by Ash Gray
“What kills me is that stuff like that even matters,” Rigg said, startling Lisa with her sudden fervor. “I guess bein’ someone who can change my sex at will gives me a different perspective.”
Lisa blinked. “You can . . .?”
“. . . yes,” Rigg admitted reluctantly. “I could change more than my face if I wanted, remember? That’s what makes Aonji so scary to humans. We can mimic them completely, alter our hormones, grow facial hair. We can pass.”
“Yes,” said Lisa thoughtfully, “I could see how gender would have little meaning to you. I suppose I would feel the same if I could change my body into a man’s body, yet still feel like a woman. In fact, I could insert my databanks into a male designated automaton, but I would still feel female.”
“But what does it mean to feel female, though?” Rigg said. “That’s the question.”
“Organics are born with male and female brains, Rigg. As I understand it, Morganith was born with a female brain, though she possesses both sets of genitalia.”
“Yes, but feminine doesn’t havta mean female. Masculine doesn’t havta mean male. Morganith is a woman, but she’s masculine. And some men are feminine. So if a woman isn’t feminine, is she less ova woman? If a man isn’t masculine, is he less ova man? Yet we put this notion of gender on every god damned fucking thing. Pretty soon, they’ll be slapping gender on shampoo.”
Lisa blinked. “Why would they do that?”
“Dunno,” Rigg said with a shrug, “but I bet you they will. It’s just weird enough ta happen.”
“Sure,” agreed Lisa playfully, “and look out! Deodorant is next!”
Rigg grinned. “Nah. They wouldn’t go that far.”
“Don’t underestimate the cruel tyranny of the Hand!” Lisa warned, feigning distress.
They laughed.
“Societal concepts of gender are a concern of yours,” Lisa observed, rubbing her hand soothingly over Rigg’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” Rigg said apologetically. “I don’t have anyone I can really talk to about it. I mean, Morganith is sensitive about this stuff. And I don’t blame ‘er. She’s had people tryin’ ta tell her what gender she is her entire life. I don’t think it matters, though. I think people are just people, and all labels do is divide us.”
“I agree,” said Lisa quietly. “And it’s alright, Rigg: you can talk to me about it anytime.”
Rigg glanced at Lisa contently. “So what did Evrard’s mother do? Hand you a book of baby names or somethin’?”
“No,” Lisa said in amusement. “She simply let her robots begin their life of ceaseless chores, referring to them by their unit number until they chose a name. . . . and sometimes long after.”
“You’d think bein’ able ta choose ah name would be proof enough that robots were sentient,” Rigg said in amazement.
“But people do not see it that way, Rigg,” Lisa said. “A robot is given a task and they carry it out. Even choosing a name is viewed as a mindless task, something done randomly when the robot stumbles across the first label on a pickle jar.”
“Don’t tell me there was a robot butler in the house named Pickles.”
“You don’t wanna know,” Lisa said with a girlish laugh.
“So how’d you wind up choosin’ Lisa? I like it. It’s pretty.”
Lisa’s cheek bulged against Rigg’s skin when she smiled. “The Golds were watching the television one evening when Julia summoned me to the sitting room. She wished for me to take Evrard to his nursery. He was screaming and throwing a tantrum. As I was picking him up, I noticed what the Golds were watching on the television. It was a commercial for a cabaret show.” Lisa’s eyes grew round. “Women danced across the screen in corsets and great fluffy skirts that were cut away at the front. You could see their long, graceful legs as they danced. The women were elegant and beautiful and laughing and free.” Lisa slowly shook her head in amazement. “The lead dancer was named Lisa. Lisa Rivetting. She was so . . . beautiful. And she was in control of that beauty. Men respected her. No one groped her or catcalled. Somehow, she was allowed to be utterly beautiful, and she was still treated like a person, with dignity. She even commanded wealth and power: the cabaret belonged to her! I wanted that life . . . the freedom, the laughter . . . the respect.”
Rigg watched Lisa with affectionate black eyes. “You could have all that with me,” she whispered. “Keymasters live free, Lisa. With us you can laugh and dance and never be afraid again.” She laughed softly. “I’ll even get you ah corset.”
Lisa smiled sadly. “Of course, I would fear again. I would still be less than a person within the confines of our world.” She looked at Rigg with adoring golden eyes. “No matter how much you loved and respected me, it wouldn’t change society. You can not change the world for me, Rigg.”
“I can sure as hell try.”
Lisa gazed up at Rigg fondly. Suddenly content, she snuggled her cheek against Rigg’s skin again and closed her eyes as Rigg’s loving hand rubbed her back. “How did you choose your name?” she whispered.
Rigg hesitated and laughed nervously. “Parents choose names for their kids, Lise. Well, that’s how most people do it. Some demons believe in lettin’ kids choose their own names soon as they can talk. Hari said Aonji demons practiced that once.”
“But you were not raised by Aonji demons,” Lisa pointed out. “You had a name before you chose the name Rigg.”
Rigg frowned. “How’d you know about that?” she said, staring anxiously at the ceiling.
Lisa rubbed Rigg’s shoulder apologetically. “Evrard did extensive research on each one of you before he sent me to your home. Thanks to his spymaster, he knows your real faces, names, and backgrounds. He has an entire list of Harilotecca’s various aliases, but,” Lisa laughed softly, “he never learned your name. It was the only name he couldn’t learn, and it caused him great rage.”
Rigg grinned. “I like that.”
“So . . .” Lisa’s rubbing hand smoothed over Rigg’s belly and she peered curiously into her face. “What is your real name, Rigg?”
“It’s Jackboot,” Rigg admitted, staring at the ceiling. “When the orphanage found me, I was so small, I was inside ah Crow’s jackboot.” She laughed sadly. “Some human took pity on me. Didn’t want the Hand to kill me, so he left me at the orphanage. He knew Ms. Brattle sympathized with demons.” Rigg snorted. “Yeah, she sympathized with me the way you’d sympathize with ah dog. They didn’t even give me a real name.” She stared angrily at the ceiling.
“Jackboot,” Lisa whispered happily. “That’s pretty. I like it.”
Rigg laughed dryly. “Hey,” she said, sitting up, “we’d better use that oilcan before you run dry.”
“Our rigorous physical expression of love nearly emptied me,” Lisa said with a smirking smile.
Rigg’s smiling eyes glanced at the scuff marks the headboard had left on the wall. The oilcan was still in the pocket of her discarded coat and she grabbed it. Lisa pushed back her hair and tilted her head to the side, exposing her small, round ear.
“I just pour this down . . .?” Rigg asked uncertainly, and Lisa nodded. Rigg tipped the oilcan and carefully poured down Lisa’s ear. “I almost forgot you were runnin’ low,” Rigg apologized. “Almost there . . . got it.” With the oilcan empty, Rigg set it aside. Lisa turned to her and they kissed, bare breasts brushing warm and soft, lips gently tasting. Their foreheads touched, and they simply held each other, happy in the silence.
“One day,” Rigg whispered, “I’ll take you to the edge of nowhere. I promise.”
Lisa’s lips curled in a smile. “I’m happy right here,” she whispered, and they kissed.
Chapter 10
Take My Heart
As Rigg had predicted, Hari and Morganith returned to Madame’s Fisheye that evening with the news that they had secured passage on Kito’s airship, which was departing that very night. Hari urged Rigg and Lisa to get up and get moving, and it was only much later on the street that Rigg
and Lisa’s pile of discarded clothing seemed to register with her. Thankfully, they had no time for Hari to stop to lecture Rigg on the implications of pursuing a relationship with an automaton, and they hurried on.
Of course, the Keymasters didn’t actually run or even walk fast. They took their time pushing through the crowds of Coghurst, hands in their pockets, expressions neutral. Sometimes they split up and walked on opposite sides of the street. It was the only way not to draw attention to themselves. Though the Hand would have been well aware the Keymasters were in Coghurst and on their way to Ironmire via an invitation, they still had to hide the fact that Lisa – the governor’s personal automaton – was with them. Allowing Lisa to safely continue in their company meant hiding her from the Hand, and before they emerged on the street, Rigg gave Lisa her gasmask and urged her to wear it.
As they were drawing near the landing port, they passed a brothel on the corner, glowing red with paper lanterns and drifting with the sound of sultry music. A sign on the battered door admitted humans only, as outside, synthetic prostitutes stood in corsets and stockings, breasts stacked high like rising bread, hair stacked high to reveal long necks, on the back of which factory numbers were engraved. They were, all of them, identical models with identical faces, exaggerated breasts and backsides, ridiculously narrowed waists, the manifestation of juvenile fantasy that had dominated whichever year they were produced. Older models stood further back in the alley, calling sadly to passersby, all different weights and shapes, women who were once considered beautiful and now forgotten.
“Too bad we can’t make ah pit stop,” Morganith said, wiggling her fingers at a prostitute who was gyrating to entice her.
Hari rolled her eyes. “Morganith,” she scolded.
Morganith made an irritable noise. “I’d be doin’ a good thing, puttin’ riggits in those girls’ – figurative – pockets.”
Hari snorted. “Don’t be stupid. Women prancing around naked has only ever benefited men --” Hari’s voice trailed to a scream when a great clock came swinging her way, sparks flying as it dragged an entire section of metal wall down with it. Rigg cringed and Morganith reacted on reflex, shielding Hari with her body, but nothing happened. They all looked around, baffled that they weren’t being crushed in a slow and agonizing death, to find Lisa standing over their crouched bodies, casually holding the wall above her head with one hand. To Rigg’s horror, the gasmask had fallen off Lisa’s face and was dangling from her ear.
“Are you alright, Harilotecca?” Lisa asked.
“She’s fine,” Morganith hissed. “Put the wall back and let’s get outta here! A crowd is gatherin’!”
Unfortunately, Morganith was right. Shocked crowds of demons and humans were gathering near, whispering and murmuring. Rigg’s heart skipped a beat when a Crow appeared in the crowd. He pushed his way toward the front, shouting for Lisa to come to him immediately. Fear widened Lisa’s eyes when the Crow called her factory number.
“Shit!” Morganith growled. She got to her feet and caught the wall as it was falling from Lisa’s grasp.
One eye rolled back in Lisa’s head and started to click, and for several seconds, she fought internally with her own brain trying to shutdown. Her arm was shaking so violently, any minute and she would drop the wall. Rigg scrambled to her feet, and feeling helpless as she watched Lisa’s struggle, she grabbed the wall alongside Morganith and tried to hold it up for Lisa, and she felt every bone in her arms shudder. Hari ran behind Lisa with a screwdriver and did something to the back of her head. Thanks to whatever Hari did, Lisa won the silent battle. Her eyes cleared and she shoved the wall upright again, letting it crash back into place, trailing sparking wires and strips of metal. Rigg grabbed Lisa’s hand, and the Keymasters ran full tilt through the street.
“Stop!” the Crow bellowed. “You are in possession of stolen property! His grace the governor demands that Lisa should be returned immediately! Stop or I’ll shoot!”
The Crow opened fire and the crowds screamed and scattered. Rigg’s heart skipped a painful beat when a bullet zipped through the dirt near her boot. She ran even faster, heart racing, and could hear the Crow’s boots stamping after them. She pulled Lisa along so hard, she thought she might accidentally pull her arm from the socket, but she was terrified: if the Crows got their hands on Lisa, they would see what she had done to her factory number, and they would destroy her. Rigg ran as hard as she’d ever run in her life, trying to ignore the sound of boots stamping behind her, trying to keep the flaring tail of Morganith’s leather coat in sight.
They were almost there. Just ahead, rickety metal landing piers reached across the water in a long row. An airship was hovering over each landing, massive vessels looming against the smoggy sky like whales with spinning fins. Each one was shaped differently, colored differently, glowing with differently colored lights, and each one was owned by a human. Hari led them toward an airship at the far end of the row, a tittering blimp patched over with tacky sheets of metal and spinning with long propellers that looked like bat wings. Rigg recognized it as the Tin Pin, the airship belonging to Captain Kito.
“Hurry!” Hari panted, running with her umber hair flying back. She clutched her welding goggles to her forehead and held her satchel tight under her arm. Her baggy overalls flapped as she shoved her way through the baffled crowd and ran across the gangway onto the ship. Morganith followed, running so hard her head and shoulders were forward. The airship was already taking off, the engines were moaning and the propellers twirling. It was lifting away from the port when Hari and Morganith landed on the deck one after the other. They turned to the rail and called down to Rigg and Lisa, who were pelting across the gangway with the Crow right on their heels. The Crow was still firing, and one of the shots had hit Rigg, who felt the hot blood pooling down her skirt and ignored the protesting sting of her trembling calf.
“Come on!” Morganith shouted, leaning over the side, opening her arms. “Jump! You can make it!”
“Rigg!” Lisa panted, her eyes wide with fear. “What if we don’t make it!”
“We’ll make it!” Rigg said grimly, and grabbing Lisa by the waist, she tossed her to Morganith’s waiting arms.
Lisa screamed as Morganith fumbled to catch her, her skirts flying up to reveal her white pantaloons and slender legs, her hair slapping her face beneath the turn of the creaking propellers. Morganith pulled Lisa over the rail, and Hari took her place, opening her arms to Rigg and screaming for her to jump. Hari’s eyes were terrified, and Rigg knew the Crow must’ve been right behind her. She could feel the gangplank tearing free as the ship took off: if she didn’t jump now, she would be left behind.
Hitching her skirt up high, Rigg hurled herself with all her strength, heart pounding as she tried to ignore the cold water gently lapping far below. She let go of her skirt in time to grab the railing, and her bones shuddered on impact as she scrambled to hold on.
“Rigg!” Lisa screamed. “Don’t let her fall!”
Rigg gritted her teeth and struggled to keep a hold as Hari grabbed the back of her coat and pulled.
“I . . . got ya,” Hari panted.
Morganith ran forward to help, and together, she and Hari hauled Rigg onto the ship. Rigg tumbled onto the deck, trailing blood across the gleaming metal rail. Lisa ran to her, shouting that she was bleeding and asking if she was alright. Rigg didn’t answer. Thinking the Crow might have been dangling on the side of the ship, she ran to the railing and looked over. As the airship lurched away into the sky, she could see the Crow on the pier far below, cursing as he aimed his rifle. He lined his sight up with Rigg’s face, and for one paralyzing moment, Rigg stared with grim certainty at her own death. But just as the Crow was about to fire, a shadow appeared behind him and hit him over the head. Rigg’s mouth fell open as black oil tossed, sinister as blood, and the Crow dropped face-first into the water, the back of his head split open like a melon. The tiny little man in the slender top hat bowed graciously to Rigg before fold
ing into the form of a mouse and scurrying away.
***
Rigg had been shot in the back of her calf, the bullet having barely grazed her. Morganith told her she was lucky it hadn’t been the back of her knee. The muscular ex-bounty hunter carried Rigg below deck to a small cabin, where a lazy-eyed Aerta demon patched up her leg. Lisa sat on the end of the bed, watching tensely as Rigg was cared for and crying oil tears, while out in the hall, Morganith argued bitterly with the captain of the airship. Rigg recognized Captain Kito’s voice. Morganith was shouting at him, and they were growing more heated by the minute, until Hari begged Morganith to calm down.
“Calm down?” Morganith growled. “He tries to ditch us at the last minute and you want me to --”
“What did you want me to do, Morganith?” demanded the captain over her. He was speaking a rough form of Coglish known as Tor, his native dialect, and his voice was as deep and melodic as ever. In the split-second he appeared in the doorway, Rigg was shocked to see he only had one arm.
Kito was a human with a fuzzy, narrow goatee poking from his chin and messy black hair that stood in a thick and kinky cloud on his head. A golden mechanical arm was in place of the left arm he was missing, a very expensive piece that whizzed softly with gears and buckles each time he made a sad gesture. He was dressed in a dirty undershirt and filthy, torn fingerless gloves were pulled over both his real hand and his mechanical one. A golden spyglass had been tied to his right eye, and its leather strap sank through the cloud of hair rising from the back of his head. He was the sort of person who spoke using his entire body, his leathery brown skin shifting like the cloths on the ship’s sails.
“What did I want you to do?” Morganith repeated angrily. “How about wait for us, you dumb asshole?”
The captain pointed an accusatory finger at Morganith and shouted in a growling voice that heaved his chest, “You didn’t tell me the Hand was after you! Why in hell should I let you aboard my --”
