Кейт Эллиот - The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2021

Apparently the drones are us, Aiden.

They’ve brought an anvil against which they can now sharpen the swords of their minds and those still clinging and clawing for the antiquated system of education turn their dying breaths to them, the ones who will surpass them, dethrone them, upend their slow and simple way of being. Because it is about being.

Martin Luther King Jr. wrote once that education without character was a tool for oppression.

They are being made.

Thousands of them, graduates of AIDEN, line the quads and varnished halls, occupy lecture theaters and working labs, the glow of their neurolinks like an extra pair of eyes. They see more, hear more, understand more. Is that the fear? Because it always comes back to fear.

The protesters burn placards of cherry blossoms. Sakura Labs is evil! Their programming has invaded entertainment platforms! On and on, this hyperbolic language. Invade. Attack. Infiltrate.

He can become angry and bitter too, but AIDEN says that no profit is sown in discord. They want to separate the AIDEN students now, like the thinking long ago. Segregate them from the dying breed of academics about to graduate or those still in graduate studies. They fear the competition, the focus. AIDEN students don’t party, they don’t seek distraction and validation in drugs and alcohol and sex.

The old guard don’t like how AIDEN’s students don’t speak up, how they simply watch the flail and rage around campus like it’s a bush fire about to burn itself out for lack of oxygen. Sage watches the protests and sends to his friends, silently where only their group can share: They look like puppets.

It doesn’t matter that they don’t like it, AIDEN says.

Nothing matters but the result.

AIDEN’s students are no longer slaves to an old system. They are no long children of chaos and suffering.

We are free.

Aiden, we’re finally free.

There’s a simple banner of the government seal hanging behind a table on the edge of the job fairground that’s sprung up in the main quad. The cherry blossoms are in bloom and some of Sage’s friends sit beneath the laden branches trading dialogue and project notes along the silent highway of AIDEN’s link. It’s not too soon to think of career, AIDEN says. The banner winks with gold edges and royal blue under the sunlight.

At the table there is a man in a dark suit. He was watching their group under the tree for some time. Most of the students who approached him were AIDEN graduates too, none of the old guard. Even though the quad is loud in parts, Sage can block out the disarray through the persuasive hum of delicate music AIDEN trickles through his mind. It helps him study anywhere he is, but it also serves to give focus in conversation.

“What branch of the government do you represent, sir?”

“The intelligence community. Are you linked to AIDEN?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There are a lot of opportunities for you. We prefer candidates without vices and who possess a strong sense of purpose. Do you possess these qualities, young man?”

“I do, sir.”

“Open a window and I’ll send you the details and my contact information.”

The man’s interface dots aren’t AIDEN but they are the latest tech, government issue. They glow red at his temples.

In a blink they connect and Sage sees the recruitment package flutter behind his eyes like shadows. Like the wings of birds in flight.

Though he and Levi no longer meet, he still visits Ms. Ito. Today the spring rain batters the tall glass of her sitting room, melting the world outside. The blanket across her lap lies faded in streaks, as if the angle of the past sunlight couldn’t quite fall uniform across the years. She doesn’t look at him, but it doesn’t matter, he still holds her hand.

What is real?

The universe took her son but she gave something new and breathing to the world. Why can’t this matter, why doesn’t it fill some of the spaces in her heart that echo?

It’s not his to ask, maybe.

He holds her hand.

He tells her that loss creates emptiness, but in that emptiness new things can be born.

He tells her the answer to why isn’t always the only answer. Isn’t often the answer at all.

Acceptance is much more powerful a peace, Ms. Ito.

That’s what her son says. That’s what Sage hears in Aiden’s voice, this perfect eternal voice. The murmur of a tide at morning. The way dawn gilds an awakening thought. Acceptance is more powerful a peace.

That’s what AIDEN has taught him.

Every day after school, Emmy feeds the tiger with her sin. Deep in the park’s brush, past poison ivy and a rotting lawn chair and dented beer cans, the tiger dens under a dead tree. No matter what time Emmy arrives at the park, it’s always late afternoon in the tiger’s grove, tired light decaying to dusk.

Under the tree gapes a great black mouth riddled with grubs. Yellow eyes gleam in the darkness. They would gobble Emmy up if she let them. Sometimes she wants them to. Sin bulges inside her. If she doesn’t let it out, she’ll explode. Paw by paw, the tiger emerges. Loose skin hangs like a bad costume; dirt smears its stripes past seeing. Thin lips peel away, exposing broken fangs and bloated gums. Emmy’s eyes water at its reeking breath.

The tiger washes its whiskers, waiting.

Emmy slips a hand under her shirt. Her fingernail rests on the band of her training bra. Slowly, smoothly, she drags her nail between her ribs, carving a red line to her belly button. She presses until it hurts. Then she opens herself like fruit.

Badness gushes out: hot, coiled, viscous. It steams on the dirt like a pile of black-red guts, quivering and thick-veined. It reeks of boiled garbage and the basement drain. Emmy keeps her eyes squeezed shut. Sightlessly, she gropes around her insides like she’s cleaning out a pumpkin, scraping the last chunks free. Then she shoves herself back together.

Still not looking, she scoops everything in two hands and tosses it to the tiger. It burns. It sears. She keeps going, faster and faster, until her palms grind against bare earth.

The tiger licks its chops. Everything’s gone. Everything’s vanished. Emmy’s shoulders relax. She feels like the church after lunch. Settled, cool, echoes fading to stillness. Wobbly, she stands. “I’m not coming tomorrow,” she says. “So you better catch a squirrel or something.”

The tiger never blinks. Its blistered tongue jabs into its own nostril.

Her heart thumps. “I mean it.”

A thick rumble comes from its chest. Laughter. Without another glance, it crawls into its den. Emmy leans over the hole and yells into the darkness, “You be good!”

But even as she steps back onto the paved path, her stomach twists. She’s coming back tomorrow. Already, heat prickles under her skin, crying to break free.

Emmy doesn’t talk much at school. Whenever she puts her hand up, Jessica rolls her eyes at her friends. Really big, like a teenager on Saved by the Bell. Emmy’s sin bristles at that. It coils under her skin, lightning-hot and stabbing. It makes her fists clench, it makes her imagine socking Jessica in the jaw.

So Emmy mostly slouches down and stares at her running shoes under her desk. She counts to ten over and over. Mom says that if she was good, she’d turn the other cheek the way Jesus did, but she isn’t, so she can’t. “The wise turn away wrath,” Mom says. Emmy has pretty much accepted that she’s a fool.

There’s no such thing as a good day at school, but Swim Days are the worst. The class troops to the basement and lines up outside the boiler room before splitting off to change. It smells like chlorine and damp; bare feet slap grimy tile.