Zurra stood up and struck a new pose, causing her curves to jiggle. “You see, I may not have money like squid-girl over there, or power like a Trahzi, or shed fur all over the place like a Bertulf...”
“Hey!” Ilrica objected.
“...But I have something you gals can never have. You are stuck in a single form. No matter how hard you try, you are only you. I can be whatever kind of woman Gerald wants me to be. I can be any race, any celebrity, anyone.”
The other girls looked at each other nervously.
“Round five goes to me,” Zurra boasted.
“No!” Gerald said, slamming his fist against his desk. It took him a moment, but he got himself back under control. “Look, girls, you’ve got it all wrong.”
“Look how flustered he is,” Zurra purred. “My bride is so bashful, it’s adorable.”
“No, what’s true is that I don’t like any of them.”
They all looked at him in silence.
“Does that mean he prefers no underwear at all?” Ilrica asked.
“Ooh, how scandalous!” Zurra said, clapping her hands together.
Cha’Rolette put her face into the palm of her hand.
“NO! It means I don’t want to see your bodies, scantily clad or otherwise. I’m studying to be a priest, for Soeck’s sake! That is my goal.”
“Pfffttt, whatever,” Ilrica scoffed.
Cha’Rolette made a mental raspberry. Such a liar.
“He’s fibbing,” Zurra laughed.
Any man would die to see me in a swimsuit.
“Why would he lie about that?” Trahzi asked, confused.
Gerald grabbed the sides of his head. “Ugh.”
Ilrica slammed her hand down on his desk, suddenly looking quite irritated. “So, you mean to tell me, Gerald, that you’re a purebred herbivore?”
“You mean he’s a vegan?” Zurra asked.
Ilrica took a second to download the meaning of that term from Central. She shook her head. “No, he’s not preachy enough to be a vegan. No, you see, among the Bertulf there is the occasional male that takes no interest in challenging the alpha of his pack or starting his own. He just mills around eating grass and ignoring the females, so we call them herbivores.”
“Sounds cute.”
“Hardly. They are probably the most detested part of Bertulf society. They take up space, eat up the spoils of the hunt, but contribute nothing to the birthrate.” Ilrica closed her eyes and looked very disappointed. “They have no place in the bonfire circle.”
Trahzi tilted her head. “So how does that make you feel, Gerald, knowing that you are a hated grass-eater?”
Gerald shrugged. “Those are her standards, not mine.”
“Ooh, he’s still got a hide as thick as a rhynox, doesn’t he?” Zurra praised.
Ilrica cracked open an eye and grinned at Gerald affectionately. “Yes, he does.”
You shouldn’t waste your time trying to educate him, Cha’Rolette said, still quite embarrassed by all of the commotion. Humans are so hilariously primitive that they only have five senses. She looked at him harshly. You’d have to be a fool to like him.
“Well, that’s not true,” Gerald defended, not sure why she was so mad.
Isn’t it?
“Well sure. We have our sense of timing, our sense of justice, our sense of direction, our sense of humor...”
Cha’Rolette was not amused.
“...which you could stand to work on.”
Don’t forget your sense of irony, which you seem to lack, Dyson.
Gerald was surprised by the iciness of her gaze, so he did what he always did when he was uncomfortable. He deflected. “See, that’s a common misconception. This situation is not actually ironic.”
No, it’s just sad.
“No, check it out. Zuri, do you remember on the history channel, there was that Canadian chick who wrote that song called ‘isn’t it ironic,’ but none of the situations the song describes are actual examples of irony?”
Zurra placed her finger on her chin. “You mean the girl who wore the swan dress?”
“No, that was Björk.” Gerald hummed a few bars of the song while the rest of them downloaded it from Central. “No, you see,” he explained, “a black fly in your Chardonnay, for example, is mildly sucky, but isn’t actually ironic. Now, if it was a special kind of Chardonnay you had genetically altered specifically to repel black flies, and you were in the midst of giving a toast at the award ceremony for your creation of fly-repelling Chardonnay, then that would be irony.”
I had no idea you humans had such a rich musical culture.
“Really?”
No. That was sarcasm
“Maybe humans don’t have a sense of sarcasm either?” Trahzi quipped.
“You know we do.”
All evidence to the contrary.
Gerald grew concerned. “Cha’Rolette, is something wrong? Why are you being so cold today?”
She gave a superior sniff. I’m not being cold.
Gerald watched her as she floated away.
* * *
Level Ten.
“Duchess, safety protocols do not allow...”
Level Ten, she repeated, even more firmly
The computer beeped in the affirmative. The room expanded out around her into a great rolling desert. Thirteen great hounds made of metal grew up from the floor and attacked. Cha’Rolette jumped to the side as one came down with razor sharp claws right where she had been standing. She spun around in the air and sliced with her hand. An invisible blade cleft the machine in two. It collapsed to the ground, black fluids spilling out like blood. Four more leapt at her but she flew high into the air, her ta’atu glowing brightly with a golden light. As they passed beneath her, she thrust out her hand and one exploded from within. The parts hung in a cloud without falling, and then she swept her hand aside, and the pieces of metal flew through the air like shrapnel, shredding apart two more as they tried to creep up behind her.
She spun around, looking for the rest, when she noticed Gerald watching her from up on the observation deck.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said.
Two hounds crouched low with a mechanical hiss, and then pounced at her, one from the left and one from the right. She dropped down beneath them and brought her hands together. With invisible hands they were pulled together, colliding in midair where she had been, and crushed flat, spraying out black liquid everywhere.
No one asked you to, she spat. She clenched her fist and another hound’s head crumpled like a tin can.
“You looked upset, I thought we could talk.”
Her ta’atu curled up and she surfed quickly along the sand. Two of the beasts matched her speed, sprinting alongside her as she crested a sand dune. She kicked out with one leg, and a blade of invisible energy passed through one of them, severing off all four limbs. It fell to the ground and skidded to a halt, while its companion released a gout of fire from its maw. She stopped and brought her hands up to her temples, and the fire parted and passed around her without doing any harm. Then, she thrust up and something punctured the machine from below, skewing it up into the air.
I’m tripling the food donations I’m making to your mission each week
“That is very kind of you.”
Cha’Rolette leaned back, falling to the ground just as a hound flew past her from the side, its metal jaws snapping shut where her head had been only a moment before. She kicked up with a leg and the machine was split from head to crotch.
We’ve also merged two of the smaller delivery companies, which means we have one more building than we need on the south side. I’m thinking it would make a good mission site.
As she rose to her feet, a hound pounced on top of her. She held out her hand and it hit an invisible wall.
“You are very generous. Opening up a third mission will allow us to bring in more people; a lot more good will be done. But that is not why I am here. I came to find out why you are so angry.�
��
She picked up her hand and the hound was plucked up into the air. It struggled, kicking with its limbs as it was lifted high above her.
I’m not angry.
When another hound circled in, she dropped her hand and the one she held came crashing down on top of it, destroying both.
Why should I care? I’m a Ssykes, the number one student in this school.
When she turned to look at the final hound, her eyes glowed brightly, and it backed away in fear. As it tried to turn and run, she charged straight at it, slamming it with a wall of energy that picked it up and smashed it flat against the wall of the arena.
I can have any man I want. Why should I even notice a little flea like you? You are beneath me.
“Okay, I guess this was a mistake. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
As he walked away, she stood there amid the destruction and debris, breathing heavily, sweat rolling down her face. The sand was soaked with black ichor all around her.
You were drooling over her.
Gerald stopped. “What?”
A droplet fell off the tip of her perfect little nose. You couldn’t stop staring at her, right there in front of everybody. You were like some kneebo in heat.
Gerald scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Yeah, I was kind of startled. That’s not something you see every day.”
She stood up, looking sad. You’ve never looked at me that way.
“You know I try not to do that.”
Alone there in the center of the arena, she wrapped her arms around herself. I know, but... it hurts me when you do. She looked up at him. Can’t you just be a real person, just for once?
Gerald moved to deny, but the way she was looking at him was completely disarming. There was no pride in her eyes, just a simple honest pleading. This was the real Cha’Rolette.
Gerald leaned forward against the railing and looked at his hands. “You... are probably the most physically beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he admitted.
Then why hide what you feel? Why not just be yourself?
“I can’t.”
Why not?
“Because...” He looked away. “Because naturally I am lazy, deceitful, greedy, jealous, and prideful. The rest of you deserve better than that. I can’t afford to simply wallow in who I am, I must be better than that.”
She looked at him with sympathy. You don’t give yourself enough credit.
Gerald climbed over the railing and landed down in the sand. “Where’s the big guys?”
My keepers? They have some business to attend to. I’m not to leave campus.
Cadbury flopped down and got her head stuck in the sand.
“Perfect. You know what cheers me up when I’m feeling down?” he asked as he jogged up to where she was.
Do you ever feel down?
“Only when I’m not helping people.” He ran up and put his hand out. “Come on, the kids have been asking about you.”
You know I can’t. I have evening tutors.
“It’ll be okay, I got someone to take your place.”
She furrowed her brow. What?
* * *
In the Dorav Building, a very angry and very pink copy of Cha’Rolette sat in the chair before an aged tutor.
“Calculate the circumference of a gellar field in the absence of necass.”
“Energy in taus divided by the radius cubed, invert the remainder,” the copy grumbled, entering her answer into the computer.
The tutor squinted with her grey fading eyes and put her hand up to her hairy ear. “Oh, your voice sounds so sweet today, Duchess. You must be in love.”
Cha’Rolette’s copy suppressed a snarl.
“Now explain in thirty thousand words or more the historical repercussions of the B’Hejegrah uprising.”
She grabbed her ta’atu and pulled on them, her pink ringlets stretching as if they were made of rubber. “Blerg!”
* * *
Cha’Rolette’s jaw hung open. How in the world did you get Zurra to help you spend time with me?
Gerald gave a roguish little grin. “I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.”
* * *
One hour earlier, Zurra folded her arms defiantly. “Not a chance. If that baguette-head was on fire I wouldn’t spit on her to put it out.”
Gerald rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s not a very nice thing to... wait, you can’t spit.”
“I can do anything I want.”
“You don’t have any salivary glands... or any organs for that matter. Come to think of it, how do you eat?”
“You don’t think I can spit? Just watch me.” She leaned back and snorted up a big loogie in her mouth, then hocked it forward. The big pink droplet hung down from her lips awkwardly. She clumsily shook her face about, but it wouldn’t snap off.
“You are a class act, Zuri, don’t let anyone ever tell you different.”
Zurra sucked the droplet back up into herself. “I’m still not helping you.”
“Oh, but I think you’ll want to after I offer you something in trade.”
Zurra turned her head. “There is nothing you could...”
Gerald leaned forward and whispered into her ear. “If you do this for me, I’ll show you what my ideal woman looks like.”
Her eyes shot open.
* * *
An hour later, Cha’Rolette looked upon Dyson with new eyes. An offer she couldn’t refuse, huh? Perhaps there’s hope for you yet.
Cha’Rolette was ten kinds of nervous when they left the academy. She kept looking over her shoulder and down each alley as if she expected her keepers to appear at any moment. Cadbury clucked happily behind them as they passed by shop boutiques and small cafes, occasionally bumping into a light post or parked skiv. Gerald tried to interest Cha’Rolette in doing a little window shopping, but her heart just wasn’t in it. But as time went on, she relaxed more and more, even relishing a little bit in the naughtiness of playing hooky. She asked him a lot of questions about his childhood and growing up on Earth, and he shared as many stories as he could recall. He was surprised at how genuinely interested she seemed, as if she were trying to find clues to unlock some giant puzzle.
When he would ask her about her own childhood, she always changed the subject. At one point he caught her staring at a pastry vendor, and before she could protest he bought one and shoved it in her hand. Despite its rather bland appearance, it surprised her how flavorful it was, and she enjoyed the experience immensely. Gerald was careful to avoid mentioning what it was made of.
Then she did something that surprised him. She playfully broke off a piece and shoved it in his mouth before he could protest. As he coughed and wiped the sauce off of his cheek, she gave a silvery laugh, and he couldn’t help but laugh along with her. It seemed to him like she had been wearing armor before, and that it was slowly coming down, revealing a completely different person.
When they rounded a corner into a busy intersection, they were met by a half dozen of the most filthy aliens they had ever seen. They stood about, breathing in smoke from an exotic piped device that reminded Gerald of a hamster maze. Cha’Rolette froze in place, but Gerald approached them warmly.
“Gerald, boy!” They greeted. The tallest among them raised up a sucker-covered hand and Gerald gave him a high-five. Their hands stuck together, and it took Gerald a moment to pull his free.
Dyson, do you... know these people?
“Of course, they come into the soup kitchen all the time.”
The short one shoved an oily strand of hair out of his face. “This boy makes the worst stew in all of Central.” He laughed, and the others joined in. Cha’Rolette smiled nervously.
“This is my classmate, Cha,”
“Just Cha?”
“Just Cha. Cha, this is Horge, Fluve, Lustaxi, Rolsali, and the big guy there is Bolsorg.”
“Oh, you’re one of them girls from the fancy school,” Bolsorg said, bowing drunkenly.
Charmed, she l
ied.
“Oh, girl, you are fine looking,” Rolsali appraised. “I gotta get me one of these rich girls, too.”
A pedestrian tossed a credit chip into a hat that had been laid out, and all the men went to work. Fluve played base on an upturned waste bin, while Rolsali banged bent metal rods against the wall and pavement. Bolsorg and Horge percussed with their voices, a sound that was somewhere in between a yodel and an electric guitar. Suddenly the street was transformed. Colors and patterns danced around in the air. Birds made of smoke flew into the sky, and little dust-devils made of light spun about like ground flowers.
Pedestrians stopped in their tracks, shocked out of their dreary routine by the infectious performance. The music was alive, with a pounding beat and an energetic rhythm. The others made room for Lustaxi, who spun and danced about in a traditional J’Seppe folk dance. As the people watched him kick out his legs and clap his hands, as they felt the wisps of colors dance around them. As they heard the music and song, their troubles boiled away and they clapped their hands. There were no bills to pay, no regrets to be mulled over, no expectations to be met. There was only the simple joy of being alive. Cadbury couldn’t resist the energy, bobbing and jerking her head this way and that. Even Cha’Rolette began tapping her foot to keep time.
Then, just as quickly as it had started, the music ended, and the street darkened. The pedestrians went about their business as the performers congratulated themselves.
That was... amazing. Cha’Rolette praised sincerely. I have seen many J’Seppe dances through the hypernet, but nothing like this.
“Nothing beats a live performance,” Gerald added.
“Ah, see that’s your problem, Cha,” Bolsorg chided. “The only things they upload to Central are the stuffy stuff from the libraries.”
“Reading, PAH!” Fluve complained as he blew a smoke ring into the air.
“...If you want to learn real J’Seppe, there ain’t no better teacher than Lustaxi right here.”
“Come, I show you,” Lustaxi bade, holding out his greasy hand.
Oh, I really couldn’t.
“She can’t do it; it’s too hard for her,” Horge said, breathing in deeply from his pipe.
Who says I can’t? she said with playful indignance. I’m a Ssy...
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