The Stars Change

by Mary Anne Mohanraj

  Narita hesitated a long moment, and then, finally, took a step backwards. "Come in, then. You're letting in all the cold."

  And it was strangely true—Jequith could feel a blast of cold air whipping past. How odd—it was if they are home again on Eiskiyarien. Maybe the chill wind had come to greet the new one that even now was readying herself to be born. "Welcome," Jequith whispered to the coming child. The human woman took a tentative step into the room, letting the door whoosh shut behind her. If she had thought that it was speaking to her, no harm done. On this night, they could all use shelter from the storm.

  she wasn't what they'd promised him, the others. they'd said she'd be beautiful beyond belief beautiful as an angel a demon a dream. and she was but she was also real. real skin hot and wet and slick against him, real sighs and gasps beneath him. and maybe she was faking those, she probably was because that's what girls like this did but that didn't matter. that part he'd expected. he just hadn't expected her to seem so real.

  when he'd signed up for this, he'd been told that they weren't real. weren't really people. when he'd come to the city, when he'd seen the monsters walking the streets, he'd been reassured. they were something else. they didn't belong here, taking the place of real people. not that he could have ever gone to university, he knew he wasn't smart enough, he'd never dreamed of that. but little cassie, she was smart as a genemod monkey, everyone said. it wasn't just her big brother saying that. she should have got to go.

  when that letter came, printed on real paper, she'd been so excited, so sure she'd gotten in. and then no. not a chance, not even wait-listed, not even close. it was cruel of them to print the lists, to show you just how far you'd been from having a shot at a way out. oh cassie. and they said it had nothing to do with skin color, they said everyone got a fair shot, but it couldn't be a coincidence, could it, that just 'bout every man or woman he saw in the university town was brown. pale brown, medium brown, dark brown, but brown. cassie, she was pale as moonlight, orange-red hair and bright blue eyes. blue as momma's had been.

  after cassie'd taken the river road out, he'd been willing to listen to the boys with their speeches. willing to take their money and come to the city, three train lines and half a world away. it wasn't right, this place, towers spiraling overhead midst bridges thin as cobweb. airships swooping so fast through the spaces above that a man got dizzy watching them. wouldn't it be fine to ride up there! never a chance for him, but they'd sent something up, they damn well had. a sword across the sky, a shout of rage. for cassie green with river weeds tangled in her orange hair. and her so young and bright.

  afterwards they'd said he deserved a reward, they'd sent him off with credits piled high on new cards, said he didn't need to come back. they'd warned him. the girls here weren't real girls but that was all they could afford; if you wanted a real girl, unmodified, you had to pay through the nose. everything was backwards in university town.

  so he'd come prepared, but here he was and she was and she was everything a girl ought to be, only more so. it wasn't fair that she was everything she was, prettier than cassie and probably smarter too, even if she did earn her money flat on her back. no shame in that, honest work for honest pay and he was happy to pay her, she'd more than earned it. she smiled then and it was like the sun come up over the mountains, golden. maybe that was why he told her what he’d done, that smile that sun those mountains he was missing with all his beating heart.

  that was where he ought to be. not here. not surrounded by monsters so pretty you couldn't tell where real girl ended and monster began. time to go home.

  Part II: Be Human

  Modalu monavanagu:

  Above all, be human

  Old Friends Meet

  With Amara there, Narita hadn’t been able to stay in the apartment for five minutes more than she had to. She hurried across the darkened square on her grocery errand, avoiding the strangers who walked the dark streets as well. It had been quiet near her apartment, but the streets were growing increasingly crowded as she headed in, towards the central quadrangle and its all-night market. All the other stores were closed, shutters closed over the glass windows, like barricades against the dark. No one seemed to want to meet eyes tonight, to smile a greeting. Not tonight. The main blaze above the Warren was out now—the police and firefighters had done their work. So far, no one had died. But the net told her that smaller fires sputtered through the city, and faint traces of smoke wisped through the air. The authorities were telling everyone to stay home, stay safe. But what if home wasn't safe anymore?

  Her arms were wrapped tight around herself against the unseasonable wind and slanting rain, her mind elsewhere. Narita was remembering the argument she'd had with her mother at thirteen, walking home together after the last in a series of summer tennis lessons in the blinding sunshine. Sweat poured down her face, trickled down her back and under her bra strap; she had to fight the urge to haul up her shirt and scratch her skin raw.

  She'd asked, or rather, demanded, "Why didn't you give me a better internal thermostat? You modified other things, why not that?" What she actually wanted, deep down, were huge butterfly wings growing out of her back, but even at thirteen, Narita had realized how impractical those would have been.

  Her mother, Uma, smiled, brushing damp hair back from Narita's forehead with a cool hand. "Hush, child. We made sure you wouldn't get cancer or smallpox or Jovian flu. That your eyesight and hearing would be perfect. That is not the same thing as tweaking your genes, willy-nilly. When you have your own children, you'll understand—you should only make important changes to the genes. Too much changing is dangerous."

  The snarky pre-teen replied, "You made me pretty, too. Was that important?"

  Uma just shook her head, refusing to engage. "Go take a nice, cool swim. You'll feel better."

  That was the end of that conversation, like so many others they'd had. Narita's mother hadn't wanted to admit that they had selected for beauty as well as health—the same choices that most humods made. Her parents would have added brains too, but they hadn't wanted to risk the madness that so often came with significantly increased intelligence. They'd picked an acceptable level of beauty, within the range of human norm—slender build, flawless skin, glossy hair. Appearing too visibly modified was gauche. Vulgar. Did you see Savitri's daughter? Shining ruby eyes, the poor thing. That's going to be hard to accessorize.

  Sometimes, growing up, Narita would stand in front of a mirror and stare at her naked body, spread fingers against the flesh and bone, trying to figure out which parts were hers by right, and which were deliberate gifts from her parents. They'd always refused to let her see the scans. Even though, legally, she could demand access, Narita was too obedient a daughter to go so far against their wishes.

  Narita had eventually been grateful that her parents hadn't chosen anything too strange for her, but in this particular moment, she could wish they had been a little less conservative in their modifications. It was freezing, and her jacket was small protection. A thick skin like Jequith's would be welcome on a night like tonight.

  It had offered to go to market for her, to get enough food to fuel the sudden expansion in her apartment, but she hadn't had the heart to make it leave its injured mates and new daughter. But someone had to get them something to eat. When Narita had started this night, she hadn't expected an influx of houseguests—she'd planned to spend the evening reading medical journals. She was due to take her final series of exams in just a few weeks, and after that, she could call herself Dr. Narita if she chose. Dr. Narita Kandaswamy—it sounded good. Her parents would be thrilled. Even if they didn't approve of some of her other decisions.

  They had never liked Amara. Or rather, they liked her fine when she was just Narita's friend, but girlfriend was unacceptable. Her mother didn't believe in crossing class lines. Dating a woman like that will only lead to trouble. She will never be comfortable with us, no matter what you do. Don't you want a partner who can mix well with our fami
ly? If you put a lump of dirt in the stew, it will ruin the whole dish. No one had ever accused Uma of being subtle. And as the pandit’s wife, leader of the entire temple ministry for more than thirty years now, Uma was used to running things, to having her own way in everything.

  Something crashed up ahead, a sharp sound, like shattering plastic, snapping her out of her distant memories. Narita paused at the intersection of University and Main, startled to see a crowd gathered around a broken shop window up ahead. They couldn't be—but yes. She took an involuntary step backwards into the shadows, bewildered. It was hard to see in the dim streetlights, but the people were clearly dragging items out of the store. Holoplayers, it looked like; Narita couldn't remember the name of the store, but it was one that specialized in electronic entertainment. Was that really what people wanted tonight? To drown out thoughts of the war with the latest holodrama? They should be home with their loved ones instead. If the world was going to end, who would choose to spend their last moments in the arms of a manufactured dream?

  Narita turned away, cutting down through a side street. Better not to go anywhere near them. She still couldn't believe there were actual looters on campus; a shiver slid down her spine. Oh, there was the occasional stolen scooter, its security codes hacked, but for the most part, the university grounds were a haven of peace. Narita had walked these streets fearlessly at night even as an undergrad, and now she knew them well enough to be able to trace a dozen different paths from her apartment to the market. She had lived in the same apartment for more than a decade. Since even before she had first met Amara.

  The theatre lights were dim the night they met. Narita had gone to see the play on a whim, and was, unusually for her, alone. It was yet another retelling of The Ramayana, this one in a hyper-masculinist mode, and most of her friends would have scorned the entire concept. But she was interested in the question of what it meant to be male these days, when so many in her circles were choosing mixed-gender or ab-gender forms, despite the hazards of making major genetic changes as an adult. Perhaps Narita found males particularly interesting because she so rarely found men attractive.

  Unfortunately, the play ended up not providing any useful insights on the concepts; in fact, the entire production was pretty horrid. So when the strange woman seated beside her muttered dreck! at Lord Ram's entirely-too-long speech on wifely duty and the importance of apparent fidelity, Narita was all too ready to take joy in a kindred soul. She hissed a heartfelt agreed! and they were off.

  Narita kept her eyes mostly on the stage, but the two of them kept up an irritated commentary through the rest of the play. She was grateful that the university theatre was new and fancy enough that each seat came with customizable sound controls—they bought and merged privacy shields, becoming inaudible and invisible to the rest of the theatre. By the end of the production, they were laughing out loud, and were clearly destined to be the best of friends. Which was why it was such a shock when the house lights came up, and Narita could finally see Amara's face clearly. Unmodified.

  She had unmodified friends, of course. Narita wasn't prejudiced. It was just that you tended to run in the same circles, didn't you? With the people who'd gone to the same sorts of schools, played the same games, done the same sports (and it wouldn't be fair to compete with the unmodified anyway, would it? It would be ungracious. Tacky). So even at university, the great mixer and equalizer, when aliens made up a quarter of the classes, Narita's intimate friends and lovers had continued much as they had been throughout her life. It wasn't a deliberate choice on her part, to stick to her own kind, although she had to admit, it was also more comfortable that way. No awkwardness about splitting the bill, or going clothes shopping, or choosing a spot for spring break.

  But here she was, this woman, Amara. Too short, too dark, a bright red pimple forming on the bridge of her nose. It looked like it hurt; Narita wasn't sure if they did, though. She resolved to research pimples later, when she had a chance. Because if they were going to be friends, she and this unmodified girl, she wanted to understand what Amara had to contend with. Her life was surely hard enough—she didn't need Narita making things worse with tactless comments or unthinking actions. So she resolved, and then she smiled, hoping the smile had not come too long after the lights. Apparently not, because Amara smiled back. Narita stood then, deactivating the privacy screens, and said, for the whole theatre to hear—"I'm starving! Do you want to continue this conversation over dinner?"

  Amara hesitated an endless moment, and Narita wondered, almost panicked, whether some trace of discomfort had shown on her own face. That pimple. It was so large, so very red. But then Amara said, "That'd be great. I know this great vegan place not far away…"

  Vegan. Terrific. Narita swallowed a sigh and gestured for Amara to precede her out of the row. Ladies first, please. And that was the beginning.

  Narita finally made it through the twisted side streets, her head down against the stiffening wind. She hadn't seen any more looters, thankfully, and the market was open, and surprisingly intact. No one was staffing it, though they usually had a few courtesy attendants on duty to make the high-end patrons feel properly taken care of. It was fully automated tonight, and Narita thought better of the university for that—they had let the employees go home early. The fragelian berries and esterhaven mushrooms would have to take care of themselves.

  It was easy enough to choose food that Jequith and its family would enjoy; she filled a basket with appropriate greens, grateful for the medical training that ensured she wouldn't accidentally poison them. Amara was harder. One part of Narita wanted to buy the most expensive treats in the store, knowing that Amara wouldn't even walk into a place like this, much less buy anything here. Wanting, perhaps, to show off a little. To show Amara what she'd walked away from, when Amara had walked away from her.

  They had nothing in common, her friends had pointed out. It was true. Narita was pre-med; even though she had no need to work, she had wanted to do something useful with her life. And aliens fascinated her—the strangeness of them, the danger. Even at twenty, she'd planned to become a xeno-doc, specializing in non-human diseases. Her mother didn't quite approve—diseases were so dirty, after all. But on the other hand, doctor was still a title of respect. Even if you never got sick, it was nice to know there was something there to take care of you if you did. At twenty, Narita was looking forward to a prosperous and prestigious career.

  Amara, on the other hand, was majoring in comparative religious studies. Sadly, it was already clear that she didn't have the intellectual chops to make it into graduate school—Amara was smart, but she didn't seem to have the discipline to focus the way an academic needed to. She was barely passing half her classes. Given that, Narita was bewildered that Amara hadn't chosen a more practical degree, something that could actually help her get a decent job after university. But Amara just said, This is the only time in my life when I can afford not to be practical. So she kept reading her strange texts, searching for God in increasingly bizarre places.

  They couldn't study together; they couldn't shop together; they couldn't even eat together. Not comfortably. Amara's idea of a treat was to have a little spinach paneer with her everyday rice and dal, all of which she cooked herself on a little burner in her dorm room. Narita had her own apartment, with a full kitchen, paid for by her parents—but she was used to having all her meals out, in restaurants that specialized in exotic cuts of vat-meat, drenched in heavy cream sauces, and followed by sinfully rich desserts. It wasn't as if she needed to worry about her figure; that took care of itself.

  The only place they had anything in common was, they discovered, in bed. Where the two of them could talk and laugh and fuck and argue for hours upon hours on end. Oddly enough, that had turned out to be more than enough for them both. Until it wasn't, and Amara walked away. Disappeared for nine years, not a call or a message, as if she'd been wiped off the face of the planet; apparently Narita was good enough to fuck, but not good enough to pa
rtner with. And now Amara was back, though Narita still didn't know why. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

  Narita hesitated a long moment in front of the stasis container of imported delicacies. Plants grown under strange suns, light-years away. But in the end, good breeding reasserted itself. However angry she was, Amara was a guest in her home. A guest in trouble, on a terrible night. Narita bought rice and lentils, spinach and paneer. She didn't know how to cook them, but Amara would. Narita should head home now, let Amara get started cooking. But her stomach twisted at the very thought.

  It had Amara's turn to provide dinner, that night ten years ago. Amara cooked on her nights; Narita ordered in. That was easiest for both of them. But on that night, Amara couldn't cook—she was too sick, with the most miserable cold Narita had ever witnessed. Her nose was pouring snot, her eyes were red as a Tregaryn's, and every few minutes she was hit with a racking cough that doubled her over, clutching her aching stomach.

  "There's really nothing you can take for this?" Narita asked, bewildered.

  "I've taken everything." Cough, cough, hack up a lung. Or at least it sounded that way. "This cold is resistant."

  It couldn't be resistant enough to make it past Narita's protections, could it? A new mutation? Narita had been torn between the desire to nurse her girlfriend back to health, and the need to flee the apartment, before this terror got her too. Love won out over self-interest, just barely. Well, love and trust in the genetic invulnerability that had blessed her for two decades. She brought Amara a few cup of tea, and pulled the blankets up around her on the couch. Narita rested one hand on her forehead—unscientific, she knew, and yet she couldn't help trusting the aeons-old test. No fever, thankfully. Nothing to do, it seemed, but ride this out.