out. Once again, a trip to The Beneath covered her in vileness. Hardwood never felt so comfortable. Without Darksight on, she found it peaceful, as if her eyes were closed.
“You okay?” Dorian’s voice, above her.
“I think I’m going to donate some credits to that group calling for the abolition of boiled live lobster. I know what they feel like now.”
arly morning dreams found Kirsten in pleasant surroundings. A boat, small and wooden, ferried her along a street filled with water past ancient buildings with waving, smiling people. Konstantin stood at the rear, guiding them with a pole, singing in some butchered attempt at Italian―the closest her imagination could get. She was barefoot, clad in a loose-fitting white dress, and a wide-brimmed hat ringed with flowers, like some old-school Degas painting. She tugged at her neckline, exposing more and more of her chest to his approving smile.
“Mom?” Evan’s voice emanated from Konstantin’s lips.
Kirsten moaned.
“Mom?” Konstantin shrank into Evan, in pajamas. “Mom, the shower’s out of suds.”
Her eyes cracked open. She found herself lying on her side, staring through sleep-crumbs at an annoyed, wet, and naked boy. A plastic cylinder as big as his thigh dangled upside down in his grasp, obviously empty.
“Put something on.” She pushed herself up, sitting.
“I’m wet.” He pointed at the bathroom. “The shower ran outta suds while I was in it.”
Kirsten gave him a bleary stare. His birth mother had not bothered to clothe him much; using every scrap of credit she got her hands on to buy drugs. Kirsten took the empty soap canister, having nothing else to do but laugh at his lack of shame.
“Go back in the bathroom, I’ll order more.”
“‘Kay.” He wandered into the kitchen.
“If you’re going to eat, at least wrap yourself in a towel. Don’t drip all over the place.”
“‘Kay…” He changed course.
Kirsten thumbed at her NetMini, putting in an order for two cartridges of Sudzy-Kleen. She rolled her eyes at the crime against language perpetrated by people in the name of marketing.
Evan, towel around his hips, emerged from the bathroom and dragged a chair over to the counter. When he climbed up and leaned his forehead against the ‘sem, she giggled.
“Didn’t I ask you to wait a few years for coffee?”
“This doctor on the net said it’s good for you,” he whined. “I’m only making a small. Please?”
Kirsten bit her lip, finding it hard to resist his half-closed eyes and round face. “You know those articles don’t mean much. The
experts
will agree with whoever the money comes from.”
He thought for a minute, fidgeting with the towel to keep it in place. “Does that mean the ones who say it’s bad are lying too?”
Checkmate.
At least, checkmate for her sleep-deprived brain. “Fine, a small one. Make me one while you’re over there.”
“‘Kay.” He grinned and plunked his forehead against the door again, staring at the flickering sparks inside.
She gathered herself out of bed and stretched, skritching him on the head as she plodded past him to the apartment’s only window. A delivery bot tapped a spindly metal arm on the glass a moment later, dropping off two canisters of autoshower soap.
Evan got the tamed-down version of the story of last night as they shared coffee. When he finished his, he sprang from his seat, grabbed one canister and ran out of the towel into the bathroom. Kirsten slumped on her elbows, watching his shadow in the light the bathroom cast on the main-area floor as he installed the new cartridge. For a moment, she felt terrified.
Was this a good idea? Can I handle having a kid? I’m only twenty-two. I… I don’t have anyone to fall back on for help. What if I can’t handle him? What if the caseworker walks in and he’s streaking around? Am I supposed to yell at him for that? Will it cause mental scars if I make a big deal about it?
She let her forehead fall on her
“You okay?” Dorian’s voice, above her.
“I think I’m going to donate some credits to that group calling for the abolition of boiled live lobster. I know what they feel like now.”
arly morning dreams found Kirsten in pleasant surroundings. A boat, small and wooden, ferried her along a street filled with water past ancient buildings with waving, smiling people. Konstantin stood at the rear, guiding them with a pole, singing in some butchered attempt at Italian―the closest her imagination could get. She was barefoot, clad in a loose-fitting white dress, and a wide-brimmed hat ringed with flowers, like some old-school Degas painting. She tugged at her neckline, exposing more and more of her chest to his approving smile.
“Mom?” Evan’s voice emanated from Konstantin’s lips.
Kirsten moaned.
“Mom?” Konstantin shrank into Evan, in pajamas. “Mom, the shower’s out of suds.”
Her eyes cracked open. She found herself lying on her side, staring through sleep-crumbs at an annoyed, wet, and naked boy. A plastic cylinder as big as his thigh dangled upside down in his grasp, obviously empty.
“Put something on.” She pushed herself up, sitting.
“I’m wet.” He pointed at the bathroom. “The shower ran outta suds while I was in it.”
Kirsten gave him a bleary stare. His birth mother had not bothered to clothe him much; using every scrap of credit she got her hands on to buy drugs. Kirsten took the empty soap canister, having nothing else to do but laugh at his lack of shame.
“Go back in the bathroom, I’ll order more.”
“‘Kay.” He wandered into the kitchen.
“If you’re going to eat, at least wrap yourself in a towel. Don’t drip all over the place.”
“‘Kay…” He changed course.
Kirsten thumbed at her NetMini, putting in an order for two cartridges of Sudzy-Kleen. She rolled her eyes at the crime against language perpetrated by people in the name of marketing.
Evan, towel around his hips, emerged from the bathroom and dragged a chair over to the counter. When he climbed up and leaned his forehead against the ‘sem, she giggled.
“Didn’t I ask you to wait a few years for coffee?”
“This doctor on the net said it’s good for you,” he whined. “I’m only making a small. Please?”
Kirsten bit her lip, finding it hard to resist his half-closed eyes and round face. “You know those articles don’t mean much. The
experts
will agree with whoever the money comes from.”
He thought for a minute, fidgeting with the towel to keep it in place. “Does that mean the ones who say it’s bad are lying too?”
Checkmate.
At least, checkmate for her sleep-deprived brain. “Fine, a small one. Make me one while you’re over there.”
“‘Kay.” He grinned and plunked his forehead against the door again, staring at the flickering sparks inside.
She gathered herself out of bed and stretched, skritching him on the head as she plodded past him to the apartment’s only window. A delivery bot tapped a spindly metal arm on the glass a moment later, dropping off two canisters of autoshower soap.
Evan got the tamed-down version of the story of last night as they shared coffee. When he finished his, he sprang from his seat, grabbed one canister and ran out of the towel into the bathroom. Kirsten slumped on her elbows, watching his shadow in the light the bathroom cast on the main-area floor as he installed the new cartridge. For a moment, she felt terrified.
Was this a good idea? Can I handle having a kid? I’m only twenty-two. I… I don’t have anyone to fall back on for help. What if I can’t handle him? What if the caseworker walks in and he’s streaking around? Am I supposed to yell at him for that? Will it cause mental scars if I make a big deal about it?
She let her forehead fall on her
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