by Tanith Lee
“When they were children. Actually, before they were born. There was something that had already been partially worked on, along with all the clever things Jason himself did for us all. How old do you think Lily and Zoë are? Sixteen? Eighteen?”
“You're going to tell me they're two years old.”
“Loren! You can be so quick!” She seemed, Glaya, delighted with me. “You're almost correct. It's four and five. This is the best way to explain. What had been devised was a form of mutant metallic seed, which Jason has perfected. It infiltrates the physical cells of the growing embryo—but, being equipped with a low-grade yet significant intelligence, is able to convince them that it's benign, therefore acceptable. This eliminates rejection. Next, the seed grows along with the biological material of a human child, assisting and befriending the embryo in the womb, and, following birth, throughout childhood, to the stage of the fully matured adult. In a woman, that occurs between the eighteenth and twentieth year. Lily and Zoë will reach that plateau approximately in another six to nine months. Growth itself will then end. Instead, continuous regrowth will begin. Humans reach maturity and then commence to deteriorate. It's not apparent so early, of course, but even so, that is how it happens. Lily and Zoë and their kind will never deteriorate. They'll only renew. Eternal youth. But—and this is the ultimate marvel, Loren—they're still human. A fusion, if you like, of the mortal and—”
“Divine.” I got up. “It isn't true, Glaya. Sorry. I don't believe you, or him.”
Reasonably she said, “But if you think about it, it's only a short sharp jump from the type of machines we are.” She said it without flinching, casually. “Verlis, the rest of us. Even the first production batch—Silver.” Still not a quiver “Or is it that you're jealous again?”
“He's the one that's scared of death,” I said.
“We are all,” she said quietly, “scared of death.”
“And that's why you escaped META and all their works and came here. Why you want fallible human pets, and why you—you say—want to make robo-humans. But you won't be able to.”
She rose. It wasn't that she stood up. It was more like water flowing uphill. “He requested that you go to him tonight.”
“They told me. Your robo-girls. If they are. No, I don't think they are. They're just a new sort of robotic robot with extra-special skin, and made to look younger than the rest. What next? Robot babies?”
“Stick around, Loren,” said Glaya at the door, “watch them grow up. Then watch them stay young forever.”
Untouched, my door flew wide open for her. She was through it and away.
• 3 •
No one took me over there tonight. Eventually I realized I was meant to go by myself.
Unreal autonomy.
It was dark outside by then, so the lamps and pavement cafés and bars, and the lights in the blossom trees, were all lit up. A couple of people waved at me, having exchanged half a dozen words with me recently. I thought, Are they human like me? Or are they that other kind—robot humans, human robots—true androids, perhaps. Human outside, mechanized inside. How mechanized? Do they have blood, organs? I wished I'd asked Glaya much more. And was glad I hadn't.
When I began to cross the bridge I paused, looking down at the muscular metallic water, twisting along due north. I thought, It's this way now. What's made is real. What's actually real isn't.
In the garden over the bridge I stopped, too, by a tall black Roman cypress. There's never any moon over the city, just some carefully placed, very bright, perhaps electric stars. No Asteroid, either. Of course, apocalypse escapees wouldn't want reminding of that.
He spoke out of the shadow at my back.
“Those aren't the stars, Loren.”
I waited till I could answer. I said, “Is that a fact?”
And he laughed his wonderful laughter. And he slipped his arms about me, and he was warm, the way he is now, as if there were human circulation inside him. He kissed my temple.
“I haven't seen you for a long while.”
“Sorry,” I said, “I must have missed your call.”
“My spiky Loren, tiger-clawed. Kiss me properly.”
I moved and let him have my mouth. As I swam in the kiss, something in me like cold iron stared on at the moonless night.
“You keep your eyes open now,” he said softly. “Why is that?”
“Oh, I must have forgotten to shut them. You, as well, since you saw.”
“Then I didn't kiss you thoroughly enough.”
“Wait,” I said.
He waited. Naturally, in play situations, the slave can always give the master orders. They like it sometimes, provides them with a rest.
“Verlis, what Glaya said to me—how many of them are here? The ones who are—how shall I say?—half and half?”
“Thirteen,” he said.
“Including Zoë and Lily.”
“And Andrewest, the one you met in the park.”
“Him? He's a wos.”
“Waste of space? I'm glad you didn't like him. I always modestly hope you'll only like me.”
Also, the master may flirtatiously act the role of the placating slave.
“No one can compare with you. Any of you.”
“But humans, even half-humans, can still crave their own sexual ethnic group. Andrewest, like Jason, also knew who you were, whatever you told him.”
I was beginning to make out Verlis's face, his eyes on me, full of desire. I've seen men's eyes like that.
“The king's mistress,” I stated.
“Let's go inside now,” Verlis said.
“Why not here? After all, here is still inside.”
“If you prefer.”
“How strict you sound.”
“You want me to be strict?”
“No. I want—”
“What, Loren? Tell me. I can be—do—anything.”
“I know. You can even screw me in another shape. Like the kite? Or can you do wheels and discs—”
He pulled me round, ungentle. He took my head in his hands and brought my mouth against his. This time I shut my eyes.
He asked, “Am I improving?”
I dragged myself away. I wanted to hit him. He knew. He caught my hand before I'd raised it. “Don't. Remember what I'm covered with. You'll hurt yourself.”
“You hurt me.”
“Not intentionally.”
“You.”
He pressed me backwards, and there was the trunk of one of the trees against my spine. I felt his tongue over my neck, my breasts. The iron inside me whitened. The iron said to me, Let him, you want this, too. Don't stint yourself—enjoy.
When I struggled he held me, kissing me, his hands on my body. When he pierced me, I could only struggle towards him. Why lie to myself? He knew.
“This,” he hissed into my ear, “this—is us. Believe this—You and I—I and you—Loren—”
The world dissolved. Real or pretense, it shattered into glittering blue-black diamonds. A cry came out of me. It sounded like a bird screaming in the sky. And over the sinewy river, miles away, some music started for anyone who wanted to dance.
He picked me up and carried me into the block, and stood in the elevator, holding me, kissing my hair, my eyelids. When we were in the circular apartment, he put me on a couch, lowering me like something very fragile. Then he lay on me, heavy, every outer atom of our bodies in contact. He was inside me instantly.
His face, when he raised it, was alight with feral agony. I said he can climax, like any ordinary man. Jane taught Silver . . . Silver taught Verlis.
“More?” he asked me.
“Not yet.”
“Your hair pours over the end of the couch in a flood and lies along the floor. You have lovely hair, Loren. And your skin . . . You don't know you're beautiful, do you?”
“No.”
“And I'd never be able to convince you.”
“No.”
He lay beside me, drew me in close. “The r
eason I haven't seen you more often: There have been things to do.”
Beyond our lampless windows, lampshine, peaceful starry night.
“Because the city authorities are now sending ultimatums or mounting an attack.”
“They won't do it like that,” he said. “They've already hushed everything up. Like the last time. The fire at META was an accident. I must show you the news bulletins.”
“But you still have to be stopped.”
“It goes without saying. There's been no communication between them and us. But we can pick up most of their own computerized dialogues, even the ones put out to mislead us should we do so. They had several plans, none feasible. One of their problems is that they want to keep this place intact for themselves, in case they ever need it—a handy bolt-hole for war or plague, if the Asteroid disaster never happens. They will think of something eventually. Human beings are ingenious. But we know that, they made us in their image.”
“So you are more ingenious.”
“We have,” he said, “an ace card. Or will. Until everything's set, I don't want to tell you too much.”
“Don't trust me?”
“I don't think of you either as a potential captive under torture, or a traitor.”
“Then why not tell me?”
He said, “If you can't read my mind, you'll have to wait.”
More perverse playfulness? I took a breath. “Let's see if you'll tell me this. Is Jane down here?”
“Ah,” he said. I looked at him. “Glaya said you'd finally bring yourself to ask me that. Do you want me to answer?”
“Presumably, or why did I bring myself to ask.”
“If I say she isn't, all the responsibility for dealing with my immature sexual obsession falls on you. And yes, Loren, it has to be, even now, immature. Despite his memories, you are still my first. On the other hand, if I say yes, Jane is here also, what? Insecurity? The idea you owe me nothing and should accordingly elude my clutches?”
I struggled again and now he let me go. I stood up and shook myself like a dog coming out of water. Most of my clothes were off me. I turned my back to him.
“Come on, you, or someone, already took care I met her before. So is she here?”
“Since you refer to your meeting . . . you could say she is.”
Silence dropped painlessly down and down. It covered us up.
“Do you often see her?”
“I've seen her. She isn't here for that.”
“Was she on the plane that night—”
“No, Loren.”
“Then—”
“Loren, I'm not ready to explain to you. I will. Not yet.”
“Fuck you.”
“I won't insult you with the inevitable cliché.”
I moved across the circular room. I'd reached a window.
“How's this for a cliché? Let me go,” I said. “Let me go away.”
“I can't. Even if I wanted to. Right now, on your own, you couldn't even get off the mountains onto the highway. They have patrols lower down—”
“I know. And those fuelless robo-copters.”
“They'd pick you up the moment they registered you weren't one of the deer. You don't know how to protect yourself.”
I gazed back at him. Did I hate him? Yes, I hate him. Love and hate all mixed together, a new emotion. Shall I call it Have or Lote?
I said, “Don't tell me to come up here to you anymore.”
He lay on the couch, not looking at me. He was naked. He was as Jane describes him. I can't match her descriptions. She was new at it all, back then. You can't beat originality.
“If you don't want, don't,” he said.
“Give me some clothes,” I said. “You've torn these.”
“I'm sorry.”
“You're always sorry.”
“Very likely, yes. There's clothing in the bathroom.”
I walked around the curve of the windows and came to the blank wall where the emerald bathroom opens, and went in. I shut and locked the door, for what that was worth, and sat against it on the floor.
Did I sit lamenting there? I don't cry, remember?
After a while I got up and put on the fresh white underclothes, the white linen top, and the white jeans. Like a bride.
My mind ticked all the time. I wished I could disconnect it, but it only kept going. My mind had a mind of its own.
How could Jane be here and not have traveled on the VLO? Had she traveled here after? How? She'd have been stopped.
Suddenly I knew.
I froze there in my bride-white garments and stared at myself in the mirror.
Then I undid the door. I threw myself outside again—but Verlis was gone. He wasn't in the room.
I shouted into the air, then. It was all I could do.
“Shape-changers!”
I don't recall running out, or the elevator, or crossing the garden or the bridge. The first I recall is being on the plaza, and there was Andrewest in an historic costume, a three-piece Victorian suit, complete with sky-blue cravat. “Hello, Loren-Lucy,” he said. And I looked in his eyes, and lightly said, “How good to see you.” They were full of lust, just like Verlis's.
I didn't sleep with him. Had I thought, even for a second, I might? I'm not sure. It's unimportant. He isn't even strictly human, is he? Unless all that, too, is lies.
So much is.
I sloughed him after the second drink. He said, with a nasty grin, “What the hell, I didn't pay for these drinks, did I?”
When I was back at my apartment block by the park, something else happened.
I've said this place was empty of everyone save for me up at the top in my Jane-and-Silver room.
Tonight—I heard someone moving below. In the apartment below. It must be a human—or someone carefully posing as human. There's no wildlife here to break in, unless you count the doubtless robot bats and birds. So, who is down there? I went out again. I stood out front and looked up the length of the building for another light—mine was faintly visible behind the drapes. That was all. I even walked around into the night park, to see from that side. The waterfall rustled like a million paper bags, but there weren't any other lights.
Now I'm in again . . . I can't hear a sound down there. Muted waves of quake-rock rise from the plaza. Nothing else.
Paranoia must be setting in. Am I surprised it is?
Let me go through this then, scientifically. Because after this I am going to give up my futile act of writing. For what am I writing? My journal?
When I ran out of the bathroom and yelled Shape-changers! at that empty room, it was because I'd figured out what had been happening about Jane. Jane who was—or wasn't—down here.
All that I'd already written helped me to check through what had gone on. It was staring me in the face, and I hadn't seen it. I haven't a single doubt now these are the facts.
Jane was there at Verlis's concert in Bohemia, and she walked with Verlis into some sitting room. And Tirso, too, was there, and he was uneasy and gulped his drink—and probably he is Clovis's current lover.
But.
The two people I subsequently met in that house off the highway, before all three of us made a break for the airport, ran into META, and all the rest of this occurred—they weren't Jane or Tirso. They weren't people.
She was Glaya. And Tirso? Copperfield, I'd guess. What fun for him, to act a noncamp M-B male. (Of course, I could be wrong it was either. It could have been two of the others—but Glaya seems close to Verlis. And she and I have had a few dealings already. I think Sheena, Goldhawk and Kix would have been kept away—under constant surveillance by human First Unit personnel, the kind that couldn't be foxed or blocked. After all, they were the three who'd shown upfront murderous tendancies.)
Even that vid Verlis showed me on the house wall, Jane and he talking. That could have been Glaya.
They can all look like anything. They can change their hair, their colors, their skin and clothes. In moments they can become
pillars and wheels, discs and kites. To mimic a human being? Easy. Obviously, this isn't what META ever intended—or did they? I can see uses for the skill, in espionage, commercial fraud. But Verlis and his “team” are stronger than META. They do as they want.
The house where Verlis had me taken had been the one used by Jane and Tirso. But by the time I'd gotten there, they were gone. Neither of them left anything there, did they? I hope they reached Paris, if that was where they were headed.
When I heard her come in—I thought it was a human step I heard. But what a fool—she could impersonate the human way of walking. And even when we went out and there was no light below, I hadn't realized. She wouldn't need light to come upstairs, would she? Not a robot.
I hadn't ever seen Jane close. But really, Glaya must have been an exact copy in all ways, because of what came later.
What Glaya-as-Jane told me about the company, and Demeta, I'd say is definitely real. (They had stuck to my own code; when lying, always stay as near the truth as you can.) Maybe even Jane's dreams, her preference for a certain type of drink and chocolate, were duplicated faithfully. And, of course, it would be no problem for Glaya the robot to locate or work the heating of an unknown house.
Next came Tirso's dramatically timed appearance—remembering to turn the lights on, even. Suspicious of me, where “Jane” had been so trusting—too trusting. Naturally Glaya had known who I was. But would Jane have accepted me like that? I doubt it. (And “Tirso” gloating, unable not to, over Gee and Kix's exploits in the city.)
Given their acting in that cab and elsewhere, yes, wretched Egyptia had been right to be threatened by the talent of such rivals.
I assume they allowed META to catch us. And the check for ID? They passed it without a glitch. Must have expected to, even though they seem to have been experimenting to see the lengths to which they could go.
I don't know what other motives they have for all this, unless getting me into META was part of it. Verlis would have known I'd have refused to go there willingly.
“Jane” called me on the internal phone when we were at META. I couldn't ever get through to her. Wonder why not.
How did they manage being Jane and Tirso in the suite, or wherever, and also being available as Glaya and Copperfield in META's labs? But they can fix all that. Reasonably, any actual human watch on them would have been less. They were two of the “amenable” machines. But I don't know how they fiddled it, I just know they could have.