Born of Silicon

Book 5 Chapter 42

When things finally settled down, Drew interrupted me reading in my room through the intercom.

“Cassie? Silver wants to talk to you.”

“Alright.”

I closed my book and set it on my dresser before heading downstairs. The place was so empty in those days. I couldn’t even hear anything from my room, and it was a rare day when I ran into anyone in the hallways. 

It was a lonely walk to Silver’s office, and I let myself in.

“Cassie, perfect. First off, I’m sorry for being so distant, and I want to fix that. I have a meeting in a few moments, and I’d like you to attend.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because politics are a skillset everyone should have. You don’t have to come, but it would be an excellent chance to learn.”

I glanced down at my stained shirt and pants.

“Should I change?”

“Yes.”

“Ok.” I was really unsure, but I went upstairs. Silver had never steered me wrong before. They picked me up a few nice sets of clothes when they filled out my wardrobe, although I really hated them. I put them on regardless and headed back downstairs, trying to get the tangles out of my hair with my fingers.

When I stepped back into their office, they nodded and stood up. They lead me around the edge of the city and into the compound of another scrapping gang. Both of us went inside and into a big meeting room. They took a seat, and I stood awkwardly behind them.

Holy shit meetings are boring. I was a menace, fidgeting and tapping my foot. I caught some glares, but nobody ever said anything. The worst part was that the meeting went on for hours. When they finally made their deal and we left, the relief was palpable.

“What did you learn?” Silver asked on the way home.

“Fuck all.”

Silver gave me a side eye at that.

“What! I can curse now, right?”

“Sure, if you really want.” They shrugged. “Now, the important parts of the meeting were…”

My eyes glazed over on the way home. I didn’t process a single word. Even when we got back to their office, they kept trying to teach me.

“If you hate this, why not go talk with Vince? He’s training people in the range.”

I’m certain I made a face. Just because I wasn’t afraid of him didn’t mean I wanted anything to do with him.

“He’s no longer worth fearing anymore. If you’re willing, he deserves a second chance after he reinvents himself.”

“I’m just going to go read.” I answered.

“Alright. Here.” They reached into their desk and handed me a physical book. “Let me know how you enjoy this one.”

“Ok.”

I headed back to my room, changed to comfortable clothes, and got cozy. Reading was nice, but in reality, I was just waiting until the sun went down.

As soon as it got late, I grabbed my gun, a box of ammo, and headed down to the range.

I found it occupied, a single person firing slowly, rhythmically. He glanced to the side, and was surprised to see me.

“Cassie?” Vince asked. “I’m surprised you’re here this late.”

I took an aisle and spread out my gear. We didn’t have the air guns back then.

“Why are you using her gun?” I asked.

“I left mine behind, and this one’s good.” He shrugged. “Might be able to do some good for once too.” He aimed, fired, and shook his head before putting the gun on the table, grabbing some tools, and messing with it.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“It took a hit during the last fight and I never got around to fixing it. I think the rail shifted, throwing the sight off.”

I turned my attention to the range and started shooting. Silver didn’t have a ton of time to teach me with live ammo, doing so would annoy the fuck out of Mara. I was rusty. I could hit center mass at fifteen feet, but anything more than that was inconsistent.

“You’d be more accurate using both hands.” Vince said.

“I need a free hand for my knife.”

“Right.” He stayed quiet for a minute before continuing. “You can still brace your shooting hand on your other one, wrist to wrist.” He put down his tools and demonstrated.

I ignored his advice and kept trying on my own. I kept missing. When I finally bothered to try, it turned out he was right. It made my stationary shooting way more consistent, even if it’s useless while moving quickly.

The two of us silently put a couple hundred rounds downrange. Vince took his rifle apart and put it back together dozens of times, trying to get it perfect. Eventually he started putting rounds through the direct center, slowly widening the hole on the target.

“Why are you here this late?” He asked.

I was trying to avoid him, but I didn’t want to say that.

“It’s quiet.”

“Right, your ears. I always forget about those.” I could tell he felt hurt and was just handing me an excuse, letting me not say the real reason.

“Yeah.” I took it.

When I started to run out of ammo, Vince took out a key and let himself into Jade’s armory. He reappeared with a few more boxes of ammo for me.

“Hey, I want to apologize.”

“For?” I asked.

“For not doing anything earlier. For letting things get that bad. For not wanting to see reality. For dragging you along for that long. For being a fucking idiot. Take your pick.”

I didn’t respond.

“Have a good night.” He left me alone. I burned through most of those bullets, just keeping enough to keep my magazines fully loaded.

The next night I went to the range again, and again he was there. It became a little routine for us. I’d walk in, he'd nod, and we’d silently shoot. I felt conflicted. It felt so much like what Dad and I did. If I didn’t think about anything, it was nice. The second that thought popped into my head though? I had to leave.

Eventually it got too much. I was enjoying it, enjoying the familiarity in it. Those thoughts kept dominating my mind. I couldn’t keep showing up. I couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. I needed somewhere else to be though. 

The compound started to get more packed as people steadily joined. It started to get louder, loud enough for me to hear shit from my room. Silver had guards posted on the roof 24/7, it wasn’t uncommon for more established scrappers to attack new gangs, remove the competition early. There was only one place quiet enough I could think of.

I went downstairs and found the lab door unlocked.

The place was clean, sparse. Computers lined the walls, their fans roaring, but constant. I could tune them out. In the middle of the room, Drew laid on a metal bed, formed to his body. A number of tubes could be extended to connect to ports distributed across his body, although I have no idea what for.

“Cooling.” I answer. “His brain was partially cooked during the fight for Arc City. He couldn’t handle much more brain trauma, so Silver set him up with the nicest chair they could. Those tubes could connect to his arteries, and the chair was a giant cooler, capable of regulating his internal temperature. It kept him safe, even during intense fights.”

“Shit, got it.”

“Cassie.” The bed pivoted vertically, and he stepped out, a thick cord still running from a few points on his head, and back to the machine. He greeted me with his glowing smile. “What brings you down here?”

“There’s nowhere else quiet.” I answered.

“Make yourself at home. And if you need anything, just ask.” He stepped back into his bed, which flipped horizontal once again.

I found a chair and began to read. 

Drew was the single most patient man I’ve ever known. I stayed down there for six hours, and he didn’t say a word. He had to get up a few times, for food, water, or the bathroom, but he just offered a reassuring smile and went about his business without a sound.

I only went back to my room when I was literally falling asleep in my chair. The next night I did exactly the same thing, and still he never said a word. I have no doubt he would have been comfortable doing that every night for the rest of his life, still never saying a word.

I eventually decided to talk though.

“What do you do here?” I asked.

“Art, mostly. Diving is far quieter than it was a few years ago, now that everything is pretty disconnected. As for my job though? I watch the cameras and stop anyone from poking around through the few computers our little compound is networked with.”

“That sounds boring.”

“It’s just as lonely as it is freeing.” He answered. “No limitations, no restraints, nothing holding me back, and nobody to share it with.”

I had no idea how to answer that. Hell, I still wouldn’t know today.

“It’s a lot like reading.” He continued. “Limited only by your imagination, but I can’t imagine most scrappers are interested in hearing your opinions on your book or what happened in there, no matter how real it feels to you.”

“What kind of art do you do?” I didn’t really care, but it was literally the only question I could think to ask.

“A little bit of everything, but probably less than you would expect.” The few monitors spread throughout the room displayed an array of paintings. We still have most of them, but it’s been years since I last looked. I should really fix that. I remember most of them were abstract, and I’m sure if you asked him, he could point out a thousand tiny meanings. 

“How long did this take?” I asked.

“Well over a year of active painting time. I could go faster, but the fun of art is in the doing, not the having. I slow myself down while I work, take my time, consider every digital stroke. When I first underwent my surgery, I did exactly that, made thousands in the blink of an eye. It killed my love of art for a few years.”

“I don’t get it. Isn’t more better?” I asked.

“A cake you baked tastes better than a cake you’ve been given.”

I just shrugged. I definitely wasn’t the person to talk about art with. No, that’d be Ivy in a few years.

“Wait.” I interrupt the story once again. “Ivy, in the AI City, you said you didn’t know much about art?”

“I don’t.” She says. “Not in comparison.”

“What are you reading?” Drew asked.

“Nothing.” I wasn’t about to tell someone I just met that I was getting lost in romance books every night.

“Well are you enjoying Nothing?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. That’s all that matters.”

Our conversation died there, and I continued to come back most nights. Almost all of them were silent, but we talked occasionally. It was a nice escape, having someone who’d be as patient as I needed. Someone who wasn’t always busy at least.