by C. Gockel
Tim stood a little straighter. Carrying a teddy lizzar Noa had won at the shooting game under one arm, the other arm in hers, Tim said, “I liked science as a kid. I saved up my allowance, got one of those home kits where you can make a DNA sequencer and sequenced my genome.” He shrugged. “Turns out I’m not ‘pure.’ I’m a quarter Native American, and even a sixteenth African.” He smiled, a little sadly, eyes on the gleaming side of one of the helium dirigibles that lifted the cloud habitats.
“I couldn’t stay home after learning that everything I’d believed about myself was a lie.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t just our little sect in North America. The Huns invaded Europe and brought with them Asian genes. The Romans and Greeks went everywhere, and brought back slaves. The Moors went to Europe, and later Europe went to the world. Racial purity has always been an illusion.”
On the rung of the ladder, Noa’s hand almost slipped. She’d shared that conversation over the ether with her mother. Her mother had agreed with her that Tim was very brave; and had made sure the whole Sato clan had embraced him like a lost son. She felt her heart tighten a little at the memory, and her mind, not for the first time, reached automatically for her mother’s channel … and of course got nothing.
She pushed the longing that empty channel called forth in her deep down. And found her mind once more returning to James’s words. The way James had said, “Racial purity has always been an illusion.” The accent had been wrong of course … but still, the phrasing had been exactly the same. She shook her head. Maybe there was some historical reference Tim and James were both borrowing the words from?
She thought of James, holding Oliver in his arms, and the casual way he defended her, and how he watched over Raif. The questions faded from her mind. “How is it going?” she asked James.
“Fine,” James replied. “Oliver hasn’t ensnared me in duct tape—”
Noa smiled, remembering the “spi’ web” the little boy had created. It had frustrated 6T9 to no end—partially because he had gotten stuck in it, and partly because his literal mind couldn’t handle the metaphor. The ‘bot was probably entangled in some mess left by Oliver now. Her brow furrowed, but he would have answered Noa's ether hail.
“—and we’re almost at Eliza’s quarters now,” James finished. He sent what he was seeing through the ether. Oliver asleep in his arms, the door to Eliza’s quarters, his hand reaching to press the chime, and then the visual relay went dark.
Noa climbed up a few rungs. “James?” she asked. When was the last time she’d seen Eliza? Monica said that her life signs were stable, but this old boat had ancient sensors, and blinky ether.
Noa halted on the ladder. “James?”
James's thoughts slid across the channel, too cold and smooth. “I’m getting no reply.”
Chapter Eight
James stood motionless outside Eliza’s door, Oliver in his arms. His mind bolted through every corner of the ship’s ether. He saw every crew member, heard their thoughts. Bypassing security protocols in the medbay, he could tell Eliza’s bioscans were normal for sleep. He used the ether to locate 6T9, bypassed the ‘bots protocols to see what systems he was utilizing … and got nothing other than 6T9’s location. He was still in Eliza’s quarters. James called through the ether to them both. “Eliza, it’s me, James. 6T9, are you there?”
He got no reply.
Noa’s thoughts intruded. “James, how is Eliza?” He felt Noa’s attention flutter, and connect with Monica’s, and heard her say to the doctor, “Monica, Eliza isn’t responding to ether hails.”
“All her life signs are steady. I have an emergency in medbay,” Monica replied, thoughts clipped.
James felt Noa’s attention return to him. “I’ve got this, Noa,” he said. “Finish whatever you’re doing.” The sooner they both took care of their tasks, the sooner they could retreat to their quarters and be away from the obligations of crew and her sense of duty. He could distract himself from the future with Noa in ways physical and mental and lead her from nightmares into shared dreams. Maybe tonight they could go to Nefertiti's Egypt? Noa didn’t want to be a princess, so he’d make her a queen. Noa didn’t always remember the places he created between their minds—and sometimes, like last sleep cycle, she asked to get back to reality—but sometimes she indulged with him, her own subconscious supplying whimsical additions to the dreamscapes. She gave James wings, or made Carl Sagan walk about on his four hind legs, wearing a smoking jacket and waving a pipe while giving delightful lectures on quantum physics that turned science into magic.
James’s mind got dark … last time she’d dreamed of the unicorn, a symbol of cybernetic nature. He shook his head. It could have been just a dream.
His thought tumbled to the ether controls for Eliza’s door, and it opened with a whoosh.
“Should I command Ghost to open the door?” Noa asked.
“I already did,” James lied. “And I’m in.”
“Thank you.” She sent her relief over the shared connection.
Clutching the sleeping Oliver to his chest, James stepped into the tiny quarters. 6T9 was sitting at the side of the bed, hands neatly on his knees, a cord plugged into his back. His eyes were open but unblinking, and they lacked the glisten of moisture. Eliza was on her side, snoring softly. Next to her was a softly sighing oxygen mask.
The light that was Noa in his mind told him she was in the armory. He reached to her channel. “Eliza appears well, just asleep. 6T9 is recharging.”
“How could they have let Oliver get away?” Noa asked, and a tiny light winked on and identified distress.
“I’ll find out,” James replied. “I’ll see you soon.”
She flung a ball of light toward him, and then he felt her focus shift to whatever task she was doing.
Walking over, James laid Oliver next to Eliza and put the air mask on. The boy inhaled deeply, but did not rouse. James sent the picture of the peacefully sleeping Eliza and the child to Noa, and followed it with a ball of light.
“Put a pillow on the bed so Oliver can’t roll off!” Noa broadcast over the channel, and mixed into the thought was an image of a little girl—her little sister—rolling off of a sofa.
Barricading Oliver as she suggested, James said, “Done,” and turned to 6T9. Had the ‘bot been watching Oliver and had to power down suddenly? He would have thought that 6T9 would have warned the crew if that were the case.
James checked the cord connected behind the ‘bot’s back. A small light at the connection point told him that electricity was flowing. Stepping back, his gaze fell on specks of dust on the ‘bots dull eyes, and he had a flashback to the ‘bots on Adam’s Station that followed their programming even as it nearly killed them. James wiped his face and backed away. 6T9 sat motionless, unseeing gaze on the wall. The ‘bot was whole, but as lifeless as the dismembered ‘bots in Ghost’s lair. James felt static flare along his spine, and his skin heat. Is this what he would become?
“James, what’s wrong?” Noa said.
“Eliza seems fine,” he replied.
“I was asking about you,” Noa said. “You’re flickering a little.”
Before he’d thought about it, he sent gratitude and an enormous ball of light across the ether.
“Ack! Too bright!” Noa said. Her Fleet avatar appeared singing a snippet from a pop song from a few years back. “Blind me with your love, Baby …” in a deep masculine bass.
He felt his processors shutdown and restart in a rush at her joke. A mini-reboot. Was that what humor was for humans? He remembered the other James drinking and making a joke about a particularly repugnant politician. “How can you laugh about this?” one of his companions had said. “If you don’t laugh, you’ll go mad,” the real James had replied.
“What’s bothering you?” Noa asked again.
“6T9 is completely shut down,” James replied. That was inadequate. He couldn’t say what he wanted to say, and instead just added, “There’s dust in his eyes.”
“Yes.”
“Powering sequence finished,” 6T9 said in a monotone voice.
“He’s awake,” James told Noa. “I’ll see what happened.”
“Thanks,” she said, and he felt her focus shift again.
6T9 blinked, and his eyes began to glisten with synthetic tears. “James, how did you get into Eliza’s quarters?”
“It doesn’t matter,” James said, waving his hand.
“Very well,” 6T9 replied flatly. And then he looked James up and down and leaned back on his hands. Winking, and wiggling his hips, he said, “How can I help you?”
It was oddly comforting to see 6T9 back to his old self. “You can tell me how Oliver managed to get away from you,” James replied.
The ‘bot frowned and sat up straight. “Oliver did not get away from me. Eliza has been watching him while I performed a full diagnostic and recharge.” He looked to the boy. “And there he is …” The 'bot's head tilted. “It isn’t quite his sleep time.”
“Noa and I found him in the galley without Eliza, or his mask,” James said.
“That shouldn't have happened.” 6T9 hurriedly stood and went to the front of the bed. He touched the pulse point on Oliver’s neck. In a surprisingly clinical tone, he said, “That would explain him being asleep. The trip must have worn him out. His heart can’t keep up with his body’s demand … but his heart rate is steady now.” He nodded to himself, but his gaze went to Eliza. “She should not have let Oliver go off on his own.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t intentional,” James said.
The ‘bot looked at him sharply. “That isn’t comforting.” 6T9 looked back to Eliza, and gently put a hand through her hair. The old woman’s eyes fluttered. 6T9 leaned forward and kissed her on the temple, his eyes slipping closed as he did. Eliza's eyes fluttered and she turned her face toward him.
“My darling, you are awake,” 6T9 whispered.
Eliza smiled. “Your kisses will always wake me.”
6T9 jerked back and his Adam’s apple bobbed in a perfect pantomime of concern. Static flared along James's spine, but he couldn't say why the scene upset him.
“What’s wrong, my love?” Eliza asked aloud. James noticed that her eyes were grayer than they were the first night they’d met over an Earth month ago.
“Have you been sleeping the whole time I was recharging?” the ‘bot asked.
“Sleeping?” Eliza said. Her lips parted. Her furrowed brow furrowed even more. “Yes, yes, I …” Her eyes fell on Oliver’s dozing form. “I … yes, the baby fell asleep. Nothing sweeter than falling asleep next to a baby. I put the pillow on the bed so he wouldn’t fall off …”
His circuitry sparked and his mind began to trip over twenty-first century media of the elderly sinking into dementia. The medical establishment of the time believed that Alzheimer's was the normal course of aging. In modern times, age-related dementia had been eradicated with nano-flushes, but Eliza was so very old …
Gently taking her hand, 6T9 said, “I need to speak with James for a moment.” Kissing her head, he whispered, “We’ll step outside.”
“Outside?” Eliza asked, rising slightly. Her eyes didn’t leave 6T9’s. “Why do you need to hide what you’re saying from me?” Her voice rose in pitch, and she sounded almost like a child.
6T9 froze. He looked up at James with wide eyes.
James wasn’t sure why 6T9 wanted to speak outside. 6T9 did have ether access, but he decided to indulge the ‘bot. Apparently, that meant appeasing Eliza. He tried to think of what to say, and a bright light of inspiration flashed in his mind. Leaning over, James whispered to the woman, “So we don’t wake the baby.”
Nodding vigorously, 6T9 smiled and whispered, “Yes, we’ll let you and the baby rest together a little more.”
Eliza blinked. “I never got any rest with my other babies. Always chores to do, even after they were born. Roberto never let me …” She looked up at 6T9, her eyes glistening. “You are the most wonderful thing that has ever happened in my life.”
“Likewise, my dear,” said 6T9, touching his lips to her fingers, standing up, and backing away. He smiled benevolently, and left the room with James. As soon as the door whooshed shut, the ‘bot’s smile dropped, and he wiped his face with both hands.
“I can’t use the ether to say things privately,” 6T9 said. “She has access to my channel. It came with my registration.” Eyes on a point on the wall, he said, “But I am allowed to talk to a human when I think she is unwell, and I know she is unwell. My kisses don’t always wake her. Not anymore.” He looked at James. “But maybe it’s me? I know I’m not smart enough for her. I can’t surprise her, I can’t comment on …” He waved a hand. “Anything besides sex and health and I can’t say anything she doesn’t already know, even on those topics.”
Whatever systems within James that were programmed to read emotions told him that what 6T9 was experiencing was despair. In humans, that would elicit an empathetic response. James lacked empathy, but he was worried about Eliza. Her ill health would upset Noa.
“It isn’t you, 6T9,” James said. “She isn’t remembering events correctly. She needs to see the doctor.”
6T9’s eyes widened, and then he looked down. “I don’t think that would have any bearing on her sexual response …”
Pulling from his twenty-first century medical sources, James ad-libbed, “Perhaps the same plaques that are likely obstructing areas of her brain are also in other systems? A flush might help both.”
6T9’s mouth dropped open. “Yes! You’re right. I should have thought of that.” His brow furrowed. “No, not really. I’m not very good at making such inferences.” His lips pursed. “A leopard can’t very well change his leotard.” He sighed. “I don’t know how I can get her to the doctor. She doesn’t like Dr. Monica.”
James’s jaw ticked. That made two of them.
“I’ll convince her to go see her,” James said. He reached into the ether. Monica was finished with a surgery. He opened the door to Eliza’s quarters and found Oliver sitting up on the bed, awake and alert. Eliza was looking up at the boy sleepily.
“Eliza, we need you to go see Dr. Monica,” James said, sitting down on his heels by the bed.
Eliza sniffed. “I don’t want to see that quack. She doesn’t approve of me, and I don’t approve of her.”
“You need to go see her,” James said. Pulling once again on articles on dementia, he decided not to bring up the pillow incident and instead said, “Your heartbeat is irregular.”
Eliza didn’t even look at him. “Doesn’t really matter now.”
James stared at her a moment, and then a white light sparked behind his eyes. Over the ether, he said, “Of course it does. Do you want 6T9 being sold for spare parts out here before we get to Earth?”
Sold to who, he couldn’t imagine, but the old woman did seem to love the ‘bot.
Her eyes bolted wide. “You’re right,” she whispered, pushing herself up. “I’ll go, I’ll go right now.”
6T9 pushed the hover chair to the bed. “Let’s go see Dr. Monica, my love! She’ll make you better.”
“Monica,” James called across the ether. “I’m sending Eliza your way. She is having memory problems.”
“I’ve been trying to get her to come see me for weeks!” the doctor replied. “Thank you! I'll be ready for her.”
From the sanitary cubicle came a splash.
“Oliver!” said 6T9, helping Eliza into the chair. “He loves to play with the toilet goop.”
James hadn’t even seen the child slip off the bed. Striding to the cubicle, he found Oliver dropping tiny, decorative Luddeccean soaps into the toilet. The oxygen mask was on the floor. The boy bent down and lifted it up, then turned back toward the toilet. James intercepted before it went to float with the soaps.
“You’ll watch him, won’t you?” said 6T9, Eliza now on the chair, both of them peering into the cubicle.
James�
��s mind leaped into the ether. Manuel was with Noa in the armory. If he distracted Manuel, it might delay Noa.
“Of course he’ll watch Oliver, 6T9,” Eliza said. To James, she added, “I’d get him out of this cabin, if I were you. He gets bored, and when he gets bored, you’ll both go crazy.”
Next to James, Oliver began to jump up and down, trying to get the mask.
“Right,” James said.
Oliver stopped jumping and began to cry.
“Less haste, more cheese!” said 6T9, pushing Eliza away from the sanitary cubicle.
“Let him play in the elevator,” Eliza hollered as she disappeared out of sight. “He loves playing with the buttons.”
“Don’t let him near duct tape!” 6T9 added, and then the exterior door whooshed shut.
Bouncing, reaching for the mask, Oliver wailed.
James felt his mind stutter and then relight. “That is a lot of oxygen for someone with a bum ticker to be expending,” he said, looking down at the boy.
Oliver wailed louder.
“No sense of humor?” James asked, feeling static rushing along his skin.
That prompted an even louder reply, as though Oliver was rebuking him.
“I know, how dare I suggest you have no sense of humor after you duct taped 6T9?” James said, to distract himself, if not the tiny human.