Technocracy: Saera/Marin

Saera tapped her stylus idly on the screen that was her desk. Her silver white eyes drifted absently over the blank canvas, dotted here and there by the black digital ink that the tip of her stylus produced. Her eyes grew half-lidded, and she sifted through the mostly-empty miasma of her current thoughts. A flicker came across her mind, then, and she began to write.

A turning

In and out,

Over, over,

Drifting, gazing

But then her thoughts went dead, and the little inspiration she had felt withered and crumpled. Saera sighed and glanced out the window. It was the third week of September, and the first hints of real Autumn were beginning to glimmer into the world. The trees wavered in winds from the North, not yet harsh but not gentle, really, either; and these same trees were beginning to forsake their greenery, to tinge their leaves with the golds and reds and oranges and browns of Fall.

A leaf came loose from the tree nearest the window. Saera watched it drift, watched it sway and dance in the air, blown by the wind. It looped, and spiraled, and she could almost feel the touch of the breeze that blew it, as if that same breeze were caressing her skin. “Hmm,” she hummed.

“Ms. Alhimov?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Can you tell us what purpose the dog serves in Staniston’s poem?”

Saera did not stutter or hesitate: “It is generally assumed that the dog is his thoughts on his marriage, which we learn has fallen apart. It wanders around him, increasingly out of his reach and sight, and at the end when he runs to get it, it merely runs off into the night. A symbol for his lost relationship with his wife.”

“Very good,” said the teacher. “Now, there has been some disagreement…”

“I’m never gonna figure out how you do that,” said Marin, leaning over and whispering into her ear.

“I read,” said Saera. “I pay attention, too.”

“You don’t look like you’re paying attention.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” said Saera, staring down at her desk again.

Twenty minutes later, the bell rang, and everyone left their desks and headed for the exit. “So I’m thinking we should go to the mall tomorrow,” said Marin. “It’s been a while since we’ve been, and I want to start looking at shoes for later in the Fall.”

“I suppose that might not be so bad,” said Saera, tugging at the hem of her sweater as she stood in the doorway.

That evening, Saera sat in her room, tapping a pen on a notebook. She did not always write with paper, but she wondered, sometimes, whether she should do it more frequently. Perhaps it would help her organize her thoughts.

Though of course it was proving of little help now. She had several lines and fragments sketched out across the ruled sheets, but for all that she attempted to will herself forward, no sustained poetic work had yet produced itself. She looked out the window. The wind was whipping, and dark gray clouds were gathering in the swiftly deepening evening red. It looked like a vision of the netherworld.

Into the hellish pits they all go down,

About the fiery gates the worthless fall,

And so

“Hmm,” hummed Saera. She’d lost it again. She’d thought she’d had… something. Yet it proved beyond her reach, for all her efforts. She thought she could feel an idea, a really good idea, lurking in the background of her thoughts, hiding in the grass, some predator that was stalking her but had not yet pounced. She was just waiting for it to spring upon her. How long would it take?

She tapped at her phone.

>Marin?

Marin was lying on her bed with her shoes off. She was using a remote controller to play games on the screen that projected onto her wall. She wasn’t a particularly avid gamer; it was mostly just something she did when she felt especially bored. This was a simple roleplaying game, with basic player classes: Fighter, Thief, Mage, so on. She liked to play Mage best; Marin had always had a fondness for magic, whether in games or in stories or in pictures hung on the wall. So she played, pushing buttons that made her character blast spells from their wand. But her phone twinkled next to her, so she hit pause and grabbed it up. Saera had messaged her.

>Marin?

Marin’s thumbs twittered across the screen.

>Yeah?

>Have you had any good ideas lately?

Marin made a face.

>What’s that mean?

>I am trying to write a poem, but I’m having trouble.

>Just don’t worry about it. You’re so good at it! You’ll come up with something, you always do.

The phone was silent after this. Marin waited. Tempting as it was to go back to her game, Saera often replied abruptly after long stretches of silence, and Marin wanted to make sure she wasn’t going to miss anything.

But she got tired of waiting, so she decided to press the issue:

>You’re still on for the mall tomorrow, right?

>Yes.

>Great! We’ll pick you up around 11:00. We can have lunch there!

>All right. I shall see you then.

“That should take care of her for the evening,” said Marin, returning to her game. Meanwhile, Saera stared out at the sky as the evening darkened, as the dull and ruddy red of the setting sun tinged the clouds with a color not dissimilar to blood.

The next morning, Saera sat down at the breakfast table wearing a pale blue dress and white tennis shoes. Aemelia set her breakfast of waffles down in front of her. Saera took the bottle of syrup that had also been placed, and carefully circled the waffles with a heavy, sticky stream, making a perfect moat around her meal. Then she ate, cutting carefully with fork and knife.

“Marin and her mother will text when they’re here, won’t they?” asked Aemeila.

“Yes,” said Saera.

Aemelia smiled. “Be careful that you don’t let Marin buy you anything pricey. Last time you all went to the mall, I couldn’t believe the shoes you came back with.”

Saera’s silver eyes twitched up from her waffles.

Aemelia shook her head. “It’s good that she’s so generous. And they are nice. But you have to stand on your own two feet.”

“I know, Mama.”

Aemelia sighed. “Just be careful, sweetie.”

“I shall, Mama.”

Saera dithered around her room for the next hour, trying again to conjure the creative energy to write a poem. It was strange—she could feel the hints of a creative impulse, rolling around her mind. Since last night, it had been there. The urge to write a poem was there. The expectation. She could feel the impulse to have something come out. But nothing would come. It was like a dry heave. Something should have been coming out, but it wasn’t.

>Here!

She shook her head and slipped her phone into the pocket of her dress. “I’m going, Mama!” she called over her shoulder as she walked through the main hallway to the front door.

“There you are!” said Marin, standing at the open door of her mother’s car. Marin was wearing white jeans and a deep purple blouse. “Come on, let’s go!” And Saera, dutifully responding, climbed into the sleek and rounded car after her.

“How’s your mother, Saera?” asked Bellona as the car drove itself on its way.

“She’s doing well, Ms. Meni,” said Saera. “I hope you are doing well, also.”

“So I was thinking we’d go to Empyrean first, because they have a bunch of cute shoes that I’d love to look at,” said Marin, interrupting the conversation between her mother and her friend. “Oh, I also definitely want to check out Hi-Fi, their new Fall sweaters are in and they look super cute.”

“That sounds fine,” said Saera.

“Speaking of sweaters, did you see that ugly thing Becky was wearing the other day?” Marin barked a laugh. “She looked like some nasty pink carpet!”

“It was very… shaggy,” said Saera.

“It was awful! I can’t even believe her mom let her leave the house wearing it.”

“It didn’t go very well with those green pants of hers, either,” said Saera.

“That girl needs an intervention, she constantly looks like trash. She’s lucky I haven’t made her pay for it in the middle of the hallway.”

“Marin,” said Bellona over her shoulder.

“Mom, you haven’t seen her! She’s terrible!” Marin swept her hair over her shoulder. “Some people just need tough love.”

Swinging from street to street, the car eventually reached the shopping mall downtown, which was three stories tall and took up an entire city block, in addition to two stories below street level. Self-driving cars were everywhere, slipping in and out of spaces, and though it was Saturday and the parking garage was quite full, Bellona’s car was able to find a space quite close to the entrance, snugly tucking in its side mirrors as it pulled between two other cars.

“Girls, would you like some ice cream?” asked Bellona.

“Yes!” said Marin.

“I am not sure,” said Saera. “I don’t want to cost you too much, Ms. Meni.”

Bellona smiled warmly back at her, her green eyes both like and unlike the eyes of her daughter. “Saera, you’re family. You always are. You know that. You’re always welcome with us. It’s no trouble at all. Just say if you’d like it or not.”

Saera smiled gently. “Yes, I should like some.”

“Then it’s settled. Come along,” said Bellona, leading the two teenagers through the sliding glass doors.

They got their ice cream in short order; the parlor was not far from the entrance. Saera got a bowl with two scoops of strawberry ice cream. Marin got a cone, with a scoop of butterscotch and a scoop of peanut butter. They sat and ate, Marin continuing to gossip and pass judgment on Becky and all the rest of her fellow students, as Saera sat, eating quietly, offering a comment from time to time.

When they were finished they walked a ways, and took an upwards escalator; this put them on the ground floor of the mall, having previously been underground. Marin strutted forward, black hair flaring behind her, catching the light of the bright Autumn day shimmering through the vertical windows high above. She’d been to the Atlanta Omniplex Mall countless times throughout her life. She knew exactly where she was going. Bellona followed behind her, with Saera carefully bringing up the rear. It wasn’t as though Saera was unfamiliar with the mall. She’d been coming here for quite a long time, as well. But she wasn’t as eager to get where she was going as Marin was.

But they reached it, in the end: a store that was clean and white, with bright, soft lighting lining its walls and ceilings. Empyrean was its name, spelled out above its entrance in looping, swirling script, and Marin was already pressed against the windows, beaming with bright wide smile at the sights contained therein. “Oh, oh, there they are!” she said to Saera over her shoulder as the blonde girl came in close. “See, those flats are new! So are those boots!”

“Oh, those are pretty,” said Saera, pointing up at the glass.

“Do you want them?” Marin asked, turning to her friend and beaming at her with a bright smile and those deep, glimmering sapphire blue eyes.

Saera’s silver gaze flickered and bent itself away from Marin’s stare. “I mean… they are nice, but I’ve already got boots.”

“Not like those! Look at the fringes! They’re super cool. They’d go with your green pants!”

“Marin, I don’t want you to—”

“Come on, let’s at least try them on!” said Marin, taking Saera by the wrist and dragging her into the store.

Just then, over both girls’ shoulders, there came a soft chirping. “Ah,” said Bellona, “I have to go take this call, Marin. You two get started without me, I should be back soon.”

“Don’t worry, mom!” said Marin, flashing her mother a salute. “We’ll be just fine,” and she smiled smugly as she said it. Bellona nodded, and turned off towards the left, as Marin hurtled into Empyrean, dragging Saera in her wake.

“Those boots,” said Marin as a tall red-haired attendant came up to them.

“Hello, Ms. Meni, it’s nice to see you again,” said the attendant, putting on a pleasant smile. “I was wondering—”

“Those boots,” said Marin, flicking her finger at the white boots on the pedestal nearby. “Could you get me a size 7 in those?”

“Of course, Ms. Meni,” said the attendant. “Would you like anything else?”

“Some water,” said Marin, with a wave of her hand.

“Yes ma’am!” said the attendant brightly, nodding and blinking her blue eyes. She hurried off through a door at the back of the store.

Saera smiled, somewhat uncertainly. “I do love the way you order people around when you’re in here,” she said.

“You could do it too,” said Marin. “Come on, you’re pretty and charming. It’s not hard.”

“It is harder than you make it look.”

“Nah,” said Marin. “You just need to have some confidence.” She smiled then, and it was not the smirk of before, but something gentler and softer. “You could do it, Saera. You could…” she waved a hand, “command people. Get them to do what you want! You’ve got it in you.”

“I don’t know,” said Saera.

“Here you are, Ms. Meni,” said the attendant, returning with the translucent plastic box. Saera peered down into it, it arriving in her field of vision before it arrived in Marin’s. There they were, those pretty white boots. And they were pretty, to Saera, and she did, against her own reservations, begin imagining how they would look, what she would pair them with.

“Ah, they’re for her,” said Marin, taking the glass of water that the attendant held in her other hand. She took a quick gulp from it. “Go on, Saera, try them on!”

Saera flinched backwards as the attendant brought the boots in front of her. Her long, pale fingers wiggled, just a little, as she stood there, regarding the box that was offered to her. The attendant even took the lid off, allowing her an unobstructed view of the boots. They were finely made, their leather of high quality, their stitching tight and professional. The fringes did look quite good. Her silver eyes twitched.

“Ma’am, did you want to try these on?”

“Um,” No. “Yes, yes I shall.”

“Great! If you’ll just come over here…”

So the attendant led her to a plush, white velvet seat, where Saera sat, and with a squirming heart took her white tennis shoes off. The attendant smiled bouncily at her, and pulled the right boot wide, allowing Saera to slide her thin feet into its open mouth. The attendant, with expert fingers, laced the boot’s gray laces, tying them up the length of Saera’s shin. Saera, with a wiggling chest, allowed her to do the same for her left leg.

“Okay, stand up and let me know how they feel.”

Pushing off, Saera rose. The boots had a moderate heel, not flat but not very high, either. They were not gaudy, merely impressive. And, thinking on it, Saera wondered if they did not complement her dress. They were, indeed, quite nice.

And Marin certainly thought so. “Those look great!” she said, blue eyes bright and wide.

“They do… look very nice,” said Saera, taking a moment to glimpse them in a mirror.

“Oh, hey, please bring me a pair of those black shoes,” said Marin, pointing at a pair on display, on another pedestal.

“Your usual size, Ms. Meni?” said the attendant.

“No, I think I’ve gone up a half-size,” said Marin. “Bring me an 8.”

“Right away!” And the attendant scurried off towards the back of the store again.

“Cool boots!” said Marin, swelling close to Saera.

“They… are very nice,” said Saera.

“Nice enough that you want them?” said Marin, coming ever closer. Saera smiled primly. Marin grinned, showing off her bright teeth. And Saera, not for the first time in their friendship, smiled uneasily at her friend. Marin beamed at her, pure brightness and joyfulness. Perhaps a bit too bright, a bit too joyful.

“Ah!”

“It’s coming, come on.”

“It’s almost here, I’m scared, Dada!”

“Hm?” said Saera. A flood of warm relief bathed her, but amid it there was the twitch of strangeness and the distant prick of fear. She turned, still a bit unstable in the boots. “What?”

“Whaaaat?” said Marin, gazing where her friend was gazing, seeing what she saw: the visitors to the mall on this Saturday afternoon were all moving in the same direction. They were either running or swiftly walking all to the right, all away from something—something the two of them could not see, could not even hear, somewhere in the leftward direction.

“Strange,” said Saera.

“Weird,” said Marin. She glanced at Saera. “Should we go check it out?”

Saera smiled, and Marin smiled, and all Saera’s discomfort was gone, and she remembered all over again why Marin was her best friend. “Yes, I should say we should. Let’s go.”

“Okay,” said Marin. “Gonna leave the boots on?”

“Well they are already on,” said Saera, striding for the entrance of the store.

“Goody,” said Marin, following behind her. “They really do look good on you!”

“I just don’t want you to spend money on my account, Marin,” said Saera, trotting into the tiled middle of the suddenly-empty mall avenue.

“You know I like to do it!” said Marin, hurrying after her. “Come on, Saera, it’s not like the money matters much.”

“It’s just…” Saera turned, and faced Marin fully. “I do not want to be in your debt.”

“It’s a gift,” said Marin. “Freely given. It always is.” She looked up at Saera. “What’s wrong?”

“I do not want to feel…” Saera twitched her eyes to the side, a quick and sudden silver movement quiet like the breeze.

“Feel what?”

“Sh,” said Saera, holding up a hand, half prudent, half grateful. “Listen.”

Marin was silent, then, and could hear, with Saera, the trodding and the thumping of heavy feet, of metal feet. They could hear the metal, feel the metal, both of them, and they shared a gaze, silver white meeting sapphire blue, because both could know and could suspect what was about to come around the corner. Yet they were both in disbelief, of what they knew was coming, because it was a thing neither of them had ever seen before.

Yet, indeed, it came, striding upon three-toed metal feet, walking upon long, lean metal legs, its metal torso glinting in a dark gray and yet bright shine, yet a brilliance, its shoulders metal, narrow, but with strength, and long and metal limbs that ended in great servos, claws that hung, nervous and uncertain, at its sides. Its long, spindly neck ended in a sharp and birdlike head, where green eyes, diodes, gleamed brightly in the tranquil daylight of the mall.

With its body dully glinting, made of metal dark,

It advanced upon them, servos whining very soft.

The robot at last came to a halt in front of Saera and Marin. They had not run, though Marin at least had felt the temptation. But they had stood their ground. Saera had gripped Marin’s wrist tightly, and the two girls had shared a glance. But they had not run. And now the great machine twitched with the whine of servos in the suddenly silent space.

“Hello.”

The voice sounded as though it had come from a reverberating microphone, in an empty auditorium.

“H-Hi,” said Marin, grinning nervously.

“Hello,” said Saera, silver eyes unblinking as she stared up at the robot.

“Am lost. Cannot determine coordinates. What metropolis is this?”

“Oh, uh, metropo...lis?”

“He means city,” said Saera. “This is Atlanta. In the United States.”

“Atlanta.” The robot’s gunmetal head twitched to the right. “Old city. Not same as before. Been changed. Been altered.”

“Really?” Marin said, eyes wide. “What was it like before?”

“Poorer. Smaller. Reduced. Reduced by long time. Wrecked by Ravaging. Lain dormant for a thousand years.”

“A thousand?” Marin said, mouth open wide.

“It has only been five hundred years since the Ravaging,” said Saera.

“That what you are told here?” said the robot. Its green eyes glinted. “Not true.”

“And why should we trust you?” said Marin, the aggression in her voice undermined by the way it also trembled. “You’re not even human.”

“No. Not human. Not born of womb. Artificial.” The robot tapped its metal chest. Then, with long, clawlike fingers, it reached out, and bent. Marin and Saera stood their ground, both of them strangely calm. The robot poked a finger at Saera’s chest, then at Marin’s. “You. You. Artificial, also.”

“What?” asked Marin.

“What?” echoed Saera.

“Oh, oh, there you are,” came the voice. Both girls turned. Bellona was hurrying towards them, her black pantsuit billowing slightly in her motion. The robot pulled away from both teenage girls as she approached. Its green eyes glimmered. Its movements were rocky, and its servos whined as it balanced uneasily in a backwards flinch. Saera’s silver eyes flickered back and forth, from the robot to Bellona. The robot’s reaction to Marin’s mother was instantly strange. It almost seemed… afraid of her.

“Hello,” said the robot, its voice changed, somehow.

“You are not supposed to be here,” said Bellona. Marin’s blue eyes now flickered towards her mother. There was a note in Bellona’s voice that Marin was not used to hearing. But Bellona’s own eyes moved to her daughter’s, and when she spoke next, it was in her usual voice. “Sweeties, are you all right? It didn’t hurt you, did it?”

“No, mom,” said Marin. “It’s just been talking to us.”

“What did it say?”

“Nothing,” said Saera very fast. She stared hard at Marin with wide silver eyes. “Just asking us where it was.”

Marin nodded. “Yeah, nothing much.”

“Come on, this way!”

The three females turned. A gaggle of police were running towards them. Their uniforms were black, with red trim. The one at the head of the group approached the robot. “Robot, you know you’re not permitted within Atlanta city limits. Official city ordinance.”

“Am sorry. Did not mean to offend.”

“It’s fine. We’re going to have to escort you out of city limits, though.”

“Very well.” The robot’s green eyes twitched to Bellona. “Did not mean to offend.” Then it turned back to Saera and Marin. “Goodbye. Fine to meet you.”

“Goodbye!” said Saera, with a happiness that surprised Marin.

“Uh, bye,” said Marin, waving gently.

The robot rose upon its long legs again. Towering above them all, it began to walk, hemmed in at all sides by the police who had become its escorts. It seemed strange, and comical, like fleas acting as escorts for an elephant. Yet it obeyed its overmatched handlers, and began to head, slowly, towards the exits of the mall. It cast one last glance over its shoulder, and its gunmetal claw gave a wave of farewell to Saera and Marin. Then it turned from them, and with heavy steps was gone from their midst.

“Awful,” said Bellona. “Robots know they’re not allowed in Atlanta. I don’t know what it thinks it’s doing here.” She cast gentle green eyes upon the teenage girls. “Are you all sure you’re all right? That was scary!”

“It wasn’t that scary,” said Marin. “He was nice, mom.”

“Well I’m just glad you two are all right.” Bellona’s eyes moved down to Saera’s feet. “Oh, those are those boots, Saera! Do you like them?”

Saera drew in a breath. She’d totally forgotten. But as she looked down, the very nice white boots from Empyrean were still laced tightly up her feet and ankles and calves. “I… I do like them,” she said. Now both Marin and Bellona were staring at her. Their eye colors were so different, but in this moment it was easy to see that Marin was her mother’s daughter. They both had a kind of clawing, pulling way of staring at you, a gaze that drew you in, that caught you up, that made you, almost against your will, a cooperator in their designs.

But she nodded firmly, and her silver eyes were bright and clear.

“I do like them, Ms. Meni,” she said. “But I should prefer that you not buy them for me. I have plenty of shoes already.”

“Are you sure?” asked Bellona.

“Yeah, are you sure?” asked Marin, beaming at her, sapphire blue eyes glimmering, dappling, Marin turning her charms to their maximum.

But with a cold, chill breeze, Saera nodded. “Yes, I am quite sure.”

“Aww,” said Marin, pouting.

“Well, I think it is good you are being responsible,” said Bellona. “It’s a thing you could stand to learn, Marin.”

“Sure, sure,” said Marin, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Now, come on,” said Bellona. “I suppose you need to give those boots back to the attendant.”

“Yes,” said Saera, who walked in shoes that were not hers back to the entrance of the store, Marin and then Bellona following in her wake.

“See you on Monday!” cried Marin, as Saera approached the front door of her house. Saera smiled brightly o’er her shoulder, and with gentle wave she bade her friend a fond farewell. Marin waved in turn, and the door of the self-driving car slid shut in front of the black-haired girl’s enthusiastic arm.

“Hmm,” said Saera, pulling on the latch and walking inside.

“Ah, hello there, sweetie,” said Aemelia, wearing clean white sweatpants and a blue t-shirt.

“Hello, Mama,” said Saera, silver eyes focusing and relaxing and focusing again upon her mother.

“How was the mall? Did you have a good time?”

Saera saw, before her mind’s eye, the robot looming in front of her, all its gunmetal and servos and its gleaming green diodes sharp and hard and clear before her mental view. She nodded. “Yes, it was fun!”

“Well, sweetie, I’m very glad to hear that.” Aemelia gave her a pensive look with her brown eyes. “Did Marin buy you anything?”

“She offered… but I turned her down.”

“Well, that’s good, honey. Thank you for listening to me.”

“Yes, Mama,” said Saera. She nodded, and then moved through the entrance, through the family room, down the hall to her room, with its door closed. She opened it, and shut it behind her, leaving herself ensconced in the peace and quiet of her own space.

She stood there, for just a moment. Her silver eyes were flick’ring, staring at nothing in particular. Then she moved to her desk. Pulling a notebook from a shelf, she grabbed one of her ink pens and began to write:

Metal like the hulking hulls of battleships of old,

Twisted and then finely shaped into delicate forms,

Comes together, forms together, limbs both long and lean,

Feet and hands with long, lean toes and fingers, much like claws,

And a torso gaunt and thin, as though it had been starved,

Though this creature does not eat at all.

And within its head are set its eyes, which gleam bright green,

Shining, glowing, like green stars within the heavens set:

Eyes that twinkle, glimmer, with a cold intelligence,

Linked to a computer that can function as its brain,

Which, though made of circuits, can feel warmth, and joy, and love,

All the feelings that humans can feel.

Wanderer upon the Earth, built oh, so long ago,

For a time you stepped into my city, and my life.

We spoke briefly, but you were not fright’ning, as I’d feared.

No: you were a friendly robot, courteous and kind.

You have gone now, I know not where, but I hope that we

Someday might see each other again.

Saera looked over the verses she had written on the page. And she smiled.