by White, Gwynn
I nod. “You’re right.” Although I really don’t want to put him at any risk, android or no.
I bump into a jar of clear liquid. It’s a stash Venice’s moonshine. Even just looking at it makes me want to gag as I remember it burning all the way down my throat. I’m about to brush it off but then think better of it.
What’s a better excuse to get drunk than having your father-figure die while reattaching your arm? I touch my replacement part underneath my right arm pit and grab the jar.
“What are you doing?” Orion asks.
“Numbing myself.”
He frowns after me. “But any sensation you will feel is an electrical impulse to simulate pain. I can turn it off if you need a numbing agent.”
“It’s not my arm that needs to be numb.” I sit down at the table and wedge the jar between my knees to unscrew the lid. I chug a good mouthful of it, and it sears my throat and settles somewhere in my chest where it roasts. The taste is just as awful as ever.
And that makes it all right.
Orion gives me one more look and then he sits down, and opens up a storage compartment in his forearm. “All right, let us get started.”
15
I drink—a lot—while Orion reattaches my arm. It does a lot to help dull my senses. But it doesn’t do enough to take my mind off everything.
“D’you think that Maas was telling the truth?” I slur, leaning in to Orion. “That he has a cure for the virus?”
Orion keeps working, even through my questions, his attention always in multiple places at once. “That is up for debate.”
“I know.” I take a swig. “But I wanna know what you think.”
“What I think is entirely different than facts.”
“Just answer the question, Orion.” I sigh. Sometimes, talking to an android is like talking to a wall. They can be just like people in the best times and just like a tool in the most inopportune times. What I need right now is a friend and not a robot.
“I believe that there is the possibility of it,” he says finally. “Syn-Tech is a pharmaceutical company that manufactures vaccines and medication for the entire galaxy. There has been some speculation in the past that they have treated most every ailment known to biological organisms that they have started manufacturing their own.” He glances up at me. “But that is pure conjecture.”
“You mean like the Space Flu?” The Space Flu was a devastating disease that devastated millions of people on the planet Kazo-Pharmacology about thirty years ago. I remember reading about it in the newsfeeds—it just came out of nowhere and nearly killed the whole population of Kazo’s Lifers and damaged their reputation as no one wanted to trade with a company that could potentially make them sick. A disease that we have no immunity to is far scarier than even space battles.
I remember reading some conspiracy theories that it had been coordinated by a rival company. No evidence, other than it left a crippled company in its wake.
He shrugs. “As I said, pure conjecture.”
I somber, watching him work on my arm. “Is it bad that I hope there is a cure?” I murmur. “I don’t want us to be sick, and I don’t care about the money, but I want Louis to be all right. He deserves better than what he got. And if I can help him…”
“We shall assess Captain Louis’s odds closer to Spaceport Alpha,” Orion assures me. “Everything about this is taking in account the risks and benefits. And I am not one of those androids who do not value human life.”
I smile sadly. “So you think he’s worth saving? Even with the known risks?”
“I believe in taking a certain amount of precaution. But no matter how we look at it, there is still a highly dangerous lifeform on the Pícara that we may not be able to contain for much longer.”
“And if the rest of us are infected, too?”
He stops suddenly. “This is done. Try moving your hand.”
I look down at my arm for the first time in what feels like ages. The arm is fully attached now. The splice where the arm meets the rest of my upper arm and shoulder isn’t pretty, and I have a large ridge where it’s too skinny, but…
I wriggle my fingers, and they respond exactly how I wanted them to. My retina tells me that due to the smaller size of the hand, my electrical signals are sent microseconds faster, so I should allot for less time for my actions.
“It works,” I say, holding up my hand for him to see. “Thank you, Orion.”
He gives a curt nod, his eyes brilliant in the fluorescent light of the mess hall. I’ve noticed them before, but for some reason, I can’t take my eyes off them now.
“It is my duty,” he says, looking at his own hand. The tools that peek out of his hand fold away into a working, humanoid hand. “And while it isn’t a permanent solution, it should suffice for now.”
“For now,” I agree, taking another mouthful of moonshine. And I look at the empty jar confusedly as I set it down. Wasn’t it full when I started drinking?
“Your blood alcohol content is at 0.13%,” Orion says, standing. I’d ignored the warning in my retina, but the fact that he notices as well makes me frown. “Your motor functions and judgment are impaired as a result.” He extends a hand towards me.
“Oh. I don’t feel that way.”
There’s another one of those devastating smiles. “Then your goal to become ‘numb’ must have worked.”
I chuckle lightly as he pulls me to my feet. Like earlier, I’m unsteady, but instead of it being caused by grief and fear, this is just from me being drunk. Just the way I wanted to be. I look up at him, noticing the height difference between us. He seems so tall sometimes. So human. I look at his perfect features and wonder who his maker sculpted him after. Full lips. Kissable lips.
And I wonder why I haven’t tasted them yet…
I close my eyes, lean forward, and put my mouth on his.
His lips are softer than I would have thought for being a robot, no different than any other man’s lips I’ve kissed. They’re warm too, and even though he doesn’t respond to my kiss, I lean into it, trying to coax him to kiss me back.
For a moment, he’s rigid underneath my fingertips, and I know that I’ve caught him off-guard. Hell, I’m off-guard as well. And drunk. So very drunk.
“What are you doing?” he asks, pulling back from me.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I take in a shuddering breath, feeling the heat come to my cheeks. My retina tells me that my heartrate is increased and my internal temperature is up. I’m fucking embarrassed now. “Uhm…” I don’t have an answer for his question. Just this shame that burns through me.
“Clementine.” The way he says my name makes me flinch. No longer is he the gentle android that helped repair my arm. He’s back into full-robot mode, and looking at him, I don’t know how I could have ever thought he looked human. There’s a coldness to him, a severity that marks him as something other.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I turn away, wiping off the sensation of his lips against mine with the back of my hand. “I didn’t mean to—” I make to move away from him and to get back to my quarters where I want to fall asleep and drink off my stupor. And hopefully believe myself that I was just drunk when I kissed him.
My feet tangle up in themselves, and I stumble, falling forward. Orion’s strong arms wrap around me, grasping me by the upper arms.
“You are not fit to walk by yourself,” Orion says, but I shrug him off. Luckily, this time I don’t fall.
“I’m fit ‘nough to be mortified,” I say, stalking out of the mess hall. My anger and embarrassment are enough focus to help me walk upright as I head towards my quarters. Now, which way was it? There are a few ways to get my room, but I can’t remember which is the shortest.
Why does everything seem fuzzy to me right now?
Well, you wanted to be numb. Thanks for the moonshine, Venice.
“Clementine!” Orion calls behind me. Like a robot, there’s no desperation to his voice, which is another item on the list t
o reinforce why I shouldn’t have kissed him.
I ignore him and finally make my decision, taking a left on the way to my room. It’s the shorter way to my quarters, and unlike the time when Orion walked me back after poker, there’s no nice conversation between us.
He calls my name once again, but I ignore him as I palm the lock screen on my door to open. I get an immediate rejection and it takes me a moment to realize what went wrong.
Wrong hand, dumbass. The touchpad was keyed to my other cyborg hand.
I key in the manual code, and the door hisses open. And not a moment too soon.
“Clementine, please talk to me!” Orion says, too close for me to risk looking back at him and I step inside my room and palm the screen to close the door behind me, effectively sealing him outside. He can very easily key in the code to enter himself or call me, but as seconds stretch into moment, I realize that he won’t.
My heart pounds in my chest, and I debate whether or not I should head to the restroom and puke up my guts or if I should lay down and see if I can sleep off the alcohol.
In the end, exhaustion wins and I nearly collapse on my too-hard mattress. I pull up my thin blanket and roll on my side, drawing my legs up to my chest. I look at my right hand and slowly bend each knuckle, one at a time until I make a fist.
In the morning, I’ll explain away the kiss as a moment of insanity brought on by the combination of grief and alcohol. No one would fault me for wanting to have a sense of being wanted after brushing death so many times.
Right?
As I try to sleep, I can’t help this hollow, empty feeling inside that doesn’t have to do with any of it.
And I wonder, not for the first time, if I truly can call myself human.
16
Ugh, fuck,” I mutter, combing my right hand through my hair. The dim fluorescent light in my quarters is still too bright. I drank way too much last night. Louis is going to be pissed at me.
I freeze at the thought of Louis. Everything comes back to me all at once, what happened to him, where we’re headed now. Tears spring into my right eye but I fight them off. I look, almost in horror, at my old cyborg hand, how much smaller it is than what I’m used to.
It’s all real. Every bit of it.
Suddenly, there’s not enough air for me to properly breathe and my retina is telling me, once again, that I’m hyperventilating. The hangover blossoms to a crippling headache behind my eye sockets. I rub my eyes, and I grimace at the memory of everything.
And the cherry on top of all the shit that happened? I kissed Orion.
Everything is so fucked up. All I want to do is crawl under my blanket and fall back asleep and hide from the galaxy and the world.
Take a shower first. Then go on from there.
I stumble to my en suite and turn on the water to the shower. The spray comes out boiling hot and too fast, burning my hand as I snatch it out of the way.
“Ugh, fuck off, Pícara!” I yell to ship, grimacing. “Just let me take a damn shower!”
It’s just another insult to add to my injured peace of mind from yesterday. The water still comes out hot, steaming, but it goes down to a trickle, as if the ship is simmering mad at me. She was kind enough to me yesterday to let me sit in the shower for as long as I wanted, but this may be her way of trying to snap me out of it. Or showing me that she’ll never treat me as well as Louis.
Louis…
I press my head to the steel of the wall next to the shower. “I’m sorry.” I close my eyes. “I miss him, too. I’m…trying…to figure out how to bring him back. I promise.”
A second later, the water temperature goes back to warm at the appropriate pressure level. I give a nod. “Thank you.”
I shower within the ration time, and even in that three minutes, I feel more rejuvenated than when I first woke up. Still not great, but at least I’m steady on my feet. I towel dry my hair and put on a fresh uniform, forgoing my makeup, as it feels like it’s too much.
I step out of my quarters, feeling marginally more human than I did when I first woke up.
I head to the bridge and pause in the doorway as I see Orion standing with his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze is on the window, watching the streaks of stars as they shoot by. He turns his head towards me, his face impassive.
Of course it would be. Did I expect him to apologize? Or say that he wanted to kiss me more?
I force back the lump in my throat. “Good morning.” He only gives an affirmative nod in my direction.
Fine then, we’ll just act like this is all strictly business. I can do this.
I stride stiffly towards Louis’s captain’s chair—my chair now—and take a seat. “Where are we currently?”
Orion’s mouth curves up to a distant smile as he turns back to the window. “Currently forty-six hours from our destination,” he says.
A little over two days. I drum the fingers of my right hand on the armrest. “Not much we can do then,” I say.
“It appears so,” Orion says.
Just nearly two days of nothing to do other than have these awkward conversations between us. I need PC here. Or Daisy or Taka. Or even Oliver, as he would be a distraction. I check some diagnostics of the ship, making sure that everything is well stocked. I even check the cameras for the quarantine room. They’re still covered up, which is worrisome.
What the hell am I supposed to do with that?
“Listen, Clementine—” Orion says, his voice sounding unusually strained.
Flutters in my stomach. I don’t want to hear what he has to say, to dig the knife in a little further. I’m already embarrassed enough as it is. I crossed a line last night, and I have to deal with it.
Apparently not now.
I get back to my feet, unable to sit down. “I’m going to see what Venice cooked in the mess hall,” I say. “So, carry on.”
The android watches me as I walk back to the door. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it and only nods.
I step through the door and it shuts behind me with a forceful snap. The ship was mad at me first and now she’s acting belligerent because I’m avoiding Orion? She can’t have it both ways.
I roll my eyes. “Now’s not the time for that,” I mutter. “One thing at a time.”
For forty-six hours, I’ll take everything one by one.
And figure out what to do from there.
* * *
The trip to our little patch of empty space is uneventful. I can tell that the crew is ill at ease with all that has been happening, so the downtime is welcome, even if we’re avoiding the elephant-class ship in the room. We don’t speak all that often to each other, our meals in the mess hall are quiet, and no one goes near the part of the ship with the quarantine room.
We’re trying to pretend that everything is all right and failing horribly at it.
I hate sitting in Louis’s chair, at how it feels like it was meant for a larger man with more experience.
I split my time between the bridge and quarters, curled up on the bed and wishing for a different outcome. My retina tells me that I need to take some serotonin to get my hormone levels back to where they should be.
After what’s happened, I think I should allow myself to be depressed and traumatized.
My general state of mind seems to be all that’s wrong with me, though. I don’t show any other symptoms of the virus, even though I constantly ask Orion to scan me. It’s not popping up anywhere in my body. I don’t know whether to believe him or to still think that it’s in my body, waiting to come out and turn me into goop. Or worse, turn the crew into goop.
It doesn’t help that I can’t get rid of the memory of the kiss with Orion. Long after my headache faded, I have a different sort of headache in tiptoeing around the subject with him. He doesn’t bring it up, but I catch him looking at me from time to time. Probably wondering why a cyborg thought it was all right to kiss a navigator android.
I wish I could just laugh it off
and say that I confused him for a pleasure android when I was drunk. But that seems like it’s too far-fetched. I may have been inebriated, but I knew exactly what I was doing when I kissed him.
So, forty-six hours passes by, full of tension and unspoken words.
A great way to start my time as captain.
* * *
I feel the G-forces on my body increase drastically and then release me as the ship comes out of FTL. I take a deep breath, filling my shrunken lungs with oxygen as I straighten up, giving a loud cough. The restraints have cut into my body, leaving bruises where I have flesh.
“I hate coming out of FTL,” PC mutters, echoing my sentiment. He clears his throat and rolls his shoulders.
The view from the bridge shows tightly packed stars a few lightyears from our position. We’re alone in this space, but I didn’t realize how disconcerting it would be to know that Syn-Tech Alpha is only a few lightdays away.
I feel exposed here, like they’re a neighboring ship that can look through our windows and see us naked. And I hate it.
“Are the shields holding?” I ask, glancing at Taka. I hope I don’t sound as frightened as I feel.
The engineer nods as he looks at his screen. “Everything is holding. Radar is pinging off us, and we’re effectively invisible to everyone.”
“Unless they look right at us,” PC says, crossing his arms.
Taka levels him with his gaze. “The odds of that are slim to none. Do you know how vast space is?”
“Do you know how many things have lined up to fuck us over?” PC quips. I flinch at his words, and my surrogate brother give me a reproachful look.
So, we just wait here for a while. And see if we’re infected. If we’re not, then we just figure out what to do with the quarantine room—or if I decide to try to save Louis, which I’m still grappling with. And if we’re infected…then we’re close enough to put our lives in Syn-Tech’s hands.
“You couldn’t have dropped me off at a spaceport or anything?” Venice mutters with a sneer, lost in his own thoughts.