A young man so obviously on his way to crew a yacht, dressed in a rugby shirt and shorts, was sauntering along the waterfront, trying not to be too obvious as he glanced at her. She pushed her hair back lightly, and gave him a sunburst smile. The answering smile he gave was so full of puppy-dog hope and longing it was all she could do not to laugh outright. God, men are so easy. Not that it had to be men, especially given her current mood. A girl would be so much kinder in bed, more attentive, more receptive.
It would be nice to be taken care of, to be pampered and adored.But weak. I’m not going to be weak anymore. The tears threatened to burst out again. There had been so much of that since the trial. She made fists of her hands, forcing her nails into her palms until she winced at the pain.I will not cry again.
There was only one option left now. She hadn’t wanted to try it before because it was such a long shot. A fantasy, really. The psychological safety net you never want to use.
She pulled out the little array she’d brought with her from the penthouse. The one with the ridiculously expensive black foxory casing—not that dear Hoshe had recognized that. “I want a link to the SI,” she told her e-butler. Her new OCtattoos were all for sensory reception; Jaycee hadn’t paid for virtual interface functions.
“For what reason?” the e-butler asked. The SI was notoriously reluctant to accept calls from human individuals. Apart from its comprehensive banking service, official government requests and emergencies were about the only contact it had with the Commonwealth.
She brought the little array up close to her face. “Just tell it who’s calling,” she whispered. “And ask it if… if Grandpa remembers me.”
The little screen on the front of the handheld array immediately came on, showing tangerine and turquoise sine-waves retreating back to their joint vanishing point. “Hello, baby Mel.”
“Grandpa?” The word was very hard to get out through her tightened-up throat. Once again, the wretched tears threatened to burst loose. She really had not expected this to work.
“He is with us, yes.”
Mellanie remembered that last achingly long day in the hospice, waiting by his bed for him to die. She was only nine at the time, and never did understand why he didn’t rejuvenate like everybody else. Her parents hadn’t wanted her there, but she’d insisted—stubborn even back then. Grandpa (actually, her great-great-grandfather) was always the nicest relative she had, always found time for his baby Mel despite his status as one of the planet’s most distinguished residents. All the history files at school mentioned him as one of the programmers who had helped Sheldon and Isaac write the governing software for their original wormhole. “Are you still you, Grandpa?”
“That’s a difficult question to answer, Mellanie. We are the memories of your grandfather, but at the same time we are more, a universe more, which makes us less than the individual you want.”
“You always listened to me, Grandpa. You always said you’d help me if you could. And I really, really, need your help now.”
“We are not physical, Mellanie, we can only help with words.”
“That’s what I need: advice. I need to know what to do, Grandpa. I’ve made a bit of a mess of my life.”
“You are only twenty, Mellanie. You are a child. You haven’t begun your life yet.”
“Then why do I feel like it’s almost over?”
“Because you are young, of course. Everything that happens to you is epic at your age.”
“I guess. So you will help me, then, Grandpa?”
“What would you like to know?”
“I don’t have any money right now.”
“So we see. The Darklake National Bank is being its usual efficient self, and quantifying your ex-lover’s assets for redistribution. The funds will be split between Tara Jennifer Shaheef and Wyobie Cotal, once various exorbitant fees have been claimed by officials, lawyers, and institutions. We do not believe you would be successful if you applied for a percentage of them. Legally, you have very little standing.”
“I don’t want any,” she said forcefully. “I’ve decided I’m not going to be dependent on anyone again. I’m going to make my life my own from now on.”
“That is the baby Mel we remember. We were always proud of you.”
“I tried to sell the story of what happened with me and Morton, but it hasn’t worked out very well. I was naive and stupid, I guess. I trusted a reporter. It didn’t work out too good. I might get arrested. There was this terrible man, a pornographer. I kind of assaulted him.”
“Fancy trusting a reporter. That was stupid. But the situation can probably be resolved. And pornographers are not notorious for running to the police.”
