Authoress Update: I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! I know this took forever to post! Hell, it took almost as long to write!
See, the 1st problem was that I thought there needed to be a little more back-story here,
The second was that, well, despite the weather channels disillusions, Buffalo is not the snowiest of American cities. It is, however, rare for us to have weeks of gorgeous spring weather (we usually get rain and damp till about May). Can you blame a gal fore wanting to stretch her leg muscles and shed those Xmas pounds?
Authoress Update On the Show: Um…yeah. I think we can, by this point, safely rule out a second season of LU. The incessant rerunning of the 1st 6 epis was a clue, but I think the final nail in the coffin is the new 7 am time slot. Of course, I could always be wrong, but I thought the midmorning time slot was the best? Growing up, that was the most likely time for kids to be awake, and their parents needing them distracted while the coffee percolates thru their systems. Which is a shame, because I've seen this fandom grow since I plunked down my first chapter. Granted, 99 of us are re-writing the show's plotline….
A.S.D.A
The Future Is Wild!
By Nefertanya dragongurl Ahhotep
Chapter 11: Cut the Cord"Well, I will definitely contemplate about your offer." Tech said thoughtfully as he stared at the slip of paper.
"I thank you. I do hope you will accept, but I will understand if you cannot." Zadovia smiled. With a nod, she turned to leave. "Goodnight, Dr. Coyote."
"Mmn. Yes. Ah, good night." Tech answered distractedly, barely realizing what he was saying.
"Oh, before I forget!" Zadovia purred. "I would just like to say I was always fascinated and intrigued by your father's theories of magnetism."
That caught the spring-dyed coyote's attention. "My father…?"
"Yes." She nodded. "A brilliant man, taken before his time. My sympathies to you and to your mother." That said, she walked off into the desert night, leaving him to stare after her.
When he could no longer hear her footsteps, Tech walked back towards the split-level home that he'd spent his cubhood in. The military had declared Borasilica 'unlivable' (probably due more to the many hush-hush projects than actual danger to citizens), and so he found himself expertly dodging the cracked spots of the stone paved walkway as if he had never left. It was something that both comforted and yet infuriated him.
"I'm intrigued by your father's theories…" Tech mimicked with a snarl.
Well, she certainly knows what buttons to push, he thought. Something smelled…not quite right. No, he amended, she didn't smell quite right. Not quite human…but not quite, well, not. How did she know his father? Had she studied his research? Been a lab assistant? Given him a research grant? A lover?
Tech shook his head as he turned the doorknob. His father died when he was little-not quite twelve-and as far as he was aware, Anoki Coyote had been a faithful and doting parent. To doubt that now would mean doubting his memories-his very own existence! This…Zadovia must have simply desired his cooperation by any means necessary. Something akin to emotional blackmail.
And that brought him back to the set of instructions neatly typed on the expensive but common Government Issue paper1. What was it that she really wanted? Why him? Sure, he was the only bright green coyote for miles, and yes, he was intelligent. But he was, well, socially awkward, a college outcast, and prone to destroy as much as create.
"A brilliant man, taken before his time…" Tech pondered Zadovia's final words. His father had always been his hero. He smiled as he flopped into the old natty recliner by the adobe brick fireplace. The night was cool in the desert, so he flipped on the propane and pressed the ignition. Soon, a small blaze crackled. The crunchy sounds accompanying the wisp of propane gas and the warmed air soothed his mind a little.
This was his father's chair. That was the only reason it was still here, making a mockery of the brand new store bought furniture surrounding it like a bunch of uptown snobs. It was very old-Tech's great-grandfather had carved the frame, and his great-grandmother had woven the fabric that covered it. Tech knew this because Anoki had told him so. The handsome graying coyote with the thick glasses proudly told his son tales of his great-grandfather and his son, of his father and Anoki, and promised Tech of equally wild times. Anoki taught Tech about ions and protons and of interstellar physics. Of tiny machines no bigger than a pinhead that could stitch up tiny capillaries. Why magnets did what they did and how they could be coaxed to do miracles.
Then a junkie in a hovercar plowed into the side of his father's hoverbus, taking all the promises and miracles with him to O'kulumbo and his mbokuta. Little Tech became the 'man of the house' at a time he needed to be it least. He remembered the funeral, the procession of great men who commented him on his "stiff upper lip" and "strength of character". He remembered holding his mother's hand as she sobbed hysterically. His family members had all told him to "be strong for his mama."
Tech cocked his head. Come to think of it, he hadn't done a thing for himself in nearly fifteen years! Not that her really regretted anything he had done thus far, save, of course, spending more time with his dad. His mother had pushed to give him the finest education available, and pushed him to return those favors by becoming smarter and more inventive than anyone else. That's what his mother wanted. A super-genius to replace his father's lost gifts. What did Tech want?
"What indeed?" He muttered softly.
"A quark for your thoughts, Nizhoni2?" Nascha cooed as she breezed into the large, warm den.
Just shy of fifty, she was still as lovely as she was in her twenties. Cappuccino fur flecked with silver highlights shimmered gold in the light of the small fire, while long, dark, thick eyelashes framed the liquid gold of her eyes-the very same hue that colored her son's. Her snout was petite and well formed, the corners turned up into an indulgent smile. A lithe, slender, shapely frame was sheathed in a baby pink satin robe, under which the hemline of a white satin nightdress was visible. Every step was cultured and careful, full of grace and unspoken breeding.
It was a clever ruse, for Nascha's family was anything but upper crust. Her father was a janitor, her mother a school lunch lady, and working at-gasp- Nascha's high school. She was stilled bothered occasionally by visions of her plump mother, standing at the front door in a stained hairnet and apron, stockings saggy (as if they were trying to escape the roly-poly woman), and slippers, proudly slinging a large amount of mysterious sludge onto her tray along with an extra biscuit. One of the 'perks' of the job, along with the fact Nascha and her siblings never had to pay for a meal.
Nascha endured the cruel snickers of the 'brown-baggers', the embarrassment of her elder, fashion-unconscious sisters hand-me-downs, and twelve years of public schooling by forming an elaborate plan-Marry Rich, and Get The Hell Out Of Town.
Having precious little in the way of cold hard cash, Nascha spent hours at the free libraries, reading over and over again all the literature that had to do with manners, social expectations, fashion, what to do, where to be, how to act, what to say. She spruced up her meager wardrobe by teaching herself how to sew, knit, crochet, and spangle. She practiced her 'feminine wiles' on the males of her town, discarding what didn't work and holding tight to what did. These 'practice sessions' occasionally led to some fantastic adventures…
Eventually, by the time she graduated high school, Nascha had her act down pat. She knew how to enter and leave a room; act interested in a boring date, what fork was intended for salad. She could make a twelve-year-old dress look elegant and new for a minimal amount of money and just the right accessories, as well as how to make someone else feel like they were the most important and fascinating person in the room.
But behind it all was a terrified little girl. Nascha's parents dismissed her as being silly and vain, and when her elder sisters married twin plumbers, they chastised her for being "acting above her own kind" and "unmarriageable material." Nascha herself trembled with the fear that she would one day slip up and reveal her carefully guarded secrets. That in the middle of the crowded room, a child would see the empress was naked. And so the young woman clung to her paper mentors' promises- "that nothing could go wrong unless one believed it would do so."
It was that blinding belief that gave her the strength and courage to saunter up the grand staircase at the University at Four Corner's annual 'Spring Fling' benefit without an invitation. She was now nineteen, and it was finally time to put her plan into action.
With a practiced ease, Nascha sauntered cautiously up to a single male about to enter. Snatching a champagne flute off a silver tray, she pretended to be more interested in the guest on the floor than the old Coyote getting his invitation checked. When he was cleared and began tottering down the steps, she kept careful pace besides him until the crush of partygoers hid her from the bouncers.
"Work smarter, not harder." She smiled, as she gracefully slipped into a random clique. Phase One complete. Now the hard part: finding the most eligible male in the room, latch on, and charm him into submission. Careful questioning narrowed the field to two: one Issac Coyote, a tenured genius with a mastery of chemistry, or 'Big Bob' Thorton, the loose-lipped, and even looser moralled son of WeEnCo, Inc.3
After forty minutes of fruitless search, she'd all but given up. Just then, a cry of "Dr. Coyote!" Reached her ears. . She turned and saw a young coyote male talking with several professor-looking types. It had to be him! Smoothing her dress and patting her hair, she slid one arm through the crook of his and cooed, "So tell me, doctor, have you ever heard that the same paramones that may cause mental imbalances are the same paramones that create the sensations of amour? That is to say, 'crazy in love'?"
Fortunately, Anoki Coyote had been most bemused by her actions. "Do you, perchance, mean pheromones, my dear lady? I'm afraid that's more a question for a chemist, not a man who studies nanotechnology, don't you agree?"
She'd done it. Her nightmares brought to life. She'd messed up! This was no middle-aged, tenured professor! This was a young male, no more than his mid-twenties! How could she have been so stupid!
Anoki's brow had furrowed in concern. Nascha had been staring at him in mortification for almost two minutes by now. "Um…are you all right…?"
His voice, like electricity, snapped through her. Quickly she bolted towards the nearest exit, the coke-bottle framed male calling after her…
Nascha smiled sadly at the memory of that long-ago night. All these things seemed to well up inside of her whenever she looked into her son's face. How Anoki had caught up with her and apologized profusely. How she wept in shame at her lack of faith and ability. The way he tipped his head back in laughter that night and all the other wondrous days and nights they'd shared. Those ridiculous glasses. That gentle way he'd held her on their wedding night six months later.
Tears brimmed in her eyes as her mind's camera spooled through the memory of Tech's birth, her sweet Anoki's thin frame swathed in a tent of green scrubs as he gushed over his new son. How she and he and Tech would all bundle up in their battered hovercar in the cold January nights and search the skies for comets and shooting stars...
And then that evil, evil, evil afternoon…
She bit her lower lip to keep herself from breaking down and sobbing. She couldn't do that. Not in front of Tech. Little Tech, who would wail in his sleep but act terribly composed in the glare of day. A little terrified boy hiding behind a charade of grace and charm. A role she knew all too well.
But her little boy had one advantage she never had-true intelligence. Blessedly, he'd inherited every single smart gene that Anoki possessed. And so she had made more deals with more devils than she could ever count. All to give him everything she and Anoki had promised him the day he'd slipped into their life. And he had made her more than a little proud. Nascha had already formulated, and put into motion, a plan to reinstate her only offspring into the world's most prestigious college. His new color was…disconcerting, but for now only served to aid his restoration. She'd worry about his risk of becoming a test subject later.
"Mother…"
Nascha smiled and took a sip of tea from a heavy mug. "Mmm? Yes, Nizhoni?"
"I met a woman today…" At her knowing smirk and raised brow, he couldn't help but chuckle. "It's not what you think, Mother. She offered me a job."
Nascha frowned. "What kind of job." She asked carefully.
"I'm not at liberty to say."
"Not at liberty!" Nascha scoffed, "I'm your mother! I think I have a right to know!"
It was Tech's turn to frown. "You can't know everything, Mother. Nobody can."
"DON'T YOU TAKE THAT TONE WITH ME, YOUNG MAN!" Nascha shrieked as she stood straight up, every inch of her lithe frame trembling.
"I'M NOT A CUB ANYMORE!" Tech had also stood up, with enough force to set the recliner rocking violently. "I can make my own decisions now! I don't need you to hold my hand!"
"Hold your….! Is that the thanks I get for giving you an education? For feeding you? Clothing you? Trying to get the smartest men in town to see you as the genius you are! For giving you advantages we never had? Why, when your father was your age-"
"I AM NOT ANOKI, MOTHER! I NEVER WAS AND I NEVER WILL! I…." Tech's fury drained from him and his shoulders slumped. "I can't replace the man you lost. Or rather, the idea of the man you've lost. I've tried; O'kulumbo knows I've tried! But it's never enough! You just want more and more."
"No…" Nascha sobbed, the mug still clenched tightly in her hand.
"It's time to face the ugly truth, Mother. You've been molding me in his image." Tech made his way to the door, heavy hearted. "But I can't live in that mold, mother. I have to create my own."
"Where are you going?"
Tech paused in the doorway and held up the letter. "To see a woman about a job."
"No…..NO! What about the University!" Nascha clung to the mug in desperation, as if it could somehow pull the grown man back to her. "They've already called about you…"
"They can call all they like. I'm through with being someone else's lackey. I'll call you as soon as I possibly can."
"Tech. Einstein. Coyote. If you do not come to your senses and get back into this room this instant, then I have no sonNone at all!"
Tech paused a second in the doorway as he visibly stiffened. "Then…I guess I won't be calling after all…" he said softly before pulling the door closed behind him.
"RAAAAHHHAAAWHOOOOOOOOOO!" Nascha howled with rage and frustration. She threw the mug against the door with such force it shattered. Bits of ceramic were splayed across the foyer as thin streams of the brown liquid made many-fingered trails to the floor.
Like the dropping of a magician's curtain, Nascha Coyote suddenly appeared to look very old. With a wail, she dropped to her feet and wailed and pounded on the shrapnel-laced floor. She'd messed up! She'd messed up! And now, there was no one to tell her it would all be okay again….
1. Government issue paper: After the meteor strike, the papermaking industry became a bit unreliable. Partially due to climate change, and partially due to political climate change, the industry became tightly regulated, much like oil or water is today. Most use teleboards to communicate, but hard copies are still needed in certain areas. To keep expenditures down, the APC mandated that certain watermarks be embedded in every piece. The type Tech et al are currently holding is accessible to any government employee. Therefore, no specialized license is needed to obtain it, and Zadovia cannot readily be tracked this way. Ahhhh…
2. Nizhoni: Navajo for beautiful.
3. WeEnCo, Inc.: West Energy Convection, Inc. When you want cheap energy, call the 'Weenie'. Sort of the future equivalent of a National Fuel, or an Exxon/Mobil.
She seems to recall seeing it somewhere…regardless, she's sure you, gentle reader, get the drift.