And then Hector had died.
It wasn’t a shock, not really; he’d been bedridden so long. Still Marianella mourned him, not because she’d loved him or because he had loved her, but because he had known. As she watched his smoke and ashes drift up through the transparent chimney, into the open Antarctic air, she wondered if she and Araceli could bear the weight of that secret, after so long with Hector to take on part of the burden.
In that way, the pieces fell together. Alejo was at the funeral too, standing across the room with his assistant, and in that moment, surrounded by the cold air and her husband’s ashes, she made a decision. It was the most dangerous thing she’d ever done.
She waited until their next afternoon together. As Alejo touched her, she felt like a glint of mainland sunlight bouncing across a hardwood floor. Afterward they lay stretched out on the bare mattress, the sheets and blanket kicked to the floor. She stared up at the light in the ceiling as she spoke.
“I can build the dome for you,” she said.
And Alejo had turned to her, his eyes glittering. He didn’t laugh, like she’d expected. He took her seriously. And so she told him, her heart beating so fast, she thought she might break herself.
She wasn’t human. She had machine parts embedded in her body. She was illegal.
There followed eleven and a half seconds of silence, just enough for her to recite the Hail Mary inside her head.
“You can go outside in the cold?” Alejo asked. That was his first response. His arm was around her shoulder, and he didn’t take it away.
“For a few hours, yes,” Marianella said. “And I can program your robots better than any engineer in the city or on the mainland.”
It was enough. Alejo kept her secret, and a month later she had programmed an army of Vaz models to build the dome on the southern side of the city, hidden away among the other private domes. She and Alejo planted the first seeds by hand—wheat, the same sort that grew around Southstar. And then they appeared on television and continued to sell the lie that they planned to build an agricultural dome, not that they already had.
“Where would you like this?” Luciano was back, peering around the fan of fuchsia blossoms from the hothouse she kept on the estate. Such flowers were an extravagance in a place like Hope City.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Marianella stood up and swept around the room. “Where do you think they should go?”
“They’d look lovely at the bar, I think. It’s a bit empty at the moment.”
“At the bar, wonderful.” Marianella smiled. “You can watch to make sure no one knocks them over.”
“Of course.” Luciano walked across the room and arranged the vase behind the rows of liquor bottles. He’d started coming over after Hector had died, offering his services as a butler. They’d met at the same time that she had met Sofia, shortly after Marianella had moved to Hope City. They’d become friends, although his friendship always seemed strangely subservient to her. And so she’d refused at first, not wanting to trap him back into servitude, but he’d looked her straight in the eye and said, “It’s not slavery with you, Marianella. It’s friendship.”
Sofia would have called it slavery. But Sofia and Luciano had always been different, for as long as Marianella had known them.
Marianella joined Luciano at the bar as he fiddled with the fuchsias’ leaves. He seemed content, she thought, like the way she felt when she was programming Southstar’s maintenance drones, or walking through the rows of crops in the agricultural dome.
“It looks fine,” she said. “You can stop messing with it.”
Luciano glanced at her and took a step back. “I want everything to be perfect.”
“I know you do.” Marianella looped her arm around his and squeezed him in a half hug. He smiled at her, that halfhearted robot smile she found so comforting.
The doorbell rang.
“They’re early,” Luciano remarked.
“I bet it’s the Mendezes. They’re notorious for it.” She took a deep breath. “I guess I have to be ready, don’t I?”
“You look beautiful.”
Another bit of programming. Marianella didn’t care. “Thank you, Luciano.”
He took his place behind the bar, where all her guests would see him not as a friend but as a quirky throwback to the city’s heyday. She checked her hair and makeup in the window’s reflection one last time.
Back in society again, she thought, and then she glided down the hallway to answer the door.
* * * *
Two hours later, the house was alive with people. Night had fallen completely, and the bright golden lights inside turned the window into a dark mirror that reflected Marianella’s party guests as if they were ghosts. Luciano served behind the wet bar, demurring if anyone offered him a tip. Marianella flitted from person to person, a glass of red wine in one hand. She only drank from it occasionally, and Marianella was relieved to find how easily she slipped back into this role. She laughed and pressed her hand to her chest and conjured up small talk with hardly any concentration.
Every now and then she caught Luciano’s eye, and he smiled encouragingly, as if he understood the way some silly party could help rejuvenate her.
A little after nine thirty, a gang of Marianella’s old socialite friends cornered her next to the fireplace. They were on their way to being drunk, although all three of them knew how to hide it.
“Bianca wants to play the theremin,” said Emilia, the oldest of the three and the one who had first befriended Marianella when she’d arrived in Hope City, all those years ago.
“I don’t,” said Bianca. “I haven’t played in years. I’m sure I’m terrible now.” She laughed, and Marianella could tell that she really did want to play—too much modesty always meant the opposite.
“Please,” said Paula. “You’re the most amazing player we know.”
Bianca laughed again, shoving at Paula playfully and shaking her head.
“I’d love to hear you play,” Marianella said. “I never could get the hang of it.” That wasn’t entirely true; Marianella loved the theremin. Except she didn’t play it with her hands the way a human would, but with the feedback from her own thoughts. And so she never played in front of an audience. At least not an audience that didn’t know her secret.
“I really don’t need to,” Bianca said, but Marianella knew that was a lie.
“Nonsense.” Marianella walked over to the bar and knocked one of the stirring spoons against her wineglass. The guests were well trained; they turned to her almost as a group. For a moment Marianella wavered under their gaze. She’d never liked being the center of attention; she was always convinced someone would see through her skin and discover her secret.
She glanced at Luciano, and his calm, unflappable presence soothed her.
“Bianca has a surprise for us,” she said, and the socialites erupted into giggles. Over thirty years old, all of them, and married, but they still acted like girls. The rest of the guests exchanged glances, and the air in the room tensed, as if the party expected a break in propriety.
“She’d like to play the theremin,” Marianella added, and there was a contented sigh—this wasn’t anything weird, only an impromptu performance. Old-fashioned, Marianella thought, as Bianca and the always chivalrous Vicente carted the theremin and its stand to the center of the room. Just like her parents’ parties in the thirties, when the guests would sing and perform instead of using the record player. It went along with Luciano playing the role of electric butler.
Bianca positioned herself. Her face took on a serious, scholarly expression, and she lifted her hands in the air. The theremin buzzed.
She began to play.
Marianella recognized the song immediately—a Rachmaninoff piece she’d always found haunting. She leaned against the bar and closed her eyes and listened. She’d played this s
ong for Sofia once. It was a safe song, one that wouldn’t activate Sofia’s programming, and its intensity had always reminded Marianella of Sofia, as if the music could form into a woman.
The doorbell rang.
Marianella opened her eyes. Bianca kept playing, so caught up in her music that she didn’t notice. A few of the guests stirred, but no one seemed bothered by this interruption.
Luciano leaned forward. “Would you like me to answer it?” he whispered.
Marianella shook her head. Bianca played beautifully, but Marianella wasn’t sure she wanted to listen to this particular song right now. Too sad. Too many memories.
She slipped out of the main room and down the hall. None of her maintenance drones came to warn her, so she assumed it was not one of Ignacio’s men, and she was right. When she pulled the door open, Eliana Gomez stood on the front porch, clutching a bottle of cheap white wine in one hand.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I got caught up in picking out a gift— Did I need to bring a gift? And then I missed the train—”
“It’s quite all right. Come in.” Marianella took the wine and held open the door. Eliana looked out of place in her glittering black party dress and teased-out hair, but Marianella was glad she’d invited her. “We’re listening to a performance right now, but as soon as it’s over, I’ll introduce you to some potential clients.” She smiled and lifted the bottle. “I’ll drop this off in the kitchen. If you follow the hallway, you’ll get to the main room, and you’ll find everyone there.”
Eliana nodded, but she looked dazed, the poor girl, like an animal caught in the headlights of a car. She followed the direction of the music, and Marianella walked into the kitchen and slid the wine bottle into the refrigerator. Sweet of her, to bring a hostess gift.
“Nice party.”
Marianella recognized Alejo’s voice instantly. She straightened up, turned to face him.
“Thank you,” she said.
He grinned, looking rakish and dangerous, not like a city man at all. “I like the entertainment.”
“Yes, Bianca plays very well.”
“I was talking about the andie behind the bar.”
Marianella’s heartbeat rose, her breath quickened. “He’s not entertainment.”
“He’s novel enough to count, I’d think. How did you get something like that in this day and age?”
“A lady never tells her secrets.”
Alejo laughed. Marianella just smiled politely. They both knew she couldn’t tell him any secret more damaging than the one she’d revealed last year in that shabby motel room.
Alejo smoothed back his hair with one hand. Preening. He was the bland sort of handsome that showed up well on television. “I’m glad I caught you alone, actually. I need to talk to you about the project.”
Marianella glanced around the big empty kitchen. Bianca had started Mozart’s Concerto Number Fifteen, and the cheerful notes drifted in from the hallway.
“Shouldn’t we wait?” she asked.
“It’s nothing terribly drastic, but I’ve been a bit tied up this last week and haven’t gotten a chance to call.” He went quiet, and Marianella peered up at him.
“Well?”
“I just have some concerns about the blackout on Last Night.”
Marianella glided across the kitchen and pretended to rummage in the refrigerator. The city had destroyed a maintenance drone because of that blackout, an innocent one, if Luciano was to be believed, but Marianella still remembered the initial rumors about the AFF’s involvement. She didn’t know the truth, whether a robot or the AFF had caused the blackout. It seemed unlikely to her that the AFF would want to cause a blackout. But then, they murdered people, innocent people, so perhaps it was possible. If anyone knew the truth, it was Alejo. Or Sofia, for that matter.
“I heard it was terrifying,” Marianella said. “The blackout.”
“Lucky you, holed up in your private palace.” Alejo moved up alongside her, leaning on the refrigerator door. “It’s actually been pretty scary the last week too. The power hasn’t been steady. It flickers, dims—hasn’t failed completely again, but it’s enough that the city engineers are all in a tizzy.”
“I’ve heard about that. My prayers are with all of you.” Marianella pulled out a package of chèvre and looked over at Alejo expectantly. He stepped away from the refrigerator and pushed the door shut for her.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Anything for Lady Luna.” Alejo repositioned himself against the counter. “Do you really need to do that? There’s plenty of food sitting out with your andie.”
“You know I don’t like that word.” Marianella took a plate out of the cupboard and began arranging crackers across it, flared out like a sunflower.
Alejo grinned. “Well, you were always touchy about robots. I suppose that’s fair.”
“We should all be touchy about robots,” Marianella murmured. “They run the city for us. The power failures ought to cement that, don’t you think?”
“Exactly. That’s what I’m here to talk to you about.” Alejo leaned in close to her as she rearranged the crackers. “The city’s blaming a piece of broken programming that’s worked its way into the city drones. Pretty big cause for concern, I’d say.”
Marianella’s skin prickled with his sudden closeness. He smelled like European cologne and pine trees. Every human had a different scent.
He pressed his cheek against hers. “We’re lucky we’re not stuck with city drones,” he murmured.
“Oh, stop it. Someone will see.” She pushed him aside. She and Alejo hadn’t slept together since the day she’d revealed her nature, but he still flirted with her sometimes, when he wanted to get his way. He didn’t want her anymore because he knew what she was. Well, the same could be said for her. The idea of sleeping with someone who took money from terrorists no longer excited her. She felt sick that it had ever excited her at all.
Alejo stepped a few paces away from her, smoothed his hair again. “You’re no fun.”
“You’re a tease.”
Alejo laughed at that.
“What exactly did you want to talk about?” She smeared the chèvre artfully on the center of the plate. “You don’t really think my drones are infected with this—broken programming?” She pitched her voice low. Bianca was still playing the concerto, and the melody jumped around the house.
“I just want to make sure.” Alejo shrugged. “Will it really be a huge burden for you to run out there and check on them? I’d hate to see all your hard work wasted.”
He’d hate to see all his hard work wasted. Marianella knew that by now. Still, Marianella always loved any excuse to visit the ag dome. Even if she didn’t think her drones were in any danger of broken city programming, she nodded as she lifted the cheese plate.
The music faded away, and applause rippled in from the main room.
“You know you can check on the drones yourself,” she said. “I gave you access.” He’d insisted on access, but Marianella didn’t mention that.
“I know, I know. But you’re so much better with them than I am. I’ll miss something, I’m sure of it.”
“Yes, you probably would.” She smiled to show she was half-teasing. “I really don’t mind so much. I’ll go tomorrow.”
“Thanks. I do appreciate it.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh! Before you run back out to the party—I’ve got one last question for you.”
Marianella turned around, still holding the plate of cheese and crackers. “Yes?”
“The Midwinter Ball—”
Marianella sighed. “I know, Alejo. I told you, I’m already making plans to attend.”
Alejo held up two hands and pretended to cower in apology. “I know, I know,” he said. “We talked about it a few weeks ago. But I want to know for certain—”
“I’
ll be there,” Marianella said. “I swear to you.”
“It’s the biggest event of the year.” Alejo grinned. “I just wouldn’t want you to miss it.”
Marianella knew it wasn’t her social life he had in mind. Still, she laughed and shook her head before leaving the kitchen. In the cool, dark hallway she reminded herself that she was the widow of Hector Luna, an aristocrat from the mainland, and nothing more. She certainly hadn’t built an agricultural dome with a man who took money from terrorists.
By the time she was back in the main room, she almost believed it.
“Is everything all right?” Luciano smiled at her as she deposited the cheese plate on the bar. “You were gone longer than I expected.”
“Alejo wanted to talk to me.”
“Mr. Ortiz?”
Marianella nodded. She thought she heard a disapproving lilt in Luciano’s voice, but it was impossible to know for sure, and when she looked at him again, he was still smiling. She gazed out over the party. Bianca stood beside the theremin, surrounded by admirers. A knot of husbands lounged by the doorway, smoking cigarettes. And Eliana Gomez pressed herself into the corner like she was trying to be invisible.
“Eliana!” Marianella cried. “Oh, I almost forgot about her, the darling.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, no, that’s not necessary. I just didn’t mean to leave her alone.” Marianella left Luciano and cut across the room to where Eliana stood sipping nervously out of a glass of wine. When she saw Marianella, she looked relieved.
“This is a great party,” she said, clearly lying.
“I didn’t mean to be so long in the kitchen. I’m sorry.” Marianella had slipped almost completely back into the role of Lady Luna now, and as she whirled Eliana around the party, introducing her to potential clients, she felt herself finally settle into it. The moment Marianella had seen Eliana on her front porch, clutching the envelope with her documents, Marianella’s life had started up again. That documentation revealed what she was. It revealed all the details of her schematics. She’d thought about burning it so many times—once, she’d even held it over an open flame—but she always stopped herself. If her nature were revealed and she could produce no documentation, she would be killed without question. With the documents, she would only be deported.
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