Starship Waking
Page 5
He tilted his head. “I think the shadows on her face should be subtler, even though it’s darker in the photograph.”
She froze. He bent back down over his eggs. “But you can do it tomorrow, as long as you can get to the Benjamins’ portrait as well.”
“Yes, I can. I will,” she said, hurrying to put it back and see to her final chores .
A quarter hour later, she was gratefully heading out into the Prime Night, her bag under one arm, her umbrella that Mr. Darmadi called “almost as tall” as her in one hand, her sketchbook and a pen in the other. Mr. Darmadi’s home was an enormous, post-Revelation colonial of white stucco, with a tile roof and deep verandas. In the evening light, the stucco glowed orange and the brown clay tiles were a brilliant red. At the front of the house, there was a drive that wound across a wide lawn with a few sparsely planted fruit trees and a gazebo, and then there was an acre of forest between the lawn and road. It was close to New Prime, Luddeccea’s main city, but it still had the feel of a country estate. It was a perfect subject for sketching, and she’d sketched it many times—but tonight she’d content herself with sketching passengers on the bus.
Volka was almost at the stone wall that circled the estate when she heard a rustling among the trees. Slipping her sketchbook in her bag, she raised her umbrella defensively like her father had taught her, and then remembered she wasn’t in No Weere, and if her attacker was human, setting upon them could put her in jail. Lowering her umbrella, she perked her ears, and then she heard footfalls too light to be a man’s. She also smelled expensive shampoo and weere; more specifically, a weere she knew.
“Myra, come out,” Volka called. A moment later, her cousin Myra emerged from the trees, her eyes glowing in the low light.
Volka’s cousin Myra could almost pass for human. Her hair was long, straight, and black. Though Myra’s ears had a slight point, she could easily hide them. They weren’t covered with soft velvet like Volka’s, nor did they swivel and betray her emotions. Myra was also taller than Volka, with the slender physique of a movie star. But they both had the same dark rimmed amber eyes. The eyes were the only thing that gave Myra away. Volka would never be mistaken for anything but a weere.
“Volka, I need your help,” said Myra.
Volka felt her hair rise. “What would you need my help for, Myra?” Myra was the mistress of Councilor Abraham. She had her own snug little house with electricity, central heat, and running water outside of No Weere. She eschewed the company of the family, preferring to keep to herself. She didn’t need family—Myra wanted for nothing. Volka’s cousin wore a fine wool A-line coat that brushed her black leather boots. A shimmering blue silk scarf was tossed artfully over her neck and shoulders, and she wore silk gloves of the same material. She clutched an elegant black umbrella with chrome detailing. Volka knew beneath her fine coat she’d be wearing an actual dress—not the androgynous trousers and button-up shirt most weere that worked outside of the settlement wore. Myra’s skin was radiant, and there was a touch of color on her lips.
Myra took off her gloves, and Volka’s eyes followed her cousin’s hands. They weren’t scaly and dry from cleaning supplies and solvents. She couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. You made your choice, Volka; let it go. Let Alaric go…
“I need you to hide me,” Myra whispered.
Volka’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
Myra undid the buttons of her coat, and Volka smelled the reason instantly. Myra flattened her dress against her abdomen and revealed what Volka had already known by scent. She was a few months pregnant. Her bump was small but unmistakable.
“Did you betray your patron?” Volka asked, shocked.
“No!” Myra said. “I’m not stupid, Volka!”
Volka’s ears flattened in shame. It was true. Myra was many things, vain, aloof, and selfish, but she’d always been practical and mercenary, not one to lose a patron through infidelity. She was weere in that way at least. Volka’s eyes got wide. “You weren’t…?” She couldn’t finish the question. Rape was extremely rare among the weere, but not unheard of, and things got…confusing…during the season.
Myra waved a hand dismissively, “No, it’s the counselor’s baby.”
Volka’s eyes dropped to her belly. “But…” Humans cannot get a weere with child. The lie they’d always been told was on the tip of her tongue. She’d known for a long time it wasn’t true, and said instead, “You’re so far along.” Humans could get a weere with child, but weere could not carry them to term. Her chest tightened. At least, that was what she’d always thought.
Myra huffed. “Abraham doesn’t believe me. He thinks I cheated. He tried to get me to abort. The lying doctor he had come see me said it was a weere-weere child, but it is a mistake, Volka. It’s Abraham’s baby.”
Volka shifted on her feet. It was strange the counselor hadn’t just kicked her out. Most human patrons wouldn’t tolerate their mistress weere seeing other human men—no matter how promiscuous the patrons themselves were. Their mistress dallying with a weere man—well, Volka would fear for the life of the weere man.
Putting her hand on her stomach, Myra said, “I just need to have this baby. As soon as he sees it, he’ll realize the doctor is a fraud.” Volka’s cousin’s mouth formed a hard line. “And if I give him a child, he’ll support me for life. He won’t just cut me off when I get old.”
It was every weere mistress’s fear, and it sounded like the mercenary Myra Volka knew. “Couldn’t you stay with your mother?”
Looking heavenward, Myra said, “That’s where I went first, but she doesn’t believe it’s Abraham’s! She thinks I betrayed him, that I should abort and beg him to take me back.”
Volka gulped. Myra’s mother had groomed Myra since she was a child for patronage. No matter what Volka thought of Myra, her aunt’s cruelty was unconscionable. Myra’s jaw got tight. “Abraham is so angry at me, but he won’t be. Not when he sees the child.”
The hairs on Volka’s head prickled down to their roots. Most likely, Myra would miscarry anyway.
“Please, Volka,” Myra said, leaning down. “You’re the most…discreet…of the family. And I know you have connections with them .”
At the word “them,” Volka took a step back. The Resistance. Myra was speaking of the Resistance. “It’s been a long time, Myra. They don’t like women among them.” She exhaled…it had been over twelve years, before she came of season, and before Alaric. But she knew how to find them.
Myra hugged her round belly. “I’m unlikely to drive them to distraction for quite some time.”
Volka swallowed. This was a bad business; she could smell it. She didn’t approve of Myra’s relationship with the counselor. It was sinful to lead a married man astray. But she understood it. Most weere didn’t have jobs as safe as Volka’s, or employers who were so kind. And it was wrong for the counselor to try to force her to abort, no matter if Myra’s motives for having the child were less than altruistic.
“Will you help me, Volka?” Myra whispered. “Will you hide me…with the Resistance?”
Volka sighed. “They aren’t going to shelter a weere woman pregnant with a counselor’s child, but you can stay with me.”
“Thank you, Volka,” Myra said, taking Volka’s hand.
The wind rushed through the trees. Lightning without rain flashed in the distance. Volka told herself that was why her hair stood on end.
6
Kanakah Disk: Gateway to Luddeccea
“I realize these clothes make me look like a sex ‘bot,” 6T9 grumbled, following the werfle through the narrow, dark corridor of the of the outer rim of the Kanakah Disk. “But it’s how I like to dress, Werfle,” 6T9 finished.
“My name is Hsissh,” the werfle replied over the ether.
“God bless you,” 6T9 replied, circuits brightening at the small joke.
“I didn’t sneeze,” the werfle protested.
“I know that, but your name sounds like a sneeze,” said 6T9.
One of them, an asteroid miner by the looks of her coveralls, winked at 6T9. Skin warming, 6T9 smiled and almost winked back, but then the werfle said, “You can call me Carl,” and 6T9’s circuits sparked.
“Carl?” 6T9 replied. “That’s an odd name for a werfle.” Almost as odd as “Vera Rubin.” Also, the name Carl rang a bell.
“But not for a quantum wave surfing, sentient near immortal,” said the werfle.
6T9 lifted an eyebrow, not sure about that logic, but remembering the earlier direction of the conversation. “My clothes, Carl, are a reminder of my origins,” 6T9 replied. “I’m not ashamed of having been a sex ‘bot. You know, I knew another werfle named Carl Sagan once—”
“You’re not a sex ‘bot anymore?” Carl interjected, ears swiveling as the narrow corridor opened up to the gritty lower promenade. 6T9 was assailed by the smell of urine, alcohol, and sweat.
Was he a sex ‘bot? He hadn’t performed that function in years, and that bothered him, and yet…
“Hey, big man,” called a familiar voice. 6T9’s eyes rose to the speaker. It wasn’t a ‘bot he knew, but 32DD was a popular model, and he’d seen her make many times. Leaning against a wall, the blonde, golden-skinned sex ‘bot wore a tiny slip of a faded blue “dress” tied at the waist with a wide, bright pink ribbon. The dress was cut low at the chest, revealing the assets that made 32DD so popular. All those things weren’t what made his circuits dim.
“She’s in bad shape,” Carl commented.
6T9 nodded. A piece of synth skin was peeling off her inner thigh, and one of her eyes wasn’t closing properly when she blinked.
6T9 walked toward her. Beaming at him, she held out a hand. “Hello, Sailor, looking for a good time?”
Taking her hand, 6T9 bent down and kissed it, even though he wasn’t programmed to be attracted to ‘bots without Q-comms. “Just being in your orbit is a good time.”
Tilting her head, the ‘bot giggled. “You’re a smooth talker.” She apparently didn’t realize he was a ‘bot. They had different manufacturers, and he must not be in her databanks.
Over the ether, Carl protested. “The man we need to meet leaves for his shift in an hour. We have to hurry.”
“This will only take a minute,” 6T9 replied aloud.
“That isn’t something I’d ever admit to,” Carl grumbled.
“Slow, fast, I like it all.” 32DD winked again.
6T9 stepped closer to 32DD. “Look up, darling.”
“What for?” she said, but did as she was asked. Questioning orders was only a matter of making conversation for her. She was not genuinely curious. 6T9 inspected her eyes, and sure enough, saw a small bit of debris in the corner of the one that wasn’t blinking. “Hold still, Beautiful. I’m going to fix your eye.”
“It has been bothering me lately,” 32DD said. “A bit blurry.”
“Mmm,” said 6T9. He could see where dust had built up where her eyelid didn’t fully close. Delicately pushing the bit of grime out, he said, “Blink now.”
32DD fluttered her eyelashes a few times and then beamed. Artificial tears welled in the dusty eye and rolled down her cheek, leaving a dirty trail. 6T9 licked his thumb and wiped it away. Her skin was silky and the perfect temperature.
“Now to fix your leg,” he said.
32DD’s smile evaporated. “My owner says that he won’t replace it until I get more customers.” She pouted. “I don’t know why they’re staying away.”
6T9 untied the sash at her waist.
“No undressing without payment!” she giggled, putting a firm finger on his chest.
“I’m dressing your leg,” 6T9 replied.
Her lips parted in a look of innocent confusion, and he added, “You’ll get more customers.”
She dropped the finger, and 6T9 knelt on one knee. For the benefit of those who “liked that sort of thing,” torn synth skin looked very realistic. She appeared to have a piece of gore hanging from her inner thigh longer than his hand and nearly as wide. 6T9 smoothed up the tattered remains and wrapped the wide ribbon around the top to hold it together. He finished it off with a large bow, making it look like a fancy, bright pink garter.
Standing, 6T9 said, “I think you’ll get more customers now.”
“You won’t be my customer?” 32DD asked, giving him another pout.
Slipping a credit from his pocket and pressing it into her hand, he kissed her cheek and wrapped his arms around her. She melted into his embrace, just like she was designed to do. She felt like a human woman—not that he had a preference when it came to gender—but he noted how soft she was, how delicate her skin felt, and how silky her hair was against his cheek. She smelled like cheap perfume, and he knew she applied it to make him inhale her artificial pheromones more deeply. All sex ‘bots, him included, had designer pheromones created to appeal to the greatest percentage of the human race. She was beautifully crafted, inside and out. How could humans create something so beautiful, and treat it so badly?
With a feminine sigh, 32DD put her head on his shoulder. 6T9 knew if he could see her face he’d see a smile, and knew it was genuine. None of it did anything for him. He felt a million kilometers away and very alone.
“That’s all I needed,” he whispered in her ear as he pulled away. “Thank you.”
32DD giggled. “You’re welcome.” And he knew from experience she was sincere. He forced himself to smile. He was happy for her.
Two men in dirty clothing, with rumpled hair and several days’ worth of stubble stumbled out of a doorway. One took a look at 32DD and said, “Heya, is he done with you?”
Turning away from 6T9, she beamed at the new man. “Yes, he is! You’re so handsome!”
“What’s your rate for ten-minutes, Missy?” he asked.
6T9 didn’t hear her response. The man’s companion had snaked a hand around 6T9’s backside. It should have made his skin heat, and his primary functionality engage, but 6T9 felt strangely unmoved. Maybe he should have defragged himself when he rebooted?
Giving 6T9 a pinch, the man asked, “What about you?” He was drunk enough that 6T9 could smell alcohol leaching from his pores, and he fought the urge to warn the human about liver disease. Instead, catching the man’s wrist, 6T9 said, “Not on duty.”
“You’re always on duty,” the man huffed, pressing his front to 6T9’s side. And hadn’t that been the truth?
“I’m not a sex ‘bot,” 6T9 said.
The man blinked and backed away. “Why didn’t you say first thing?” he asked, and then tripped after his friend and 32DD as they entered a nondescript doorway. The man called out to 32DD, “What’s your rate for a double?”
6T9 watched them go, waiting for the werfle to comment on how quickly he’d betrayed his sex ‘bot identity.
At his side, Carl’s tail swished madly. In his mind an unidentified ethernet caller tried to ping him. “It’s Vera Rubin, the member of The One we’re meeting,” Carl hissed. “Answer!”
6T9 answered the caller, and a feminine voice hissed, “Luddeccean Intelligence is here! They’re coming to kill Judah!”
“Our source!” said 6T9. Judah had escaped Luddeccean space, and was the man who was going to keep them from getting blown up during the months they�
��d travel at near-light-speed from the Kanakah Cloud to Libertas.
Carl darted off down the dark promenade. “Follow me!” the werfle said, and then cut down an alley that was so narrow 6T9 had to turn sideways. His gold shoes slipped on garbage and human waste. His nostrils were filled with the smells of organic and inorganic refuse, and a medically minded part of him noted that there might be an outbreak of Clostridium difficile on the station. He burst out of the alley onto a thoroughfare that was only as wide as the spread of his arms. The ceiling hung a hands breadth above his head. Laundry was stretched out on clotheslines and the air was cool, damp, and humid. 6T9 scanned beneath the clothes for Carl. Children ran past him in rags. Elderly humans, mostly female, were sitting in front of open doors sorting through beans, cooking on open braziers, and washing clothes in hand crank machines. He couldn’t see the werfle.
“Where are you?” 6T9 said aloud.
Over the ether, Carl said, “To your left.”
Ducking beneath the laundry, 6T9 dodged humans and their domestic implements. He leaped over an open fire, and an old woman whistled at him. Stopping, he bowed and batted his eyelashes at her.
Giggling, the old woman held a withered hand in front of a mouth missing some teeth. It was a display of happiness that wasn’t programmed or even expectant. 6T9’s return smile stretched ear to ear, and his circuits fired merrily.
“What are you doing?” Carl cried over the ether.
He blinked, righted himself, and said, “I must depart, madam!” Bending again to get under a clothesline, 6T9 called out to the werfle, “Sorry, old programming.” His lips curled up in a smile, and his circuits hummed from the encounter. He wasn’t sorry at all.
“Over here!” hissed the voice of Vera over the ether. 6T9 saw Carl dashing up wet stairs that were so steep that 6T9’s nose nearly touched them as he followed. At the top was a wider thoroughfare, with pedestrians and small shuttle cars. Shops lined either side. Gravity wasn’t as strong, and the radiation levels were lower. Here and there skylights let in the light of the hub and green plants grew.