Episode 09: “Goldilocks”

 

[image error]Peyton sat in the lee of carefully tended acoustic trees. The growths were genetically engineered to dampen sound and screen the playground from view.  This was an upscale, gated neighborhood, accessible to Peyton and Annika only because the perimeter wall sensors required maintenance. Scaling the wall had become a pastime in itself, for Annika, who giggled and clapped whenever he hoisted them both over the barrier.

He had suggested that he wait beyond the wall while she played, knowing how out of place he would look. But Annika would not hear of it.

“That’s why I bought you your clothes, Daddy,” she told him. “So we can go out and do things together.”

Staring down at the exercise shirt with its trendy logo, he had been dubious.  “This won’t fit.”

“It stretches, silly,” she told him. “To show people your muscles. That’s why people where them. You’re just a big exerciser, that’s all. Tell people you’re a personal trainer. There were lots of personal trainers at the exercise place on the concourse. Some of them were almost as big as you.”

“Really?”

“Almost.”

That had ended the argument as far as his daughter was concerned. And now Peyton sat in the shadows of genetically engineered privacy trees, cross-legged and hunched to disguise his mass. There were a few other parents milling about the park, but not many. There were several robot minders, one of which someone had draped in a rain pancho. There were a pair of camera drones floating overhead in lazy circles, drifting on carbon-fiber turbofans. Peyton recognized the brand, if not the model. The drones had been everywhere in the prison yard, watching from above, missing nothing.

The children of the wealthy wore brightly colored clothes of resilient, often reflective fabric. Annika had chosen her wardrobe well. At a distance, except for the flash of her blonde hair, she was indistinguishable from the other boys and girls. The age range seemed to run from three or four years to roughly Annika’s twelve. There was one boy who seemed a year or two older, but it was hard to tell. He was very large compared to the others, a stevedore among grazing goats.

He chuckled, despite himself, surprised by his own small joke. Goats. Kids.

Annika looked to him periodically, as if to reassure herself that he was still there. Apart from that, she left him alone. He had never had to explain to her the danger in calling attention to him. His presence in any open space was vulnerability enough.

The sky was very blue. Birds sang in the acoustic growths. The breeze cooled his skin. For no reason at all, experienced the urge to close his eyes. To smile.

It was a feeling utterly alien to him. He shook it off.

Playground equipment had not changed since his own childhood. There were swings. There were slides. There was a pit of crystalline grit, carefully sanitized, in which the children dug holes with small entrenching tools, or built spires using a heavy electric wand that temporarily hardened the outer layer of “sand.”

He watched for a long time, feeling ill at ease. Annika built towers on top of towers, then smashed them, smiling all the while. The crystal grit did not stick to her clothes.

One of the parents drifted toward Peyton’s spot. He was middle-aged, of decent mass and height. His hair was brown and thinning. Peyton tensed. Was this a trap? An attack?

The man nodded.  “Hey,” he said. From his glossy windbreaker he produced a vapor tube. The end of the tube glowed blue when he drew on it.  He extended the oblong plastic pack to Peyton.

“No thank you,” said Peyton.

“I almost didn’t see you there,” said the man. “Anybody’d think you were dressed to hide.” Peyton’s shirt and workout pants were dark blue.  “I wasn’t thinking,” said the man, wagging his vapor tube.  “Obviously a health guy like you wouldn’t.”

Peyton wasn’t sure what response to make. He offered none.  When his visitor began to eye him strangely, perhaps finally picking out Peyton’s true size in the shadows, he said, “I’m… a personal trainer.”

“Right,” the man said brightly.  “That makes sense.  I’m Jim, by the way.”

Peyton grunted something that was not a name. Jim nodded again as if he’d heard.

“Which one is yours?” said Jim.

Too many questions.  Peyton jerked his chin vaguely in the direction of the playground.  Jim was not paying attention. He pointed to the large boy, the one Peyton had noticed before.  “That’s my Jim Junior,” he said. “He’s all-district for laneball this year.”

Peyton grunted once more.

Jim Senior, proud father of Jim Junior, finished his vapor tube and dropped it casually in the grass. He took a second from the pack and ignited it.

Jim Junior was now talking to Annika. Peyton’s daughter was digging a trench around her latest crystal spire.

Annika said something, gestured toward the spire. Jim Junior walked to her, snatched the shovel from her hand, and cut the spire in two.  His laughter drifted to Peyton’s vantage.  Annika shook her finger at him furiously. Peyton could imagine the scolding.  Satisfied, Annika walked away, toward the nearest slide.

“Boys,” said Jim Senior.  “Full of energy.”

Jim Junior pursued Annika.  When she climbed the slide, he followed.  When they were both at the top, he shoved her.

Peyton surged to his feet.  Annika rolled down the slide, landing in a heap at the bottom.  Peyton checked himself.  She was already getting up.

Jim Senior chuckled. He did not turn; he had not seen Peyton stand.  “I think maybe Junior is sweet on Goldilocks there,” he said.

Annika walked back to the sandbox. Her pace was deliberate.  When she got to it, she turned and fixed Peyton with a look.  He met it.  When Jim Junior arrived, he shoved Annika again, knocking her into the grit.  She very deliberately reached out, grabbed the electric spire wand, and clouted Jim Junior across the face. He went down. She continued to hit him with the wand.

“Hey!” Jim Senior shouted.  He went to join his son, but Peyton was behind him now. A heavy hand the size of a cycling helmet grabbed him around the neck. He sputtered.

“You move,” whispered Peyton, “and I’ll change your life forever.”

Jim Junior was squalling now.  Annika looked to Peyton again and then resumed her methodical beating. Her blows were not particular hard, but the wand was heavy and she was persistent. It only took a few minutes for Jim Junior to curl into a ball, sobbing.  Deliberately, Annika placed the wand in its receptacle in the enclosure wall.

“Take your son,” said Peyton to Jim Senior. “Say nothing to the girl. If I ever see you again, you will spend the rest of your life drinking your meals.”  He shoved Jim Senior forward, releasing him.  The man wasted no time.  He did not even look at Annika as he hurried to flee the playground with his boy.

Annika walked over, slowly, unsure.  He nodded to her.  “We’ll have to go,” he said. “It will be a little while before we can come back.”

“I know,” said Annika.  Peyton stood and she took the edge of his hand.  As they walked from the playground, she said, “Daddy?”

“Yes, Annika?”

“Did I do okay?”

Peyton stopped walking and looked at her.  “Were you angry?”

She thought about it.  “No,” she said.  “Not really.”

“Did you want to hit him?”

“No.”

“But you did,” he said. “A lot.”

“I had to,” said Annika.  “I had to make it so it was no fun for him.”

Peyton smiled at her.  He knelt and, very carefully, hugged her. She disappeared within his arm.

“Then you did right,” he told her.  “You did exactly right.”