+J.M.J.+
Zenon Eyes: Eyes of Truth
By "Matrix Refugee"
Author's Note:
I continue to be between jobs at the print shop, so I continue to crank out chapters. I have sworn on a Bible to get a chapter of this out each week, barring blackouts, illness or other unforeseen catastrophes. I'm making good my oath so far, hence, chapter 10 (Yes, she made it this far!)! Another good tailwind was finding the soundtrack CD of Road to Perdition, which I've been listening to almost non-stop; Joe would looovvve the two or three cuts of authentic 1930s music on it… but, on with the chapter…
Disclaimer:
See chapter I
Chapter X: Preparations
As difficult as it had been to write the proposal, it seemed harder still for Joe to wait for the outcome. The Department of Robotics had sent Joe a very polite letter acknowledging that they'd received the proposal and were reviewing it, but he heard nothing more. He watched the mailbox on the inside of the front door more zealously than ever.
"You're acting like it's a firecracker ready to explode," Rhiannon accused him one night.
"If that were so, I would be avoiding it," Joe said, gently pointing out her faux pas.
"Well, whatever it's like, quit staring at that letter box, you're making me nervous," she said.
David did his part to help in the grand endeavor: he started drawing a series of colorful pictures of fantastic buildings, like castles or space-age temples. Every day, he had a new masterpiece to show his dad, a new image of what the haven might look like.
To pass the time, Joe started sketching a series of drawings for a portrait of David, playing with Basteth the cat, reading, drawing, sitting under the piano while Alex practiced. He finally settled on a painting of David and Basteth together. After that he painted one for Alex, a slightly fanciful interior of an upscale piano bar, with Alex at the piano.
"Now that's the kind of place I could work in if you'd let me go to Rouge City," Alex said. "Playin' for the customers, maybe pick up a few extra tips on the side."
"You would do well playing piano," Joe said, not wanting to start another squabble.
In the absence of a reply about the grant, Joe started getting some unwanted mail.
A long envelope with no return address showed up one day; his experience in the past with a letter bomb warned him of trouble. He didn't feel any wires or heavy lumps in it, though.
He opened it carefully, holding it away from his face.
Inside was a single sheet of folded paper with letters cut from newspapers, magazines, printouts of web pages spelling out a message:
I kNoW wHo yOu ArE
I KnOw wHat yoUr|e doingYou Are iMplementinG the next pHase of robot dOminatioN
StoP or DIE
He showed it to Rhiannon. Her face gathered with fury as she read it, but it quickly relaxed. "Someone just trying to scare you off," she said and crumpled it up. She flicked it into the wastebasket. Joe sighed with relief.
But when Joe was at work in his studio, she fished it out and set it aside to bring it to a forensic analyzer she knew.
@--`--
By the end of the summer, Joe had enough canvases complete that he decided it was high time he had another art show. She Shohola Public Library gladly hosted it. Several collectors vied with each other to purchase the ones he had marked for sale; at the opening reception, one collector told Joe he'd seen one of his early drawings for sale at Sotheby's earlier that year, fetching a very respectable sum of money.
Alex started composing something that required a lot of practicing, playing the melodies over and over again till he got it just right. David, as always, sat under the piano, listening while his bog brother worked. Alex never seemed to mind: he acted as if he didn't notice if David was there or not, but Rhiannon caught him peeking underneath the piano.
"Have you ever thought of writing a song?" Rhiannon asked Alex one night.
"What sort of song?" he asked.
"Oh, a love song or something like that."
"As in Gershwin or Porter? No, I'd rather use my skills for something better."
@--`--
Joe had never told David much about his life before he married Rhiannon. Much of it he realized was not fit for the little one's ears, but he knew of one phase he could tell David about.
"Read me a story, Daddy?" David asked one night as Joe tucked him in.
"I could tell you a story," Joe said.
"About what?"
"About a little boy like you," Joe said. He paused for effect, then proceeded to tell him about the first David, who had saved his brain and changed his world.
"Did David ever become 'real'?" his David asked.
"I don't know, but I would like to think that he did," Joe said.
"Daddy, am I real?"
"Yes. You are real the way Alex and I are real."
"But not the way Mommy is."
"No. But you have only to be real the way you are real."
David hugged his dad, then snuggled down under the covers.
"I love you, Daddy."
"I love you too, David," Joe replied, leaning down to kiss his son's head and touch his cheek before he left the little one for the night.
Joe and Rhiannon's anniversary came around. They farmed the boys out at the Zipeses' for the day and spent it alone, reminiscing and making love all over the house.
Ree had settled into a doze on the couch when Joe heard the letter slot open and the mail drop in. he got up carefully, so as not to disturb her and went to fetch the letters.
A couple bills, a catalog, a note for Rhiannon from her cousin out in St. Louis…and an unmarked envelope addressed to him.
He opened it with the same care he had exercised before. Sure enough, his concern was confirmed.
A hAveN for MECHAS wOulD jeopaRDize the eConomY.
STOP PLANNING IMMEDIATELY!!!!
He dropped the letter on the kitchen counter and stood there, gripping the ledge. His breath simulator could not change speed, but he swore he was breathing harder.
Ree came up behind him wearing his shirt.
"Hey, Joe, where'd yah go?" she asked, slipping her arms about his waist and toying with the half-fastened zipper of his pants. She peered over his shoulder; her hold on him tightened. She was looking at the letter. "Not another one."
"This is the second I have received," he said.
"This is starting to get weird," she said. She let him go. "Let me have it: I know a guy who can analyze it."
"How could he do that?"
"Yeah, he can figure out where the pieces came from, then trace the possible sender from anyone who subscribes to the magazines the pieces came from. He's married to a college friend of mine." She looked at his face. "Hey, don't look so glum, it's probably some dumb kid who thinks he's funny."
"Let us hope that's all the sender is," Joe replied.
@--`--
Another month passed and still there was no sign of a reply from the DOR. Joe updated Madison regularly on the progress—or lack thereof. She told him this was just part of the process.
The filming of the "Mecha-graphical drama" based on Joe's memoirs had begun. The camera crew descended on Companionates, filming location shots and a few short scenes in the hallways and the atrium, as well as the last shot of the movie, featuring the real Lutwyn Zipes approaching Joe's cubicle and addressing him. Lutwyn got a little nervous in front of the cameras, but Joe maintained his usual cheerful poise.
A week before Thanksgiving, a registered envelope showed up at the Masterses' door. Rhiannon was home to receive it and sign for it. She noticed the official seals on it: "Department of Robotics" in holographic two-toned red on silver. She almost called Joe at work to let him know ahead of time, but she decided to keep it a surprise for later.
That day had been especially hectic for Joe; he'd had a deadline to meet on a project design for a new serving maid, and that afternoon he'd had an appointment to have his batteries changed, always a slightly unsettling incident since it meant his having to be shut down temporarily.
When he got in the door, Rhiannon met him in the hallway, hands behind her back. "I've got something for you," she purred with a seductive smile. "Something you've been wanting for a looooong time."
"If it requires my active participation, I must turn you down," he said, pretending to be serious.
"Nah, not that kind," she said, putting a tan Tyvek envelope into his hands.
He scanned the front. Department of Robotics… He broke the seal and opened it.
This certifies that Joe Masters and Companionates of East Pennsylvania have been allotted a grant for one million five hundred-thousand Newbucks (1,500,000 NB) for the proposed construction of a haven for neglected, damaged and abused Mechas.
Joe felt his equilibrium motivator give way. He sank to the hall floor on his knees, pulling down Rhiannon, who had been peering over his shoulder. He looked at her, tears showing in the inner corners of his eyes.
He put his arm about her. "We have crossed the first threshold," he said in a hushed voice.
They knelt there, hugging and crying, rocking back and forth slightly.
David, with Andy beside him, came out into the hallway. "Is everything all right?" he asked, worried.
Andy put his paw on David's hand. "Mommy and Daddy need their time alone," he warned.
"No, David, Andy, everything's all right: something wonderful has happened," Rhiannon said, letting go of Joe.
"The government has given us part of the money we need to build the Haven," Joe said. "Very soon we will have a safe place for Mechas like you and I and Alex, and others who have it far worse than we do."
"I guess I'd better start drawing more pictures of what it could look like," David said, eyes all a-light.
"Only if you want to," Joe said, beaming and ruffling his son's hair.
Alex came downstairs with a handful of notebooks, heading for the living room. "Did I miss anything?" he asked.
"I have good news," Joe said. "We got the grant."
"Cool," Alex said.
"What, may I ask, is in those notebooks?"
"Just something I've been working on," Alex said, going on his way into the living room.
After Rhiannon's dinner, Alex started playing his composition in earnest. The music hovered in their ears, sorrowful yet hopeful, yearning, striving forward in earnest, like a group of wanderers seeking and then at long last finding a safe refuge where they were warmly welcomed.
"Is that yours?" Rhiannon asked in awe. "Did you write all that?"
"Every note," Alex said, trying not to sound pleased.
"Have you given it a title?" Joe asked.
"I didn't have one, but maybe I'll call it Haven now," Alex said.
"Work on it as you need to," Joe said, patting his older son's shoulder.
As Alex set to work playing through it again, Joe called Madison.
"Hello?" she replied.
"Hallo, Madison? It's Joe. I have good news for a change."
"You got the grant?" she asked.
"We have it."
A little sob on the end of the line told him she was delighted. "Congratulations! How much? I'm gonna ask Hastings, my accountant to match the amount."
"One-point-five million NB."
"Pin money. I can manage that," she said. "Don't you worry your processors about the rest: I've got some friends at the CRF who'll help you raise public awareness. That movie they're doing about you will help."
"I have put much of the royalties I received for the book and the sale of the film rights toward this endeavor."
"Don't tell me how much you got put aside or I'll be trying to match that as well."
"You need not extend yourself so: there must be other means of alerting the public's attention to this endeavor."
"The CRF might ask you to do some sort of public service announcement or an infomercial," she said. "But I was thinking we should do something a little more classic, a benefit…what's that music I hear, is that you?"
"No, it is Alex playing one of his original compositions."
"Really…there's an idea."
"What, to hold a benefit concert featuring Alex?"
"Not just Alex, perhaps I could persuade my friend Maazel Bernstein to arrange for the orchestra he conducts to give a benefit concert."
"You mean…you don't mean the Pittsburgh Philharmonic?"
"The very one."
"That sounds like a brilliant way to inaugurate the grand preparations for the grand endeavor. Perhaps I can persuade Alex to help select the music for the program."
"It'd give him something to do besides be difficult for you. How is he doing?"
"He has his good days and his difficult days as we all do. But he has settled well with us," Joe said, glancing over his shoulder, down the hallway towards the living room. Basteth padded into the room. Something broke the line of Alex's music with a loud discord.
"Get off my keyboard!" Alex cried.
With a loud "Mee-YOW!" Basteth bounded out of the living room and down the hallway, a book sailing after her, missing her by a yard.
"He's having a difficult moment now: our cat just sat on his piano keyboard while he was playing."
"Oh dear!" Madison cried, laughing.
"She seems to desire learning to play, but Alex refuses to give her the training she needs," Joe said, mock-serious.
They talked for a while then they mutually let each other go and hung up.
That night, as Rhiannon slept, Joe could hardly keep still beside her. When he knew she slept the deepest, he got up and went to the window to look out at the night, at the moonlight silvering the fallen leaves and the faded grass. The year was waning, but his hope ran high. Elation ran so warm in his circuits that they all but glowed under his skin. An aura of delight seemed to hover about him, or perhaps it was only the moonlight gleaming on his dermis.
He gazed up at the moon. With Calla's help, he had overcome his nervousness at the sight of it. He had nothing to fear from it. And perhaps someday soon, the others who, like him on that terrible but wondrous night, were wandering in the woods would no longer have to hided in the wasteland.
Jane…Madison's Babette…all the others like them. They could be restored and sheltered. They could learn to care for themselves, to better society in ways none of them could ever have expected. Even he had never anticipated the lengths he would take in his new life. Had someone told him in the old days when he was first made new that he would stand where he was now, on the brink of a new endeavor, he would have been puzzled to say the least. His limited logic processors would not have computed the data. But the first David had unlocked his mind so that he could learn new skills, new ways of love, new ways to reach out. Had someone told the first Joe, the love machine, the gigolo, that one day he would consider a labor of love that would effectively change the way Orgas looked at Mechas, he would doubtlessly have laughed.
But come to think of it, so would his chosen model, Oskar Schindler. If someone had told this man, a businessman, a racketeer, a gambler, a womanizer—a Nazi—that he would someday bankrupt himself to protect 1,300 Jewish people, he would have laughed in their face. But this man had built a haven for a class of people he had once thought little about save as a source of cheap labor. And he was not of their class in the first place. All the more reason for Joe to give back to his people.
He had been richly blessed with many gifts: good friends, a loving wife, a family, a good job at which he could apply his skills. To those whom much has been given, much is expected, and he was ready to give what he must and more besides. All the more reason to give of his abundance till it hurt, in a good way.
He touched the cool windowpane and looked into the shadows, beyond the houses, into the trees. He half expected to see derelict forms lacking limbs, lacking faces or parts of faces, peering out, seeking what they barely knew, what they could hardly name. Have no concern where you shall hide, whence you shall be repaired, he longed to say to them, I shall find you the shelter you need.
He went back to the bed where Rhiannon still slept. He had saved two, their sons, and thus he had already begun the work.
@--`--
Next morning when Lutwyn came to bring him to work, he found Joe in an unusual state of elation.
"You got the grant?" Lutwyn asked.
"Correction: We have the grant," Joe said.
"Hallelujah!" Lutwyn cried with relief. "That's a cause for celebration."
"It shall truly be one when we have completed the work. But Joy is still very much in order," Joe said sagely but still smiling.
At work, the news spread like perfume filling a room. People congratulated Joe in the hallways. Astarte gave him a motherly hug when he shared the news with her. He even let "Sokhar the annoying" shake his hand.
But he had his detractors. Somehow, someone claimed that Madison had offered her support to Joe only under certain conditions. He overheard Karin from the mailroom talking to Sokhar.
"I heard why Madison Grachek-Tyrell was so quick to offer her support to Joe Masters: just one simple reason," Karin said.
"What reason?" Sokhar asked, innocently.
"Oh, don't be so naïve. You know what I mean. You know what a walking streak of sex Joe is; you've been drooling over him since you started here. I heard that from the moment she met him, Madison couldn't keep her hands off Joe. They say she was a little hesitant at first about offering her support, but she changed her mind completely in his favor after she went to bed with him."
"That's a lie! Joe wouldn't do that; I don't think he can, now that he's imprinted on Rhiannon."
"You forget what he is, Sokhar darling. You know what they say: 'just a gigolo'."
It didn't come as a surprise to Joe when a few minutes later, Sokhar came to his cubicle. He rolled his chair back from the desk and looked up at her.
"I don't mean to bother you, but I need your help," she said.
"I heard you talking to Karin. You are trying to quash the rumors?"
"Yeah. Are they true?"
"Not at all," Joe said. "Madison admits to me that she has little use for such at her age. And I am, as you know, what they call a family man now."
"I always thought that was quite a switch," she said.
"If you think it is such a change, imagine what my processors think about it," he insinuated, grinning. "No, Madison would not give me a cent of her money for the endeavor until I had first obtained a grant from the government."
"That's probably wise on her part, make you work for it," she said. "Work at getting the government's approval, that is."
"She is a wise woman. Now you are a wiser woman than your friend."
"Guess I better make her wise, too." With that she went away, after Karin.
@--`--
But the very next day, another letter with no return address showed up in Joe's mail at the office.
WaSn't ROUGE CITY eNougH????Go bac their mAchinE of filth.
I Know What You're doing to ORGAKIND!!!!!
Joe slipped it into his briefcase to pass on to Rhiannon so she could pass it on to her friend. He tried to put the image of the message aside, but he could not.
"The honeymoon period after getting the grant is trying to end already," Rhiannon said, when he showed it to her.
"Do the boys know about these letters?" Joe asked,
"No, not about what's in them. I told David to let me know if there's any letters in the mail without a return address."
"You handled it well," Joe said. He sighed. "Would that these letters were not coming."
"Hey, everyone has enemies."
@--`--
Next day, Rhiannon brought the three letters to her friend Hamish McFinley's office.
"Doesn't surprise me Joe's getting this kind of grief. Didn't he have a letter bomb sent to him?" Hamish asked, running his free hand slowly over his tousled sandy hair as he scanned the letters.
"It was a package bomb," Rhiannon said. "That was back when he first published the Three Laws of Organics." She looked at the letters. "How long before you can tell me anything?"
"A few days tops."
@--`--
The promised few days later, Hamish had the results.
"Someone who knows what they're doing is sending these," he said. "The letters all come from dozens of different magazines and newspapers, and I can't trace any one person who subscribes to all of them. Does Joe have any known enemies?"
"He has two: Irmgard Casvar and Martin Swinton, but they're both doing time."
"I wouldn't put them out of the picture. They may be having a third party make and send the letters."
"You mean they might have a contact who's smuggling messages out to a professional?"
"I've got a few friends on the force who know of a few perps who might be the ones doing the cut and paste."
"Find out who it might be…at least this gives me something to pass on to Joe."
@--`--
"I had thought it might be Martin Swinton," Joe said, when she relayed the news to him that night.
"We don't know yet if it's him," she argued.
He shook his head. "The choice of words echoes things Swinton has written in pamphlets for the ARM."
"I thought the Anti-Robot Militia had disbanded."
"It has, but cells of it still hold together."
"They could cause trouble when we start building."
"I had given that some consideration, and I may have a solution: Have the construction run twenty-four hours a day. Orgas would build it by day, and Mechas by night, and thus the lot would never be deserted."
"Or, you could build it in some remote area. Did you have a location in mind?"
"I had thought the best location would be at the center of the country, perhaps Kansas or Nebraska."
"I was thinking of some place with trees, then it would be easier to hide: Vermont or Montana."
"That could be done," Joe said. "For that matter, a northern location would be ideal: it would be close to Canada, whence many Mecha try to flee."
"I never thought of that."
"Thank heaven you never had cause to know this situation."
"Did you?"
"Did I seek shelter over the border? I did. But then I met the first David."
@--`--
Madison, Joe and Alex worked closely with Bernstein, selecting the music for the benefit concert. They finally decided on a program of several vastly different pieces: the "Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves" from Verdi's opera Nabucco, the choral version of "When You Believe" and "Red Sea" from Hans Zimmer's score for the movie Prince of Egypt, a few selections from James Horner's score to the film A Beautiful Mind, the third movement of Henryk Goreski's Third Symphony, a few African-American spirituals, including "Go Down, Moses", "Deep River", and "Freedom", the final movement of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, and an orchestral version of Alex's Haven. Alex grumbled at the "tampering" with his score, but Bernstein promised to orchestrate it with care.
"I'm not going to destroy your score: I'm only enhancing it," Bernstein said.
"Go gild a lily," Alex snapped. "I'll believe that when I hear it."
They set the date and place for the concert, February 14th at—where else but?—Mechanics' Hall in Pittsburgh. Alex would be playing the piano parts in most of the pieces that required it, which meant he had four months to learn it all, but he learned fast, befitting his nature. But his ingrained fussiness led him to practice them for hours, even though Rhiannon swore he played them perfectly every time. But David listened to his brother's music for hours, rapt with attention.
Besides having him help put together the program for the concert, Madison also had Joe work on a half-hour long infomercial for the CRF to help agitate for public support (ideologically and financially) for the Haven. They combined stock footage of Mecha abuse and of derelicts wandering in the wilds with images culled from Joe's cube. They even dug up the ancient news tapes of Joe and the first David's escape from the Flesh Fair at Haddonfield to underscore the fact that Joe wasn't just a pitchman, he was also a survivor himself.
The infomercial and the short PSA based on it were released on television and the 'Net around Christmas.
In the meantime, the notes kept coming.
You would TAKE the BR$EAD from the Mouths of the REALLY Living! I hope your Diodes ROT!!!!!
And also:
MACHINES can't own MACHINES! Give it up, Master!!!!!And then there was always:
Wassnt WHORING yourself enough for you you have to STEAL from us??? Go back to Rouge City where you BELONG!!!!!!!
Rhiannon actually found that one funny. "You may as well laugh as cry, Joe," she said.
"I could never got back to what I once was," Joe said. "Not since the first David showed me a much more innocent love."
"What if you had to, say?"
He shook his head sagely. "I cannot go back. Now that I know what the old way, when I was first made new, entails morally, I cannot soil myself in that way of life which is truly a way of death."
She slipped her arm around him and squeezed him gently. "Glad to hear that. I wouldn't wish that way of life on my worst enemy."
Alex was going to Pittsburgh by commuter rail every other day during the week for rehearsals at Mechanics' Hall. Joe honestly hoped the Alex was behaving for the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. He had no bad reports from Maestro Bernstein, so he gathered that all was well. But he couldn't help wondering if Alex had found another object of infatuation besides Madison. He heard no reports that his had begun some amour with a new inamorata, and Alex made no mention of anyone. For that matter, he might not mention whether or not he had found someone else. Joe found himself hoping Alex would so that his elder son would ask him the big question: what can I do to make her happy?
@--`--
Hamish called around the middle of January with news.
"We caught the cut and paste man," he said.
"Thanks heavens! Who is it?" Joe asked.
"He's a professional, fellow by the name of Canfield Stryker: we found a stray fingerprint on one of the notes. We've had him on the radar for a while, waiting for him to do something stupid like this. We busted him last night, but he won't say who he's working for that might be the one who's sending you the threats."
"Based on what has been said in the messages, I would say he has been employed by both of my enemies. One message contained the line 'Machines can't own machines', which Irmgard Casvar said to me when she was arraigned. And the others bear a stylistic similarity to pamphlets Swinton has written for the ARM."
"We'll wave their names under his nose again, see what happens."
The notes stopped coming, but that was probably only because the cut and past man had been caught in the act. Rhiannon said she'd be able to sleep better, but Joe still sensed that not all was right in the world.
@--`--
One morning about the beginning of February, Joe stood before the 28X36 printer in Design, waiting for a schematic to print. He paced slowly, calmly, with a little of the swing of the old days. He pulled himself up on his toes as he turned at the end of the printer nook and started back.
Astarte hurried up to him as the printer started to crank out the printed sheet. She touched his arm; he turned to her.
"Joe, did you hear any news this morning?" she asked, urgency in her voice.
"I did not; why do you ask?" he said, collecting his printout and starting back to his desk, Astarte at his heels.
"Irmgard Casvar and Martin Swinton just escaped from prison this morning," she said in a low voice.
Joe laid the printouts on his desk. "How did they do this?"
"They bypassed security. Casvar clubbed one of the guards and switched clothes with her. She just about walked out the front gates like that. Swinton escaped through a heating duct, shinnied his way through."
Joe felt his conductors run cold. He sank down on his chair; Astarte knelt beside him. "You want me to call Ree?" she asked. As if in reply, the phone in the cubicle trilled. Joe picked it up, touching the fingers of both hands to the contacts.
"Joe…did you hear about the escapes?" Ree's voice.
"I have. Astarte just told me."
"You want me to call a cab for you?"
"No, I shall finish out the day at least."
After a few words of endearment, they both hung up.
"Don't tell me you're staying," Astarte said.
"I am," Joe said, turning back to his work.
"I don't know if you're crazy or you're just thorough."
He looked up. "I cannot be crazy: I have had no malfunctions of any sort. I am merely doing what I would have done any way if I had not had this disruption."
"Wise choice," she said.
At quitting time, Joe met with Lutwyn at the door to his office.
"You've heard about the escapes?" Lutwyn asked.
"I have," Joe replied, his voice utterly flat.
"I'll drive you to your door," Lutwyn said, putting his hand on Joe's shoulder as they headed out.
"I would prefer if I had some means of defending myself and my family," Joe admitted when they were in the car.
"So would I, the government is really hesitant about granting gun permits to Mechas, even security guards."
"Such permission would be useful now," Joe said.
"You still have your stunner?"
In reply, Joe lifted aside his topcoat then opened his suit jacket underneath to show the holster under that.
"Hopefully, you won't have to use that," Lutwyn said.
"So far it has not had to be used at all," Joe replied. "And I hope it continues so."
Lutwyn pulled the car into the Masterses' driveway and waited until he saw Joe unlock the front door, open it, and step into the house, closing the door behind him.
Joe keyed the lock on smart as soon as he shut the door.
At dinner, Rhiannon noticed something strained about Joe's voice as he spoke. He must have set his DAS on high already.
"You okay, Dad?" Alex asked trying to sound nonchalant.
"I had a heard day at work," Joe replied, which wasn't far from the truth. "I know now why they call the completion date of a project the deadline: because you all but kill yourself trying to reach it."
Alex groaned and shook his head. Rhiannon chuckled, which got David laughing his odd but charming laugh.
Later that night, Joe double-checked the locks on the doors and windows before joining Rhiannon upstairs.
"You sure you're all right, Joe?" she asked when he came to bed.
"I am certain," he said. "But what of the boys? What can I tell them so they will understand but not be afraid?"
"Alex is old enough to understand," she said. "But David…We've told him his sick mommy can't hurt him anymore. But now what do we say? That's the hard part, knowing what to say."
"Perhaps Calla could tell us how to phrase it so that he will not be afraid."
"But that's just it: any way we tell him, he's liable to be scared."
"One thing is certain: he cannot go outside unless he is well-supervised. Andy is not enough."
"No, but he likes going out in the snow," Rhiannon said.
"This escape effects not just me, it affects us all," he said. "And David had started to regard this as a safe place."
"I wonder if we should try to find a place for Alex to stay in Pittsburgh."
"They are less likely to target him. They are more likely to pursue David or me, David because he was Irmgard's and me because I humiliated Swinton."
"Which means Alex and I will have to keep an eye on David…and I'll have to keep an eye on you."
"You do that well already."
Rhiannon slipped an arm protectingly under him and drew him close. She snuggled against him and settled down.
Joe lay there, holding her, feeling the protection of Rhiannon's touch and keeping his eyes on the room, watching for any suspicious shadows against the windows and listening for any noises that might mean trouble.
This could change everything, he realized. It could even compromise implementing the grand endeavor. But he knew one thing: the Haven would have the best security system possible with plenty of natural defenses. Perhaps the best way to look at it was simply as another challenge to make completing the task all the more worthwhile.
To be continued…
Literary Easter Eggs:
The strange capitalization in the threatening messages—The typographical nonsense is based on the same sIcK tYpinG of the title of the movie eXistenZ.
"a walking streak of sex"—I found this phrase in the book Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. It fits Joe perfectly (Question: didn't the movie version of this book feature Jude Law in his cinematic debut?).
The cat on the keyboard—My friend with the two Siamese cats plays the piano, and the more outgoing of the two cats used to try to play the piano. I'm not making this up: I actually saw her in action once. She got up on the bench, stuck her face up to the music on the bookstand and started banging on the keys.
Maazel Bernstein—The name is an homage to two different conductors, Lorin Maazel, and the late, great Leonard Bernstein, who I recently learned was born in Massachusetts, where I come from.
Joe pacing by the printer—Something I do myself at the cybercafé where I upload my stuff; I often catch myself adding a bit of Joe's strut to my steps (usually if I've been reading Joe fics).