Рич Ларсон - Tomorrow Factory - Collected Fiction

“Nothing to be scared of,” Eris said softly.

“Says he already forgot how things used to be,” Addy said. She frowned. “Mammy, why aren’t you looking at me?”

“I’m just watching out the window, love.”

Addy nodded solemnly. “It’s snowing again.”

The blank gray sky outside was building clouds in soft stacks. Fluffy flakes pinwheeled down in the breeze, small beautiful crystals that glimmered.

Things jumped. The sky was mottled red, a chemical haze she’d never seen before, and gray scraps were drifting down like feathers. It wasn’t snow.

“That’s ash.” Eris said it before she could catch her tongue.

“It’s snow,” Addy said.

Eris felt Durden stare at her.

“It’s snow,” he said firmly. “Your mammy is teasing you.”

Later, when Addy was asleep, they argued in whispers over her cocoon of blankets.

“Eris, you said you’d tell me.”

Eris, feeling irritable, shrugged. “I know.”

“Has it been happening all day?” Durden demanded. “The jumps?”

“If I look at anything too long. Yes.” Eris bit at her lip. She reached out and stroked the slice of Addy’s hair that showed from under the covers.

“That’s why you haven’t looked me in the eye all day?” Durden stood up, paced two steps and back. His back was pale and flecked with scars. His back was smooth sunkissed flesh.

Eris blinked. “I don’t want to worry Addy.”

“You haven’t looked at her, either,” Durden said. “Don’t think that worries her?” A tendon jumped in his neck. He sucked air through his nostrils. “What does she look like?” he asked.

Eris remembered the bridge. She saw her daughter hobbling, sunken-eyed. Hair in pale strands across a distended skull. “Not like Addy,” she said, with a hook snagged in her throat. She stroked Addy’s head again. She kept her eyes on the ceiling.

Durden’s hand clenched around hers. “Then why haven’t you gone to the optometrist?”

“I don’t know. I will. I don’t know.”

“People go mad, you know.” Durden’s voice was shaky now. He deliberately removed her hand from Addy’s blanket. “Don’t you remember what happened to your mother? They get desynchronized, they go mad.”

“Don’t talk about my mother,” Eris said. She shook her head hard. “It’s so much worse than I thought it would be. Than what I remember from before the imps.”

“Then get your imps fixed, Eris.”

Eris said nothing. Addy rustled in the bed.

“Do you like it?” Durden asked softly. “Does it make you feel like a fucking prophet or something?”

“It’s not that.”

“What do I look like?” Durden finally asked. She’d been waiting for the question to force its way past his teeth. “Tell me. What do I really look like?”

“Durden.”

“Tell me.” Durden spread his arms. His smile was pained. “Look at me.”

Skin spotted from the radiation, hair in wiry patches. His shoulders stooped and the hollow of his chest was waxpale; his fingernails were yellowed stubs. His ribcage was a skeleton’s hand clenched around his chest. Dangling cock like raw hamburger, disease-colored. Puffy lids around matte black eyes.

“Quiet,” Eris said. “Addy’s sleep—

“Let’s go up on the roof, then,” Durden said. “Like old times.”

“Quiet,” Eris begged.

Durden half-laughed. “It would be like fucking a zombie, right?” He turned away with the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers. Addy shifted again.

“I’m going to get resynched,” Eris said. “I promise.”

“You’re still beautiful for me. It’s not…” Durden broke off.

“I promise,” Eris repeated.

Durden’s shoulders shrugged. His hand rested on Addy’s back, rising and falling with her breath. Eris stepped quickly across the rotting floorboard. She pulled on a coat and went into the night before she started to cry.

The world had fractured. Eris looked once and saw pittoresque houses, bricked paths and manicured vegetation. She looked again and the trees were long-petrified, the housing units were pitted concrete, the ground was littered with garbage. The sky oscillated over her head, from a soft velvet strewn with oversized constellations to a dark starless cavern.

She went to the wall. The elaborate carvings had disappeared, leaving sooty iron and barcode stamps in digits Eris couldn’t read. She stumbled up the stairs, half-expecting them to give way under her feet. Her clanging was the only noise, that and then a foaming in her ears. Eris held onto the moor in her head, the rolling hills and willowy trees, the deep greens and stony grays through the mist.

She came to the top and looked over. The ground was blasted bare. The mist was a poison-yellow fume that shrouded black rock. Craters from high-impact charges puckered the wasteland and Eris could see nothing green, nothing living. Her breath caught in her throat. She braced herself against the railing.

Eris scanned, scanned, scanned, but did not see her mother’s skeleton down among the rocks. She cried. When dawn seemed like a possibility, she left.

Addy’s hand was sweaty inside hers as they walked to the optometrist. His hut, metal and composites, hunched on the edge of the town like a stubborn child. Eris hadn’t visited it for decades now. Not since her own imps had gone in.

“You’ll be fine, love,” Eris said. “Remember what Durden said.”

“Brave,” Addy mumbled.

“Brave. That’s right.”

They ducked inside. The interior was dim. The optometrist sat behind his machines, fingers dancing over keys and levers. He was tall and stately-looking, silver-haired. He smiled incorrectly as they approached.

“Hello, good morning,” he said. His voice moved oddly over the syllables. “We have your gene scheme uploaded and I’m ready to do the procedure. What is your name?”

“Addy,” Eris said for her. She closed her eyes.

“Come lie down, Addy,” the optometrist’s voice said. “We’ll have you synchronized in no time.”

“Does it hurt?” Addy asked.

“Come lie down, Addy,” the optometrist said. Eris heard the swiveling squeak of a padded chair.

“Brave girl,” Eris whispered. She leaned down and kissed the top of Addy’s head. She heard small feet scuff the floor, then an exhalation as the optometrist lifted her into the chair. Eris swallowed hard and opened her eyes.

A great black insect, a thrumming machine, some combination of both. The optometrist click-clacked around the chair on spider’s legs. Tendrils telescoped and moved over Addy’s face, concealing her. Eris clutched her arms to herself and watched.

“You’ve come undone,” the optometrist said as he worked.

“What?”

“You are not synchronized,” the optometrist said. “I can tell. The same thing happened to your genetic donor. Perhaps the tendency is hereditary.”

“Concentrate on Addy,” Eris said. “Please.”

“The procedure is automated.” The optometrist paused. “Your implants could be replaced. They are an old model. Interference from the retina can create conflicting images.”

“The real images,” Eris said.

“I do not make such distinctions.”

“Why do you do this to us?” Eris asked.

“You want me to,” the optometrist said. He pulled back, and Addy was lying perfectly still with a gray putty packed over her eyesockets. Black button eyes nestled where her old blue ones had been. Addy’s head turned. As Eris watched, two small red pinpricks appeared in the glossy black.

“Is it done?” Addy asked. Her small smile was crooked. Her teeth hadn’t grown in right.

“We’re all finished, Addy,” the optometrist said. “Easy, wasn’t it?”