Wild Thing (20 page)

She uncurled slightly, turned her head through the stream of water to stare at him uncomprehendingly.

'Don't be afraid, you're not injured.  I'll get you some medication for the pain.  Then I think it's time we had a talk about the facts of life.'

Not to mention planning for a contraceptive implant eventually
, he thought.

-

As winter ended and the warmer weather heated the old building beyond the capacity of its venerable air-conditioning plant, Harmon frequently found himself watching via the holovid as his young subject exercised in the gym, her movements matching the rhythms of the music she'd chosen.  Today she was clearly hot, and it was visibly interfering with her performance.  He had noticed previously that she seemed to feel the cold less than he, but the heat more.  Yet still she practiced.  Harmon knew she thought of it as “play,” thanks to a Suggestion to make sure she followed a regular exercise regime.  Briefly he wondered if his Suggestion had been a little
too
strong: ought she to exert herself like this?

He watched her bending, flexing, swirling around on the uneven bars.

She was beginning to mature sexually, he noted idly.  He looked at her again, this time comparing her against his mental concept of the Huntress he was creating.

Something didn't fit.  He concentrated, trying to pin it down.

She somersaulted off the bars, landing on her feet with a stagger, off-balance for a moment, which was unusual for her.  His frown deepened.  She looked tired as she trudged over to the trampoline, plucking at her damp top.

Slowly he realized what troubled him.  The Huntress would not suffer senseless discomfort – if her clothes were too hot, too constrictive, she would remove them.  False modesty was simply not harmonious with the Huntress archetype he was creating.  His own societal prejudices had blinded him, had nearly made him fail in his duty to the experiment.  Fortunately, however, he had the ability to free
her
of these illogical attitudes.  He must alter her concept of clothing, foster the idea of dress as simply a means to achieve warmth.  And, he supposed, to emphasize appearance – provided that did not conflict with its main function.

How would he put it to her?  She had a fine body, even at this age.  Perhaps he would appeal to her vanity.  Suggest she should seek to make others more aware of her healthiness, offer herself as an example for others to follow….  Yes.

He brushed aside a slight uneasiness about the decision.

He could clearly see the new structure, the linkages that would form by adding this new element to the edifice he was building.  Yes, he reassured himself.  The change was necessary for the experiment.

Picking up the MetaStylus, he gestured the net-unit to call up the concept-model for the Sara experiment.  Carefully, he created a new sub-tree, linked it into the main structure, then sat back and memorized it.  With that held clearly in mind he would be able to make the necessary adjustments, perhaps as early as this afternoon, during the deliberately-soporific and confusing tests he had designed as part of her weekly “mental strengthening exercises.”

And yet, later that day, as Sara blinked her way through her complex but tedious visualization exercises, guided by his own pre-recorded voice – to free his full attention for the magical manipulations required – the uneasiness returned.  The whole process was both delicate and difficult.  Akin to brain surgery, though working on the patterns encoded in the neuronal complexes rather than on the gross structures of the brain itself.  He found himself dabbing aside a bead of sweat as the alteration drew to its conclusion, and reassured himself once more it was necessary for the experiment.

As usual when he needed to make a larger adjustment, Sara was exhausted by the end of the session.  He read her intention to just go to her room and watch some of her trids.  As outlandish as they were, at least they tended to have strong female characters.  Even if some of them looked like feral pixies.

The shows she enjoyed were almost as fantastical as Godsson's belief in some ugly fractal reality-pattern which had formed when he had helped destroy Melisande d'Artelle, and which was now slowly replicating and growing, blindly seeking a path back to the key person in her death.

He chuckled, albeit a little uncomfortably. 
That
would certainly be a challenge even for his Huntress Archetype!
 

Chapter 20 

Dropped off by their cab driver just past Union Square on Market Street, Harmon began exploring the SoMa area, Sara holding his hand firmly.

Initially, after visiting one or two young-girls boutiques, Harmon had retreated in price shock to the street, where they meandered through the semi-permanent “transient shopping district.”  In happy contrast to the air-conditioned and glittering commercial palaces, the street vendors had perfectly reasonable clothing at remarkably low prices.

But when Sara tugged on his arm and asked for some “scrip” to spend, and then complained about him being a mean “wagie” – which Harmon knew was street-speak for a wage-earner – the researcher realized Sara's sharp ears were picking up more than he wanted her to.  They retreated inside once more, each already laden with several bags.

'This one is nice, but why can't I wear my new hunting outfit?'

Her uncle ground his teeth, and took a deep breath.  'I've already told you.  You're
not
hunting now, for one thing,
and
you must try to blend in, so people don't realize you
are
a hunter.'

But she really wanted to wear her hunting outfit.  It didn't mean she was going to hunt today.  'Can I just wear it till we catch the cab back home then?'

'NO!'

She blinked, swaying back on her heels at the force of his shout.  Several of the sales ladies in the store turned around and looked at them.  She noticed her uncle's hands were clenched, and he was breathing hard through his nose, his lips pressed tight together.

She saw his hands unclench, then he sighed and shook himself.  Wriggled his fingers.

'No.  Go outside.  Go outside and wait for me quietly.'

She shivered, feeling kind of strange and fuzzy for a moment.

'Do you hear me, Sara?'

It wasn't
fair!
  All the same, she thought she'd better do what he said.  She turned and went outside.  But real slow, taking her time to feel some of the clothes on her way out.  She didn't know why he'd gotten so grumpy all of a sudden.  It was like the longer they shopped, the grumpier he got.

Outside, she turned and looked back through the front of the store. 
He's not even watching me!
  She stamped her foot. 
Go outside and wait quietly
, she fumed.  Still, at least she had some nice new clothes.  She slid her hands over the slippery sheen of the clinging svelteene, enjoying the velvety feel of its nano-engineered microfibers, and had to smile despite her anger.

A little distance away was a bench, with people sitting on it.  A bus stop, she realized.  A boy about her age sat between two women, one really old and one just ordinary-old.  A man in a suit sat further along, and at the end closest to the bus sign sat two young people dressed just like dangerous-looking go-gangers from the trids.  But if they were go-gangers, why were they catching a bus instead of zooming around on their electro-bikes and out-racing the metro police?  The girl was sleek, her skin a smooth, healthy green.  Her partner looked cool and sharp, and his skin was slightly silvered.  They were the first painted people she'd seen in real life.

They weren't
really
painted, of course.

The first time she'd seen one on the trideo, she'd asked Keepie about it, thinking she'd look good with deep blue skin.  But by the way he'd snapped that it was a “stupid and dangerous DNA modification,” she knew straightaway there was no point asking if she could do it.

There was one spot left on the bench, and suddenly she decided it'd be nice to have some company.  Running up from behind, she leaped over the back of the seat, landing just right to fall gently back into the vacant space.  Every head turned as she flashed into view, and the woman next to the boy literally jumped!

She looked around at them and smiled her sweetest smile.

Gradually they all looked away, except for the young boy, who continued to watch her, and who smiled back.  Maybe they could be friends?  She opened her mouth to talk to him, but at the very last moment decided against it.  Instead, though, she smiled, except just for him this time.  The woman, probably his mother, noticed.  She looked Sara up and down, raised one eyebrow, sniffed, and moved protectively forward.

'Daniel, sit still.'

What a grump
.  A grumpy grup.  She stifled a giggle.  She hooded her eyes a little, looking up at Daniel's sniffy mother, her lips pulled back in what she hoped was a sort of evil-pixie smile, like Sleena in
Sub-world
.  A pity her teeth weren't longer and sharper, though, like the dark pixie.  But the woman looked away, anyway.

Sara craned round to see if her uncle was coming yet, but he wasn't.  At least it was a nice warm day.  Sunny.

An insect buzzed round her head, and she brushed it away.

I wonder how long till the bus comes?
  For some reason, though, she didn't feel like asking the question out loud.  Cars, alternately sleek and whispering, or noisy and smelly, flowed past the bus stop.

The fly buzzed round her head again.  There seemed to be quite a few around.  All the people on the seat were waving them away.  One landed on her leg.  It tickled.  For a moment, she watched it, bored and glum, but then its sheer
ugliness
got too much for her.  She smiled with momentary anticipation.

Her hand flashed out and swatted it.

Eww
, she thought, grimacing at the red and black result. 
Lucky I didn't squash it on my new clothes!
  She flicked it off and wiped the remains away as best she could.

The woman beside her had a small smile on her face, but looked away when Sara noticed.

Even as she rubbed her hand to clean it, another fly, maybe attracted by the smell, landed right where she'd just squashed the other one.  She froze, waited a moment, then lashed out again, but this time with less force.  The fly, stunned, bounced off her thigh and onto the ground.  She squashed it underfoot so it couldn't stagger up and try again, and then waited.

Less than a minute passed before another fly landed.  Seconds later, it too was dead.  She saw the young boy lean forward to see what she was doing.  Sara began to enjoy herself.  This was like a tiny, miniature hunt.  Her speed, against the flies'.  She concentrated.

Another landed – another died.  She grinned.  So far, she hadn't missed!  This was
fun
.  She leaned forward slightly, waiting for the next contest.

For a while, no more landed.  Had she scared them all off?  Along the seat, at the end, she saw the fake “go-girl” seemed to be watching her with interest, too, even raised her eyebrows as if asking her to explain, maybe – but Sara really didn't feel like talking right now.  The man in the suit was looking, too.  Hey, she was getting an audience!  Then a tickle on her thigh drew her back to her hunt.

Slap!

Five
.  The little corpses began to pile up around her.

-

Harmon looked at his watch as he left the store.  Three o'clock already!  Thankfully, that was now over with – and should suffice for some time.  It had better.  Even though he'd made them go over the bill item by item, he could still scarcely believe that such small amounts of material could cost so much.  He winced.   Though they weren't
all
minuscule outfits – he'd pointed out that sometimes she needed warm clothes, too, and heavier jeans: such as when she went picking blackberries.  Or clothes that would allow her to blend in with the sheep, if necessary. 
For example, at dinner time in the cafeteria,
he had thought, but very carefully not said aloud.  She'd pouted, but let him choose several sensible outfits.

The whole experience, though, had been a tedious drain of his time.  As much as he disliked the net, now he knew what measurements were necessary, at least he could shop electronically next time.

He looked around, wondering where the girl had gotten to?  A flash of movement from the roadside attracted his eye.  Ah.  There.

Starting over toward the bench, though, he soon slowed and then stopped.  Why were all the people at the bus stop acting so strangely?  They were practically sitting in each others' laps to avoid being too close to Sara.  All were staring at her, too, he saw.  They seemed mesmerized.

He frowned in annoyance.  Now what was she up to?

Slap!

The sudden movement startled him, and he noticed the people at the bus stop collectively flinch, too.  What the devil was she doing?  He couldn't see from here, but something in the set of her shoulders indicated that whatever it was, she was totally concentrating.  Completely focused.

With an economical series of gestures, he patterned the shape of distant sight in the Imaginal, fed that certainty into the quantum sea, and cast the spell of clairvoyance.  A moment later, he saw the bus stop as though standing directly in front of it, facing the waiting people.  He watched carefully, keeping one eye on himself, farther behind them.

Sara sat with her right hand raised and bottom lip clenched between her teeth.  A movement in the air, then a fly landed on her tanned thigh.

Slap!

He jumped, eyes widening involuntarily.  He hadn't seen her hand move, it was so fast!  She smiled as she brushed the smeared corpse to the ground at her feet, and his eyes followed it.  He stared.  Small black insect bodies littered the ground around her.  There were dozens of them!  Surely he hadn't been gone
that
long?