Never fear that I will judge or reject you. Not for anything.
I am entirely gratified to hear that your relationship with Lark and Tiri is so good for you. Believe me when I say it comforts me to know you are well looked after by people who love you.
I congratulate you on this new turn in your life.
Please just don’t stop writing to me about anything…everything. If you must move on, though, I will understand. But I fervently hope not.
I had never heard of transparent shuttles until your wave. Magnificent! Proof of how an unfortunate cataclysm such as the destruction of a planet’s moons and its subsequent life-condition alteration can also be looked upon as a site of accidental beauty.
You must have been in foldspace before this wave was sent, for I see it is dated weeks ago. Therefore I must ask, is Sekina now captain of her own ship? Did she get one of the exploration models she wanted or is it another cargo/passenger starliner? Does she still work for C&C? (I see in my research they have exploration vessels as well.)
I have no reservations that you will have your own starliner one day. Of course you will not risk command to make false detours into my sector. But I enjoy the thought.
Give Lark and Tiri my regards.
Breathe easy. And conquer those stars.
Love,
Cobalt
*
Part Four
18. Winterworld
Dear Cobalt:
Our last venture was to Arcturus which resulted in too much Azelfafage wine (which is a hideous shade of orange and tastes like soured water with a bitter, ashy afterburn) and Lark returning to the starliner wearing a too-small t-shirt that said: BE BOLD, NOT BORING. The problem was nobody knew for sure that’s what it said because it was in Arcturan, which no one reads anymore. He relied on the word of one vendor when he bought it. This was a vendor who sold him a size 2X that looked like a medium when it came out of the package.
It didn’t fit him. He didn’t care. “I love this shirt,” he insisted.
He was bold indeed, I told him, to even wear it. He decided I’d called him fat. I said, “You’re not fat. That shirt’s too small.” He stopped speaking to me. That lasted five minutes.
I say the trip was uneventful because it was more of a tourist trap with nothing to see and endless shops vying to take your money, all carrying the same products. I don’t know how these people make a living. Except Tiri helped the economy a bit. She bought lots of silver rings. One for every finger. One for me. One for Lark. And a lovely wide band for you. She didn’t know your size so she bought one that adjusts. It will take months to reach you, but I’ve already sent it. It’s quite nice. Pure sterling. Catches the Arcturan light like a mirror. I captured some of that light and put it in the box along with the ring. (No! Really! Wait until you get it.)
We weren’t bold on this trip despite Lark’s shirt. We were bored. Or maybe boring. I hate shopping. And the food was bland. Azelfafage wine is also not worth the price.
We also missed Sekina. She usually comes with us on these crazy jaunts. She’s off captaining her explorer ship, the one she always dreamt of, the Dar-alon. It is a C&C ship but in a different division of the company. Their logo? A dragon with wings instead of a horse.
We all wave her often.
Love,
Liyan
*
Dear Liyan:
I cannot recall ever receiving a present before. I look forward to the ring. And the captured light???
Certainly, my owners Pela and Pel have in the past provided me with all I need, clothing, food, shelter, but I feel I have earned those things. They are not gifts to my mind. The tips I receive when I bartend are also earned.
When you have visited, the meals you bought me felt a bit like gifts. Once Pela bought me a silver bracelet I still wear. That is the closest I have ever come to the experience.
That…and the gift of your friendship, your waves.
Please tell Tiri I thank her for thinking of me. She sounds like a generous, amazing person.
On the topic of shopping, I only accompanied Pela a few times on excursions. It was nice to get out. She was not very picky and bought just about anything that caught her eye. Much of it remained forgotten in boxes in her vast closet space. If she ever bought me clothing, it was all chosen by her. I had no freedom in that.
Pel gives me more freedom. It would never occur to him to take me shopping but I have accounts where I can order what I need, and a yearly budget. Maybe that sounds generous, but remember I have no salary. I have never yet exceeded the budget. I like choosing clothing that is different but stylish, thus the tails on jackets. I like a streamlined style and something also somewhat formal for the hotel work. If there are gold buttons and dashes of color or brocade on pockets, collars or trouser seams, so much the better. Tell Lark I have never owned a t-shirt.
Believe it or not, we actually have a couple of bottles of Azelfafage wine at Rory’s. Just in case anyone ever orders it, we can say, “Yes, we have that.” No one ever has. The price tag is very high. Whether or not it is worth the high price is beside the point. Its rarity creates its value. But I think its color is off-putting even to the rich. It looks like dirty orange soda with a sort of radiant, hot glint. People do not even like to look at it.
But you can say you have actually tried it! That is one step further on your exotic journey.
I look forward to my gift.
Love,
Cobalt
*
Dear Cobalt:
Icehenge. The glamour of snow.
We put into orbit at Icehenge for three days, dropping off skiers and cargo.
Lark, Tiri and I went to one of the snow lodges for a day of skiing and a night of mulled wine and toasted marshmallows in the lodge lobby.
I grew up on a farm, flatlands with mild temps year round, the sea close by, and no snow. Of course at the station in our controlled environment there was never ‘weather’. So I have never been skiing in my life!
Let me tell you. It is cold. It is wet. It hurts when you fall. And yet I love the snow. I love the glimmering of the ice, the graceful peaks and swells of ice cream-like snow so white you can become blind from staring at it. Icehenge has tidal waves of snow thousands of miles long. A winter planet with year-round glacial views. They have slopes for the daring and slopes (like the ones I used) for those who cannot slide more than a few yards without slipping and landing on their ass.
They do have seasons there. They have their storm season when the wind whips over the snow and changes the landscape so that all the inhabitants must remap their respective townships. They have a melt season when the snow becomes slushy and what little native wildlife exists is more prevalent. Those who chose to colonize this planet are certainly creative and imaginative. They farm indoors with grow lights. They fish through deep holes in the icy earth, or in the cold rivers that barely flow past the frozen waterfalls. It’s a world of popsicles, parkas and permafrost. If you haven’t learned to sled and skate by the time you’re two, something is off.
I did love this world. I loved getting out into the crisp air, then coming in to the fire, sitting in a soft, big chair and getting cozy by a hearth. From icy winds to roaring flames, either way faces glow.
I passed two more tests in the past two months, both in command training. I’m slowly making my way.
Lark, though a front-line officer, never took his commander tests awhile back when he started to study for them, says he has no such ambition but I think perhaps he’s simply lazier than I.
Tiri likes the pay raises but also has no desire to be the boss. Too much responsibility, she says. She likes to work, then leave it behind on her off-duty hours. She doesn’t want the day/night worries of it all. She likes to think of herself as a goof-off, but she’s damn smart at anything she tackles and always likes to lead.
I like challenges. And I have many ideas. I like to think a lot. Maybe too m
uch. I don’t mind asking people to check on data, research, new technologies. I already oversee a bridge crew of five. I like getting things done. I like having results go my way. It’s such a satisfying feeling.
Have you received the ring yet? We sent it Star-express, but it can take up to six weeks. Or more. Mail is treated as non-essential and the mail ships do not travel in straight-forward routes the way passenger ships do. They may make many stop-offs and pick ups before reaching certain destinations.
Love,
Liyan
*
Dear Liyan:
No ring yet. I look for it every day by Star-mail. I have never received any Star-mail in my life, only local packages for things I have needed such as clothing. Your package will be an event for me.
I have never seen snow. My former owner, Pela, never took me on any of her further travels to more exotic climates than the city where we lived, and Pel never seems to go anywhere and if he did, he wouldn’t take me with him. We have no relationship at all other than boss-subordinate on a master-slave level.
Icehenge sounds beautiful, serene, and very cold. What an intrigue.
Everything here is the same as always. The Grand Aurora Hotel does not change. It is merely a stop-off point between destinations. As you know. The guests come and go at an alarmingly quick rate. There are the usual dramas or melodramas. Most are benign. However, there was a fire on the fourth floor that did some damage. It was easily contained. There were no injuries. The cause: a customer with a homemade cooking device that exploded.
I am bartending more often now, about five nights a week for several hours. On holidays the revelry is anxious but the tips are good. The cash tips (not the credited ones) are the only money Pel has recently allowed me to have other than the account I have for ordering necessities such as clothing and toiletries. It is illegal for androids to have their own money but this is untraceable cash and Pel seems unconcerned. I save it all but I don’t know what I am saving for. I will never travel. I will never need to pay rent. There is nothing I need that the hotel itself (and Pel) does not provide, including novels or movies for the days I have a few hours to myself that are not for sleeping. I suppose when the amount grows to a respectable portion after many years of collecting these frivolous tips, I could give it away to a charity of my choice.
Thinking about money causes me to realize that my life, though not truly my own, is at least not one of poverty. I have only had two owners and they, of course, have been wealthy since only the extremely wealthy can afford us. I have known only the best of accommodations, food and accessories. At the very least, I have never been cold. I have never starved.
I encourage you to continue with your studies to rise in rank. As I have always said, you have the aptitude to attain your dreams. You will do well in all that you desire.
Love,
Cobalt
*
Dear Cobalt:
No package yet?
Now I’m afraid the item is lost. It has been a long, long time.
I know you were looking forward to this mail. I have tracked it but lost it somewhere between Procyon and the Region of the Arm of Suns. The original supply boat was scrapped. All its contents were transferred to other liners. Who knows where it went from there? Someone didn’t do their job in inventory.
It could still yet show up. It was insured but that’s not the point.
Your last wave disturbed me some, I should admit. You stated you’ve not known what it is like to be poor. And yet you are not a free man. You must do whatever you’re told. You cannot own a bank account. That is poverty, my friend. For a human being with dreams and feelings, it is unconscionable.
There is this division in my heart. I roam the stars. I have followed my own heart and gotten the position in life I dreamed of by studying hard and working hard. I love star-travel; the liner itself is a home where I have come to know every surface, every scratch and scuff mark, every scent from hydroponics to engineering to the cool tang of the nav labs. I have forged good, strong friendships of loyalty and love. I see beauty, hear strange languages, taste new vintages and breathe in alien atmospheres. My dreams are slurries of green sunsets and giant swans and robot gods.
And yet…I feel I have left something behind. A part of myself. It is the part of myself that is you, the image you sent me to space with, the intelligent man standing behind the bar with blue hair pouring purple drinks for people who take for granted their rights and their freedoms. The man who longed as I do for possibilities beyond the stars, but who can only imagine them while I move among them. It is the part of me who is confined, trapped, and no amount of tugging sets it free.
Have I ever told you I sometimes dream I am an android? That I can’t study what I wish or go where I please? That I am forced into labor of someone else’s choosing forever? I wake sweating and scared from those nightmares.
I haven’t told you the long hours of talks I had with my friends over the years, conversations about this very subject, the problem and how to fix it. None of us are lawyers or politicians. We have little clue how to even broach the subject on any world, let alone the galaxy as a whole, as to the rights of those indentured beings which should be automatic.
I haven’t spoken of our talks because we never come up with any solutions. There is no point in talk when it is all only talk, when there is no workable answer to the problem. When we all just shake our heads and say, “It’s too bad. It really should be different.”
What is manufactured belongs, I guess, to the manufacturer. There are no loopholes to be gotten around. I’ve studied the problem from all angles and read the works of others who’ve studied it, as I’m sure you have as well. And the added hurdle is that this problem is underlined by the fact that it is created by and for the very wealthy. There is little hope, and no historical evidence, for fighting the powerfully rich (and I mean so rich the money cannot even be counted) and winning. It isn’t done. It can’t be done. Wealth and power always wins even if the little guy is in the right.
Thus, my nightmares.
And the division inside me.
I want you here. I think there would be a place for you on this ship, or any other. The destiny of the stars lies in your eyes. The last time we parted at the shuttle port I saw the glimmer there in your gaze, that great and anxious yearning, and there was nothing I could do but turn away and leave. It cuts me. It makes the ache in me to pursue my dreams all the stronger, and yet it never goes away because I keep thinking of that thing I left behind, that man, that part of me suffused with you in our simple exchange, our first meeting, when I promised to wave.
Well, I am continuing my studies when Lark isn’t trying to sabotage me. He thinks I’ll leave him and Tiri if I get command. But anywhere I go I’d bring them along, if they will continue to have me. Because I vow never to leave any friend behind. And if I could keep that vow with you, my life would be complete.
Love,
Liyan
*
19. Light from a Dead Sun, and Darkness
Cobalt printed the last wave he’d gotten from Liyan and kept it folded into a tight square in the back pocket of his trousers. He had it memorized, of course, but knowing it was there, feeling the edges of the square whenever he dipped a fingertip past the pocket seam and ran it across the silky paper made it seem like more than just a thought in a letter. It felt like hope. It was ridiculous, that feeling, but it gave him a sense of fullness of being he’d never had before.
He had the letter with him when he greeted hotel guests, when he mixed drinks at Rory’s, and even when he met Pel’s clients late at night in the top floor penthouse. His pants might end up in a chair or on the floor, but the letter itself was never far from him.
For days after receiving Liyan’s wave, Cobalt’s actions blurred. Everything seemed hazy, all his work, his thoughts, and the faces of the guests. Even their voices came to him as if from a distance, the tones and cadences of
speech swimming in his head with nonsense until he often had to ask people to repeat their questions.
He became overly aware of color and scent. Bright reds stood out in crowds of otherwise blended pastel yellows, pinks, blues intermixed with black blazers, leather jackets, silver scarves. Outworlders were immediately identified by the dank, liquid scent on their skin and hair from the artificial air of the shuttles. Acrid hints of burnt metal identified the rocket yard workers who often came to Rory’s to get drunk before bed. Whenever he saw them, he thought of Liyan. Maybe Liyan knew some of them, or they knew him. But he had said he’d never hung out with that crowd. And that first night they’d met, Liyan did not smell of the engines, or the vapors of their fuels.
Cobalt stood at the concierge desk in the lobby dreamily watching the people when one of the backroom clerks approached. He cleared his vision, catching the woman’s still, green eyes with his own.
Zim had worked at the hotel for two years. They knew each other only by name and sight. Mostly, she stayed to herself, her brown bangs always hanging too long over her eyes. Her job did not require interaction with patrons and her social skills lacked sparkle. Now she came right up to him and set a package on the black desktop.
In her usual monotone, she said, “This was in the back room. It came this morning and it has your name on it. It’s Star-mail. Aren’t your deliveries always local? Does Pel know?”
Cobalt’s heart skipped. He felt his stomach heat with the adrenalin of excitement. He took the package in his hand and looked at it. Without meeting her eyes again, he said, “Pel knows. I’ve been expecting it. It was presumed lost.”
“Well, now it’s found.” Without anymore interest on her part, she turned and walked through a group of travelers passing toward the elevators, and went behind registration to the back rooms where she processed incoming and outgoing mail and bills on a small wave screen on a corner kiosk.
Letters to an Android Page 13
