The capsule settled on the lot of Bovey's Bathing and Culinar-yware, one of eight macrostores that made up a small touchdown mall in the Groby district. She walked in to the store, looking round the open display rooms that lined a broad aisle with many branches. Bathrooms and kitchens alternated, promoting a big range of size, styles, and price, though the ones by the door tended to be elaborate. She looked enviously at the larger luxury units, thinking about the kind of apartment she'd develop one day in which such extravagance was a necessity.
'Can I help you?
Araminta turned round to see a man dressed in the store's blue and maroon uniform. He was quite tall with his biological age locked in around his late twenties, dark skin offset by sandy-blond hair. Nice regular features, she thought, without being too handsome. His eyes were light grey, revealing a lot of humour. If they were meeting in a club she'd definitely let him buy her a drink — she might even offer to buy him one first.
'I'm looking for a kitchen and a bathroom. Both have to look and feel high grade, yet cost practically nothing.
'Ah, now that I can understand, and provide for. I'm Mr Bovey, by the way.
She was quite flattered the owner himself would come down on the floor and single her out to help. 'Pleased to meet you. I'm Araminta.
He shook her hand politely. She thought he was debating with himself if he should try for a platonic greeting kiss. It was one of those times when she wished she had a connection to the gaiafield, which would enable her to gauge his emotions, assuming he'd broadcast them. Which as the owner of the store and therefore a professional he wouldn't. Damn. Come on girl, focus.
'What sort of dimensions can you give me to play with? he asked.
Araminta gave him a slightly cheeky grin, then stopped. Perhaps it wasn't a double-entendre. Certainly sounded like one, though. 'Here you go, she told him as her u-shadow produced the blueprint file. 'I would appreciate some help on price. This is my first renovation project, I don't want it to be my last.
'Ah. His eyes strayed to her hands, which still had lines of grime etched on the skin. 'Boss and workforce, I can relate to that.
'Depleted workforce today, I'm afraid. One of my bots blew up. I can't afford any more expensive mistakes.
'I understand. He hesitated. 'You didn't get it from Burt Renik, did you?
'Yes, she said cautiously. 'Why?
'Okay, well for future reference — and I didn't tell you this — he's not the most reliable of suppliers.
'I know he's not the gold standard, but I checked on the evaluation library for that model. It was okay.
This time he did wince. 'Next time you buy something in the trade, including anything from me, I'd recommend some research on Dave's Coding. His u-shadow handed over the address. 'The evaluation library is fine, all those «independent» reports on how the product worked — well, the library is financed and managed by corporations, that's why there's never really a bad review. Dave's Coding is truly autonomous.
'Thank you, she said meekly as she filed the address in one of her storage lacunas. 'I'll take an access sometime.
'Glad to help. In the mean time, try aisle seven for a kitchen. I think we can supply your order from there.
'Thanks. She walked off to aisle seven, more than a little disappointed he didn't accompany her. Perhaps he had a policy of not flirting with customers. Shame.
The man waiting in aisle seven had on an identical blue and maroon uniform. He was perhaps five years older than Mr Bovey, but even taller, with a slender marathon runner frame. His skin was Nordic pale with ginger hair cut short except for a slender ridge right at the crest of his skull. Strangely, his green eyes registered the same kind of general amusement at the world as Mr Bovey.
'I'd recommend these two kitchen styles, he said in greeting, and gestured at a small display area. 'They're a good fit to your dimensions, and this one is an end of the line model. I've got two left in the warehouse, so I can give you a sweet deal.
Araminta was slightly nonplussed. Mr Bovey had obviously passed on her file to this employee; but that was no reason for him to start off as if they were already on familiar terms. 'Let's take a look, she said, lowering the temperature of her voice.
It turned out the end of the line model was quite satisfactory, and it was a good deal. As well as a mid-range culinary unit with a range of multichem storage tanks she got a breakfast bar and stools, ancillaries like a fridge, food prepper, maidbot, shelving and cupboards. The style was chaste white, with black and gold trim. 'If you throw in delivery, I'll take it, she told him.
'Any time you want it, I'll get it to you.
She ignored the flirty overture, and told her u-shadow to pay the deposit.
'Bathrooms: aisle eleven, he told her with unabashed enthusiasm.
The salesman waiting for her in aisle eleven had allowed himself to age into his biological fifties, which was unusual even for Viotia. His ebony skin was just starting to crinkle, with his hair greying and thinning. 'I've got four that I think will suit your aesthetics, was his opening gambit.
'Hello, she snapped at him.
'Ah… yes?
'I'm Araminta, pleased to meet you. And I'm looking for a bathroom for my flat. Can you help me?
'What…?
'This whole relay thing you've got going here really isn't polite. You could at least say hi to me first before you access the file you're all shooting around here. I am a person, you know.
'I think… ah. His surprised expression softened. Araminta found it a lot more disconcerting than his initial smug chumminess.
'You do know what I am, don't you? he asked.
'What do you mean?
'I am Mr Bovey. We are all Mr Bovey in this store. I am a multiple human.
Araminta was certain she'd be turning bright red with embarrassment. She knew what a multiple was, of course; one personality shared between several bodies through an adaptation of the gaiafield technology. This way, its practitioners claimed, was the true evolutionary leap for humanity that everyone else was pursuing down futile dead ends. A multiple human could never die unless every body was killed, which was unlikely in the extreme. In a quiet non-evangelical way they believed that everyone would one day become multiple. Perhaps after that the personalities would start fusing, leaving one consciousness with a trillion bodies — a much better outcome than downloading into the artificial sanctity of ANA.
It was a human heresy, their detractors claimed, a long-term conspiracy to imitate the Prime aliens of Dyson Alpha. More vocal opponents accused the multiple lifestyle of being started by left-over Starflyer agents trying to continue their dead master's corrupting ideology.
I'm sorry, she said, shamefaced. 'I didn't know.
'That's okay. Partly my fault in assuming you did. Most people in the trade know.
Araminta gave a wry grin. 'I guess continuity of service is a big plus.
'I've got to be better than Burt Renik.
'Definitely!
'All right then. So are you and I good to go and look at bathrooms?
'Of course we are.
Araminta wound up buying the third suite the older Mr Bovey showed her. It wasn't out of guilt, he was genuinely offering a good deal, and the plain gold and green style was perfect for the flat. And once she'd let her awkwardness subside, he was fun to talk to. She couldn't quite throw off the weird little feeling of disconnection talking to his older body and knowing he was exactly the same person who'd greeted her, and that body was probably smiling privately at her while dealing with another customer.
'Just let us know when you want it delivered, he said when her u-shadow handed over the deposit.
'Do you… that is: some of you. Ones of you. Handle delivery as well?
'Don't worry, tense hasn't caught up with us multiples yet. And yes, I'll be the one in the carry capsule and helping the bots when they get stuck on the stairs. Not necessarily this body given its age, but me.
'I'll look forward to seeing the rest
of you.
'There's a couple of mes who are young and handsome. Call it vanity if you like, I'm not immune to all the usual human flaws. I'll try and schedule thems for the delivery.
'As handsome as you?
'Hey, there's no more discount. You've squeezed me dry already.
She laughed. 'I'd better get back to work then.
Araminta smiled the whole flight back to the flat. Mr Bovey really had been charming. All his versions. She suspected it was more than good client relations. And was he joking about the young and handsome bodies? Actually, even the last one she'd seen, the older one, was quite distinguished. And what if he did ask her out for a date? Would it be just her and twenty of him sitting at a table?
If he asks.
And if he did, what am I going to answer?
The whole idea was unusual, which made it very interesting.
And what if the evening went well? Do I ask twenty of him hack to my place?
Oh stop it!
She was still smiling when she walked back up the stairs and opened the front door. Then her mood came down at the sight of the flat. The bots had made some progress cleaning up; but one with a vacuum attachment was all clogged up. None of the bots had self maintenance capacity, so she'd have to clear that out manually. And she'd still not put the balcony door actuator back together. It could well be quite a while before Mr Bovey delivered her new kitchen and bathroom and she got round to finding out how well she'd read their encounter.
Late in the afternoon when the place was finally getting straightened out she'd started spreading the sealant sheets over the lounge's floorboards. That was when her u-shadow told her there was a call from Laril. 'Are you sure? she asked it.
'Yes.
She debated with herself if she should call Cressida, maybe the Revenue Service would pay a reward. 'Where's he calling from?
'The routing identity originates on Oaktier. A summary slid into her peripheral vision.
'A Central Commonwealth world, she read. 'What's he doing there?
'I do not know.
'Right, she sat on the cube that was her portable bed and took her gloves off. Wiped her forehead. Took a breath. 'Okay, accept the call. His image appeared in her exovision's primary perspective, making it seem as if he was standing right in front of her. If he was providing a real representation he hadn't changed much. Thin brown hair cut short, round face with a chubby jaw and a wide neck, as always thick dark stubble longer than she liked. It was scratchy, she remembered. He never gelled it down smooth no matter how many times she asked.
'Thanks for taking the call, he said. 'I wasn't sure you would.
'Neither was I.
'I hear you're doing okay; you got the money.
'I was awarded the money by the court. Laril, what are you doing? Why are you on Oaktier?
'Isn't it obvious?
That took a few seconds to register, and even longer to accept. It must be some stunt, some scam. 'You're migrating inwards? she asked, incredulous.
He smiled the same carefree smile he'd used when they first met. It was very appealing, warm and confident. She hadn't seen it much after they married.
'Happens to all of us in the end, he said.
'No! I don't believe it. You are going Higher? You?
'My first batch of biononics have been in a week. They're starting to integrate some basic fields. It's quite an experience.
'But… she spluttered. 'For Ozzie's sake. Higher culture would never take you. What did you do, erase half your memories?
'That's a pretty common myth. Higher culture isn't the old Catholic Church, you know; you don't have to confess and recant your past sins. It's current attitude which counts.
'I know they don't take criminals. There was that case centuries ago — Jollian thought that he could escape what he'd done with a memory wipe and a migration to the Inner Worlds. Paula Myo caught up with him and had his biononics removed so he could face trial on the External Worlds as the type of human he was when he committed his crime. I think he got a couple of hundred years' suspension.
'That's what you think of me, that I qualify for the Jollian precedent? Well thanks a whole lot, Araminta. A couple of things you might want to consider. One, Paula Myo isn't after me. And she isn't after me because I haven't committed any crime.
'Have you told the Viotia Revenue Service that?
'My business economics were a mess, sure. I'm not hiding from that. I even told my Higher initiator about my finances. You know what she said?
'Go on.
'Higher culture is about rejecting the evil of money.
'How very convenient for you.
'Look I just wanted to call and apologize. I'm not asking for anything. And I wanted to make sure you're all right.
'A bit late for that, isn't it? she bridled. 'I'm not part of some therapy session you have to complete before they'll take you.
'You're misunderstanding this, perhaps with anger leading you away from what I'm actually saying.
'Ozzie! This is your therapy session.
'We don't need therapy to become Higher, it is inevitable. Even you will migrate eventually.
'Never.
His image produced a fond lopsided smile. 'I remember thinking that once. Probably when I was in my twenties. I know it probably doesn't make a lot of sense to someone your age when every day is fresh, but after a few centuries living on the External Worlds you begin to get bored and frustrated. Every day becomes this constant battle; politicians are corrupt and crap, projects never get finished on time or in budget, bureaucrats delight in thwarting you, and then there's the eternal fight for money.
'Which you lost.
'I fed myself and my families for over three centuries thank you very much. Even you came out ahead with the residue of that work. But face it, I didn't achieve much now did I? A few tens of thousands of dollars to show for three and a half centuries. That's not exactly leaving your mark on the universe, is it? And it's not just me, there are billions of humans that are the same. The External Worlds are fun and exciting with their market economy and clashing ideologies and outward urge. Youth thrives on that kind of environment. Then there comes a day when you have to look back and take stock. You did that for me.
'Oh come on! You're blaming me for the dog's dinner you made of your affairs?
'No. I'm not blaming you. Don't you get it? I'm thanking you. I was old, it took you to reveal that to me. The contrast between us was so great even I couldn't close my eyes to it for ever. There really is no fool like an old fool, and part of that foolishness came from deluding myself. I was tired of that life and didn't want to admit it. Turning Punk Skunk and taking a young wife was just another way of trying to ignore what I'd become. Even that didn't work, did it? I was making both of us miserable.
'That's putting it mildly, she muttered. In a way though, it was gratifying hearing him admit it was all his fault. 'I left my whole family behind because of you.
He showed her a sly smile. 'And that was a bad thing?
'Yeah, all right, she grinned puckishly. 'You did me a favour there. I'm not really cut out for two centuries of selling agricultural cybernetics.
'I knew that the minute I set eyes on you. So how's the world of property development coming on?
'Harder than I thought, she admitted. 'There are so many stupid little things that bug me.
'I know. Well imagine today's frustration multiplied by three hundred years, that's how I wound up feeling.
'And now you don't?
'No.
'I don't believe Higher culture is free of bureaucracy, or corruption, or idiots, or useless politicians. They might not be so blatant, but they're there.
'No, they're not. Well… okay, but nothing like as bad as they are in the External Worlds. You see, there's no need for any of that. So many of the social problems the External Worlds suffer from is born out of markets, capital and materialism; that's what old-style economics produces, in fact trouble just is about al
l it produces. The cybernated manufacturing and resource allocation procedure which Higher culture is based on takes all those difficulties out of the equation. That and taking a mature sensible perspective. We don't struggle for the little things any more, we can afford to take the longer, intellectual view.
'You talk like you're one of them already.
'Them. That's perspective for you. Higher culture is mainly a state of mind, but backed up by physical affluence.
'You are what the External Worlds strive to be: everyone's a millionaire.
'No. Everyone has equal access to resources, that's what you lack. Though I'd point out that External Worlds always convert to Higher culture in the end. We are the apex of human social and technological achievement. In other words, this is what the human race has been aiming for since proto-humans picked up a club to give us an advantage against all the other predators competing for food out on the African plains. We improve ourselves at every opportunity.
'So why didn't you go straight to ANA and download? That's how Highers improve themselves, isn't it?
'Ultimately, I will, I suppose. But Higher is the next stage for me. I want a time in my body which isn't such an effort. A couple of centuries where I can just relax and learn. There are so many things I want to do and see which I never could before. The opportunities here are just astounding.
Araminta laughed silently, that at least sounded like the old Laril. 'Then I suppose I wish you good luck.
'Thank you. I really didn't want to leave things the way they were between us. If there's anything you ever need, please call, even if it's just a shoulder to cry on.
'Sure. I'll do that, she lied, knowing she never would. She felt indecently content when he ended the call. Closure obviously worked both ways.
* * * * *
The people had no faces. At least none that he was aware of. There were dozens of them, men, women, even children. They were in front of him. Running. Fleeing like cattle panicked by a carnivore. Their screams threatened to split his eardrums. Words rose struggling out of the soundwall. Mostly they were pleas for help, for pity, for sanctuary, for their lives. However hard they ran he kept up with them.
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