Mind Over Ship

by David Marusek

  Georgine laughed. “I’ll have the same, along with baked sourdough crackers with sesame seeds. And little cups of borscht would be nice.”

  “Oh, yes, borscht,” Ellen agreed.

  “And hummus, not too garlicky, and spinach artichoke dip while you’re at it,” Mary added. “And for dessert, jasmine tea and brownies. That should do it. Got all that?”

  The nuss nodded and, together with her sister, left the room.

  MARY AND GEORGINE took turns feeding little nibbles of this and that to Ellen while Georgine continued her tale about her mickey pet.

  “Just how small are these mickeys?” Mary prompted her.

  “I can put mine in my pocket.”

  “Impossible!”

  “I kid you not.” Georgine took a pickled ear of baby corn from the tray and compared the tiny kernels to Ellen’s fingers. “His fingernails are about this big,” she said, pointing to the smallest kernel.

  “And his ears,” she went on, “remind me of Ellen’s.” She tried to touch Ellen’s ear, but the baby hand clamped over it.

  “Don’t make fun of my new ears,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Georgine said, tugging the little hand away. “I absolutely adore your ears.”

  “They look ridiculous.”

  The evangelines laughed. “You’re crazy. They do not,” Mary assured her. “Well, maybe only a little, but give them time.”

  “Look here, Mary,” Georgine said. “What do you call this part of the ear, the flappy part?”

  “The lobe?”

  “No, that’s the part at the bottom.” She tugged Ellen’s earlobe. “The flappy part is called the pinna. I looked it up. Doesn’t she have the most darling pinna?”

  “Yes, so fresh. Like a dried apricot.”

  “My mickey’s looks just the same!”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “I’m not. And look here.” She pushed Ellen’s pinna forward to expose the back of her ear. “Most people’s ears — our type included — join to the scalp with just a crease of skin. But Ellen’s has this little like valley area. That’s very rare.”

  “What do you call that?”

  “I don’t know. I looked it up but couldn’t find it, so I coined my own word. I call it a runnel.”

  “A runnel, huh?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think runnel is a perfect word.”

  “My mickey has runnels too!”

  “It’s not fair!”

  “I know. I can’t get over it. Sometimes I just look at his runnels for hours while he’s sleeping. But do you know what I really like to do?”

  “I’m dying to know.”

  “Would you really like to know, Mary?”

  “Tell me this instant!”

  “What about you, Ellen?”

  The woman/child nodded.

  “I’ll show you. I like to push his pinna forward like this, exposing the runnel like this, and —” She leaned over and kissed Ellen behind the ear. Ellen closed her eyes and smiled.

  “Oh, my God, Georgine, can I try it?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Mary leaned over Ellen’s large head and kissed her behind her tiny ear and lingered to inhale the doughy scent of her baby skin.

  AFTER LUNCH, THE three of them felt like watching a vid or something. They agreed that they didn’t want to watch the novelas that their Leenas were in or any of Burning Daylight’s pictures. In fact, they wanted to watch an oldie, something pre-holo, and they settled on the flatscreen classic Yurek Rutz and the Long Lake Fisherwoman. It featured a trained squirrel named Pepe who bossed the main character around, much like Georgine’s mickey tried to boss her, and it was funnier than any of them remembered.

  ELLEN WAS ASLEEP when Cyndee arrived to relieve them. “Good job, Mary,” she whispered. “Good job, Georgine.” She motioned for them to join her in the hallway. “Clarity is holoing in the Map Room. She wants to talk to us.”

  “What about?” Georgine said.

  “I don’t know. She wanted to wait until we were all together.”

  In the Map Room, Ellen’s business partner stood before the ceiling-high globe of Mars. She turned when they entered and zoomed over to them. “Thank you for taking the time,” she said. “How’s Ellen? Those snotty new nurses won’t tell me a thing.”

  “She’s been through a rough patch,” Mary said, “but she’ll be all right.”

  “Good, good. I’m so glad you three are still on the job. I’m almost afraid to call her in case she tries to quit the business again. Nurse Eisner was keeping me updated, but now she’s gone.”

  “I’ll tell the new head nurse to keep you informed.”

  “Thank you, Mary, and welcome back. How’s Fred?”

  “Fine. He’s fine.” Mary went to the chart table and took a seat. Georgine gave Clarity a look, and they and Cyndee went over to join her.

  “Did you have some Leena business for us or something?” Cyndee said.

  “Yes, in fact, I do. Before holoing here, I received a call from E-P at E-Pluribus. It wants to purchase two Leenas for its in-house Academy, and I wanted to run it by you before I agreed to anything.”

  The evangelines exchanged a glance, and Mary said, “Why? Except for the three Leenas you gave us outright, you own the whole issue. Why ask us?”

  Georgine added, “The E-Pluribus Academy is pretty prestigious. What’s wrong with the offer?”

  “Nothing on the surface,” Clarity said. “If we received a similar offer for any of our other sims, we’d be thrilled. But the Leena line is a special case. With two Leena units, E-Pluribus would be able to reverse-engineer the character’s entire profile. In effect, I’d be handing them the Leenas’ entire slice cascade code.”

  Georgine said, “So? Doesn’t that apply to any sims you sell to them as well?”

  “Yes, but we use trained actors for our characters. Not to say you girls didn’t give brilliant performances. You did, but in the final analysis, we cast you being yourselves. A trained actor, on the other hand, has extraordinary control in the casting process. She can wall off, so to speak, the more private areas of her psyche and allow only the performance to be captured. You three didn’t have that kind of control. Who knows what sort of personal baggage might have transferred to the sims? I wanted you to know that before agreeing to the deal.”

  The evangelines mulled over the information, and Mary said, “Our genotype has only been around for thirty years. We don’t even have that much baggage.” Georgine snickered, and Mary added, “Speaking for myself, at least. I don’t know about Georgine and Cyndee, but I don’t see the harm. It’s no greater an invasion of privacy than sitting for one of the E-Pluribus preference polling sessions, which a lot of ’leens did when we were down on our luck.”

  “That’s right,” Georgine said. “Our type was on the brink of collapse before the clinic thing. I know that Mary and Cyndee don’t consider themselves heroes — that distinction goes to Alex, Renata, and Hattie — but their actions did put us in the headlines, and your gift of the Leena royalties to the Sisterhood has created financial security for our whole germline. I, for one, wouldn’t want to stand in the way of the Leenas being inducted into the Academy.”

  “Neither would I,” Mary and Cyndee said.

  A Fine Massage

  Nicholas appeared sitting in the middle of her Lazy-Acres bed, but before he could get a word out, Zoranna said, “I don’t want to hear it.”

  Nicholas ignored her. “I can understand your feelings right now, Zoe, but we’re in crisis mode, and we must discuss strategy. It would seem that Singh and Jaspersen coordinated their actions to coincide with the Capias World’s rollout in the USNA market. And the labor shakeup at Trailing Earth is spinning out of control.”

  “You handle things,” Zoranna said, pulling the covers to her chin. “Leave me out of it.”

  “I’d love to, but I need your help. I need you to call Starke again to find out what caused
her rash decision to dump us. Starke Enterprises and Applied People have always been on good terms.”

  “Then call Cabinet and ask it.”

  “I already have. Cabinet says it was entirely Ellen’s decision; she didn’t even consult with it. You must call Ellen.”

  “You already know she won’t take my call.”

  “Try again, and remember that our employees are counting on you, Zoe. They’re mystified about what’s going on. They’re worried. They need to know that you’re still in charge, that you’re working to correct the problem. Look here.”

  The Warm Puppy, Uncle Homer, appeared on the bed next to him. It walked in a tight circle on the bedspread, pausing every few steps to sit and scratch its hindquarters, which were denuded of hair. Its exposed skin was red and raw with mange and crisscrossed with bloody scratch marks. It scratched itself so vigorously it yelped in pain.

  “That’s disgusting,” Zoranna said. “Why would you show that to me, Nick? Take it away.”

  The dog vanished. “Actually, the situation is even worse than it looks,” Nicholas replied.

  “I don’t care. Don’t ever show that to me again. Is that clear, mentar?”

  “Perfectly.”

  Zoranna plumped her pillows and turned her back to him. “If you want my input, give me hard data. Numbers, that’s what I want, not your Warm Puppy crap.”

  “Hard data? You?” Nicholas rudely opened a dataframe in front of her face. “Here’s your hard data.”

  “Not here,” Zoranna said, flinging off the covers and sitting up in bed. “I feel like a massage. Order me a belinda.”

  ZORANNA’S BATHROOM WAS larger than her bedroom. Besides the spa, there was a gell stall, sauna, and a softstone slab. The floor and walls were tiled in natural, pink-and-white marble. A sheet of water ran down one wall and collected in a little koi pool. The high cathedral ceiling was topped with a glassine vault under which neon-colored chickadees built their nests. Zoranna was already lying nude on the cool slab when the door whisked open and the light tread of slippered feet crossed the floor.

  “Good afternoon, myr. My name is Irene.”

  Without looking up, Zoranna said, “I’m tense, Irene. Try to loosen me up.”

  “Yes, myr.”

  The sound of a bottle of body oil being opened, of vigorous hand wringing. “I’m just warming up my hands, myr.”

  “I know that, Irene. You don’t need to give me a play-by-play.”

  “No, myr. I guess not. Sorry.” The strong woman started working on Zoranna’s shoulders and cervical spine, paying special attention to the muscles surrounding each vertebra. The sharp tang of highbush cranberry filled the room. Zoranna’s skin prickled and flushed. It kills me to say this, Nick, but when our Borealis Botanicals supply runs out, you’ll need to find me a worthy substitute.

  Will do, the mentar replied. Let me know when you want to talk shop.

  Down each leg, using more force with the large muscles of the thigh, not neglecting the arches of her feet. Then her arms and the palms of her hands. Belindas knew their craft.

  Are there any penelopes left? she asked. How long would it take us to restart the whole spacer research program?

  There were never many penelopes to begin with, and they would require extensive rejuve to go back into service. As for the spacer research, I’m putting together a feasibility study.

  Nicholas began to spool tables and charts behind Zoranna’s eyelids. He highlighted important details and laid out probable scenarios and possible maneuvers. As the massage progressed and Zoranna relaxed, it was, indeed, easier to think. Do you suppose Andrea Tiekel knew of Saul and Singh’s plot when she came to us with her offer?

  I have little doubt that she did. She only pretended to be on our side and vote with us.

  The belinda began to work on Zoranna’s neck, loosening stubborn knots of muscle. She massaged Zoranna’s scalp, which was more pleasure than a person deserved. You know, Nick, true power is being able to have a massage whenever the hell you want one.

  I know it.

  Are you riding me?

  The belinda returned her attention to Zoranna’s upper back, this time digging deeper for lingering tension. She manipulated her arms and shoulder blades and sought the muscles several layers down. For a while, Zoranna was too loose to care about anything, and she blinked the graphics away to become a body only. Sometime later, she said, Is there anything to this so-called clone fatigue?

  We don’t think so, but I have the lab doing tests on the Londenstane genome.

  Explain.

  We’ve retrieved his placental sac from the archives, and we’re doing forced rapid generational stress tests on samples. They’ve just passed the hundredth generation milestone.

  “Excuse me, myr,” the belinda said, unaware of their subvocal conversation, “but I’ve run out of this body oil.”

  “There should be a fresh bottle under the counter behind you.”

  “Yes, myr. Thank you.”

  One of the last, she added to Nicholas.

  There were sounds of the counter doors snapping shut, babbling water, chirrupy chickadees. The belinda returned and continued her magic.

  By the way, Nicholas said, we have a puzzling mystery on our hands: when our lab retrieved Londenstane’s placental sac, they discovered a whole section of it missing.

  Missing?

  It might have been a logging error. Records show no activity since Londenstane was decanted a century ago, but given the recent interest in his behavior, we can’t rule out espionage. In any case, we’re investigating and doing —

  “Excuse me, myr,” the belinda said, “but you’re leaving scratch marks on your skin.”

  It was true; Zoranna had been absentmindedly scratching the back of her neck. “But it itches,” she complained.

  The belinda retrieved the bottle of body oil and read the label. “This is the same kind as before?” she said, holding the bottle where Zoranna could see it. Zoranna reached around and started clawing at her back, and the belinda restrained her hand.

  Zoranna’s reaction was immediate. She rose up on the slab and wrestled her hand free. “Don’t you dare grab me, Irene!”

  “I’m very sorry, myr. I was only trying to prevent harm while I try to figure this situation out.”

  “Is my skin inflamed?”

  “No, myr, except for your scratch marks.”

  Nicholas appeared suddenly next to the slab in his usual persona, startling the belinda. But she recognized him at once and bobbed a greeting. He wasted no time. “Quick, Irene,” he said, “go to the autodoc and fetch us a probe.”

  “Yes, Myr Nick,” she said and dashed across the room to where the autodoc hung on a wall behind the spa.

  “It itches like crazy,” Zoranna said.

  “I know,” Nicholas replied. “I feel it too, and I never imagined how satisfying scratching feels. But try to ignore it; you are injuring yourself.”

  “Maybe you can ignore it, but I can’t.”

  The belinda returned and, following Nicholas’s instructions, ran the probe across Zoranna’s neck and back. A few moments later, the autodoc across the room returned confusing results: it could find nothing wrong with Zoranna’s skin.

  “But I can feel it!” Zoranna insisted, a slight rasp in her voice.

  “Should I get a cortisone lotion?” the belinda asked.

  “No,” Nicholas replied. He was reading Zoranna’s implants. “Help Myr Alblaitor to the shower. We need to wash this stuff off her.”

  The belinda helped Zoranna from the slab. In the shower stall she soaped her up and rinsed her off. But it didn’t seem to help. Zoranna’s legs trembled, and she wheezed loudly. Her mounting panic infected Nicholas. Her biometry confirmed the autodoc’s diagnosis; he could find nothing physically wrong with her. Yet her bronchioles were constricting and her blood pressure dropping.

  A jenny nurse burst into the bathroom with a crash cart. Together, nurse and cart lifted Zoranna onto
the procedure gurney. “I think it’s an allergic reaction to this,” the belinda told the jenny, holding up the bottle of body oil.

  When Zoranna was lying flat, it was even harder to breathe, and Nicholas grew light-headed. The nurse took the bottle of oil and squeezed a few drops into the cart’s assayer. “We’re going to give you something to stabilize your blood pressure,” she told Zoranna, and meanwhile she elevated the head of the gurney. That lessened the drowning feeling but not enough to halt Nicholas’s wooziness. Plasma continued to leak from her blood vessels, and her heart raced to compensate. Her larynx swelled up making it impossible to swallow, and all the while, fluid continued to pool in her lungs. As Nicholas lay on the gurney, he was barely able to follow what the nurse was saying: symptoms, anaphylactic shock, histamines. She hovered over him in blurry flashes, and he had the clearest thought he ever had in over seventy years of existence: I’m dying. So clear and so compelling, but so crippling as well — he didn’t think once about simply pulling out.

  IN ACCORDANCE WITH long-established fail-safe protocols, primacy was passed from Nicholas to a mirror Nicholas. This one also reeled under the somatic load, and primacy was passed to a second mirror, and a third and fourth. In mentarspace, Nicholas’s constellation looked like a string of exploding light bulbs.

  Finally, primacy was passed to a backup from five minutes ago, who had not experienced the panic. He shut off the custom implants in Zoranna’s cells, the Nicholas constellation quickly stabilized, and the new Nicholas assumed the job of being Nicholas.

  The old Nicholas regained his equilibrium in a very still place. He knew he was in protective quarantine, for he had designed his own safety protocol. He was in solitary confinement, self-imposed house arrest, no channels in or out, in case whatever caused his failure was catching. A harsh sentence, but one necessary for the survival of his greater mind. Or at least that was how it had seemed to him when he was Nicholas prime and had set up the protocol.