Sifu Blackirish
SOC-14 1K
JULIA KIM SHELBY DOCTOR/SCIENTIST 7869G5 Age 46 5 Terms
MEDICAL-7, COMPUTER-5, JACK-O-TRADES-2, ADMIN-1, MECHANICAL-1, ELECTRONIC-1
As early as I can remember, I could see my future coming, and I tried desperately to avoid it.
I never knew my mother. There were plenty of holoplates and video around, more than enough for me to see that I looked just like her. She had courage enough to chart and pursue her own path in life, and I wanted to do the same. Too bad my father had other ideas.
Mother died when I was very young. She was that rarity among the medical
profession these days, a General Practitioner. On a lonely route that intersected
boundaries of three states, she brought care and skill to areas far from urban
sprawl. She worked too hard for meager wages, my father said.
Many of these people had ancestors that lived in these same hills and valleys, the same faces and body types reappearing every three or four generations. Others were in retreat from the chaos of earlier years, found safe harbor here and never left. Their descendants remained, with stubborn independence and a mistrust of any authority.
She only took three days off from her strenuous schedule to recover after I
was born. It took all of my father's powers of persuasion to convince her that she
needed some time off and an ocean cruise was just what she needed. She would tour
the west coast of North America and Father would join her in Alaska. He said it
will be a taste of what their retirement would be like.
That cruise had set up a surface excursion from Anchorage into Siberia and
Mother went. A quick jaunt by hyperrail to see a glacier, then back. A few hours at
most. How bad could their timing get? At the same time, there were those in the
area with lethal intent. Due to their interaction, a breached vacuum seal and
damaged maglev lines left hundreds of people stranded many meters below the waters
of a chilly Pacific.
Rescue crews arrived with alacrity, setting up a conveyor line and bringing
in trained divers to assist in attaching emergency breathing gear and lifelines.
Looks like a happy ending for everyone, right?
Wrong. Mother was one of the casualties, lost when additional breaches in
other sections caused hers to collapse and flood. Until the end she had refused to
leave, prodiving first aid and always passing a proferred lifeline to an injured
passenger. Imagine what shock and dismay must have been felt when the insurance
company refused to honor her policy. What the newsvid called heroism, they claimed
was an act of extended suicide.
According to Father, it took many years of struggle. Stressful and tedious
negotiations, along with as much publicity as he could muster, were necessary for
that faceless corporation to consider action and change their decision. What
finally forced concession was an investigative report.
Their insurance company was the only one that denied all claims from that
incident. Finally this situation reached a tipping point. Someone within the
bureaucracy counted coins, watched newsvid, and made a decision. Pay up now, and a
lot of negative publicity evaporates.
Father spent every penny he had. Mortgaged every piece of property he
owned. Sold everything worth selling, except our house. His lonely fight was at
last over, at least as far as seeking justice for his wife. Now his attention
turned to me in an effort to assauge his delayed grief.
I grew up during what was called the "Neo-Classical Revival" of Southern
United States culture. Everything considered essential for women was taught in well
attended evening classes. Etiquette, social teas, cotillion. What a waste of time!
For some, this might be just what they wanted, a vapid self centered artificial
existence. Not me. Never. NEVER!
Father loved me. Despite his overwhelming grief from loss of Mother, he did
his best for me. I imagine how hard it was for him, seeing me every day, knowing
that he sees all there is of her in my presence. I looked like her, but I wasn't
her.
He had his own plans. He didn't ask me, because there was nothing on his
cultural radar. He was following his own path, where the cultural tradition
declared that it was my destiny to become a trophy wife, married off to another
family's neer-do-well son for political gain.
One thing Father did do was show a lot of restraint. He hardly used any of
the settlement money on himself. After Michael Jones himself intervened and paid
off all of Father's debts, he didn't touch it again. All of it went into a blind
trust that I could draw on for an allowance and my tuition for reluctant education
in social graces.
I received quite a surprise the day after my secondary school graduation.
Unlike the others, I had no desire to spend the first several days of my new adult
freedom as they were. Experimenting with new synthetic narcotics, perception
altering chemicals or the newest craze, direct neural stimulation. I went home,
aimlessly wandering through our home's many rooms and porches.
With only Father and myself living here, and not having those parties like
he did before I came along, this house was entirely too large for us. When I was
young, it was a wonderous maze. I would wander through for hours, opening doors and
windows, letting Mother's scent drift from the bedroom through the entire house on
the afternoon breeze.
Without knowing it I had come very close to Father's library. Duplicated
from the private chambers he had when he was Chief Justice, they were full of
books. Every volume was one he had read personally, some he had written. It was the
only room in the entire house that I was not allowed to go.
I could hear snips of conversation. I could not hear the exact words but
his intentions were obvious. Father was already shopping me around, trying to get
the best deal possible. Without my input, of course. Should I confront him? Demand
a veto over his choice? Actually cooperate in choosing a -- business partner?
I wandered away, wracked with indecision. Part of me wanted to confront
Father and at least demand my rights. Another part wanted to throw a few things
into a suitcase and run for the border. Any border.
In any event, I went outside through ornate double doors. Escaping a house
with walls that were closing around me, I looked out over detailed landscaping to
see a vehicle approach. Imagine my shock when that vehicle drove up to me and a
woman got out.
She activated a holoplate and it sprang up into a three dimensional model
of myself! Satisfied that she was dealing with the right person, she handed me two
large envelopes and departed. I couldn't wait to find out the contents so I opened
them, on the spot.
One was from Mother's alma mater, Emory University. Times were somewhat
lean, regardless they would make space available for me if I wanted to attend. The
other was from my trust fund administrators, stating that the remainder of the
blind trust was released to my personal oversight as now I was a legal adult.
I gave landscaping a smile as I gathered the scraps of paper scatterd in my
rush to open mail. I didn't want to leave anything behind to give Father a clue as
to what I was doing. Here was my big chance.
Father went to dinner at his club and I went to work. I used my newly
acquired access codes to set up everything. Not twenty-four hours later I was in my
own dorm room, secure and registered for freshman orientation.
MEDICAL-7, COMPUTER-5, JACK-O-TRADES-2, ADMIN-1, MECHANICAL-1, ELECTRONIC-1
As early as I can remember, I could see my future coming, and I tried desperately to avoid it.
I never knew my mother. There were plenty of holoplates and video around, more than enough for me to see that I looked just like her. She had courage enough to chart and pursue her own path in life, and I wanted to do the same. Too bad my father had other ideas.
Mother died when I was very young. She was that rarity among the medical
profession these days, a General Practitioner. On a lonely route that intersected
boundaries of three states, she brought care and skill to areas far from urban
sprawl. She worked too hard for meager wages, my father said.
Many of these people had ancestors that lived in these same hills and valleys, the same faces and body types reappearing every three or four generations. Others were in retreat from the chaos of earlier years, found safe harbor here and never left. Their descendants remained, with stubborn independence and a mistrust of any authority.
She only took three days off from her strenuous schedule to recover after I
was born. It took all of my father's powers of persuasion to convince her that she
needed some time off and an ocean cruise was just what she needed. She would tour
the west coast of North America and Father would join her in Alaska. He said it
will be a taste of what their retirement would be like.
That cruise had set up a surface excursion from Anchorage into Siberia and
Mother went. A quick jaunt by hyperrail to see a glacier, then back. A few hours at
most. How bad could their timing get? At the same time, there were those in the
area with lethal intent. Due to their interaction, a breached vacuum seal and
damaged maglev lines left hundreds of people stranded many meters below the waters
of a chilly Pacific.
Rescue crews arrived with alacrity, setting up a conveyor line and bringing
in trained divers to assist in attaching emergency breathing gear and lifelines.
Looks like a happy ending for everyone, right?
Wrong. Mother was one of the casualties, lost when additional breaches in
other sections caused hers to collapse and flood. Until the end she had refused to
leave, prodiving first aid and always passing a proferred lifeline to an injured
passenger. Imagine what shock and dismay must have been felt when the insurance
company refused to honor her policy. What the newsvid called heroism, they claimed
was an act of extended suicide.
According to Father, it took many years of struggle. Stressful and tedious
negotiations, along with as much publicity as he could muster, were necessary for
that faceless corporation to consider action and change their decision. What
finally forced concession was an investigative report.
Their insurance company was the only one that denied all claims from that
incident. Finally this situation reached a tipping point. Someone within the
bureaucracy counted coins, watched newsvid, and made a decision. Pay up now, and a
lot of negative publicity evaporates.
Father spent every penny he had. Mortgaged every piece of property he
owned. Sold everything worth selling, except our house. His lonely fight was at
last over, at least as far as seeking justice for his wife. Now his attention
turned to me in an effort to assauge his delayed grief.
I grew up during what was called the "Neo-Classical Revival" of Southern
United States culture. Everything considered essential for women was taught in well
attended evening classes. Etiquette, social teas, cotillion. What a waste of time!
For some, this might be just what they wanted, a vapid self centered artificial
existence. Not me. Never. NEVER!
Father loved me. Despite his overwhelming grief from loss of Mother, he did
his best for me. I imagine how hard it was for him, seeing me every day, knowing
that he sees all there is of her in my presence. I looked like her, but I wasn't
her.
He had his own plans. He didn't ask me, because there was nothing on his
cultural radar. He was following his own path, where the cultural tradition
declared that it was my destiny to become a trophy wife, married off to another
family's neer-do-well son for political gain.
One thing Father did do was show a lot of restraint. He hardly used any of
the settlement money on himself. After Michael Jones himself intervened and paid
off all of Father's debts, he didn't touch it again. All of it went into a blind
trust that I could draw on for an allowance and my tuition for reluctant education
in social graces.
I received quite a surprise the day after my secondary school graduation.
Unlike the others, I had no desire to spend the first several days of my new adult
freedom as they were. Experimenting with new synthetic narcotics, perception
altering chemicals or the newest craze, direct neural stimulation. I went home,
aimlessly wandering through our home's many rooms and porches.
With only Father and myself living here, and not having those parties like
he did before I came along, this house was entirely too large for us. When I was
young, it was a wonderous maze. I would wander through for hours, opening doors and
windows, letting Mother's scent drift from the bedroom through the entire house on
the afternoon breeze.
Without knowing it I had come very close to Father's library. Duplicated
from the private chambers he had when he was Chief Justice, they were full of
books. Every volume was one he had read personally, some he had written. It was the
only room in the entire house that I was not allowed to go.
I could hear snips of conversation. I could not hear the exact words but
his intentions were obvious. Father was already shopping me around, trying to get
the best deal possible. Without my input, of course. Should I confront him? Demand
a veto over his choice? Actually cooperate in choosing a -- business partner?
I wandered away, wracked with indecision. Part of me wanted to confront
Father and at least demand my rights. Another part wanted to throw a few things
into a suitcase and run for the border. Any border.
In any event, I went outside through ornate double doors. Escaping a house
with walls that were closing around me, I looked out over detailed landscaping to
see a vehicle approach. Imagine my shock when that vehicle drove up to me and a
woman got out.
She activated a holoplate and it sprang up into a three dimensional model
of myself! Satisfied that she was dealing with the right person, she handed me two
large envelopes and departed. I couldn't wait to find out the contents so I opened
them, on the spot.
One was from Mother's alma mater, Emory University. Times were somewhat
lean, regardless they would make space available for me if I wanted to attend. The
other was from my trust fund administrators, stating that the remainder of the
blind trust was released to my personal oversight as now I was a legal adult.
I gave landscaping a smile as I gathered the scraps of paper scatterd in my
rush to open mail. I didn't want to leave anything behind to give Father a clue as
to what I was doing. Here was my big chance.
Father went to dinner at his club and I went to work. I used my newly
acquired access codes to set up everything. Not twenty-four hours later I was in my
own dorm room, secure and registered for freshman orientation.
