Futures Near and Far Read Free

right. If Monica had been going to call, she would
have. But shit, all my dear mother had to do was say a few words to the Link
and her virtual ass could sit itself down beside me, even for just a minute. Was that really too much to expect?
    I stared at the high
peaks jutting up above timberline to the north, kicked a pebble over the
edge, and got ready to follow it.
    “Call for you, Cheryl,” said the disembodied voice of the
Link. “It’s Ellen Branson.”
    Just fucking great. Well, I could refuse it, but she’d only
keep bugging me. “Put her through,” I said.
    Dr. Branson’s image materialized beside me. She sat in an
invisible chair, her hair unruffled by the mountain breeze. She looked around,
noticed the bodies below, and gave me that
professional frown of concern she so carefully cultivated.
    “I talked to your mother
an hour ago,” she said. “Your stunt didn’t impress her.”
    “It wasn’t supposed to impress her,” I said. “It was just
supposed to get her attention.”
    “You’re lucky she doesn’t file a complaint with the Net.
They’ve just increased the community service time for murder and other
misdemeanor assault, you know.”
    “I’m real worried about it,” I quipped.
    “You’ll miss work. You’ll blow your commission and have to
petition for another career.”
    “Another chance of a lifetime, thrown down the face of an Oregon mountain.” I wobbled and pretended to
lose my balance. I leaned out over the gorge for several seconds, smiled
demurely at Dr. Branson, and straightened up. “Why
should I worry, Doc? I’ve filed a suicide petition. Pretty soon I won’t
have to worry about anything. I’ll be checking out. Permanently.”
    Dr. Branson massaged her forehead. “I’ve read your case
history, dear. You’ve filed suicide petitions before. You have to refile every
day for thirty days running before the Net will deactivate your docs. You
always run out of steam before the end.”
    I kicked her in her
intangible knee. “So what? This time it’s real. I’m going all the way. You tell
that to my mother.”
    She sighed. “But she knows it’s not true. You’re just
waiting for her to make a fuss over you like she’s always done. I think she’s
tired of that. I think she’s leaving it for you to work it out on your own.”
    “I have worked it out. In five days, I get archived. All I
want is for her to acknowledge that.”
    “Why should she? It’s not her problem.”
    I blinked. Something
about the matter-of-fact way Dr. Branson delivered her statement awakened my
suspicions. I yelled so loudly it echoed across the gorge. “You’re
telling her to ignore me, aren’t you?”
    Doc folded her palms together. She didn’t actually smile,
but I felt like a victim of the Cheshire Cat anyway. “Yes. I told your mother
not to speak to you until you’ve cancelled the suicide petition.”
    “Keep your nose where it belongs,” I said. “You’re supposed
to be my therapist, not Monica’s. How
the hell did I get reassigned to you? What are you, a journeyman, or a fucking
apprentice?”
    She didn’t answer that
last part. “I am your therapist,
Cheryl. Why does that scare you? Why do you have to try to run back to Mommie?”
    “Cancel link,” I said. Dr. Branson’s image popped out just
as she opened her mouth to utter some more bullshit.
    Mom couldn’t keep it up. I knew her better than that. A lot
better than any psychologist. I’d really thought the axe would do it, but if not — well, there were other ways.
    I looked down to find Jacques, fully rebuilt, waving up at
me. I waved back.
    “That was nothing!” I yelled. “Take a look at this!”
    I launched into the air.
The bottom of the gorge raced up at
me. On the rocks below, the coyotes licked their chops.
Mother
    The transit pod dropped me off over on the west bank of the Willamette, in one of the old
residential sections of town. I could tell just how long the
neighborhood had been there because the