by Ann Aguirre
They all greeted Helix in turn, offered reciprocal respect and then settled in the common space, as if prepared for a long visit. Qalu swore silently. She couldn’t prevail on her alt-mothers to cut this encounter short, it seemed.
“Inatol has said that you’re an off-worlder,” said Khrelasa. “It’s fascinating; we’ve never met anyone from the outpost. Do tell us about Titan V.”
Helix shot her a questioning look, as if asking what he ought to say. Neither of them had any clue what life on Titan V was like and lies could be uncovered readily.
Then the answer occurred to her and it would save them both. “No, I told her not to forget that was a possibility. I never said that was where Helix is from. His family left with a yen to explore when he was small, and they’ve lived in many interesting locales.”
“Ah!” Surprisingly, that story seemed to spark Solsan’s imagination. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to travel. You must have tremendous stories.”
Though it was rare for family groups to leave Tiralan, it did happen; they usually returned when it was time for the next generation to be born. Perhaps her mothers would accept that was why Helix had “returned,” after meeting Qalu on the matching service. This fiction was certainly more manageable than inventing a life for him on Titan V, and oh, what if her mothers had wanted to visit? She shuddered, imagining the magnitude of that potential calamity. Relaxing a little, Qalu sat quiet while Helix spoke about Barath with the authority of personal experience.
“How incredible,” Beh-latan said. “Do they truly compete for the privilege of forming family units, for procreative rights?”
“Barbaric,” Inatol snapped.
“Is that not the—”
Qalu spoke over the top of the question, as Helix should know that there was no Choosing on Tiralan, if he had been reared by a proper family. “I’ve read a little about the practice, and it seems that it began when the world was desperately overpopulated and short of resources. There came a very bleak time on Barath, near cataclysm, when they nearly died out, so now they need to repopulate, but they want the best candidates to do so.” Or at least, that was what she had gleaned from the ’net. Curiosity had prompted her to research the planet where Helix lived before, but it seemed to be a fortuitous happenstance, as her mothers were diverted from interrogating Helix to arguing about Barath.
“Dreadful.” Solsan radiated deep disapproval, and Khrelasa seemed to agree, judging by her posture.
“That’s eugenics,” Inatol declared in a furious tone. “The idea of ‘best’ is so subjective, and it casts doubt on the rights of—”
“We didn’t come to quarrel,” Beh-latan said softly, resting a tender hand on Inatol’s forelimb. “And Qalu is certainly not defending this Choosing.”
Bel’s Burning Sack. For once, she wished her gentle alt-mother didn’t always want to keep the peace. Because now Inatol remembered that she was off topic, focusing on Helix with renewed intensity. “True. And since this one is still searching for a partner, we can assume Helix has not participated in such a competition.”
“When I was on Barath,” Helix said slowly, “it never occurred to me to ask these questions, but I believe you are correct. There should be an alternate means of obtaining such privileges.”
You dear genius. Qalu wished she could touch him to convey her appreciation for such a brilliant gambit. He directed the conversation with such finesse that Inatol didn’t seem to realize she had been deflected, or that they were once again discussing Barath customs instead of Helix’s personal situation.
“Education,” Khrelasa suggested. “Here on Tiralan, we’re required to take several courses to ensure we’re ready to take responsibility for another life.”
Beh-latan nodded. “Nurturing, psychology, emotional support, conflict mediation, appropriate discipline, and more. There’s also a unit for forming healthy love groups and division of domestic labor.”
“You hated that class,” Solsan said, gently teasing Inatol.
This…is going well. Better than Qalu had dared hope.
“We’re not here to talk about me,” Inatol said.
Oh no. I celebrated too soon.
Khrelasa took the cue effortlessly. “Yes, we’d love to get to know you better, Helix. First, what pronouns do you use?”
“He, for now. In regard to gender, I remain undecided.”
The four femmes exchanged a look and Qalu braced. Helix was long past the age of maturity when one normally resolved such matters. But Beh-latan only said, “Then you’re currently neutral with masculine inclination?”
Solsan added, “I support your desire to take the time to know yourself fully. It’s an important decision, and it’s also valid not to choose. For some, both feel right, or neither. We respect your care in this regard.”
It was such a kind answer, and all her mothers wriggled their head tendrils, showing agreement with the sentiment. She had never loved them more.
“We only ask that you respect our Qalu and treat her well. Can you do that?” Beh-latan asked, somehow tender and steely at the same time.
“At this time, Qalu is the most important person in my world,” Helix said with remarkable sincerity. “I will never deceive her, never harm her voluntarily. And I will strive to increase her happiness in any manner available to me.”
She quivered and tried not to wish he meant it, that this wasn’t the facsimile of fondness she had solicited. He shouldn’t be so good at it, not proficient enough to make her believe their convenient fiction.
Khrelasa let out a happy breath. “That’s the right answer. We won’t ask for promises at this stage, better to take it slowly than suffer for it later. Would you be open to adding others to your love group? It’s much healthier, less stressful, more social value, and—”
“Alt-mother!” Briefly, she contemplated imitating Aevi and vanishing beneath some of the furniture.
“I have no objections,” Helix said.
“Excellent. Though I was skeptical at first, especially after the way you rushed me out last time, I may have been hasty in that judgment,” Inatol said.
“What is your chosen path?” Khrelasa asked.
Since Helix would have no idea that she was inquiring what he did for a living, Qalu answered quickly, “He’s an artist. Not well known yet, but he’s quite talented.”
Solsan stifled an amused noise. “You’re speaking from bias, my dear daughter, but I’m so pleased to see it. We had feared…” Her alt-mother stopped there, before the hurtful words emerged.
She’d heard them from her foremother often enough. That I wouldn’t find anyone, ever. That I’m born to live and die alone.
They would be so disappointed when she unveiled Helix as her greatest achievement in bio-synthetic life, not someone who loved her.
[ 5 ]
The visit ended soon after, much to Helix’s relief.
Every moment that Qalu’s mothers lingered, he expected one of them to shout, “Imposter!” And accuse of him of being an AI pretending to be Tiralan. Which was accurate.
“You did amazingly well,” Qalu said.
“I lack sufficient data to determine whether that appraisal is correct, so I must trust your assessment.”
“They liked you.”
“Truly?” Until awakening in this strange situation, he hadn’t devoted processing resources to analyzing such subjective considerations. Indeed, it had never occurred to him to question if he was “likable.” Instead, all his internal imperatives clamored for him to be productive and useful.
“They would have been difficult if they didn’t.”
“In what respect?”
Her head tendrils fluttered. “In every respect. Since you did so well, would you like to go out today?”
“Where would we go?”
“Anywhere you wish, though I thought we could visit the museum so you could experience the art in person.”
“Would that change my perception?”
&nbs
p; “It might. Sometimes images don’t capture the feeling of a work.”
“Then I’m…” He hesitated, sorting through various emotions until he found the one that seemed correct. “Curious if that’s the case for me. I would enjoy the opportunity to verify if my visual receptors—”
“Eyes,” she cut in gently.
“If my eyes detect any differences.”
“Then let’s go.”
She led the way out of the habitat and input a code into her wrist unit. Shortly after, a vehicle arrived, a slim conveyance that gleamed silver in the rays from the twin suns. The oblong pod was clean and sleek inside, shaped to hold two passengers. Once, he would have been able to scan the unit to determine its efficiency, fuel consumption, and identify the power source. Now, he asked.
“An interesting transport. Is it yours?”
She moved her forelimbs in a negating gesture. “It’s a public vehicle, solar-powered. I requested a two-person shuttle and programmed our destination. This way.” She stepped inside and settled into the curved seat, beckoning to him.
Helix claimed the spot nearby. The space wasn’t large enough for him to maintain perfect distance, and at first he held himself rigid. Then the shuttle glided away and the motion swayed him so his limb brushed hers. It was still a shock, but the glancing touch didn’t create a riot of discomfort at least. Quietly, he sorted through the sensory input: warmth, softness, and the faint fragrance of her skin. There was a startling familiarity in breathing the same air in such close quarters.
This was his first journey since his existence shifted dramatically, and he could feel the movement as he couldn’t before, minute shifts in altitude and pressure that quickened his insides. As they moved, the ventilation system purred to life, filling the space with a refreshing scent. It settled the unease in his interior immediately.
“This is a smart pod. It detected your motion sickness and released an olfactory treatment. Do you feel better?”
After a few deep breaths, the sensation faded entirely. “Yes. Thank you.”
For a while, he simply enjoyed the sensation of flying, and when he shifted, the side of the pod brightened to display the view below, as if it sensed his desire to see. Tiralan was a striking world—he might even use the word beautiful if he was sure of its application—with fields of flowers and bright swaths of color from the elegant buildings that dotted the landscape. On Tiralan, there was no urban sprawl like on Barath. Instead, the settlements were more spread out, integrated without overwhelming the natural world.
Soon, the pod set down outside an ivory dome with narrow windows cut with razor-sharp precision, glimmering with slivers of light. “This is the Museum of Modern Art.”
Qalu alighted with fluid grace and turned to offer Helix aid in doing the same. But she didn’t touch him, didn’t grasp or pull, simply waited, allowing him to make the decision. He took a breath and let his mind settle, then he put his forelimb in hers, waiting for that unpleasant shock. There was a touch of strangeness, but not like before. Perhaps it came from making the decision himself or from mental readiness. As soon as he had his balance, she let go.
A frisson spiraled through him, but he lacked the experience to identify the emotion, though it was bright and sharp–all edges and slicing angles. “I’m looking forward to this,” he said, setting aside his unfamiliar feelings.
“To seeing the art or simply being out of the habitat?”
Helix hesitated, wondering if it would be offensive to say it was both. He was unaccustomed to being so limited, so chained in his perceptions. Though this new form had interesting features, it also lacked many of his former capabilities. His ambivalence must have shown because Qalu made an amused noise.
“You’re allowed to enjoy being out,” she added.
“I don’t wish to seem ungrateful.”
“No fear of that. I don’t expect gratitude from you. Or anything else for that matter. Whatever you feel, whenever you feel it, that’s acceptable and valid. If you were angry with me, I would understand that as well.”
In truth, he had been at first. He held quiet as she led the way, tapping her wrist unit against a screen near the entrance. “Was that currency?”
“No, we have a robust arts program on Tiralan, and all citizens receive free access to admire our greatest collective works. This is a membership program that tracks how often you use such facilities.”
“For what purpose?”
Interestingly enough, from the flutter of her head tendrils, Qalu didn’t seem certain. “Perhaps to gauge the popularity? If modern art attracts more attention than classical works?”
“An intriguing theory. I would be interested in seeing the comparative data.”
“I’m not sure it’s disbursed,” Qalu said.
“That is disappointing. More information is always preferable.”
“Never mind that. Let’s start here. Do you want to listen to the narrator describe the history and inspiration for each piece?”
Helix stood in front of a three-dimensional painting, and somehow the colors seemed to shift and slide, coming toward him as if the frame were full of water. The spectrum was cool but somehow not at all soothing, more urgent and a touch disturbing. His insides tightened as he studied the piece. He had no notion how he was supposed to be reacting, whether there was a correct response to what he perceived. Clearly clarification was required.
“Yes, please.”
“Put this on.” Qalu indicated a clunky wrist unit, not sleek and elegant like hers.
He complied and she carefully activated it without touching him. Suddenly, he had a stranger’s voice in his head. “This work is called Feral Ocean. The artist was inspired by marine life and created a constantly changing piece. Many viewers feel a sense of calm—”
He turned it off by tapping the unit. “I have a question.”
“What is it?”
“If my impressions don’t match what I’m being told, does that mean I am incorrect?”
“Definitely not. Why, do your thoughts differ?”
“I agree about the color shifts, but the painting disturbs me. I don’t feel quiet at all when I look at it.” In fact, the longer he stared, the more he gained a sense of menace, as if something lurked deep beneath the churning colors, a dreadful threat.
“Then why don’t you skip the narration? There’s no right and wrong in art. Even if your opinions differ, the painting exists apart from the creator’s intentions.”
“Is that true?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then no matter what I intend when I craft a piece, the audience brings their own bias and experience. There can be no correct response. Art is entirely subjective.”
“I think that’s a reasonable statement, though there are empirical criteria for evaluation, such as whether the technique is skilled.”
“You’ve given me much to consider.” Thoughtful, Helix moved to the next piece.
This one affected him differently than the chaotic one. First, the colors were static, and though they were all earthy, reminding him of the Barrens on Barath, they were also somehow welcoming. He couldn’t tell what the picture was meant to represent, but the flow of color opened a tightness in his chest. The longer he looked, the better he felt.
“What do you think?” she asked eventually.
“It’s very warm. Restful. Beautiful,” he dared to add, because now he felt sure about the word, about the way beauty made him feel. There was softness and warmth, a sweetness that made it easier to breathe.
Just then, he glanced at Qalu and realized the tones of her skin were echoed in the painting he found comforting and lovely. Bronze, here and there, glazed and gleaming. Her eyes shone in that hue, and if he searched hard, he could find shadows of her in the picture as well: head tendrils in those lines, the curve of her face near the bottom.
What does this mean?
“I like this piece as well,” Qalu said. “And I’ve always preferred not to hear how I
’m supposed to feel about a particular work. The discrepancy only makes me feel inadequate.”
She let Helix set their pace, and he moved with precision from piece to piece, lingering at some, moving on quickly from others. Soon, she discovered he preferred warm tones to cool ones, and he liked concrete depictions as opposed to abstract art. Helix seemed enthralled, entirely focused on each piece.
Eventually he said, “It’s true.”
“What is?”
“A faithful reproduction does not carry the same impact as experiencing the original work with my own…eyes.”
Before she could reply, someone called, “Qalu, is that you? It’s been ages! How are you? Still working with those replicas?”
Not him. Please, not him.
She turned to offer a respectful greeting and also to confirm that it was him. Her foremother had thought she and Gravitch might make a good match, given that he was part of the Scientific Coalition. Qalu had met him a few times and found his personality absolutely grating. She hadn’t spoken to him since their last encounter and had ignored all his messages. Yet he was hurrying toward her with every evidence of pleasure, as if he didn’t realize she had cut their connection on purpose. He was small for a Tiralan with a wiry build and skin that radiated from pale green to a deep moss on his scales.
“They’re not replicas,” she said icily. “They are biosynthetic—”
“Never mind that. You’re not here for work.”
I am, actually. That was how Gravitch had been each time they met, talking over her, interrupting her, and minimizing her achievements. He was truly the worst prospect Inatol had ever offered, but then, Qalu had rejected five perfectly nice femmes, four gender-neutral prospects, and three male suitors before Gravitch was offered. She took no insult from the suggestion, as Inatol had probably been desperate by then.
With Helix by her side, she would not suffer such awkwardness any longer.
