Linked

Forty : Coffee

"Despite your opinion of me," my father says, "I think it's important you know that I have many regrets." He dips his head, staring at the surface of the desk. "Involving you in this, for instance-"

"Was a necessity." Frenchwood butts in, her tone severe. "Ah, good. My coffee. Jesse, close the door on your way out."

"Yes, Dr. Frenchwood."

I hardly register Jesse rushing in and out again, except for a ceramic mug filled with the steaming beverage appearing in Dr. Frenchwood's clutches. My father ignores Frenchwood's interruption. His attention remains on me. I still can't quite take in what's just happened. I've lost my Link. It's a relief to be free of the pain, but I feel completely untethered. Adrift.

"I know you dislike many things about me," my father continues, "or the way I do things, but my actions are for the best. If you spoil a child with freedom, that child will grow to become difficult, unruly. And so it is with running a country. Before schedules were introduced, ours was a world where people had too much time. They used to make trouble, simply for fun. They would travel to other countries or cities just to cause damage. Because they could! Because there was too much freedom! Do you understand?"

I give a slow nod, more to appease him than anything. Sure, rules are important. But doesn't he see that by controlling everything, instead of avoiding unruly children he's brought up rebellious ones? I retract my hands from his, twisting them together in my lap. He lets me go with a frown. Frenchwood slinks over, depositing her half-full mug on the table near my father's elbow.

"But Mindlinking has nothing to do with freedom, or rules." I protest. "Let Linkers go and leave them alone. They're not going to cause trouble, or damage anything!"

He shakes his head with a sigh. "I beg to differ. Our forefathers ended the destruction with their rules, and it's our duty to uphold those rules. That includes restrictions on travel and communication, both of which Linkers continue to defy."

I glare at Frenchwood as she moves to stand behind my father, her slim fingers resting on the shoulders of his charcoal suit.

"You two are paranoid." I mutter, kicking the table leg with my boot. The steel tray rattles. I'm sure there were four forms of the cure laying on it, earlier. She used a needle on me, but there are only two items remaining - a pill and the liquid.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," my father says, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"Don't apologise to her, Alexander. You are the president." Frenchwood lowers herself until she's basically crouched over him, her boobs resting on his shoulder. I roll my eyes. Who does she think she is? "Unfortunately, you're going weak. You're much softer than the man I used to idolise." She strokes a hand down his clean-shaven cheek, letting it run down the curve of his neck and back to his shoulder. Then she steps back, hands on hips, and observes. A tiny smile plays about the edges of her pink-painted lips.

My heart slows, my blood turning to ice. Something's happening to him. The expression drains from his face, leaving it slack, a mask waiting to be painted in. His eyes are glassy, mouth hanging open, dribble collecting at the corners threatening to spill out.

"What did you do?" I ask, my words emerging in a pale whisper.

I'm paralysed with shock as Frenchwood nips forward and grabs her notepad off the table. Her fingers perform a nimble dance across the screen as she chats, almost conversationally, to me.

"Look at his neck, Benna. The patch stuck atop his carotid artery is delivering him the cure. Tiny little chemicals leeching into his bloodstream, travelling to his brain. And no, your father is not a Linker." She looks up from whatever data she's inputting, and smiles at me. It's dazzling, but slightly unhinged. "Because there's no Link to cut off, it's severing his ability to think entirely. He may as well be made of stone."