by E. M. Foner
“Bastard!” The girl made a wild attempt to slap his face, but lost her balance on the wobbly heels and might have fallen over if Joe hadn’t caught her from behind.
“Hey, friend,” Joe addressed the gatekeeper over the girl’s heaving shoulders, and fixed him with the special barroom stare developed over twenty years of dealing with locals who refused service to mercenaries. As usual, he found himself taking a strange female’s side without even thinking, a reaction that had resulted in a number of uncompensated injuries over his career. “There’s no call for that sort of talk. My niece may lack fashion sense, but that doesn’t make her a corridor tramp.”
The man drew his lips back in a mirthless smile as he tried to assess Joe’s physique beneath the material of the poorly fitting silver suit. After cracking his meaty knuckles, he apparently decided it wasn’t worth getting all sweaty this early in the evening. “Es tur me leid,” he mumbled, stepping back and allowing them both to enter.
The evening had barely started and the Beer Garden was just beginning to fill up. Joe guided the enraged girl to an empty picnic table in the corner where it would be easy for his date to spot the silver suit when she arrived. A cheerful waitress wearing a short skirt and tall white socks, basically the female version of the lederhosen worn by the doorman, arrived briskly to take their order. Joe ordered a Bock, and the girl, who was still casting ferocious glares towards the entrance, requested a hot apple cider.
“That guy was just being mean because he could never hope to date a girl as pretty as you,” Joe told her gallantly. “Is this your first time in the Beer Garden?”
“Yes,” the girl lisped in an accent Joe couldn’t quite place. “I’ve only been on the station for a week, and I had to borrow these clothes to come out. I’ve never really worn make-up before and I’m afraid it’s not quite right.”
“Not a runaway from a labor contract, are you?” Joe asked in jest.
The areas of the girl’s face not covered with artificial blush turned bone white, and a few blue veins appeared. The contrast with her jet-black hair and nearly black eyes made her look like a Kabuki actor masquerading as a girl. She jerked away from the table and looked at him fearfully.
“You’re not going to turn me in for a bounty, are you?”
“What? No, of course not. I was just joking, but I’m no friend to anybody who deals in kids,” he insisted. “Look, here’s your hot cider already. Just drink that and calm down or you’re going to have a long night.”
Joe blew the foam off of his huge mug of Bock and wondered how he was going to explain the girl to his date when she finally arrived. The girl’s hands were still a little shaky from adrenalin as she lifted the glass, but she managed to take a long sip without spilling any, for which he was thankful. If she added cider dripping down her chin to the overdone girlish makeup and the skimpy dress that looked more like a short nightgown, she just would have looked too pathetic.
“So what’s your name?” he asked her after they drank for a minute in silence. She stiffened up again, her face masklike, and glared at him suspiciously. “I swear I won’t turn you in. You don’t even have to tell me your real name, just something I can call you. I’m Joe.”
“Laurel,” she offered hesitantly.
“Laurel, that’s a pretty name, and old-fashioned too. Were you born on Earth?”
“Do you need to know that? I was told there wouldn’t be a lot of questions.”
“You were told?” Joe probed reflexively. “Do you mean you’re here to meet somebody in particular? You have to be real careful of people who claim to want to help a runaway or you can end up even worse off than you started.”
“But surely I can trust the Stryx,” Laurel protested. “Are you testing me or something? I know they do labor barter themselves, but I can’t believe they would want to cause problems for a human runaway who was sold to a labor contractor the day she turned twelve!”
“The Stryx will treat you straight,” Joe confirmed. “And they have a soft spot for humans, nobody really knows why. But are you saying the Stryx sent you here for some reason?”
“You know better than me,” she replied with a shrug, and gave him a sideways look. “There can’t be two silver suits like that, even on a place as big as Union Station.”
Joe did a double-take as the meaning sank in. Eemas thought his perfect match was a runaway teenager? He slumped in defeat. At least he could stop watching the door for his date.
“Listen, they have pretty good food here, if you don’t mind eating a lot of meat and cabbage. You look half starved to me, so how about I order us something.”
“I won’t argue with that,” Laurel said, and she seemed to relax a little. “Look, I’m beginning to think I made a bad impression. I shouldn’t have trusted Zella about the dress and makeup. But she took me in and she’s been really nice to me. I would have been sleeping in the corridors or on the ag deck without her, and that’s a quick way to get caught by some labor agent.”
“Uh, don’t worry about the dress and whatever, you look fine,” he said, carefully avoiding her eyes. After a quick look at the blackboard and an explanation of the specials from the waitress, he ordered bread soup, pretzels and stuffed cabbage rolls. Laurel appeared content to wait quietly, so silence descended again as he sat there feeling like a dirty old man. In the end, he couldn’t help asking, “So how old are you anyway?”
“I’m eighteen,” she replied, and blushed naturally this time, looking down at her cider.
“Fifteen?” he suggested.
“I’m really seventeen,” she asserted, a little too uncertainly, still not looking up. Joe sighed and waited. Finally she lifted her eyes and admitted, “OK, I’m sixteen, but I’ll be seventeen soon, and what does that have to do with it anyway? Plenty of girls in the ag settlements are married by sixteen. I was taking care of myself even before my mother’s creditors took possession and sold my contract. I know I can learn how to do anything you need.”
Now it was Joe who turned dark red with embarrassment. This was even worse than getting set-up with a dominatrix or a black widow. But it would be too cruel to just leave the girl without waiting for the food. Maybe I can get her to take some money, he thought. I’ll just have to pretend it’s intended as a loan.
“I guess I don’t really need anything,” he told her, watching the kitchen door for the waitress and willing her to hurry up. “But if there’s anything I can do to help?”
“What is this, some kind of game you’re playing?” the girl demanded. “I knew it was all too good to be true when Jeeves told me about the job, and I should have listened to Zella, but I…”
“Did you say Jeeves?” Joe interrupted, his voice rising a full octave.
“Yes, he’s the Stryx I was telling you about. He comes around the under-deck corridors at night and talks with the kids. I thought he was really cool, but I guess he’s just some robot clown.”
“Wait, don’t go!” Joe reached across the table and grabbed the girl’s hand as she pushed herself wearily up from the table. “I do know Jeeves. He’s a friend of my foster son, they play Nova together. Please, just explain what Jeeves said to you so I’ll know what we’re talking about. I came here for, well, a different appointment, but maybe I got my dates confused.”
Laurel looked skeptical, but she was hungry and she didn’t have anywhere better to go, so she sat back down and launched into an explanation. “Jeeves said you were looking for a housekeeper, somebody to do some cooking and cleaning. That you couldn’t pay much but you’d give me a room and board, and that I could start Stryx school in my spare time. He said, once I had a legitimate job and was studying, the Stryx would buy out my contract and I could pay them back in trade. I know that weeding and picking aren’t great qualifications for housekeeping, but I did spend a month working in the kitchens when my ankle was broken in the rainy season and I couldn’t stay in the fields.”
“That little Stryx bugger said all that?” Joe sat back, ast
ounded. As much as he hated being boxed in by a robot, he was too old to reject a good deal and hurt a kid’s chances just because he’d been tricked. “Well, I guess we can’t disappoint him then, can we?”
“Do you mean it?” Laurel clapped her hands and the weary look fell away from her eyes. “Cross your heart and hope to die?”
“Yeah,” Joe replied, and made the required hand movements over his chest. “I hope you like dogs, scrap metal and shy adolescent boys.”
“Thank you! And I get along with everybody and everything. You have to in a labor camp.”
“I imagine you do,” Joe said, adding a rueful chuckle. But he was still planning on hitting the Stryx with a crowbar the next time he saw him.
The hot pretzels and bread soup arrived, and Laurel dug in like she hadn’t eaten in days. Joe munched on a pretzel reflectively as he nursed his Bock and watched her drain the soup. It wasn’t just that Jeeves was different from every Stryx that Joe had ever dealt with, or even heard of, for that matter. The Stryx kid was unlike every other artificial intelligence he’d run into as well. More than anything, Jeeves reminded him of a young man. A bit immature, but human.
The main course arrived and Joe made a point of questioning Laurel about trivialities, like how much she’d seen of the station, to keep her from eating too fast. Then he told her some stories about Paul and Beowulf, so she wouldn’t feel they were total strangers when she moved in. When the food was finished, he offered to walk her back to Zella’s room, and the girl’s face fell.
“I thought I could go home with you and get started,” she said hopefully.
“Don’t you need to get your things, tell Zella where you are?”
“I don’t have any things, other than the clothes I stowed away in, and they’re in worse shape than this dress,” the girl confessed. Then she added sadly. “Zella won’t be home until morning, if at all. She works nights, you know.”
And then Joe did know, and he decided not to hit Jeeves with a crowbar after all.
Seventeen
“I’m done for the day, Miss Acting Ambassador,” Donna said, and dropped a mock curtsey in the doorway of Kelly’s office. “And I forgot to ask, what is that there?”
Kelly followed Donna’s pointed finger to her LoveU recliner, standing in the corner, where it was unrecognizable in its pack-away form.
“Oh, that’s LoveU. I brought it by this morning before office hours.”
“Kelly, I don’t mean to criticize, but I think you’re becoming too attached to that LoveU. It is just a fancy chair after all.”
“My apartment has been locking me out at random because I’m too far behind on the rent again,” Kelly explained. “My jerk landlord might try to hold my stuff for auction or put it all out in the corridor for all I know or care, but they aren’t getting my LoveU,” she concluded fiercely.
“Have you tried discussing your personal money problems with EarthCent, or with Gryph?” Donna asked. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you any more money with your promotion, but there was that whole paying-for-the-rescue business.”
“I really don’t get what they want from me,” Kelly flared. “Every time I think I’ve done something right it costs me money. In fact, I know I’ve done something right, or they wouldn’t keep promoting me, would they? But how am I supposed to work if I don’t have a place to sleep at night?”
“Maybe that’s the idea,” Donna ventured. “Maybe they want you to camp out in your office, and then they’ll have you at work all the time.”
“Well, I’m warning you. A couple more weeks of this and I’m going to take up your girls on that baby brother proposition. I need the money.”
“That’s fine by me, but you’re the one who has to break it to Stanley. I’m telling you ahead of time that man is a swan. The only time he’s looked at another woman since we got married, she was an artificial person based on a game heroine.” Donna laughed at her own joke, but noticed that Kelly just looked embarrassed. “Come on, falling for an artificial person, can you imagine? Anyway, who did you get to help you move the LoveU here? Are you still seeing the guy from the mixer, or was he one of those one-night things?”
“LoveU moves itself just fine,” Kelly proclaimed in a stage voice. Then she took Donna aside and whispered, “It’s really kind of embarrassing the way it walks, the front legs are way too short, but I don’t want to say anything that might hurt its feelings in case it’s listening.”
“I don’t even know whether or not to take you seriously,” Donna replied with a sniff. “Are you all set for your date tonight?”
“Yes. I have my dress and shoes here, and I’m going to shower at the public baths. Even if the apartment did let me in, the bathroom has turned into a torture chamber. If I never go back there again it will be too soon.”
“You know I’d be happy to loan you the money for rent,” Donna admonished her. “You really shouldn’t be living like this.”
“No. If I can’t keep things together myself, it’s better to let them fall apart. Maybe then EarthCent will finally do something.”
“Suit yourself, but don’t expect me to give up the reception area for your living room,” she warned, half jokingly. “After all, we are running an important diplomatic mission here.” Both women laughed at this characterization until they lost their breath, though perhaps for different reasons. After a quick hug, Donna left for home and Kelly took her change of clothes in an oversize handbag and headed to the public baths.
An hour later she emerged a new woman. Her long red hair was coiled and piled high on her head, and she was sporting the faux mechanical watch she’d received as a gift from Shaina, a new addition to her dating attire. Still carrying the oversize handbag which now contained her tightly-wadded work clothes, she headed for El Toro, wondering why the guy or Eemas always got to pick the locations for her. Maybe it was a decision Donna and the girls had made for her when filling out her profile, letting the others choose.
Not surprisingly, El Toro was a Spanish-themed restaurant with staff dressed as flamenco dancers. Her date was described as “black cape, sword cane, sparkle in the eye,” which struck Kelly as quite romantic, though she wondered how she was supposed to spot a sword cane unless he drew the blade and brandished it. Nobody matching the description had arrived yet, so she let the waitress, from whose thumbs dangled castanets on short cords, seat her at a cozy table for two and bring a glass of red wine.
At 20:00 on the hour, a wiry figure, half hidden by a black cloak that included a hood drawn tightly over the head, clunked through the door. Kelly stared in surprise when she saw that the sword cane, wielded jauntily in a white gloved hand, was keeping time with the wooden leg which her date hadn’t bothered dressing up with a shoe. A peg leg, the term came to mind from her extensive reading of Victorian literature.
He clumped directly over to her table and made a theatrical if somewhat stiff bow, accompanied by the declaration, “Alexander Fantier at your service.”
“I’m Kelly,” she managed to reply as he seated himself. She noted with dismay that the promised sparkle in the eye was literal, since one eye sparkled while the other stared a bit vacantly, being made of glass. His light brown skin was badly pocked, and the prominent cheekbones of his narrow face made him look a bit starved. When he threw back the hood, Kelly guessed that he was at least twice her age, and couldn’t help crossing her fingers in hope this was another of Libby’s business dates as opposed to her Mr. Right.
“Ah, I see you’ve started with a glass of wine. I shall join you and tell them to bring the bottle.” He snapped loudly, and when the waitress looked over, he pointed to Kelly’s glass and made a vertical separation motion with his hands, which seemed to be a shared code.
“I, ah, I’ve never really met anybody with a peg leg before,” Kelly blurted in a rush and blushed. “I can’t help wondering if you have a religious objection to the cloned replacements.”
“Never even considered a vat replacement,” Alexander repl
ied scornfully, before breaking into a surprisingly winning smile. “I intend to leave this world the way I came into it. Well, minus a few parts perhaps, and better dressed, but certainly without any additions.”
“That’s a refreshing attitude,” Kelly tried to sound enthusiastic. “So many people you meet these days aren’t who they seem at all. Why, just last week I found myself dancing with—oh, never mind.”
Alexander tilted his head like an intelligent dog, his one good eye gleaming, and watched as the waitress placed his glass on the table and filled it.
“Are you ready to order, Mr. Fantier, or would you like some time?” the waitress prompted them.
“You seem to know this place, so whatever you think is best is fine by me,” Kelly answered in response to his silent look of inquiry.
“I think the tortilla de patata followed by the seafood paella, with a mixed green salad to start. And perhaps a small brandy as an aperitif?” he asked Kelly, raising the eyebrow above his good eye.
“That sounds delicious,” Kelly concurred, and the waitress headed off to relay their order.
“So, you were expecting somebody younger?” Alexander pushed on merrily. “I can assure you, that like the fine brandy we will soon be drinking, the wine in this old barrel only improves with age. I hope you give me a chance to show you a pleasant evening.”
“This is my fourth introduction through the Eemas service. As long as you aren’t an alien, a kidnapper or about to suggest a business arrangement where I carry your seed, you’re starting way ahead of the curve,” Kelly admitted wryly.
“That bad?” He gave a long whistle. “Well, it’s my first time, my first time using an introduction service that is, and I must admit I’m very impressed with the results.”
“Thank you,” she said, hiding a grin with her hand. “Funny, though. What led you to try an expensive dating service at your, uh, I mean, all of a sudden?”
“At my age, is what you mean,” he said with a chuckle. “Well, I can’t say I’d ever really considered it before, but when I came through the tunnel last night, I was surprised to hear that mine was the hundred millionth transit through the Union Station tunnel branch since the construction of the old customs terminal. The management offered me this Eemas encounter as a sort of a prize.”