Miranda

[BunnyBear]

-0-

Rain.  Cool, cleansing, refreshing rain, could do nothing for the city.  Ages of decay had rotted each solid structure, like the teeth of a tobacco chewing, hundred year old man.  Even the clouds were grey from dragging their bellies across the roofs of the skyscrapers, and the wounds still wept with piddling drops.  Caught between sunrise and awakening, the city seemed frozen in time.  Here and there a stray animal crossed from one cement bank of the asphalt river to the opposing side, pausing only to note that they were lucky.  In a matter of hours the passage would be thick with monsters that growled and hooted more fierce than any black beast in the depths of an imagination.  They had an hour no more and no less.

Jep looked back, grazing her chin along the collar of the over-sized trench.   Teff had forced her to wear it.  It was a stupid disguise then, and it was a stupid disguise now.  She scowled and pushed the sleeves up past her wrists, so she could pick up the small, squirming bundle on the trashcan.  Pulling it close, inside the folds of her coat, she took a breath and ran to the other side of the street.  Her boots hit a puddle from the night rain a few steps away from the curb.  Within seconds she felt the cool, wetness ooze into the threadbare socks and from there around her toes.  In the stillness of early morning no sound rose higher than her panting breath and the sound of the early morning EL making its rounds.  In silence, Jep looked down at the wadding of rags.  It seemed contented to remain silent.  Better stay that way, she thought. 

She started moving again, up the curb and into another narrow alley.  Her right boot squished with each step.  She scowled as the water inside played hide and seek around her feet.  She looked around at the death’s head of a city.  Jep found herself giggling though there wasn’t really that much to laugh about.  For some reason that made her giggle more.   

“Focus!”  The voice that seemed to come from somewhere between her spine and her shoulders brought her back to reality.  “You can’t lose it now.  Teff is counting on you.” 

The bubbles of hysteria subsided and Jep retreated into the shadows.  From the darkness she watched the surrounding buildings.  Her eyes drifted from one cracked window to the next.  She scanned the rooftops and the edges of the street.  At last she pushed off from the wall and ducked behind the twisted remains of a blue dumpster and repeated the process for the other side of the alley.   

No one is there, she told herself.  It was too late for Human scavengers and too early for the Commonlanders to come out and pretend to go about life.  No, Jep shook her head, no one’s there.  The bundle squirmed under her coat, and she held it tighter to her chest.   

“Bethalda was right.  You’re not well.  Teff shouldn’t have sent you to check out the house.  One of the mutes or a null could have done it, but you had to make Teff believe you were alright.” 

“Teff believes in me,” Jep muttered.

“Shut up!  Both of you.”  The voice of authority again brought her back to the task at hand. 

Sliding up the edge of the dumpster, Jep ran to the end of the alley and took a right.  The sound of her sloshing boot became a metronome, and she used it to drown out the nagging voice that spoke all of her fears. 

“Two cross streets down,” she panted the words as she ran. 

“Um…You’re not supposed to look suspicious.”

She ignored the voice, even though she knew it was right.  She was making a spectacle of herself.  The Humans would be looking out their windows seeing a scrawny scavenger running like a mad woman.  They would call the authorities.  Thinking of herself as a mad woman made a giggle burble to her lips.  She pressed them tight so it wouldn’t escape.  A tiny sputtering noise followed.  Jep looked down at the bundle and couldn’t decide who was to blame for that one, especially when the pungent aroma began to creep up from the fabric.  As if her feet suddenly turned to stone, she stopped and starred at the bundle.  She had been warned about this, and it wasn’t good. 

"Hurry,” the voice urged.

She didn’t move.  The smell seemed to be clawing at the inside of her nose.  It was like a flea ridden cat curling up behind her eyeballs.  It seemed to look through her at the outside world.  It opened its mouth and began to yowl.  The noise rang in Jep’s ears drowning out any words of wisdom from her shoulders.  The cat was stretching and clawing at her brain.  Everything seemed to be turning into the fuzzy end of the rope. 

You can never weave it back together again…

A wind, as sudden as the smell, whipped the trench coat around her frail body.  Her legs no more than matchsticks prickled with goosebumps.  The cat’s yowling increased a decibel.  Jep looked around.  Maybe if she could see it, she could throw a rock at it, and it would run away.

“Hold it right there, Miss.”

Jep looked up, spun around, and gazed at the man and woman standing behind her.  Both were wearing blue shirts.  Something tried to worm its way into her mind.  Blue shirts, gold stars, and…silver bracelets.  She took a step back as the sense of dread spread from the single particle of thought throughout her entire body. 

“I don’t know who she is,” she whispered.

“Miss, we’ll need you to remain in place,” woman spoke.  The man in blue took a step toward her.

Jep took two full steps back.  “I said, I don’t know who she is,” she said.  The cat was screaming now.  The bundle in her arms squirmed and thrashed, and the smell was turning into a green gas. 

TEFF IS COUNTING ON US!  The voice screamed over the top of all else.  YOU MUST RUN!  NOW!!!

It took no more instruction than that.  Jep turned and ran headlong down the center of the street.  She clutched the bundle to her chest. 

“Teff!” she screamed as she felt the red hot poker sink into her shoulder.  A pocket of warmth began to build until it seeped into her back and up into her head.  The world was suddenly fuzzy and enjoyable.  Everything looked soft rather than the crumbling skeleton that had been the first world’s inheritance.  Jep blinked as she seemed to shrink suddenly.  She wrinkled her nose.  Shrinking was awfully hard on the knees.  They were stinging and burning under the trench coat. 

“She’ll be alright.”  The voice that spoke was deep and slow.  "Doesn't look like the taser more than stunned her."

“Look out!”

Jep frowned as hands reached toward the bundle in her arms.  While she was aware that pile of fabric seemed to be slipping, it was not alright for it to be taken from her.  It had been placed in her care.  She tried to speak but only a gurgling sound erupted from her open mouth. The bundle came away.  Again the blue men appeared before her, taking her shoulders.   

“You need to take it easy,” the deeper voice said.

“The kid’s alright,” said the second voice.  “Just a little scared.”

“Miss?  Is this your baby?”

Jep’s eyes were waterlogged.  The man in blue’s silver star seemed to take up her entire sky.  “Miranda,” Jep burbled.  She blinked once and night came early.

*****

Officer Jo O’Malley, a twelfth generation cop, watched her partner drag the unconscious woman to the cruiser and lock her in the backseat.  In her arms she cradled the child wrapped in a filthy painter’s tarp.  The cloth was spoiled and Jo wrinkled her nose.  She had three children of her own at home.  What kind of mother left her child to wallow?  Separating what revealed to be a girl away from the soiled bundle and wiping off most of the baby’s last doodle from its arms, legs, and head, Jo took off her police jacket and swaddled the baby. 

“Bag it,” Jo motioned with her foot toward the pile.  Unconsciously, she bounced the baby out of habit as she looked at it.  The woman was obviously homeless and undoubtedly schizophrenic, but the child except for the obvious state, seemed in perfect health.  “Something’s fishy.  This isn’t a street baby.”

“Mama doesn’t fit the Better Homes and Garden’s persona,” he grunted in agreement, as he gathered the pile and returned to the cruiser.  “What’s your bet?  Missing Child, Hospital Kidnapping, or Child Services Foundling?”

Jo rolled her eyes and looked again at the baby girl.  The child, at the most only a few weeks old, was staring up at her.  The strange bluish-black eyes of a newborn were more focused than any of Jo’s children had managed at this age.  “Who are you?” she whispered to the infant?  “Who do you belong to?”

“Hey!”

Jo turned to look at her partner.  Ron threw open the door to the backseat.  It was empty.

“Where?”  Ron pushed back his cap and walked the perimeter of the car.  “That tranq should have had her out for hours…how did she get out?”

“The window?”

“It’s only open a crack,” Ron scratched at his bald patch.

The light tinkling of a baby’s laugh rang out on the deserted street.  Jo looked down.  The blue-black eyes gazed up at her and the little girl smiled and laughed again. 

*****

Jep watched from the edge of the nearest building as the two Humans in blue got in their transport and departed.  She sighed and let the trench coat drop. 

“That wasn’t how we were supposed to do it.”

Turning her head to catch sight of the imp nestled between her wings, Jep shrugged.  The little red creature staggered.  “Does it matter?” she asked.  “It’s done.  Teff is waiting.”

“And how do you know it will end up in the right place?”  The voice was muffled.  Jep looked down. An eight inch gremlin screwed up his face off the folds of the leather trench with a disgusted huff. 

Jep sighed again.  Rolling her shoulder’s back, she let her wings flutter in the early morning sun.  “It won’t matter.  They’ll see it ends up somewhere,” she said.  She rubbed her left shoulder where the muscles seemed to bunch and knot.  “At least it won’t be with us.”

“I’ve been thinking.” The purple Imp walked around to Jep’s shoulder and sat with his back against her neck.  “What if that isn’t the one we should be worrying about?  Teff has been wrong before… several times in fact.”

“He’s not wrong,” Jep snapped.

“But what if he is?”

“He’s not.”

“Maybe we should have consulted with the Council,” the Gremlin nodded. 

“It wasn’t the wrong kid,” Jep’s wings fluttered as she glared down at the traitorous deformity at her feet.  This was the reason she didn’t associate with ground dwellers. 

“Come to think of it, there were some toys in that room that were a little old for a baby.”

“Enough!” Jep snapped.  “The parents were dead.  There was no one else in the house.  Not a soul.  Teff warned us that this was going to happen and told us what to do when we ran across it.  We did it.  The child can’t do any harm in the Commonlands.  There is no magic.”

“Unless it’s not the right child,” the Imp said.

“Unless it’s not the right child,” the Gremlin agreed.  “I felt no pull on our magic.” 

Grabbing up the smallish man, Jep turned to the Imp.  “We’ll go to Teff and tell him what we found and what we did,” she said and pulled out the polished acorn from her pocket and ran it between her forefinger and her thumb.  She closed her eyes and the nut began to glow.  The air in front of them shivered.   

She paused to look back toward the empty street.  A creeping sliver of doubt was festering under her skin.  What if she had just placed an actual Middling in the Commonlands? Teff would understand, she assured herself.  Of all people, Teff understands...  It had to be the right child.  All the signs in the house were just as Teff said it would be.  Both parents unconscious…drained.  The signs of wild magic evident… her mind replayed walking into the house.   Sure there had been a tricycle and a dollhouse, but that was just overly prepared parents.   Jep closed her eyes as the thought came and went.  Even she didn’t believe that one.

Two children, Jep shivered.  There were two children.  Where was the second?  Hiding, dead?  If she made a mistake… Jep looked at her hands.  They were spotted and veined with age.  She was too old to exist on her own in the wilds.  If it was true she just put a Middling child in the Commonlands, Teff would have to turn her over to the Council at Fairhaven.  They would find her guilty of breaking the most important law of the Rift.  She looked up at the cloudy sky.  She couldn’t live without the sun.  Not at her age…  No, Jep shook her head.  She had scanned the entire house for signs life.  There was only the baby, no one else, and no one was going to tell Teff anything different.

The gremlin cleared his throat, bringing her back.  “Are we going?” he asked.

Jep pulled her eyes from the street and straightened her wings.  “Yes,” she snapped.  Rubbing the acorn again, she touched the portal with her finger.  It shimmered and turned red.  Through the rippling air twisting flames lapped like hungry dogs on the other side.  Pulling her lips into a tight frown she looked at her two companions with a cold stare.  “Time to go home,” she said, grabbing the Imp with her free hand. 

“Jep!” the Imp squealed under the pressure of her grip. 

Forcing her hands through the portal, Jep screamed as she felt the fire stab at her.  Releasing the two squirming figures she pulled back.  Her feet fell away beneath her as she curled her fingers into her chest.  On the other side of the portal, the Imp and the Gremlin’s screams cut off quickly.  Edging forward, Jep picked up the acorn in her blistered hand, and reset the portal.  Gasping through the pain, Jep pushed through the shimmering gate back into the Midlands.  As she fell to the cool grass of the open field, she looked up into the blue sky.  It would never be taken away from her. 

She could already hear the footsteps.  Jep closed her eyes.  It was all worth the cost.  Her hands would or wouldn’t heal.  It mattered little, really.  Teff would see to it that she was taken care of for the rest of her life.  After all, she had returned home… a hero.

*****

To be continued:

[BunnyBear]

-1-

Miranda lifted her hood and stepped out into the rain dappled early morning.  Flecks of moisture dribbled down scattering circles across the concrete walk.  She kept her head down and her eyes low.  The tapping of the rain on the plastic lining of her jacket sent a pang through her.  She lived for mornings, where the air smelled like new rain and it was just cold enough for her to enjoy the warmth of the jacket. She could almost hear the sound of his confident stride on the wet pavement.  Footsteps fading away.  Digging her fingernails into the flesh of her palms, Miranda shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and hurried across the avenues.

It wasn’t that early, but the morning rush of commuters to school and work had already passed, leaving a small pause in the traffic of the day.  A small red light flickered on just above the fur lining in her hood.  She kept her eyes down, flicking the remote button in her pocket.  The signal indicated that she was in an important convo and sent her
apologies for not picking up.  The red light flicked off.  She waited.  Nothing.

She breathed out and picked up her pace, cutting across the park.   Half way across, the red light flipped on again.  This time she didn’t even bother sending out a response.  She knew who was contacting her.  The tolling of the bells from Town Hall confirmed it.  She was late for school.  It was attendance pinging her for her location.  A third alert would be sent to  mother.  Della would intercept that one.  A last alert would be sent to the Seekers, who would be knocking on the door to their townhome in thirty minutes.

School was mandatory for welfare—cutting would cost her family food and energy credits.  Della said it would be fine, so Miranda kept moving.

The park was empty.  Swings swayed back and forth pushed by the wind.  Normally Miranda wasn’t the type to break the rules.  That was Della's job.  In general, she preferred to remain as anonymous as possible.

Blending in was her specialty.  She was particularly proud of the fact that three quarters into the school year, her teachers still had to scan the classroom for some indication of who she was when they took roll.  She had a system.  She aimed for acceptable.  She did her assignments well, but avoided all glitter and fancy fonts.  If the teacher offered an example, she matched it with a topic that was bland and forgettable.  She made high B’s in most of my classes, missed at least three questions on each exam, and managed an uninteresting picture for the yearbook.  She brought her own lunch, ate in the cafeteria, read in the library, and came and went to school on time.

The red light flickered in Miranda's hood.  Somewhere at home, she hoped Della had reached the phone before mom- worse yet, Mildred- took the call.

On the other side of the park, Miranda cut across James Street and ducked into the alleyway that ran between an old movie house and the Peters Hardware Shop.  Both had been empty for at least a decade.  Nothing was purchased hand to hand anymore.  A transport drone buzzed overhead accentuating the thought.  The stamp on the container was for Miller Produce.  She squinted at the markings on the drone— Synoptics.  Miranda felt the frown and the tightening around her eyes, before the thoughts even manifested.  Grabbing her hood, she pulled it further forward and shoved her hands back in my pockets.  Exiting the alley, she leaned against the rusted rain spout and listened to the trickle of water inside.

Weren’t meetings like this supposed to happen in the dark?  She looked around, feeling exposed.  The parking lot was littered with cracks where grass was seaming the asphalt together.  The entire area was abandoned .  The lone chain link fence complete with weeds and bits of garbage plastered into the diamonds along the bottom added to the ambiance. This was exactly the place where girls disappeared never to be seen again.  Opening her hands Miranda stretched my cramping knuckles.  Better her than Della, she reminded herself.

"Miranda?”

She turned.  On the other side of the hardware store, a lone figure stood.  A baseball cap was pulled down low over his eyes and a scarf was covering the lower half of his face.  From the bulky windbreaker she could tell that he was strong, probably stronger than she could fight off.  What the hell had Della gotten her into?  Miranda took a step back as he started walking toward her.

“Hold it right there,” she said, hoping the tremor in her voice wasn’t too obvious.

"Miranda,” the voice said again.

“Ben?” she whispered.  She hadn’t seen her half-brother in a year, but it looked like a decade had passed to look at him.  It was obvious one of the reasons he hadn’t had time to visit was his hours spent in the gym.  “Ben?” she said again, louder.

Laughing, he pulled down the scarf, so she could see his face.  The sharp nose and angular features seemed older.  There was only five years between us, but he could have been twenty or thirty years older.  He was even graying in his temples.

“What are you doing here?”  Miranda half walked, half ran toward him, her feet unsure whether she had a right to act so needy for his presence in her life.

"Della didn’t tell you?”  He said, smothering her in a hug.  Miranda melted.

"Della and I don’t talk,” Miranda said, pulling away.  “We mostly shout—scream, really.  Lots of slamming doors.”

“You are older,” he said.

“Tell her that,” she said.

The side of Ben’s mouth twitched.  She knew that nervous habit.  It was the same as dad’s.

“How’s Dad,” she asked.

Ben looked uncomfortable.  His eyes shifted to stare at the yellow flecks of paint on the front of the hardware store.

“I really don’t see him anymore than you do,” he said.

“Yeah, but you work for his company.”

“Tell him that,” Ben said, using the exact same inflection she had used moments before.  Miranda couldn’t help smiling.  That was why she loved Ben.  He was smart.  Not just working in a top secret lab smart.  He had a way of seeing the big picture and moving around the conversation to make it easier- like a puzzle.  Looking at my brother, she basked in the sudden feeling of belonging and tried not to listen to the tiny nagging voice.  Ben contacted Della not her.  She was everybody’s favorite.  It only made sense that she was Ben’s favorite too.

"Miranda,” Ben’s voice brought me around again.

“Sorry,” she said.  "Della said I was picking up something from you, not meeting you.  I was just surprised, it was you.”

“Right,” Ben nodded.  “It’s over here.”

Miranda followed him around the back side of the hardware store to where his motorcycle was parked.  “Mom would hyperventilate if she saw that,” she said.

Ben laughed and lifted up a flap on one of the saddlebags.  Pulling out an envelope and a bottle of water, he threw it to Miranda.  She caught it.  Staring at it in her hand, Miranda looked at the silvery surface.  This was it?  She didn’t say it out loud, but the statement must have been on her face, because Ben started laughing.

“What is it?” she asked turning it in her fingers.

“Water,” Ben answered.

“You’re still in robotics, right?” she asked.  “What?  Is there some microscopic mini robot floating around in here I should know about?”

Ben leaned against the bike.  "Randa,, what do you think this meeting is all about?”

She was instantly alert.  The conversation she'd had with Della the night before replayed in her head.  Ben needs you.  This is important to him.  She’d assumed the most dramatic interpretation… again.

“Nothing,” she said, pocketing the water.  “What is this all about?” she asked.

Ben looked at her with an amused expression, she instantly hated.  “Career Day,” he answered.

Setting her jaw, Miranda secretly planned to murder her sister in her sleep.

... to be continued...

[BunnyBear]

-2-

Her teachers said that Career Day was once upon a time, a day where students investigated possible careers; however due to an education glut, larger companies began buying colleges in order to own the output.  At first law firms controlled the law schools then HMO’s started doing the same with the medical schools.

The turning point happened when a small technical college was purchased by Harvey Logenstein.  At the time, he was the reigning king of the mountain midway through the tech wars.  Some even speculated he was commander of the hacker army who had dismantled the world government in the mid-2030’s.  Valley Butte Trade School belonged to his home town of Sprinton, Iowa.  His first move was to fire the faculty and staff and marched an army of top rate programmers, hackers, developers, and digital architects in through the front doors.

The next day a website appeared.  It called any sixteen year old to attempt one of ten puzzles.  Anyone who could accomplish the task was offered a college education at the feet of technical gods for free, provided they signed a contract guaranteeing twenty years of employment for Logenstein’s company.  Everyone was certain that there would be masses of programmers willing to jump ship after their education was complete.  Some in the industry even planned on it, hiring head hunters to knock on the doors of every graduate.  Remarkably, it never happened.  No one flunked out, no one jumped ship, and no one sold Logenstein out.

Logenstein paid every graduate top wages, complete benefits, and took care of their families.  Students battled to become one of the students admitted to VBTS every year, and Logenstein reaped the best of the best students from around the world.

It didn’t take long for other businesses to follow the Logenstein model.  After all, State and Federal colleges were little more than elevated high schools for the masses.  The Educational Excellence Draft began.  It was created as a day where large companies duked it out for prime students.  Anyone drafted during EED was guaranteed a comfortable and challenging life, a phenomenal education, and freedom from the welfare market.  Everyone else had to fight- most lost.  EED was heralded by those in the government as a sign of a new gestation of competitive education.

Prior to EED, companies sent scouts and recruiters across the country searching out the elite.  Those with potential were invited to the companies Career Day, where the student toured all the prospects of the college, the company, and sometimes offered deals that at one time had only been offered to athletes.

Miranda had received her letter from Synoptics on her birthday with an invitation.  As the CEO’s daughter it was automatic.  Just like Ben, she was expected to be a part of the family business.  She threw the envelope away without breaking the seal.  Della obviously hadn’t approved.  She was going to die in the most extreme way possible.

“I’m not contracting with Synoptics,” Miranda said- well yelled from the back of her brother’s motorcycle.  Ben said something back, but she honestly couldn’t hear him due to the wind in her ears.  It didn’t matter.  She could speculate.

“Synoptics is a great company…Not all jobs will even come in contact with Dad… Wait until you see the company before you make emphatic statements, Miranda.”

The glass spires of Synoptics rose above the tree line.  She’d been there, of course, many times.  Mom had brought her before the separation.  She’d visited Ben before the separation.  Dad had taken her to work before the separation.  She hated that word…

Early on both of her parents had said multiple times that a separation was just distance between parents.  She had learned it was much more.  The separation existed between all of them.  Mom, Dad, Ben, herself, and of course, Della.  MARTHA held the family together though she doubted her cybernetic tendrils ever had a hold on her father.  Ben too, it seemed, was too separated for Martha’s influence to bring him around.  They were like dandelion puffs drifting farther and farther apart.  Mom took the brunt of it all.  She held on for she and Della, but there was an undeniable sadness in her.  Dad hadn’t cared.  Ben hadn’t cared.  Della hadn’t cared.  And Miranda she became invisible.

“Why are you so content with being wallpaper?”  It was one of Della's favorite questions.

She never would have admitted it aloud, but wallpaper was safer.  Wallpaper didn’t get smothered.  Wallpaper couldn’t be manipulated, or hurt, or left behind.  Wallpaper was wallpaper.  Wallpaper was safe.

Miranda felt the motorcycle slow, and it pulled her out of her thoughts.  They passed through the garage security guard with a flash of Ben’s ID and a copy of the letter.  Della must have fished it out of the trash.

Ben’s bike would around the manicured gardens leading up to employee parking.  He pulled right instead of following the trail down to the underground.  It wrapped upward to the main entrance.  There, he stopped.

“I’ll catch you after the tour,” he said, removing the helmet.

“Tour?” Miranda didn’t move from my seat on the bike.

“Yes, tour.” Ben patted her leg.  “I’ll find you later and show you what I’m working on.  It’ll be cool.”

Right.  Miranda removed the helmet and swung her leg off the bike.  She made sure to throw Ben my darkest look to which he laughed and gunned the throttle.  In seconds he was gone.  Miranda took a deep breath and walked through the silver doors.  The sensors biometrically recognized her from when she was seven.

“Good morning to you Princess Miranda Bell!!”  A preprogrammed cheerful voice chirped.  To her chagrin holographic birds and butterflies appeared swarming the air around her.  She stared straight forward at the twenty something furiously working a tablet.  If the blonde pressed any harder her finger would break through the glass and plastic.  The frolicking Disneyesque pink paradise froze and pixled away.

Miranda Drake?” The girl asked the question as if she hadn’t just witnessed the building spewing fairytale fluff complete with princess fanfare.

Miranda immediately felt sorry for her.  She was out of her depth at Synoptics.  That’s why she had been relegated to showing the legacy daughter around her father’s world.  If she had any value, she would be showing someone around with more to offer the company.  Someone less… mediocre.

Fifteen seconds had passed since her question.  Miranda still hadn’t answered, but the twenty something remained expectant.  “Yeah,” she said finally.

That was all it took.  “My name is Beth!” the girl’s voice was a pitch too high, and she flipped her ponytail and brought her hands together as if she was speaking to a five year old.  “We’re going to have fun today!”

“I doubt that,” Miranda said, grabbing the tablet from her hand.

“What are you doing?” Beth asked as Miranda flipped up the cover and began sorting through the command screens.  “You aren’t supposed to do that.”

“Just turning off the Once Upon a Time commands,” Miranda grunted. “Unless you want little pink birdies circling your head for the duration of the tour.”

Miranda momentarily looked up.  Beth’s face was pondering the question.  She shook my head and deactivated the last of the child’s play programming.  She handed back the tablet.  Beth took a second straightening her ponytail.

“Welcome to Synoptic  Industries,” she began.  “In 2030, Liem Drake revolutionized the computer industry by establishing the first artificial intelligence household servant.  It was designed after-”

“-MARTHA,” Miranda interrupted.

Beth stopped.  She hadn't been expecting Miranda to go off script and was having trouble remembering what was next.

“MARTHA,” Miranda repeated.  “The housekeeper house.  He built it out of our house.  He said it was for us.  Then he started Synoptics, got rich, left the house one day, and never came back.  The last time I got a birthday present when I was seven.  Christmas was when I was six.  My mom stands in the welfare line every morning then cleans toilets.  I heard my father just bought his fifth house.”

Beth looked as if she had been strangled.

“How about you stop telling me how great my father is and just show me the building.”

The perky blond still looked like a toad had crawled down her throat.  Miranda walked a few feet past her to the information desk.

“I think I broke my tour guide,” she said.  “Can I get another?”

"Randa?” The old woman who looked up from the computer console was immediately familiar.

“Mrs. Haas?  You’re still here?”  For some reason Miranda had always imagined her absent from the company.  She was one of the few lingering fond memories she had of Synoptics.

“Look how you’ve grown!” Mrs Haas came around the corner of the desk.  In her memories, Mrs Haas was so much taller.  She towered over her.  Nine years later, Miranda found her almost a foot shorter.  She wrapped her arms around Miranda in a gentle embrace.

“It’s good to have you back Randa.” she said.

“Just visiting,” Miranda answered.  “Career day.”

“Of course,” Mrs Haas said, nodding.  “Beth!” she barked.  “Watch my desk.”  Taking her hand, like she had when Miranda was little, she walked her to a unmarked door and they both stepped inside.

Mrs. Haas’ nook hadn’t changed much since Miranda was a child.  It felt small when she was seven, as an adult it felt positively claustrophobic.  She sat down on the edge of her polished desk, and Miranda sat in the office chair.  It wasn’t until she was seated that Miranda realized how inappropriate this arrangement was.  Here she was being the little princess taking the throne for her own.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said, shooing me back down as Miranda tried to stand.  “How is your mother doing?”

“She works a lot,” Miranda answered.

“Is she seeing anyone?” she asked.

“The bill collector,” Miranda repeated her off hand comment she gave the neighbors.  Sitting here it didn’t seem as witty or funny.  “No,” she said.  “She’s too tired most of the time to talk to Della or I.  I don’t think she’d have the energy to date.  She falls asleep at dinner.”

“How is Adella?” Mrs Haas asked mercifully changing the subject.

Della?  She’s perfect,” Miranda said.  “Popular, A cheerleader.  I hear she’s running for Sophomore Class President this year.”

“You hear?”

Della and I—We don’t get along,” Miranda admitted.  “She reminds me of Dad.”

“And you Miranda?  How are you?  Mrs Haas tried to place a hand on Miranda's.  She quietly slipped it off the desk and into her lap.  She couldn’t lie to her, so she stayed silent.

“I see,” Mrs. Ha said.  There was a note of sadness that made Miranda look up.  The older woman was looking at her from behind her thick round glasses.  “Every pebble makes ripples.”

The past seven years was more like a twenty foot boulder crashing through the forest into the lake sending a mile high tsunami across the waters.  She’d probably said too much anyway.  It wasn’t like Mrs. Haas had quit the day her father left her mother.  She was kind, but she was an employee.

“How are you doing?” Miranda asked.  “Your husband?  How is Su?”

“Su works here,” Mrs Haas said with a bit of excitement in her voice.  “He started last year.  He has changed so much from when you and he played tag in these halls.  Only here a few months, and he is already working with a research team.”

“And Mr. Haas?” Miranda asked, side stepping the working at Synoptics discussion.

“Lu passed away a year ago,” she said softly.  “It was an accident.  It took time, but I was able to find my way out of the dark.”

“I’m sorry,” Miranda said.  She meant it.  Mr. Haas was just as much of her childhood as his wife.  Again guilt riddled through Miranda.  She hadn’t known.  She should have known.

“It’s alright, Miranda.  You need to carry less.”

“I’m trying,” she answered, “but I should have known about Mr. Haas.  I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“You had your won burdens, young one.” She stood, patting Miranda's shoulder.  “I think we should go see Su,” she said.  “He will be happy to see you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Miranda said, following her out of the office.  “I think I broke his vid screen the last time we played.”

“Piff!” Mrs. Haa’s chuckled.  “Seven years.  He will not remember.”

Beth looked up from the information desk as they stepped back into the entry.  Two other model like women were leaning over the counter talking to her.  All three of them looked in unison with a stare that could freeze water into ice in seconds.  Miranda was certain they had pulled up her recruitment file.  It was filled with such mediocrity no doubt they were all thinking the same thing.  The only reason she was being courted was her status as the boss’ daughter.  Wasn’t it a shame that a more deserving student would lose out because the princess took a slot?  Miranda had news for them it would be a cold day in—

“Beth is not a bad girl,” Mrs Haas placed a hand on Miranda's arm, breaking her thoughts.

“I’m sure she’s delightful,” Miranda said.

“No,” Mrs Haas shook her head.  “She is a conniving, social climbing bimbo, but she is not a bad girl.  She wasn’t blessed with your brains, so she uses what she has.”

Miranda almost laughed out loud.  “Mrs. Haas, I’m not smart I’m barely pulling a—”

“B average,” Mrs. Haas finished.  “A perfect B average in every way.  It is as constant as a heartbeat.”

She didn’t respond.  How closely was Mrs. Haas watching her family?  Miranda pinched her lips into a straight line and concentrated on the next uncomfortable moment in her very long day.   She wasn’t kidding when she said Mrs. Haas' son wouldn’t be happy to see her.  Honestly Miranda doubted if anyone understood her issues, they would be running for cover as she passed.

Entering the lab, Su saw his mother first and then his eyes rested on Miranda.  She wasn’t surprised when he slipped the vid screen in his hands into a drawer.

“Mom!” He crossed the room and embraced her.  When he straightened, he looked at Miranda and took a step back.  “Don’t touch anything,” he said.

She nodded and held up her hands.  “I’ll do my best.”

“Su,” Mrs. Haas chided. "Miranda is a guest.  She should be greeted with respect.”

“It’s alr—”

A hand, sharp as a knife raised to cut her off.  To her surprise it was Su’s not Mrs. Haas.

“My mother is correct, Miranda.  My apologies.  How are you?”

She stuffed her hands into her back pockets.  “Fine,” Miranda said.  “I can think of three hundred places I’d rather be, but I’m okay.”

Su looked at her skeptically.

“Career day,” Miranda added.

Su nodded.  “I can understand that.”

Mrs. Haas also nodded.  Their understanding made her feel more comfortable than she had been all day.

“Let me show you my research,” Su offered.

Miranda licked her lips.  “Are you sure?”

“Just don’t touch anything with a circuit board, and we’ll be fine.”

He was joking… maybe.  Everyone who knew her, knew Miranda kept all tech at arms distance.  A very few like Su had actively witnessed what happened when she got too close to computers.  She’d broken more motherboards, hard drives, and various tech than was believable.  She used to think she was just clumsy.  Now, she was fairly certain she was cursed.  She didn’t speak tech.  Even Martha had her issues when it came to her.  There was only so many times she could say it was all in her head.

“This,” Su said, “is the next phase in medical robotics.” Miranda stared at the overhead image Su put on the display.  Since she’d seen nano-robotics before.  It was hard to be impressed.

“Okay,” Su must have read the silence, because he suddenly moved across the room to one of the lab stations.  He brought back a mouse.  “This is Jerry,” he said.

“Hi Jerry,” Miranda said and then froze realizing how much she sounded like a five year old.  Fortunately, Sue wasn’t paying attention.  Miranda looked around.  Mrs. Haas was gone.  She groaned.  Ever since we were children, she and Su were being shoved together.  She looked back at Su, who was holding Jerry very close to her face.

Wuh,” she took a step back.

“How old do you think Jerry is?” he asked.

She shook her head and swallowed.  Ben’s gerbil had lived about five years.  She assumed mice were the same.  “Three years,” she said.

“Jerry is ten years old.”

Miranda looked at Su not buying it.  “You’ve only been working at this company for a year,” she said.  “Exaggerate much?”  She saw the spark behind Su’s eyes, but he kept it in check.

“No Miranda.  This-is-Jerry.”

“The mouse you had when you were nine?” she asked.

“Eight,” Su corrected.  “The one I caught in my parent’s basement.”

“The one you put in my backpack,” Miranda said.  She still couldn’t undo a zipper without picturing the harry grey face peaking out at me.  “How is he still alive?” she asked.  “Your nanos?”

“Technically they are not my nanos,” Su said.  “I reprogrammed them.”

“To do what?” she asked.

“Well, unlike normal nanos, these don’t deactivate and get expelled once they’ve accomplished their mission.  Instead, they stay in the host’s system and monitor the body for any issues.  If one is detected, the nanos contact the med computer and requisition the needed injection of nanos.  Then they deactivate when the new nanos enter the blood stream.”

“How is that making Jerry live longer?” she asked.

“We don’t know,” Su said.  “The average mouse only lives five years.  Jerry seems to be defying aging.  But it’s only Jerry.  No other subject has had this kind of response.”

“Weird,” Miranda said.  “You knew about this when we were going to school together?”

“Yeah,” Su said.  “Your dad gave me the nanos for the science fair.  That’s when he started paying attention to what I was doing.”

It was nice to know her father hadn’t lost interest in all of his old life.  “So, you’re trying to figure out Jerry’s immortality?”

“On the side,” Su said.  “Mostly I’m refining the programming for the new nanos.  They’re being used in hospitals, but doctors keep asking for new test data and observations for the nanos to track when they’re dormant.”

“So what?” she asked.  “You could pull up a random stranger’s glucose right now from your computer?”

“Not just a stranger,” Su said.  He walked over to a terminal and navigated the screen all while holding Jerry with his other hand.  “Look for yourself,” he said.

Miranda walked to his side.  Her class picture appeared on the screen with columns of data.  She watched in horror as her heart rate and body temperature increased.

“Where did you get this?” she asked.  To her knowledge, she’d never had a micro surgery.  “When did nanites get in my blood?”

Su laughed.  “You don’t remember?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“The day your dad left,” he said.

She flushed.  “What are you talking about?”

"Miranda, you climbed up onto the roof of that old shack we used to hang out in.  The tiles gave way.  You fell through floor into the root cellar.  You broke your arm.”

The memory came back to her slowly.  It was a part of a series of memories she had worked hard to repress.  “A couple of ribs too,” Miranda said.

“You were afraid your mom couldn’t handle it.  I used half of my research making it so you could go home.”

“You’ve been able to track everything about me for the past seven plus years?” she felt her voice growing louder, though she had no control to stop it.  Miranda looked again at the screen.  Su had been able to watch me go through puberty.  Hormonal increases and decreases- her monthly… She flushed.  “Make it go away,” she said.

"Miranda, It’s okay.”

“Does my father know about this?” she asked.  “Does he have access?”

"Miranda, no,” Su said.

“He doesn’t?” she pushed.

“Yes, I mean no,” Su said.  “There was concern over whether the nanos would do damage to the human system.  Your father asked me about it.  I showed him you were just fine.”

Miranda felt like throwing up.  “I’m not a mouse, Su!” she practically screamed.  “Tell me you can make this go away!”

“I don’t know,” Su said.  My nanos are programmed to power off the body’s natural electro chemistry.  It’s hard wired into the system.”

Now she was sure she was going to be sick.  Turning, Miranda practically ran from the room.  She hit up against the glass sliding doors.  The sensor had malfunctioned, of course.  She clawed at them as the sensor finally recognized her pressure.

"Miranda!” She could hear Su calling for her somewhere behind the blood pounding in my ears.  Miranda squeezed out through the doors as soon as they opened wide enough for her body to fit through.  She couldn’t breathe.  The world was spinning.  Somewhere amid all the chaos, Su caught her and lowered her to the floor.  She sat with her head between her knees for what seemed like forever.  Su remained by her side, not speaking.

“I’ll find a way,” he said, finally.  “I’m sorry.  You have to believe me.  They’ve been dormant until I just asked for the data.  I can show you the log.”

Pressing her forehead into her knees, Miranda avoided looking into Su’s eyes.  She knew it was stupid, but the idea of a cybernetic leash to Synoptics frightened her.  She needed to be able to cut her dad out of her life in the same way he cut himself out of her family.

“It’s kind of funny though,” Su chuckled.

“What?” she said, lifting her head.  Haas' son or not, she would kill him if he didn’t select his next few words very carefully.

“Those little bots have been in your body for seven years without a glitch.  Someday I was going to point that out to you.”

“Did you ever get that vid screen working?” Miranda asked.

Su remained silent.

“I didn’t think so,” she said.

“Is everything alright here?”

Miranda looked up.  It was Beth.  How it must have looked to see the two of them sprawled out in the hallway- Su still clutching Jerry the mouse.

“Fine!” Su said, standing up.  She followed sluggishly.  "Miranda's an old friend.”

“How nice for you,” Beth said.

Miranda caught the sarcasm.  She couldn’t help herself.  She laughed.  Somehow the catty remark made her like the blonde more.

Beth seemed unsure of her reaction, but clasped her hands together.  “Are we ready for that tour?” she asked.

"Miranda's not three,” Su said.

Miranda looked down at the floor and smiled, feeling the heat in her cheeks.  “It’s okay,” she said, patting his shoulder.  “Good luck with your mouse.”

“Good luck with your rat,” he replied.

“Just cut the leash,” Miranda said, looking back at him.

“I’ll get right on it,” he said and walked back into the lab.

“Okay,” She said turning to Beth, “let’s see the building.”

*****

... to be continued

[BunnyBear]

-3-

In seven years, nothing about the building had changed outwardly, but the inside was vastly different.  Miranda had no idea why she assumed things would remain frozen in time during her absence, but she had to stifle down more than a little irrational frustration during Beth’s travelogue.  What was worse, she was actually starting to see what Ben saw in Synoptics.  Her father had divisions working on everything from artificial intelligence in robotics to new ways of distributing information with the same nano tech Su was working on.  It was hard to believe that the man who seemed so intent on saving the world was the same man who walked out and never looked back.

“This is our Protocol Department,” Beth said gesturing toward a massive room filled with consoles.  One field tech sat at a side desk.  “This department handles all of the MARTHA programs in the world.”

“All the Martha programs report back here?” Miranda stepped toward the doors only to be stopped by a red light and a buzzer.

“No one has access to that room other than Mr. Drake and Elliot, the tech,” Beth said.

“I know the Martha program is strong,” Miranda said, “but isn’t that putting a lot of eggs in one basket?  Our Martha system has bugs.  Ben has to fix it whenever she goes on the fritz.”

“You don’t consult a data tech?” Beth asked.

Miranda sighed.  “Mom sorta refuses to upgrade from Martha 1.0.”

“The current Martha systems are running version 43.9,” Beth said.

“Yeah.  Dad made 1.0 for my Mom.  Martha was the name of my grandmother.  He stripped away all of the personality when he made 2.0.  It was Gran dying all over again.  Mom refused to upgrade.  Dad left the house.”

Beth shifted uncomfortably.  Miranda understood.  What could the blonde really say to that?-nothing.  Miranda closed her eyes and cleared her thoughts.

“I thought the MARTHA programs were local,” she said.

“Oh, they are,” Beth answered.  “Those are Joe terminals.  Each one is a handler for a block of MARTHAs.  They handle updates, flaws in the system, complaints, service calls, and of course, consumer help calls.

“So when someone calls because they have a problem with their MARTHA, they’re actually talking to one of those computers?”

“They never know it,” Beth flipped her ponytail.  “The Joe computers review all of the client MARTHA data and create a help desk agent that works best with their emotional and personal needs.”

“What kind of data?” Miranda asked.  This felt uncomfortable again- like Su’s medical nanos.

“Everything,” Beth shrugged.  “MARTHA is fully integrated into her family’s lives.  She helps raise the children, cook the meals, pays the bills, organizes the house, orders food and other household necessities, and she even washes the windows.”

Miranda recognized the slogan from one of her father’s commercials.  “Isn’t that dangerous? What about hackers?  What if Elliott over there decided to empty everyone’s bank account into his own?”

“I doubt that would ever happen,” Beth said.  “Elliot is a synthetic.”

Miranda stared across the landscape of terminals to the sitting man.  Now that I watched him, it was true.  He never blinked.  “Elliot’s a robot?” she asked.

“He’s more commonly referred to as a Synth, but yes.  He’s your brother’s work.”

“Ben?” Miranda nearly choked.  Ben was working on robotics?

Beth nodded.  “It’s quite the achievement of engineering.  But, most of what he creates are blanks.  No need to make soldiers look human.”

Miranda blinked.  She knew the military had started using robots.  It was common knowledge.  She had no idea they came from Synoptics.  Furthermore, it didn’t even fit into the landscape of her knowledge that her own brother was responsible for an army of walking weapons.

“Where do you stand?” Beth asked.

Crap.  She hadn’t even realized Beth was still speaking.  “Where do I stand?” Miranda asked.  Her brain clicked back to where she had fallen into her own thoughts.  “On robotics in the military?” she guessed.

“Frankly, I think it’s an awful development,” Beth said.  “War has always done away with the lower classes and undesirables.  Now that being cannon fodder is off the table, they are just going to breed like rabbits.  Then where will the world be?”

It took Miranda a moment to process the amount of faux pas coming out of Beth’s mouth.  Not only was the classist statements a direct insult toward her family’s social class, but she was also criticizing a product of the company she worked for in a hallway with cameras.  Beth wasn’t going to work long at Synoptics at this rate.  Miranda almost said something, but Beth’s painted lips vomited some statement about sterilizing those on welfare, and she changed my mind.

“So Elliot is what?  A watchdog for the Joes?” Miranda asked.

“More like a scarecrow,” Beth said.  “If a hacker tries to infiltrate the system, Elliot is alerted.  He not only aggressively works to keep hackers out, he traces the hackers to their address, notifies the authorities, and activates the MARTHA system in the hacker’s house to hold him until the police arrive.  Because of Elliot, most skilled hackers avoid Synoptics.

“I don’t get it.  Couldn’t you do that with just a console- like the Joes?” Miranda asked.

“Yup,” Miranda turned at the familiar voice.  Ben stepped out of the elevator and squeezed her shoulder.  “It was dad who wanted the synth.  Just in case anyone came into the company to view MARTHA’s support system.  He felt that the human-esque influence calmed fears.”

“Yeah,” Miranda said.  “Apparently dad doesn’t run into too many technologically cursed people.”

“Oh, that’s sweet Miranda,” Ben said.

She was confused.  “What?  My concern for faulty programming?”

“Nah,” Ben smiled.  “That you believe that there others like you in the world.”

“Whatever,” she slapped him on the arm.

“Come on,” he laughed.  “I’ll take you down to the laboratory.” He chuckled like Dracula.
She couldn’t help laughing.

“We haven’t finished the tour,” Beth interrupted.

“Oh!” Ben turned.  “Sorry,” HR sent me up to fetch Miranda.  You’re supposed to head down.”

“Right now?” Beth asked.

Ben nodded.  “Afraid so.  They seemed insistent.”

“They probably found out I applied at Techhelon,” she said.  “I’ve been waiting for a counter offer.”

Miranda watched Beth prance into the elevator.  She was certain my mouth was wide open.  She had no clue.  Miranda surprised herself for feeling sorry for her.  It passed quickly.  “So when did you start making war machines?” she asked.

Ben’s body visibly tensed.  Miranda noticed he didn’t deny it right away.  The pause meant he was choosing his words.  It was a trait he shared with Dad.  “I’m an engineer, Miranda,” he said finally.  “I make a swivel for a head.  I don’t control where they use it.  Where did you hear…”

“Beth,” she answered.  “Who else?  Do you think she’s fired?”

Ben’s jaw clenched.  She interpreted that as agreement.

“Robotics,” Miranda rubbed her forehead.

“It’s an exciting field,” Ben said.  “I got permission to let you see some of our new stuff.”

“Dare risk it?” Miranda opened her hand and wiggled her fingers.  “Su wouldn’t let me near his computers.”

Ben laughed.  “Again, I’m an engineer,” he said.  “Your catastrophic effects on computers do nothing to doorknobs or light switches.  I doubt you can do much to exoskeletons and synthetic skin.  Besides,” he whispered.  “I need your super power.”

“Ben…”

“Don’t worry.  It’s in the experimental section.”

“I’m not sure that makes me feel better,” she said.

Her super power, as Ben called it, was a game.  At least it was when they first discovered it.  As children, MARTHA would give them brain teasers each morning before school.  Two almost identical pictures where only a few objects were missing or changed would pop up on the surface of the kitchen table as they ate breakfast.  Where most people were able to find objects after studying the two pictures, Miranda saw them instantly.  At first she hadn’t thought anything about it.  Then Ben started testing.  He made more and more difficult puzzles until there was minute pixel level differences.   She was able to perceive them all, even if she didn’t completely understand what she was seeing.

As she grew, Miranda realized that her ability to see differences extended to handwriting, art work, and in the case of Su his programming language style.  When she was in his lab, it was easy to tell where his work ended and another programmer began.  She suspected Ben had theorized that she could determine that level of difference, but so far he had never asked.  In fact, he had never asked her to use it for anything except amusement, until now.  The thought both intrigued and terrified her.

Ben’s lab was on the other side of the complex. Beth’s tour had completely bypassed this section of the company.  She briefly wondered how many other areas had been excluded?  They went through three levels of security, which once again, was disconcerting.  Her eye scan gave her approval, and she couldn’t help wondering how her retinal scan ended up in the system.  Was it something dad had done when she was a child- or…  She didn’t want to speculate the other part.  As we passed through the final checkpoint, Ben pulled out an ordinary metal key from his pocket and unlocked the door.

“In the world of MARTHA,” Ben said, opening the door.  “A metal key is a bank vault.”

They entered the lab.  It looked like a medieval dungeon.  Torso’s, skeletons, and various body parts hung from chains on hooks, across long tables with twisted silver tools, and propped up in corners.  Large monitors scrolled blueprints of old buildings, ancient technology, and transportation as their screen saves painted the darkened room with a wash of blue light.  She eyed the nearest monitor as it flickered when she entered.  Ben noticed her look.

“It’s been flickering for months.”

She didn’t respond.

“So, what do you think?”

There was an art in the structure of the synths.  The integration of metal and plastic was intertwined in a way that was scientific and biological but also art.  Ben had always liked puzzles.  Seeing the room gave her insight into why he liked this field.

“They’re beautiful,” she said.  “Why cover them with synthetic skin?”

“Curb appeal,” Ben answered.

Miranda nodded.  “what is your—”  she paused.  What should I call it? “body part?” she finally finished.

Ben led her over to one of the larger work areas.  The uncomfortable tension hit her as soon as she came around the partition.  A thousand eyes stared back at her.  Some were attached to heads.  Others were on stands or laying on the work space.  Disconcertingly, they blinked off and on.

“Whaaa-” she said.  “Creepy eyes.”

“Hey!  These are my life’s work.”  Ben picked a pan of eyes and cradled them in his hand like a kitten.  He stroked the glass and plastic casing.

“Yeah, that’s not creepy.  So, you’re the eye guy?” she asked.

“Optics,” Ben corrected.

"Okay." At least he wasn't making arms or torsos.  "Do robots even need eyes," she asked. "Don't they use sensors and satellites?"

"That's the exciting part," Ben said.  "These eyes can be used to give a human back their vision.  At least they will when I'm done with them.  I'm only using Synths to figure out the logistics."

Miranda smiled.  There was the philanthropic Ben she knew as a child.  He was the only member of her dad's first family to integrate into their lives.  He didn't have to.  Certainly Ben's mother would have paid for any boarding school he wanted, but he had chosen his new mom.  When Miranda was born, and later Della, he'd looked out for them.  Even when Dad left to start his third life, Ben had stayed behind.  Well, until he started working at Synoptics.  This made sense.

"This is great, Ben," Miranda said, feeling her emotions and enthusiasm swell.  "I'm sorry I doubted you."

"Ah, Miranda," he whispered and wrapped her into one of his all encompassing hugs.  It only got weird when the eyes in his hand blinked catching her hair in its rotors.  Bursting apart, they were caught up in a tangle of talking and laughter.

When the last strands of her hair were released from the mechanism, the doors on the other side of the lab burst open.  A squat man with glasses hurried into the room, scanned for Ben, and jogged toward the space where they were standing.

"I've got them," he huffed.  Miranda hadn't noticed it at first, but the intruder was carrying several large rolls under his arm.  "Is this her?" he asked.

"Miranda,' this is Frank," Ben said.  "Frank works with me."

"Nice," Frank grumbled.  "Are you going to pour the tea anytime soon?  I'm only carrying stolen materials," he barked.

Looking at Ben, he didn't seem nearly as frantic as Frank, but there was a tension in his stature.  Miranda remained silent and watched as Ben and Frank rolled out the blueprints on the center table. After a moment both Ben and Frank turned to look at her.

"Well?" Frank barked.  "Are you going to just stand there?"

Miranda looked at Ben.  What was it that the little angry man expected her to do?  Then she realized it.  Her look of confusion was replaced by one that was hot and angry.

"Ben?" she growled.

"Frank knows you're an expert on chip schematics," Ben said, pointing to the curling paper.

"Chip schematics?" she repeated.

Frank exploded.  "Either look at them or not, but do something!" he snapped.  "My ass is on the line if anyone figures out they are gone!"

"Just tell us if you see anything wrong," Ben said.  He pointed to the first set.  "These were the original central processing chips invented by Dr. Herbert.  He pioneered what we're doing here.  Three weeks ago the plans were changed to these." He touched the second set.  "They're identical," he said.

"Except, why would they change the prints but not the chip?  It doesn't make sense," Frank leaned over the plans. "Someone is up to something."

Right.  Stepping up to the table, Miranda looked at the two plans.  Ben was right.  They were identical.  Nothing came to the forefront as she scanned back and forth.

"They're the same," she said

"They can't be!" Frank threw up his hands and stormed across the room.

Miranda breathed out, glancing at Frank's red face.  "What am I supposed to see?" she asked.  "The plans are the same, except the obvious."

"The obvious?" Ben asked and stepped closer.

"Yeah," Miranda pointed to the title block in the upper corner of the plans.  The plan's date and identification number were completely different.  "Isn't that normal?" she asked.

Both Ben and Frank were silent staring at the numbers.  Miranda raised her eyebrows.  Maybe they hadn't seen them.  Rubbing her forehead, she flipped through the stack of pages attached to the blueprints.  The pages were filled with code, she assumed.  She had watched Su enough that she recognized the basics.  She paused and focused on a block of numbers and text at the bottom of the first page.  She knew that coding style.

"Dad wrote this code?" she asked aloud.

Both Ben and Frank looked up together.

"What?" Ben asked.

Frank looked a little startled.  "She's your sister?" he asked.

"Half-sister," Ben corrected.

The correction stung a little.  Miranda hoped it was for Frank's sake.

"What do you mean Dad?" Ben asked.

"This code is his," Miranda said, pointing to the block.  "He used it in MARTHA.  I saw it when you fixed the sensors last year."

"MARTHA has thousands of programmers," Frank huffed.

"Not the one in our house," Miranda said.  "She's the first MARTHA ever created."

"You've never updated her?" Frank asked.  His voice squeaked.  "Who are you?"

Miranda didn't give Frank's statement even the vaguest indication she had heard him.  Instead she flipped through the pages attached to the other plans.  Dad's block of code was still there, but above and below it was another familiar pattern.  Pressing her lips together, she slid the sheet off the table, folded it, and tucked it into her pocket.  When she looked up, Frank and Ben were talking.  She returned to the pages, but listened.

"Drake controls the code to the CPU," Frank said. "Even if he's not behind it, he must know that it's happening," Frank said.

"Not necessarily," Ben said.  "Duplicating code isn't a difficult undertaking."

"What is happening?" Miranda asked.  It slipped out and she wished for the world she could take it back.  Especially since Ben and Frank suddenly remembered she was there.

"None of your business," Frank snapped.

"It is if you want me to tell you the other part."

It was as if she had just shot someone in the room.  Both Ben and Frank took a step back.

"Miranda, what other part?" Ben asked.

She looked directly at Frank.  She couldn't stare down Ben and he knew it, but she wasn't  about to get Su in serious trouble.  She owed him at least that.  It felt like an eternity while Frank's face slowly grew more and more red.  It looked as as if his head was going to explode.  Keep your face stone, she told herself. Don't blink

"Fine!" Frank roared.  "Someone is changing things.  Parts are being changed without talking to the engineers, but there are no records."

"So having Della set me up to come here was an attempt to figure out who is changing things?" Miranda asked.

"It's more than that, Randa," Ben said.  "Programming is changing and malfunctions are increasing.  Right now the problems seem isolated to inside the company walls, but we need to find the solution before it expands."

Miranda looked at her brother feeling her eyebrows came together.  Be nice, her mind chided.  "Dad cares more about this company than he does about two marriages and the eight children he fathered.  There's no way he's sabotaging his own company.  You're being paranoid." Okay it wasn't nice.  I wasn't even close to nice, but it was honest.  She could see from Ben's expression he agreed.

"What's the other thing?" Frank huffed.

She pushed the pages of code toward them.  "If one person is behind all of this, they are putting a lot of effort into it," she said.

"How so?" Ben asked.

"The new chip has different code," she said.  She held up her finger as Frank opened his mouth to spew more conspiracy nonsense.  "It's dad's code but it is woven with code from..." she flipped through the pages, "of at least twenty different programmers.  Three lines here, an entire page here," she pointed to the pages showing the inconsistencies.

"What do they do?" Frank asked.

"No idea," she answered.  "But I'd bet the programmers have no idea that their codes have been used." At least she hoped so.

Ben and Frank once again huddled.  Miranda didn't care to listen.  Something was bothering her.  Software could be changed with a keystroke and a dispersal packet.  Why had the blueprints changed or rather been copied with a new ID number.  It didn't make sense unless there was something different on the blueprint.  Something that wasn't immediately obvious.

Miranda took the two blueprints with her to the far end of the table and spread them out side by side.  Breaking them into patterns, she searched for anomalies.  She was halfway through when she saw the first one.  It was barely noticeable.  Next to a thick white line, a second slender thread ran along side separated by a fraction of a millimeter.  The large line and the small line ran congruent to one another with such precision that to the casual glance, they were one and the same.

The second irregularity appeared as a part number change.  The original plans showed a rectangular chip with the numbers 8178.  The new schematic showed that the numbers were now 0170.  Again because of the line in the zero the numbers looked identical.

She traced the line through the CPU following what looked like a redundancy in the chip.  Miranda looked up to call Frank and Ben over but stopped.  Every eye in Ben's work space was looking straight at her.  All together they flicked their eyes back and forth.  It was a clear 'No.'

Miranda stood for a moment her mouth stalled.  Her eyes flicked back and forth with the eyes and she found her head shaking along with them.  After a moment of indecision, she closed her mouth.  A few seconds later, security burst through the door, tackling Frank, Ben and Miranda to the ground.

****

To be continued...

[BunnyBear]

-4-

Mr. Percival Flander’s desk needed dusting.  Not the flat surface of course, but down along the seams by the legs.  Alice crossed her legs and tried not to look at it.  The rustle of a paper crossing overtop another thundered through the abject silence.  Looking up, Mr. Percival Flander was still perusing the slim file—Resume, cover letter, and recommendations.  Alice’s stomach folded against her wishes.  Don’t you dare, she silently willed it.  A long pronounced gurgle erupted out of it.  Traitor, she glared down.  Like a deer sensing the hunter’s gun, she looked up.  Two beedy blue eyes behind black frame glasses were staring.

“Sorry,” the word came out of her mouth so softly she barely realized she’d said it.  “I didn’t eat breakfast.  My appointment was at eight, but I had to wait two hours because Mr. Jefferies called in ill, and you couldn’t see me right away…”

“There aren’t many off the street applicants that we consider seriously at this institution.” Mr. Flander closed the file with the palm of his hand. 

Alice closed her mouth rubbing her lower lip long the top of her teeth.  Stop it, she told herself.  He’s trying to make you angry.  It’s working, the tiny voice at the back of her head answered. 

“I didn’t,” she said.

“What?”

Shaking her head, Alice fished in her purse for the folded envelope.  When she looked up, the human resources manager’s nose had raised a full inch higher.  Opening the envelope, she pulled out the letter and set it on the desk. 

“I was invited,” she said.  “Several times.  I hadn’t contemplated considering the offer because my mother…”  Alice stopped.  Flander was focused on his computer console.  Alice could see the bright colors of Ebay in the mirror of his glasses.  Slipping the letter back off the desk, she returned it to her purse and stood. 

“I can see this was a mistake,” she said.

“Miss Happlan,” Flander’s stood.
   
“Thank you,” Alice muttered, collecting the folder from between his hands.  Copies were expensive.  Turning, she had great plans to exit smoothly out the glass door.  That ended with the first step slamming her thigh into the armrest of the adjacent chair.  Closing her eyes, she pushed through it despite the fact that there would be a bruise.  She managed to look down as she put her hand on the door.  The folds of her skirt were clinging to her nylons.  Damn.  She rolled her eyes and pushed.  Nothing happened.  Setting her jaw, she pushed again. 

“Um-hm,”

Alice turned.  Mr. Percival Flanders pointed to the left.  Alice backed up from the glass panel wall and adjusted her course.  Trying to hide her face, of course it was flushing to a high intensity red, she hurried out into the hall. 

What was I thinking?  Alice felt like walking into traffic. Plucky little teacher from Sunnyville, Idaho, comes to the big city because she got a letter.  I probably missed the part where I was subscribing for a magazine or getting the dippy little article about my teacher of the year award framed.  There was probably some $800.00 charge to my credit card I’d missed.  She turned at the end of the long and mercifully empty hallway and pushed through the doors into the lobby. 

“Miss Happlan?”  The annoyingly young and perky receptionist stood as she invaded her domain.  From this angle Alice could see her full outfit.  The classroom instinct to send her to the office for her ridiculously high hemmed skirt kicked at her. 

“Yes?”

“Would you mind staying for one moment?”

“Actually,” Alice’s fingers rubbed the space between her eyebrows, “I think I’ve had enough,” she said.  The faintest hint of a laugh burbled out along with another grumble from her stomach. 

“Mrs. Happlan?” 

“Miss,” Alice corrected automatically.

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be, I’m not,” Alice laughed and turned.  There was no one connected to the voice.  She looked around and back at the receptionist, who pointed at the camera and speaker above her desk. 

“You were a teacher?”

Alice stared at the camera and shook her head.  This event was becoming more and more bizarre.  “I’m not interested,” she said firmly. 

“In what?’ the disembodied voice asked.

“The job,” she answered.

“What job is that?”

“You’re slipping,” Alice said, pulling the strap of her purse onto her shoulder.  “I heard your sense of humor in that one.”

“Please wait,” the receptionist clattered to the edge of her desk as Alice passed.

“No thank you,” Alice swept the bangs out of her face.  “You can tell whatever over privileged face is behind that computer that I'm through being amusing.  I'm going to do something productive with the rest of this wretched day perhaps eat."

This time she aimed for the doors making sure that the portal through the glass wall was in her path.  The opened admitting her to the outside.  She paused looking back and forth along the long drive.  Mountains of landscaping separated the building from the city giving the feeling of isolation  It also hindered her from hailing a taxi.  For a moment, Alice considered asking the receptionist to call one, but returning there...   Setting her jaw, she began walking.  Her bargain bin heels slipping on the cobblestones that mounded like freshly baked rolls.  She kept up her pace despite that, trying to keep the tears from her eyes. 

"Miss Happlan!  Miss Happlan!"

Alice kept walking despite the sound of heavy footfalls behind her, the rustle of a suit, and the panting of whoever was calling her name.  It was only when the hand rested on her shoulder she turned, taken aback by the breech of personal contact. 

"Excuse me!" She turned grabbing the strap of her purse, instinctively on her arm. 

The man behind her was tall, far taller than most men.  He was tan with dark hair and strangely amused eyes despite the fact that he was panting as if he'd run a mile rather than the few yards from the front door.  Alice looked up at the towering spires of glass.  Had he run from?

He turned along with her pointing up.  "Fortunately I was in a meeting on the twentieth floor.  Took the stairs." He clutched at his side.  "Miss Happlan,  my name is, Alexander Mitchell.  I am the personal assistant to Mr. Jefferies.  No one let me know you decided to come in.   I apologize.   Please," he gestured with his hand, "You are very important to this company."

"I..."

"Please," he panted.  "This will be my job.  Please fifteen minutes.  That's all I ask." 

Alice closed her eyes as her stomach growled like a caged cat.  She could feel the heat in her cheeks rising and again she wanted to cry.  "I don't..."

"Lobster, New York Steak, I can fly in Crabcakes from Maine..."

She stared at the man before her and rubbed her forehead.  "Grilled cheese?" she said.

"What?"

"Would it be possible to get a grilled cheese sandwich and fries?"

Alexander Mitchel broke into a laugh.  He took a step back, the line of his shoulders dropping a couple inches.  "Yes," he said.  "I can do that.  Thank you Miss Happlan."

She didn't answer, only nodded as they turned and started back toward the main doors.  Stepping through the glass doors the receptionist immediately picked up the phone and was talking to someone who was on hold. 

"Miss Happlan would like a grilled cheese and fries." 

"Anything to drink?" the receptionist asked.  "Dessert?  Appetizer?  I can get the cheese from Wisconsin if you would like to wait."

They weren't stopping.  Alice froze as a figure carrying what amounted to a brown filing box scuttled past her.  Mr. Percival Flander avoided eye contact as he passed by.  His face was flushed and the black rimmed glasses were skewed on his nose. 

"Is that because of..."  She cut off as Alexander turned to face her.  His brown eyes bore into hers.

"I told you," he said firmly.  "You are very important to Synoptics.  Mr. Drake has made his intentions to convince you to join us very clear.  Please... this way."

******

To be continued...

[BunnyBear]

-5-

She'd expected him to press 20 or one of the ones nearby.  Despite the flattering words, somehow she doubted that she as as important as Mr. Mitchell was insinuating.  While it was flattering, sure... she was a teacher from a country town.  There were less than twenty thousand people and most of them didn't own a computer.  It was hard to believe that a company that held it's primary devotion to the computer sciences would see her as anything more than an antique- a dim shadow of how things used to be run.  Therefore it wasn't much of a surprise when Alexander pressed B5.  Her lips pulled into a line, and she let out a breath of air.  That was better.  The elevator barely indicated they were moving downward.  Only the steady hum of the turbine signaled their descent.

"I have to be completely honest.  I'm not interested in creating content for Ichabod," she said.  "I am a firm believer that a student learns best outside of the computer screen."

Alexander nodded.  "We are aware of that," he said and then chuckled.  "You're not here for Ichabod.  But if you don't mind, may I ask you a question?"

Alice watched the lights flicker counting upward.  "I would expect that you're going to ask me more than one," she said.  "Otherwise I might question your interviewing skills."

"Oh," He shook his head.  "The interview is over," he said.  "You have the job.  You've had the job for six months."  He laughed.  "The purpose of this meeting is to convince you to take it."  He didn't stop for her to respond.  "But, my question- Is it true you still use hard copy text books in your classroom?"  He said the words with such awe and wonder- Alice nearly laughed.  It wasn't like she was using Horn books from the Pilgrims. 

"Yes," she said simply.  "I don't have that many students and they're easy to come by."

"Isn't that limiting?  Ichabod aside- the information contained on the web..." Alice cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"My students don't all have access to the internet and most of their parents have done that for a reason," she said. 

Alexander nodded.  He'd heard about the fringe factions who had isolated themselves in the Rockies during the information wars.  From what he'd been told, they'd devolved themselves into phone lines and, when required, modems.  Printed newspapers, written correspondence, radio communication- it was practically medieval.  As the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened, Alexander stepped out watching the woman beside him with a little awe.  Despite all of that cultural retardation, her seven senior students had placed in the seven top spots during the national achievement scans.  The previous year five of her eight did likewise, and the remaining three had protested the tests existence.  Back and back- this woman's students were outperforming the rest of the nation- and comparatively vying for top spots on the world spectrum as well.   There was no explanation for it- limited resources, limited information- Hell, she was teaching in a one room schoolhouse with forty secondary students ranging from twelve to nineteen.  Her students didn't even put in a full school day- spending most of the early morning and late afternoon working in the fields with their parents.

"You're a rational man, Mr. Mitchell," she said following him down the long corridor.  "What exactly is the job of a teacher?  Most people will answer that question wrong, so I'm going to warn you it is a trick question."

Shrugging, Alexander looked at the woman baffled.  "To teach students stuff," he answered.

"Ah... so the primary purpose of a teacher is to turn the students ear to the side and pour knowledge into an empty cavity- despite the fact that anyone can utilize the world your company has built to to any task- from shopping to analyzing their waste for health."  Alice flicked her hand open.  "Right now I can have the answer to what is the square root of One hundred and fourteen thousand, two hundred and seven given to me before I'm able to blink.  I can find out exactly where is the best geographic location to watch the next eclipse.  What exactly am I supposed to pour into a child's brain that cannot be provided from the comfort of their easy chair at home?"

"In case that goes away they'll need to..." Alexander trailed off.

Alice tilted her head.  They had stopped walking.  "Do you expect technology to disappear, Mr. Mitchell?" she asked.  The corner of her mouth flickered a smile about to break.

"Um... No?" he said. 

"So, what is the purpose of a teacher?"  She didn't wait to fumble again, mercifully saving him.  "A teacher's job is to teach students how to learn," she said.  "How to create.  How to think beyond a series of ones and zeroes.  Everything else is available at their fingertips." She took a breath, stepping down from her proverbial soap box.  "So I'm to work hidden away in the basement?" she asked, still slightly amused.

Alexander's thoughts were far away still trying to understand what she'd been saying.  Hadn't he said the same thing?  While at first blush he thought so, but now that he pondered it- he wasn't so certain.  "What?  Oh no," he laughed.  "No, no... this is where we keep your student," he said.

"I'm sorry?"   Alice took a step back and looked around the rather sterile and austere hallway.  "My stu-   Synoptics is keeping a child here?"  The furry rose to magnum levels and she could feel her cheeks flushing.  "What right-?"

Without a word, Alexander Mitchell swung the door open to his right.  "Please- Jeremiah would like to meet you."

A thousand alarm bells were ringing in her head, but if she was going to take this to the authorities, she'd have to make sure the child was alright.  Gripping her purse, Alice stepped beyond the threshold.  The room beyond the doorway was long and rectangular.  She gasped as a funnel of what seemed like water rushed past her followed by a dry warm breeze.  She stepped a little further in to the room being guided by Alexander's hand and he received the same treatment.

"Clean room," he said, as if it explained everything.

"Is Jeremiah an ill child?"  Alice asked looking around.

"Please, this way." Again Alexander led her to a door and held it open for her. 

The adjacent room was vast.  Alice's eyes scanned walls marked with what looked like a very large cross hatch.  Time and again, streaks of light illuminated circuitry  embedded in the walls.  As far as she could tell the room was completely empty.  Nonplussed, Alexander Mitchell walked past Alice to a small console set up in the center of the room.  It contained a desk with a computer, microphone, and a stack of books.  Alice approached the desk noting the apple set on top of the books. 

"Jeremiah requested them as a welcome gift."

Alice tilted her head.  Each title in the stack was one of her favorite books.  Lifting the apple she took the top book and opened it.  Her breath hesitated.  "This is a first edition Count of Monte Cristo Part One."  Her eyes flicked to the second book down- it's partner.   

"English edition," a voice thin and young- like a small boy not quite entering the stages of puberty spoke as if from the air in the room.  "I didn't know if you could read French."  Alice dropped the book and took a step back.

"Who?"

Alexander gestured to the room as if such a huge space could be contained in a gesture.  "Mrs. Happlan, may I introduce, Jeremiah."

"She prefers to go by Miss," the walls reprimanded.  "It's a pleasure to meet you."

It only took her a moment to shake her head and turn from the room heels clipping on the hard floor.  She swung the door open relieved that this was not going to end like some science fiction movie where the computer took the human hostage.  She pushed through the clean room and into the hallway.  Looking back and forth she took a gamble and walked to the right. 

"Elevators," she muttered.

"Miss Happlan!"  Alexander was calling after her jogging to catch up.  "I know that this is a lot to take in."

Alice stopped and turned.  "You brought me here to teach an AI?  Are you all insane?  I have students. Real flesh and blood students who need me.  I left them because you said this is important.  I am not going to be a part of your... new product development plan."

"Jeremiah needs you," he said.

"Jeremiah needs an outlet and a stable wifi connection!" Alice shot back.

"Maybe at one time," Alexander shook his head, "but he's more now."

"Have Ichabod teach him," she snapped.  "I'm sure they'll be great friends.  Invite Martha in for tea."

Rubbing the back of his neck, Alexander licked his lips and shook his head.  "It doesn't work, and Jeremiah is dying."

"What do you mean?" Alice said.

"Ron can explain it better than I can.  He headed the project.  It's his son's voice in there," Alexander looked back.  "A little less than a year ago, Jeremiah's programming started to degrade.  We've tried everything to stabilize his program.  For a while having him process data seemed to hold off the damage, but that has stopped being effective."

"I'm not a programmer, Mr. Mitchell," she said evenly.

"No," Alexander agreed.  "And to be honest, you weren't our idea."

"Jeremiah," she said without asking the question.

He nodded.  "Jeremiah is more than a computer program,"  Alexander's hands opened.  "Once you get to know him you'll see.  He is a little boy."

"He's a microchip," Alice said looking aghast.

"He needs you."

Alice shook her head.  "No," he doesn't" and took a breath.  "I can give you the names of several highly qualified retired teachers who can entertain your computer program.  Heaven knows they need the work since Ichabod put them on the street."

"Please?"

There was a moment of silence.  Alice pulled her lips tight.  She wasn't going to say no a thousand times.  It took a moment for Mr. Mitchell to realize that- when he did, he gestured to the left.  "The elevators are this way," he said.  "And if you don't mind, I'd still like to get you that grilled cheese."

*****

To be continued....

[BunnyBear]

Apologies- 2020 Teach Stress has stifled my writing a bit.  I'm planning on continuing this, but I'm having to plan for about 200 different possibilities.  Be back soon.

BunnyBear