♥ PosetteForever ♥

Daily, I jog the great circuit of the House, through the echoing square of corridor, past suite after empty suite, and reflect on the workings of fate. <br /> <br /> My family is gone. <br /> <br /> They were Homo Superior, no doubt of that. For three centuries, Their Seniors subtly, secretly controlled a vast financial net. For three centuries, Their young folk scaled mountains, explored jungles, un-earthed troves. Their youngsters swept whatever competition they condescended to compete. They walked like demi-gods and goddesses, accepted near-homage as Their unconscious due. They wore a dozen names to hide Their lineage, used a score of careful hideaways. <br /> <br /> And, latterly, They came here, to this fine place We called, half jestingly, 'Olympus Mons'. They met and talked, puzzled esoteric webs and, always, baulked at what to do with me. <br /> <br /> For, I was odd, it would be fair to say. They early saw, and made quite sure that no-one else could realise. When I was young, I took ill from a 'rare tropical disease'. It recurred conveniently. I 'relapsed' and 'convalesced' whenever visitors were due. Later, the child psychiatrists diagnosed 'Suspected Brain Dysfunction', care of 'rare disease'. <br /> <br /> Then migraine, from 'Synergic Threshold Allergens'. The doctors never proved a thing. Nor were they meant. One expert taught me bio-feedback, lovely game. I learned to fake strange symptoms for the doctors who came and went. Give them their due; I think some guessed. Also, perhaps, the why. I hold that brave. <br /> <br /> And now I come to the gym. Once more, I hurl my angers at the walls, the ladders, the weights and bars. Across the colonnade, the central pool. A dozen easy-breathing lengths, a yoga pause in submerged igloo, then out to run and run. <br /> <br /> From young, I knew They would never set me free. My mere existence would have damned both Them and me, so I complied. <br /> <br /> Don't get me wrong; I am no monster, even to the careful eye. I passed un-noticed in a thousand streets. Well, you take a dog for walks ! At puberty, They sent me for some fresh, unbiased tests. I was a dozen folk in twenty weeks. I had six more personas in reserve, but not the need. There was no doubt. <br /> <br /> We had gene charts of Us, with Our key regions marked. They'd shown me mine so often, I knew it well. The part where Our genius should have been was filled with dross. Or worse ? They weren't quite sure. It hurt. <br /> <br /> I pause on my circuit, glance into my empty room. Once bed, once place to hang my clothes, a dirty patch where the Terminal once stood. <br /> <br /> When EdSat One brought the Global Library to any home, it was god-send to Them. I was but a number on a charge account. No matter what I asked or read, I stayed anonymous. The considerable cost was but a flea-bite to keep this bright but backward boy amused. <br /> <br /> I needed little sleep to heal my easy days, and regularly browsed journals into the early dawn. <br /> <br /> And so, I found that document, detailing some-one's patient, obscure work. It dealt with regulator genes, which I'd have skipped save it dealt with portion dear to me. <br /> <br /> There, in black and white matrix, I saw and read my fate. <br /> <br /> I checked it thrice, plus all supporting work. All matched. I took the print and then, as now, I walked to the breakfast hall. <br /> <br /> Fine crescent tables, matching chairs, superb parquet under-foot. Exquisite art upon the walls. An exalted mobile tinkling in that soaring, airy dome. <br /> <br /> I stepped within, laid my find before my billionaire brother. He was the youngest there save I, by custom my go-between. <br /> <br /> He read it at Their normal, blurring pace then, some-what paler, once again, then twice. He left his meal, deferentially approached the next in line. A little while passed, then the two moved on. I waited, sadly watching our house of cards begin its low-g fall. Three, five, eight, thirteen; the snowball even had a Fibonacci roll. <br /> <br /> A quorum reached, a Chairman was soon found. He read, re-read, delegated the necessary checks. The couriers soon returned, ashen. The Chairman called me forwards. He asked me if I knew what I must do. I told him yes. <br /> <br /> He looked around the room as if for the last time. He asked me what I wanted. I told him. Also, why. <br /> <br /> So, now, I turn from that empty room onto the shaded patio. I start to run, a loping down-hill stride that swiftly carries me to the reef-sheltered shore. A palm-tied rope draws my fish trap from the lagoon. I stun, gill-string the catch, begin an easy jog along the snow-white coral dust that forms the beach. Beyond steep headland, idyllic-set among young palms, a simple, airy bungalow. <br /> <br /> "I'm back," I call. <br /> <br /> "Nice timed," sweet Marianne replies. "My lecture's starting soon !" <br /> <br /> I behead, gut and skin the fish with practised flicks of blade, rinse them and leave the fillets cooling in the fridge. I step outside, ensure our arm-span alloy paraboloid still points to EdSat Twelve, then sit beside Marianne's weighty sprawl of books and documents. <br /> <br /> "Good run ?" <br /> <br /> "Yes, thank you." <br /> <br /> She nods, sets our two-metre colour screen alight as the play-in chimes. <br /> <br /> "Welcome back to the 'University of the Air'. Course F_128. Unit 29. Mayan Economics-- The rôle of the coastal traders in the decline of the religious elite. Good day ! My guest today is Dr. Anthony Smith who, as you should have read from the course texts, has..." <br /> <br /> I lounge, disinterested, casually leafing through the texts, off-prints and short-hand notes. Marianne calls a reference. I swiftly read aloud its summary. She shakes her head, attention rivetted to the screen. She calls another, excitement rising in her voice. I read it back. <br /> <br /> "Go on," she prompts then, when I am silent, turns to find me hunting through the pile. She grins. We share the private joke. She returns to the screen's arcane debate. <br /> <br /> After, when our grilled fish and greens are debris on our plates, she laughs, a chime-clear note. " 'Wanted, holiday companion. Quiet male student with academic tastes seeks female student, similar inclined. Box N.' " <br /> <br /> I shrug. <br /> <br /> "You didn't mention the tropical beach, the millionaire's deserted isle !" She shakes the cascade of silken, ebon hair that frames her classic features, asks, "So, tell me again; what's a nice boy like you doing in a dream like this ?" <br /> <br /> I smile. We've played this out so many times before. "I did a friend a favour. He let me stay a while." <br /> <br /> "And you..." She looks me up and down. "No accent, scars or easy age. An even tan. A skinny, Sunday Athlete's build but, when you move-- Phew !" <br /> <br /> "My thyroid's marginally hyper, rarely shows." <br /> <br /> "Your scholarship is Harvard ? MIT ? Cambridge ?" <br /> <br /> "I'm no-where qualified. I was home-taught." <br /> <br /> "Don't jest," she snaps. "Your skills in Bio', Economics, all the rest ! Your study rate-- You're so bright-- That, I know !" <br /> <br /> I shake my head. "Eidetic's children's trick. I'd not pass Mensa's door." <br /> <br /> Nor they to Ours before, and now We're not... <br /> <br /> "But still-- They teach us how to gauge--" <br /> <br /> I touch a finger to her lips. "Don't mock me, Master. I should know." <br /> <br /> She smiles so gently, certain that I do. We turn to other things. <br /> <br /> Sweet Marianne; though ignorant of much, I am most pleased to learn. Sweet Marianne, my tutor unsurpassed. She adds three languages to mine, an archaeologist's perspective on deep-time. She tells me of the world outside, to flesh out my news reports. She teaches thus and then, as one, we deploy skills that can't be used alone. <br /> <br /> When Marianne sleeps, a sated tigress, I rise. I run and run. I see like day by the crescent Moon. I hear the tree-mice talk. I gain the palm-crested headland, stare at the summit silhouette. <br /> <br /> Ten years, it's been, and what ten years, the like that none had seen. The media joked about a 'New World Order', as dozens of mega-rich collectively divested their holdings, put that money to work, oft ruthlessly. It's brought an end to war, repression, opium, disease, starvation, fear. <br /> <br /> The 'Second Renaissance', it's called, and people wonder how. I know. But, even so, I sigh, for They are still my kin. <br /> <br /> Think of a combination lock. Better, think of a 'Fruit Machine'. So many plays can win, for prizes large and small. Within our genes, there's similar dice, as regulator segments cross and re-combine. <br /> <br /> Within Our genes, that genius trait-- <br /> <br /> But We were wrong for, not the trait, it merely gave odds-on. To get the jackpot took some more which, from that chart, I found. Nor had I that. Instead-- <br /> <br /> We were quite few always, so very slow to mate and multiply. Tradition held Our high intellect turned thoughts from carnal ways. I found that wrong; most tragic, grievous, arrogant mistake. <br /> <br /> One in a million was the activator's key. One in a million, recessive, threshold cumulative, vile. <br /> <br /> My brother, cousins, kith and kin and I were yet alike this single way. We could not pass the genius trait to kids. <br /> <br /> But, there we part. <br /> <br /> That set my price. <br /> <br /> They'd raised me kindly as a retarded demi-god, but I was more and less. For I had not the trait to pass, while They, Their trait betrayed. <br /> <br /> Which made me Heir. <br /> <br /> I cry.