The Year's Best Science Fiction: Twenty-Fourth Annual Collection

by Gardner Dozois

  “Senior administrator of Mars Colony. Of course, rich, or would she call me?” Azara snapped her fingers. “You have an appointment with her in two hours.” She eyed Kayla critically. “Appearance matters to her.”

  “Don’t worry.” Kayla ran a hand through her tousled mop as she sipped her tea. “I’ll look good.”

  “Do so.” And Azara’s image winked out.

  Kayla shook her head, but the client was always right ... well, usually right ... and they were willing to pay a lot to visit Earth vicariously from Mars or Europa or one of the micro-gravity habitats. She drank her tea, showered, and dressed in a green spider-silk shift she had bought on a visit to the orbital platforms. The color matched her eyes and brought out the red in her hair. It did indeed make her look good.

  Precisely two hours later, her desktop chimed with a link from Bradbury, the main city of Mars Colony. Kayla accepted, curious. She had rented a couple of virtual tours of Mars Colony, had found the mostly underground cities to be as claustrophobic as the platforms, even though the domed space aboveground offered water and plants. The holo-field shimmered and a woman’s torso appeared. Old. Euro-celtic phenotype, not gene-selected. Kayla appraised the woman’s weathered face, wrinkles, determined eyes. Considering the current level of bio-science, very old to look like this. And very used to control. “Kayla O’Connor, at your service,” she said and put a polite, welcoming smile onto her face.

  The woman peered at her for a moment without speaking, nodded finally. “I am Jeruna Nesmith, First Administrator of Bradbury City. I would like to enjoy my nephew’s son’s wedding. It will take place on a small, private island, and include a week long family reunion.” She seemed to lean forward, as if to stare into Kayla’s eyes. “The broker I contacted assured me that you would know what I want to look at.”

  Ah, yes, she was indeed used to control. Kayla smiled. “Only after we have talked and I have gotten to know you.” Although she could guess right now what the old bitch would want to look at. “I am usually quite accurate about what interests my clients.”

  “So the broker says. I hope she is correct.” Nesmith straightened. “I have little time to waste, so let us begin.”

  So much for that cute young executive from Shanghai she’d met at the club last night. “As you wish.” Kayla kept her smile in place, started to record. “I would like you to tell me about this wedding.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Everything.” Kayla leaned back, her smart-chair stretching and conforming to cradle her. “Who is getting married? Why? Are they a good match? What do their parents think about it? What do you think about it? Who would you be happy to see and who would you avoid at the wedding? What do you think about each of the relatives and guests that will be present?”

  “What does all this have to do with recording images for me?” Nesmith’s eyebrows rose. “This is not your business.”

  “And the recording I make of our conversation is destroyed as soon as the contract is completed ... you did sign the contract,” Kayla reminded her gently. “If you just want videos, it’s much cheaper to hire a cameraman rather than a chameleon. But if you want me to look with your eyes, notice the details you would notice.... “She smiled. “Then I have to think like you.”

  Again, Nesmith stared at her. “The wedding is of one of my nephew’s sons.” She waved a long-fingered hand. “A worthless, spoiled boy, who will never make anything of himself, marrying an equally spoiled and self-centered girl from one of the big aquaculture families. It is a spectacle to impress other inside families.”

  Well, she already knew how to look at the bride and groom. Kayla settled into listening mode as the woman continued. Notice the pointless extravagances, the follies, the proof of her pronouncements. Ah, but that wasn’t all.... She let her eyelids droop, listening, paying attention to the emotional nuances of voice and expression as the woman droned on, inserting a leading question here and there. The old bitch did have an agenda. Interesting. Kayla absorbed every word, putting on this woman the way you’d put on a costume for a party.

  She took the shot at her usual clinic, the morning her plane was scheduled to leave. An Yi, her favorite technician, administered it. “Where do you get to go this time?” she asked as she settled Kayla into the recliner and checked her vitals on the readout. “Somewhere fun?”

  “Fancy, anyway.” Although something didn’t quite add up and that bothered her a little. She went over the interview again as she told An Yi about the wedding and reunion. Nope. Couldn’t put her finger on it. She watched the technician deftly clean the tiny port in her carotid and prepare the dose.

  “Ah, it sounds so lovely,” An Yi sighed as she began to inject the nano. “Maybe next year I’ll do one of the island resorts. This year, I have to spend my vacation in Fouzhou. My father wants us all to be there for his one hundredth birthday.” She made a face and laughed. “Maybe I should hire you to go.”

  “Why not?” Kayla said, and then the nano hit her and the walls warped.

  It always unsettled her as the nano-ware invaded her brain. The tiny machines disseminated quickly, forming a network, preempting the neural pathways of memory. It didn’t take long, but as they established themselves, all her senses seemed to twist and change briefly, and her stomach heaved with familiar nausea. An Yi had been doing this for a long time and had the pan ready for her, wiping her mouth afterward and placing a cool, wet cloth on her forehead. The headache hit Kayla like a thrown spear and she closed her eyes, concentrating on her breathing, waiting for it to be over.

  When it finally faded, An Yi helped her sit up and handed her a glass of apple juice laced with ginseng to drink. The tart sweetness of the juice and the familiar bitterness of the ginseng settled her stomach and the last echo of the headache vanished.

  “Do your clients mind getting sick when they get it?” An Yi asked, curious.

  “Probably.” Kayla nodded. “But they can buy the option to translate the memories into their own long term memory if they choose. So they only have to put up with the side effects once.” She stood, okay now. “I’d better get going. I still have to finish packing.”

  “Have a really fun time,” An Yi said, her expression envious.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Kayla left the clinic and caught the monorail across town to pick up her luggage and head for the airport. She probably would enjoy it, she thought, even if the Martian Administrator’s very poor opinion of most of her extended family was accurate. And then there was Ethan. Kayla smiled as she thumbed the charge plate and exited the monorail. Her client’s hidden agenda. He was cute and clearly the old gal had a crush on him. So the week wouldn’t be entirely wasted. She could flirt with him and Jeruna wouldn’t mind at all.

  Before she left her condo, she made her trip notes in her secret diary. You weren’t supposed to record anything, but, hand-written in the little blank-paged paper book she’d found in a dusty junk stall at the market, it was safe enough. Those notes served as steppingstones across the gaping holes in her past. It was fun, sometimes, to compare the client’s instructions with her own observations afterward. Client perspectives were rarely objective. If they were, they wouldn’t need her.

  * * * *

  The trip to the rent-an-island was tedious. The family had paid for a high level of security. It was necessary in this age of kidnap-as-career. The security checks and delays took time, since she traveled as an invited guest of a family member who had not planned the wedding. And, thus, was not paying the security firm. But this was nothing new, and she endured the familiar roadblocks stoically. Kidnap raids were real, and her client would have to suffer the delays, too, when she consumed the nano.

  But once she boarded the private shuttle from Miami International, everything changed. Her invitation coin had been declared good, and all the perks were in place. The flight attendant offered fresh, tropical, organic fruit. Wine if she wanted it. Excellent tea, which she enjoyed. She was used to sleeping
on planes, and so woke, refreshed, as the shuttle swooped down to land on the wedding island. She was the only passenger on this run, and, as the door unsealed and the rampway unfurled, she drew in a deep breath of humidity, flowers, rot, and soil. A vestigal memory stirred. Yes, she had been in a place like this ... maybe this place ... before. Funny how smell was the strongest link to the fragments of past jobs that had seeped past the nano. She descended the rampway to the small landing, and headed for the pink stucco buildings of the tiny airport terminal, figuring she’d find some kind of shuttle service. Flowering vines covered the walls and spilled out over the tiled entryway and the scent evoked another twinge of been here memory. As she paused, a tall figure stepped from the doorway.

  “You must be Jeruna’s guest.” He smiled at her, his posture a bit wary, dressed in a loose-weave linen shirt and shorts. “I’m Ethan.” He offered his hand. “I belong to the ne’er-do-well branch of the family so I get to play chauffeur for the occasion. Welcome to the wedding of the decade.” He said it lightly, but his hazel eyes were reserved.

  “Nice to meet you, Ethan.” Kayla returned his firm handshake, decided he was as cute as the vids she’d looked at, and let him take her bag. Tossing her hair back from her face, she smiled as she studied him. Why you? she wondered as she followed him through the tiled courtyard of the private airport, past a shallow, marble fountain full of leaping water and golden fish. “I’m looking forward to being a guest here,” she said as they reached the roadway outside.

  “Really?” He turned to face her, his hand on the small electric cart parked outside. “This is a job to you, right? Can you really let yourself enjoy something like this? Won’t your thoughts about it mess up what you’re recording?”

  Great. Kayla sighed. “So who leaked it? That I’m a chameleon?”

  “Is that what you call yourself ?” He stowed her luggage, which had been delivered by a uniformed baggage handler, in the rear cargo space of the cart. “Doesn’t it weird you out? That you’re going to hand over your thoughts and feelings to somebody ... for pay?”

  He wasn’t being hostile, as so many were. He was really asking. “The nano can’t record thoughts.” Kayla smiled as she climbed into the cart’s passenger seat, inwardly more than a little ticked off. It made her job harder when they knew. Now she wouldn’t get really good reactions until he got used to her, forgot she was recording. And a lot of times, in the really good moments, some family member who had had too much to drink would remember and say something. She sighed. “The nano only records sensory input ... vision, hearing, taste, touch, smell. That’s it. We haven’t developed telepathy yet. Your great great aunt ... or whatever she is ... gets to experience the event with all of her senses, not just vision and hearing.”

  “Oh.” Ethan climbed in beside her, his face thoughtful. “Isn’t it kind of weird, though? Hanging out with strangers all the time?”

  “Not really.” She lifted her hair off her neck as the cart surged forward, enjoying the breeze of their motion in the heavy, humid afternoon. Well, he had never lived outside, probably couldn’t see beyond the luxury of an inside lifestyle. “That’s what I do ... learn about the family, get a sense of what the client is really interested in so I can participate the way my client would, if she was here.” She smiled at him. “I really do feel like a member of the family or the group while I’m there. That’s what makes me good at this.”

  “A chameleon.” But he smiled as he said it. “What about your family? Does it change how you feel about them?”

  “I never had one.” She shrugged. “I was a London orphan when Irish looks weren’t the fad. Did the foster home slash institution thing.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged again, tired of the topic years ago, and not sure how they’d gotten here. She didn’t talk about herself on a job. “So how come you rate the job of chauffeur?” She smiled at him. “Just how ne’er do well was your family branch?”

  “Oh, they were all off-off-Broadway actors, musicians, failed writers, the usual wastrel thing ... according to our family’s creed.” He laughed, not at all defensive. “The family bails us out before we disgrace anyone, but they make sure we know our place.” He shrugged, gave her a sideways look. “I play jazz, myself. Among other things my family disapproves of. But I don’t do illegal drugs, murder, mayhem, or anything else too awful, so I got a genuine invitation to this bash.”

  “To be a chauffeur.”

  “Well, yeah.” He grinned, his hazel eyes sparkling. “But they have to make sure I know my place.”

  “Does that bother you?” She asked it because she was curious.

  “No.”

  He meant it. She watched his face for her client. She would resent it, Kayla thought. Which was the better reaction?

  They had arrived at the resort complex. More pink stucco. Lots of lanais on the sprawling buildings, carefully coiffed tropical plantings to make the multitude of cottages look private and isolated, pristine blue pools landscaped to look like natural features with waterfalls, and basking areas studded with umbrellas, chaise lounges, and bars. He drove her to the lobby entrance and she checked in, noticing that he hovered at her shoulder.

  The staff wouldn’t let her do a thing, of course. Two very attractive young men with Polynesian faces, wearing colorful island-print wraps around their waists, snatched up all her luggage and led the way to her own cottage with palms to shade it and a glimpse of white sand and blue-sea horizon. Kayla smiled to herself at the location of the cottage as she offered a tip and received twin, polite refusals. Not a front row seat to the ocean view ... that went to major family guests. But she could still see the water through the palm trunks and frangipani. A little. And the furnishings were high-end. Lacquered bamboo and glass, with flowered cotton upholstery ... the real fiber, not a synthetic.

  A knock at the door heralded another attendant pushing a cart with champagne, glasses, and a tray of snacks. Puu-puu. The word surfaced, unbidden. Snacks. What language? Kayla tried to snag it, but the connection wasn’t there. Two glasses. “Will you join me?” she asked Ethan. She smiled at the young man with the cart, who smiled back, his dark eyes on hers, set out plates and food on the low table in front of the silk-upholstered settee, uncorked the champagne with a flourish, and filled two flutes. Handed her one with a bow, and his fingertips brushed hers.

  Full service, she thought, met his eyes, smiled, did the tiny head shake he’d recognize, and handed the other glass to Ethan as the attendant left. “I take one sip,” she said. “That’s all. Blurs perception. Here’s to a lovely place and time.”

  “What a drag. But you’re right about place and time.” He touched the rim of his glass to hers and they chimed crystal. Of course. “Tell me what my great great aunt or whatever wants to see.”.

  You, she thought, lifted the glass to him silently, took her sip. “The family. The ceremony. How everyone takes it.”

  “You’re not telling me.”

  “Nope.” She grinned. “Of course not.”

  “Sorry.” He laughed and sipped his own wine. “I shouldn’t have asked.” He sat on the settee, his expression contemplative. “It’s just that she’s such a ... I don’t know ... renegade. But she got away with it.” He grinned. “She just went out and conquered her own planet.” He laughed. “She’s a successful renegade. Unlike us, who never made it pay. I just can’t believe that she really cares about this society wedding, you know?”

  She didn’t. Not really. Kayla leaned back on the settee next to him, stretching travel-kinks from her muscles, her eyes on Ethan, examining him from head to toe as if he was her new lover. “So have you ever met her?”

  “Jeruna?” Ethan shrugged. “Nah. I don’t think she ever came back here, after she left for Mars. And that was before I was born.”

  Interesting. So what did he represent? Kayla took her time, enjoying the view. He was cuter than the vids. And not the spoiled rich kid she’d expected. Too bad. She squelched a brief pang o
f “what if.”

  He flinched, fumbled a cell out of his pocket. “Uh oh. Another arrival to ferry.” He stood, set his half-full flute down on the table. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to skip out on the big family dinner tonight. Eat down on the beach.” His eyes met hers. “But I bet you can’t.”

  “No, I can’t.” She made her voice regretful, which really wasn’t a stretch. “Want to help me out?” Because his tone suggested he planned to skip it. “Sit by me? Give me a few clues? I’d like to give the old gal her money’s worth.”

  He hesitated, then shrugged. Wrinkled his nose. “For you, I’ll suffer.” He laughed. “And now you owe me.”

  “Okay, I do.” She laughed with him, caught his lean, athletic profile as he turned to leave, promising to meet her there at the appointed dinner hour. So what does he mean to you? she asked her client silently. Something, that was for sure. Her services were not cheap.

  * * * *

  The prenuptial dinner offered excellent food, elegant wine, and the usual boring and self centered conversations. Obviously the leak had made the rounds. But after the open bar, pre-dinner, and the first round of wine with the appetizers, everyone loosened up and forgot about her. This family ran to whiners. Kayla got tired of high-pitched nasal complaints quickly. The assiduous wine-servers didn’t help matters, filling glasses the moment the level fell beneath the rim. She had tipped the maitre d’ to fill her glass with a non-alcoholic version of the whites and reds but it seemed that everyone else was happy with the real stuff.