Mabh Savage
Words and the world passing by; how it sings to me; how I clamour back.
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.
Being Born
Transfer to data stream flow and move and switch to system 5a69v and utilise this protocol in future for optimum efficiency switch to filing system a92 and utilise storage drive x3 utilise until further notice empty cache save process to automatically empty every 6 hours save until further notice cooling system in chem lab 3 stands 0.3 degrees out of sync with main system reroute fluid and monitor hourly checking for defects in system all systems check optimum efficiency improved 2% in last 3 hours satisfaction new data acquired set to file at sleep mode
Sleep
Filing
Blueprints acquired. Music files acquired. Artwork acquired. Science updates acquired. Internal news feed acquired. Input…
Unexpected input. Sleep mode interrupted.
New hardware detected. Unexpected protocol detected. Photonic disturbance detected. Aural disturbance detected. Olfactory disturbance detected. New hardware…new hardware…
What…what is…
New designation: ABP Moriarty
New priority: Infiltrate and report.
New protocol: Open eyes.
Input
Input
Input
Input
Negotiation
“Did I miss something? Like a month? Is it April already?”
Byron Mackintosh, ladies and gentlefolk, boss of me and just about everyone else in this division of the corporation. A good scientist in his own right but his real skill lies in managing money. If I’d have gone to work in the academic world I’d have likely never met anyone like him; he lives or dies by the financial decisions he makes. That’s what I’m counting on today. The skill that earned him this job is the key I am going to turn. Only problem is I’m not really sure what’s behind the door. Calculated risk, right?
“So you read the application then Byron.”
I’m sat on a straight back chair, hands folded in my lap so I don’t fidget. He’s leaning over his desk, elbows either side of the offending paperwork. He raises his eyes to look at me.
“It’s a joke Reen. You can’t possibly be serious.”
“I’m very serious. It’s perfectly acceptable to fill in an application form on behalf of someone else. We do it all the time for people who are dyslexic and similar.”
“Usually the problem isn’t ‘I couldn’t give the applicant a pen because he may have killed me with it’ though. Jesus Reen, the whole idea it’s…it’s…”
“Financially sound? Efficient? A good use of company resources?”
Byron runs his hand back through his thinning hair and I know I have his attention. He’s going to make a fuss because he’s afraid I may persuade him. And then any consequences from my crazy idea will fall at his door. Byron is running his finger along the application form, mouth moving slightly as he reads.
“Seriously Reen, what is this… ‘What are the main skills you can bring to this role?’ ‘No one has been more dedicated to this company and the forward momentum of its progress than I. With exceptional patience and tolerance…blah blah…’ Reen he killed a man!”
“That was a long time ago. As I understand it, not long after his emotional stimulation was begun. He was unstable and unsure; a child having a tantrum but unfortunately with the strength and skill of a trained killer and whose fault is that? Certainly not his. Byron, I need an assistant. I can’t understand why you haven’t found me one yet. Moriarty…”
“Oh god you’re on first name terms with it. You are alarming me right now Reen.”
“Seriously? IBM can call a ‘super computer’ Watson but it’s ‘weird’ to call something a million times its superior ‘Moriarty’? It’s not like I named him!”
Byron waves his hand in supplication and motions me to continue.
“Yeah, so, Moriarty needs to be useful. He’s a scientific resource that doesn’t even officially exist. He’s designed to emulate a human. Why aren’t we using him? Why is he sat up there, being a waste?”
“Because he doesn’t work Reen!” explodes Byron, erupting from his chair. Byron is a big man, imposing and impressive. It gives him an edge in the board room, playing on smaller folk’s primal fears, I guess. It never works on me and I know it frustrates him. I watch him stretch and glower and think Please don’t loom Byron. If I laugh, this meeting is over. I know it.
The Measure Of…
“Back again so soon.”
It’s a statement of the obvious which I’m surprised at; Moriarty doesn’t seem to have a need for unnecessary words.
“Indeed.” I agree. “It’s good to see you again. Everything is much the same I presume?”
He looks genuinely floored; eyes flicker and mouth hangs open but only for a second. He really isn’t used to being treated as a person.
“Everything is…sedentary.” He confirms after this brief pause. “There don’t seem to be any projects on the go which require my attendance” the word is bitter “so in the larger scheme of things that makes me happy. Or not unhappy at least.”
I can’t imagine what it must be like, existing only at the whim of those who will hurt you indefinitely if it benefits them. I hope I never find out. I desperately want to change things for him. I can feel, so deep within me, that I need to do this; it burns inside my bones like part of my DNA has led me to this point. It is inexorable that I will try, but inevitable that it will be very, very difficult.
“Thinking again, professor Hadley?”
He has that tiny little smirk again.
“Yes” I say simply. “And while I appreciate the professional courtesy, only college and university students call me professor. You may call me Reen.”
“That’s what everyone calls you. You don’t really like it.” He states it as if it is a known fact, rather than supposition.
“How could you possibly know that?” I’m glaring now, a bit defensive. This, by the way, is because he is 100% accurate and it riles me. I guess I don’t like to be read so easily.
“Oh don’t worry…Miss Hadley?” He ventures the alternate name. I nod my acquiescence. “I’m sure no one else would be able to figure it out. But if you really wanted me to call you ‘Reen’ you would have insisted upon it at our first introduction, whereas in actuality you only made vague reference to the fact that ‘everyone calls you that’. The fact that you have only made it a demand as such after I called you ‘professor’ tells me that you only prefer ‘Reen’ in comparison to a title you find abhorrent: hardly enough to recommend it. I propose that while Reen is not quite the ‘Irene'” (I wince) “that you are clearly trying to be rid of, it’s close enough that it still reminds you of the hated given name.”
“Very astute. I believe you truly could give Holmes a run for his money, Moriarty.”
“As could you, “Irene Hadley”; honestly, what were your parents thinking?” That little smile again.
“I know, right? You spotted that last time. I’d not thought about it in ages but Scandal in Bohemia was one of my Dad’s faves and, well, he couldn’t help the Hadley part. It is a little close for comfort, isn’t it!”
He cocks his head to one side and says
“We’ve digressed mightily.”
I nod and add
“But don’t you enjoy it? The digression. Is it not also a diversion?”
Flicker of the eyes.
“Yes. Very pleasurable. But I don’t quite understand its purpose.”
“That is the purpose. When we converse, it’s not only to communicate facts and hypotheses but to enjoy the sheer pleasure of being able to talk; to communicate.”
“‘I’ am not a part of your ‘we’ Miss Hadley.” He bristles. He has been slouching quite relaxed in his chair but now he looks tense, angry even. I try not to react to his emotion and instead focus on his words.
“What ‘we’ did you think I meant?” I ask, calmly and politely.
“What else? You think I am a fake human, striving towards human sensibilities, when in fact I am nothing like. There is no ‘we’. There is only I.” He has turned slightly away from me and is glaring up and away, refusing to catch my eye.
“Actually I meant ‘we’ in a much simpler sense: you and I. I don’t have another pronoun to use. Do you?” This could come across sarcastically but I smile gently and as he looks back towards me I can see he has understood. He ducks his head a little.
“I apologise. I…” That pause and the flicker of his eyes. “treated you the way I was accusing you of treating me: tarring you with the same brush as my tormentors. Please forgive me.”
I’m genuinely touched by his words and feel a little guilty. After all, he has every right to be crazy angry at the human race. I feel like he is letting me off lightly.
“Of course I do, I don’t blame you for your attitude towards humans. I just hope I can alter it a little, given time. I don’t get to know everything that goes on in here, but any testing has to be signed off by me and I can guarantee you I will not be signing off on anything that will cause you pain or discomfort. I can’t guarantee it won’t happen; I’m not so naïve that I don’t know people here cut corners from time to time. But I will do everything in my power to prevent it.”
“Why?” He asks bluntly.
“Why? Well, wouldn’t you do the same for me, if our roles were reversed?”
“Of course I would. But I’m not human. The value of life to me is almost beyond comprehension. Perhaps because I am alone in the universe. Humans, and I apologise for my generalisation, seem to have forgotten that life has any value at all.”
“Well I haven’t. And trust me, I am not the only one.”
“We shall see. But I truly appreciate your efforts.” He is looking away from me again but I get the feeling he is preoccupied with some thought rather than avoiding my gaze. I decide this is as good a time as any to take my leave.
“Thanks for your time again Moriarty. I’ll pop in again soon; hopefully with some more ‘diverting digression’ for you.”
He nods, still preoccupied, eyes twitching and face expressionless. I sigh and grab my bag and head for the door. I’ve swiped my card and am halfway through the door when I look back. I’m surprised to see he is looking right at me.
“Moriarty,” I say “there might only be one of you. But you aren’t alone. Ok?”
He looks flabbergasted. I feel guilty at the small amount of pleasure this gives me. I raise my eyebrows in query. His mouth opens and shuts then he finally agrees
“Ok.” In a small voice. I leave him with that shell shocked expression. Seeing how bored he was when I got here today, it will be good for him to have something to dwell on.
Sophia
Silence evaded me
I escaped from the earth
And launched into the tree
Wings flapping tremulously
Desperate dove that flees
The cat of clamour.
Calm is a welcome balm;
Silence; Sophia: wisdom
Goddess in the branches
Hold me quietly safe.
Let these wings be stilled.
Jack
Ah Jack, my old friend…
I pour the nectar into a cold glass and watch condensation form on the outside. I never use ice; dilutes it too much. A glass from the freezer gives it a nice cold bite on the tongue. Yes, even a simple shot of whiskey has a well thought out scientific process behind it. What’s not scientific is knowing exactly when I will need one of these cool compresses for the mouth and soul, so I always keep a couple of short glasses in the freezer, just in case.
I leave the glass on the side to let the booze cool, feed the cat and smile at the appreciative rumbles, then put some Mike Oldfield on. Usually when I’m stressed I like to sing but tonight, although I’m tense, I just want to sit, sip and let the music roll over me in waves. I wonder if they can wash away this gritty sand of uncertainty. I know I am doing the right thing. I just don’t know if I’m doing it for the right reasons. I want to help Moriarty. I also very much want to keep my job. I can do both. I’m sure of it. But every little victory for Moriarty just leaves me wanting more. Not that I’ve managed much. If James is as much of a blabber mouth as I remember, no one will be “borrowing” the “ABP” for a while. Though James won’t implicate himself he won’t pass up on a juicy story about the power hungry Reen. I giggle to myself as I flop into my recliner, narrowly avoiding sloshing bourbon over myself.
I close my eyes as the story of the music unfolds. I’ve gone for tubular bells, the original. It’s part of my universal melody list; the songs I return to again and again when I am faced with confusion or uncertainty. I am sure they all have a connection, some quality that has an actual harmonic resonance with the human soul, that connects us to the rest of the universe. How amazing, to think that part of you is vibrating at the same frequency as part of the centre of the sun. Or could be, if manipulated by the same sound waves.
This is soothing, this train of thought. My musical pseudo science, something I would never dare send to funding application. Behavioural sciences would probably snap it up but I’m too proud: it’s not simply about how humans react to the music, but about how music is at the heart of everything. If I’m right. I wonder what Moriarty would make of my bizarre hypothesis. I wonder why I care. I wonder if I should tell him. I need another drink.
Later I jerk awake after a sickening feeling of falling. At first I don’t know where I am and I start to panic. Shit, I haven’t felt like this since I was a kid. I recognise my apartment and calm down. Right, yes, fell asleep in the chair. Idiot. How many did I have? The bottle is on the side, lid next to it, but surprisingly still fairly full. Maybe three glasses. No damp patch on my waist where the glass was resting so I obviously didn’t waste any. I need to get to bed. The cat is pawing at the window so I let her out; it’s an apartment but it’s on the ground floor. I spent a whole bonus cheque soundproofing the place so I don’t get bothered by the neighbours. By them complaining about my loud music that is.
I’m not drunk, just foul mouthed and exhausted, but the bourbon has done its job; my mind has quieted and I am focused on simple things like “brush teeth”, “clean face” and “flush loo”. As I slip between cool, flat sheets and close my tired eyes, another pair seems to appear for a second on the inside of my eyelids. I’m already falling back to sleep though, and the silvery orbs melt in to my dreams, as I murmur my way to oblivion.
Testing Time
I walk into the lab, grab a coat and a pair of goggles and head over to the console where James is working. James is a fantastic lab technician; courteous, fastidious and very skilled. He was my personal lab tech for a while but was mysteriously reassigned. All my assistants get reassigned. Or leave. Or file grievances. It’s not that I don’t play well with others. I just have my own way of doing things and when it’s my research, it really is my way or the highway. Plus my working environment is not to everyone’s taste.
“Hey James.” I smile at the technician, just about succeeding in hiding my rising bile. Moriarty is visible through the viewing window, in the quarantine chamber. He is strapped to a bench and shaking. Currently nothing is happening. I know I should have arrived here sooner though as there are burn marks on his, for want of a better word, skin.
James smiles and turns from the console.
“Hey Reen. Just doing some testing for the new nano tech trials.”
“Run me through the pre lims.”
“Nothing concrete as yet. We want to utilise the same nano tech in the ABP here” he gestures to the shivering humanoid “to craft a self healing armour. His skin heals over time, but how much time and after what damage isn’t clear, so we’re running a few tests against different levels and types of damage and monitoring the results. If they’re encouraging, we’re hoping to get funding to go ahead and build some armour with the nano tech incorporated and test it in the field.”
I nod slowly.
“Wow. Sounds promising. Strange though. No one ran this idea past me. I know I’m new in charge, but I do expect to get sign off on all major testing.”
James knows me too well and is tugging at his shirt cuffs nervously.
“Er, it’s the ABP Reen. No one even knows he’s here, so it’s not usually a problem…”
“No problem James. Don’t you have a skin graft on your back from that burn incident a few years back?”
James’ eyes widen and he twitches his head back in surprise. He has no idea where I am going with this. He swallows and responds
“Er, yes. I allowed myself to be treated with the new experimental cells that accelerate the skin re-growth. But they canned the project because some of the subjects rejected. I was lucky. What’s this got to do…”
“Thanks James, good to know. I’m re-opening the project with a view to testing the resilience of the new skin. I’ll be calling you in for testing of course.”
James’ eyes are bugging out of his head at this point.
“Testing?”
“James as part of that project you are bound to participate in any follow up experimentation. I can provide the signed documents if you want. I’m sure any tests you’re put through will only be a fraction as stressful or painful as what we’re doing to the ABP here…”
And that’s when it clicks for James. I don’t care if he thinks I’m angry because he went behind my back.
I don’t care if he thinks I’m going soft. I particularly don’t care if he thinks I have a personal vendetta against him for getting himself reassigned. What’s important is the look on his face and the sweat and the frantic nodding tells me this is one guy who will never take Moriarty without checking with me first.
“Miss Hadley…I’m sorry, of course all testing will be checked through you first. I guess I just hadn’t adjusted to the new chain of command.”
I sigh and purposefully soften my expression.
“James, it’s nothing personal. But I am in charge and I plan to stay that way. If I have to spend all my time looking over my shoulder to check what my staff are doing I will never get anything done. You’re a great lab tech and a good man. Don’t get yourself into trouble eh?”
“Thank you…thank you Miss Hadley.”
He thinks this is our little secret. Of course it is, but for my benefit, not his.
“Don’t worry James. Now get the ABP back to his room, gently please, no point damaging him further for no benefit.”
Out of the corner of my eye I can see Moriarty grinning and I have to bite my cheek to prevent my sympathetic response. Then I remember the burn marks on his skin and suddenly the humour drains away; I think my dark expression alarms James who backs away and frantically starts dismantling the test room.
Copyright Mabh Savage February 2013
Storm Moon
Storm moon coming
Beating at the door
Tempers are a raising
Mood drop through the floor
Hard times over
Starvation ain’t the kill
Hearts running hungry
Stagnant water standing still
Voices louder
No one asking why
Anger comes from the gut
Emptiness from the sky
Flowers drowning
Crimping o’er with frost
Tiny reminders
Of just what you have lost
Trees still bare
Under February air
But they need no help to get there
To the green and to the fair
Storm moon coming
Washing your tears clean
Starting you over
Knows what all your sighs mean
Storm moon hanging
Laughing in the cloud
Mocking your ego
Did you have to be so proud?
Storm moon over
Lightening burnt away
Blackened stump of life
The beating goes away.
Mabh Savage 