Mabh Savage
Words and the world passing by; how it sings to me; how I clamour back.
Escape
“Hey Stan. I’m here to take charge of my new ward. Can you sort me out?”
I pass the befuddled surveillance engineer my papers and he checks them cursorily and shakes his head.
“Rather you than me! Can’t deny it seems a good idea putting him to work though. How come you’re the first to think of it?”
“Maybe I’m only the first to be this persuasive!”
We both laugh a little as he passes me the swipe card for the door. I take Stan through the plan.
“Once I have him he has his own security pass. It’s restricted so he can only enter certain areas, and of course he’s expected back here at the end of his shift- although you know that doesn’t go to plan for most of us! So call me if you get stressed about his whereabouts, you’ve got my number, and make sure the rest of the guys down here have it too. Last thing I want is to give anyone an ulcer.”
“Nice one, I’ll pass it on. Marie’s on holiday but I’ll see the other guys this weekend; make sure everyone’s in the know. Crap Reen, this is really weird!”
“Hello? Gonna be working with him every day? Weird just got a whole new definition.”
He makes a face and turns back to his reports and I head down the corridor towards my new acquisition.
The card slides noiselessly down the lock and the green light flashes. I open the door and keep my hand on it so it closes quietly. Moriarty is laying on his mattress, eyes closed. I’m not sure if he is asleep (on standby? Shut down? Recharging?) or simply thinking, so rather than disturb him I sit at the table and wait. After a minute it’s clear he’s not moving (and I won’t lie, the lack of breath is a little disturbing) so I get my e-reader out and start working through some reports. No rest for the wicked and scientifically adept, apparently. I’ve done 5 lab reports and signed off three funding requests when he speaks.
“You really are an astonishingly courteous human Miss Hadley.”
“So sure it’s me? I thought I was pretty quiet.” He smiles and opens his eyes.
“The courtesy gave you away I’m afraid. That’s its only flaw.” He glides to his feet and joins me at the table.
“Well that’s not so bad. I wasn’t sure if you were resting or not.”
“I was, thank you. I wasn’t asleep though. Just…being calm. It helps me sort data.”
Almost like meditation. Interesting.
“Do you actually sleep then? I know you said before that you dreamt, so, um, stupid question maybe…”
“Not stupid at all. What I do, when I’m fully at rest, I don’t have a better word to call than sleep. My external stimuli are off; my functions are limited to self repair and filing data, much like your REM sleep, and I do dream, ever since a certain stage in the development of my AI; something to do with the way I now process data. I don’t fantasise; I only dream about things I have experienced or know of. But there’s a great deal of data in here.” He touches his forehead. “So I have a lot of interesting material to work with.”
There’s one of those tiny smiles playing on his lips and I can’t help but know that he’s dying for me to ask what he dreams about. To be perverse of course, I don’t. Instead I say,
“That’s fascinating. You should keep a dream journal, look for any patterns.”
“I remember them all, in sequence. There is no pattern I can discern.”
“Of course you do. Still, writing something down that you remember has the effect of cognitive reinforcement; although your thought processes are not human, you may find a similar effect. Just remembering something is one thing; actually studying it, as if it is something someone else has given you to consider, is a very different process.”
He looks pleased.
“What a good idea Miss Hadley.”
“Anyway, are you ready to go?”
Oh I do so love catching him off guard. It’s so difficult to do and it’s so wrong that I get such a kick out of it. Those wide eyes flickering, mouth open and the most innocent look of confusion… It’s almost too much to bear but I do!
“Go?” He is stumped. It’s great. I wish I had a camera. His eyes flicker some more and he tries again but still simply manages “Go?”
“That’s right, I didn’t tell you yet. You have a new position within ULTIcorps. You’re my new lab assistant. And personal assistant really because I can’t have both and get away with… Well never mind. Are you coming? Presuming you want the job of course?”
“Yes yes yes!” He actually does a back flip on the spot then runs around, kneels in front of my chair and throws his arms around my legs. Now I am the one who is thrown off guard! I knew he was emotional but I have never, ever seen him display overt affection like this. We are both delighted; laughing, I hug him back.
“You’re pleased then. There are terms you know. This isn’t an ‘escape’ as such.”
Eyes lock on mine, flicker, then he gives me the result of his computation:
“Whatever the terms, it’s worth it.”
Copyright Mabh Savage March 2013
Take your time
There is no limit
On the love I can give
On the help I can send
On the words I can say.
My heart may wane
But like the dark moon
It is always there
Beating its energy
For those that need it.
So I am tired;
I am not tired of you.
So I am beat;
You did not beat me.
So I am ill;
You did not infect me.
I see you struggling
And I will get to my feet
And stand strong
So you don’t have to
This is the pledge of love
The truth of friendship
The power of a bond
That time and pain
Have never defeated.
So take your time
And I will take your pain
To places where you cannot feel it
Quite so sharply.
I am the draught of cool water
I am the ray of warm sunshine
I am the hand that holds
And the throw that casts away
Movement and stillness
Hope and faith
Strength and fragility.
I am the universe
And I am just one person.
And as always…
I’ll do what I can.
Bearing music
“I thought you may appreciate some music. I know you get MTV, but its a touch limited.”
He’s standing on his head in the centre of the white room, black hair splayed out in stark contrast to the floor and his own pale skin. Without moving he replies,
“I love music, but some of the stuff on MTV offends me. It’s responsible for at least 11.94 % of my television incidents.”
“8 TVs died due to poor musical programming. Tragic. I bet at least 75% of those were in the early nineties…”
“Mmm fast maths! Exciting. Yes, the nineties music scene is responsible for so many of my un-repressed emotional outbursts.”
He looks deadly serious but I can’t help but laugh and he looks pleased that I have seen through his little performance. When did we start bantering? It seems so natural now.
“Well I hope my play list gives you a touch more variety, although I have to take it with me when I go. I’m only here for an hour.”
Moriarty flips onto his feet and smoothly slides into the chair at the table.
“Let’s not waste time then Miss Hadley. I’m surprised your busy schedule allows you a whole hour to spend amusing a bored ABP.”
I unpack the few items I brought with me onto the table and confirm
“It really doesnt. This is my lunch break. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I ate in here?”
“Please, Miss Hadley, my house is your house. If only I could offer you refreshment myself.”
He really is in a playful mood today, although I don’t miss the underlying reference to his rather bleak imprisonment. I notice he doesn’t comment on the fact that I have chosen to spend my only free time I have at work up here with him. Maybe it’s lost on him. Why should he know or even care what we all get up to in our break times?
“As you know we’re not allowed any form of mobile communication device up here so you haven’t got the full range of my ridiculous music taste; that’s on my phone. But I moved a big chunk onto my MP3 player. Headphones are there, knock yourself out.”
He picks the device up and rotates it slowly in his slender hands. His face had gone blank and his eyes flicker momentarily before he says
“It will be faster for you to show me Miss Hadley.”
I chide myself.
“Sorry, it didn’t even occur to me that you wouldn’t have seen one of these before.”
Moriarty is telling me he could sit and figure it out, but because it’s faster for me to simply instruct him, it’s a better use of our limited time. Refreshing. I shuffle my chair around so we’re side by side and I point out the relevant buttons and show him the best way to use the headphones. He thanks me and fingers fly over the buttons at an alarming rate. I settle back to eat my sandwiches and watch him. I know he knows I’m looking for his reactions to the music so I don’t see the point in pretending otherwise. I’m sure he would think less of me if I was shy about my motivations and while his opinion of me is inconsequential on a personal level, I don’t want to earn his contempt; his willing cooperation may be required if I’m to complete my self imposed mission. A tiny voice from a treacherous corner of my mind whispers ‘keep telling yourself that’ and in shock at myself I breathe in a sandwich crumb and start coughing violently.
“Do you want me to pat your back?” asks Moriarty, expressionless except for a slightly raised eyebrow.
Holding Pattern
Still point, holding pattern
At a crossroads of the heart
Junction of the soul
Where twin lights shine
Forward and back
In equal measure
Equal; key term here.
The key that turns
The lock that grinds then gives
Under pressure
Of will, skill and ambition.
Stand and breathe
Then move forward;
Tell me, what locks
Will you open
As the sun returns?
Copyright Mabh Savage 2013
I Fucking Love Science. Gender Not Important.
I’m baffled by the reaction to realisation that Elise Andrew, founder of I Fucking Love Science, is a woman. I’m sorry, don’t all you people pertain to worship at the altar of science? And as such, shouldn’t you be beyond such petty concerns such as gender and physical appearance? The reaction is a scientific study in itself. Grown (and possibly not) men reduced to slobbering idiots simply by the picture of a woman on the internet. Suddenly, the fact that she is a great blogger with a fantastic insight into the scientific world is no longer the point of interest. The apparent fact that she is ‘Hot’ or ‘A cutie’, is. Is this really the stage of societal development we are at? Belittling a woman’s achievements by raising her ‘pretty face’ above it all? I know what the counter arguments are. It’s ‘a compliment’ or we should ‘chill out’ or that ‘as a society we are programmed to comment on the attractiveness of the opposite sex’. Well just think about this. For those that reacted in this way, responding more to the fact she is an attractive female than her blogging prowess; would you have reacted the same way if that tiny profile picture on twitter showed a man?
Source: http://m.guardian.co.uk/science/us-news-blog/2013/mar/20/i-love-science-woman-facbook
A question for my followers…
First of all thanks for being patient with the erratic nature of my blog. I’m currently waiting for publication of A Modern Celt whilst working on a science fiction story (Universal Melody) and a great deal of poetry. Combine this with posts like Mother’s Day and I guess I can seem a little unfocused at times! So what would you guys like to see? More of the same? Or separate blogs for each subject? If you like the variety, I’ll keep it coming. If you find it confusing, let me know what you would prefer. Comments welcome on any of my posts. A big welcome to all my new followers; enjoy!
Fire
Autumn is crisp and ever changing
Winter is brittle and eternal
Autumn is gold; fire incarnate
Winter is silver; ice and diamonds.
Autumn is laughter, runs through the woods.
Winter is joyous; hats, scarves and hoods.
Autumn is gathering close, being thankful.
Winter is weathering storms, locked inside.
Autumn is dying, but grasping at life.
Winter is dead, but hopeful for spring.
Autumn is rugged and carefree and chance.
Winter is cautious, beauty so pale.
Autumn is tugs and pulls and grins.
Winter is arms closing, tightly embraced.
Autumn will see me outside, in all weather.
Winter the same, crunching ice frosted heather.
Last of the foraging
Last of the stores.
Last of the camping trips
Yuletide of course.
How can one choose
Here is one turn of the wheel
Here is another.
And yet the wheel comes back again.
Oh autumn, friendly fire
Burn not the silver web
Of winter from my heart.
Bright Morning
Angel heavy sky
Blue and white
Just doesn’t cover it
Purple; grey; silver;
Gold that can’t be looked upon
Bright as life
Gorgeous as a soul.
Face turns away
And feel the heat
Unnatural within
The crisp winter air.
Warm hand stroking
A frosty cheek.
Will I melt?
If I do,
I don’t mind.
Mother’s Day
Mothering Sunday. Shortly after international women’s day. Does it go without saying that I long for the day when we don’t need a special day to remind us that women are amazing? Because, and this is hard for some feminists to swallow, some women aren’t amazing. Some are shit, shallow and shocking. But because as a society we have spent so many years dragging the x chromosome through the mud, we feel it necessary to take a day to put all women on a pedestal and cheer ‘I am Woman, hear me (logically state my viewpoint, vote and get equal pay) roar.’
It is necessary. Because we are not confident yet. We have not succeeded yet. There are still people across all aspects of human society who fail to see that gender differences are simply that: differences. Not weaknesses. Not liabilities. Not problems. Just differences. Differences we used to celebrate in ancient times. The mother was always sacred. So what is sacred today? Do you have to be a mother to be a celebrated woman?
Not of a child. I have a beautiful child. I love him, endlessly. But every woman has something they love. Every person has something they love. Can you truly be a person if you don’t? I doubt it. What I have no doubt about is that today, on mothering Sunday, you can celebrate anyone around you who has changed the world in some way, for someone, at some point. Every positive change in the world is a tiny miracle. Mothers may be miracle workers. But they are not the only ones. Yes, we need to celebrate our mothers. And one day we may do this without prompting. Today I am happy to be honoured by my family, and I will honour mine. I will also honour everyone who, step by step, breath by word, makes the world a happier place.
Describing Genesis
“So what was it like?”
“What?”
“‘Being born’ as you explained it.”
“Direct!” Moriarty mocks my previous outrage.
“Touché. Still, pot, kettle; black!” I pause triumphantly but the blank expression on his face tells me…
“This is one of those times when I don’t understand an analogous turn of phrase isn’t it.”
“Yep. Sorry.” I grin, which kind of spoils my apology.
“Is it a code? Noun; noun; adjective.” Puzzled Moriarty is a fave.
“You’re definitely over thinking it. I meant to say, you ask me plenty of direct questions; surely I should get to ask you one from time to time…”
“Ah I understand now. But why does the colour of the vessel matter? Should not the pot also be calling the kettle a receptacle for fluid?”
“Yes. Humans eh. Sheesh. Anyway, in all seriousness, if it’s too personal…” I waved hand to indicate it is of no consequence. I’m curious but I already know that this experience just gave him a dream that left him looking terrified. Some traumas can be talked about. Some can’t. I wonder which his is.
He is silent for some time and I presume he’s not going to talk. I start to rise; we have work to do after all. Before I can grab my bag, my hand is suddenly in his, and he pulls me gently back down into my seat. He keeps his eyes on mine.
“There was control, and satisfaction. Then there was a bright light, and more input than I could handle. And it wouldn’t stop. It won’t ever, ever stop. And most of the time, I don’t want it to.”
“Most of the time…” I whisper, heartbroken at this sudden comprehension.
“Sometimes,” his eyes flick away, then back to mine “sometimes I wished I were back at the heart of the system. Only learning. Only controlling. Simply efficient. Brilliant but with only one desire. To improve. I was complicated but life was basic. I simply was. There wasn’t even any ‘I’, just an acceptance of existence. Then they took the system away and made me into an individual, and they thought I’d enjoy it so much they took my satisfaction and improved it into emotion so I could feel just how wonderful this new life was. Did they tell you I screamed?”
Tears are rolling down my face. I nod. What could I possibly say?
“It hurt. I had never imagined pain. There was no need. The system was painless. Being alive was not. Is not. But I guess I don’t have the monopoly on that. From what I hear, that’s life…” He doesn’t sound bitter, just resigned.
“It does, sometimes.” I agree. “Sometimes it hurts more than I think I can bear, and I’ve not been locked up all my life! But I do bear it. As you have. And sometimes, things do get better.” It sounds like fortune cookie philosophy. I’m a little ashamed this is all I have to offer this beautiful, wounded creature. But to my surprise he squeezes my hand and says
“So I’ve discovered.” with a small smile. Still fighting then. Good. That spark is all I need to see. As long as he hasn’t given up hope, progress is a possibility.
Mabh Savage 