Light Shaper (9 page)

He didn’t really want to remember, but Rigel’s mind flashed back to the news articles that he had been shown while connected to Otherlife. Atlas had said all of the incidents had been related….

No. He was not going there. He just wanted to get home and relax.

Rigel skirted the busier streets quickly and finally reached Green Park. His apartment stood right across the park itself, on the far side and about ten minutes away by foot. It was technically faster for him to get off at Terraces Station, which was one block away from his apartment, but he preferred to have some time to walk under the trees and unwind after stressful days. This definitely counted as one. Determined, he made himself enjoy the scenery as he walked.

Green Park was the second-largest green area in Aurora, a sizable expanse of grass and trees that was defiantly maintained by the city government in spite of the merciless hot weather. Rigel had read somewhere that it cost a fortune to keep the grass from turning brown, and several environmental groups protested regularly, arguing that the water squandered in the park could be put to better use in some of the slums that bordered the growing sprawl that was Aurora. Rigel agreed with them somewhat, but like most people who had never lived anywhere else, he found Green Park enjoyable and attractive, a welcome respite from the spiny and sparse desert vegetation that thrived around the rest of the city. During the day, the tall trees provided a welcome shade from the sun. At night, they made the air cooler. Rigel would sometimes run around the park during the weekends, stopping by the artificial lake to stare over the waters. It was there that he usually got his best inspiration for new art pieces and designs. When he had still been able to paint, he would occasionally bring a tablet and a stylus with him to one of the benches and sit down to sketch. Remembering that brought a wry grin to Rigel’s lips. One more thing he could not do anymore.

The calm atmosphere of the park was helping him, though. As he followed the footpaths, Rigel tried to let the gentle breeze and whispering leaves help him get rid of his growing headache. He looked up at the night sky, cloudless as always and full of bright stars. The light pollution coming from the city obscured all but the brightest ones, but it was still nice to look up. He took a long, deep breath and made a mental note never to go on one of Misha’s crazy adventures again. That girl needed some limits.

Somebody was talking to him, but Rigel was so distracted with his thoughts that he did not realize it until they repeated the request.

“Sir? Excuse me, sir?”

Rigel looked around. There was somebody standing in the deep shadow of a tree off to his right, holding something large. He slowed down but did not stop entirely. Green Park was reasonably safe, but one had to be careful just in case. Besides, he was still jumpy from before.

“Yeah?” Rigel said.

“Do… do you know the way to Terraces Station?”

The figure came into the light of the main path hauling the large something with difficulty. It turned out it was a teenage girl with a tattered suitcase that was half as tall as her. Trailing behind her, staying back shyly, was a younger boy who was looking at Rigel with apprehension. They were both very thin, and although they were clean, their clothing looked little better than rags. Neither of them was wearing shoes.

Rigel stopped. “Sure.”

The girl looked quickly at the ground, then back at him. “Could you show us the way? Me and my brother are lost.”

Rigel felt a stab of pity. Some people used kids to scam passersby, but these two felt authentic. He couldn’t just leave them there. “Yeah, I’m headed that way now. Come along. I’ll show you.”

“Thank you,” the girl said. It was obvious that she was trying to sound much older than she looked.

Rigel started walking again but had to stop when it became evident from the dragging noises behind him that the girl was having trouble carrying the big suitcase and keeping up with him at the same time. The tattered thing used to have wheels, but they had fallen off long ago from the looks of it. Rigel looked at the single handle with dread. Carrying something that heavy would hurt his hands. Then he got angry with himself. He had to help.

“Here,” he told her, reaching for the suitcase. “I’ll carry that for you.”

She flinched at his sudden motion but let him take it. Her brother looked at Rigel’s wrist braces with wide eyes. They gleamed under the light from one of the park lamps.

“Are you a cyborg?” he said in a small voice.

“Jon!” the girl scolded him.

Rigel laughed. “No, buddy. Cyborgs don’t exist. I’m just as human as you.”

Jon didn’t seem convinced, but he nodded.

“Let’s go,” Rigel said. “It’s not far.”

It took them a little over five minutes to get to the north exit of the park. Five minutes of dragging the damn suitcase, and the thing was heavy. The kids were probably carrying everything they owned in the world inside it, the things too precious or essential to be left behind after they had escaped from whatever part of the slums they had been living in. The thought didn’t make it any lighter. Rigel alternated hands pulling the thing and gritted his teeth. He told himself to ignore the pain racing up his wrists. To make up for it, he walked quickly, and the siblings kept pace with him now that they weren’t encumbered by their baggage. When they had walked out of the park and a block down the road in the direction of the station, Rigel finally stopped. He set the bag down gratefully. The exertion had done nothing to help with his headache.

“Terraces Station is over there,” he told them, pointing. The clearly labeled sign with the Skytrain logo, a stylized
S
with a sleek train bisecting it, was visible nearby.

“Thank you,” the girl said solemnly, reaching for the suitcase. She didn’t smile.

There was an awkward pause. The girl started to speak once, then stopped. Her brother was looking at her anxiously.

Duh.
It hit Rigel suddenly that they probably didn’t have any money to get onto the train. The girl blushed with what he supposed was shame. After all, how would he feel working up the courage to beg a stranger for money?

“Um, hey,” Rigel cut in before she could speak. He began to dig furiously through his pockets. “Do you guys have your tickets already?”

The girl shook her head. Her brother echoed her gesture.

Rigel took out all the cash he had at hand. “Here, take this. It’s not much, just a few bills and random change. But it’s enough to get your brother and you on the train and maybe get something to eat. I bet you guys are hungry.”

Little Jon nodded furiously at that before being stopped by a quick look from his sister. The girl looked at Rigel, then at the money. She hesitated. Rigel nodded encouragingly. Then she all but snatched it out of his hands.

“Thanks,” she said, and the tone in her voice was softer.

“I got to go now,” Rigel said. “Good luck.”

He left before he could start getting all teary.

He got to his apartment fairly quickly after that, buzzed himself in, and started climbing the stairs. The elevator was still not working, so he was left with going up five flights before he reached his floor. He stopped in front of door 503 and fished out his keys. His right hand was already trembling, threatening more pain to come soon.

“Shit,” he swore. He turned the key and entered his apartment.

Loud unintelligible music greeted him. It came from Misha’s room, of course. He took off his shoes and dropped his keys in the bowl. Something smelled good. It was coming from the kitchen. He wandered over there and saw that Misha had already bought what appeared to be chocolate brownies. Grinning in anticipation, he walked over to the fridge and helped himself to some cold orange juice. After the heat outside and the sweat he had worked up by dragging that suitcase, the juice tasted like heaven.

The music abruptly cut off as he was putting the carton of juice back into the fridge.

“Aaron?” Misha called loudly. “You home?”

“Yeah!” Rigel replied. He tentatively poked one of the brownies.

There were footsteps behind him, and Rigel turned. Misha rushed over to hug him dramatically, wearing nothing but her bathrobe and with her hair still wet from the shower.

“Oh, honey, you’re finally home!” she exclaimed, and stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on Rigel’s lips.

Rigel stood stiff as a board, not reciprocating. Misha insisted for one more second, pressing her lips against his, and then she gave up with a snort of laughter.

Rigel raised an eyebrow. “What was that for?”

Misha managed to fake a wounded scowl. “You ignore me. You always do! We’ve lived together for months and… and… I just want to feel like a married woman again!”

“Misha, you are not a married woman.”

“Bastard!”

“Have you been drinking?” Rigel asked. “Or did you forget that you almost got us arrested four hours ago?”

Misha tried to look regretful, but she didn’t quite manage it. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I bought you the brownies you like as a heartfelt apology.”

“What happened to you? After they put us in those cells, I didn’t know what was going on. I was worried.”

“Well, my dad showed up,” Misha answered. “He almost had a heart attack. You should’ve seen him yelling. He thought he was going to lose his job, but then suddenly they told us that I was free to go. And that’s it. I left my dad in CradleCorp and came straight to the apartment. Want a brownie?”

Rigel rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I think that agreeing to live with you was a mistake. Do you have any idea of what the consequences could have been?”

“Aaron, you’re starting to sound like my father. I thought the point of us moving in together was not to have boring adults around? What with you being financially independent and all that.”

“Right. Because my parents died and left me some money.”

“I didn’t mean it that way! Come on, Aaron. I’m sorry. I really am. I thought it would be fun, but I never really got to hang out with you in Otherlife like I wanted. Your avatar sort of disappeared right at the beginning. What happened?”

“I’m not sure. This voice…. It started talking to me. Said its name was Atlas.”

Misha raised a carefully trimmed eyebrow. “A voice. Uh-huh.”

Rigel sighed with exasperation. “Look, I don’t know what it was. I’m just glad to be out of there. All I left with was a huge headache.”

He didn’t mention the incident with the exploding traffic drone. Somehow, he didn’t feel like bringing it up and reliving that awful near miss all over again.

Misha kept right on talking. “Yeah, I’m glad that’s over too. It wasn’t as good as I thought it would be, actually. I was thinking that just because half the city is hooked up to that thing every day doesn’t mean I have to do it too. Did you know that almost none of the really famous celebrities use Otherlife at all? I was reading that on the way home. This month’s issue of
Fame
had this article on how it’s kind of a status thing, having such an awesome life that you don’t need to fake a new one. I think that’s great.”

“I’m glad you’ve changed your life philosophy,” Rigel said. “I’m going to make a super late dinner now.” He walked to the fridge again and got out the vegetables he would need for the ratatouille he had decided to make. He took off his wrist braces, disassembled them carefully, and set them aside. Then he washed his hands and started doing the same with the vegetables. His left hand was trembling now too. He sighed.

Rigel started chopping up some tomatoes. He shouldn’t have dragged that heavy suitcase.

Misha started doing complicated things to her hair while he moved on to chopping the carrots. Those were tougher, and even though the knife was sharp, the effort he had to put into each of the downward chops was much greater. The first few stabs of pain raced up his wrist as white-hot warnings. He frowned. He was only chopping vegetables, for God’s sake, not bending metal with his bare hands. He persisted in the motions even though they hurt him.

“Is everything okay?” Misha asked him. “You look angry. Is your headache that bad?”

“No,” he said gruffly. “I’m fine.”

He stretched his forearms by bending his hands backward at the wrist like the doctors had suggested. He held the stretch for twenty seconds, then changed hands. It helped, but only slightly.

Rigel saw that Misha had noticed what he was doing, and he hurriedly finished with the carrots and moved on to the zucchini and eggplant. He was nearly done with them when the trembling got really bad. He lifted the knife, and it wavered in his grasp. He tried to set it to the damn vegetable but miscalculated and struck his finger instead. He swore and tried again, getting angrier by the second. As he pushed the blade down in a chopping motion, the pain in his forearm intensified. He gritted his teeth, blushing because he knew Misha was watching him, and she knew perfectly well what was going on.

She stood up. “I’m done with my hair, and you still have to go take a shower after our adventure. Why don’t I finish that so we can eat before we starve?”

“I’m fine,” Rigel muttered. He grabbed the knife again and tried to keep on chopping. His grip had no strength.

“Aaron…,” Misha said. She put her hand on his shoulder.

“I said I’m fine!” Rigel exploded, shaking free of her touch. He took a step back, facing her. He still had the knife in one hand, but it was shaking as badly as the hand itself.

Misha looked at him with awful understanding and a bit of pity he could not bear. For once, she did not sound like a spoiled teenager. “Aaron. Put that away.”

He was stubbornly motionless for a second but finally surrendered and put the knife on the table.

“Hold out your hands,” she asked of him.

He did. The right hand was shaking more than the left one, as usual, but it was painfully obvious he was in no condition to keep on chopping vegetables. He held both hands in the air for a couple seconds and then stuffed them in his pockets, ashamed.

“You haven’t had a relapse in weeks,” Misha said, glancing over at the metallic wrist braces on the kitchen counter. “What happened?”