DianeJoplinknewstraightawaythatherfather’sdeathwasnoaccident.Shewassureithadsomethingtodowiththesleekblackconsolethatshenowhadinhersilvercarry-onSamsonite.Justthepreviousmorning,beforehehadleftthehousefortheairportandhisflighttoNewYork,hehadetoherroomandwokenherup.Sleepy-eyedshehadstudiedhimfrombehindanunrulyfringeofbrownhair,takingintheold-fashioneddetailofhisEnglishgentleman’stweedjacketwiththeleather-paddedelbows.Hehadlookedeveryinchtheprofessorthathewas.
“Leavingalready,Dad?”she’daskedlanguidly,slowlyproppingherselfontoherelbows.
“Yesangel,dutycalls.YouknowifyougetboredhereyoucaneandjoinmeattheAstoriainNewYork.”
“IknowDad,butyouknowhowmuchIloveNewYork.Not.It’snotateen-friendlycity.”she’dsaidmimickingthevoiceofalecturingadult.
“Andwhichcityisteen-friendlymightIask?”herfatherhaddemandedplayfully.
“Em,L.A.BeverlyHills,evenBoston.”she’djoked.He’dlaughedalongwithherandthenturneddeadserious.
“Angel,there’ssomethingIwantyoutodoforme.Keepthissomewhereinyourroom.”
She’dlookeddownbesidethebedtoseethegrayboxwiththeDHLstickerthatherfatherhadreceivedjustacoupleofdayspreviouslyfromJapan.FromthatKenzoYamamotowhoherfathersaidhedidnotknow.SometotalstrangerinJapanwhohadsentherfatheraputerconsoleandnowhewasdead.Amerecoincidence?Fromthedepthsofhergriefshedidn’tthinkso.
“Whynottakeitwithyou?Youseemquiteengrossedwithit?Iamstartingtogetinsanelyjealous.”
“Youarestreetsahead,whenitestomyaffections.It’stooimportantformetotakeontheroad.KeepitunderyourbeduntilIeback.It’llbesafeinhere.”He’dpushedtheboxunderherfour-posterwithhisleftfootandshe’dseenthemoccasinswiththeleathertasselsandgroanedexaggeratedly.
“Dad,thoseshoesaresooldschool.Youaregivingcredibilitytothemaximthatbaddesignnevergoesoutoffashion.”
“Yourdadisoldschool,very,veryoldschool.I’llleavetheintricaciesoffashiontoyouenlightenedyoungsters,”he’dsaidsmilingandkissedherontheforehead.
“Willmissyoudad,”she’dprotested,playingtheemotionalblackmailcard.
“Willmissyoutoo.Iwillonlybegoneafewdays.Byeangel.Gotaplanetocatch.”He’dturnedaroundandleft,herlastimageofhimwashisbroadshouldersdisappearingthroughthedoorway.
Thosewerethelastwordsherfathersaidtoher.Shehadpackedasuitcaseassoonasshehadputthephonereceiverdownfornootherreasonthanthevoiceinherhead,hermother’s,tellinghertorun.Shewasnottoleavethehouse,theFBImanonthephonehadsaid,tryingtomakeitsoundlikeitwasforhersafety.TheFBIwouldbeovertoquestionherandthehousestaff.
TearsstreameddownherfaceasshetooktheconsoleoutoftheDHLboxandplaceditwithinanestofclothesshe’dhastilygrabbedoutofherwardrobe.Thestrangeblackboxcontainingtheconsoleandtheperipheralslookedliketheharbingerofdeaththatitwas,adarkmysterioussquarethatheldsecretsshewasdeterminedtogettothebottomof.Xybohadsaunteredinandlookedatherthroughdolefuleyesandshe’dswitcheditoffandfoldingitintoitstravelingposture,placeditnexttotheconsoleinthesuitcase.
Herbelovedfatherwasdead.Herfatherwholovedhermorethananyonecouldeverimagine.She’dslippedoutofthehouse,shiveringatitshollowemptyfeel.Thehousewouldneveragainhearthebellowofherfather’svoiceorechothefadedlaughterofhermother,whichthoughlonggonestillresoundedinitsheavilycarpetedcorridors.Shecouldstillsmellhim,thatheadymixtureofcologneandpipetobaccothatbroughtchildhoodmemoriesfloodingback,imagesassharpasapainstakinglyrestoredclassicmovie,threateningtoenvelopeher,drownher.
Hermotherwasstillaliveinthosememories,thefamiliarringofherlaughterinterlacedwiththevisuals.Thosewerethehappydays,atleastassherememberedthem,onthesprawlingMITcampus.Ithadseemedthattherewasasmilingyoungfaceoneverycorner.Infacthundredsoffriendlyeyeslookingdownather,occasionallypattinghershockofcurlybrownhairorpinchinghercheeks,whichusedtogoallwarmandtingly.Itwastheeyesofthestudentsshe’dnoticedthemost,windowsintovibrantsouls.
Herfatherusedtobringhomevariousdevices,puters,PDAs,head-mounteddisplays,andshowthemtoher.Initially,she’dimaginedtheconsolesashavinglittlemeninsidethatmadeallthosepicturesandthosebrightlightsandafterherfatherhadexplainedhowthey’dworkedshecouldclearlyvisualizethelittlebrainsinsidechurningaway.Andshe’dwonderedwhetherputersthoughtlikeshedid,lotsofpicturesjumbledupinthereinherbrainandthevoicestellingherwhattodoandwhattothink.
Shehaddevelopedanaffinityforputersfromanearlyage.Notsomuchinterestedinthemechanicsortechnicalwizardryofthembutintriguedbytheworldsthatlaywithin.Worldsthatjustwentblackwhenyouswitchedthemoffjustlikeitdidwhenhermotherusedtoblowherakissacrossthecoldexpanseofairinherbedroomandflipthelightswitch.Didputersdream?She’dconcludedtheydidwhentheywenttosleepandthatsometimes,likeshedid,theyhadnightmaresandawokewithastartwhenswitchedon.Herfatherhadexplainedtheinnerworkingsbutinherheadshealwaysthoughtofthemasdreaming.“Howdoyouknowtheydon’tdream,dad?”she’daskedandherfatherhadgoneallthoughtfulandhadn’tansweredher.
She’dspentcountlesshoursinherfather’sclutteredden,playingwiththeAIsasherfatherhadreferredtothem.ArtificialIntelligence.Herfatherwasenhancingthemsotheycouldbeemorehuman.She’dmadeuphermindthattheywerealreadyhumanbecausetheyknewsomuch.HerfavoritepastimewasmakingtheAIscontradictthemselvesoraskingthemquestionsthattheycouldnotanswer.Andthenshehadetobelievethattheyweren’thumanafterall.Theywerenotperfect,thoseAIs,buttheycouldfoolmostpeople,mostofthetime.Andtheywerejustexcellentforhomework.
TearswelledupinhereyesassherememberedsittingnexttoherfatherinhisdenwhileheplayedaroundwithcodetomaketheAIsbetter.He’dexplainedthathewastryingtogetthemtopasstheTuringtest,whichmeantDianewouldn’tbeabletofoolthemanymore.Justfivemonthsorsoago,onMay1st,ithadbeenhersixteenthbirthday,andherfatherhadboughtheroneofthoseexpensivemopedsthathadnowheelsyetglidedacrossanysurfacenoproblem.Herfatherhadtriedtoteachherhowtouseitonlytofalloffafteronlyafewseconds.
“Youaretoooldforthis,Dad,”she’dsaidgiggling.Herfatherhadfakedaninjuryrollingaroundontheneatexpanseoftheirfrontlawn.Diane,worriednow,hadrushedtowardshimfearingforhishealth.Thenhehadcaughtherbysurprise,grabbingherbythearmssuddenlyandbringingherdowntoo.Hewasperfectlyfine,justfoolingaroundwithher.
“That’sit,Dad,Iamnotgoingtouniversitynextsummer.I’drathergobackpackingtoAfricaforayearandgoateighteenlikealltheotherstudents.”
Sheknewhowmuchhewantedhertogoandthatwasjustherwayofgettingherownback.ShehadpassedthebackdooruniversityentranceexamstoMITbeforeshe’devengraduatedfromhighschool.Inastrangetwistoffate,itwashermother’sdeaththathadtriggeredherwithdrawalintotheworldofe-booksandonlinedatabases.Losingherselfinaseaofinformationwastheonlywaysheknewhowtoescapethepainofhermother’spassing.
Shehadn’tevenbotheredtotelltheservantsaftershehadhungupthephone,notevenMariatheHispanicmaidwhohadbeenwiththemtenyearsandwasterriblefondofherdadwhowasverylaxonstaffholidaysandherfrequentlyvisitingfriendsandrelatives.Shefeltthatshecouldn’ttrustanyone.Someonehadkilledherfatherandtheonlythingshecouldthinkofwastorunforsomeunknowndestinationuntilthevoicesthatwerenowfightinginherheadsubsided.
Shehadthecreditchipwhichwasgoodforsomeastronomicalamountofmoney.Shehadn’tbotheredtocheckhowmuchbutshehardlyuseditanyway.Andwhataboutherfather’smoney?Hiswill?Thelawyerswouldsortitallout,shethought.Shejustneededtogetoutofthereuntilthecacophonyinherheadsubsided.Ifonlyshecoulddecideonwheretogo.Somewhereanonymous,whereshecouldmakesenseofallthismadnessthathadjusttakenplaceinherlife.
Shehadnoideawhereshe’dgo.ShethoughtofheadingtoHawaiibutthenquicklydiscardedthatideawhensherememberedtheimagesonthenewsofallthoseislandsdisappearingwithoutatrace,takenbyahundred-metertalltsunami.Allthosepeoplewhohaddisappearedbackintotheseawithit.She’dheardofaplacecalledVanuatu,whichwasthissmallrenegadecountrythatdidnotbelongtoanything.Itwassupposedtobeahavenforpeoplewhohadstolencreditfromthesystemandothersubversivetypesthatactuallystolecreditfromthesystemonadailybasis.Therewassomuchcreditinthesystemthoughthattheauthoritiesjustturnedablindeyebecauseitwouldcostmuchmoretoactuallyhirepeopletophysicallygothereandbringthemback.
Thensherecalledthedaytheconsolehadarrivedinthepost.Herfatherhadbeenmoreexcitedthanshe’deverseenhim.ExcitedbythefactthatthepackagewasfromJapan.HerfatherhadopenedthepackageandDianehadbeenalittledisappointed,expectingsomethingthatspoketotheexoticnessofAsia.Itwasjustanotherputerconsolealthoughthisonelookedmoreexpensiveandmoretechnicallysophisticatedthananythingshehadeverseeninherfather’sden.
“It’sfromJapan,”he’dsaidwithuncontrollableexcitement.
“Justanotherconsole,Dad,”she’drepliedasshelefthimtohisnewtoy,driftingtowardsherbedroom.
“Whoisitfrom?”she’daskedwithoutturningback.
“SomeonecalledKenzoYamamoto.Noideawhoheis,”he’dreplied,voicetrailingoff,engrossed.
LaterthateveningwhenMariahadcalledherdownfordinner,herfatherwasstillplayingwiththeputerbutthistimeexcitementhadturnedintoaconcernedlook,thosebushyeyebrowsclosertogetherthanshe’deverseenthem.
“Dinnertime,Dad,”she’dcalledoutonherwaytothediningroom.Thedistractedvoicefloatingback,tellingherthathewouldjoinhersoon.
She’dgonetodinneralone,movingsilentlythroughthehouse,pastthecountlesselectronicbooks,puterdiscsandtheacademictombstones.Xybo,herrobotdog,sensingherpresenceandcuttingshortitsweeklyrechargetofollowherintothediningroom.Thequietwhirofitsmechanicsandthesoundofitsfeetpaddingonthecarpetstrangelyreassuring.
“Nofoodforyoutoday,Xybo,”she’dsaidtotherobotdog,pattingthesensorsonitshead.Thedoghadlookedsodisappointed,eyesmistingover,taildrooping.Shehadnoideawhatmadeitthinkthatitwasarealdogandthatfoodwasanecessity.Itwasacaseofthedesignengineerstakingthingsabittoofarintheirtirelesssearchforauthenticity.YoucouldfeedXyboalrightandhe’dpoopjustlikearealdogthankstoitsABS,orartificialbiologicalsystem.TheproblemwasthatwheneverXybodidhisbusiness,itsmelledworsethantherealthing,apungentunnaturalodorthatonlycouldhavebeenfabricatedinalab.
Arealbreakthroughthey’dsaid.Morelikeadismalfailure.Realdogpoopsmellednothinglikethat.Andsheknewfirsthand.AtBostonZoo,wheretheyhadmanagedtogetholdofsomedogs,mostlyclonedfromaDNAbankdowninCleveland,she’doncesteppedrightintoapileofthestuff.Herfatherhadlookedmorepainedthanshehadandshe’dburstoutlaughing,forgettingforamomenttheinconvenienceofhavingtoremovethehorriblegunkfromhershoes.Herfatherhadjustthrowntheshoesinthelitterbinandpiggybackedherallthewayroundthezoo.Andthatparticularmemorytriggeredhergriefandsheburstintotearsstartlingtheheavilymade-upladyattheticketcounter.
“AreyouOKmydear?”theticketladyaskedwithgenuineconcern.
“I’mfine.Justbrokeupwithmyboyfriendthat’sall.”Dianewassurprisedattheeasewithwhichshetoldthelie,regurgitatingthevoice’son-the-spotfabricationwordforword.
“Menarethescumoftheearth,letmetellyouthat.Don’tworry,you’llfindsomeonemuchbetterthanhim,”theattendantsympathized,flashingDianeageneroussmile.Shehadalargegapinherteeththatsomehowmadehermoreattractive.
“Thanks,”wasallDianecouldmusterasshehandedtheladyhercreditandimmigrationchips.
“Andwherewouldyoulikeyourticketfor?”theladyasked.
“I’dliketogetonyourearliestflighttoTokyo.”
“Tokyo?Japan?”
“Yes,”shewhispered.
“OneticketforJAL.Checkinganythingin?”
“No.”
Shewasn’tgoingtolettheSamsoniteandtheconsoleoutofhersight.Itwasthekeytoherfather’sdeath.Andshe’dbedamnedifshewasgoingtoloseitinsomedodgybaggagehandlingsystemortoahandlerwithstickyfingers.ShewasgoingtoJapanandallthistimethatdecisionhadalreadybeenmadeforherdeepwithinhersubconscious.
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