Uncanny by Sarah Fine
Maeve blinks, and the canny attendant, who has a female appearance and shoulder-length brown hair, offers her a cloth, which she takes and uses to dab the area around her eyes. “This feels like a dream,” says Maeve.
“But it’s real,” says Hannah. “We’re just that lucky.”
“Mom!” Hannah’s view swings to capture Cora as she walks in, her cheeks flushed. “Sorry. I lost track of time.”
“The Cerepin was supposed to help with that,” Maeve says with a laugh. “That’s why I let you get one before school started.”
“I forgot to set an alarm,” says Cora, her fingers fluttering by her right temple, where a Cerepin nodule is visible. Her eyes meet Hannah’s, but she looks away quickly and picks at a bit of loose skin around her right ring finger. Then she nibbles at it.
Hannah takes Cora’s hand and pulls it away from her mouth. “Don’t do that! It’s gross, and you’ll ruin your manicure. Seriously, girls, you have to pull it together.”
Again, her tone appears teasing, but Cora rolls her eyes as she curls her fingers and hides her nails against the palm of her hand. “I guess we’re not as high class as you’re used to.”
“Cora!” says Maeve, her tone indicating anger. She clears her throat. “Please.”
Cora’s head tilts. She seems puzzled. “Sorry?”
“I just want this day to be a happy one,” says Maeve. “Did Gary talk to you, by any chance?”
“Haven’t seen him.”
“I think he wanted it to be a surprise,” Hannah says.
Cora opens her mouth, her raised eyebrows suggesting curiosity, but Maeve speaks before she has a chance. “Can I have the bracelet, please, Cora? I need to get out there.” She points to her Cerepin nodule. “The photographer just let me know she’s ready. You girls can join us in about half an hour, maybe? We should be ready for you then.”
“Got it right here.” Cora walks over to a table in the corner and pulls out the chair, revealing a purple handbag, 30 cm by 15 cm. She opens it and rakes her fingers through the contents. After 4 seconds, she begins to scowl. “Um . . .”
“Please tell me you didn’t forget it,” says Maeve.
“I remember putting it in here,” says Cora.
“I saw her,” says Hannah. “She totally remembered it.”
Cora gives her a brief smile before continuing to examine the contents of her handbag. “I can’t believe this.” She looks back toward the door.
“Did you leave it in here the whole time, or were you carrying it around?” asks Hannah. “Where have you been since we got here?”
“I was in the ballroom.” Cora shakes her head. “But I left it in here.”
“Where someone could have stolen it?” asks Maeve. Her tone suggests displeasure. Impatience.
“I’m sure we’ll find it,” says Hannah.
“Cora.” Maeve’s tone is even, but there is a tremble in her voice that suggests agitation. “I trusted you with that bracelet.” She glances at Hannah. “You know it’s not just a piece of jewelry.”
Hannah places her hand on Maeve’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she murmurs.
Cora closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll go retrace my steps in case I maybe dropped it or something. I’ll find it.”
“Good,” says Maeve as Cora walks quickly from the room.
Maeve gets up. “I’d better get out there! See you in a bit.” She clutches at the ruffles of her skirt to lift the hem from the floor and walks through a doorway as the canny holds the door.
Hannah turns back to the mirror. She stares at herself, her gaze tracing from the toes of her slippers, up the frothy skirt, past the sash at her waist, across her chest, up to her eyes. For 22 seconds, her focus is unbroken. Then she reaches up and taps her Cerepin nodule.
End of vid capture, 4:54 p.m., November 21, 2068
10:49 p.m., November 21, 2068
Hannah walks into the ballroom, the door held open for her by a canny.
The lights are dimmer than before, the crystals in the chandeliers giving off a low-intensity glow as a band plays. The room has also been rearranged since the last vid capture; now there are approximately 50 round tables that seat 8 persons each, and a dance floor at the far end. As Hannah goes deeper into the room, her focus rests on Cora, who is sitting at a table at the edge of the dance floor. The sweep of Hannah’s gaze reveals the subject of Cora’s visual concentration—Dr. Dietrich and Maeve. Other couples are also dancing, including Finn Cuellar and a middle-aged woman that the facial-recognition database indicates is Dr. Lorna Cuellar, his mother.
“You finished dancing with Finn,” Hannah says as she sits down next to Cora.
“He wanted to cheer me up. But then his mom cut in.”
Hannah uses her visual enhancement to zoom in on Maeve’s unadorned wrist. “Finn’s a great guy. He could tell you were upset.”
“I ruined everything. Mom’s so mad, and you hate me. Gary does, too.”
Hannah scoffs. “Did you hear anything Dad said during the ceremony?”
“He probably regrets deciding to adopt me. Mom probably wishes she’d never let him.”
Hannah’s head falls back. She is focused on the ceiling. “God, why are you always feeling sorry for yourself? It was my mom’s bracelet.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Cora asks. “I think someone stole it from my bag.”
“Really? That’s pretty unlikely with this crowd. Plus, the cannies said no one unauthorized entered the dressing room.” Hannah’s hand, fingernails dark but sparkling, sweeps across the cam view. “But sure. Blame it on someone else if you want.”
She turns to Cora, whose eyes glisten with tears. “I didn’t mean to lose it!” Cora says.
“I’m sure Maeve and Dad believe you. I mean, why would you lie?”
“Do you believe me?”
“Of course,” says Hannah, reaching over and taking Cora’s hand. “You’re my sister.”
Cora does not blink as she regards her hand joined with Hannah’s.
“You have to go easy on yourself, CC.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“I think it has a nice ring to it.”
“Okay,” says Cora. She’s still looking at their hands. “Thanks for not hating me, I guess.”
“You should try not hating yourself sometime. It’s pretty neat.”
Cora raises her head. “I don’t hate myself.”
“Whatever you say.” Hannah watches her father and new stepmother embracing on the dance floor, swaying to the music. “They’re going to be here for a while. Dad told us we could go whenever we wanted.” She shifts her attention to Finn and his mother, who are walking with a few others toward the main exit of the ballroom.
When Hannah glances over, Cora is also watching Finn. “I bet you’re going to miss him,” Cora says to Hannah.
“They’ll be back on Sunday. They always spend Thanksgiving in California.”
“So,” says Cora. “We’re on our own.”
“Just the two of us,” says Hannah. “Better than being shipped off to relatives we barely know. And at least we have a chef. Drake always makes the most amazing turkey, and it’s the real deal, not lab-genned.”
Cora gives Hannah a tentative smile. “I guess this could be fun.”
“I guarantee it will,” Hannah replies.
End of vid capture, 11:02 p.m., November 21, 2068
Chapter Five
I’ve been in the shower for over half an hour when Franka turns off the water.
“Cora, your mother wants to speak with you, and she also stated that you are most likely clean at this point.”
I lean against the tiled wall, hair dripping, skin pink. If she’d let me, I would have stayed in here the rest of the day, letting the spray sting my face. “I thought she wanted me to hang with my babysitter.”
“She is waiting in your room.”
I grab a towel and scrub myself dry, rubbing until it hurts. The
I pull my robe tighter around me and drop into a cushy gel chair that turns cool when it senses my overheated weight. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t be upset?”
She purses her lips and looks down at my coverlet. “No, I knew you would be. Gary suggested it a few days ago, and at first I told him no.” Her eyes meet mine. “But then you . . .” She grimaces and lowers her head again.
The lump in my throat feels as big as my fist. “I said I was sorry,” I whisper.
She shrugs. “I appreciate that, but it doesn’t change whatever reason caused you to try to hurt yourself. And you have to understand, Cora, all I want is for you to be happy. I know that you haven’t loved DC like I’d hoped, but—”
“I don’t know why you guys think I’ve been so miserable! But . . .” I am on such dangerous ground right now. I can feel it cracking, fissures radiating out beneath my feet.
“I know,” Mom murmurs, saving me from crashing through. “Hannah . . . she was such a bright light, and without her, it’s pretty dark.” She smears a tear across her cheek.
I am huddled in this chair, and the urge to rock is almost overpowering. “Giving me a canny babysitter won’t bring her back.”
“But it might bring you back.”
“Not following.” My arms are crossed, wrapped around my chest.
“He’s not just a babysitter, as you keep calling him. This canny has the brain of a therapist. His consciousness is more complex than anything that’s been created before. He can help you get better if you let him.”
“Gary doesn’t care how I feel. He just wants to know what happened that night. It’s like he wants to blame me.”
“That’s not fair,” she says. “You have to understand where he’s coming from.”
I do, and it terrifies me. “Mom. I’m . . .” Without words. I’m not great with them anyway, not like she was. All I know is there is something big and dark inside me, and I don’t know how to get rid of it. This will never get better, no matter how perfect my robot therapist is. But it doesn’t matter. Arguing won’t help. If I throw a tantrum and fight, they’ll send me away. If I start talking, I’m afraid I wouldn’t know when to stop . . . and someone would probably take me away.
I have to handle this in a smart way.
I wish I were smarter. “I told you guys I’d give it a chance, and so I will.”
She slips off the bed and drops to her knees so we’re eye to eye. “Cora, if I lose you, too, that’ll be the end of me.” Her eyes are so full of tears that they overflow at once, straight lines down her curved cheeks.
She pulls me to her, and I melt into her hug. It smashes over me, the memories of just her and me, when we were a team and it was more than enough. For me, at least. I remember so clearly when I realized that she needed more than me to be happy, that she always had. Now I bury my head against her neck and hold on. Grief is an animal inside me, settled in its cave.
A green light flashes in the upper corner of my visual field. I have a waiting message.
Mom lets me go. “I’ll let you get dressed,” she says. “Maybe you can go for a walk around the grounds?”
“With the canny, you mean.” It’s funny—he said he wanted to take a walk. Before I even realized what was happening, he was already hard at work doing what his mechanical mind had been programmed to do.
Mom is on her feet now, heading for the door. “He seemed like a nice young man. And he was eager to spend time getting to know you. The more he knows, the more he can help.” She looks so hopeful that it hurts me.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“I’m going to shower and head to Parnassus, but I’ll be back tonight. We can have dinner together.” She swallows hard. “As a family. Sound good?”
I nod, even though I want to scream and run. But she leaves, so that’s a win, because I can’t hold it together in front of her anymore. I lower my head to my knees and give in to the demand of my body and brain. The rocking drives everything else away, and I’m carried by the roll and jerk, forward and reverse. With each repetition, I’m more eager for the next.
The green light flashes again. Two new messages. And the canny is waiting, and if I don’t stop, someone’s going to come in here and get me. My fingers curl around my shins, fingernails divoting flesh. With a pointed look, I open the message space and sigh with relief when I see that it’s not Finn, not Mei, not Lara. It’s Neda again.
Just checking in. Answer when you can.
Also, don’t look at your tags until tonight.
I read that last one twice as gratitude washes over me. If I know her, she’s probably breaking into the channels of all the kids who posted vids of me at school this morning. Over the last year, Neda’s hackery has reached a whole new level, and with one exception, which was totally not her fault, she uses her powers for good. She deserves a better friend than I could ever be, but for some reason, she chose me.
Another text pops up.
Also, I’m glad you’re alive. Did I say that before? Don’t be dead. It would piss me off.
“Reply,” I say. I send her a quick message explaining that I’ve got a new canny shadow and that I’ll tell her all about it when I can. I don’t say anything about the last text.
I’m not in a position to make promises right now. Not honest ones, at least.
I towel-dry my hair and toss on some freshly genned clothes. I avoid looking at myself in a mirror, because I don’t want to know. I’m spending my afternoon with a robot, so it doesn’t matter anyway.
Rafiq is in the hallway when I emerge, pressed against the wall as if he wants to stay out of the way. He appears to be looking at one of Hannah’s paintings, which Gary had framed and hung on the wall while I was in the hospital. It shows two people with their arms around each other, and the strokes and slashes of paint around them are red. Blue. Orange.
“Dr. Dietrich told me your sister, Hannah, painted this,” says Rafiq as I approach. “He said it is you and Hannah, hugging. He said it shows how much she loved you.”
Hugging? That’s not what it looks like to me. Not at all. “She was pretty talented,” I mumble, my eyes on the runner that covers the marble floor. I can’t look at the artwork without feeling sick.
Rafiq turns to me. He really moves like a human. He even shifts his weight from foot to foot. He blinks. His smile is friendly with a hint of uncertainty. Whoever created him is a total genius. “Your parents suggested we walk. Do you have a place you like to walk?”
“We could just go out back. There’s a trail along the river. There are actual fish.” I hazard a glance at his face. “You said you liked fish.”
For the third time today, Rafiq’s eyes go a little wider, his lush brows rise, his lips twitch upward. It’s such a fragile look, and suddenly I’m tempted to poke at his face to see what it feels like.
I know better, though. “So I guess that’s a yes.”
“Lead the way,” he says. “How do you know they are actual fish rather than artificial beings?”
I roll my eyes as I walk through the back hall and head for the deck. “I guess I don’t. I’ve already proved I’m easily fooled.”
“If you’re referring to your assumption that I was human, I wouldn’t call that proof. I am in many ways indistinguishable.”
I look him up and down. His hair is ruffled by a cool breeze when I open the door. His face . . . it’s perfect. That might be his only flaw, his only tell. No zits, no spots, just smooth, light brown, and soft looking. “What’s your skin made out of?”
He clears his throat. Clears his throat.
“Oh—is that personal?”
He stops walking and blinks. “I do not actually have that information. I would tell you if I could.”
His throat-clearing
“It’s not about what I want.”
“Oh, right. Are you even able to want things?”
He looks thoughtful, his head tilted and his eyes on the path as we walk along the edge of the river. The greenish water ripples beneath an early fall gust. “I think my wanting might be different from yours.”
“Different? But you do want things?”
“I . . . want you to self-regulate appropriately. I want you to stay safe.”
“That seems more like your programming. You’re programmed to keep me safe.”
“It feels like wanting.”
“How do you know?”
He laughs. “You are very smart.”
“No I’m not.”
“Who told you that?”
“It’s more something I’ve figured out over the years.”
“What else have you figured out over the years?”
“Oh, that was a good one! Nicely done.”
He furrows his brow. “Am I already failing?”
The look on his face makes me feel like a jerk. “No, Rafiq, you’re doing fine. It’s not your fault you got assigned to me.”
“I am happy I was assigned to you.”
I sigh. “Okay.” He reminds me of a puppy, all eagerness and bright eyes. Less a babysitter than a new pet. At least he’s cute. “Are you waterproof? If I jump in this river, do you have to fish me out?”
“I can swim. And I can do CPR.” He holds up his palm. “I have a defibrillator for use in emergencies.”
“Yikes.”
He looks down at his hand. “Is that yikes? I hoped it would be reassuring.”
“It’s yikes if you want to pretend to be human.”
“I’m not pretending, Cora. I’m sorry about our initial meeting. I realize now that it left you feeling mistrustful. Your father thought it would prove to you that I am able to be of service to you in a way most artificial beings cannot be.”