Letters to an Android

by Wendy Rathbone

  A year of traveling and he had never gone loopy or spacesick before.

  Now all he could do was paint the sound of fire in his dreams with a single, meteorite-gray pencil.

  Oblivion licked and laved.

  The end came when his friend Cobalt appeared standing at the edge of a long bar-top suspended in mist, mixing cats-eye drinks and nodding. “A glass of ice water to quench your thirst?”

  Dear Cobalt:

  I woke yesterday in sickbay strapped to a bed and screaming, “The ship is lost!”

  The medic on duty, a guy named Dail, had phantom auras dogging him as he came to check on me.

  He said, “We’re leaving foldspace now. Just breathe.”

  I pulled at my restraints. “You have to let me up. We’re straying! I have to fix the equations.”

  “Just rest,” he replied. “It’ll only be a few more minutes.”

  “You’re not listening!” This went on until I felt the ship tremble. The crossover had happened. My body relaxed. The tawny auras surrounding Dail dissolved.

  The panic drained out of me.

  “See? All done,” Dail said.

  I looked around. We were alone. I guess I was the only one with spacesickness this time. Another first time for me.

  Sweat dripped into my hair. I realized I was starving. This meant I had been restrained for less than a day. Otherwise I would’ve been force fed. I would have had wires attached to various places on my body. So I knew then I must’ve gone crazy and been brought to sickbay some time the night before. I did remember being okay for the first part of this trip. But now all was a blur.

  Dail began to undo my restraints. I stretched my muscles and sat up, only to have the panic return.

  The ship alarm began to wail.

  I staggered out of the bed. Dail flipped on the sickbay monitor and sound. The captain was ordering all hands to their stations.

  It turned out we’d come out of foldspace into an unknown sector. Our destination remained undetected. No one knew where we were.

  Of course navigation would take the blame, even though an error in a single number, or even a string of numbers might not account for such extreme displacement. Any unplanned-for anomalous gravitational event could throw us off course in foldspace without us knowing it until we exited. But navigation took anomalies into account.

  This was something else.

  Dail looked at me as if I were a monster. “How did you know?”

  I shook my head. “I thought it was a nightmare but then I just knew it was real.”

  “You said you had to fix the equations.”

  I tried to remember. Foldspace can be like a dream. If you don’t latch onto experiences concretely, keep a journal or do any other kind of memory assisting, most of the odder experiences within it will fade. Only the more startling or beautiful events, the ones that fill the body with awe, remain.

  “Do you remember what you were thinking when you said that?”

  I shuddered. My body was weak, exhausted. Hungry. Thirsty. “I’m trying.”

  Dail called my team then. “Get someone down here to sickbay with a portable nav-comp.”

  Word must’ve gotten out fast, because while I was monitored, fed and watered, heads of nav and command sections came in and out of my sick room. The head doctor came, prescribing stimulants to keep me from falling asleep. Even the captain came. He was an older man who had not taken the youth hormones. His hair was silver, brilliant. His eyes were chips of gray and he was very tall and slim. He was the kind of person who took up a lot of space in a room full of people just by standing, being, breathing. He took one look at me and I knew he saw a mere child. He had forgotten my name. He said, “Are you sure this kid dreamt the way home?”

  Lark was there beside me and answered for me. “Liyan’s one of the best I’ve seen.”

  I worked furiously for twelve hours without stopping, filling screens with numbers, ordering the computer to complete my visions, translate them into new charts. The ship did not know whether to go up, down, sideways, back or forward.

  I worked on pure subconscious instinct and a deep inner conviction that had followed me from foldspace. It was like I’d seen something in my delusions and that something was the ultimate image or goal, and my equations were taking me there.

  Captain Eccu decided to trust me. The monitors showing the outward void were scary. They showed nothing. The depth of black spun so deep it dizzied. It looked flat and endless simultaneously.

  Nothing can make a person realize how tiny and insignificant they are than that view without a single star to fix on. Nothing beckoned. Nothing lit the way. It was emptiness emptied of itself. Oblivion without even a speck of dust.

  The crew remained professional. The passengers were told about a delay but nothing more.

  I worked for a day and a half with very little rest.

  Captain Eccu did not question me when I finally uploaded my number-story and directed the ship.

  He let me have the helm from my heavily monitored seat in sickbay.

  At 21 years old I took the helm. I kind of like saying that.

  It lasted an hour.

  My computations took us through endless, speck-less dark. No one said a word as the dark continued deep and long despite our full speed.

  Then something that was not nothing was detected so distantly it remained unidentified for another hour. The captain took over.

  I was left to merely gaze.

  The displacement grew and grew. Identification was made. You could feel the tension on the ship release.

  We all watched the monitors.

  The quasar swam like some sort of gigantic interstellar being. It had wings, feet, a tail, all mixed with a million different shades and colors, swirls of azure flamed fog, eddies of fuchsia, magenta, carnelian, phosphor. Its body appeared to be made of rivers and wind. The angle of the ship’s approach caused the three-dimensional image to appear as if it turned its rectangle head, eyes of scorched suns, to gaze upon us. Horns like spiral galaxies adorned it. A beard of thunderclouds threaded with glints of glistening rainbows wafted from its chin. The tail had a spike of sizzling energy, fizzing turquoise fire.

  It was then that I remembered while I was sick in foldspace speaking to a bearded dragon called Crying-In-Echo. But that could never happen, right?

  Our conversation as much as I can recall:

  “Hello? Where are you going?”

  “Cartazia.”

  “I know it not. I’ve been asleep and alone forever until now, here, in the ruins where you have awakened me.”

  “What ruins?”

  “Ideas shattered, vanished. No thought. No observance. No end but all the dead and forgotten memories that no longer light the realm.”

  “What are you?”

  “The animation of your loss.”

  “What is lost?”

  “Why, you are, my friend.”

  “Crying-In-Echo, how do I know your name?”

  “I told it to you in my voice-tone.”

  “How do we find our way?”

  “Boldly. Down and then up again. And if you are truly bold, straight into the open jaws of my bearded mouth. I have not eaten…ever. But I will digest you into the starred dimension if you can ride the inner stream. See it in your mind. Write it in the language your ship knows.”

  I have not revealed this dream-conversation to anyone but you. It is something I could not speak of, until I began this letter.

  After all of it, what I have left to say is this: damned if we weren’t birthed by a dragon from nothingness back to our dimension of origin.

  A true foldspace dream.

  My equations sent us through the quasar which contained a curling gravitational phenomenon no one can yet define or understand.

  The ship twisted, rocked, churned and turned.

  Lark says we went into foldspace again for only a few moments. I think it was
something else.

  But in minutes the stars synched in to reflect our charts.

  Cartazia was a day-trip away.

  I am well now.

  I long to hear from you.

  Your friend,

  Liyan

  *

  Dear Liyan:

  An amazing letter. An amazing not-dream. And yet a dream like one I’ve never had.

  I don’t want to think what might have happened had you never succumbed to spacesickness.

  My life would be troubled without you in it.

  You are humble in your disclosure of events, however. I read on the wave of your heroism, and that you were decorated for it. You never mentioned that. People heard this story, wrote about it in the wave journals. You are famous. For the moment. Until something else comes along to distract the many worlds.

  How fortunate I am to know you in my drab life.

  I hoped for shared adventure from your letters. You have delivered more than I could ever have hoped in less than one year.

  I say this now because I write this on the eve of the new year here at the spaceport’s hotel in my lush suite sipping crystal wine. Normally I would be bartending but the human bartenders wanted the night’s grander tips and shuffled me off my duties. My owner sent me to my room.

  I have had a delicious night off and have been relaxing beneath my own home’s miniscule version of a quasar: the cityport’s firework display to celebrate the holiday.

  There were no dragons.

  Amidst the fires, the moon fell up to the green sky.

  The coolness of my silken sheets and pillows are such comfort. I am lucky on this night to be so unusually content and read a letter of heroism from my friend.

  Deep into the construct of my skeleton I can feel an ache of wonder and astonishment and know in this moment the soul they say we androids cannot have.

  I rest my head in my upturned palm and scan your words from the beginning of our correspondence.

  Even far away you sit beside me and fill in all the spaces I did not know I had.

  Your friend,

  Cobalt

  Part Two

  6. Second Meeting

  The shuttle came in a spark of syrupy tinted light. Against the marbled sky it slid to touchdown, finally taking on its true shape, a gray-lined wedge.

  Its contrail percolated and slowly dispersed.

  Cobalt stood by the window impeccably dressed, jacket with coattails brushing the backs of his thighs, crisp white shirt, scarf a scarlet accent about his throat. People stared at him. They looked because he was considered beautiful, and not because they knew what he was.

  He remembered the look on his owner’s face earlier that morning. Pel was 70 but looked 35. He was the brother of Cobalt’s previous owner, Pela, who had died in a spectacular coach crash. Cobalt had been hers for five years before Pel inherited him. Cobalt had done nothing for her when he lived with her. He’d been purchased by her husband for her, a status symbol to show off to her friends. He was like a pedigree pet on a golden leash. Mostly she ignored him even as she made him sit by her feet at social gatherings so others could see how rich she was.

  Pela’s husband hadn’t wanted Cobalt after her death. Pel gladly took him on at the hotel, seeing him as a means to make him more money.

  For the first time in fifteen years, Cobalt went to his owner and asked for time off.

  Pel’s shock wrinkled his old-young face. “What the hell for?”

  “I am meeting a friend.”

  “Since when do you have a friend?”

  “He is visiting for a short time. Two days only.”

  “And you want to show him the sights of this godforsaken spaceport?”

  “He’s seen the sights. He used to live here.”

  Pel was a mostly thoughtless owner, expecting him to work long hours despite his need for rest and sleep, discreetly selling him as a sex toy to wealthy visitors, but he was not a cruel man. He never threatened or whipped him. He never spoke with hate or ridicule or disgust. He merely expected him to obey and do the job as one would expect from any useful tool.

  “I suppose you met this friend through all the work you do here.”

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting. Well, you never ask me for a thing. I guess I can give you two days. But no more than that, understood?”

  “Yes.”

  Pel frowned. “You live here and have all your needs met. Anything you need or wish for is delivered to your room. You’ve had no need of a salary all these years. Do you need some extra money now?”

  “No. My friend has money.”

  But in a strange, fatherly gesture, Pel forced Cobalt to take a moneycard. “For expenses,” he said. “In case you find yourself outside the hotel.”

  Now Cobalt watched the shuttle come to a stop. He could feel the card in his breast coat pocket, a square of plastic pressing against his heart. The fact that he could offer to pay his own way during this visit quickened him. It was a freedom he’d never known.

  A surge of heat washed through him, a kind of thrill, of anticipation.

  In a few moments Liyan would be walking through that door. His liner had a stopover close enough to the old spaceport that returning for a visit would not be a hardship.

  Cobalt had never expected Liyan to use his short time off to visit the ugly old asteroid of his beginnings, but Liyan had suggested it. Insisted on it.

  I want to see you, my friend, he’d written. After two years, I want to see the face again of the only person who shows an outside interest in my life. I have no other family. My parents are faraway and do not wave me. You are it. Let’s communicate this one rare time other than using the wave. Can you get some time off? Will you have dinner with me? Can we have a drink at Rory’s Bar like normal friends?

  Of course, Cobalt had answered. Of course we can do all of that.

  Two years of correspondence. Cobalt felt closer to Liyan than any other human he’d ever met or known. And they had only ever met once.

  But words, even across vast distances, were a way of sharing no less than sight, sound, touch, scent. They confided in each other. Friendship bonds did not rule themselves by distance or time. They did not form just because two people occupied close proximities.

  Four people left the shuttle. He recognized the third, all in white, his uniform perfectly tailored to his tall physique. The cap he refused to wear was attached to his belt. His brown hair reflected the skies with an elfin sheen. It was styled back from his face but errant bangs still escaped in striped shadows against his forehead.

  He came through the glass doors and their eyes instantly met. Liyan rushed toward him, reaching out. Their hands met. A swift shyness shimmered the dark eyes to be replaced by a wide smile. Their hands grasped, more than a handshake. Liyan reached for both of Cobalt’s wrists. Cobalt found his own hands pressing up, grasping. It was almost a hug. The clasp of men who aren’t sure how well they know each other.

  “I can’t believe it’s been two years!”

  “It does seem too long.”

  “Waves don’t do you justice. I’ve been wanting to see you again since our first letters.”

  “I expected never to see you again, actually,” Cobalt admitted.

  “Well you look grand.”

  Liyan stood slightly taller that Cobalt. He didn’t remember the height of the human as above his own.

  “Thank you. So do you. Have you grown?” When he spoke it sounded so stupid to his own ears. Liyan was an adult male now.

  But Liyan only laughed. “Probably. Space does that if you’re gone long enough. Some people add up to three inches. But I was also still such a boy when I left here.”

  Cobalt acknowledged that at 20, some human males continued to have growth spurts.

  Over the past two years, Liyan had been twice decorated. He wore the glistening emblems of his heroics on his shoulder. At 22 he was well on his way to
becoming a lieutenant within the new year.

  Cobalt turned toward the port exit, the concierge in him as well as the friend taking over. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starved. The trip was five hours and the included meal was awful.”

  The port was not a tourist attraction but remained a popular stop-over and repair station. The lobby was crowded, the bustling air humid. They made their way through weary throngs of travelers.

  Liyan paused at a window overlooking the dark tarmac where red lights winked and dusky buildings cowered beyond. “There’s where I used to work.” In the distance, silver-suited men moved in and out of the old shops.

  “Nothing you miss?”

  “No. Not for one minute.”

  *

  The steak dissolved on the tongue. The wine glimmered in fake moonlight through wide, crystal windows. For dessert they ate fresh apple pie with real cream.

  “I never came here before,” Liyan observed, glancing around the ornate restaurant situated on the quay, a force-field enclosed boardwalk on the edge of the asteroid that dipped straight into the green night sky. “I couldn’t afford it. Everything I made at work went to my school bills.”

  “I understand. It is my treat.”

  “Oh, no.” Liyan waved his words away. “I have a lot of money now. This weekend is my treat.”

  “Pel gave me a moneycard. I usually don’t need any money. At the hotel all expenses are paid and anything I need is ordered and delivered.”

  Liyan nodded soberly. “I know you don’t get any salary. I wasn’t even sure you could get the next two days free.”

  “After all my service, it was not too much to ask of Pel.”

  Liyan’s eyebrows narrowed. “Then he is good to you?”

  Cobalt went blank for a moment. He finally said, “We are not friends as you and I are. And he expects much.”

  “But he let you off.”

  “I have never asked him for any favor before.” Cobalt gave a little smile. “I think I caught him off-guard.”

  If Liyan noticed that Cobalt had not directly answered his first question, he didn’t let on. He gifted him instead with the sweet, youthful smile of one who is on a direct path to paradise. That smile alone sent surges of warm pleasure through his android veins. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but decided he could be in this human’s presence forever and it wouldn’t put him off or make him uncomfortable the way so many humans did.