James Patrick Kelly
FROM THE AUTHOR: “Going Deep” marked my twenty-fifth appearance in the June issue of
MARISKA SHIVERED WHEN she realized that her room had been tapping at the dreamfeed for several minutes. “The Earth is up,” it murmured in its gentle singing accent. “Daddy Al is up and I am always up. Now Mariska gets up.”
Mariska groaned, determined not to allow her room in. Recently she had been dreaming her own dreams of Jak and his long fingers and the fuzz on his chin and the way her throat tightened when she brushed up against him. But this was one of her room’s feeds, one of the best ones, one she had been having as long as she could remember. In it, she was in space, but she wasn’t on the moon and she wasn’t wearing her hardsuit. There were stars every way she turned. Of course, she’d seen stars through the visor of her helmet but these were always different. Not a scatter of light but a swarm. And they all were singing their names, calling to her to come to them. She could just make out the closest ones:
“The Earth is up, Daddy Al is up, and I am always up,” her room insisted. “Now Mariska gets up.” If she didn’t wake soon, it would have to sound the gong.
“Slag it.” She rolled over, awake and grumpy. Her room had been getting on her last nerve recently When she had been a little girl, she had roused at its whisper, but in the last few weeks it had begun nagging her to wake up. She knew it loved her and was only worried about her going deep, but she was breathing regularly and her heartbeat was probably in the high sixties. It monitored her, so it had to know she was just sleeping.
She thought this was all about Al. He was getting nervous; so her room was nervous.
“Good morning, dear Mariska,” said her room. “Today is Friday, June 15, 2159. You are expected today in Hydroponics and at the Muoi swimming pool. This Sunday is Father’s Day.”
“I know, I
“I could help you find something for Daddy Al, if you’d like.” Her room painted Buycenter icons on the wall. “We haven’t shopped together in a while.”
“Maybe later.” Sometimes she felt guilty that she wasn’t spending enough time with her room, but its persona kept treating her like a baby. Still calling him
The door slid aside a hand’s width and Al peered through the opening.
“Rise and shine, Mariska.” His smile was a crack on a worried face. “Pancakes for breakfast,” he said. “But only if you get up now.” He blew a kiss that she ducked away from.
“I’m shining already,” she grumbled. “Your own little star.”
As she stepped through the cleanser, she wondered what to do about him. She knew exactly what was going on. The
The fact that she loved Al’s strawberry pancakes did nothing to improve her mood at breakfast. He was unusually quiet, which meant he was working his courage up for some stupid fathering talk. Something in the news? She brought her gossip feed up on the tabletop to see what was going on. The scrape of his knife on the plate as she scanned headlines made her want to shriek. Why did he have to use her favorite food as a bribe so that he could pester her?
“You heard about that boy from Penrose High?” he said at last. “The one in that band you used to like… No Exit? Final Exit?”
“You’re talking about Last Exit to Nowhere?” That gossip was so old it had curled around the edges and blown away. “Deltron Cleen?”
“That’s him.” He stabbed one last pancake scrap and pushed it into a pool of syrup. “They say he was at a party a couple of weeks ago and opened his head to everyone there; I forget how many mindfeeds he accepted.”
“So?” She couldn’t believe he was pushing Deltron Cleen at her.
“You knew him?”
“I’ve met him, sure.”
“You weren’t there, were you?” He actually squirmed, like he had ants crawling up his leg. “When it happened?”
“Oh sure. And when he keeled over, I was the one who gave him CPR.” Mariska pinched her nose closed and puffed air at him. “Saved his life — the board of supers is giving me a medal next Thursday.”
“This is serious, Mariska. Taking feeds from people you don’t know is dangerous.”
“Unless they’re schoolfeeds. Or newsfeeds. Or dreamfeeds.”
“Those are datafeeds. And they’re screened.”
“God feeds, then.”
He sank back against his chair. “You’re not joining a church, are you?”
“No.” She laughed and patted his hand. “I’m okay, Al. Trust me. I love you and everything is okay.”
“I know that.” He was so flustered he slipped his fork in his pants pocket. “I know,” he repeated, as if trying to convince himself.
“Poor Del is pretty stupid, even for a singer in a shoutcast band,” she said. “What I heard was he accepted maybe a dozen feeds, but I guess there wasn’t room in his head for more than him and a couple of really shallow friends. But he just crashed is all; they’ll reboot him. Might even be an improvement.” She reached across the table, picked up Al’s empty plate, and slid it onto hers. “You never did anything like that, did you?” She carried them to the kitchen counter and pushed them through the processor door. “Accept mindfeeds from perfect strangers?”
“Not strangers, no.”
“But you
“I’m a father, Mariska.” He swiped his napkin across his lips and then folded it up absently. “You’re a minor and still my responsibility. This is just me, trying to stay in touch.”
“Extra credit to you, then.” She check-marked the air. “But being a father is complicated. Maybe we should work on your technique?”
The door announced, “Jak is here.”
“Got to go.” Mariska grabbed her kit, kissed Al, and spun toward the door in relief. She felt bad for him sometimes. It wasn’t his fault he took all the slag in the