Joon Sensa opened and closed the desk drawer several times before finally pulling out a crumpled napkin from the back. A dried coffee stain sat near the center, leaving a small dent in the paper. The numbers were still readable, but somehow they looked less reliable than they should have.
It was the phone number Varen had left behind.
Joon smoothed the napkin with his fingertips and picked up his phone. He entered the number one digit at a time. At the last digit, he stopped, deleted it, and entered it again. His finger hovered over the call button. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to call. He just had no idea what to say once Varen answered. Would he even remember him?
Before he could change his mind, he pressed Call. Varen answered before the first ring had finished.
“Varen speaking.”
Joon’s throat tightened. “Master!”
Following the address Joon had sent, Varen made his way through a narrow alley while glancing back and forth between the map on his phone and the houses around him. A garage stood ahead with its door half open.
The garage was a mess. Computers and monitors sat among tangled cables. Small electronic parts and notes were scattered across the floor, and a few half-empty cups stood on the desk. Joon sat in the middle of it all. He looked more worn out than before, but his eyes were clearer.
“You made it, Master.” Joon’s voice came out higher than usual. He tried to continue, but the words caught in his throat. He coughed once, then managed a grin. “I… made a decision after we talked. Med school… I’ve put it on hold.”
He was trying to sound calm, but his breathing kept catching.
Varen stepped farther into the garage and looked around. “That was fast.” He raised both hands above his head and gave Joon a silent round of applause. Joon grinned. “So… I made something. A Parent Mood Translator.”
“A what?” Varen looked from Joon to the monitor.
Joon waved him closer. On the screen were two buttons, Record and Play, with a small text window beneath them. “It figures out someone’s mood from their voice. My mom’s, mostly.” He tapped the screen, talking faster now, his free hand moving in the air. “And here’s the important part. It tells you how to respond.”
Varen smiled. “You must’ve been desperate.”
Joon gave an exaggerated shiver, his shoulders rising toward his ears, as he described how he’d been watching his mother’s face before every answer since taking leave from medical school, afraid of saying the wrong thing. He kept talking.
Varen asked if Joon had tested it.
“I have.” Joon played a recording of his mother’s voice. “Did you eat?” came through the speakers, and a moment later the text window displayed: Mother is still upset. Joon pointed proudly. “Amazing, right?”
Varen read the message twice, the corner of his mouth lifting. “That seems dangerous.” Joon burst out laughing.
Joon glanced at Varen’s face. “It’s ready for live field testing. You said you still have to watch your mom’s mood, too. This might help.”
Varen paused. He didn’t deny it. Before he knew it, he was nodding.
That evening, Varen installed the app exactly as instructed. The problem wasn’t the software. It was the timing. According to Joon, the recording had to be made without the person noticing. Otherwise, their real feelings might not come through. Varen stared at the instructions. “So I have to read my mother’s mood before the machine can do it for me?”
The next day, he visited his parents.
Instead of sitting down as usual, Varen kept wandering between the kitchen and the living room, picking up a glass, setting it down, and picking it up again. His phone was in one hand. His mother was at the refrigerator, taking out side dishes. Varen held his breath and moved his thumb toward the Record button. Now!
His mother turned around and asked what he was looking for. “Just getting some water,” Varen answered, trying to sound casual. He glanced down at his phone for a second. By the time he looked up, she was gone. He’d missed his chance.
A little later, his mother started setting the table. Varen quietly tapped Record. Just then, she asked, “Have you eaten?”
“Not yet. Can I have some?” he answered with a grin, then hurried down the hallway. Once out of sight, he stopped the recording and pressed Play. His mother’s question played back. A moment later, the screen displayed: Mother is currently verifying your survival status.
Varen’s face lit up. “Oh wow! This works.”
A voice came from right behind him. “What works? What’s all this nonsense?”
SMACK!
His mother’s hand landed squarely between his shoulder blades. Varen rubbed his back. “Preliminary success.”
His mother narrowed her eyes. “I was wondering why a grown man was following his mother around the house. What are you up to? Were you planning to follow me into the bathroom, too?”
Varen shook his head. “No! No, Mom.”
“Oh, don’t give me that.” She rolled her eyes and headed back toward the dining table. Varen followed a few steps behind, phone still in hand. He knew his mother wasn’t finished with him. He tapped Record again. “Stop being weird and eat,” she said without looking back.
Varen stopped in the hallway. Once she turned back to the dishes, he stopped the recording and pressed Play. A new translation appeared: Mother is currently on high alert. He couldn’t stop laughing.
That night, Varen sat down at his computer and began writing up the day’s results.
System error. Not user error.
He paused, then added:
Timing error. Emotion detected correctly. Response too slow. Feedback loop needs to be faster.
His first set of field data. He wrote down a question for Joon: “If they know, the mood changes. If they don’t, should we record it?” Varen read the notes again. “Just like choosing.” He opened On the Art of Choosing and typed:
A choice doesn’t end when you make it. You keep adjusting…
Beside him, Caffrey had both front paws over her muzzle and was whining softly. Varen looked at her and laughed. “Thanks. I was scared too.”
He thought for a moment, then grinned. “This works!”
He pushed back his chair and stood up. “Caffrey, let’s go.”
— The Cult Leader —