Golden Fleece

of sheep and shouting, “Get the flock out of here!” A birthday present from Joel-the-gonad. I never quite knew why he found it so funny, or why Mom made that scowly face when I wore it. Still, that couldn’t be it.

“Well?” she said.

“I dunno. What?”

“You’re filthy! You’re covered in mud. You’ve got dirt under your fingernails. And look at those knees—all scabby.”

I knew better than to say anything, but I sure thought something: Well, for Pete’s sake, Mom, of course they’re all scabby. I fell on the sidewalk, and I—oh, I forget how I got that one, but, heck, if they don’t bother me, why should they bother you?

She shook her head again. “Your Uncle David will be here soon. You want he should see you looking like a bum?”

“Aw, Mom.”

“Go to your room and clean up, young man.”

“All right.”

I bounced down the corridor to my room, hopping like that Marsaroo I saw on the Nashalgeogaffic special we watched last night. As usual, LAR, the household god, tried to guess when I was going to arrive at my door, but I always liked to outsmart that bucket of bolts. I ran the last few meters quickly. LAR slid the door aside, but I came to a halt just shy of it. Silly machine. He held it open for one, two, three seconds, then slid it shut. I waited till it closed, then jumped up and hit the manyalovride.

My room. A happy place. I like it this way. I wish Mom would stop telling me to pick up my things. I know where they are. Why, there’s my baseball glove. Haven’t seen that for weeks. And my Mutant Cyborg. I hope Joel- the-gonad hasn’t been playing with it; he always wrecks my programming.

So Uncle David will be here soon. I wonder how long? Bet I have enough time to play another game of Jujitsu Jaguar …

“Aaron!” Mom’s voice, echoing down the corridor. “Aaron, dear! Are you getting ready?”

“Yup.”

I rummaged around on the floor to find some other clothes to wear. My blue shirt? Naw, that’s a hand-me- down from Joel-the-gonad. How ’bout this yellow one? Naw, that’s a gay color. Hey, here’s a good one. Maroon, Mom calls it. Sounds like moron. But it looks like dried blood. Cool.

I pulled off the flock shirt and put on the maroon one. These pants will do, though, if I brush off some of the dirt.

Vroooommmm! Ca-chug. Ca-chug. The sound of a flyer, in need of a tune-up, zooming in for a landing on our front lawn. I hopped up on my bed and looked out the window. Hey, Uncle David has a Ford Champion. Cool. But he should take better care of it. Those thrusters sound awful.

“Aaron!” Mom shouting from room to room again. How come she can do that, but when I do it, I get in trouble? “Aaron, come say hello to your Uncle David.”

I decided to make Mom happy, so I put on a new pair of socks. White socks. Can’t get much cleaner looking than that. I turned around and walked backward toward the door. That always confused poor LAR something fierce. I was able to get my back right up against the sliding panel before he realized that I was going out, not coming in. The door opened with that neat farting sound it makes, and I headed down the corridor.

Uncle David was a big man, even bigger than Dad. He had a bushy black beard and hair sticking out of his ears and nostrils. I always thought that was so gross. He stood in the entryway, looking a bit like that bear Joel-the-gonad and I had seen last summer in the woods just north of the city.

Right now, Uncle David had his arm around my mother’s waist and was reaching over to give her a kiss. I stood back just a little bit. I didn’t like him kissing her, especially when Dad wasn’t around to say it was all right. Mom shared a job at Lakehead University with Miz MacElroy, so she’d had no trouble arranging to have today off. Dad’s shift at the Thunder Bay Spaceport wouldn’t be over until 2200. Hannah had a date with Kevin, and Joel-the- gonad was going to be late because of hockey practice.

Uncle David leaned in to give me a kiss, too. “Hello, sport,” he said. His beard was like a scouring pad across my face and his breath had a peppermint smell to it. How could somebody know enough to sweeten his breath, but still let those ucky hairs grow out of his nose?

I didn’t like the way he kissed. Too much. Too long. Too often. Dad knew how to do it right. Just a quick peck on the cheek before I went to bed.

“I’ve got a lot to do before dinner is ready,” Mom said. “Aaron, why don’t you take Uncle David to your room and show him your Cyborg Mutant?”

I rolled my eyes as best I could. “Mom! It’s a Mutant Cyborg. Not a Cyborg Mutant.” Didn’t she know anything?

She looked at Uncle David and laughed. “Well, whatever it is, it cost a fortune.” Uncle David laughed too, and that made me angry.

“Shall we go?” he said to me, then held out his hand for me to take it.

What’s this? He’s not old or blind or nothing. He hardly needs my help getting down a perfectly straight hall. Oh, well. I put my hand in his. His was sticky and wet.

I didn’t try to trick LAR this time, but the stupid thing was slow in opening the door anyway. It now assumed that I wasn’t going to go directly in. Give it different data each time and you can keep it confused for days.

Uncle David and I stepped into my room. I looked up at him. For a second it looked like he was going to say something probably some stupid adult thing about the mess, but he didn’t and I was grateful for that. Instead, he went over to my desk and sat in my chair. He was really too big for it, and although it was more than strong enough to hold him—I’d jumped up and down on it enough times to test its strength—he did look silly.

“So, let’s see the Cyborg Mutant, sport.”

“Mutant Cyborg, Uncle Dave,” I said with a sigh. “It’s called a Mutant Cyborg.” Geez, do they get these names wrong on purpose?

“Sorry, sport.”

I gingerly picked my way through the clutter to get the Mutant. He was about thirty centimeters tall. His head was a tiny cylindrical holotank in which could float the ghostly image of any face I wanted. Although he came with some neat faces, including one with an eyeball hanging out at the end of a glowing bundle of fiber optics, I’d had Dad take my picture and used that most of the time. I thumbed the on switch and my face beamed out from within the tube.

“Here,” I said, passing it to my uncle. “Careful. He’s pretty heavy.”

Uncle David took the Mutant Cyborg. “That’s quite an impressive toy,” he said.

Toy? Doesn’t he know the Mutant Cyborg is a whole new dimension in action figures? Adults don’t understand anything. Still, got to remember my manners. “Thanks, Uncle David.”

“What does it do?”

Ah, show time! “Here, let me demonstrate.” I said the big word with as much cool as I could. I held out a hand for the Mutant.

“No,” said Uncle David. “Come sit here.” He reached out with his massive bear paws and lifted me onto his lap. I’m nine years old, for Pete’s sake. Doesn’t he know I’m too old to sit in laps? Oh, well.

I could feel his round stomach heaving against my back as I sat there and his minty breath—what was that word Mom had used to describe that candied orange sauce? Cloying? His minty breath was cloying.

“Well,” I said, “you activate him here, with this slider. No, don’t push it; he’s on already. He then takes your spoken orders.”

“For example?”

I cleared my throat, and then spoke in the Voice of Command. “Mutant Cyborg, lift your arms.” The Mutant’s arms lifted over his head, biceps bulging with hidden cyborg powers. Uncle David’s right hand brushed against my thigh, exposed because I was still wearing my shorts. It made me feel a bit uncomfortable. “Mutant Cyborg,” I said, “fire your lasers.” From the palms of his hands, two beams of blue light shot across the room. ’Course, everybody knows you can’t see a laser beam unless there’s something like dust or fog in the air—I still hadn’t figured out how