married, what she’d allowed near her children.And wonder why she hadn’t stopped him. “Someone tampered with the car’s guidance system. Someone
programmed
that accident. Because
you
ordered them to.”
My mother’s eyes widened, slightly. Slowly, she turned toward my father, waiting for him to deny it. He didn’t.
Zo stood exactly where she’d stopped, midway between us and the door, like she was the statue. Unwilling to stay, unable to leave.
“You did this to me.” In my head I imagined saying this with cold steel in my voice, showing him how little I cared for what he’d done. How little power he had over me, and how little I regretted losing all he’d taken away. But that’s not how it came out.
It came out hysterical, like a child having a temper tantrum, my voice climbing higher, my fists balled. Only my eyes didn’t betray me, and only because they had no tears.
“You killed me!”
I could see it in her face: My mother was still waiting for him to deny it.
He didn’t.
“It was blackmail,” he said. He couldn’t even look at me. Instead he turned to Zo, stupid enough to think she would offer a safe harbor.
She won’t help you,
I thought, feeling almost sorry for him. And then he kept talking, and the sympathy leaked away. “There was some … unsanctioned behavior on my part. Funds were shifted. Temporary … aberrations in the balance sheet.”
“You were embezzling,” I translated, disgusted. “
Stealing.
You, the honorable M. Kahn, who used to punish us for sneaking extra cookies after dinner because it was dishonesty unbefitting a Kahn.”
His head bobbed up and down, almost imperceptibly.
“Look at me,” I snapped. “Not her; not the floor.
Me. Look at what you did to me.
”
Again he obeyed.
I wondered if someday, looking back, I would at least take pleasure in that. I’d finally beaten him. But it didn’t feel that way. It didn’t even feel like he was in the room with me. This person, this craven, beaten-down
thing
, seemed like a defective copy, designed to bear judgment in his place.
“They found out about it,” he said. “They blackmailed me. I would have gone to prison, lost everything.
You
would have lost everything.” It was almost a whine.
Believe me,
it said.
Understand me. Forgive me.
Never.
“What would you have done without my credit?” he asked, eyes hopping from me to Zo to my mother, searching for refuge. “Any of you? There wouldn’t have been anything left. You would have ended up in a corp-town, working off my debt. I couldn’t let that happen.”
My mother rested a hand on his knee. I wanted to slap her.
“So instead of giving up your money, you gave up your daughter?” I asked. I’d never felt anything like this before, not since the download: an emotion that was so pure, so real. This was different from sex, from fear or pain, different even from the dreamers,with their direct connection to the emotive centers of the brain. Like jumping from a plane, like stabbing myself, this blotted out any awareness of artificial nerves and conduits, stripped away the fake flesh and the mechanical organs, left
me
bare and exposed, nothing left but words and anger.
“They didn’t want money,” he said. “It wasn’t about that. They wanted support for the download from someone like me, someone people would listen to. The whole program was about to go down in flames; they were still waiting on approval for the download as a voluntary procedure and didn’t think it was going to come through; they needed someone who would
never give up
.” He choked out a noise that sounded almost like laughter. “I suppose they found some poetic justice in it, turning the download’s biggest enemy into its biggest supporter. I engineered the legislation that would outlaw the technology, and then …”
“And then you got caught.”
He nodded.
“That doesn’t even make sense. Why not just blackmail you into supporting the download? Why would they
programmed
that accident. Because
you
ordered them to.”
My mother’s eyes widened, slightly. Slowly, she turned toward my father, waiting for him to deny it. He didn’t.
Zo stood exactly where she’d stopped, midway between us and the door, like she was the statue. Unwilling to stay, unable to leave.
“You did this to me.” In my head I imagined saying this with cold steel in my voice, showing him how little I cared for what he’d done. How little power he had over me, and how little I regretted losing all he’d taken away. But that’s not how it came out.
It came out hysterical, like a child having a temper tantrum, my voice climbing higher, my fists balled. Only my eyes didn’t betray me, and only because they had no tears.
“You killed me!”
I could see it in her face: My mother was still waiting for him to deny it.
He didn’t.
“It was blackmail,” he said. He couldn’t even look at me. Instead he turned to Zo, stupid enough to think she would offer a safe harbor.
She won’t help you,
I thought, feeling almost sorry for him. And then he kept talking, and the sympathy leaked away. “There was some … unsanctioned behavior on my part. Funds were shifted. Temporary … aberrations in the balance sheet.”
“You were embezzling,” I translated, disgusted. “
Stealing.
You, the honorable M. Kahn, who used to punish us for sneaking extra cookies after dinner because it was dishonesty unbefitting a Kahn.”
His head bobbed up and down, almost imperceptibly.
“Look at me,” I snapped. “Not her; not the floor.
Me. Look at what you did to me.
”
Again he obeyed.
I wondered if someday, looking back, I would at least take pleasure in that. I’d finally beaten him. But it didn’t feel that way. It didn’t even feel like he was in the room with me. This person, this craven, beaten-down
thing
, seemed like a defective copy, designed to bear judgment in his place.
“They found out about it,” he said. “They blackmailed me. I would have gone to prison, lost everything.
You
would have lost everything.” It was almost a whine.
Believe me,
it said.
Understand me. Forgive me.
Never.
“What would you have done without my credit?” he asked, eyes hopping from me to Zo to my mother, searching for refuge. “Any of you? There wouldn’t have been anything left. You would have ended up in a corp-town, working off my debt. I couldn’t let that happen.”
My mother rested a hand on his knee. I wanted to slap her.
“So instead of giving up your money, you gave up your daughter?” I asked. I’d never felt anything like this before, not since the download: an emotion that was so pure, so real. This was different from sex, from fear or pain, different even from the dreamers,with their direct connection to the emotive centers of the brain. Like jumping from a plane, like stabbing myself, this blotted out any awareness of artificial nerves and conduits, stripped away the fake flesh and the mechanical organs, left
me
bare and exposed, nothing left but words and anger.
“They didn’t want money,” he said. “It wasn’t about that. They wanted support for the download from someone like me, someone people would listen to. The whole program was about to go down in flames; they were still waiting on approval for the download as a voluntary procedure and didn’t think it was going to come through; they needed someone who would
never give up
.” He choked out a noise that sounded almost like laughter. “I suppose they found some poetic justice in it, turning the download’s biggest enemy into its biggest supporter. I engineered the legislation that would outlaw the technology, and then …”
“And then you got caught.”
He nodded.
“That doesn’t even make sense. Why not just blackmail you into supporting the download? Why would they
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