by Ash Gray
Dinemi poured a glass and slid it to Rigg. Rigg caught the drink and stared into it miserably. She could feel Dinemi’s slanted eyes studying her in concern but didn’t look up.
“Why the long face?” Dinemi said, polishing a mug. She was chewing gum as she watched Rigg. “You get any sadder, your face’ll be longer than mine.” She laughed.
Rigg shrugged. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
Dinemi nodded, still watching Rigg with concern. “Alright, sweetheart.”
“We’ve all got plenty reasons to be wretched, Din. Don’t mind us,” said Morganith, who was leaning her elbows against the bar. She took a pull on her cigarette, ignoring the lusty stare of the human man who sat next to her.
Rigg recognized the man sitting right of Morganith – not because he was an old crewmember, but because he was there when she was pulled on deck. He was thin and gangly, his black skin smooth in the lantern light. A square of hair framed his lips and dimpled chin, and his dark eyes had a way of glittering hungrily that was most unpleasant. He wore a smudged jacket, and the hood was drawn up over his head. Fat round welding goggles were over his eyes, but he kept pushing them back to openly ogle Morganith. Rigg remembered someone called him Osgood when they told him to get “outta the way” as she was hurried off to have her bleeding leg cared for. She remembered how he stood on the deck, dumbfounded by the sight of four strangers leaping onboard with a Crow in hot pursuit. He was new to the crew, and it was obvious from the way he gawked that he hadn’t been around demons much. He was yet another new face in a sea of new faces. Because inviting someone to join the crew had always been a serious risk, Rigg decided Osgood either had some rare and special skill – which she highly doubted – or Kito, who was functioning as a double agent, had likely been forced to recruit him by the Hand.
“I never did get to tell you but . . . I’m real sorry ‘bout Arda,” Dinemi said in a voice that was low with emotion. “Arda was my favorite of you knuckleheads. Well . . .” She glanced at Rigg. “My favorite after Riggy.”
Rigg laughed sadly and stared into her mug. Six months ago, when they were forced to leave Arda behind, Dinemi hadn’t been able to speak for her shock and grief. She and Arda had been very good friends, and the loss had cut her as deeply as it cut the Keymasters. This was the first time she’d spoken to them about Arda.
“Piff,” said Morganith, feigning indignation. “And all these years ya told me I was your favorite! I knew you were just sayin’ that to get in my pants!”
Dinemi laughed, her long lashes fluttering prettily. She blew a playful kiss at Morganith with her towel, and Morganith chuckled as she tapped ashes in the ashtray. Rigg knew their flirting was all in good fun. Morganith had always flirted jokingly with Dinemi, who didn’t mind joking with Morganith in return. That was the thing Rigg had first admired about Morganith: when she flirted, she genuinely made women happy, and there was nothing leery about it, no power play, no predatory language or body language: when Morganith flirted, both participants felt pretty good about what was happening. With Lisa there had been no flirting, just fearless honesty, and Rigg had loved that more than anything she’d ever experienced. When she closed her eyes, she could still hear Lisa whispering that she wanted to taste her.
Hari was smiling as she stared at the pretzel bowl, and her eyes were wistful. “Arda always wanted an airship. She hated drivin’.”
“Yeah,” snorted Morganith, “she used ta make me drive, and that didn’t do anyone any good.”
“You can drive me anytime,” said Osgood and winked at Morganith.
Morganith frowned, tapping her cigarette over the ashtray. “I asked you ta stop, Osgood. You keep goin’ and I won’t ask. I’ll stop you.”
Osgood only grinned. “I love it when you talk dirty.”
Morganith’s lip curled.
Rigg glanced around the room at everyone’s irritable faces, and it was clear Osgood had been disrupting their peace and relaxation for some time. Not only was he pushing unwanted sexual attention on Morganith, but he kept interrupting Hari and Morganith’s serious conversation to do so. Even Dinemi was verging on anger, and she was the most cheerful and patient person Rigg knew aside from Hari.
Dinemi wearily shook her head as she polished a mug. “Maybe I’ll talk to my husband ‘bout you again, Ossy. This is gettin’ ridiculous. You’ve harassed every woman on the ship. Lee there came close to breakin’ your arm last week.” She nodded at Lee, whose eyes were flickering irritably as she played her flute. “Enough is enough,” Dinemi warned.
Osgood shrugged bitterly. “Doesn’t ah man hava right to express how he feels?”
“How did this become about your rights?” said Hari with a laugh. She rolled her eyes as she popped a peanut in her mouth.
“Doesn’t ah woman hava a right to drink in peace?” Morganith retorted.
“You ain’t ah woman,” said Osgood, wagging his brows. “I know ‘bout you Anikye demons and what you got goin’ on down --” He choked to silence when Morganith passed him glare that could have melted him. “I’m just sayin’,” he insisted meekly and lifted his hands in surrender. “You’ve gotta dick, I’ve gotta dick. I understand. I mean, I’d know how to get you goin’. You’d like it.”
“Don’t tell me what I’d like,” Morganith warned.
Hari shook her head. “Just shut up, Osgood. Please? I’ll pay you to shut up.”
Osgood laughed. “I been paid to do less.”
“Doesn’t matter what’s in my pants,” Morganith said, “not that my junk is any of your damn business, Osgood. I’mma woman who loves women. Ain’t that enough for you? Or do you just want me to break your face that badly?”
Osgood laughed again, pushing back his welding goggles to eye Morganith openly. “You can break any thing you want, luscious,” he said and wagged his tongue meaningfully.
Everyone in the room groaned.
“Don’t make me come over there, Osgood!” growled a male crewmember from the card table. “Stop botherin’ Morganith!”
To Rigg’s amazement, Osgood guiltily fell silent and dropped his eyes to his drink. Rigg shook her head: he would only listen to the disgust of another man. The feelings of the actual woman he continued to harass meant nothing.
The room fell silent, and the sound of Lee’s flute rose softly to sooth them. Rigg took a drink from her mug and closed her eyes as the warm liquor spread through her. Lisa was back in their cabin, fully dressed in her little maid uniform, lying on the bed with her eyes closed. When Rigg shut her down, her eyes were still open, and Rigg couldn’t stand her blank staring. Lisa had looked like a corpse lying there, like a broken doll, like something empty and soulless. It hurt so much, Rigg gently closed Lisa’s eyes and pulled the covers up to her chest, and then it just looked like she was sleeping.
“I thought I almost lost Kito,” said Dinemi mournfully into the silence. “When the Hand finally caught ‘im, I thought our lives were over. I thought, ‘This is it. He’s gonna die and leave me here alone.’ ” She shook her head. “Was never so grateful in my life when that sorry fool came back to me.”
“Yeah, Kito told us about that,” Morganith said heavily. “Crazy fool went lookin’ for Pirayo and got caught by the Hand instead.” She shook her head. “Losin’ his arm musta scared the hell outta him if he was ready ta leave us behind in Coghurst just like that.”
Rigg stared at her glass and was silent. She wanted to tell Hari and Morganith the truth about Kito and didn’t see the harm in doing so, but she also knew she must respect Kito’s wishes: if he’d wanted Hari and Morganith to know the truth, he would have told them.
“It did,” said Dinemi apologetically. “When he came back . . . he was never the same.” Her hand slowly stopped polishing the mug and she stared off with haunted eyes.
“It can’t have been easy for you either,” Hari said, watching Dinemi sympathetically. “How you been holdin’ up, Din?”
Dinemi swallowed hard and went back to polishing
the mug. “I s-still can’t believe any of this is happening. That Arda. . .” She looked at the Keymasters, her eyes going from face to face. “But I guess it was foolish to think the Hand was never gonna catch any of us. We were bound to make mistakes eventually. We’re just folks like everyone else.”
“That whole job was bad,” Hari said darkly. “I hadda bad feelin’ about it from the start, but we needed the riggs.”
Dinemi snorted. “What for? You live outside the Hand; you can get whatever you . . .” Her voice trailed to silence when she saw the strained expression on Morganith’s face. She cleared her throat and went back to polishing her mug. “I’m sorry. That’s probably none of my affair.”
“Arda wanted an abortion,” Morganith said tonelessly.
Rigg went still. From the corner of her eye, she could see Hari’s weary expression. Dinemi stared at Morganith in shock and sadness, while at the end of the bar, Osgood sucked on his bottom lip, lusting after Morganith. Rigg’s heart burned, and she was half inclined to punch Osgood off his stool: Morganith was tearfully discussing the death of her partner, and Osgood was imagining Morganith with her clothing off.
Morganith dropped her eyes to her drink and slurred, “That doctor friend we used ta have . . . what was ‘is name? Harold Ricketts? He got taken by the Hand years ago. Couldn’t go ta him . . . He woulda done it free. . . .”
“Morganith,” Hari coaxed softly, “you’re tired. You should get some rest before . . .”
“I’m not tired, Hari, and you know it,” Morganith said irritably.
Hari looked at Morganith sadly, on the verge of protesting again.
Morganith looked at Dinemi, who was watching her with sympathy. “In the end, we couldn’t afford it. That’s why she died. That’s why she stayed behind . . .” She hiccoughed sadly and pain filled her eyes. “Know what’s really ironic? I scraped together the riggits months after the job. I finally had enough . . . finally had enough to save her . . .” Morganith sniffed and tears glittered in her eyes.
“And I spent it on jellybeans,” Hari said tonelessly, dead eyes on the pretzel bowl.
“You spent it on jellybeans,” muttered Morganith darkly and took another swig.
Dinemi frowned. “I woulda helped you and Arda pay for an abortion,” she scolded Morganith. “You coulda called me and Kito any time. Hell, we’re practically family.”
Hari shook her head. “You know Morganith and Arda were both too proud. They would have just said it was their problem and no one else’s --”
“Because it was our problem,” Morganith said darkly.
Hari raised her brows at Dinemi. “See?”
“Spent my whole life,” Morganith went on, staring miserably into her drink, “thinkin’ that out there somewhere was ah woman who would love me incredibly and I would love her incredibly. Like ah fire consumin’ the very air. Then I meet her, and she leaves me.” Morganith snapped her fingers lazily. “Just like that.”
“Maybe what you need’s ah man,” said Osgood quietly. “Maybe a human man.”
Dinemi paused to look at him wearily. “For god’s sake, Osgood --!” she began angrily.
Osgood held up his hands. “I’m just sayin’ maybe she’s lookin’ in all the wrong places. If we’re all the same, why can’t I love her as good as any woman?”
“Because we’re not all the same,” said Hari quietly.
“But we are,” Osgood insisted. “We’re all in this together, sweet cheeks,” he said to Hari, who glared. “What’s it matter if the Hand kills a human or a demon? I’m scared of the Hand, too. We’re all in danger. We all get treated like dirt.”
Hari shook her head and blinked impatiently. “Demons were enslaved for two thousand years and are still socially, economically oppressed. No, we aren’t all treated the same!”
“How bad can it be for demons, though?” Osgood demanded. “We’ve gotta president who’s half-demon, for fuck’s sake.”
“As if the president weren’t a puppet,” snorted Dinemi.
“Oh, come on!” Osgood cried, looking incredulously from face to face. “That’s a paranoid fantasy. How in hell is the most powerful woman in Nottica a puppet?”
“She keeps humans at the top thinkin’ Nottica doesn’t hava race problem, that’s how,” said Hari quietly. “Wavin’ her around every once inna while makes humans believe all a demon has to do is work hard and they can get outta the boilers. When humans like you believe the lies, people stop questioning things.”
It was true that some demons managed to escape a life of toil in the boilers beneath the cities, though that feat on their part was not indicative of racial equality, and how some humans came to such a conclusion was beyond Rigg. While demons weren’t allowed to own their own shops, they were still allowed to lend themselves out as indentured servants working in said shops. Some demons made a decent living that way, though the price was quite often their dignity and self-respect, for most of the work consisted of such humiliating tasks as cleaning bedpans and toilets, mopping up vomit, scrubbing gum off theatre seats, handling garbage, and any other disgusting chore lower class humans wanted done but could not afford purchasing robots to do. Some demons got lucky and landed work in restaurants, but such demons also ran the risk of being sexually exploited by human employers, who still saw demon women as public property. Either way, doing anything outside of boiler work for a demon was akin to swimming in shark infested waters. It was something Osgood wouldn’t have understood after having lived a life within the bubble of humanity.
Rigg expected Morganith to say something, but she was staring angrily, wearily into her drink. It reminded Rigg of Morganith’s miserable stupor after Arda’s death, how she sat in the kitchen and drank and stared, saying nothing for days at a time. Her lit cigarette was resting in a nearby ashtray, glowing red as its smoke curled to the round lanterns dangling above, and her eyes were fixed on it with a sort of quiet menace.
Osgood dismissively rolled his eyes. “I can’t listen to this no more. You demons whine on and on about how sorry your lives are --”
Hari and Dinemi both glared at Osgood.
“— but how’re you gonna improve things if you’re stuck in the past?” Osgood pointed to himself. “How am I to blame for some ram-headed bitch my ancestors raped thousands of years ago? I’m not. No human today is.” He looked at Morganith and his voice softened as he said, “It’s ah new day, Morganith. There’s nothin’ wrong with a little lovin’ froma human. Come on, baby.” His hand disappeared behind the bar, reaching for Morganith. “You demon girls always want it --” The sound of bones cracking rent the air, and when Osgood’s eyes popped, Rigg knew Morganith’s mechanical hand had closed over his and was breaking it.
“Morganith!” Hari begged. “Stop – you’re drunk!”
Osgood’s expression was the perfect etching of cartoonish shock and pain. Rigg winced when Morganith grabbed him by the back of the head and violently slammed his face on the counter. His head snapped back to reveal his dazed expression, and blood and teeth sprayed the air before he dropped out of sight behind the bar. Several nearby humans gaped in shock and anger, but when Morganith glared at them, they averted their eyes in meek unison. One winced, and liquid pooled down his pants leg.
In the silence that followed, Morganith calmly took a last drag on her cigarette and crushed it out in the ashtray. “Sorry for the mess, Din,” she said and slapped a fistful of riggits on the counter.
“No problem,” said Dinemi, who appeared to be holding back a laugh.
Morganith turned and marched out, bumping once into the doorframe as she went, her long coat swirling behind her.
In the wake of Morganith’s absence, everyone carried on as before. Rigg wasn’t even certain the card players had been fazed by Morganith’s outburst, while Dinemi continued polishing glasses and mugs with a tired, listless expression. Lee had stopped playing her flute to watch Morganith, but with Morganith gone, she winked at Rigg and went back to playing. Rigg averted
her eyes, silently wondering what it was about her that drew such beautiful Ainmik demons.
Osgood eventually picked himself up from the floor, groaning and rubbing his face. His dark skin was already bruising. “This is what I get,” he snarled, “for sayin’ we aren’t so different after all? Fucking demons.” He glared at Hari and staggered out.
Rigg stared at her glass, suddenly tired of hearing how everyone wasn’t so different after all. What if people were different? Would that make it okay to confuse being different with being inferior?
“Hey, Rigg,” Hari said, sticking a pretzel in her mouth. She chewed and said around a mouthful, “Where’s Lisa?”
Rigg stared dully at her glass.
“Ah,” said Dinemi. “Girl trouble. Shoulda known.”
After watching Rigg in concern a moment, Hari looked at Dinemi. “Could you give us a minute, Din?”
Dinemi glanced at Rigg again, then threw her towel over her shoulder. “Yeah, alright,” she said, setting a bottle on the counter. “You two help yourselves, then. Think I’ll get in on that card game.”
When Dinemi had gone, Rigg admitted to Hari what she’d done. Hari listened sympathetically, and when Rigg had finished speaking, Hari shook her head and took a shaky breath. “That’s a rough decision to make, Riggy,” she said, adjusting her welding goggles beneath her horns, “but I think you made the right one.”
Rigg took a drink, set down the mug, and stared dully into space. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Hari assured her. “Everything Lisa is – her personality, her memories, her . . . feelings for you – it’s stored in those data files. If something happens to her, you can plug her into another bot and boot her up in a new body. You didn’t have to take her heart as well, though I guess it would be safe to take it. A compass that old would be worth ah good riggit to some weirdo collector. Wouldn’t want anyone takin’ it off her while we’re gone.” Hari popped another pretzel in her mouth, followed by a peanut from the peanut bowl.