net. Even the games were dumb. Who wants to stack spinning blocks?'
'Well, I'm sure I can arrange better apps, although I don't approve of netgames. They shrink children rather than grow them. But you needn't worry about all that superstition they've been filling your head with. No. I think I'll have you forget all that, too.'
Sara looked at him sharply, scanning his face, but from her puzzled expression he could see she had read nothing further there.
Her expression cleared. 'When can I get access? I wanna play a game now .'
'Don't say “wanna”. “Want to”,' he enunciated. 'But there will be no netgames for you, Sara. Would you like me to read you a story, instead?'
She frowned, pursing her lips as she considered his offer. 'Okay.'
'Which one would you like?'
'This one,' she said. '“Where the Wild Things Are”.'
How appropriate , he thought.
'Would you like to sit up here with me, Uncle? I could lean back against you to see the pictures better.'
He considered the idea, uncomfortably. But it would help bind her affections to him. He himself would not so easily form an emotional attachment, of course.
'Very well. But if you fall asleep, I will put you to bed and you are not to grumble if that wakes you up.'
She beamed, bouncing on the bed. 'Okay!'
As he read, she gave a running commentary, so he hardly needed the mindmeld he had cast, after she settled into his lap: 'I'm not that naughty,' and 'Can I get a wolf suit?' and 'I'd eat him up!' By the time young Max had arrived on the island of monsters, though, her eyes, against her will, were drooping down.
He riffled through her memories, pushing aside a moment of guilt at the invasion. Annoyingly, a link to her freshest memories, the orphanage set, had re-formed. Surprisingly, although those memories were strongest, they were only loosely bonded to her own self-image. As he lifted her up and slid her beneath her blanket, she grumbled gently, but a nudge of her thoughts was sufficient to settle her down again as he took his seat by the bed once more.
Shifting his 'viewpoint' in her memory complex, he saw where a few cuts would break the linkages to most of her last four years. Delicately, he pinched off those links and watched the structure shift and settle, now disconnected. The new linkages would stabilize over time.
With those pushed aside, the deeper and stronger linkages became more apparent. But it would be inadvisable to work on them again, without the patient conscious: the risk of accidental alterations was too high. He limited himself to tagging some bundles of connections, and choking the access down a little to the more obvious sets. There was no rush. Besides, it would be better to proceed in small steps so he could check each change. Especially as he noted her energy levels dropping with each of his new corrections.
Deciding he had done enough for her second night, he gently withdrew his magical probes, ended the spell, and turned off the light as he left her room.
In his office once more, he leaned back in his chair and let his gaze wander over his physical bookshelves. A mere fraction of his digital library, but sometimes, physicality mattered.
Volumes on metaphysics, theology, philosophy, psychology, magic – his own bound research papers – physiology, and neurochemistry. All related to his driving interest: isolating the magical makeup of Man.
His eyes unfocused as he considered his new problem. Sara.
Word about his “disturbed” ward had already filtered through the thin ranks of the
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