“My name is Aurelia Toyama,” I reply as something seems called for.
“Where are you from?”
I try out my story of being a mutant from a lost colony. The boys seem impressed and it further piques their interest in me.
“I was born in Stauver City,” Toldas says. “Bralt here is from the Interior.”
“Ya don’t have to say that like I should have herbivore shit on my shoes,” Bralt protests.
“Oh?” Toldas says. “Did you clean your shoes special today?”
“I’m gonna put one up your butt in a minute.”
“Your noisy contentions are spoiling my consideration of the river and the vistas around,” I say. “Perhaps you could continue your debate elsewhere.”
Both look as if I had struck them. I analyze my statement, find it empty of offensive language and am puzzled by their reaction.
“Hey we didn’t mean—”
“Goodbye,” I add to soften and clarify my instructions.
It has the opposite effect. The tall boy’s face becomes red with anger. The other one seems more hurt than angry. They walk off. I can tell by their stiffness and energy levels that something is still wrong. I continue to track them.
When they are out of normal earshot, the tall one turns to his companion. “Big-eyed freak,” he mutters in a voice that would not be intelligible to human ears. “She thinks she’s too good to talk to us dirt-walkers. I was just trying to be friendly.”
His friend made a hissing sound and waved his hand at him. “Keep it down, Toldas. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a dozen times, you overdo it with girls and come on too strong. Guess she didn’t like us cutting up. Still, she might have been a little nicer about it.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Guess that’s why you have Zala and why I’m going to spend the rest of my life alone.”
“Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” Bralt says.
Evidently his interest in me was a premating ritual. He has taken my reaction for rejection and indifference. I trot over and overtake the boys, who turn to face me in evident alarm.
“I am sorry,” I say. “I did not mean to be rude. I am from a very isolated place and I have little experience with people.”
Toldas’ face turns a darker shade of red. “You…umm…you heard me.”
I point to my ears. “Another aspect of mutation.”
Bralt looks at him. “I told you, big-mouth.”
Toldas hangs his head. “I’m sorry. That was stupid of me and damn rude. I wouldn’t blame you if you hauled off and belted me. I have it coming”
The thought is horrific and I banish it instantly. “I do not attack anyone unless for dire need and never for an insult. I will forgive your insult if you forgive mine.”
“Done,” Toldas says. “Though I still feel I owe you for what I said.”
“Then perhaps you will consent to show me some interesting aspects of your homeworld,” I say.
“Sure,” Toldas responds brightly.
“We’re going to meet my girlfriend, Zala,” Bralt says, “then head into Tralsa.”
“Tralsa?”
“It’s the fun part of town,” Toldas says. “There’s a street festival there all this week, in honor of the first landing.”
“Excellent,” I reply.
We walk on with the boys shooting a barrage of questions at me about my ship and the worlds I have passed through. The boys’ earlier feelings of anger and rejection seem to vanish. They resume their combative banter with each other, which appears to be aimed at securing my attention, though this stops suddenly when we encounter another female.
“Hi, Zala,” Bralt calls.
A girl turns from her contemplation of a shop window. She has blue hair piled and teased in an elaborate style. Otherwise she is dressed in a minimum of black fabric with gold metal winking out of it. She is slender and athletic. She walks over on shoes that are canted to pitch her weight on the front part of her foot. It cannot be comfortable, but she does not seem to be in pain and moves quickly. Her eyes are a deep-green color and a sprinkling of freckles dusts her nose.
“Hey, Honey,” she says in a high but pleasing voice. She and Bralt kiss on the mouth. Toldas looks on, grinning.
Bralt turns to me. “Zala, this is Aurelia off the freighter Stardust. We met her wandering around the promenade.
“We promised we’d show her some of the sights,” Toldas adds.
“Such as they are,” Zala says. She extends a hand, which I carefully shake. Even so she winces. “Quite a grip you have there.”
“I am sorry. Are you ok?”
“Sure, no worries. But I get impression that you’re stronger than you look.” She seems to study me, “Maybe way stronger.”
“She’s a mutant,” Toldas says.
Zala shoots him a glare. “Enjoying the taste of shoe leather today?”
Toldas flushes.
“I am not insulted,” I reply, while I wonder about shoe leather. Even being a quantum computer, I find myself tasked trying to analyze the barrage of idioms and slang coming at me. “That is what I am.” I recount my story but somehow feel that Zala is unconvinced.
I spend hours with the teens, who are easy company, full of stories and jokes, many of which I do not understand. I tell carefully edited versions of my own past. These are still remarkable enough to get me expressions of awe.
As evening falls, I do run into a dilemma. I normally would call the ship internally but cannot in their company. Zala loans me a portacomp and I call Wrik.
His face pops on the screen, the usual look of worry on it.
“Aurelia, are you OK?”
“I am fine. I have made some new acquaintances here in town and am going to go see the landing festival celebration. I did not want you to be concerned.”
He looks at the table through the comp and a grin splits his face. “So much for no boys and be home after dark. I guess there is more of “typical teenager” in you than I suspected!”
“Shall I roll my eyes at you again?” I inquire. I have learned to tease Wrik.
He laughs again and I find that I am pleased to have made him do so.
“No, I think I feel enough like a parent already. Have fun and stay out of trouble.”
I hand the comp back to Zala.
“Who is the old guy?” Toldas asks.
Old? I wonder. Wrik is only twenty-five not counting two years in cold sleep on the voyage to Kandalor. “Mazza,” I say, giving Wrik’s cover name, “is my guardian. He has been very kind and supportive of me.”
Toldas still looks suspicious, Zala amused and Bralt seems chiefly concerned with his food.
“Shall we go to the festival?” I ask.
I spend the next week with Zala, Toldas and Bralt, only returning to the ship at night. For them it is a diverting time, showing a stranger around their colony. For me it is constant operation at my highest levels as I am continually tasked with maintaining my cover as a mutated human from a distant colony. I have never before tried to pass as human among humans. Wrik has been my only human network before and he knew me when I was in M-7 mode. I find the workload taxing nearly to the point of shutdown. The physical matters of maintaining a 98.6 degree body temperature are simple, but I face a host of other traps laid almost literally at my feet. I must avoid stepping on any surface that will reveal my far greater weight. I must lock my legs when I sit on a light chair so I do not damage it.
Once Toldas tried to “help me up,” a biological courtesy that seemed to have more to do with providing an excuse to touch rather than any disability on my part. It required an instant rebalancing and shifting to make it appear as if I am no heavier than a human girl. Fortunately, he never tried to pick me up as Bralt occasionally did with Zala in a “pony ride.”
Zala proves to be the most
difficult to fool. There are many more female interaction protocols than there are for males and they are more complicated.
The third night, the boys take us to a Tri D entertainment. The film is an unlikely combat scenario with an improbably powerful biological male who, in between implausible combats, mates with a variety of females of different types and species. Zala finds the vid even less interesting than I do, grumbling afterward until placated with something called an “ice-cream soda” in a nearby shop overlooking the city. I also enjoy the complexity of the molecular combinations in the drink.
After a second round of the sodas, Zala rises. “Hey, Aurelia. I’m going to head to the bathroom.” She looks at me expectantly.
I search among my various human interaction databases and come up dry.
Bralt laughs. “What is it about females that they always need to go to the bathroom in pairs?”
I rise to follow Zala, hoping other clues will present themselves.
“I can’t believe the boys’ chose that dumb film to take us to. Honestly, what is it with boys and blasters? It seems they’re never happy unless something is exploding near them”.
I think of the dangers Wrik and I have faced at such cost and agree that the boys’ fascination is best conducted from the safety of a theatre seat.
We enter a large room of porcelain fixtures and mirrors. A number of other females are present, checking their appearances in the mirror and chatting animatedly. I stand before the mirrors considering my appearance. I still wear the traveler’s cloak over my usual jumpsuit though I have changed the colors to dark blue and orange. I’ve continued to work on the covering till it looks and feels more like a sleek fabric. Yet it is nothing like the variety of outfits worn by the girls around me. It occurs to me that the others might find it weird that I wear the same thing each time they see me.
I notice that Zala has stopped and is watching me. I return her gaze. “Wow, you really didn’t have to go, did you? You must have kidneys of steel. Two ice-cream sodas and I’m ready to burst.”
“Are you?” I say in some alarm.
She laughs and ducks into one of the small cubicles. I access a database and figure out what she is doing with some distaste. I myself emit only radiation. I occupy myself washing my epidermis before the mirror so I do not stand out.
Zala returns, looking much relieved. “That’s better.” She takes her place beside me and begins adjusting her appearance with a variety of cosmetics. I watch the process with fascination. She then produces a small blue bottle which she tips onto her finger and dabs behind her ear. She notices my curiosity. “Did you want to try some Astral?
I regard her uncertainly. “I’m not sure.”
“Take a sniff,” she says holding the bottle to my nose.
I am grateful that Wrik persuaded me to add nostrils to my appearance. I even use them for gas sampling. The bottle emits a variety of very complex chemicals that I record as being pleasing to humans.
“It’s very nice,” I venture.
Zala puts a little more on her fingers and dabs it behind my ears. “Toldas is very fond of this scent. He always comments on it when I wear it.”
I nod, unsure of any response.
“He likes you, you know.”
“I like him.”
“Ah, but do you like him?”
I note the stress in her repetition, but the significance is unclear. “I’m sorry. Remember I am from far away—”
“Oh, come on now,” she teases. “How different can it be between boys and girls wherever you’re from?”
“You have no idea.”
“Do you already have a boyfriend? That older guy, Mazza, that you talk about?”
“Mazza is very important to me. He is a permanent part of my existence. But our relationship is not sexual. He is involved with a Nekoan female for such.”
“Wow, a catgirl? Kinda kinky if you ask me. Anyway, I’m glad about that. I wouldn’t have liked you if you were leading Toldas on.”
“I fear that in a way I may be.”
“What do you mean?”
“I will not be here long. Nor do I know if I will ever return. I should not encourage his interest in me. It wastes his time and may cause him distress.”
Zala gives me a serious look. “He knows that, and in a way it may make you even more interesting.”
“Good,” I reply, “then it will not be so hard for him to see me go.”
“Shall we get back to the boys?”
“Yes,” I say, very conscious of the brevity of time I have to act as a youth among humans.
The days and nights pass in this fashion, with me frequently absent from the ship. I think Wrik and Jaelle enjoy being by themselves. As for Dusko, he busies himself with helping Jaelle assemble a cargo and a route. I am not there to watch him, but he has learned the cost of my enmity. That and Wrik’s watchfulness seem enough to deter him from any Guild mischief. I suspect that he is right in believing himself to be nearly as vulnerable to the Guild as we are. He uses the money that he has earned from Jaelle to supply himself with a number of luxuries for the voyage ahead. I track this but do not interfere, as it means he has less for bribes or to contact the Guild.
As I get ready to leave the ship, Wrik spots me.
“Out on the town again?” he says.
“Yes.”
“Typical spacehand, gets planetside and blows her money on fast-living.” He sighs theatrically.
“If I am acting in the expected manner, this will facilitate our cover.”
“Wow, rationalization. You’re getting more like a human every day.”
“Respect your elders,” I say in mock severity. “I was sitting on an asteroid when your ancestors were drawing paintings in caves. I think I have earned some indulgences.”
“True,” he concedes. “But keep an eye on that tall kid. I think he’s going to put the moves on you soon.”
“The moves?”
“Hmmnnn, we’ve never had the “birds and bees” discussion have we?”
“You are descending into incomprehensibility.”
“Ah, you know the sort of things that go on between Jaelle and me.”
“Wrik, if you mean sex, say sex. Appearance aside, I am a 50,000-year-old, genderless, combat-android. You will not embarrass me.”
He looks over and then gently strokes my hair. “I don’t see you that way.”
By which I think he means, “I don’t want you to be that way.” Humans anthropomorphize so much and I know he does this with me. “I think that if Toldas get overly amorous I will be able to handle him, without fatalities or blowing our cover.”
“Good, just threaten him with your “big brother” if need be. It’s a traditional method.” He winks at me.
I look at Wrik, then stand on my toes and press my lips against his cheek. “I will.”
He looks at me, stunned. I wave and head out the hatch. When I look back, he is standing there lost in thought, one hand pressed against the cheek I have kissed.
Two more days pass and while Wrik proves prescient about Toldas’ intentions, the taller boy is good-humored about my putting him off. I tell him I am from a very conservative culture where more than holding hands is considered a sign of engagement. This data appears to cool his interest some.
I have become accustomed to the three and they take it hard when I tell them that our ship must leave the following morning. We are not even able to stay out late. The often-mentioned but not encountered parents of the three have asserted their authority and they must be home before dark. They do promise to meet me at the spacefield before departure, though I try to persuade them that it is not necessary.
I return to the ship early but do not go in. I am assimilating the vast amounts of data I have assembled in the days of living as a young biological. There are so many things he
re that, while they are recorded perfectly, I know I am missing the context or full import of them. This time will remain a treasured memory. Days have been a form of busy idleness. We were always going somewhere, yet the destination was often irrelevant. It seemed that the journey in each other’s company was the important part.
I am still there seated in the same position when Wrik comes out and begins his preflight. The ship was refueled and loaded in my absence. Jaelle will be on the comp handling the details of the flight plan and our departure with the authorities, who were more concerned with our coming than our going.
At the far end of the field another and far larger ship begins to rumble skyward as the sun rises over the ocean. I see it perfectly and Wrik stops to watch it as well. It is an old, converted warship, perhaps now serving as a freighter, its military colors replaced by brighter commercial ones. It slants up into the sky and vanishes into the clouds, as we will shortly.
As I look away from the disappearing ship, I spot three familiar figures standing behind the wire fencing , well away from the ship, looking on as we ready for launch. A crab robot clanks up the ramp behind me, relieved of its guard duty.
I look at Wrik. “What should I do?”
He grimaces as he usually does when I ask him a question about human relations. “Go to them. They want to see you off.”
“Why do they not come here?”
“Because they’re teenagers and adults spend most of their time yelling at them to get out of here or stay away from that. Go on, Maauro. I can finish here.”
I walk over the hard surface of the spaceport, past the blackened areas where hundreds of other ships have preceded us into space. I open the gate with my ship-pass to greet my three new…friends? Network partners? What are they to me, or I to them? They have made me part of their network for no advantage beyond my company. Now even this fragile link is to be severed. Yet I find myself hoping that someday I will see these young faces again.
Smiles greet me. “ Hello, Toldas, Bralt, Zala.”
“Hi, Aurelia. Wow, what a neat-looking ship,” Toldas says. “I wish I was going with you. Free in the galaxy, nobody to tell me what to do.”
My Outcast State (The Maauro Chronicles Book 1) Page 17
