Page 25 of Coldwire
Dad usually wasn’t off yet when I returned from school, so I’d sit in the living room and get started on my homework. I had always known that Atahuan law mandated my attendance at a military academy once I finished eighth grade and graduated elementary. The official list of the top fifty military schools in Atahua never changed. Nile Military Academy was consistently number one, so that was where I would go.
I was diligent about my plan. Elementary started giving us assessments in the fifth grade, and I opened a new tab in the notes of my display solely for studying and keeping a schedule. If Tamera saw me zoning out at the coffee table, it wasn’t because I was watching a video on the feed. I was always trying to work out a problem before my eyes zigzagged around to type.
Tamera only logged out after dinner. She would go back to the Haven State house downcountry, where she insisted she liked the space for sleeping. Until it got late, though, she kept me company in upcountry Melnova. She’d bring me snacks to eat, then chop fruit for me to nibble on. From what I garnered, it was mostly Tamera who raised Dad, too, so she always fussed like his mother, complaining that he needed to let her know when he was coming back from work so she could get started on dinner.
I remember the last time we saw Uncle Chung in that apartment. Dad did send word that he was en route. When the front door opened, he was in conversation, something related to work. I wasn’t listening, not really. It wasn’t a big apartment, so they appeared in my peripheral vision as soon as they entered, but I had my display overlaid on 90 percent opacity. Algebra was a topic I struggled slightly with, and I was getting so close to solving forxon the hardest problem in the set.
“Hi, Lia,” Chung greeted.
“Hi,” I said back.
Dad walked into the kitchen. Chung took off his shoes.
“Lia,” Chung prompted again, and I knew what was coming. I abandoned my math problem and blinked away the display. “Cast is to bone as grand gesture is to…?”
A beat passed.
“Trust,” I answered.
Chung pointed a finger at me. “You’re getting too good at these. I’m going to have to think of some new ones.”
I snickered. “You mean your machines aren’t coming up with them for you?”
“The machines aren’t that smart yet. They’ll get there.”
Dad emerged from the kitchen then, a glass of whiskey in each hand, one perfect ice cube lodged like a buoy in the liquid. He passed one to Chung, freeing his hand to ruffle my hair when he walked by.
“How’s the homework coming along?”
“Good.” I opened my display again. “I think I’m better at solving analogies than solving forx.”
“That’s only because I hang around so much.” Chung’s voice echoed back over his shoulder as he followed my dad to his office. “Make your dad befriend a mathematician and you’ll be sorted.”
I knew what Uncle Chung did for work in the labs beside the Capitol Building. His area of study was language modeling. I only came up to his elbow, so I often wandered over to him when they were chatting and stood there until he noticed me and brought me into the conversation. His research would help our computers grow smarter. It was what would let engines like StrangeLoom react faster to commands. Funding was strong—investors fueled by the spirit of the cold war. The race to rule the world was, at the end of it, about technology. Atahua wanted to be the most powerful country in the world. Medaluo wanted to be the most powerful country in the world. When our world was virtual, whoever regulated that space won everything.
But Uncle Chung wasn’t trusted. He was bypassed for projects. He wasn’t given sensitive Atahuan data to work with.
All this I overheard, I understood, even at that age. After I hadn’t seen Uncle Chung around the house for almost a month, I asked Dad where he was, where he’d gone. It was the same answer, time after time, until I eventually forgot to keep asking:I don’t know.
“You know they won’t count this in your participation grades, right?”
I continue stretching on the gym mat. I heard Kieren’s footsteps the moment he came through the door, though he tried to stay quiet. He wanted to give me a fright, I’m sure. I don’t turn to face him.
“I actually want them to take some away,” I say. “I’ve too many. It’s unfair on you.”
“They definitely will when they see the broken lock.”
I swivel around, my legs still splayed. The gym was locked when I arrived, early enough that the sun wasn’t up yet. But I really needed to get in. “The lock is not broken.”
“It’s scratched, Ward.”
“It is not!”
Daylight presses into the tall windows only now, hints of red breaking over the horizon. It’s hard to stay tired upcountry. A lack of sleep is more a nuisance because nothing is open and no one is around, rather than a burden on our health. I’ve learned that if I push through the first few minutes of grog at 4:00 a.m., I’m wide awake before long. I should have known Kieren would be up at this time too.
“I suppose no one will be looking closely,” he relents. Kieren comes to a stop at the edge of my mat. He folds his arms.
We’re both dressed in civilian clothing, prepared for our injection into Medaluo’s server. Where I’ve gone for baggy and big, copying what I’ve seen on the feed for Medans my age, Kieren is still Atahuan to the bone, linen trousers and a collared shirt. He must have been up even earlier than me. He’s had the time to brush his hair until every strand is in order.
