Letters to an Android

by Wendy Rathbone

  I have a birth date. More like a “waking” date. August 1. If that means anything in space.

  I am a Leo. And of course that means nothing as well. On true-Earth it meant it was the constellation I would have been born under. Where I was ‘born’, on the factory planet Yet, no one cared to name the constellations.

  Next month brings Pisces. Your sign is well done. You are, I think, a star-fish. A star-fish in the belly of a great starliner that fishes the night for wonders galore.

  Tonight I have had too much wine, as you did on Davenda. Pel allows it when I bar-tend and do other certain jobs. Alcohol does not make me drunk like a human. My body handles it well. But it does swirl my mind.

  It also dulls resentment.

  Oh, but I have no jealousy toward you. Not ever. Your ability to wander the starry seas, and communicate to me from them, brings me sanity you can never know.

  Your friend,

  Cobalt

  *

  Dear Cobalt:

  You are indeed a Leo! In the true-Earth sense, nowadays it’s just a descriptive term. They say Leo’s are warm and loyal. Make an impression. Stand firm. You are the sign of the Lion, a homonym for my name!

  Pisces, on the other hand…focused, emotional, empathic.

  That is, if you even believe in that stuff.

  I have not gotten my work done for days. My mind is on the lieutenant’s test.

  And Tiri and Lark have been fighting.

  They leave the air in the common rooms black with their words. They’re my friends and the tension eats at me, too.

  I want to hit them. And talk to them. And straighten them out.

  One particularly bad afternoon, after a big fight they both left the room still dogging each other. I ran after them furious because they could not keep all this private. Too much information! Lark accused Tiri of laziness, but also of pushing people around, especially him, making demands. “Demands of what?” she asked him, glowering at him. He answered her saying she tried to tell him what to like even when it came to food. I thought: Food? This is about food? I really expected him to say something like she demanded he allow sheep into their bedroom or something!

  When I followed them around a corner and into a bulkhead alcove, there they were, embraced tight, fumbling practically in public with their clothes fasteners.

  Tiri glared at me. “Get out of here!”

  I was truly embarrassed. But Lark just raised his eyebrow and said to Tiri, loud enough so I could hear, “Or he could join us.”

  I groaned in exasperation, and gave each of them my wincing stare, the one that makes mice run (I grew up on a farm, remember?) I went back to my work station and looked at stars that were numbers for a long, long time.

  As to your wave:

  Hey, what kind of a deal did you make with Pel? I hope no extra work for you. I think he works you too hard anyway. And you deserve a personal life.

  When I first met you, I saw no resentment in you whatsoever. Just acceptance. But now that I’m older I know I was being crazily naïve. Your jobs require certain behaviors from you. As bar-tender that night, your job was to listen to me, serve me, and not complain about it.

  I know better now and I apologize for my stupid short-sightedness in thinking you were ever content at that life. Firstly, you are way too smart. You are whole but unfree. Who wouldn’t resent it?

  Now I must sleep. Foldspace is tomorrow. Side effects include: spacesickness, boredom, temporary heights of genius, delusion, illusion, hallucinations, an urge to play poker and drink algebraic whiskey until you find even the leftover peas on your plate hilariously funny.

  The passengers and cargo from Davenda will be delivered to Quin. Then we take on more. And more. In endless circles and cycles through the universe we go.

  And I am happy to do it.

  Your friend,

  Liyan

  *

  Dear Liyan:

  I wish you well on your test. I know without a doubt you will make lieutenant. Will this make you the boss of Lark and Tiri? Or, at least, in equal ranking with Lark?

  This man who is your friend seems easy-going, and fond of you. I am glad. Tiri is a coiled serpent, perhaps, the personality of a decision-maker, a leader. Perhaps she will beat you to the captaincy of a ship? Wonderful that she also has you as a friend and Lark as a husband.

  Sorry to hear about the arguing.

  I know Sekina no longer works in navigation, but does she drop by? What color are her hair stripes this month?

  I made a deal with Pel to do extra work. That is all.

  It is an unremarkable job I do, actually several jobs as you well know, but I get to meet all kinds of people.

  In my hours before sleep I have been reading. You might be pleased to know I investigated haiku after you mentioned it. Like captured images of brevity.

  I look at books on the places you visit but none are better than your waves describing them. Knowing that you have set foot on these worlds makes everything personal, immediate. I am happy for anything you may write.

  The bored travelers we get at the hotel are looking for merriment and entertainment. They are on vacation, or going to or from a job. They are not looking for deeper meanings. Freedom is taken for granted.

  Yesterday an older man died on the thirtieth floor. Natural causes, they say. In the tub. I have seen it before. The lifeless, unanimated person carried from the lobby by the death-techs. All very discreet.

  I myself do not age. I have no DNA factors that leave me open to illness. My life span is quite long. Still, a chill rests against my skin to see death. Every time. I think all the souls must be out there somewhere, beyond the void. But I have a desperate feeling inside me when people check into the hotel on their way to some destination where they’ll never arrive because they die before they can check out. I feel a slight constriction in my veins often accompanied by temporary nausea.

  I state this not because I think you don’t believe I feel as any real human being but because I am used to stating what would be obvious in a human because it is unexpected of me.

  I have been taught reserve in all things including emotion, opinion, judgment, ego, desire, and having a form of a personal life (such as marriage or traveling or extracurricular activities on my own) and harsh law discourages any contemplation of escape (besides, where would one go without money and passport?) but there is no reserve on dreaming or imagination. And just because a sort of stoicism is trained in us does not mean it ever succeeds in dissolving the heart.

  Until I met you, my thoughts were kept secret.

  You make me believe it is not presumptive to express them to you.

  Thank you for that and please write whenever you can.

  Your friend,

  Cobalt

  *

  Dear Cobalt:

  I hope I never gave any impression that the universe we live in is fair or just. I never thought it was, even for myself.

  But compared to you, I have been born privileged. You may not be starving or homeless, and I have worked double shifts all my adult life to get ahead, but I still have freedom in choices which you do not.

  Tell me your secrets any time. I will respect them, honor them always. The struggle of emotional existence is in every creature. Even pets need love. My inorganic bearded dragon was lonely! But you are none of those. You are a human who has been born artificially, and born adult. That is all. As far as I can tell, you are still human, though people will argue it. Those people are materialists and/or bigots.

  Also, they have never met you. I have. And I don’t pretend not to see the flicker of lifespark in your eyes; some might call it the soul. It’s a dimension beyond more than intelligence. I “feel” it in your waves and when I have been at your side.

  You confirm it in your every word to me.

  If this is all a programmed ruse, tell me now! I still won’t believe it.

  You live behind a wa
ll because you have been forced behind a wall, that of the home of your first owner and, now, the Grand Aurora Hotel.

  And you dream! If anyone ever makes you feel less than whole, always remember that about yourself. If you can’t remember that, I’ll be here to remind you.

  And, ah! The haiku.

  You must try to write some. I have. They fail miserably.

  winterspace:

  a desolate mist

  of suns

  And such shit. I love it, though. A single breath containing a multi-dimensional scene. And remember the haiku is not about syllable count. It does not translate that way into our language. It is about seasons/nature and an accompanying image/feeling/sound/movement/scent, but then of course you knew that.

  Basho, Issa, Buson, Shiki. Eurixiiam of Karvi.

  Don’t weep, insects –

  Lovers, stars themselves,

  Must part.

  - Issa

  That is my favorite of the classics so far. I mean, insects weeping? What a concept! But doesn’t everything? My dragon, the ship as it strains through foldspace, my own stupid self.

  Or maybe it just sounds like they’re weeping, the shiver shrill buzz purr stutter of life. A celebration and a grieving.

  There are indeed crickets in the arboretum of the ship.

  Crickets in space. A laughable but true concept.

  Cobalt, why do you wear the silk-blend coat with the tails (both times I met you?) See? In some things you do have a choice. Or did Pela teach you to dress yourself?

  By the way, Tiri would appreciate your reference of her as a coiled serpent. She advocates strength and an ever-readiness to battle, if needed. She would take it as a compliment.

  Sekina is wearing peacock green stripes in her hair this month.

  The lieutenant’s test comes one day after my birthday. I feel ready.

  Your friend,

  Liyan

  *

  Dear Liyan:

  from Shiki

  I am going

  you're staying

  two autumns for us

  I found that very famous haiku for you. For us.

  To attempt my own, I went to the second floor balcony overlooking the hotel lobby when I should have been eating my lunch. It was afternoon when the hotel is very busy. I watched the people come and go. I watched them in all colors swirl through the space of the parquet floor and through the hurried moments of their lives on this old port in a backwater star-cluster where the poisonous skies shed a surprisingly beautiful phosphor light.

  A girl looks down

  at her red suitcase.

  The rumble of rockets.

  *

  Through arched windows

  entangled stars.

  The path you took.

  That one is a fiction. I can’t see the stars through the thick ooze of bottle-green skies. I wrote more notes but nothing to call a poem. Not really.

  Send more of your winterspace poems or anything. That one was excellent.

  Now you know an android who writes poetry.

  This is all your fault. Did you not read my last wave telling you extracurricular activities for my kind are discouraged? Of course this is harmless and strangely enjoyable and does not necessarily require me to leave the hotel. Pel would not care if I wrote lines of equations or nonsensical juxtaposed words. As long as the act does not bring my mental state into question.

  However, in history, poetry is often written by the rebels.

  So we can keep this to ourselves.

  Let me know about your lieutenant’s test.

  And to give you peace of mind, I never believed you observed me as anything other than human.

  Some people are and always will be hateful bigots. Most people are simply uncomfortable in speaking to “property.” And anyway, friendship, like poetry, is also discouraged.

  Your friend,

  Cobalt

  *

  10. The Thunderlights of Nod

  Liyan shuffled through his hand-held screen, looking over his notes from two classes he’d completed. He was readying himself for finals. All in his off-hours.

  He’d come to one of the less public viewports on the ship for some peace. His own quarters had closed in, far too small and cramped for all-night study sessions. The dim starlight poked through the long windows leaving pools of glittery reflections on the hard floor.

  He’d been alone for almost an hour when Lark walked in. Surprised to see him, he said, “Still studying?”

  Liyan grinned, nodding.

  “My friend, it’s not the end of the world if you don’t pass the first time. You’re only 23.”

  “What does that mean?” Liyan asked. “You think I’m too young for the rank?”

  Lark shrugged, turning until he was outlined in stars. “You’re still a baby in many ways.”

  “You always say that.” He tried not to sound irritated but a part of him was. “Are you jealous?”

  Lark just laughed.

  Then Tiri came in and the tension increased. She wore her uniform but it was open at the chest. Lark wore jeans and a t-shirt.

  Her first words were almost thrown from her mouth toward Lark. “What are you doing?”

  “I was going for a walk,” Lark said quietly. “Look, I found Liyan.”

  “Good for you!” She walked toward a more shadowed corner where the stars couldn’t see. She didn’t even say “hello.”

  Liyan watched her warily. Something was up.

  Tiri had let her hair grow. Now it touched her shoulders in gentle waves the color of a coppery sea. She was tall and narrow-waisted. One might’ve called her ‘willowy’ except for the extra muscle her previous job had packed on. She’d kept up her weight-training.

  She was lovely.

  Lark worked out with her once in awhile, and it must’ve been enough because his arm muscles were nicely defined beneath the short sleeves of his t-shirt. His firm silhouette before the starfield might’ve made an intriguing holograph.

  Looking at them, Liyan did realize how young he was. Though Tiri was only a year older, it was true he was the ‘baby’ of the three of them.

  Tiri motioned to Lark who sighed loudly and joined her in the corner. Rasping whispers turned to raised voices.

  Finally, Liyan said, “Are you doing this on purpose? Do you want me to hear you?”

  They both looked at him. Tiri glared. “You’re free to leave!”

  “Hey, I was here first.”

  “It’s true,” Lark admitted.

  “Fine! Side with him then!”

  “I’m not siding with him. It’s a fact.”

  “You always argue, taking everyone else’s side.” Tiri crossed her arms.

  “I don’t do that.”

  Liyan stood up. “I’ll leave. It’s okay.”

  “You shouldn’t have to,” Lark said.

  Liyan put the screen under his arm. “It’s not a problem.” He had come to the viewport to calm his pre-test jitters. Now his stomach churned in even more discomfort. Lark and Tiri argued. A lot. He should have been used to it but he wasn’t. Sometimes he could laugh at it all. All couples argued, right? But he was around them while they were fighting all too often, and sometimes his unease made him want to run and run until he dropped and forgot everything. His life was wonderful, everything he’d hoped for. He had grand times visiting worlds most people only dreamed of, taking in alien views live and in person no artist could truly capture. He lived in a dream. But the desolation of utter space was bound to get into everyone once in awhile. And there was his anxiety, his space-fear which he’d confessed only to Cobalt, which had not receded. There was a hollowness inside him. His friends’ arguments prodded that hollowness.

  Tonight, he could not leave the viewport quickly enough.

  In the corridor he moved quickly toward the stairwell in favor of the tube. He wanted to feel his legs moving, pumping, as he made his w
ay back to the level where he lived.

  Footsteps rushed up behind him.

  He turned.

  Lark stood before him, breathing deeply, cheeks a little flushed; he reached out and touched his shoulder. “You’ll do fine on your test,” he said.

  Liyan blinked heavily, took a deep breath. He clutched his portable screen to his chest. “Thanks.”

  “I don’t think you’re too young. You’re smart enough to make up for any experience you lack in years.”

  Liyan didn’t know what to say. Behind Lark, Tiri moved deftly into the corridor and stood about twenty feet away just watching them. Liyan met her eyes.

  She did not smile but held his gaze.

  “We both think it,” Lark added. Then smiling wide, he said, “It’s something we do agree on.”

  Slowly, Tiri nodded.

  “You want to come with us for a coffee?”

  Slowly Liyan shook his head. “I really need to get some sleep.”

  Lark had not taken his hand from Liyan’s shoulder. He squeezed. “All right then.”

  “Good night.” Liyan moved away.

  He took the stairs two at a time until he felt a satisfying burn in his thighs.

  When he got to his room he lay back on his bed. He didn’t sleep. Instead he got his screen, held it in front of him, and brought up something Cobalt had recently sent him.

  in the chill green fog

  the sound of three-winged ships

  moving into night

  *

  even a force field cannot

  hold back the void

  only a human embrace

  Flecks of diamond stars still prickled his vision. Lark in perfect form before them. Tiri’s stare, her arms crossed.