smart enough." With a flourish that sent colors bouncing wildly around the screen, he added, "Just look at me. They tried to take my son away, and they couldn't do it. I'm too clever to go without. Why should you be any different?"
"Because I'm not a grown-up," Cadel replied, in sullen tones. "Because I'm not a billionaire. Because I'm not in charge of an international business empire."
Dr. Darkkon chuckled. It sounded like water gurgling down a drain.
"Don't worry, my boy," he said, leering across the miles. "You'll be all of those things soon enough. I guarantee it."
And with that promise Cadel had to be satisfied. Dr. Darkkon steadfastly refused to give him a computer. What's more, though Cadel tried very hard, he was never able to obtain even the most humble laptop for more than a day and a half, because his withdrawn behavior always alerted the Piggotts or his nannies. It was as if they could
smell
the electrodes firing.
But he did achieve all kinds of other things, thanks to the encouragement he received from Thaddeus and Dr. Darkkon. They opened up new worlds for Cadel. After that first conversation, there were many others. Cadel, Thaddeus, and Dr. Darkkon discussed all manner of interesting things, from gambling to international smuggling laws. Cadel's various hobbies were thoroughly examined. His ambitions were applauded. Clever suggestions were made. In fact, it was thanks to Dr. Roth's advice that Cadel began to take an interest in Sydney's traffic flow—a far more complex, difficult system than the rail network, owing to its random and organic nature. Traffic jams in particular were a challenge to Cadel. He only gradually came to understand that a traffic jam is not the sum of the cars inside it. On the contrary, just as a human body can replace all its cells and remain a human body, so a traffic jam can have all its cars replaced by different cars, as some leave it and others join it, while remaining, in essence, the same traffic jam.
"Like my parents," Cadel remarked to Thaddeus, on one occasion. "You could replace them with two different people, and they'd still be my parents."
"Your
adoptive
parents," Thaddeus corrected.
"Whatever."
"Meaning they're never around?"
"Hardly ever."
"Just as well, don't you think?"
"I guess."
"If they were around more, they might notice how interested you've become in the traffic reports on the radio. Not to mention automotive engineering."
Cadel grunted. Though he was used to rattling around in the Piggotts' gigantic house, which had six bedrooms and five bathrooms and lay hidden at the end of a long, leafy driveway, he could never get over the feeling that he deserved more attention. Not necessarily from Mr. Piggott—who was just a corporate cog, uninterested in anything except asset securitization—but from Mrs. Piggott, who was
supposed
to be Cadel's mother. Sometimes he wondered why she had decided to adopt a child at all, before remembering that all her friends had children (loathsome children, Cadel had discovered). It was possible that Mrs. Piggott, being an interior decorator, had also wanted to try her hand at a nursery in her own house. She had certainly lavished a lot of care on Cadel's latest bedroom, covering the walls with storage boxes in shades of plum and mustard, designing a round "dart board" rug, and converting an old wooden dinghy into a wardrobe. She seemed more interested in Cadel's bedroom than she was in him.
Cadel, who didn't feel comfortable in the room, spent most of his time in the library, or in the little guesthouse on the south side of the pool. At least these spaces had sensible, adult color schemes and a calming arrangement of furniture. The colors in his bedroom made his eyes water, and all the PlaySkool soft cubes and sailing-boat bed linen set his teeth on edge. Cadel had never sailed a boat in his life. He never wanted to, either. It was as if his bedroom belonged to another boy.
Cadel's interests were more unusual.
Over
"Because I'm not a grown-up," Cadel replied, in sullen tones. "Because I'm not a billionaire. Because I'm not in charge of an international business empire."
Dr. Darkkon chuckled. It sounded like water gurgling down a drain.
"Don't worry, my boy," he said, leering across the miles. "You'll be all of those things soon enough. I guarantee it."
And with that promise Cadel had to be satisfied. Dr. Darkkon steadfastly refused to give him a computer. What's more, though Cadel tried very hard, he was never able to obtain even the most humble laptop for more than a day and a half, because his withdrawn behavior always alerted the Piggotts or his nannies. It was as if they could
smell
the electrodes firing.
But he did achieve all kinds of other things, thanks to the encouragement he received from Thaddeus and Dr. Darkkon. They opened up new worlds for Cadel. After that first conversation, there were many others. Cadel, Thaddeus, and Dr. Darkkon discussed all manner of interesting things, from gambling to international smuggling laws. Cadel's various hobbies were thoroughly examined. His ambitions were applauded. Clever suggestions were made. In fact, it was thanks to Dr. Roth's advice that Cadel began to take an interest in Sydney's traffic flow—a far more complex, difficult system than the rail network, owing to its random and organic nature. Traffic jams in particular were a challenge to Cadel. He only gradually came to understand that a traffic jam is not the sum of the cars inside it. On the contrary, just as a human body can replace all its cells and remain a human body, so a traffic jam can have all its cars replaced by different cars, as some leave it and others join it, while remaining, in essence, the same traffic jam.
"Like my parents," Cadel remarked to Thaddeus, on one occasion. "You could replace them with two different people, and they'd still be my parents."
"Your
adoptive
parents," Thaddeus corrected.
"Whatever."
"Meaning they're never around?"
"Hardly ever."
"Just as well, don't you think?"
"I guess."
"If they were around more, they might notice how interested you've become in the traffic reports on the radio. Not to mention automotive engineering."
Cadel grunted. Though he was used to rattling around in the Piggotts' gigantic house, which had six bedrooms and five bathrooms and lay hidden at the end of a long, leafy driveway, he could never get over the feeling that he deserved more attention. Not necessarily from Mr. Piggott—who was just a corporate cog, uninterested in anything except asset securitization—but from Mrs. Piggott, who was
supposed
to be Cadel's mother. Sometimes he wondered why she had decided to adopt a child at all, before remembering that all her friends had children (loathsome children, Cadel had discovered). It was possible that Mrs. Piggott, being an interior decorator, had also wanted to try her hand at a nursery in her own house. She had certainly lavished a lot of care on Cadel's latest bedroom, covering the walls with storage boxes in shades of plum and mustard, designing a round "dart board" rug, and converting an old wooden dinghy into a wardrobe. She seemed more interested in Cadel's bedroom than she was in him.
Cadel, who didn't feel comfortable in the room, spent most of his time in the library, or in the little guesthouse on the south side of the pool. At least these spaces had sensible, adult color schemes and a calming arrangement of furniture. The colors in his bedroom made his eyes water, and all the PlaySkool soft cubes and sailing-boat bed linen set his teeth on edge. Cadel had never sailed a boat in his life. He never wanted to, either. It was as if his bedroom belonged to another boy.
Cadel's interests were more unusual.
Over
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