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vcon32 dragon small7 Angels Promises by Nina Munteanu

I’m heading off this weekend to Vcon, Vancouver’s SF & F convention…You know the deal…drinking, talking, laughing, sharing, drinking some more, slurring, theorizing, imagining, arguing, drinking yet some more, slurring some more…Well, then there are all those aliens “coming in peace” or whatever it is they’re saying (I’m usually too happily inebriated to understand their squeeky little voices…or to care for that matter…).
For reasons I’m not at liberty to discuss, I shant be participating in any panels this time (shame, really, because now I’ll just have to keep that neat little phaser I was going to give away as a door prize…). Suffice to say that the best of promises, motivated by the very noblest of intentions, may “break” when pressed with insufficient resources or time.

At any rate, I fully intend to enjoy myself and learn a thing or two. So, in the meantime, I’ve left you a short story that is aptly in keeping with misunderstanding, apparent abandonment and hopeful resolution. It’s all about promises: to others and ultimately to oneself. The story was originally published in Dreams & Visions (Skysong Press). It’s a love story set in a time when AI and humans have settled on an uneasy truce of cooperation.
Angel’s Promises
Rebecca stared through the window where the sun trembled on the horizoaliencity03 Angels Promises by Nina Munteanun and inflamed the sky. She contrasted what she saw with the dark inner-city, dank with despair, from which they’d retrieved him. Pacing her outer-city office like a trapped panther, she fidgeted with her dress and raked her dark hair back with her fingers. She strained to hear footsteps approaching and felt her heart race with — what? What did she feel? Exhilaration? Terror? A terse rap at the door was her only warning before it swung open and the face she had not seen in four years stared boldly at her. The fire in his coal-black eyes stirred up memories of when she’d met him, kissed him and deserted him.
~ 1 ~
Belly aching with hunger, Rebecca glanced down at Isabelle huddled next to her in the gutted apartment that was once home. It was four days since they’d lost their mother in the crowded mall. Rebecca listened to the murmurs of the city in her head: a low hush mingled with the stirrings of cryptic metallic sounds, chopped up words, bleeps and sighs. Like a million voices in the distance, they came and went like the ebbing and swelling surf of the sea. She no longer mentioned the sounds to Isabelle, who could not hear them, because it frightened her too much. Rebecca had heard a rumor that the outer-city was searching for people who could interface with AIs. They called them veemelds. Could she be one? As much as she wished to return, she refused to leave her little sister behind. Nothing would ever separate them, she thought, glancing down at Isabelle’s urchin face. She’d promised.
Rebecca’s gaze swept the place. Some vagrant had vandalized and torched it. Nothing of theirs remained, not that there was much to begin with. She rose and wandered into what used to be their bedroom, Isabelle scrambling behind. Black and sodden, it reeked of kerosene and urine. Her gaze rested on her old bed, torn and stained, where her mother used to awaken her every night, smelling of whiskey, then crawl in beside her, clutch Rebecca to her breast and sob. Rebecca turned abruptly from the gutted bedroom and said, “We have to go now.” She was fifteen and could take care of herself and her twelve-year old sister if she had to.
Isabelle scrambled behind. “Can’t we go back to the outer-city and visit Uncle Carl till mummy comes back?”
Sdarwinbookmarkbluestairs Angels Promises by Nina Munteanuhe isn’t coming back, Rebecca thought. She rolled her eyes and shook her head at her sister. “And how’d we get there, you silly? On wings?” As if they could simply climb out of the dark depths of the inner-city. Besides, Uncle Carl was mean. He’d said that anyone who ended up techno-slaving for the inner-city AIs deserved their fate. There’d been no choice for her mother who’d lost her wits after their father was taken away. Rebecca pushed out her lower lip and narrowed her eyes at the thought of Uncle Carl’s stern face. Seeing the tears stream down Isabelle’s cheeks, Rebecca took her hand. “Never mind, Izzy. I’ll take care of you.”
They headed to the mall, hoping to find some scraps of food. They staked out a Food Stop and patience finally paid off when a woman got up with a half-eaten oatcake. The girls followed her to a waste bin and watched her drop the cake into the bin. After a quick glance around, Rebecca dove in after it but a dirty hand snatched the cake first. Rebecca jerked up and gazed into a filthy face.
“Th-th-this is my bin,” stammered the boy about her age, who stared at her with intense slag-black eyes. Blinking through dark strands of hair, he stroked his long face, smeared with dirt and grease. Then he flicked back his shoulder-length hair and studied the two girls with a smirk that unsettled Rebecca. “You t-t-techno-slummers?”
She’d heard of them. They were orphans of the inner-city, waste products of desperate and over-indulgent techno-slaves. And troublemakers for the AIs. Vermin, who choked up the cyber-system, disturbed their complacent humming, stole into their metal bellies and snuck off with their secrets. “We’re looking for my mother,” Rebecca replied, curbing a frown.
“That’s what they all s-s-say, after their parents ab-b-bandon them,” he said as though he was discussing a school event. He smacked his lips as he chewed. “She’s b-been gone awhile,” he said with a full mouth. “I can tell.”
Isabelle puckered her face, ready to cry.
“Here.” He broke off a piece of the oatcake and handed it to Isabelle. “You can share my bin until you get one of your own,” he stuttered, offering Rebecca another piece. “We’re family. We look after each other, especially from the cypols. I’m Neo.” He puffed up his chest and tilted his head back proudly. “You probably heard about the mess I caused in the Food-Center. I got us twenty kilos of nano-soup.”
Rebecca refused the piece of oat cake, even though Isabelle had already accepted hers and was gratefully eating. “I told you, we’re not techno-slummers,” she said in a huff. “We’re just waiting for our mother to come back.”
“Yeah, like when chaos turns to order.”
~ 2 ~
“What d’ya mean they talk?” Neo squatted next to Rebecca in the cramped makeshift shack, as they repaired a computer they’d built with scrap parts they’d found. He dug his dirty nails into his tangled hair and squinted at her.
“Can’t you hear them too, Neo?” Rebecca said in a faltering voice. She shifted her weight from one knee to the other, suddenly giddy under his penetrating stare. She caught his scent, sharp with old sweat, felt her face heat and fought down the confusing storm that surged through her abdomen. Lately she’d caught him studying her with such intensity that it made her blush. His opinion meant more to her than anything.
Neo tilted his head to one side. “You making this up?” His name wasn’t really Neo. It was Colin Baker, but he’d abandoned it like the parents who’d given him the name had abandoned him. All the techno-slummers had given themselves new names. She’d chosen Angel, the nickname her father gave her. “Machines don’t talk to people, Angel,” Neo said, shaking his head at her. He stood up. “I gotta get some quantum couplers.” He studied her for a moment. “Get a grip, Angel. You’re still looking for your mother a year after she abandoned you! A cypol probably caught her and she’s been recycled into something by now, maybe the nano-soup you ate today.”
She thought him cruel to have said that. Mocking the promise she’d made to her father the day he was arrested. He’d turned at the threshold, flanked by two policemen as her mother and sister wailed uncontrollably and Rebecca stood brave like a soldier: Take care of your mother and sister for me, till I return, Angel . . . I will, father, I promise. . . .He never did return, of course. They’d accused him of being a luddite — she didn’t know what that was — and she never saw him again.
Several of the younger orphans had gathered around in the small bivouac built from scrap parts cemented with the detritus of urban fast living. Rebecca clenched her fists and worked her jaw as she watched Neo brush past the giggling children. Letting her anger subside in silence, she decided that from then on she would avoid confiding in him. It was too painful.
But that night, when the little children lay asleep in their nests of garbage and she listened with her eyes closed to the droning throb of the machines in her head, Neo startled her by touching her shoulder. Her eyes darted open to his reckless smile and her face smoldered with the thought that he meant to kiss her. But he was only excited about her strange talent and what it meant for them all. She inhaled his smoky metal scent and controlled herdarwinbookmarkslum Angels Promises by Nina Munteanu breathing as he shared his plan, totally unaware of the effect he was having on her.
That was when they began to invade the cyber world of the inner-city to feed and clothe themselves. Although she disagreed with stealing, Rebecca sensed that her ability to tap into the AI world not only fed her undernourished companions, but also bolstered their morale. What else could she do? They were starving, cold and sick. And they had no one they could go to. Turning themselves in to the Care-Center facility was not an option. They’d heard horror stories of what went on there. No one ever emerged once they went there. Nano-soup.
~ 3 ~
“Cypols!” Neo shouted. His voice rang in the mall, empty now in the deep of the night. Rebecca looked up from the public computer she’d hacked into and her gaze followed Neo’s to where a shrill whine grew louder. Several great metal birds of prey swooped down, their burnished wings glinting as they selected their targets and honed in. The children scattered and ran for cover among the garbage and rubble. Isabelle stood stiff with fear.
Rebecca spotted one heading straight for them and leapt to her feet. “Izzy, come on!” She seized Isabelle’s hand and ran. Isabelle stumbled behind her, panting. Rebecca tugged her hard, galloping toward a makeshift lean-to. Isabelle gasped and tripped in the rubble. Their hands flew apart. Rebecca dove under cover, expecting Isabelle to be right behind her.
“Becky!” Isabelle shrieked. Rebecca turned and saw the metal bird seize Isabelle with its claws. Her arms flailed out to Rebecca. “Help!” Within a moment Isabelle sailed up, clutched firmly in the great bird’s talons as Rebecca, crouched under the corrugated metal, stared in frozen silence. Her sister’s wails subsided and she disappeared into the darkness above.
~ 4 ~
Neo’s face grew red and blotchy. Rebecca had just told him that she intended to let herself get caught by a cypol.
They were fashioning a table out of an old building support and he reeled away, letting the piece he held fall to the floor. She flinched as the table crashed. “Damn you, Angel!” He spun around to face her, raking his fingers through his long greasy hair. “What about your mother? You going to abandon your search for her? Just like that?”
Rebecca set down the makeshift hammer then straightened up, wiping her hands on her rags. “You’re the one who keeps telling me it’s useless to keep looking for her. It’s been close to two years now.” She tilted her head at him and said tartly, “Nano-soup, remember?”
His eyes flashed. “What about your promise?”
Her face heated with defensive anger. “Which one? I promised I’d look after my sister too.” He pouted and his voice dropped to a whisper. “What about our dream. . . .”
It was a wild dream they shared: escape to the outer-city, where the sun shone and the air was fresh from a breeze rich with the wild scent of flowers. Where people walked with unrestrained laughter and AIs only served a limited function as tools, not lords of techno-slaves. She’d corrupted him with her tales of the outer-city and regretted it now. Sold him on a dream that she couldn’t deliver.
He waved his gangly arms. “Damn you!” he lashed out. “We’re family and you’re going to leave us to rot and starve.” His stammer was worse than usual. It got that way when he was upset. She stiffened. “You were around long before I arrived. Besides, Neo, you can do most of what I can do. It’s not like you need me—”
“I can’t talk to the machines —”
Rebecca stomped her foot in frustration and stalked forward until they stood facing one another less than a meter apart. “Neither can I, Neo. I told you, I can’t talk to them, only hear them.” “It’s the same thing!”
“No it isn’t!”
They were both panting, eyes blazing in stalemate. His breath reeked of nano-soup. She let her shoulders slump and looked away with a sigh. She knew he was only hiding his pain under this tirade. She would miss him too, more than she cared to admit.
Neo hunched over and sobbed, “D-d-don’t leave me, Angel.” The hand that never asked for help thrashed out, like the broken wing of a bird, flopping on the ground.
Overcome by his clumsy supplication, she took his hand. Then she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. Stunned, his eyes widened. She savored his delicious vulnerability like the nectar of a flower unfolding as he opened to her kiss, his mouth wrapping itself around it. When she withdrew from him, he leaned with her, reluctant to separate. He fumbled for her, clutched her tightly and laid his cheek upon her breast. She stroked his head, smelling his unwashed hair, and felt him shake with silent sobs. Her eyes heated with tears. She fought the confusion between the craving to stay and the need to help her sister. She’d promised, after all. “I’ll come back for you,” she said in a trembling voice. “I won’t leave you behind. I promise.”
~ 5 ~
As the rest of the techno-slummers dashed for cover, Rebecca stood fixed. Her heart pounded as she listened to the familiar squeal of the approaching cypol. Neo lunged for her, tugging hard. Determined, she fought him off and thought down the panic surging inside: I’m going to do it this time. I’m going to let it catch me.
“Damn you, Angel!” Neo screamed. “And damn your promises!” He dashed to safety.
She swallowed down her fear and curbed the instinct to hunker and flee. She could see the cypol’s gleaming eyes. Saw it veer toward her. Lock on her. There was no escape now. She’d be joining her sister soon. It had been a week since the cypol took Isabelle. What if she was dead? What if the cypols just took you up to their lair in the darkness of the ceilings and devoured you, like Neo said? What if her sacrifice was for nothing, wouldn’t reunite her with Isabelle but would simply put an end to her life?
Rebecca ran. But the cypol was almost upon her. You will not be hurt, it seemed to say. Did she imagine it? Stunned, Rebecca broke from her run, let her body go limp as the cypol scooped her up. The air rushed across her face as she soared up and felt exhilaration. I’m coming, Isabelle, she thought. I’m coming to save you. She glimpsed Neo staring up from the shadows, his face twisted in anguish, as she approached the rafters. Trembling with the memory of their first kiss, she whispered in a hoarse voice, “I’ll come back, Neo. I promise.”
A doorway opened into a yawning darkness. The bird sailed through and she was enveloped by pitch black. Her heart raced and she caught an overly sweet, almost cloying smell as she grew weary and fell into a deep slumber.
Rebecca awoke groggily to loud voices in her head. It was still dark. She lay bound with her back on a smooth, hard surface.
She recognized the metal voices as their AI rulers. She’s definitely a veemeld, said one. Go fetch Christian from the outer-city. We can sell this one.
Another said, Look at this, Alpha. Her V29 prostaglandins appear abnormally high. Even for a veemeld. What can it mean?
Perhaps we should charge a higher price. It is a sweet deal, Omega. We rid ourselves of these pests and the outer-city humans pay us for them. Beats recycling. Reuse, when you can, I always say. This one will fetch us a good price. They use these veemelds to help them run their disorganized outer-city. Able to interface with their primitive AIs, veemelds also serve as the best interpreters between their city and ours. . . .
She strained to hear more but the voices faded and she lost herself in the dark void. When she regained consciousness, she heard more voices, this time not in her head. They were exchanged in mild argument and one of them was definitely human.
“—You know we want her, damn it!” the human, an older male, said in frustration.
“Only if you pay double the price, Christian,” a shrill metal voice insisted.
“All right, all right,” the human conceded wearily. “Are there more like her?”
“Doesn’t she have a sister?” rejoined a tin voice. “I think we picked her up earlier.”
Another metal voice cut in, “She tested negative. Not a veemeld. We disposed of her. She’s been recycled.”
No! Not Isabelle! She pulled frantically on the bindings and squeezed her eyes tight to the tears that filled them. Oh, God, no! Not my baby sister.
The voices continued, oblivious to her pain. “ The girl has an uncle in the outer city. Carl Douglas,” Christian said.
No! Not there! Let me stay here with Neo.
“. . . I’ll contact the uncle and arrange for her departure within the hour.”
No! Rebecca screamed out but no sound emerged. The weariness overcame her. Oh, Neo. I’ve left you for nothing. Our dream. So many promises to keep. So many promises. . . .
~6~
He’d cut his dark hair short and his face had matured. A few stubborn locks fell over his temple. Full lips, held tightly, were poised on a rugged and unshaven jaw. She appraised his torso, visible beneath his tattered rags. At 21 years, he’d filled out from his awkward adolescence into a man’s shape, tall and strongly muscled. She hardly recognized him, except for those intense coal-black eyes.
Rebecca pointed to a chair facing her desk. “Please,” and slid into the chair behind her desk. She placed her hands flat, caressing the smooth wood.
Refusing to approach, he planted his legs apart and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why’d you bring me here?” he said without a trace of a stammer. He’d learned control, she thought. Become a warrior poet. “Why didn’t the AIs kill me?” he challenged. “I’m not a veemeld. I’m no use to you people.”
Could it be that he didn’t recognize her? Trying to control the emotion in her voice she said, “Neo, it’s me. . . Angel.”
His face paled. A tide of astonishment swept the dark hostility aside and his arms dropped to his side like lead. “A-a-ngel?” he stammered. Then anger boiled up. It fired his eyes with rage and he charged toward her. She recoiled in alarm. But he stopped at her expression and a miserable smile crossed his lips. She watched him take in a deep breath before speaking with more control, “I was right. When the human slaves are no longer useful like your drunk mother, the AIs recycle them.” His mouth curled into a self-mocking smirk. “Nano-soup.” He appraised her wearily and pursed his lips. The expression in his eyes opened to his pain and she heard the agony break over his voice. “I thought you were dead, Rebecca.”
She flinched at his use of her proper name and swallowed.
“Couldn’t eat nano-soup after that.” Then he veiled his anguish with disgust. “But eventually news filtered down that the outer-city had a new veemeld with special powers, she could hear the machines in her head.” He sneered. “And I knew you were alive.” He flicked his hand to dismiss all his previous pain as if it were unimportant. “You probably knew you’d be safe and fetch a good price too. Not brave like I’d thought, more like self-serving.”
“It wasn’t like that, Neo,” she said in a trembling voice.
His eyes gleamed with open hatred. “I really believed you. I believed all the things you said about escaping and living here together, but you never really meant it, did you?”
“Neo—”
“Once you got here, you forgot all about us.”
By ‘us’ he meant him. Did that tremulous first kiss taste bitter to him now?
“And I can see why.” His accusing gaze slid from her face and roamed her plush office. His eyes rested on the blazing sky. She heard a tremor in his voice, “You got what you wanted.” He glared at the plaques of distinction and achievement that hung on her wall. Then his head snapped at her with a scowl. “Chaos knows why I’m here now. Was it a glitch? Some embarrassing mistake you have to fix? You certainly didn’t earn your excellent reputation by thinking of us or our welfare.”
Shivering with anger, she found her voice, “Do you think that was my choice?” Propelled to her feet, she gripped the desk and locked her eyes on his. “They — my uncle — kept me from going back to look for you. I was trapped here in a paradise without a heart. It was our dream and my thoughts of you. . .” and that sweet kiss “. . . that kept me from drowning in despair. Kept me afloat these past four years with the hope that you hadn’t been caught and recycled like my sister. I realized that the only way I was going to find you and bring you out was if I played along and became the best veemeld the outer-city had. My prize was that I eventually had a chance to talk to the AIs in the inner-city and convinced them to sell you to me.” She swallowed the emotion rising in her throat and tried to gauge his intense look. Was he still angry with her? She couldn’t blame him. Feeling utter defeat, she forced the last words past a tide of anguish, “I thought I would never find you.” Her eyes heated with tears and his face blurred in pools of dismay. “And now that I have, it’s to find I destroyed our dream. I lost you anyway.” Unable to meet his fierce eyes her gaze dropped to the floor and her voice fell like petals from a wilted flower. “I’ve broken all my promises.”
“No you haven’t,” he said in a gentle voice that drew her gaze. With a few strides he’d closed the distance between them and stood so close to her, she could feel his breath upon her. His smoky metal scent coiled around her in a heady embrace as he placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned forward. His icy glare had melted to dark pools of warmth. “You didn’t break the one you made to me, Angel, when you first kissed me with your tender promise of love.”
She trembled as he took her face in his hands. Then his lips were on hers and she felt like they’d never been apart, tasting the mature fruit of his love. He took her in his arms as though he never meant to let her go and she finally felt like she was home.
She thought of her mother and sister, recycled in the inner-city, feeding into that eternal cycle of altering form. . . nano-soup. . . the cell of a beating heart. . . the suspended dust upon which bloomed the blushing sky. As she gazed into Neo’s midnight eyes, now reflecting the glow of sunset, Rebecca realized that he’d just given her the key to her legacy of promises. Every promise she’d made was a declaration to nurture a tender seed.
The rest was up to God.
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darwinbookmarkslum The Mark of a Genius by Nina MunteanuMy husband recently passed me a newspaper clipping that promoted a book called the Beckoners. The book follows Zoe, who has to make some tough decisions at school about how to deal with a group of bullies (my own son is in senior high). The very next day I got a note from a publishing colleague over at Ning about a new book by her friend called Bullycide in America, Moms Speak Out About the Bullying/Suicide Connection. She went on to say that this was a book her friend had definitely not wanted to write; she was compelled to write it after the death of her son. WOW! What an opening line. I was overcome. So, even though this is not a subject I really want to discuss, for some reason I feel compelled to do so now. With school a few weeks in, the topic of bullying is bound to be on many parent’s — and children’s — minds. It is, unfortunately a growing concern in North America.

Many of us have experienced some kind of bullying, whether in school or the playground or later even in the work place. I remember being pushed, unprovoked, into the bushes by a gang of ruffians back in elementary school. It’s always the one who is different, stands out in some way, and usually alone who winds up being targeted. Those memories, often painful or just embarrassing and enfuriating as in my case, can shape how we deal with difficult situations and potential bullying in our current lives. Sometimes we respond with angry tirade; but sadly we usually respond with silence.

I offer a story I wrote that touches on this subject.

The Mark of a Genius

“I’m Jorge,” he extended his hand.

Mitch accepted his firm handshake as excitement surged up her face. She’d noticed his dignified face earlier in the crowded room of strangers and his gaze had briefly met hers then strayed away, somehow disappointing her. She was used to men looking at her. Since she was seventeen boys had undressed her with their eyes. But this man’s glancing stare betrayed a kind of recognition that sent her heart pumping in her throat with a fearful thrill: could he be one too?

[SAM], she’d sent her thought wave to her AI-partner. [Find out everything you can on the person I’m watching].

[OKAY, MITCH], SAM had replied in her head.

Mitch had caught furtive glimpses of the stranger as he wandered among the other guests then lost sight of him. She’d boldly searched the room, unconsciously straightening her dress only to flinch when she found him standing in front of her with an enigmatic smile.

“You’re Mitch, aren’t you?” he said in a pleasant tenor’s voice, his handsome lean face radiating a disquieting calm.

“Michelin,” she corrected rather tartly, fighting down her rising defensiveness; no one called her Mitch except her best friend.

“Your boss pointed you out to me earlier,” he explained, drawing urbanlandscape3 The Mark of a Genius by Nina Munteanuher to a more secluded corner of the room. “First time to one of these, Michelin?” He waved his hand to the room.

“Yes,” she said, irked at herself for blushing. Was it so obvious? Kraken had insisted that she accompany him to this fancy outer-city party. She’d come just to please her new boss and worn the only good dress she owned.

Jorge tipped his head sideways and a network of lines radiated from his sudden blue eyes. “Kraken calls you a genius, but I know you’re just a veemeld.”

Her heart slammed and she bristled, eyes involuntarily darting around to make sure no one overheard his accusation. Now she knew why she’d been repelled and attracted to him at the same time. She’d guessed right earlier: he was a veemeld too. A rude one.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, offering a conciliatory smile. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m also a veemeld. You hide it well. I didn’t sense you.”

And why should he? she thought peevishly. She’d taught SAM, her AI-partner, to keep her isolated from the AI-core, effectively blocking her thoughts from other veemelds. And Jorge was polite, not intrusive like that scruffy vagrant boy, Dexter, she’d run into earlier today near her shack in the inner-city. The little creep had followed her home again and when she’d turned to glare at him his thoughts burst into hers like the groping hands of an inexperienced lover. He’d plowed right into her mind, blundered into the front door of her brain with the excitement of sensing another veemeld’s energy field. Jorge had only flirted in a back alley of her mind, gently probing via their respective AI-partners. He’d guessed the rest.

“Your avatar is? . . .” Jorge trailed, obviously hoping she’d provide the answer.

Mitch gave him a crooked smile and obliged, “SAM. My AI-entity’s called SAM.”

Jorge’s eyes sparkled. “Ah.” He looked impressed. “Short for Samantha?”

“Smart Analog Machine.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “SAM has quite a reputation in the core. I should have known it was ‘you’.”
There followed a moment of silence, which neither offered to break. Jorge lost his smile, his mind elsewhere, as Mitch brushed chestnut hair from her face. Then Jorge leaned closer, his eyes penetrating, and confided, “It’s lonely being a veemeld, isn’t it.”

Her face flared. Unable to meet his probing eyes, Michelin dropped her gaze. She found herself staring down her cleavage past her black silk dress to her long bare legs and thinking that her dress was too tight and too short. Was he coming on to her?

urbanlandscape2 The Mark of a Genius by Nina Munteanu

“They treat us more like tools than people,” Jorge went on in her silence. Michelin looked up into his sad eyes. “When I announced that I was a veemeld in school, the other students harassed me. My bosses use me like a commodity to be traded or disposed of.” He exhaled slowly and ran his long fingers through his gray hair. “When researchers developed the AI-core and the technology to use it, they had no idea that only point five percent of the population could veemeld with it.”

“Actually, it’s 0.2%”

“Ah.” He smiled wryly. “But it is rather sad, isn’t it, how it all turned out,” he continued with a thoughtful expression. “Scientists have now proven that just through the act of veemelding, we improve our cognition, memory and learning, particularly our ability to respond to changing environmental information. We do it through activation–”

“Of theta rhythm in the hippocampus. Yes, I know. We use the high-frequency tetanic pulses generated by the AI-core to activate a particular phase of theta rhythm during veemeld.”
Jorge nodded enthusiastically. “Every part of the brain that’s enhanced in veemelds is involved in theta rhythm: the brain stem that transmits signals to the septum, which then activates TR in the hippocampus and the entorhinal cortex. While normal people rely on REM sleep to activate theta rhythm, veemelds have it on all the time. Remarkable, isn’t it?” He slipped his elegant hands into his pockets. “Your whole body is a symphony of rhythms, a vehicle of spontaneous, persistent synchrony. Fireflies talk with light; planets speak through the force of gravity; heart cells share electric currents. We . . . .” His eyes fired with emotion. “Imagine what humanity could be if we all connected like a single autopoietic system in a kind of synchronal dance.”

Mitch shrugged. She didn’t usually have time for dreamers . . . and Jorge was obviously a dreamer. She indulged him anyway: “autopoietic?”

Jorge smiled like he’d won a prize: her attentive ear, she supposed. “I’m talking about the whole of our society behaving and evolving in a self-organized, adaptive way. We already do this ? veemelds, that is. Have been long before the AI-technology came along.”

She gave him a skeptical half-smile. “People ‘veemelding’ without the AI-core?”

“Proof is all around us, Michelin, in the independent formulation of calculus by Newton and Leibniz or the theory of the evolution of species by Charles Darwin and Alfred Russel Wallace. Then there’s McFadden and Pocket independently but simultaneously theorizing that electromagnetic fields are the seat of our consciousness. Multiple independent discoveries have increased in society a thousand-fold since the nineteenth century. Did you know that? The reason is obvious: the fabric of our society is evolving into a neural network, learning, interacting and sharing toward the achievement of a common zeitgeist.”

Mitch folded her arms across her chest. “That doesn’t prove the existence of veemelds.”

Jorge’s eyes lit to her challenge. “Well, there are two schools of thought on multiple independent discoveries: that it’s a function of either social context or the qualities of the individuals making the discovery such as inventive genius. I think it’s both. I think most of our geniuses were frustrated veemelds waiting for a better vehicle to tap into ? the quantum electromagnetic waves of the AI-core ? but they made due with humanity’s subtle autopoietic system instead.”

Mitch caught herself smirking. Jorge hadn’t struck her as arrogant; yet he was suggesting that every genius from Newton to Einstein was a veemeld! But she couldn’t help thinking his premise elegant. Scientists had figured out that the unique genetic makeup of veemelds provided them with, among other things, a slightly different electromagnetic field arrangement, one better suited to sending and receiving non-local fields outside their bodies. Which explained why veemelds, alone, could . . . well, veemeld.

As though he were reading her thoughts, Jorge went on, “When McFadden and Pocket simultaneously but independently proposed the theory of a localized electromagnetic field as the seat of consciousness a hundred years ago, they had no idea what Pandora’s Box they’d opened. We now know that there are so many different kinds of energy fields with differing frequency and waveform surrounding our brains and our entire bodies and connecting us to the rest of the planet and universe, like?”

“Static and pulsed EM, quantum-vacuum fields, gravitational fields and cosmic and particle-mediated fields to name a few,” Mitch leapt in, not to be outdone. She was Kraken’s “genius” after all.

Jorgen nodded with a thoughtful smile. “I thought that perhaps all humans ? veemelds and non-veemelds ?could eventually communicate as we are meant to ? as a single autopoietic system, through the subtle force fields that embrace all life and non-living entities of our planet and universe. Imagine a world where there’s no war because we all communicate and understand one another.”

How naïve he was! “You’re suggesting that geniuses ? veemelds?” She fought down a sneer. “?are simply more in tune with cosmic forces so they can tap into? . . .” she trailed with a shrug.

“?The web of our greater consciousness,” he finished for her, quite serious. “The autopoietic network of our humanity . . . waves of consciousness.”

“Waves of consciousness,” she repeated, finding it hard to hide the jeering tone that crept into her voice. “A new kind of energy field? Surfing the consciousness wave? . . .” She felt a sarcastic smile tugging at her lips.

“Far-fetched, you think?” His eyes gripped hers. “It’s not so different from what we already know is true. EM-mediated consciousness, for instance, and non-localized wave propagation. Researchers have long known about the phenomenon of ‘collective effect,’ Michelin. The synchronicity of multicellular organisms and societies of insects are good examples of ‘collective consciousness’, and ‘social facilitation.’ Either way, we’re the key. Veemelds. We’re the nodes of the human network. I’m convinced that all humans are capable of it. They just need to be taught. By us.” He smiled wistfully. Then he exhaled and the fire in his eyes died. “Just a dream, I suppose.” Jorge stroked his jaw pensively. “If anything we’re growing more isolated and distrustful.”

His words resonated in her gut and she dropped her gaze to the floor again. It was a wonderful dream nevertheless.

Jorge pursed his lips, letting his gaze stray for a moment to a distant place. When he refocused on her, his eyes glinted and his voice took on an edge. “They fear us, Michelin, what we can do: talk to machines in our heads. Run the city. The luddites have turned that fear to hatred. They’re terrified by our unique connection with the AI-community. We’re dangerous freaks to them. Genetic monsters. Cyborgs . . . .”

urbanlandscape4 The Mark of a Genius by Nina Munteanu

Machine-sluts . . . .

“We have no mark to show what we are,” Jorge went on, “so we can choose to hide in our anonymity. The luddites would like to change that. Brand us with some visible mark. That’s one of the reasons I formed the Veemeld Alliance. Do you know about us?”

“Yes,” she said guardedly.

“But you haven’t joined us.” Jorge looked puzzled. He pulled out a durable card and pressed it warmly in her hand. “We’re having a meeting tonight, in fact. At my place.” Then his eyes glowed like a warm camp fire. “I’d like to be a friend.” His sincere expression drew her in. “A real friend.”

Longing swelled up her throat and made her swallow convulsively. She knew what he meant: a friend who knew what she was.

He tilted his head and gazed at her with intense curiosity. “You don’t have any friends, Michelin. Yet you’ve lived here for a year, the longest time you’ve stayed in one place.”

Mitch jerked her hand out of his and clenched her jaw. That wasn’t true, she fumed. She had Nancy, after all. Her best friend . . . She thought again . . . Nancy didn’t know she was a veemeld. If Nancy did, would she still be Mitch’s friend? Mitch had long ago learned to move rather than face the consequences of intimacy. Her gaze darted around the room, looking for Kraken.

Jorge continued in a soft voice, “Veemelds can be fiercely independent and secretive. Whenever we conceal something of ourselves we choose to become slaves to our secret.”

She knew he meant her.

“It’s only together in open solidarity that we can overcome the prejudice — the fear and hatred — against us. Perhaps we can teach them that they don’t need to fear us.” His eyes grew intense and she fought the urge to back away. “Michelin, we need you.” He drew closer to her and she recoiled. “Our community needs you. You’re intelligent and . . . very attractive. You’d make an excellent spokesperson for us. With your help we could take charge of our destiny and move the human race forward to embrace a harmony of diversity. Everyone needs a friend, Michelin. Including you.”

Mitch felt anger heat her face. She didn’t need his solidarity or his friendship. She’d done just fine on her own up to now. She gave Jorge back his card. “I’m sorry but I’m not interested in joining your alliance. I’m happy just being an Icarian.”

He blinked several times then stuttered, his voice rising a pitch, “But, how can you say that? You can never be just an Icarian—”

“Because I’m a . . . genius?” she scoffed and brushed past him. “Good day.”

She glimpsed his crestfallen face as she walked briskly to the other side of the room where Kraken stood, talking to another man. Kraken leered down at her and enveloped her in his arm like a possession. She felt a hollow in the pit of her stomach.

Mitch excused herself early from the party and took the tube-jet home. She watched the amber emergency lights strobe past her as the tube-jet dove into the darkness of the tunnel. She saw Jorge’s kind face in her mind and found herself thinking about that miserable day when the girls at school discovered what she was . . . .

~~~~
Eager to make a good impression on her new school friend, Mitch was helping Abbie who struggled with her Ecology 101 lesson. They shared a holo-module at the Ed-Center and Abbie turned from the holo-com to Mitch, seated beside her. “Here’s my answer to his question on the principals of Icarian ecology,” she confided. “ ‘Ecosystems develop through natural selection from generally chaotic, pioneer stages toward stable ordered stages which maintain a dynamic equilibrium through internal forces’.”

“No, Abbie, that thinking’s a hundred years out of date. Ecosystems function and change under stable chaos, naturally cycling through destructive and building phases through changing variables—”

“Nonsense!” a gruff voice scolded. Michelin flinched and looked up at the teacher who towered over her. She fought from cowering under his glare. “You’re quoting heretical theories, young woman!”

She looked into his nostrils and focused on the dark hairs inside as she said in a shaky voice, “But I read—”

“Read!” he cut her off. Several other students peered round their cubicles. “More like cheated by slutting with your AI friends for information.” The teacher leaned over her and his small eyes narrowed. “I won’t have you disrupting my class. We don’t cater to veemeld brats.” He sneered to her look of horror. He’d just given her away. “Yes, I know what you are,” he ended menacingly. He stalked away as gawking faces ducked behind the cubicles.

During break Mitch was looking for Abbie in the school mall when a classmate collided into her.

“Out of my way, veemeld!” The girl snarled.

Mitch backed away. “I’m not a veemeld,” she lied.

“Yes you are.” The girl sneered. “I heard the teacher.” Several other girls closed in on her, forming a ring.

“Veemeld! Veemeld!” they chanted, shoving her until she fell to the ground. “AI slut—”
Mitch scrambled up in angry defense. “I’m not a vee—”

A fist struck her on the mouth, splitting her lip. “Veemeld slut!”

Her lip pounded and she tasted blood. The girls pressed against her, their faces distorted with hatred. They pummeled her as the chant resumed. “Veemeld! Veemeld!” Voices built, echoing like a mantra, to the increasing rhythm of their blows. Mitch tucked her head down and raised both arms to protect her face and chest, taking the blows with her shoulders and back.

“Hey!” A teacher approached. The girls scattered like flies disturbed from a carcass. Mitch fled in the opposite direction, glancing back. “Yes, you! Stop!” The teacher shouted at her. She rushed into the closest bathroom and, finding an empty cubicle, slid in and slammed the door shut. She slumped on the toilet, elbows on her knees, and cradled her head in her hands, rocking and sobbing, and hearing the hum of those cursed AI machines in her head. She was getting tired of moving . . . .

~~~~
Mitch was the only one who got out at the inner-city station. She inhaled the familiar stink of urine, stale liquor and rotting garbage as she picked her way past shiny pools of spit and pies of dried vomit to the stairway that led outside. Mitch bolted the stairs two by two to the exit and flung open the door. She took in a deep inhale of fresh air and shivered in the bracing cool air. Wrapping her bare arms around her waist for warmth, she headed home at a brisk pace and watched the long jerking shadow of herself that the pale moon threw ahead of her. She found herself stealing glances at the dozens of bivouacs that littered the street: eclectic shacks, built out of scrap from discarded droids, abandoned furniture, even parts of an old tube-jet, and cemented with the detritus of urban fast-living. Her shack wasn’t much better but it was home . . . for now. This was the roughest part of town. Hell, she’d lived in worse places. One just had to be smart and careful—

She’d just turned a corner to the shortcut she normally took when her stomach clenched at the sound of grunts, shouting and malicious laughter that drifted up the dark alley. Heart pulsing up her throat, Mitch stole forward. When she emerged from the alley into a courtyard, she saw five teenage boys beating a younger boy—Oh, no . . . unmistakable, the chaotic hair and the rags he wore: it was Dexter, the young veemeld who kept following her home.

He must have caught her emotional surge because his head jerked round and he looked right at her even though she was still hidden in the shadows of the alley. [Please! Help me!] came his outburst.

Mitch threw her gaze around in search of another bystander. No luck. The place was empty save the boy’s attackers and her. Mitch gripped her lower lip in her teeth, feeling a surge of adrenalin. Dexter was too young and feral to command respect from the AI-community, but she was another matter. She squared her shoulders then stepped out into the light and shouted in a commanding voice, “Stop that now!”

The boys halted and stared at her. She caught several lecherous grins and pulled down on her short dress. Dexter whimpered on the ground and the leader, a square-faced boy with spiked hair pointed down at him. “He’s a freaking veemeld!” he said as though it fully explained their actions. “Stay out of it, lady.”

“I meant it,” she said and marched toward them, hands balled at her sides. “Stop right now! You’re hurting him!”

“What’s it to you?” The leader spat out. It suddenly dawned on him: “You’re one too, aren’t you? A fucking freak.”

“No way, Russ,” one of the other boys interjected, licking his lips. “She’s too luscious to be a veemeld.” Several of the other boys agreed.

She could slink out of there, Mitch thought. Like all the times before, they didn’t want to believe she was a veemeld; she could take advantage of her beauty and retreat back into the shadows. They probably wouldn’t kill Dexter. She could let him fend for himself, like she’d fended for herself all these years . . . .

Then her eyes flickered over Dexter’s cowering form, head tucked in and both arms raised to protect his face and chest. She fired back, “Yes!” she practically gasped the word and felt the terrifying exhilaration of unburdening herself. “I am.” The words surged up her throat like an electric charge, burning all the way up: “I’m a veemeld too!”

A few boys moaned in disappointment, scanning her covetously. “What a waste of good babe meat,” one of them sighed.

The leader sneered as she resumed her advance. “Once we’re finished here, you’ll have your turn,” he said. The other boys followed with enthusiastic noises. “Grab the AI-slut!” he commanded, pointing to her. Two boys dashed for her with churlish grins.

Mitch fought from recoiling but halted. “I’m sorry, but you won’t be doing that either,” she said.

The two boys sniggered.

Mitch clenched her teeth but stood her ground.

[SAM], she sent her thought wave to her AI-companion. [Instruct the security system of Liv-Building E-29 to dispose of the five boys causing crimes, beta 050 and 051. Visual through my retina].

[OKAY, MITCH], SAM responded inside her head. Instantly, several ports on the building swiveled and discharged a concussion laser beam at the five boys, instantly stunning them. They crumpled to the ground in unison like a strangely choreographed macabre ballet. The two who’d rushed her tumbled a meter from her. Mitch side-stepped them and rushed to Dexter, who lay curled up in a fetal position, entwined with limp arms and legs. As she bent over him, Mitch continued her thought to SAM: [instruct security druids of Region E to collect these five hoodlums and put them into the cooler. They can use my visual for the crime record].

[OKAY, MITCH. THEY’RE ON THEIR WAY].

[Thanks, SAM]. Mitch touched Dexter and he flinched. “It’s okay,” she said in a gentle voice. “You’re safe now.”

He looked up, wide-eyed through a bloody and dirt-smeared face. Suddenly realizing what had happened, Dexter cracked a big grin, revealing a bloody mouth, which didn’t seem to concern him anymore. “You did it, didn’t you? You got the AIs to blast ‘em, didn’t you? I knew you were a veemeld. That was awesome …”

She realized that she didn’t need to answer his steady stream of questions and exclamations. “Come on.” She helped him to his feet. “Can you get up? I’ll take you to my place and clean you up. Looks like you’ve got a few nasty cuts.”

They left the courtyard for her shack as the city’s security droids arrived. When they entered her place, Mitch pulled out her first aid kit, sat Dexter down by the sink in the bathroom and gently washed his mouth before applying some antiseptic healing gel.

“Looks like they were trying to shut you up,” she observed with a wry smile, thinking of how he’d poked his mind where he had no business being.

“Yeah,” Dexter said. “I keep telling everyone I’m a veemeld.”

Mitch snorted. “Why on Earth would you do that?” She snapped the first aid kit shut and leaned against the sink to give him a long hard look. “You don’t look dumb. So, why do you tell everyone? You’re just looking for trouble, Dexter.”

“No. Just a real friend. Someone who’ll like me for what I am.”

“And you’re willing to get beat up time and time again to find that person?”

He nodded and gave her a goofy smile despite his puffy split lip. “I found you.”

Mitch felt a strange mixture of emotions swell into her throat. “Come on,” she finally said. “I know someone who wants to meet you, then. A whole community.”

~~~~
When Jorge opened the door he gasped. “What a surprise!” He beamed with undisguised pleasure, glancing from Mitch to Dexter. “Come in, come in!” He swung the door open for them to enter. A dozen or so people pursuing desultory conversation were already seated in comfortable chairs in Jorge’s livingroom. The meeting must have started already, Mitch observed.

She waved her hand at the boy. “This is Dexter. He’s a veemeld too. Like us,” she ended with a half-smile. “I told him he’d find a few genuine friends here.”

Jorge nodded with enthusiastic approval. “I’m sure he will. Hello, Dexter.”

Jorge was about to introduce both of them to the other veemelds in the room, when Mitch touched his arm. “And,” she added in a lowered voice, “I’ve reconsidered what you asked. I’d like to try being a spokesperson for veemelds. . . .”

She noticed that the room was suddenly quiet and everyone was looking at her.

“Thank you, Michelin,” Jorge said, taking her hand and pressing it between his two.

She pressed back. “You can all me Mitch,” she said, her smile opening to a broad grin.

The Mark of a Genius first appeared in ScifiDimensions.

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