Download the Book - Islam and Science Fiction
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forward. It was seated in a clo<strong>the</strong>s-strewn chair, <strong>and</strong> its expression<br />
was dark.<br />
What are you doing? It hissed. Rosaleen sank beneath her<br />
bedsheets.<br />
“Go. A. Way, “ she ordered <strong>the</strong> vision.<br />
Had her mo<strong>the</strong>r been smarter, she would never have made <strong>the</strong><br />
preep—<strong>and</strong> never tied its continuing presence in Rosaleen's life to <strong>the</strong><br />
substantial inheritance her mo<strong>the</strong>r had bequea<strong>the</strong>d her. The preep was<br />
Ellis Kincaid’s personal golem, arising at every occasion to twist her<br />
daughter’s psyche, shame her into wiser choices, ridicule her into<br />
uprightness. If her mo<strong>the</strong>r had left her, Rosaleen was sure, to mourn<br />
<strong>and</strong> to forgive, to see her own mistakes along <strong>the</strong> way, she might have<br />
actually gotten somewhere with her, albeit long after Ellis had<br />
crumbled into dust. Unfortunately, Ellis trusted no one but herself.<br />
It is wrong … <strong>the</strong> preep hissed again. Hissing seemed to be <strong>the</strong><br />
vocal tone of <strong>the</strong> dead, if EllisPreep was to be trusted as a model. You<br />
thwart my work by making a mockery of it. You were a good scientist,<br />
Rosaleen—a good person. You know what benefit could be<br />
undertaken with this knowledge, but you squ<strong>and</strong>er it. And lead <strong>the</strong><br />
world a little fur<strong>the</strong>r into hell.<br />
And now this. What on earth are you thinking of? Have you no<br />
self-respect, no respect for this man, his culture, for anything? What<br />
are you planning, you slut?!<br />
“It is a fantasy, Mo<strong>the</strong>r, “ Rosaleen spat back, sitting up <strong>and</strong><br />
glaring at <strong>the</strong> preep. “A dream, all right? Something that is NONE of<br />
your business!”<br />
A fantasy? Nothing more? You expect me to believe you? Every<br />
sick thought you’ve ever had you’ve followed up. Every nasty little<br />
subterfuge <strong>and</strong> evil intent—<br />
“Shut up! I’ll tell you what I expect! I expect you to stop barging<br />
into my life when you’re not wanted. You aren’t even my mo<strong>the</strong>r!<br />
You’re one of her bad moods, trapped in a hologram. She didn’t want<br />
to die, didn’t want to leave me—she didn’t trust me to live my own<br />
life. But you aren’t her! Don’t you get it, Preep? “ She sat up again.<br />
“If you were my mo<strong>the</strong>r you’d have moved on from this by now!<br />
You’re just an endless loop, <strong>and</strong> you are driving. Me. Insane!<br />
“Now would you please do <strong>the</strong> right thing <strong>and</strong> self-destruct? “<br />
Rosaleen fell back in a rage <strong>and</strong> buried herself in <strong>the</strong> bedding.<br />
The preep’s dire admonitions were little muffled by <strong>the</strong> sheets.<br />
Tomorrow, by damn, she really would delete <strong>the</strong> wretched thing.<br />
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