Medusa Uploaded

by Emily Devenport

I studied the images of the young Ladies I might become.

  “No,” she said with unfailing confidence. “However—I wonder if one of these women might accommodate you.” Most of the young Ladies melted back into the background, but three remained. Each of them had a different style, from the color of their eyes to the clothing they wore, yet something about them was the same—and it wasn’t just the fact that they were physically similar. What they shared was an emotion that tugged at their expressions, something I couldn’t quite grasp. But the ghost of Lady Sheba knew what it was.

  “These women are contemplating suicide,” she said with a sparkle in her eye. “I think a position will be opening up soon.”

  15

  The Messenger Is the Message …

  You can be guilty of doing something, and you can also be guilty of not doing something. In my case, I would be guilty of waiting for a young woman to kill herself so I could assume her identity and spy on the Executives from the inside.

  In my defense, intervention in her self-destruction would have been difficult. Even for a high-level Executive, it would have been problematic. Executive families do not tolerate awareness of their personal affairs. They would rather lose a family member. Security personnel could warn of a breach of safety, but only under narrow conditions.

  I looked into the records for both Titania and Olympia, and found surprisingly few suicides. They were almost unheard of among worms. Executives killed themselves more often (statistically), but it still seemed odd that three women were thinking about suicide at the same time. I had to remind myself that contemplating and accomplishing were two different things, and while I debated with myself, Sezen Koto blew herself out of an air lock.

  I would have liked to study the recording of her death, since I had never witnessed that particular behavior before. Specifically, I would have liked to watch her face in the last few seconds before the outer door opened. From the brief segment I saw, I suspected Sezen regretted her decision—her expression was anguished. But she didn’t try to change the outcome. And once she was exposed to void, she looked surprised rather than frightened. She flew out of the air lock and beyond the range of the Security cameras.

  Everything she had been—now gone. Unless you counted my imitation of her.

  I squelched the warning messages about the unscheduled decompression and immediately scrubbed the footage from the record. No one would see what had happened—and I could see Sezen’s last moments only in my memory, because I didn’t make my own recording.

  Medusa was still busy with her project, though I had interrupted her long enough to pass on the ghost’s list of words to be avoided, and her insight about the diary.

  Medusa wasn’t happy I had broken my promise about staying out of trouble. She insisted that I recruit some helpers. I called.

  he said.

  But I didn’t suffer any doubts, now that I had decided to act. Kumiko and I had a lot to do. First and foremost, we had to get to Sezen’s quarters in Fore Sector.

  * * *

  The Kotos were a minor family—but they had diminished only since the destruction of Titania. On our sister ship, they had been as prominent as the Charmaynes, which gave them a ranking similar to that of the Changs. So they had fallen on hard times, yet when I looked them up in the old databases, I was dazzled by their sense of style. Though they possessed no power in the current House of Clans, everyone watched to see what they would be wearing to parties.

  Fortunately, no one seemed to watch anything else about them, including the Security at their In-Skin quarters. They needed no secret hatch to get out and prowl the dark worm tunnels; they had nothing more than a surveillance camera at their front door. And it wasn’t on.

  If you’re thinking that should have struck us as odd, it did. Kumiko and I took the precaution of scanning the Security overlay before venturing inside. There were only twelve surviving members of the Koto family (including Sezen), and all of them were scattered from one end of Olympia to the other. According to records, Sezen was the only one who had been home recently.

  Sezen had not turned on surveillance at the door. None of the interior cameras were on, either.

  I called the ghost.

  She was watching with great interest from her virtual hallway. “They have no political power. They are no danger to others; therefore, they are in no danger from rivals. Style will win you friends and get you invited to parties, but on Olympia it will create no murderous enemies.”

  That explained the unguarded door.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Despite the lack of surveillance, the door was locked, but I had appropriated Sezen’s identifier code, so it popped open at my touch and we slipped inside. We had consulted the virtual floor plan and plotted a route to Sezen’s rooms. We planned to make a beeline there, but we were walking on my feet—and I stopped in my tracks.

  Since Kumiko was linked with me, she also had access to my senses. she said.

  I had seen opulence in the homes of the Executives I had served, and some of it was even beautiful. But it paled in comparison to the screens, porcelains, carvings, and furnishings in the Koto compound. I understood at once that everything I had seen before was merely an attempt to imitate this sort of beauty, this charm and grace.

  And yet there was a bohemian quality to the scene. Compared with the Charmaynes’ main house—or even the Constantins’—these quarters were small and a bit crowded with wonders, things of surpassing loveliness. And of mystery, because they could not have been made on Titania or Olympia, unlike the belongings of most other Executives.

  The Changs were fond of a range of ancient Chinese periods. The Charmaynes loved a style called French Provincial, inspired by flowers, animals, and even seashells. Every family had distinctive tastes, yet they all relied on reproductions of things they had seen in history databases. None of those reproductions were made of solid wood, though some were made of compressed composites.

  So why did the Kotos have real wood in their apartments? Kumiko was able to identify several items made from species of trees that did not grow on Olympia, including sandalwood—oh, glory of glories, the heavenly smell of sandalwood! I would have traded all the chocolate bars on Olympia for even one of the things carved from that fragrant wood. But as magical as those carved things were, the Chinese and Japanese paintings overshadowed them.

  Painted silk screens were not a rarity among the Executives, but these screens were old, though beautifully and lovingly preserved. They depicted scenes from nature, and I recognized their styles and themes from my mother’s database. But to actually stand next to the real thing, to see the muted light burnishing their surfaces, to smell the materials from which they were made—I couldn’t make myself walk quickly past them. I had to linger, and Kumiko did not object.

  Anatoly Lyadov’s Enchanted Lake began to play in my head. If you’ve heard it, you may understand why my brain defaulted to that selection as we walked past scenes of water in motion, clever birds eyeing delicious bugs, buds opening on spring branches, trees climbing up the sides of mountains. On one painted screen, a tiger perched at the edge of a lake, his face twisted with concern because the water was about to splash his feet. I coveted that screen. It was all I could do to keep myself from taking it with me.

  But we had arrived there with a plan, to get to Sezen’s quarters and dress me up like her. Time was fleeting, and these treasures were a snare to which I could not afford to fall prey. I consulted the floor plan again and forced my feet to find Sezen’s rooms.

  They proved to be as distracting as the rest of the compound, but the advantage was that I needed to take some of Sezen’s belongings with me anyway—and I already had a rough list of things to find.


  We had plenty of images of her to use as guides, and I even knew which one of her looks I wanted to adopt. I would tint my irises and brows the color of bronze. Sezen preferred to shave her head and wear wigs, so I packed those first. I had wigs of my own, and I had thought they were quite stylish—until I saw Sezen’s. Who would think that wigs could raise my consciousness to new levels?

  So—hair, cosmetics. And her clothes fit as if made for me. I dressed quickly, and Kumiko helped me apply the makeup. She had a skill for being a Lady’s assistant—I wished I could have her with me. (Her killer tentacles would come in handy, too.)

  But Sezen had no assistant, and she managed brilliantly. It was up to me to learn the skills—with the ghost of Lady Sheba advising. She helped me with my choices, and suggested a few changes, until I regarded myself in the mirror and saw Sezen standing there.

  Really, it was uncanny. I doubt anyone but her close relatives would have known I wasn’t her, and even they could have been fooled from across a room.

  “Now,” said Sheba’s ghost. “You have some invitations in Sezen’s in-box. Let’s see which ones you should accept.”

  We retired to my virtual hallways and studied the smiling faces that invited us to supper, and to stay at various guest compounds. The rest of Sezen’s family were engaged in exactly that, gracing parties and lending class to households. In exchange, they received gifts, lavish meals, and whatever they desired from the Habitat Sector. Nice work if you can get it.

  Most of the invitations came from Fore and Aft Sectors; we put them in the NO folder, but that still left several from Central to consider.

  It was Sezen’s habit to answer all invitations personally, and it became apparent that I would need Sheba’s finesse to perform that function. The only exception was a communiqué from Lady Gloria Constantin, which could not be considered an invitation. It was more like an order.

  I’ll expect you for supper at 18:00, said Lady Gloria. Don’t be late.

  I shuddered at the prospect of socializing with Gloria. But a quick search through her recent communications revealed several of these “invitations,” and Sezen hadn’t answered one of them. So neither would I.

  Several intriguing prospects still remained, including one from Marco Charmayne. I put that one in the MAYBE folder, but then one popped up that eclipsed all the others.

  It had no image to go with it. But it had an Executive identifier on it, and the name attached to it was Gennady Mironenko.

  There never was a Mironenko clan on Titania or Olympia. And the name Gennady Mironenko did not appear in any database.

  “It’s the alien,” said Lady Sheba. “How intriguing.”

  I said.

  She did something I had never seen the real Lady Sheba do. She smiled. “Oh yes.”

  We have not been introduced yet, but your reputation for pleasant conversation precedes you, Gennady said in his message. I have spent many tedious evenings with the Charmaynes and their hangers-on. Your charming company is the only thing that can rescue me from despair. Will you dine with me this evening in the Lotus Room, at 18:00? I will teach you to play chess, if you like.

  His virtual voice sounded much like his real one, but its tone was milder.

  Sheba and I reviewed Sezen’s phrasing for invitations she had accepted in the past. We settled on, I am pleased to accept your invitation for this evening. I shall arrive at the Lotus Room at 18:00.

  Sezen’s virtual voice was lovely. I adopted it for my speaking voice.

  I told Kumiko, feeling ridiculously pleased with myself.

  Fascinating or not, a far better word would have been dangerous. Because Sezen Koto didn’t commit suicide just because she had the blues.

  And I was about to meet the people who drove her to it.

  PART THREE

  WE HAVE MET THE ENEMY CLANS AND THEY ARE US

  16

  Isildur’s Chess Set

  Another air lock, another pivotal moment in my life. Gennady and I stood on opposite sides of the inner door, staring at each other through the view window. I could see how everything we had done brought us to this moment.

  Well—everything I had done. There are still many, many things I don’t know about Gennady. Despite those mysteries (or possibly because of them), I felt satisfaction as I waited for the outer door to open, even though I didn’t know what would happen next. It was perfect, like a scene in one of Nuruddin’s movies, like the Taira dowager waiting to leap into the ocean with the young lord in her arms, like Obi-Wan Kenobi lifting aside his lightsaber so his enemy could strike him down.

  But the dowager and the Jedi master both died. Who would die this time?

  * * *

  The decision I had made to enter enemy territory put me in danger. I didn’t have to look very far back in time to reach that conclusion. But despite the ultimate consequences, I didn’t regret becoming Sezen Koto. I have never been happier in another persona, and not just because of the privileges associated with Sezen’s class.

  Those perks were considerable. The Kotos had a standing invitation to stay in the Charmaynes’ In-Skin guest quarters. The list of Executives who shared that distinction with them was short. So when I got off the mover, someone was waiting to collect my luggage and usher me into the compound.

  I had served Executives well, and I had performed many duties for them in other personas—I knew how to pay proper respect.

  But I had never been on the receiving end of that respect. The Security specialists who acted as gatekeepers gave me a lesson in class differences that one could experience only as an Executive.

  “Welcome,” said the Chief on duty. “Your quarters are ready, Lady Sezen. Please follow the steward.”

  Goodness, I thought. Is it that easy to get lost in here?

  The Charmayne guest compound dwarfed any I had previously visited. It was much larger than the main living quarters of the Constantins (a fact that must have rankled Lady Gloria). As I walked with the steward (who trod a fine line between leading me and not walking ahead of me), I noticed something I might not have known if I hadn’t performed the duties of a Maintenance worker: the Charmayne guest quarters had originally been smaller. Walls had been removed and ducts had been rerouted. They had expanded into another family’s domain. Perhaps the Kotos’? I wondered, making a mental note to investigate the matter later. Did the expansion occur before or after the Charmaynes destroyed Titania?

  If after, the standing invitation the Charmaynes had extended to the Kotos to visit those quarters was an insult, not a compliment. That explained why few of them had accepted the invitation.

  So I kept a smooth demeanor as they escorted me to rooms that could have housed the entire Koto living quarters. Perhaps I did a better job of it than Sezen would have, because the steward stole several glances at me, watching for a reaction. My records indicated that Sezen had visited few times before, and the last time had been over a year previously. What had caused her to stay away for so long?

  I hoped it hadn’t been for a good reason. I should have thought of that possibility before I made the leap. But too much consideration would have delayed me past the point where I could plausibly become Sezen. And I really didn’t want to kill one of the other women just so I could assume an identity. Besides, if the Charmaynes blew me out of an air lock, Medusa or one of the other units would catch me.

  I was at least 90 percent certain of that.

  So I waltzed into my guest quarters as if I owned the joint. And when the steward sneaked another look at me, I gave him a tolerant smile. “Charming,” I said (which is Executive code for small, and humbler than what I’m accustomed to). “You may leave my belongings in the dressing room. I have an appointment for supper in half an hour.”

  They obeyed as quickly as they could while still maintaining proper decorum, and bowed out. The steward had abandoned his hopes of catching me with a sour expre
ssion on my face—he didn’t glance back at me. The door closed behind them, and I exhaled.

  Once I had the opportunity to give my rooms a thorough appraisal, I felt a little disappointed. Before I had seen the Koto compound, I would have called this décor graceful. Now I knew better. It was a fair imitation of grace—nothing more. No wonder the Kotos are in such high demand, I thought.

  However, despite my inclination to pass judgment on the Charmaynes’ taste, the niceties of their guest rooms were not lost on me. Especially the dressing room, which was as large as any quarters I had ever inhabited. My clothing had been hung up for me, so I touched up my makeup, found a wig to match the color of my brows, and dressed for supper. I needed little help from Sheba’s ghost in that department, thanks to years of serving Executives who dressed almost as stylishly as Sezen did. She nodded with approval when she saw my choices.

  If I didn’t get going, I was going to be late, and I didn’t want to be rude to Gennady Mironenko. Who knew how an alien would react to slights? But before I could open the door to my quarters, a buzzer sounded. Someone asked for entry—and they didn’t have an identity.

  That could only be the alien. I couldn’t message him to ask why he had come to my door instead of waiting to meet me in the Lotus Room. So I made another snap decision. I opened the door.

  There stood Gennady Mironenko. And something happened that I think neither of us could help.

  In my persona of Sezen Koto, I was a cultured Executive woman, steeped in protocol and conditioned to observe the manners of my class. I suspect Gennady was similarly conditioned, though in a place and a culture other than the one we had cultivated on Olympia. But when that door opened, and we stood face-to-face with each other, we were not two gentle people greeting each other for the first time. We were two predators who had unexpectedly leaped onto the same rock.

  We maintained absolute stillness for several seconds. I was at a disadvantage, because I was not the one who had decided to knock on Gennady’s door and surprise him. It was he who had taken that action.