09
The Cubes Call Home
 

“Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Ferrule.” Sean hid the authenticated paper down the drawer. 

The words reverberated through the room as everyone else has gone home. 

He opened a case set next to the tesseract machine. In it were black cubes that showed subtle blue edges as he brought it to light. He dropped two of them in the rapid spinning orb, and the cubes went in and out of both of their sights and clanked at the metal and slammed at the arms. He pressed the red button on the side of the machine, the blue clouds dissipated, the cubes fell onto the pedestal.

He used a pair of tongs at first to retrieve the cubes, but he took his fingers to it anyway. 

“Two of them.” Sean picked up one of them, which rejected him and glowed red when his finger isn’t the rightful one. It shook as if it was agitated in his fist. “In case you lose one of them.”

Kayla took the cube, one side flashed blue, then it subsided. It stopped shaking in her finger.

“It’s still a prototype, Miss Ferrule.” Sean slid the second cube across the gray linoleum table across a stroke of the Circle logo. “Almost a century in the making. That’s where a lot of the early VC went to. Those people that lined up to fund your dad at the first place, in turn paid for these.”

She looked at the imprinted logo on the table, at the cubes, the room, then finally at Sean.

“These things?”

“They would only work with your dad’s genetic signature. You’re his daughter, so it will be attached to you, too.” Sean stared at the box of cube stock that is contained in a card white box with the cover placed next to it. “For the first thirty, or forty years or so, we had to keep this a secret. But who knew that the genetic signature thing would be, well, less than stellar.”

The cubes grew warm in her hand.

“We were never told what these cubes would be for. Maybe some time travel commercial product. Maybe he wanted to build a company that sustains itself to make it— I don’t know myself, Miss Ferrule.” Sean looked at her. “We don’t have a plan, it’s hard to reverse-engineer thirty years of black box labor and, we had to find some person with the signature. Your dad made this for you.”

The lone registered cube that sat on top the Circle logo was almost like a painting in her eyes. And as she thought more of it, it became a watercolor.

Sean popped the other cube in her hands.

“Treat the cubes well. Let them see the world, maybe. I don’t know. There’s no rule on the form telling you to report back to us.” He shook his head while staring at the far wall. “It’s your gift.”

Kayla sat back down at the table where the three others clutched their bubble soda and discussed their travels to Japan.

“I don’t think they ever served sushi on commercial jets—“

Luna stopped her train of thought as her master returned to the table.

“Kayla.” Her brain made note of the return.

“Where have you been?” Kevin opened his hand at her.

“I have some aching in my stomach.”

“You alright?” Irene dug into her pockets for her pill bottle. “You need some help?”

“It has cleared up now.” Kayla squeezed out a smile.

“Okay.” She noticed the one still-sealed bottle of soda let on the table. “This is yours, by the way.”

They moved out of the store and joined the line in front of one of the pods. 

The doors opened to an empty living room. 

“Kevin, get the chips from the fridge.” Irene sat down on the chair around the table, her finger tapped the top of the cube left on the table, and the headset in her ear began to flash white. Luna sat down with her as Kevin recovered a few composite cans alongside giant bowls and salsa.

Kayla was on her way to the stairs when she was halted.

“Kayla? You’re not joining us?” Luna’s little voice floated a sense of genuine disappointment.

“I, uh, wanna go upstairs. Jet lag, I’m tired.” She cheesed a little before withdrawing that too. “You guys enjoy.”

“Alright, I’ll be quick.”

Kayla’s footsteps was accompanied by the small murmurs of concern over her situation. She was blissfully unaware. The door to their room was open, and she was inside quickly. The automatic mixer on the bedside table mixed some of the couple’s favorite warm tea, and the cube gave her some adorning white noise as the shows move to their schedule for late night. She dropped off her film and headset back into the tin.

She took one of the cubes out of her inner pocket.

Your dad made this for you.

Her finger caused the cube to make home for itself, running its processor in her palm’s protection. The blue edges ebbed and flowed, and it synced with her breathing. She held her breath to concentrate on the sparse memories of her father, the cube held its dim glow still.

Dad could do anything. He probably sent me here just to pick it up. Why else would I be here?

She released her breath, and the blue became more vivid. The sheer amount of data her brain his perusing through, the background audio, the slow drip of tea into the mug, and the fact she was comfortably on the bed, late at night. The couple’s next door’s soft voice that resounded in her own room due to the quiet of the dark of night.

She thought of her dad, and came to terms with his impact open her.

Her mind soon followed, and she was knocked out.

The sunlight streamed over her eyes. The room was much wider when she woke up. The tea maker is missing. The television is a flat screen. Her phone was plugged in with some frayed and abused cable. It began to ring.

And as she awoke to answer the call and ascertain the room, she placed a hand to her chest to check her pockets. The cubes are still there.

“It’s Luna.” The voice on the other end acted as the alarm.