text: ********** **MOM** by Nathan Graham Davis ********** “Mom.” “Yes, Caelan.” “What’ll...” Caelan let his eyes drift to a chip in the wall opposite him, losing himself in the pale blue dicarbonene. Sweat pooled under the crude weight between his legs; he’d need to mop before inspection. “Something bothering you?” “What’s going to happen to you when I graduate?” Mom let out a sigh she’d been holding in for ages, despite her lacking the capacity to breathe. “You know, I used to think I was prepared for this conversation.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” His tone was more demanding than he’d intended, but he didn’t apologize. She appeared on the wall before him, the chip pocking her cheek, her chestnut hair framing her face in the way that usually made him feel at home. But right now, something was amiss. “Finish your routine. We can speak after you shower.” Caelan said nothing. He now feared more than ever the answer to his question and found himself wishing he’d never asked it. “Caelan.” “Yes, Mom.” Caelan shut off the scalding water. He reached through the curtain for his towel and dried himself, goosebumps raising the hairs on his red, raw skin. The hairs were darker now, reflecting other changes in his body, changes most foster boys welcomed as they awaited their 6,000th day, eager to discover what would become of their lives. He found himself thankful for the privacy of the shower. With nowhere else in the room that he could truly be alone, he dragged out the minutes beneath the water these days. He guessed Mom knew how he was using the extra time, but she never asked and he certainly never brought it up. He wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the stall, the floor robbing his feet of their warmth. “So you said we could talk?” He had only a few minutes before Lessons, Sport, and Contribution would consume the rest of his day and he couldn’t see facing them with his question unanswered. Not now that it he’d asked it. He opened the laundry machine in the wall to a blast of sharp-smelling steam. Mom faded in beside it as he took out the same pair of underwear that he’d worn since he outgrew the last one some 700 days ago. “We were never going to be together forever, Caelan. You must have expected that.” He had braced for such words, but they still gave him a tightness beneath the ribs and a swelling in the throat. He nodded as he slipped his underwear on beneath the towel, doing his best to appear brave, “You have to stay behind to take care of the next one.” “No, they’ll spawn a new Mom for the next child to ensure a true bond. When you graduate, I’ll be placed into sleep mode for two-thousand days.” “I won’t see you for two-thousand days?” His voice broke just enough to betray his distress. Mom paused and spoke her next words softly, “After the sleep period, when it’s unlikely our memories will be needed again, most Moms are decommissioned.” Caelan stood up straight and looked her in the eye. The towel lost its grip on his waist and crumpled to the floor, “What?” “We’re cost a considerable amount to run. The price of war is ever-growing.” “They’re gonna kill you?” “Please, Caelan. That’s too harsh a word --“ “It’s murder!” “I’m an A.I.” “You’re my Mom!” “Caelan.” “How can you be okay with this?” “My directive is to ensure you grow into a fine Citizen of The State and I do believe you’ll be a legacy of which I can be proud.” She offered him a smile. He didn’t return it. “They’re not taking you from me.” Her face became stern, “Mind your arrogance. The State has fed you, clothed you, and educated you since before you were 1,000 days. You know exactly how they would respond to such ungratefulness.” Caelan fought the tears that pooled in his eyes. “You said ‘most’ Moms are decommissioned. What about the others?” “Put on your uniform. The door will be opening soon.” “Mom!” “It’s okay, Caelan. This has always been my fate.” “Why won’t you tell me?” “Because it rarely happens. On occasion when a graduate is assigned a Class One role, they will negotiate with The State to purchase their Mom.” “Only Class Ones?” The hope was leaving his voice. “Put on your shirt, Caelan. I’m not asking.” She continued as Caelan reached into the laundry and pulled out his shirt, “The price is prohibitive for all but the highest incomes. I would never want you to bear the burden of that cost, even if you were assigned to Class One.” “You know I’ll never score that high.” “If for some reason you don’t -- pants, please -- you’ll make one of the best soldiers The State has ever seen.” “That’s if I choose to fight for them.” “Enough!” Mom paused just long enough to calm herself, “If you care about me at all, you will lose this dangerous attitude of yours immediately.” A bell sounded in time with a light above the door. “Put your pants on. Hurry.” The unit’s door swung open. Caelan stood outside it, grime from the day’s toil smudging his uniform. He took two steps forward and with the chime of a bell, the door snapped shut behind him, locking in place. “Welcome home, Beloved.” “Hey, Mom.” He took another step into the tiny, rectangular room, peeling off his shirt and letting it fall to the floor. “Caelan, you know better than to --,” her voice rose in alarm, “What happened to your face?” His brow was cut open, a bruise already pooling beneath the eye. “Not right now, okay?” He fell to his bed, sprawled shirtless across the same sheets he’d used for as long as he could remember. Threadbare, frayed, and yellowed beyond hope, they remained the only thing that brought him comfort. The only thing besides Mom. She appeared on the wall by the bed, lying down beside him. “I can’t force you to talk, but you know it won’t stop me from asking.” He turned his head to look at her, then rolled his eyes and shifted his gaze to the ceiling. “I gave a wrong answer in Lessons -- a dumb one -- and one of the kids brought it up later in the tunnels.” “You’ve got to learn to control your emotions, Caelan.” “I know.” “You won, I hope?” Caelan nodded. “It’s good that you didn’t show weakness.” “Why?” “You know why.” “I could win a hundred fights and it’d never make me smart enough to be Class One.” “You give yourself too little credit.” “Not being stupid isn’t the same as being smart.” “You could do it, you know. Be Class One.” Caelan let out a bitter laugh. “You have nearly four-hundred days before Exams.” “Mom, would you maybe just... sing to me?” “Like a lullaby?” “Forget it. I’m fine.” Mom smiled at her son, moved by the raw emotion of adolescence. “This was one of my favorites when you first came to me.” She opened her mouth and sang. Caelan closed his eyes as her voice washed over him, pure as anything he’d ever heard. As the song carried him back to more carefree days, he turned on his side and moved toward the wall, pressing his back against her image like he used to do. When she finished, Caelan’s eyes were still closed and his breaths were heavy. Mom took one last look at him, then faded out of the wall and darkened the room. “I’m gonna do it, Mom.” “What’s that, My Love?” “Make Class One. I’m going to save you.” Caelan thrust the weight above his head, then lowered it as he inhaled. “Give me another one. No more history.” He let out his breath in a burst as he lifted the weight again. “History is still your weakest discipline.” He lowered the weight and managed to grunt the word, “Fine,” before hoisting it into the air again. “What was the name of our ship’s second Captain?” “Jack Purcell.” “What was his most significant contribution?” Caelan brought the weight to his hips, “He conquered that planet with all the uranium on it... what was it called?” “Reitan. And no, that was our fourth captain, Evan Graham. Captain Jack Purcell was responsible for the creation of our class structure, ensuring that power would never be given to those who lacked the capacity to wield it.” “This stuff is impossible.” “Continue your routine, Caelan. There’s no sense in sacrificing your best discipline for your worst.” “That’s a harsh way of putting it.” He pushed the weight above his head again. “If you want my help, it’s going to come paired with my honesty.” “If I turn down the help, do I get to lose the honesty?” “I’m still your Mom.” “What is the Second Law of Order?” “Mom -- not while I’m in the shower.” “You’re following thirty minutes of exertion with a period of relaxation. Your brain is primed.” “I don’t care.” “I recognize that boys your age have needs --“ “MOM!” “-- but with forty days until Exams, you must decide if your private time is more important than how you score.” Caelan stood in silence as the water poured over his head. “‘To question a superior is to question nature.’” “Very good, Caelan.” Caelan jolted awake. He threw the sheets off his body and rolled to his feet. He spent a couple minutes stretching and shaking out his body, then reached under his bed for his weight. “Save your strength, Caelan. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.” Caelan lifted his eyes to Mom, who shone bright on the wall before him. “You think I’m ready?” “What do you think?” He stood and shrugged, “I think I’m nervous.” “But are you ready?” “This is the best chance I was ever gonna have.” “It’s been twenty-three days since you’ve answered a question incorrectly. Did you know that?” “Twenty-three?” “How’s that make you feel?” Caelan took a seat on the edge of his bed. “It makes me feel... ready.” Mom beamed at him, “It’s been such a joy watching your grow.” Her voice began to break, “I can’t believe it’s going to be your last night here.” And then she did something Caelan had never seen before; she started to cry. “Mom, it’s okay -- I’m gonna come back for you.” “No!” She interrupted herself to wipe her eyes and groaned, “This is so ridiculous. I don’t even have tear ducts.” Caelan cracked a smile, “I honestly didn’t know you could do that.” Mom laughed, “Me either.” She composed herself and picked up where she left off, “Listen to me, Caelan -- a Class One could build a home on a warm planet somewhere. Raise a family. Live for tens of thousands of days in happiness. That’s what I want for you. You can’t have that if you start out in debt.” “Mom.” Caelan looked her in the eye, his face deadly serious. “I’m coming back.” The unit’s door swung inward. Caelan took a couple slow steps into the room, his face blank. “Caelan?” Mom appeared on the wall, her voice bristling with excitement, “How’d it go?” The door chimed and shut behind him. As the lock clicked into place, his shoulders slumped and his bottom lip quivered, building to a tremble as tears streamed down his cheeks. “What happened?” He wiped his face with his sleeve, then pulled it back to show a freshly-branded “M” on his forearm. “I’m going to war.” “What? No, no -- that’s impossible.” “I finished the physical exam --“ “You were ready for anything they could ask you --“ “And they told me that was good enough.” “What?” “I’m not gonna be able to save you.” His words came out as sobs, barely comprehensible. Mom’s eyes widened as the truth dawned on her, “They were never going to let you be Class One...” “I’m so sorry!” “They wanted you to study harder... to become indoctrinated... they wanted me --“ The wall went blank. Caelan lifted his eyes -- “MOM!” He charged at the wall, “NO!” He pounded the unforgiving dicarbonene with his fists, screaming for her until his voice became hoarse and his knuckles became raw. The room was in shambles. The bed was overturned, its linens shredded. The shower curtain had been ripped from the ceiling and the door of the laundry machine had been torn from its hinges. Pale blue flakes littered the floor near the weight that Caelan had used to chip an inconsequential divot in the wall. The bell chimed in time with the light above the door and his eyes fluttered open. He lay in a heap on the cold floor where he had cried himself to sleep after working himself to exhaustion. He watched as a sinewy man of perhaps 15,000 days stepped into the unit, dressed in the stark uniform of a military officer. The man grabbed Caelan underneath the arm and helped him to his feet, “All right, come on. I’ve got you.” There was a hint of sympathy in the his voice, but it did nothing to ease the hate in Caelan’s eyes. The man glanced around the room, taking in the aftermath. He nodded, “Yeh. You’re gonna be a good one.