Cyborg Gardens
Written Feb 5, 2004
Sarah crossed the street quickly through the angry bunches of people, her left hand shoved deep into her pocket and her head ducked low. The shouts were directed at another woman, poor soul. She was scurrying across the street as fast as her feet would carry her, trying to hide the metallic glint of the moon reflecting from her skin with the turned up collar of her trenchcoat.
As she finally reached the edge of the park, the toe of her worn shoe caught on the curb. The woman tripped and fell, a moan of despair escaping her lips. For fleeting seconds her eyes locked with Sarah's, pleading, then she was lost in a slough of bodies. Pulling herself away, Sarah ducked into a darkened doorway and disappeared. The sound of angry voices echoed after her, until she turned through a heavy door, closing and locking it behind her. As the lock hummed shut the flourescent lights turned on, revealing a low room wiht cement walls and floor. The ceiling and one wall had been covered with odd multicoloured squares of shag carpet, so that it resembled a patchwork quilt.
One corner of the room was partially walled off in lieu of a bedroom, and the only other door was a small hatch in the ceiling along the far wall.
Sarah sighed. Dropping her heavy bag full of books, she tossed her jacket to the dilapidated couch and went to make herself some tea. Nolan might think her paranoid, but she didn't trust technology anymore. Any real study on the cyborgs had to be done by hand.
As she poured herself a cup of Earl Grey, the steam from the hot tea teased at the fingers of her left hand and condensed into little droplets. She barely felt the heat. The metallic surface of her cyborg hand registered only the slight pressure and humidity of the water beads. With absent familiarity Sarah wiped her hands on a nearby dish-towel, grabbed her mug of tea, and settled herself down in a gaudy looking armchair with one of her books.
Before half an hour had passed, Sarah's eyes were already beginning to droop. Her focus began to slide, her mouth began to yawn, and her hand moved to put down the heavy volume on her lap. Finally she let herself dose, just a little. A thump over head startled the girl into a drowsey awareness, and soon there was a knock at her ceiling.
"May I intrude?" inquired the slightly muffled voice of her uncle.
"Sure thing," answered Sarah, forcing herself to sit up straight and once more grabbing her book.
The hatchway swung open, upward; one hinge protested a little with a half-hearted groan. A rope ladder tumbled down, followed quickly by the pair of brown loafers which had kicked it. The presumptuous penny loafers were soon joined by the legs of ironed blue jeans, complete with an impeccably ironed-in crease, and within a few seconds the form of Atticus Quinn emerged entirely from the shag-rug opening.
"How was class today?" asked Uncle Atticus conversationally.
"Good. About the same as usual, actually."
Uncle Atticus smiled with a sort of wry sympathy. 'Usual' meant controversy and ridicule as a cyborg sympathizer. "I just wanted you to know that Jonathan Hauke is in town tonight, and will be speaking at the high school at 7:30."
Sarah was now fully awake, "Dr. Hauke is here? When did he get in? Who knows? Who's been set up for security?"
Uncle Atticus grinned. "He got in last night, late, and is staying at the
Finley's basement. I've been passing the word around all day, I think we're safe from anyone important knowing. But, as far as security is concerned, no one's been called yet."
Sarah jumped to her feet and began pacing. "Nolan will, I know that. What about Charlie? Megan will if I ask, and I can work an extra door if need be. Who's on for escort this time?" She suddenly stopped, looking at her uncle.
"Well," he answered, rubbing his ear. "I am, but I'm still working out the details."
Their stationwagon had been impounded last week, and their licences revolked on charges of "improper use." The officer who'd written them up wanted to confiscate them permanently. His argument was that they were "...using their vehicular privilages as a means to complete the treasonous acts of providing aide to societal enemies." The cyborgs.
Driving without a valid licence was a federal offence.