Daughter of Zeus ✔

3.5

"Please don't say 'It's you, Ada. You're my daughter'."

Kressick laughed, and it was the sort of laugh that transformed a person. His face was beautiful to watch. Ada could see some of what her mother must have been attracted to. The thought made her uncomfortable.

"No, no," he said. "It's not you. Actually, I have a daughter at Harvard."

"Boston's a long way from Aurora," Ada noted.

"I came to Colorado on business."

Bullshit. His answer came smoothly, but Ada sensed a half-truth. The big businesses in Colorado included fracking and farming. Both were largely automated industries, and she felt he wasn't invested in either. Kressick didn't give her a chance to call him out.

"Why are you still here?" He rested his chin in his hand, looking more comfortable than Ada felt.

"Uh, what?"

"Weren't you planning a trip?"

He's more perceptive than I thought.

Either that, or her mother had shared her travel ambitions before falling ill. She could see her mother talking about her, putting all the facts in the form of questions, willing answers out of her boyfriend. Do you think, maybe, she might be going on a trip somewhere? Maybe like Atlanta? You do? Oh, I knew you would help me figure this out!

Ada's eyes stung suddenly.

"Right," she said. "I can't leave. Mom isn't getting better, and I don't know what I'm gonna do." She spoke rapidly, aware she had disclosed too much. Stupidly, she backpedaled: "But, I might leave...in a few days."

Now she was the one telling half-truths. By the end of the week, she was sure she'd still be in Aurora, and not in Atlanta.

"Hmm."

Ada worried Kressick saw through her excuses.

His brows met in the middle, and he looked younger for a moment. Ada wondered how old he was. A man of his means could afford laser tech to the face. He could be seventy and Ada would never know. Her mother was fifty-five. Kressick had to be somewhere around there.

"Where exactly are you going?" he ventured.

"Boston."

Kressick tilted his head slightly. "Where are you really going?"

"Far south of Boston."

Ada didn't say anymore.

"Is that all you're going to tell me?"

"Yes."

"Even if Boston isn't your stop, I'd like to come with."

This time, coffee did sputter from Ada's mouth. "How weird would that be?"

"Pretty weird, I'd wager. Regardless, your mother wouldn't want you wandering the country on your own."

"Please, you wouldn't offer if I was a man."

Kressick allowed himself a short sip before answering. "Yes, it would. Inter-state travel is strictly monitored, not only because of State law, but for citizen safety. So humor me. And if you're driving to your destination, as I suspect you are, it'll be convenient to have another driver with you."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I like being alone."

"Yes, now. But before, you would've welcomed the company."

Ada didn't appreciate the knowing tone Kressick had adopted for their entire conversation. It spoke to her utter failures. What she disliked most was how right he was.

"Since it's now and not before, you can go."

She squared off with him, face resolute.

He didn't say anything. Just stared, as though waiting her to take her words back.

When she did no such thing, Kressick quietly left.

He left the broken interface on the table.

~ * ~

Once again, sleep evaded Ada.

Sweat soaked through the cotton sheet, the circulating air from the ceiling fan forcing her into slight shivers. The moonlight fell in stilted patterns across the bedroom carpet. Ada counted the slats of light in a failed effort to get some rest. She felt sick, but she was only sick with indecision.

Sign for another loan.

Or.

Unplug her mother.

Both options seemed impossible. Agreeing to a second State loan meant signing away her mother's life. Amnesty would be an indefinite part of her payments, and she would be required, as the preliminary contract stated, to acquire a certain number of converts each year.

Ada knew her mother wouldn't mind, but Ada minded. Her mother used to be above caring about the State, and the last few years, she'd become a slave to it. Ada couldn't stand to see the rest of her mother's life dissolved.

She briefly considered how it might be better to have her mother living as a slave than not living at all.

Nothing really mattered because no one had six million dollars to give her. No one.

A small truth dawned on her.

No one she knew had six million dollars. Perhaps someone she didn't know had what she needed, someone who was both a bastard and a stranger.

Minutes later, Ada had fallen asleep.

Twice, she awoke from nightmares. The first was about August, packing a suitcase and running out the front door.

The second, bloodier nightmare featured her mother reaching out a hand while falling into a pool of water. No matter how hard she tried, Ada couldn't catch hold. She watched helplessly as her mother's mouth flooded with water, drowning out any screams.

Mouth dry, she awoke, clutching sweat-drenched covers.

Out of habit, she tried mentally connecting with the household interface to set the air conditioning at a lower setting. When the machine failed to respond, she threw a pillow at the wall panel.

She hated feeling out of control. Though she had only had her abilities for a handful of months, she hated losing them.

I've already lost enough.

Prompted by the thought Ada climbed from the bed. Determined, she hurried to the kitchen. She reached blindly in the dark for the kitchen table. Her hands met with the rough surface, and she swept her hand until it hit against the small rectangle.

She grasped Kressick's interface, resting it on her forehead, eyes shut tight. The material was cool against her hot skin, and helped calm her somewhat. Then, she attempted a connection with the interface by visualizing each step.

First, Ada envisioned clouds, stars, the vastness of space. She found imagining helped her powers along, and it took quite a bit of imagining in order to be successful.

In the purple void, she noticed a despondent star, like an unwieldy ball of tech. A ring of metal tech, transmitting data streams in an endless current. Her astral-self picked over hundreds of silent telegraphers, until finally she found what she needed.

Suddenly, the glow of the interface lit the kitchen. So near to her face, the white scrolling feed from the screen hurt her eyes, and she dropped it on table.

"Hello, how may I assist you?" the interface asked.

Ada laughed. Relief filled her, and she drew in each breath feeling new, restored. She considered the interface fix a victory, and a test.

Now she knew what she needed to do.

A/N: If you like the story so far, know that stars are allergic to not being clicked.