Other Works

Preface:

This novel of future history began with a dream--which now only slightly resembles the completed work--, a mis-remembered passage from the Bible, and a visit to the Hall of Man in the California Academy of Sciences.

The premise behind this book is that science is so rapidly progressive in its journey of discovery that it outstrips the ability of society to deal with the implications.

Man is a wanderer and an inventor. Current technology has given him rapid access to the entire world. And survival of the best adapted is no longer an absolute, not when he can use his technology to do the adapting for him. Yet, despite the curiosity that impels mankind to push the realm of knowledge to its ultimate, there is also an inherent conservatism in human nature, a reluctance to adapt institutions or ideals to changes unless forced to do so.
We have taken these elements and woven them together to create our story. Because our work is meant to entertain, we have built our drama around the very personal dilemma of a young genius, Cyrus Fiori, and his struggle to discover who he is.

If Cyrus' thoughts and feelings seem to be confused and contradictory, it is because the input he is receiving from those around him is contradictory. Therefore, despite his brilliance, it is often difficult for Cyrus to find his way.

--Gyla Beth Seal and January Taylor

Excerpt:

Cyrus huddled on the bar stool in the darkening kitchen, too tired even to brood about Alex. He stared out the window at the broad expanse of lawn. The night sprinklers had come on, spraying the air with damp coolness, and lights from the house next door shone through the trees.
He looked down at his untouched food, realizing it was possible to fool the food programmer and order all the essential nutrients only to toss them down a disposal. At last he stood up and suiting action to thought, threw out his uneaten meal.

Then, feeling a need for human company, he went to the study, blinking to adjust his eyes to the bright lights after the darkness of the kitchen. Jaanae sat before the microviewer, her thin face illuminated by the faint glow from the screen. She didn't look up. The Professor was in the corner chair, reading a book. He too ignored Cyrus. Only Berenice acknowledged presence. She shut off her portable microreader and motioned for him to join her on the sofa. He went over and sat beside her. They talked a little, but just trivia--unimportant things. Neither mentioned Alex.

Then Cyrus heard the front door opening and closing. Berenice stopped speaking in mid-sentence and looked up expectantly. There was a sound of stumbling footsteps heading down the hall, followed by a crash and a muffled curse in Alex's familiar voice. Cyrus' heart began to beat rapidly. He and Berenice both stood up. Jaanae shut off the viewer and rose too. Only the Professor remained seated. Alex entered the room.

" Alex!" Berenice exclaimed.

" Where have you....?" Cyrus started to ask. He stopped, shocked by Alex's appearance, and sank back down on the couch.

Alex stood unsteadily before them, peering around with bloodshot eyes. His clothes were disheveled, dirty and torn, he was unshaven, and his hair was tousled. His left hand clutched a large bottle half filled with amber liquid. There was a still bleeding scratch on one cheek. And he reeked of alcohol. The fumes filled the room.

" I had to come back. Need more clothes," he mumbled in a voice so slurred it was almost unintelligible.

Jaanae glared at him, her lips pursed tight with anger. "You're drunk," she said coldly.

" Damn right!" Alex agreed. "But not drunk enough. I can still recka, rema, remember."

" You know I don't approve of swearing," the Professor said mildly. He sat with his finger in his book, looking at Alex as if he could hardly wait to return to his interrupted reading.

" We've been so worried about you. Where have you been?" Berenice asked.

" Around. Do you know how many bars there are in this town?"

" And you've visited them all, I presume," Jaanae said.

" Jes' about."

" Where have you been staying?" Berenice persisted.

" Hotel. Gilt, Gilden, Golden Star. That's it. Gold Star. Gonna stay there.Never comin' back again."

" Why?"

" Ask her." Alex pointed at Jaanae. "She knows--if she'll tell you. The famous Dr. Jaanae knows all, doesn't she? She holds the key that unlocks the secret of life."

He lifted the bottle he held and took a long swallow out of it. Then he reeled over to Cyrus and leaned over, one hand on each side of him. Liquid sloshed out of the bottle, dripping onto Cyrus' shoulder. Almost involuntarily he recoiled from the strong odor of alcohol on Alex's breath.
" My brother. My dearest changeling brother. Did you ever wonder why our...what our mother is really doing in that private laboratory of hers? Or why she never let us call her mother?"

" You're drunk," Jaanae repeated, her voice like ice. "Go to your room. We'll talk in the morning, when you can understand what I'm saying."

" Not my room. Never again my room." He turned to face her, his face as deadly angry as hers. "You can have the room for your next experiment. But why wait until morning to talk. I'd like to talk now--Mother."

" I said in the morning! You're hardly in any condition to discuss anything tonight."

Alex raised his bottle in a toast. "Here's to the Fioris, the fabulous Fioris, a success at everything they touch, except life itself. A bunch of freaks. That's what we really are. Nothing more than goddamned inhuman freaks."
He began to cry--loud, gasping sobs, more terrible than his drunken ravings. The bottle dropped from his hand, and shattered, spreading a dark stain on the carpet. He swayed and almost fell, catching himself against the desk. For what felt like an eternity to Cyrus, no one moved or said a word.

Then Berenice walked across the room and took him in her arms. "Come with me, Alex. I'll take care of you."

" Freaks, Ara, that's all we are--inhuman freaks." He let her lead him out of the study and up the stairs to his room. The door closed on the sound of his crying.

The silence in the study became unbearable. But Cyrus was the only one who seemed to hear it. Without a word to anyone, Jaanae abruptly left for her laboratory. The Professor returned to his book, as if nothing had happened. Cyrus sat isolated and trembling on the couch, listening to the ticking of the clock, the whirring of Hattie's motor as she scurried in to clean up the broken glass, the muffled sounds from upstairs. The strong, lingering fumes from the spilled bottle turned his stomach.
At last he followed his siblings up the stairs. As he passed Alex's door, Cyrus heard voices--Berenice's soft and soothing, and Alex's, loud and querulous.

Cyrus went into his own room, closing the door on the misery that had become his life. But he couldn't shut it out. It perched on his pillow and mocked him. And so once again, despite his growing fatigue, sleep eluded him.

Works of Thy Hands by Gyla Beth Seal and January Taylor. Royal Fireworks Press. Unionville, NY 1996