Calypso-15

9 - Death

The woman waiting for me was not Mama, only echoes of memory remaining in the present. She was dressed in a neat pastel pink suit, in the same color of the coat. Her hands, which were nimble and delicate, were dressed up in leather gloves. Her hair was in a tight chiffon. She never did her hair like that of her own accord. Always unbrushed, or barely held together in a bun. A ghost. A reincarnation. I didn't mean to, but I recoiled from her. 

"Oh, Ada," tears filled her eyes, glass water reflecting a cold light. If I looked close enough, I would be able to see a scared little girl. 

"Mama? Why aren't you dead?" I immediately cringed, out of all the things to say... "I mean, I'm so glad you aren't but why..."

"Why did I pretend?" The banker beckoned us out. A sleek black car waited outside. The kind rich people use to get around. Mama reached a gloved hand out towards me, and I allowed her to caress my face. I saw her dead on the factory floor, her hair matted with blood. In her eyes was an absence so great where a soul used to be. She stared up at that factory ceiling, a perverse kind of hope upon her face. She always believed. This woman before me had no belief in anything. I thought I believed, but looking upon her I realized that I was just a young, stupid child who knew nothing. "You deserve answers, but I cannot give you everything now. Not in public." 

The car took us into a deep, dark night. Even the stars slept. I watched the passage of buildings and then lights, and then nothing. We were going to the rich people neighborhood, where the houses were large and few between. Mama sat watching the window with me. A deep seated despair clawed up inside me. She abandoned me. Left me with that man. To go here. To be rich. Something I was taught to despise- no one got rich without the military. Money flowed like blood, and to become wealthy was to suck the artery of a dying society.

"You must be so tired. Wilde has you working the hours of a slave."

"It was better than being at home."  A futuristic house illuminated in lighted ovals. Gaudy. "When can I go home?" 

"This is your home now. I cannot have you in a location your father knows." 

"But what about Calypso?" 

"We will arrange for that work to be transferred here."

"Sorry if this too forward, but what do you do now?" 

Mama smiled at me, the sad smile of someone about to say something horrendous. "I head the division of artificial intelligence." 

The D-AI. She was responsible for the Calypso program, the robotic assassins used to create worldwide American dominance. Papa called it America. Everyone else called it The State. Unify the world around the values of dignity and freedom. Something, something. I never cared to learn. There was always something more valuable to do, like look for the next gig, scavenge dinner, or avoid Papa when he was angry.  

"But military leaders aren't allowed to have children," I was outside myself, watching myself converse with Mama from outside the car.

"No. You are now contingent worker of the military. And free of... Ger." She said his name as a whisper, as though catching herself from falling. "Oh, my daugher!" She wrapped me in her arms as the car stopped and we rocked back and forth. She smelled of vanilla and coffee. Mama had never worn perfume before. 

---

I walked into the lab, feeling rested. A combination of the softest sheets and strongest medicine meant I slept a total of twelve hours. Each night I barely slept more than six hours, always vigilant. There was no barrier anymore. Calypso stood to the side of the desk, her arms crossed. Her face showed concern and danger. Her jaw clenched, but her eye brows were furrowed delicately, like she was listening to something. 

"You've never spoken to me about your father," she said, and pointed for me sit. "And he almost killed you." 

I sat. "He just wanted to leave." Calypso leaned down over me. There was no computer to monitor. Just her. 

"He purchased a gun." On my credits, that ungrateful dickhead!

"I'm sure he has his own affairs to attend to." To never hear of my father again would be a blessing greater than solving world peace. Calypso lifted a hand tentatively, then lowered it, seemingly thinking better. How sweet the touch of a love greater than any other. "What's new with you?"

"I completed my first mission," she looked away from me. I shouldn't ask. I shouldn't ask. 

"Who was it?" I looked up to a tuft of perfectly sleeked back red hair. As the tendrils of fuzz ended, thick wires peeked out and subsequently disappeared by way of collar.

"Valeriu Costache Marjanović, age fifty-three. He ran a brothel, treated the girls abysmally. Many reports of murders and sexual misconduct. His attention to detail earned him a reputation among many of the government officials. He was using their preferences to blackmail them. I found him in a suburban complex. He pleaded for the life of his daughter, Masha, age two. Masha was not a part of the assignment, I duly informed him this. Would you like me to tell you how I killed him?"

"Yes." No. 

"Knife between the eyes," she turned towards me. Her pointer finger reached for my forehead, and an electric thrill ran down me as she traced the center line down my face. "Then down, slowly. His function left him, in enough time to contemplate the lives of the girls I listed in his right ear. Inaya. Emily. Ivy. Aria. Gigi." The glow of Calypso's eyes, and her content expression held me captive in such a novel way. Even if I wanted to look away, to un-tilt my head away from her, my body would disobey. I wanted... more. To pursue this desire would be madness. "And I thought of you, my little rabbit. How he hunted girls just like you. I contributed to your safety by killing him."

It's Saturday!