Light Shaper (35 page)

He didn’t say any of this to Steve, though. But he did elaborate.

“It became too painful, simple as that. I already told you some of it, but I’m always in some degree of pain. It gets worse if I use my hands for a long time. I’ve learned to pay attention to what I do. To calculate the risk of hurting myself in every single daily activity. Painting is out of the question.”

“There’s got to be something you can do. Some way to fight back.”

Rigel swiveled around in his chair so he was looking at Steve. “I’ve tried. There is software that lets me control computers without my hands, but it’s not the same, and particularly for art. It takes me forever just to get an outline done, and then the coloring and shading is a nightmare. I’ve tested all kinds of weird peripherals, but nothing works as well as it should.”

Steve crossed his hands over his chest, alternating between looking at Rigel and at the painting. “What about doctors? Can’t they treat it?”

Rigel held up his hands, showing the bionic braces again. “This is the most they can do. There’s no cure for what I have, no way to make it better other than resting. I’ve tried that, but I seem to be getting worse no matter how little I do. And I’ve got to use my hands some time. You do hundreds of things with your hands throughout the course of a single day, and most you don’t notice. There’s no reason to if you’re strong and healthy, but you should try going for a single day without using them for anything, and you’ll see what I mean. It’s maddening and damn near impossible to be limited like me. It makes you feel like a cripple, which I suppose I am. And so my days are mostly dictated by what causes me pain and what I can do to avoid it. Even though I know it’s a losing battle in the end.”

Steve was silent for a few seconds. Then he inched closer to Rigel and put his hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Rigel shivered slightly at the touch. Steve’s face showed genuine compassion.

“So am I. But I’m not letting it win. There’s lots of things I can still do, lots of ways to create art other than painting. Before all this happened, I was already looking at alternate media and interactive technology. There are some really cool new trends over at Haven Prime, using cutting-edge software to create art that changes all the time depending on the viewer. If I can, I’ll start studying how to do that. If it doesn’t work, I’ll look at other options. I won’t let this condition ruin my future.”

Steve looked at him solemnly and then nodded once. A half grin lit up his face.

“You’re one tough guy, you know that?”

Rigel blushed. He couldn’t help but notice that Steve’s hand was still on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Steve continued. “Care to show me some more of those paintings?”

“Um… okay, sure.”

They spent nearly three hours looking at Rigel’s old work. Steve had lots of questions, and although it was evident that he had seldom been to a museum, he was quick in identifying hidden meanings in the pieces and providing his own interpretation for several of them. It had been a long time since Rigel had shown his work to anyone, and it was nice. He started feeling better than he had for days. At some point Steve dragged a chair so he was sitting next to him, and Rigel was intensely aware of the other man’s closeness. It felt right to have him there.

When the paintings ran out, they talked about Steve. He shared many things he knew about the slums, and Rigel listened, fascinated, amazed at how difficult it was to survive in a place like this. His respect for Steve grew, and once again he felt that thing, that connection, something he had never experienced with another person before. He wished the evening would never end.

Eventually, though, Steve yawned.

“Well, look at the time,” he said. “I’ve been here bothering you for hours.”

“It’s been fun,” Rigel answered. “I can’t remember the last time I met someone as interesting as you.”

Damn.
He’d said that out loud.

But Steve only smiled. “Hey. Same here.”

A brief silence followed, but it felt companionable. Rigel met Steve’s eyes, and Steve didn’t look away. The moment was suddenly intense, charged with tension. Rigel’s heart started beating faster when he realized the other man was leaning closer to him. As if he wanted to kiss.

Then Steve stood up abruptly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, somewhat awkwardly. “Got to…. Um….”

He fled. Rigel saw him leave and wondered what had just happened.

The next day was boring and uneventful for the most part. Rigel was feeling a bit cheerier, and he actually talked to Zoe for a while just before her shift ended. She turned out to be a very friendly girl, eager to learn about the latest events in Aurora. The second Steve showed up, however, all her attention was directed to him, and Rigel excused himself to go to his room.

He played solitaire on the computer until his hands hurt, and then he had to spend nearly half an hour massaging his wrists like one of his many useless physiotherapists had told him to. Then for lack of anything else to do, he went to the bathroom to take a shower.

There he saw that he had run out of shower tokens. Rigel swore under his breath and considered going to reception to ask for another one. He stepped out into the hallway, but then he saw Steve’s door was ajar.

Well, it was an excuse. And he did feel like talking to Steve again.

He knocked.

“Come in!”

“Hi, Steve. I was wondering if you had any—”

Rigel stopped halfway into the room. Steve was doing incline push-ups, his feet resting on his bed and his hands on the floor. He was only wearing a pair of boxers.

“Uh…,” Rigel stammered.

“Rigel?” Steve panted. “Gimme a sec.”

Rigel stood there, hand on the door, watching the ripple of clearly defined muscles along Steve’s back as he worked out. He looked like an anatomy textbook illustration, or like a guy about to go to a bodybuilding contest. The outline of each muscle showed under his skin as he went up and down, up and down, the movement smooth and controlled. His eyes were fixed on a point right in front of him, and his breathing was fast but regular.

It was maybe a full minute before he stopped. Then Steve pushed himself all the way up with ease and sat on his bed, grabbing a towel that lay nearby. His chest was heaving, but he smiled at Rigel.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Rigel’s mind was suddenly blank.

“I… um….”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

Rigel could have kicked himself. A few awkward seconds dragged on.

Say something!

“You’re working out!” Rigel blurted.

He cringed. He was probably looking extremely idiotic right about now.

Steve was still smiling, though. “Yeah. Well, sort of. You can’t really call it working out if it’s just calisthenics.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Come on in, man. Don’t just stand there.”

“Right.” Rigel closed the door behind him and then sat down on the chair next to Steve’s computer terminal.

He looked around the room. It was a bit messy, but it smelled nice. The TV was on, but it was muted. In the far corner, Steve had arranged a couple of chairs back-to-back and separated them a few steps. A metal rod was resting between them.

“What’s that?” Rigel asked.

“That’s my extremely improvised rig to do some pull-ups.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, like this.”

Steve walked to where the chairs were. He grabbed the rod between them and then bent his knees, lifting his feet off the ground and holding himself in place with the strength of his hands alone. Then slowly, he pulled his body up until his chest was above the rod. He followed it by lowering himself gradually until his knees were about to touch the ground.

“Oh, I get it,” Rigel said.

Steve stood up. “Like I mentioned, it’s just a few light exercises. These people don’t have a gym anywhere.”

“Do you normally work out every day?”

“Most days, yeah,” Steve said, picking up a big jug of water that was full to the brim, sealed with its cap. He sat on the edge of the bed and began doing biceps curls with it as if it weighed nothing. “It’s more competitive than that, though. You have to alternate body parts each day, and the intensity varies based on whether I am bulking up or just shedding extra fat. I also have to do cardio, even though I hate it. And then there’s the diet.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Yeah, but I like it. It’s worth it, you know? If I work hard, I can see the results of my efforts.”

“I can see them too,” Rigel said without thinking. Then he shut his mouth, horrified that he had spoken out loud.

What’s wrong with me?

But Steve merely nodded. “You want to try it out? I know a few good exercises for beginners. I could teach you.”

“Can’t. Hands.”

“Oh, that’s right. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. The only exercise I do is run on the treadmill, and only because Misha makes me when she’s feeling fat—”

Rigel stopped talking suddenly, remembering Misha. He had refused to think about her in days, maybe deliberately. Now he was forced to remember her as he had last seen her. Rigel hadn’t stayed for the ambulance, so he didn’t know if she was really dead…. But something told him she was. Her eyes had been so—empty.

“Rigel?” Steve asked softly.

“Sorry. It’s just that my friend….”

He shut his eyes to block out the image. He wasn’t successful.

“Hey,” Steve said, and suddenly his hand was on Rigel’s shoulder. “You want to talk about it?”

Rigel opened his eyes and looked up at Steve’s face. He looked genuinely concerned, his skin flushed from the exercise. The room’s light glinted off the close-cropped goatee that outlined his chin.

“I don’t think I can, not yet,” Rigel said quietly. “I still can’t believe it.”

“Fair enough. Want me to turn the volume up on the TV? We can watch it, if you don’t mind me exercising while we do. It would be nice to have some company for a while.”

Rigel smiled weakly. He had been dreading going back alone to his room. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

Steve hit a button on the remote and immediately the voice of a broadcaster came from the speakers. Rigel recognized him. He was the anchor for Current Aurora, the afternoon news show.

Steve switched the jug of water to his other hand and kept on doing biceps curls while sitting nearby. Rigel looked up at the screen, determined to distract himself with anything.

The anchor was speaking about CradleCorp, however.

“—is still not known. The main suspect in the bombing, Aaron Blake, has been reported missing, and efforts to track him down have so far been unsuccessful.”

“Want me to switch the channel?” Steve grunted.

“No. I want to know what they’re saying about me.”

“The impact in Aurora from the sudden halt of all activity in CradleCorp cannot be understated. All of the city’s biggest company’s activities have been brought to a stop while rebuilding efforts begin. The Mayor himself has pledged full support for Richard Tanner in this endeavor, and several crowdsourcing initiatives have already taken shape in order to expedite the process. Anyone wishing to contribute to the latter can log in to the website shown below to make a donation or call our Viewer Hotline to find out about other ways in which they can help.”

There was a slight pause while the anchor swiveled in his seat to look at another camera. Behind him, images of the smoking CradleCorp building were shown nonstop.

“Cleanup continues on-site at CradleCorp, but full damage assessment is expected a week from now at the earliest. Three people remain unaccounted for from the fire that ravaged the building four days ago, and search crews remain adamantly optimistic that these three CradleCorp employees will be found among the rubble.

“This tragedy has affected people from all walks of life, far beyond the horror of such a devastating terrorist attack. We go now to our on-site correspondent Alicia Jimenez for a series of exclusive interviews with some of those most deeply affected by these events. Alicia?”

Steve put the water jug down and started doing sit-ups on the floor, angling his body so he would still be able to look at the TV. Rigel saw that he was paying attention to the broadcast now, same as he.

The interviews started. A slim, black-haired reporter had put together a series of segments filmed with lots of different people, deliberately edited for maximum emotional impact. Rigel found himself being forced to consider what it really meant for Otherlife to have suddenly disappeared from the market without any explanation.

As the anchor had said, people from all sectors of society had been affected. Rigel saw maybe a dozen lengthy interviews carried out with a wide variety of citizens, some of whom were inconsolable at the destruction of Otherlife. It was more than a cheap escape from reality, nearly all of them said. It was another world, a better world. Rigel saw a man in his forties moaning over the fact that he had spent nearly twenty years of his life customizing not only his avatar but his own private hub within the virtual reality, where he had become the administrator of a large community of like-minded fantasy enthusiasts. They had created a detailed open-ended world, complete with lore and a complex system of rules that guided their various adventures and quests. The man being interviewed had even quit his day job after the hub he administered had exceeded ten thousand users, becoming something of a local celebrity in the fantasy circle and making a comfortable living from donations alone. Now, he said, his entire life’s work had been obliterated in a single night. He had no job, no source of income anymore. He did not know what to do.

There was also a behavioral scientist who was distraught over the fact that one of the most valuable sources of empirical research data for his department had been wiped out with no warning. A paraplegic woman was still in shock at having lost the one thing that had made her condition bearable, escaping into a place where her avatar was capable of doing the things she could not do in the real world anymore. A teenager broke down crying when she confessed that she had met the perfect man in Otherlife, and they had been about to meet face-to-face, but now she would never know who it was since they had never exchanged private information aside from their user IDs. She displayed her username prominently and begged her mystery man to contact her. The director of a subsidiary of CradleCorp who organized customized virtual experiences through Otherlife spent nearly ten minutes detailing how much money his company had lost in reservation fees and user subscriptions. An economic analyst began sweating when he attempted to explain the repercussions such a monumental upset in the biggest company in the city would have throughout the entire economy of Aurora.