“Intellivore”
by The Tamale Knight
Rosa knocked on the door again. It wasn’t like Sra. Mirales to keep her guests waiting. Finally the door opened, and the wisened face of Sra. Mirales appeared.
“Rosa, mi amiga, come in!” she said. Rosa smiled and followed the lady inside. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but you knocked just as I was starting a new tortilla.”
“It’s all right, Sra. Mirales, I understand. My grandmother is the same way.”
“I’ll tell Carlos you’re here.”
Carlos had lived with his grandmother since his parents had died in a disastrous car crash last year. They’d been living in America at the time. Carlos had been born in Dallas, Texas, and had been enrolled in public school there. Before the accident, he had spoken both English and Spanish as readily and fluently as any bilingual person ought to, but afterward, he had become as silent as a corpse and twice as mysterious, appearing and disappearing almost at will, with no more sound than a mouse on carpet; he also spent most of his time in the basement, doing who-knows-what. Sra. Mirales had gone down there once, and found beakers, flasks and every manner of container filled or half-filled with every manner of chemical. A sign on the door read “Danger/Peligro” and one hanging from the ceiling, visible from the entrance, read “Things down here can hurt you. Please don’t touch anything./Las cosas abajo aquí pueden lastimarle. No toque por favor cualquier cosa.” That had been sufficient warning for Sra. Mirales. She had looked, but dared not touch.
“Carlos!” Sra. Mirales called. “Rosa’s here!” Carlos appeared ten minutes later, while Rosa was speaking with Sra. Mirales about (of all things) her famous tortilla recipe. He had a slight smile on his face when he appeared. That in itself was odd for Carlos. He gestured for Rosa to follow him. As he moved downstairs, Rosa followed slowly, careful not to make any missteps on the darkened staircase. She wondered why it was so dark down here. Surely he wouldn’t allow the lights to burn out on him. As she reached the bottom, the lights suddenly came on, revealing a modest, yet festive, setting. Rosa gasped in joy. Tractor-feed printer paper hung between two shelves full of beakers, the words “Happy Birthday Rosa” printed on them by a dot-matrix printer. Helium balloons were tied to nails at the four corners of a table which had been cleared of the beakers which normally occupied its surface, and in their place was a chocolate cake with eighteen candles on it. Rosa watched as Carlos lit the candles.
“How’d you know today was my birthday?” Rosa asked. He merely smiled as he lit the last candle. When she blew them out, the wicks hissed and fizzled, shooting sparks high into the air, which swirled and spun until they formed the shape of a heart with an arrow through it. She looked at him, smiling shyly. She’d long suspected he’d had a crush on her, now his little candle-trick proved it. She returned his smile with one of her own. “Why didn’t you tell me you felt this way?” she asked. “I...was afraid you wouldn’t like me.” he replied, which was more than he’d said to anyone since he’d come to Mexico.
“Oh, Carlos.” she sighed. “How could I not like a sweet guy like you?” Carlos blushed. “So, where’s the knife?” Carlos’s eyes went wide.
“I...forgot.” he said. He gestured for her to stay put as he headed up the stairs. Rosa heard a gurgling noise from one of the beakers. Rosa turned. One of the beakers on the table behind her was one quarter full of a strangely glowing, hot pink substance. As she watched, it gurgled again. It wasn’t on a heat source, so Rosa reasoned the periodic gurgling must be a result of a chemical reaction. She moved closer, and the stuff shivered and erupted a gob of goop the size of a large marble. It arched in the air and splattered to the floor between her feet. Rosa found a roll of paper towels and wiped up the mess. The beaker vomited another gob, which landed on the table. She wiped that up, too. Again and again the stuff erupted, splattering a new gob as quickly as she could wipe up the previous one. She looked for a garbage can, but came up with nothing. She caught sight of a cooler under the table and stuffed the curiously warming napkins inside. The stuff on the table emitted one final gob just as Rosa heard Carlos coming down the stairs, then it went silent. She covered that gob with her hand and felt it warm under her touch.
“I’m back.” he said. Rosa felt the stuff get warmer, and she began to feel good. It was as though her mind was wrapped in a warm, soft, comfortable blanket. “Rosa?” Rosa lifted her hand, and the gob of goop dropped to the floor and rolled under the table, out of sight. Rolled? she wondered. And had she imagined it, or did that thing seem bigger?
“Rosa?” Carlos asked, starting to get worried.
“Carlos, yes, I’m sorry.” she stammered. She managed to smile as she accepted the knife. A Polaroid camera went off just as she sliced the first piece. Sra. Mirales stood near the bottom of the stairs, holding the camera, but it seemed she dared not stand on the basement floor. Not that Rosa blamed her, if that erupting flask of stuff was any indication of what was in here.
Rosa groaned as the alarm clock went off. She slammed her fist hard on the clock, and it shut up and tumbled off the nightstand. The next thing she knew, her mother was shaking her hard.
“Rosa! Get up! You’re going to be late!” she said.
“What time is it?” Rosa asked.
“Seven fifty-eight.” her mother replied.
“Ay caramba!” Rosa exclaimed, leaping out of bed only to tangle her feet in the covers and fall on her face. She untangled herself and dressed quickly. Her shoes felt uncomfortable as she dashed down the stairs.
“Rosa!”
“Yes, mama?” Rosa asked.
“Your shoes are on the wrong feet.” her mother said as she caught up to her daughter. Rosa looked down.
“No they’re not. Those are my feet.” Rosa said, taking her purse and keys from her mother’s hands.
“You have your left shoe on your right foot and your right shoe on your left foot.” When she only got a confused look in response, Rosa’s mother told her to take off the shoes. Rosa obediently stepped out of her shoes. Rosa’s mother switched the shoes around and told Rosa to step back into them. Sure enough, when she did, Rosa’s feet felt better. Rosa apologized and confessed that she felt rather stupid for letting something like that happen.
“You’re just a little frazzled from waking up too late.” her mother said.
“I guess you’re right.” Rosa replied, kissing her mother and heading out to the car.
Rosa was now VERY late, she realized as she pulled into the parking lot. She had had trouble getting her car to start until her mother had reminded her to put the key in the ignition. Then she couldn’t remember which key was the one to start the car, and so had tried each of them—there were thirty-six. When she had crossed the border, she had taken almost five minutes to find her card. When she had gotten to the American town where she attended school, she had run a red light and been pulled over by an officer who spoke no Spanish whatsoever, so Rosa had been forced to converse in faltering English—which was unusual for her, since she had been at the top of the English As Second Language class last year and still was this year, or was supposed to be. Since this was her first offense and it was obvious she was in a hurry, however, she was merely given a warning. When she got to the parking lot, the long hand of her watch was on the 3, and the short one was on the ten. The long hand moved to the four before she remembered that it meant 10:15, then it moved another two notches before she remembered that it was now 10:20. She parked her car hurriedly and headed for the office.
She had to ask what class period it was when she signed the tardy sheet, and it took her three minutes to remember that she was supposed to be in science class, and another five to remember the room number. She wandered up and down the halls, glancing at the numbers above each door and only after examining and reexamining every door did she realize she was in the wrong building. When she finally found her class, she was startled by a loud noise, and suddenly all her classmates began to leave. It took her a moment to realize that class was over. She had missed it! She began to cry, dreading the prospect of having to start the process over again.
“Rosa?” someone asked behind her. She turned and saw Carlos through her tear-blurred eyes.
“Carlos!”
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“I can’t remember where my next class is.” she replied, beginning to cry again.
“We have that class together. I’ll show you. Let’s go get your books.” Rosa followed him gratefully. He led her to her locker, and Rosa had to spend three minutes trying to remember her combination. Carlos memorized it so he could help her again later, and he immediately located the book she needed. After a brief stop at his locker, they made it to class and their seats just as the bell rang.
“Rosa, I’m surprised at you.” said Ms. Calder, the teacher. “You’re usually the first one in here.”
“I’m not having a good day.” Rosa replied, sadly. “It’s like I can’t seem to remember anything. I feel so STUPID!” Just as she was about to start crying again, Carlos put his hand on her shoulder, and she felt better.
“Maybe it’s stress.” Ms. Calder said. “Sometimes if I have a lot on my plate, I get frazzled, too.”
Rosa flopped herself down on the bed and cried. The day had only gone from bad to worse. She felt so stupid having to ask Carlos to help her find each class. The teachers might as well have been speaking Greek for all the sense the lessons made. Every time she opened a book, she got a headache. Then, at the end of the day, she had had to wait until everyone had gone before she could find her car, then it took her ten minutes of pulling on what she thought was a jammed handle before Carlos came and reminded her to unlock it with her keys. He’d stayed after school to see if she needed any help, and she was glad he had. He reminded her whenever she needed it, and Rosa began to relax a little. She felt a little embarassed when he had to guide her through her own neighborhood, and when she almost missed her house, but Carlos never made her feel bad about it.
“I think you should relax.” Carlos said, genuinely concerned. “Maybe take a nap.”
“I can’t.” Rosa replied. “I’ve got a ton of homework. I’ve got two tests to study for, and then there’s the Knowledge Bowl...”
“I’ve never seen you this stressed out before.” Carlos said. “How well do you think you’ll do on the homework like this?” Rosa wanted to be angry, but the truth of the words and the nonthreatening, gentle concern in his voice stoppered her adrenaline, leaving behind only accquiescence. She got out of the car and made her way up the steps, silently hoping it was only the stress of the upcoming Knowledge Bowl that was making her so forgetful.
The new alarm clock hurt her hand when she hit it, but it continued to ring from the floor. Rosa had no choice but to get up. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Almost as an omen, her gaze fell on the Raggedy Ann doll she had so adored as a child, its vapid eyes staring at nothing. Rosa did everything slowly and carefully so as not to mess up. She didn’t feel any stupider than she had yesterday, but she didn’t feel any smarter either. She had to concentrate to remember Carlos’ number, and he came over as fast as his legs could carry him. She was grateful for his help in getting to school, just as he helped her all through that day. When it was time to go home, she asked to go over to Carlos’ house. Once there, she left Carlos to call her mother while she went down to the basement. Surely there was something there that could help her. As she made her careful way down the darkened steps (having forgotten to turn on the light), she reached the ever-lit basement and heaved a sigh of relief to be out of the darkness. She blew her nose on a napkin and went to put it into the cooler, but the napkin never got there. Rosa was frozen in shock. The hot-pink stuff she had cleaned up two days ago had grown, and was now sitting in a pile in the middle of the cooler, almost a foot and a half tall at the center of the mound. She got down to her hands and knees and examined it more closely. Her pen fell into the cooler and she reached in to pick it up. Some of the goop slopped down and touched her hand. Rosa felt the familiar warmness and the pleasure and comfort that came with it.
“Rosa!” Carlos called, pulling on her shoulders. He finally managed to pull her away from the goop, which had surrounded her hand as she held it near it.
“Carlos...I was just getting my...um...my...” She stared at the long, stiff thing in her hand, with the black thing on top and a black end to it, trying to find the word. “This thing.” she said finally. “It fell in the...um...that thing.” she said, pointing to the place where the pink stuff was.
“Rosa, are you alright?” Carlos asked.
“Um, fine, I think.” Rosa replied. Carlos gave the pink thing a suspicious look.
Rosa awoke during the night and panicked before she remembered where she was. Carlos’ house. She felt she needed to relax. It was hard to think of the names of things, and at least half of her English vocabulary was so hard to retrieve, she decided to simply stick with Spanish. She pulled a brown, square thing off of a shelf, and opened it. There were some pictures at the beginnings of chapters, but it was mostly just little black marks that she had trouble decyphering, so she put it back. She needed to relax. Touching that pink stuff had felt good. She snuck down to the basement. There was a piece of wood hanging over the stairs by a chain, but the symbols made no sense. Rosa really would have to talk to Carlos about that. She found the pink stuff sitting in the same thing it had always been in, as far as she knew. It almost touched the bottom of the table, so high had it been piled, and some of it had slopped down to the floor. She reached down and touched the stuff, and began to feel good immediately. A light came on upstairs and startled her away from the stuff. Carlos came down looking worried, but Rosa felt good. She hugged him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
“Carlos!” she said, kissing him again. He asked her a question in English. The words went right over her head. He glanced at the pink stuff, then spoke in Spanish.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I needed to feel good.” Rosa replied. “The pink stuff feels good when I touch it.”
“Let’s get you back to bed.” Carlos said.
“Okay,” Rosa replied.
When Carlos woke Rosa up the next morning, she didn’t even bother trying to think. She just let Carlos tell her what to do, step-by-step. It was so much easier that way. They were almost to the door when Carlos got a strange look on his face and turned to face her.
“You’re not thinking about anything, are you?” he asked.
“No.” Rosa replied.
“You’re just doing what I tell you.”
“Si.” Rosa replied.
“Come with me.” he said. She followed him up the stairs and into the bathroom. Step by step, he had her disrobe, and watched her for a minute as she simply smiled innocently. Finally he began to draw her a bath and told her to get in. He put bubbles in it and it smelled good. She almost went to sleep while Carlos was gone somewhere. When he returned, he looked worried.
“Rosa, did the pink stuff ever talk to you?” he asked.
“No.” Rosa replied.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
Rosa’s head began to throb. She started begging. “Please, Carlos, don’t make me think. It hurts.” Carlos put his arms around Rosa to comfort her.
“I’m sorry, my love.” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
Dressed in a bathrobe and slippers for simplicity, Rosa walked down the steps to the basement. She wanted to touch the pink stuff again and get happy. She heard voices speaking in English. One was Carlos, the other had a slimy, sticky sound like the frog-man she had seen on TV last night.
“Rosa, is that you?” the sticky voice asked. “Come down and we’ll have fun.” Rosa walked the rest of the way downstairs—and screamed. A hideous pink parody of a man stood between her and the place where the pink stuff had been—but wasn’t. Carlos’ grandmother lay beside the place, looking very happy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” the pink man said, its muscular arms flexing as it reached out a hand. Rosa screamed again and turned and ran. The pink man grabbed her ankle and she fell, but pain was replaced with a good feeling—the pink-thing’s feeling. Her head no longer felt stuffed, but began to be filled with a comfortable emptiness that made her sigh in pleasure. There was a noise behind her, followed by a scream and another kind of noise. A red thing in Carlos’ hand was spraying white stuff on the pink thing. When the white stuff touched the pink thing, it turned yellow and flaked away. When there was only a little bit of pink left, Carlos tried to spray it, but only a trickle of white came out. He grabbed a jar and put it over the thing, then grabbed a piece of something white and put it under it. He turned the whole thing over so the pink thing was in the jar, then he lidded it.
“Rosa, come.” he said, carrying the jar with him. Rosa followed.
Carlos cast a sympathetic glance at Rosa who lay in a state of perfect innocense in his bed. He walked into the bathroom and allowed himself a few minutes of silent mourning over the Rosa that had been before he cleaned himself up and rejoined the Rosa that was. He gave her a kiss and told her that it was going to be okay, then he set the Intellivore beside the computer and activated his email program. He typed in the email address that was known to only a select few individuals, and began to type.
[block quote, please, Simon]Status report: Jan 12, 2001, study of unknown compound in ETCO brand chemistry sets began. Taking all safety precaustions prepared compound in sterile beaker. Jan 13, 2001, unexpected contact between innocent and compound occurred. Jan 14, 2001, innocent begins exhibiting signs of data loss. Compound’s mass increases. Jan 16, 2001, compound speaks for the first time. Sinister intent apparent. Jan 17, 2001, compound attacks two innocents, nullifying one. Sanction required. Small sample retained. Threat posed by these Intellivores is extreme, repeat extreme. Advise.[end block quote]
He sent the message, then waited. Rosa was watching him with intense interest. He walked over to her and caressed her face, then her breasts. She cooed in pleasure. Carlos held her naked body close and rocked her back and forth reassuringly as he stroked her body, doing his best to please her. His computer told him he had mail. He left Rosa on the bed and checked the message.
[block quote]Prepare for immediate relocation. Collect surviving innocent and sample, await at rendevous point delta. Zero luggage. All provisions will be made.[end block quote]
Carlos deleted the message, then emptied his trash, then typed in the hackers’ code that would delete his entire inbox and every record that that account existed or had ever existed. That probably meant that by tomorrow someone else would have his email address, but it didn’t matter. Carlos and Rosa were about to disappear. He dressed Rosa and grabbed the jar, then put Rosa in the car—he knew she wouldn’t know how to drive it anymore. He went back in the house and used the bathroom, then stopped off in the basement to give one last glance at where his grandmother lay, her mind completely drained by the Intellivore. It was a shame he didn’t have time to summon help for her before the “cleanup crew” arrived.
He picked Rosa’s keys up off the coffee table and returned to the car. As he started it, he could already hear the pickup helicopter nearing the city. He cast a hateful glance at the pink blob in the jar as he pulled out of his driveway and left a trail of smoking rubber on the road.
“Where are we going?” Rosa asked.
“Someplace safe.” Carlos said, reaching over and stroking her hair. She accepted his words without question. He had no way of knowing what concepts Rosa was still capable of fathoming. He wondered if he should test her with a lie, then decided against it. Rosa trusted him implicitly; he wasn’t going to betray her trust.