by Elle E. Ire
To top it off, quite literally, they’ve erected a large transparent temporary tent over the entire thing to keep any further rain at bay, but the flaps are wide open on all four sides, letting the gentle evening breezes blow through. Soft string lighting across the tent’s support bars casts everything in gentle shadows and warm glows. Outside each entrance is a small portable bar where tuxedoed bartenders keep the drinks flowing.
There’s only one thing missing. The most important thing.
Vick.
I pull my friends to a halt at the perimeter of the party zone, knowing once people notice me I’ll be the center of attention. “Do any of you see her?” I ask my companions while scanning the tables but focusing on corners and quieter spaces. When she’s not with me, Vick prefers solitude. I doubt she’d be in the midst of things. I do spot David Locher moving between groups, smiling that solicitous fake smile and slipping his arm around first one attractive female relative of mine, then another. Up to no good and not worth my attention. I keep looking.
“No,” Lily answers my question while the others shake their heads. “But if Vick’s already here, I’m sure she sees you. You’re a knockout in that dress.”
“Thanks,” I say, distracted. I let my empathic sense flare out, searching for Vick’s particular emotional cocktail of muffled and restrained anger, fear, and insecurity with a constant undertone of love. But there are too many minds here, too many vibrant and intense emotional outputs for me to zero in on hers despite our bond. I should be able to find her, even here, and worry works its way into my heart. After our argument, could she have decided not to come?
My parents are here, seated at a table near the dance floor and nibbling appetizers. They seem unperturbed, happy, enjoying themselves, and my impression had been that she was coming with them. But Vick can be sneaky. She could have slipped away and no one would have noticed.
We received a message from the front desk yesterday that the rental company had dropped off a new space yacht, this time on the landing platforms behind the resort’s main building rather than in the water. I haven’t heard any ships leave today, but I’ve been indoors most of the time and distracted by party preparations. If she took off in it….
“I’m sure she’s here somewhere,” Tonya assures me, putting an arm around my shoulders.
“I need to apologize, and there’s too much interference for me to find her.” While we were getting ready back at the cottage, I told them about the fight. No specific details, just that I’d blamed her for something she hadn’t done and hurt Vick’s feelings. I also told them a bit more about Vick’s nature than I probably should have—I didn’t mention that VC1 is an AI, but they now know about the implants and their side effects. I needed them to understand that under that tough exterior, Vick could be fragile. I hope I won’t regret that. “Rachelle,” I say, hesitant, “I know you’re recuperating, and I hate to ask, but… her leg injury. Can you tell where she is from that?”
My healer friend steps up beside me. “Never hesitate with me, Kel. And while I think she’s probably fine, after what you told us this morning, I understand why you’re worried.” She closes her eyes and her brow furrows.
I hold my breath, but when she opens her eyes again, she shakes her head. “Sorry. There are enough other aches and pains here, sunburns, pulled muscles, hangover headaches. I can’t sort hers from the rest.”
“Okay, that settles it,” Tonya says, clapping her hands together like some kind of sports coach but wearing a full-length gown and high heels. Worried or not, I giggle. “We split up, search the party, and find her. Meet back here in five minutes and—”
“Or we could just look for the second hottest butch in the place,” Lily comments, straightening her black bow tie and leaving no doubt as to who the first hottest butch is in her estimation. She points toward the farthest corner of the tent where a cluster of my older and younger cousins are sitting with someone whose back is turned… someone with long dark hair wearing a deep blue jacket and black dress pants. Even from behind and in unfamiliar attire, I would recognize Vick anywhere.
“Give me a few minutes,” I say, offering an apologetic smile.
“Take your time. We’ll get drinks.” Tonya grabs Lily and Rachelle and hauls them off in the direction of the nearest portable bar.
Rachelle glances over her shoulder mouthing “save me,” and I smile, waving her away.
Then I focus on Vick.
My approach is slow and cautious, feeling her out, narrowing in. Her colors are all wrong, or rather, all right, but none of the hues I’d associate with my lover: lighter shades, lighter emotions, joy, acceptance. A veneer of blue overlays it all, the love she feels for me that never seems to fade, but everything else is new and surprising.
I don’t quite know what to do with it.
As I draw closer, I make out more details. A glass of amber liquid rests on the tennis court/floor by her right dress shoe. The jacket is velvet, and my fingers itch to caress the soft fabric and Vick beneath it.
Most shocking of all, though, is the music. Guitar music. And it’s coming from the instrument in Vick’s hands.
I’m near enough now that the neck of the guitar is just visible past her left shoulder. The music is lovely—a haunting and complicated tune that sounds vaguely familiar yet unique enough that it might be Vick’s own creation. My cousins lean forward in their seats, enraptured by the sound and her skill. I don’t want to interrupt the song or the moment, so I wait behind her, tears forming in my eyes while she plays the final refrain and the last notes fade into the night.
Enthusiastic applause erupts. Guests even outside the little circle and a few circulating waiters and waitresses as well pause to compliment Vick’s playing. She rises and passes the guitar over to Sarah, my eldest cousin, who takes it almost reverently and thanks Vick. The cluster stands and gathers themselves, moving off in different directions.
As if waiting for her to finish, the discreetly placed speakers in the corners of the tent begin piping out more popular songs and several couples get up from their tables to head toward the dance floor.
“That was beautiful,” I say from behind her.
She turns slowly, and I suck in a breath at the full sight of her, all muscles and sharp edges softened by the velvet and the satin shirt beneath. Her dark hair shines in the warm lighting, her eyes fathomless as they trace my figure in the dress. “You’re beautiful,” she says and holds out her arms to me.
I step into them and they close around me, warm and safe and strong. My fingers find the pistol tucked into the waistband at the back of her tuxedo pants, but I force the impending frown from my face. This is Vick. She goes armed everywhere she can. I love her, and I accept this. And I owe her an apology, not criticism. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I figured it out this morning and—”
“Shh,” she whispers against my hair. “Doesn’t matter now. You didn’t know.”
“I should have known.” My voice chokes a little, and she pushes me back to get another look at me.
“Don’t you dare cry,” she warns. “I’m betting Tonya did your makeup, and she’ll be pissed if you ruin it.”
The very concept of Vick worrying about anyone’s makeup makes me laugh and swallow my tears.
“Better,” she says, bending to retrieve her drink. She takes a long sip, and I detect the scent of rum mixed in with what looks like some local cola.
I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t waste time on hard liquor. You’ve always said the implants burn it out of your system too fast to be worth it.” And if she’s drunk, that might explain some of her unusual behavior: the music, the socializing, the public displays of affection. But no, she’s not drunk. I’d feel it through our physical connection. Buzzed, yes, but not intoxicated.
She finishes off her drink in another swallow and takes my arm, leading me toward the bar. On our way, she smiles and even greets a couple of my aunts and uncles by name. They return her smile, and several
wave as we pass. “VC1’s been working on giving me more autonomy,” she says while we wait in line behind a waitress filling table orders for drinks. “Since I’m not in any imminent danger, she’s letting the alcohol have its full effect.” Before she orders, she glances down at me. “Is that okay? I’m not wasted or anything. VC1 won’t let me get totally drunk. She wouldn’t be able to burn it out of my system fast enough if something went wrong. Besides,” she adds, grinning, “I’m guessing it’s been a long time since I enjoyed such excellent rum.”
I squeeze her arm and order her another rum and cola, adding a glass of champagne for myself. “It’s fine,” I tell her as we take our glasses and turn away. “I like the effect. It’s just… different.”
I’m not lying. She’d feel it through my touch if I were. I do like this Vick. Love her, in fact. I have the distinct sense that I’m seeing what she was like before the accident changed everything, what she was supposed to have been all along: social, outgoing, engaging, and completely comfortable in her own skin.
“Good,” she says, nodding once. She takes my glass from my hand and sets both of them beside two empty place settings at the nearest table. “Come on. Let’s dance.”
I want to. Oh, how I want to. I love to dance, and I’ve never danced with Vick before. We’ve had few opportunities, and when we have had them, she’s never offered. But the music is fast, the beat hard and driving, and I cast a glance toward her injured leg. While we walked, the limp was pronounced. It gives her a sexy swagger, but it must hurt.
“Are you sure?”
She follows my gaze. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not dancing to this.” Vick waves a casual hand toward one of the speakers.
The faster music cuts off midsong, a soft, slow, romantic number taking its place. The younger set on the dance floor groans and grumbles, heading for the tables and the bars. Vick takes me firmly by the hand and leads me to the very center of the floor where everyone can see us. “Did you and VC1 do that?” I whisper while other couples join us.
Her only response is a smug grin and a wink.
Oh yes, I definitely like this Vick.
Chapter 39: Vick—Interruptions
I… TRIED.
Taking Kelly in my arms and swaying to the music is the best feeling I’ve ever had. Okay, maybe not the best feeling. Sex with an empath is something rare and special all on its own. But it’s a close second. She leans her head against my chest, letting me lead, though it’s a simple side-to-side sway with a slight rotation thrown in, more so I can watch the perimeter than for style. I’m a little surprised that my feet don’t know anything fancier like my hands knew the guitar, but I guess dance lessons weren’t a choice of my younger, freer self. I keep the rhythm easily, and that’s enough.
It doesn’t bother me that we’re the center of attention, everyone smiling at us, Kelly’s parents beaming from their table, her friends finding partners of their own and leading them onto the floor. I’m pleased to notice Lily with a petite blond wearing a pale pink dress. Maybe she’ll find that companion she’s been searching for.
The only one I’m not happy to see is David Locher. Oh, I’m glad he’s here. At least that tells me he’s still alive and hasn’t been dragged off and murdered somewhere by Carl and his team. So far they’ve honored my request to wait. But Locher’s skulking around from table to table and group to group, very much like he did during the first nights of our stay, leaning down and whispering and every so often nodding toward me and Kelly.
Whenever someone follows his gaze, they frown.
He’s smart enough not to approach Kelly’s parents or closest friends, but the mood in the room is beginning to shift, and not in my favor. Before Kelly arrived I did my legwork, working my way around the tent, engaging everyone I could in conversation. I used what I’d learned: Uncle Gerald loves Earth football, Cousin Nancy breeds Afghan hounds, Kelly’s aunt works in pharmaceuticals, her great-grandfather fought in the first Earth-Moon War. They all seemed to appreciate my interest and knowledge. But now….
I wish I could make out what Locher is saying to them. With the music and ambient noise of clinking glasses and tableware, even my enhanced hearing can’t discern his words.
But I know they’re about me.
I’m not an empath. Maybe I’m just being my usual paranoid self.
I force myself to focus on Kelly and the love pouring through our bond. The music shifts to a second slow song, one of her favorites, just as I’d planned, and I pull her to a stop and reach into my inner jacket pocket—
“Kel! Kelly! They need you to cut the cake so they can begin serving it.” Rachelle appears at Kelly’s elbow as if from nowhere, then catches the expression on my face as I ease my empty hand out from under my jacket. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m sure they can wait a little longer.”
It’s like she knows exactly what I was about to do, and I wonder if there’s a touch of empathic skill mixed in with her healing abilities. She can feel pain. Maybe she can feel my disappointment.
I know Kelly can. She looks from my face to Rachelle’s, confusion furrowing her brow. “It should only take a minute,” she tells me. “There’ll be other slow songs. I’m certain you’ll make sure of that.” She winks.
I force a smile and nod. “Sure. Go on. I’ll just find our drinks and meet you over there.” She casts one last concerned glance in my direction, then allows Rachelle to pull her away.
Heading for our seats, I tell VC1 to release her control over the sound system. The slow song stops, replaced by what sounds more like tribal drums and banshees shrieking than music, but the teens and other twentysomethings flock to the dance floor with a group cheer.
Glad I could be of service.
I’m on the wrong side of the floor from the table where I left our drinks, so I have to weave between a number of others to reach it. Along my way, I pick up snippets of conversations I’m not supposed to be able to overhear.
“—machine. Some kind of cyborg.”
No. They can’t possibly have figured out what I had VC1 do with the sound system.
“Ridiculous—can’t be.”
“—kind of cold, emotionless—stilted speech.”
Did I screw everything up that badly? Am I that obviously a machine?
“—prying into our secured systems.”
“Is that how she knew what to talk about?”
“—knew everyone’s names.”
“—robot in human skin.”
Did Locher tell them? Or was it so clear all along?
“How could Kelly fall for that… thing? That’s not what that sweet girl deserves.”
I freeze on that one, turning to stare at the speaker, one of Kelly’s many cousins whose name I don’t bother to bring up on my internal view. He jerks back in surprise, nearly upending his chair, then nods knowingly because of course, a normal human wouldn’t have heard him, but I did, and that proves everything.
All around me conversation stops, the former smiles turned to frowns and glares, accusing, condemning. The beginnings of panic build in the pit of my stomach. If her family and friends don’t accept me, Kelly will never accept my proposal.
Something deep inside me breaks and breaks hard.
All my efforts, everything I did to prepare, all for nothing. Because I’m not human. I haven’t been human since the Storm brought me back, and I never will be human again.
A low, keening, miserable sound comes to my ears. At first I think it’s another shift in modern “music” but realize it’s originating within my head, building and building until I’m deaf and almost blind with it. It pounds against the inside of my skull, and it hurts. It hurts so much.
So hard. I tried so hard.
I don’t stop when I reach our table but instead keep pushing through, colliding with one of the waitstaff and upending a full tray of dinner plates and glasses. Guests scatter. People shout. I mumble an apology and hurry on.
I tried. I tried.
Tears stream dow
n my cheeks, hot and full of shame and embarrassment, but I let them fall. So hard. I tried. I did. Kelly, I’m sorry. I really did try.
Out through the tent flaps and into the cooler air of night, no idea where I’m going. I break into a run, the pain in my leg buried so deep beneath all the rest I hardly notice it at all.
Somewhere far behind me cheerful voices sing “Happy Birthday.” The cake was on the far side of the tent. They wouldn’t have seen, wouldn’t know who knocked over the tray. She’s probably wondering where I am, why I’m not part of the well-wishers. One more disappointment, but she won’t know why, not right away, won’t know I’m coming apart. Too many other people, other sets of emotions, and my suppressors haven’t shut down. Yet.
She doesn’t yet know that I failed her, that no matter how hard I try, I’ll always fail her.
Sorry. So sorry.
Deep inside I’m dimly aware I’m completely losing my shit. Warnings go off, blinking red on my internal display—VC1 telling me I’m redlining the implants’ ability to maintain the delicate balance between organic tissue and tech, emotion and action.
Bring it on. Maybe insanity will stop the pain.
I tried. I swear I gave it everything I had. Humanity can’t be faked.
My chest aches with every indrawn breath and still I push myself past the cottages and the docks and the more secluded beaches, past the maintenance sheds and storage buildings hidden behind artfully planted foliage.
I plow into the island’s natural growth, running to lose myself, until finally my legs just stop.
I waver where I stand, the shock of the ceased motion jarring to my bones. Next thing I know I’m on my knees, a mixture of sand and dirt grinding into my fine clothes.
Enough, VC1 commands.
Never enough. Nothing I do is ever enough.
Reaching behind me, I tug my gun free and bring it around to where I can see the glint of its metal casing in the moonlight. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t make my thumb release the safety.
