“Koeln....”
“You know him?”
“He... interviewed me yesterday.”
“What about?”
“Toler.”
“Toler again. So tell me about yourself. Why are you on Aea? How do you know Reese?”
“Well. After I came through InFlux I got temporary shelter in one of the barracks in segment five. Every few days, recruiters came through doing interviews for potential employees. Most of the residents went to construction, maintenance, other labor-intensive jobs in the outer shells or even one of the off-station operations. A few more found better positions in various offices and oversight companies. All my experience lay in direct monitoring of particle flow. I worked for the Lunessa alchemists. Here that kind of work is a very special position for people who are citizens. Instead of doing what I was good at, Reese found me. If you know anything about Reese, you know he’s not... well, he’s diversified, that’s how he likes to put it. Partly legitimate, part vacuum. He kept me in legitimate service, but it meant doing a lot of less-than-wonderful jobs. Courier, carrying a node of data in one of my augments; direct-linking with received ‘ware to check for traps, viruses, anything that might blow up in his systems; client liaison, which sometimes included sex. He leased me to Everest for a month once, one of Hillary’s regulars was in pathic. Then one day I found a position with a small firm that did contract work for PolyCarb on one of their start-up processing lines and I left Reese. We parted on amicable terms, he was satisfied with what he got. Occasionally he’d set me up a job on the side, ask me to do a special service. He always paid me well, always let me go. Compared to regular work in Lunase, it was paradise.”
Nemily turned toward the rows of potted plants. “Then PolyCarb absorbed the firm I worked for and integrated the staff. I never dreamed I’d get to work for a mega, not like PolyCarb. Security, good stipend, insurance. I was shifted to an organics department, overseeing forced-growth tanks and sanitation. Comatulids. Then I was moved onto a particle line doing pretty much what I’d done in Lunase. It was alchemist work, teasing molecules apart and recombining them into new arrangements. This one was a metals line, assembling super stable alloys. XM, they call it. Anyway, after a year I was promoted to supervisor of my line, then once more into a quality-control position, and finally, just five months ago, Piers Hawthorne brought me into data collation in his department.”
She sighed. “I’ve been here over two years, almost two and a half. You’d think I’d get used to it by now, but I still wake up occasionally afraid that I’m going to be expelled.”
“Tell me about Toler.”
“He—my roommate ran with him. He was always trouble. He tried to get me to bring vacuum here when I emigrated.”
“What kind?”
“I have no idea. I told him no.” She laughed. “This isn’t what I had in mind for the rest of the evening.”
“Sorry. You said you don’t understand a lot of subtlety. Well, neither do I. Not this kind, at least.”
“I would have thought—”
“—that someone involved in security would be good at it? After all, I have to know people, anticipate them, understand how they work. As far as it goes, yes. But not... this.”
“Interesting problem.”
“In what way?” he asked.
“Well, think about it. If we go on from here it means we just might have to tell each other the truth all the time.”
“You have to know what the truth is first, don’t you?”
“Not all of it,” she said.
“A piece at a time?”
“I suppose that depends on how much patience you have.”
“I’ve been sifting for Helen for three years.”
“And you gave up.”
He frowned. “Your point being?”
“Imagine what it would be like with someone you won’t lose interest in.”
For a moment his face registered shock. But then he gave her a thoughtful look and nodded.
“Do you have to go to work tomorrow?” he asked. “Actually, today, I suppose.”
“I could make arrangements if I want to.”
“Do you want to?”
“I don’t know yet. Let’s find out.”
“I’m sorry,” Mace said. He stared up at the ceiling. Sweat glistened across his body. “It’s been a long night.”
“Don’t... I left the synthesist in…”
Nemily lay on her side and drew her legs up. She felt pleasantly cool now, her own perspiration evaporating. The bed smelled of them, a dense aroma that seemed oddly separate from their abandoned struggle. She rested her fingers on his arm. “I’ve never used the synthesist for this.”
“Why did you this time?”
“I wanted... something else... the sensualist can be overwhelming. Mixes everything together, even when it can pick out one sensation and expand it into... it’s hard to keep track of thoughts, reasons. I wanted to know...”
“Know what? If it’s worth your time staying?” He closed his eyes.
“Not exactly”
He sighed heavily, shifted lazily. “I left my reserves on the gondola.”
Nemily laughed.
A smile reshaped his face. “I suppose I could give you a resume.”
“Complete with references?”
“If you insist. How many would you require?”
“It depends how out of date they are.”
He opened one eye at her.
“Maybe,” she continued, “we should just stick to having sex in microgravity”
His hand snaked out and clutched at her stomach. Nemily drew herself back and he snatched at her again, making her laugh. She clasped his forearm.
“Are you impugning my physical prowess?” he demanded with mock outrage as he rolled toward her.
“I’m not ticklish in synthesist!” she protested as he straddled her and began poking playfully at her armpits and belly. She tried not to laugh and instead laughed louder. “I’m not ticklish!”
“Maybe on your feet...”
She felt one hand crawling down her left leg. She reached up and grabbed a patch of his chest hair and tugged. He leaned forward, mouth open.
“Do you want these hairs?” she asked soberly
“Ah... yes, as a matter of fact—owl”
She plucked a few and held them up so he could see them in the pale light. “Here. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
“You—”
He tried to seize her wrist but she deftly waved her arm just out of his reach until he began laughing. She shoved him over on his back and sat on his belly. With exaggerated gestures, she began taking one hair at a time and planting each one on his chest.
“Now don’t forget to water them,” she explained carefully. “Not too much or they’ll drown, but with a little care they’ll take root and bloom by spring.”
He caught her wrist then and pulled her hand to his mouth. He licked the spaces between her knuckles.
“Do you want me to go put in the sensualist?” she asked.
“Yes... no... I don’t think I can keep up right now.”
“I mean, if I’m already calling in sick I might as well be bedridden.”
“That would be...”
“What? Good, bad, indifferent, marvelous, tragic, comic, glorious, disgusting—?”
“Fine. Absolutely fine.”
She grasped his hand and kissed it. “I’ve never been absolutely fine before.”
“Neither have I, but I’m willing to learn.”
She stretched out along his length and traced the shapes of his face with a fingertip. Silent now, he fought to stay awake, but eventually his eyes closed and his breathing deepened again. Carefully, she slid off him, and sat on the edge of the bed.
Their discarded clothes made the only clutter in the room. A small table on his side of the bed (she was amused that she already thought of it that way, meaning, of course, that where she now sat was her side) held a f
ew pieces of jewelry, including his pendant, an antique clock whose large numerals glowed red, and a glass of water. Otherwise, the room revealed nothing of the owner. No art on the walls, nothing scattered on the floor, not even a plant. All Mace did here was sleep.
Until tonight. She wondered if the ungratifying intercourse had to do with that rather than his proclaimed weariness. Perhaps, she mused, she was the first woman to sleep with him in his own place since his wife.
He swallowed air noisily, grunted and rolled onto his side. She watched him dubiously. What would it be like to sleep with him, actually sleep here, every night? She liked her privacy, especially in her own space, and rarely had company. But Mace had been easy to be with in the morning, despite the awkwardness of that first time. Once meant little, she knew, but it had been different from her usual anxieties and growing impatience for the guest to leave.
He did not care that she was a ramhead.
Flattery allowed too much, promised too little. Nemily mistrusted that kind of graciousness, suspecting the agendas it masked. Common decency might explain genuine politeness and tolerance, even honest interest, but decency was not at all common. People lived by masks, even people she judged good, and her own hapteric existence taught that the cost of new attachments, even when beneficial, escalated with importance. The question was never how much do I want—want is cheaper than air—but how much will I trade for what I think I can get. People pretended not to notice the negotiations, claimed that something else was really happening that was finer. Perhaps it became finer in time, after all the initial bartering, and Nemily willingly believed that, but she did not know.
She looked at the pendant containing his dead wife’s persona. Helen had been a ramhead, too. Perhaps not wired to the same extent as Nemily, but to make one of those required an interface...
She waited to be sure Mace still slept, then carefully stood. She padded across the room to the toilet, closed the door and peed in the dark.
“And when you finally figure out what they want,” she mused aloud, “then you have to figure out what they want.”
Day cycle was beginning. The skylight let sufficient illumination to see by, though without color. The lone tree in the atrium looked like a chaotic spill against the grey wall. Nemily went to the study. Even here the neatness seemed absolute, bordering on oppressive.
She sat down behind the desk and touched the keypad. The flatscreen glowed warmly and a menu scrolled up. She selected commlink and the screen switched to another menu. She tapped in the recipient, then selected voice. The screen told her to “Record Now.”
“Melissa, this is Nem. I won’t be able to make it in”—she glanced at the time chop—”today Personal stuff. I apologize. If you want, shift anything immediate to my terminal and I’ll get to it tonight. Thanks.”
She sent it, then cleared the screen. She drummed her fingers along the edge of the desk for a time.
“Are you monitoring?” she asked.
The screen said: YES.
“Good. I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Nemily Dollard.”
NOTED.
“I understand you’re based on Mace’s wife... ?”
YES.
“Is this the extent of her personality or are you just being shy?”
WHAT DO YOU REQUIRE?
“I don’t know... tell me about her. What’s she like?”
WAS. DECEASED. I ALSO DO NOT RECOGNIZE YOUR AUTHORITY TO ACCESS THAT
INFORMATION.
“Hmm. Well, that’s something anyway. I understand my lack of authorization. I just thought we could talk, one augmented system to another.”
NEMILY DOLLARD, CYBERLINK, BORN CERES, DATE UNCERTAIN, TRANSFERRED TO LUNASE SETTLEMENT NETWORK COMBINE A.D. 2102, EMIGRATED TO AEA A.D. 2116, INFLUX PLACEMENT SEGMENT FIVE RING THREE, EMPLOYED BY—
“Stop. Is this an automated function or did Mace request my profile?”
s.o.p.
“All his lovers?”
QUESTION INAPPLICABLE.
“All right. Has Mace accessed your workup on me?”
AFTER A LONG PAUSE: NO.
Nemily thought back over the brief exchange. A few of the responses showed a degree of discretion, though not enough to override a direct prohibition. The d.p. could act human without actually functioning with human volition. But from this little she could not tell what limits the chaotic algorithm imposed. Given time she could probably wheedle anything she wanted out of it purely by inference. She felt along the underside of the desk, but found no jack. No doubt there was a connection she could use somewhere, but she already felt uneasy prying.
Odd, she mused, that even after allowing someone access in the most physically intimate ways such a mundane sensibility could still keep her from invading his privacy: peeking uninvited into the hidden parts of someone’s life was bad manners.
“Are there any physical security systems in place or can I wander the dom freely?”
NO INTERNAL PHYSICAL PROHIBITORS. MACE GRANTED YOU PERMISSION.
Nemily hesitated. In her experience, not even high-order systems could tell a direct lie. They would inform you that such data was inaccessible. But Mace had written the parameters of this one.
It seemed reasonable that he would want to feel safe within the walls of his own space, without the need to guard anything against intruders already inside. They would not get inside.
She hoped she read him correctly.
She descended to the atrium and went out to the greenhouse.
The plants growing in variously sized pots on the three shelves that ran along the right-hand side all looked healthy, lushly green and full. In the far right corner, though, mingling now with a mound of dirt, were piled the discarded carcasses of small trees. The bonsai on the workbench looked to her like fine-quality work. She knew virtually nothing about bonsai, but it was impossible to live on Aea without coming to recognize good and bad examples.
She flexed her toes on the packed soil, enjoying the cool yielding. With mild reluctance, she went back into the atrium.
She stood in the center of the floor, beneath the skylight, and pivoted slowly, studying the walls. It lacked something, though it seemed a complete enough home for Mace.
She went to the kitchen and drew a glass of water. Leaning against the jamb, she drank and studied.
There was no space for company A guest room, yes, but she felt certain it had never been used. Beyond that, she saw no area for entertaining, no scattering of sofas and chairs, no area where company might gather except in the kitchen, nothing set aside for the assembly of friends.
She felt suddenly guilty for bringing trouble into this place. Seeing Glim tonight had brought back all the anxiety that had driven her from Lunase in the first place. Mace did not deserve the complications. But she also sensed that he would welcome them on some level, that this was part of what he did. In a way, she felt hopeful that she could add to his life, although it might cost her.
She finished her water and went back upstairs. She wanted to be there when he awoke.
Eleven – AEA, 2118
DAY OOZED THROUGH THE SEMI-OPAQUE WINDOW like liquefied ivory. Nemily lay on her side, staring at it as though she had never seen light before.
When she finally rolled over she found herself alone. Her clothes had been picked up, folded neatly, and placed on a chair by the window. She rummaged through them, looking for her augment case.
“Excuse me.”
The voice startled her. She spun around. A man dressed in a simple, neatly cut dark suit stood in the doorway, watching her. She did not know him and was about to ask if he was a friend of Mace’s when she noticed the bright yellow ID badge hanging from his lapel: Structural Authority security.
“Yes...?”
“Are you a guest of Mr. Preston’s?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Please get dressed and come downstairs.”
He left the doorway and she heard his tread descending the steps.
Nemily quickly put on the evening dress. She felt foolishly overdressed, but Mace was much too large for any of his clothes to fit—besides, she did not know where he kept them.
Downstairs, the floor of the turret seemed filled with security people. The man who had asked her to come down stood on the steps, waiting for her. He motioned for her to come to him. When she reached him, he grasped her arm, took her pouch and led her the rest of the way.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“What is your name?”
“Nemily Dollard.”
They reached the floor. Several faces turned to look at her; most of them looked away after a moment. She could not see Mace.
“What is your relationship with Mr. Preston?”
“A...friend. We—”
“Ms. Dollard.”
She looked around. Linder Koeln came toward them. He smiled briefly, then spoke to the SA man.
“I can take her. She works for PolyCarb.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but—”
Koeln fished a chit from his jacket and handed it to the man. He released Nemily’s arm long enough to pull a reader from his pocket and insert the chit. After a few moments he nodded and returned the chit to Koeln.
“Very well, sir, I give her into your charge.”
“Thank you. Ms. Dollard?”
“My augments,” she said.
“I’ll have to retain these for examination—”
“I need them. They’re my personal augments.”
“Do you have a warrant for anyone else’s property than Mr. Preston’s?” Koeln asked.
“The warrant covers what we find on the premises. Once we’ve examined them she can get them back.”
“How long?” Nemily asked.
“Agent”—Koeln leaned forward to read the man’s tag—”Rawls. You’ve remanded Ms. Dollard to my custody I’m sure such consideration covers her personal belongings as well.”
“No, sir, it does not. If you’d care to press the issue, I can retain both the augments and Ms. Dollard and request that you leave the scene.”
“I see. Very well. Thank you. Ms. Dollard, please come along.”
“But—”
“We’ll get them back quickly. Right now, please come with me.”
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