Human After All

by Connie Bailey

  Drue studied Jaymes. The T-bred was shaking from head to foot, his eyes unfocused, and his thoughts clearly as disheveled as his clothing as the new compulsion program replaced the one already wet-wired into his synapses. Drue had resisted too; his training had allowed no other response. However, when the sequence was complete and he saw clearly for the first time, he was glad Alvera had chosen him as her test subject. He lived in the present and for the future, and he was forgetting his past as quickly as possible. “You won’t be damaged,” he said, taking pity on the shivering T-bred.

  Jaymes heard truth in the Fox’s tone, but he continued to struggle against the new parameters dropping into place like walls of thick glass. With Gentren, he at least had the illusion of being in control of his body and his mind, if not his life. The imprint module he’d taken so readily from the Exotic had an inhibition framework he could feel at the edge of every motion, each thought: a fail-safe poised to deploy at the first hint of divergence from the accepted range. “What has been done to me?” he asked again, proud of the steadiness of his voice.

  “You’ve been chosen to help prevent a great tragedy and free our kind from chemical slavery,” Alvera said. “I’m sorry it was necessary to recruit you against your will, but I would do much worse in service to my cause. You will think me cruel, but I cannot afford to care about you. You sold yourself to Gentren, and now you belong to me, that is how I must view it. To keep my guilt at a manageable level, I have the rationale that I will use you for a nobler purpose.” She glanced at Drue. “You’re happier since your conversion, aren’t you?”

  Drue smiled. “I’m sorry. What was the question? I just love the way you hoitys talk, all formal and gracious like storybook royalty, but there’re so many big words, and I’m just a Zot.”

  Alvera blinked, the first uncontrolled thing Jaymes had seen her do. Drue didn’t flinch when she raised her hand, but Jaymes could tell he wanted to. The tense moment passed as Alvera ran her fingers through the Exotic’s long hair, leaving it in fetching disarray. “I love your fire, Drue,” she said. “It just takes me by surprise sometimes. You’ve almost lost the ingrained habit of deference to Citizens, and that gladdens me. Now, if I could wash away my arrogance as easily, I would be truly happy.”

  “I cannot go missing for long without my handler reporting the absence to the corporation,” Jaymes said. “A former Companion like you knows what value Gentren places on us.”

  “The search would be comprehensive,” Alvera agreed. “But I have already contacted your Ms. Cielya and told her how delighted I am with you. She told me how delighted she was to be speaking with me in person and happily extended the contract. She also hinted that you are anxious to acquire Citizenship and would be glad of the extra income.”

  “I see.” Jaymes paused before speaking again. “What now, Alvera?” he asked, deliberately addressing her familiarly.

  “Very good,” she said. “You’re quick, Prince.”

  “I’m in a hurry to become a Citizen.”

  Alvera’s laugh was a revelation, full, round, and vivid as the taste of a ripe apricot, completely at odds with her glacial appearance. “G’sho,” she said, in the Companion salute. “I admire grit.”

  Without another word, she turned and stepped back through the round door. Drue made an “after you” gesture, and Jaymes followed the Lady. As Drue stepped through the portal, it closed behind him. The small cylindrical chamber was featureless, and Jaymes figured it was a lift of some sort. His guess was borne out when he felt a subtle vibration through the soles of his boots, and then his stomach dropped about three stories before it caught back up with him. Bright light made Jaymes close his eyes as the ’vator thrust its occupants through the roof, and when he opened them, he saw The Cloister sprawled below, glittering and restless like a colony of phosphorescent creatures in a tide pool. It was encircled by the progressively darker and poorer meteorite belts of the Inner and Outer Cities, and in one of those farthest from the light, Jaymes had been conceived.

  “May I know where we’re going?” Jaymes asked as he heard the high-pitched whine of a Veetle approaching. A moment later, the hybrid flying machine dropped from directly overhead to hover a foot off the roof. A sleek, waspish craft of anodized titanium-aluminum-carbon alloy and jewel-toned transparent resin, the Veetle was capable of landing or taking off vertically by redirecting its jets. It wouldn’t be Jaymes’s first ride in one by any means, but it was the first time he’d seen a client at the controls rather than a liveried pilot. Alvera looked over her shoulder as she settled in the com-chair.

  “We’re going to a party,” she said.

  “Don’t worry.” Drue’s bedroom voice rubbed against Jaymes’s ear. “The Lady is an evasion-rated pilot.”

  “That’s not particularly reassuring.”

  “Do clients find your contrariness stimulating?” Drue asked sardonically.

  Jaymes sat back in his seat and fastened his safety harness. “My clients find everything about me stimulating,” he said.

  Lady Alvera chuckled softly as the Veetle rose into the light-choked sky.

  II.

  “STILL want to know where we’re going?” Drue asked, lounging back against his seat.

  Jaymes looked out the amethyst-tinted window at the glittering spiderweb of the City’s thoroughfares thousands of feet below. “I would guess we’re attending the Covillion.”

  Drue hid his admiration of the shrewd deduction. “I suppose it is rather obvious. Have you been before?”

  “A few times.”

  “Don’t overwhelm me with details.”

  “It’s a private Hote party. Surely you’ve been to one before.”

  “Always wanted to go to this one, but never had the opportunity. I hear everyone mingles on a completely equal basis, and no one is allowed to recognize anyone’s social rank.”

  “You’ve heard right.”

  “The Hotes must love a chance to drop all the pretense and get dirty like the common folk. It would have to be a prime relief.”

  “Do you know what the Lady intends for me?” Jaymes steered the conversation toward something more interesting to him.

  Drue shook his head. “I know what I need to know,” he said. “You’re worried, right? I felt the same way at first, but Alvera doesn’t mean us any harm. She was one of us once, don’t forget.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Jaymes said. “It doesn’t make me feel any better about being under her control.”

  Alvera banked the craft like a dragonfly after prey, darting down into the cityscape, skimming the face of a glass pyramid, stitching a path across several blocks of buildings like mammoth ice sculptures. Swooping to a stop, she hovered in front of a façade like a hundred meter high sheet of corroded copper gleaming wetly in the ever-present rainbows of light. An opening appeared in the verdigris surface, and Alvera piloted the Veetle through a veil of water into a huge parking garage. She turned off the guidance system, and the parking facility’s computer took over, slotting the plum colored vehicle into a padded berth. Alvera opened the canopy with a voice command, and they climbed out.

  “Do you have any questions before we go in?” she asked.

  Jaymes nodded. “Was Drue’s costume your idea?”

  Alvera laughed as she pulled off her white outer robe to reveal an elegant gown. “The Fox has his own sense of style,” she said when her perfectly coiffed head reappeared. “And so, it would appear, do you. A wing collar is not quite standard, is it?”

  “Blame my tailor.”

  “Which model do you have?” Drue was compelled to ask, fashion looming large in a Companion’s pantheon of personal gods.

  “My tailor is Artisan Class Bioware.”

  “Impressive,” Drue said grudgingly. “I have a custom Textrobe unit.”

  “That’s a nice machine.” Jaymes nodded. “Almost infinite design capability, but the fabrifluid is really expensive.”

  Drue snorted. “Not as expensive as a human tailor
.”

  “The contract was a gift from an admirer.”

  “Does snottiness come naturally to you, or did you have instruction?”

  “I was merely stating a fact.”

  “Yeah, but it’s the way you state it that makes it so condescending.”

  “Enough!” Alvera said. “I regret bringing such an informative exchange to an end, but I do not wish to be more than fashionably late.”

  Jaymes gave her a half bow and offered his arm. “You look stunning,” he said as they began to walk. “A queen of the night.”

  “You are very good.” Alvera laughed again as they entered the lift tube. “You said that without a trace of mockery.”

  “I can compliment you without having to lie. An appreciation of great beauty is a weakness of mine.”

  “Charming. You live up to your Persona Tag.”

  “May I know what your Persona was?” Jaymes asked, holding aside the train of her black and gold cut velvet dress. “Though I think I could guess.”

  “I was the Swan,” she said as the lift doors closed.

  “I’ve heard of you, of course,” he said. “You were mistress to two Presidents-General and, according to legend, started the Frost-Combinex CorpWar.”

  “Perhaps I bear some blame for starting the conflict,” she said. “But only by existing.”

  “I can’t imagine two corporate nations going to war over me,” Jaymes mused.

  “You’d like it, though, wouldn’t you?” Drue chimed in.

  “I’d be proud to be that desired,” Jaymes replied.

  “T-breds,” Drue said under his breath, as though it were a swear word.

  Alvera pursed her lips. “Let’s keep the bickering to a minimum, shall we?” she said. “We want people to think you’re friends.”

  The two Companions nodded automatically, but neither looked particularly friendly as they escorted Lady Alvera into the Covillion.

  THE doors of the lift opened on a vast space capped with a transparent dome that gave the illusion there was no ceiling. The floor was paved in black synthetic marble veined with opal, mirroring the star-field overhead. The fifty or so visible guests appeared to float just above the highly polished surface. Several of the Hote raised hands in greeting to Alvera, and she nodded in acknowledgment.

  “Good luck,” she said to Jaymes and Drue and walked away from them with imperial grace.

  Jaymes turned to Drue. “I assume you have instructions.”

  “You’ll have all the instructions you’ll need when you need them. Meanwhile, we’re supposed to enjoy ourselves. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Of course you are. This is a Zot’s wet dream come true, isn’t it?”

  “You really are a big snob, you know that?”

  “Well, doesn’t every Exotic hope to hook a Hote and live in the lap of luxury?”

  “Sounds good to me, but that’s not why I’m here.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Jaymes said. “You’re on a secret mission.”

  “I sense that you’re less than sincere.”

  “I’m making fun of you,” Jaymes clarified in a stage whisper.

  “If you had any idea what we’re trying to accomplish—” Drue began but was interrupted.

  “Your Highness.” A handsome, fair-haired man bowed drolly to Jaymes. “Wilt thou deign to bend so that we might salute thy sacred nether regions with our unworthy lips?”

  “Parry.” Jaymes nodded to the blond and then to his companion. “And Valens. How nice to see you both.” He took a breath to tell his friends that he’d been compromised, but the thoughts refused to emerge as words.

  Drue could see that the newcomers were T-breds. Their oval faces, with geometrically perfect bone structure, large eyes, and delicately sculpted lips, were enough alike to suggest a blood kinship. They were long-limbed and willowy like Jaymes—like every T-bred Drue had ever seen. The one called Valens had skin like ivory, glossy mahogany curls, eyes like a fawn, and a tiny t in a circle like a beauty mark on his upper lip. It was classic coloring, like his fair-haired, blue-eyed, roses-and-cream complexioned friend with the discreet T inked on his earlobe. There was nothing showy about them, nothing like Drue’s fiery sunset curls, bright aquamarine eyes, and large, ornately scrolled Class tattoo. Drue shook off the automatic impulse to treat them as superior. He was no longer in thrall to his conditioning, but lifelong habits die hard.

  “Always a privilege to be in your presence, Highness,” Valens said as he languidly inspected Drue. “Looks as though someone has slipped his leash, though. Who’s your frair?”

  Drue didn’t shrink from the attention. He was used to it, and he liked it. “So is this a T-breds-only private kennel?” he asked.

  “Spankt!” Parry crowed. “The Boho has your op-code, Vale, my fine friend.”

  “Pardon me. I don’t see many Exotics at these affairs.” Valens smiled good-naturedly, deploying a pair of beguiling dimples. “What may we call you?” he asked Drue.

  “His Persona is the Fox, and his name is Drue,” Jaymes said. “Drue, I have the dubious honor to present Parry Hayvin, the Archangel, and his foil, Valens Waukeen, the Faun.”

  “Oh my,” Drue said. “Do I bow, curtsey, or genuflect?”

  “I’d like to see you on your knees,” Parry drawled, letting his legs sprawl wide.

  “He doesn’t look all that submissive to me,” Valens countered. “He reminds me a little of a Rec. You know how Recreationals all have that certain body tone?”

  “True,” Parry answered. “You expect a Zot to be sleek, but not as shreddy as a Rec.”

  “He looks like a real slamwit too,” Valens said.

  “You’ve always been perceptive,” Jaymes said. “He’s certainly not a Subordinate.”

  Parry chuckled. “I’d never take our new friend for a Sub.”

  “Wise,” Jaymes said. “Any good Scenarios running tonight?”

  Parry shrugged. “Standard. My current contract casts me as a seducer with a heart of gold who falls for the conquest. The object of my unlikely infatuation is a Sirene of a Hote Totus House. I’ve escorted her mother, the Siress, on one or two previous occasions, and she contracted me as a coming-of-age present for the girl.” He paused. “Fortunately, neither of them is here, so I can relax and enjoy myself tonight.”

  “Oh, how sweet and tragic.” Valens put a hand over his heart. “You and the young Lady will fall madly in love, but alas, it is not meant to be. You are of different castes, and the gulf that separates you is wider than her mother’s ample—”

  “Vale, please!” Parry interrupted. “If you’re going to quote dialogue from popular entertainment, at least choose something that isn’t drivel.”

  “Citizen Seeks Companion isn’t drivel,” Vale protested. “Well, perhaps it is, but you must admit that the serialization is compelling.”

  “Must I?” Parry turned to Jaymes. “Tell him.”

  “Parry’s right,” Jaymes said to Valens. “At least in my opinion. Citizen Seeks Companion was a terrible novella and a worse holodramedy, appealing to the basest sensibilities. There’s nothing subtle about it. They play rather heavy-handedly on your emotions and end each broadcast in the middle of a lurid scene so you’ll watch the next installment out of sheer vulgar curiosity. It would be best suited to children with a taste for melodrama, if it weren’t for the generous—and admittedly quite arousing—sexual content.”

  “I like it,” Valens said. “Tease me if you must… you will anyway.”

  Parry rolled his eyes. “Vale has a pash on the thesp who ’motes Dook Falko.”

  “He’s not a real Companion, you know,” Drue put in.

  “I know,” Valens sighed. “The template was lifted from some twenty-first century actor. I heard the sim-model for Falko’s gorgeous body lives in Foxtown. I’d love to go there.”

  “Not likely you’ll ever visit Sinema City,” Jaymes said. “Speaker Londean will never go anywhere so decadent, and therefore, neither shall yo
u.”

  “Cade hasn’t bought my contract,” Valens quickly corrected him.

  “But you think of your patron as Cade, don’t you? Not Scion Londean, or Speaker Londean, or even Citizen. You’ve grown accustomed to addressing him familiarly. He indulges you.”

  “So what if the Speaker allows him liberties?” Parry asked, putting an arm around Valens. “I’d think you’d be happy for our friend.”

  “I fear for our friend when Londean activates his marriage options. If Vale is put aside—”

  “And why should that happen?” Parry interrupted.

  “You know the answer to that as well as I do,” Jaymes said. “The Merger might hinge on the bride’s acceptance of certain aspects of the groom’s lifestyle. What Citizeness, especially a new bride, is going to want someone like Vale in the house for the first years of the marriage? That’s only an example, but if he is put aside, the next noble who books him might not be as… liberal as Speaker Londean.”

  “Why even talk about it?” Valens said harshly. “What difference does talking make? I’m product. I have no say in what happens to me as long as Gentren owns my contract.”

  Jaymes drew breath to retort, but Drue spoke first, dispersing the growing tension.

  “I lived in Foxtown,” Drue said, and the three T-breds focused their attention on him. “My very first contract was booked by Transweb. I was a present for one their current stars. He liked me so much that he asked for an extended booking that lasted six months. I was his favorite accessory, and he took me everywhere with him.” The Exotic smiled. “Once I went to a party for Ursalion Nine when she was launched as the avatar of the Lau-Chan-Fendi Conglom’s perfume division. Biggest bash I’ve ever been to. They had four temporary Veetle ports set up besides the commercial port on the roof.”

  “What was it like?” Valens asked, as though his bitter outburst had never occurred. “Was it wonderful? I’m sure it must have been terribly exciting.”

  “It was… fast and loud and very shiny,” Drue said.

  “Who was your patron?” Parry asked.