FutureDyke

by Lea Daley

  * * *

  Long before I was ready, I found myself outside Whitehall’s home. Belatedly, I realized I’d failed to ask an essential question, something so ordinary no one had realized I’d need coaching. That house was a walled fortress—I couldn’t simply step inside, as I had other buildings on Jashari. Oh, for a solar phone! I stood on the street and called Chastity’s name once or twice. There was no response.

  I was leaning against the same stucco I’d smashed into so recently, marveling at my idiocy, when I saw Whitehall approaching. Returning home from some errand or appointment. She’d caught sight of me too. For a split second, she broke stride. But her recovery was swift and predictably smooth. She kicked up the sex appeal a notch or two, hips swaying, as she strolled toward me.

  She was barely in earshot when I called out. “Where the fuck have you been?”

  “I beg your pardon?” That tone was meant to stop underlings in their tracks.

  “I’ve waited a long damned time for you!”

  If she’d only stepped out for a second, I was dead in the water. I’d have to be more careful. But there was a new look in Chastity’s eyes—curiosity plus something I couldn’t yet identify. When her gaze raked me from head to toe, I knew my costumers had struck just the right note. Now, if only I could hold it long enough!

  “Let’s take this discussion inside, Leslie. I’m not accustomed to sharing my personal business with every passerby.” She reached for my good arm then, drawing me to her side—much closer than necessary, I thought. As she pulled me through that wall, I felt like the proverbial piece of meat.

  Whitehall dropped onto a patch of invisible furniture, striking a world-weary pose. To maximize the effect, she needed a slender cigarette in a long, long holder, like ones I’d seen in antique films. But even without props, the woman had a lot to work with. It was no accident that her famous body was displayed to the best possible advantage.

  Looking up at me through thick, dark lashes, Chastity drawled, “Exactly what is this about?”

  “You know damned well what it’s abou—it’s about that kid, Bahji Hemingway! Everyone knows you had something to do with her disappearance!”

  “Indeed?”

  Could her voice get any deeper? “Yeah. Indeed. I’ve just come from her mom’s house—her real mom’s house—and everybody’s in an uproar. Whatever you did, it sure stirred up some shit!”

  “Ah?” It was almost a purr.

  “They’re acting like this is Armageddon or something. It’s practically ‘Man your battle stations’ over there! And they’ve got some notion I’m going to be in the thick of things!”

  “You’re not?”

  “Fuck no! I didn’t bail on an early death back home only to be martyred here. You can bet money on that!” Oh, god! I hated the way I sounded! Was some part of me really so crass? If not, how did I keep manufacturing this drivel?

  “Interesting…surprising, even.” Chastity stood, offering a profile shot of her lush figure. “You must be thirsty after waiting so long. Would you like a drink?”

  “Just water. Some water would be great.” Because the conversation was playing like a third-rate holoflick and visions of truth serum danced in my head.

  Chastity returned from an adjacent room with a delicate bowl. A single, tiny blossom floated on the water. She lifted my free hand, turned it upward, a gesture of unwarranted intimacy. When she curled my fingers around cool porcelain, she was standing so near I felt warm breath on my face. “I’m still not sure why you’re here, Leslie. Have a seat and tell me about it.”

  I was trying to sail on the undercurrents of the conversation, desperate to set the right course. If Whitehall wanted me to stay, maybe I should threaten to leave? Setting the water down untouched, I said, “Forget it. It was dumb to come here—there’s no reason you should help me…I just had to escape the frenzy at Hemingway’s place. Then I remembered what you said—that we were going to be friends. And even though we’ve never really hit it off, my odds seemed better with you than with that ragtag band of would-be revolutionaries…” I had the woman’s undivided attention now, so I bolted toward the wall, raising my bracelet.

  Speaking over my shoulder, I said, “Anyway, it was just a stupid impulse. Sorry to impose.” Then I paused and turned back. “Oh yeah, Chastity—there’s just one thing.” I nodded at the cast on my left arm. “How much longer will I need to wear this? And who’s in charge of removing it?”

  Whitehall beckoned me deeper into the living room. “Let me take a look.” Now it was her idea I was here and I sensed she was cooking up ways to prolong my visit. Would I be playing into her hands if I stayed? That was a great unknown. Still, I could only go forward.

  She’d finished examining the cast. “It’ll be ready to come off in an hour or so.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “The color on the band—it monitors energy given off by the accelerated healing process. When all the orange disappears, the cast is no longer necessary.”

  “Just tell me how to get rid it and I’ll be gone.”

  “Stay a while, Leslie. Let me check your elbow after we remove the cast. These things are terrific, but they’re not entirely foolproof.”

  I could have wept with relief—I’d bought Aimée at least another hour. I wondered where she was just then, what she might have learned, if she were safe. But then I caught myself. If I didn’t concentrate on my own situation, I could jeopardize everything.

  I let Chastity coax me onto a seat. She cocked her head at me, all charm and dazzle. “So you’re not the infamous Li’shayla Mar-Né?”

  I barked out a short laugh. “Not bloody likely, is it? What I don’t get is how Taylor Hemingway buys into that bullshit. The woman’s supposed to be such a genius…Hey! Can you whistle up her faxim? Maybe she could explain it to me.”

  Chastity crossed elegant legs. “I think I can handle that, Leslie.”

  Good! She didn’t want the faxim around to spoil the spell she was weaving. And she was willing to talk. Maybe I’d pick up some useful information. “As they said in the old days, Chas, lay it on me.”

  Whitehall winced at my flippancy, but cheerfully took the reins. “Like many scientists, Taylor’s an idealist. She believes in the power of her method to a dangerous degree—so much so that she discards whatever doesn’t fit into her neat little theories. She’ll accept anything science seems to validate, however outlandish. But there are things her discipline will never explain.” Chastity sent a suggestive smile my way. “No scientist can account for sexual attraction, for instance…”

  “Pheromones,” I murmured.

  “Yes, but does knowing about pheromones really explain why only one person out of millions stirs the senses? And has science identified the roots of artistic intuition or the creative impulse?”

  Oh, this was a speech designed to hit me where I live! “But Hemingway says there’s math to support the prediction.”

  “And so there is, Leslie. But suppose that math is flawed? Unless Taylor finds the error, she’ll persist in believing the prophecy. And she’s not even seeking inconsistencies.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. She should have fought like mad to discredit the prediction since it’s linked to her kid.”

  Whitehall laughed knowingly. She even managed to incorporate a hint of heartbreak into the sound. “Taylor has the scientist’s need to make sense of everything—whether it’s logical or not. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “Don’t you see? In Taylor’s view, the universe is orderly, rule-bound, knowable. The only way to explain why she of all people conceived a child with UltrA—the only way she could accept the brutality of that rape, the only way she could rationalize life on Jashari—was to believe some greater good would result from that assault. Therefore, Bahji couldn’t possibly be an ordinary little girl—she must be a heroic figure, must have a role in actualizing the Jashrine prophecy. So Taylor’s placed the thing she va
lues most highly at the greatest possible risk.”

  I was hanging on to Shiante’s warning for dear life. Because Chastity’s tale was making my head swim. “But if the prophecy’s bogus, why was Bahji kidnapped?”

  “To force Taylor’s hand perhaps? She and her little gang of misfits have gotten more flagrant and assertive lately. This situation could bring their insurrection to a head. Which would allow the Council to address it. You were smart to come here, Leslie. Believe me, you’re well out of it.”

  Time for some stroking: “You were the only sane choice, Chastity. You’re obviously extremely influential and well respected. I knew if anyone could help me, it would be you. Despite our differences, I’m not quite as dumb as you think.”

  The whole time I was babbling, I wanted to shake Whitehall till I saw fear flower in her dewy eyes. Wanted to insist that she reveal Bahji’s whereabouts. Wanted to demand the child’s safe return. Outrage was welling up from some bottomless place, threatening to break through. Better change the subject. I looked down at my cast. “Wow! The color’s almost gone. I can’t wait to have this thing off!”

  Even as I watched, the last of that tint faded. Chastity stepped closer, gripped a tiny tab at the top of the cast and pulled downward. The casing unzipped without resistance. Formerly rigid, it was now totally pliable. She eased it from under my arm and crumpled it into a small ball. I watched it disintegrate over seconds until it was nothing but a fluff of dust on her palm. Shaping her mouth to a sensuous pout, she blew it into the air. “Litter’s not much of a problem on Jashari,” she cooed, winking at me. Clearly her smallest gesture would always be gauged to entice.

  Then, switching moods, Whitehall put me through my paces. “Straighten your arm carefully but stop if there’s any discomfort. Raise it as high as you can, but slowly. Now rotate it.”

  I complied, profoundly grateful to find I had full range of motion and not a twinge of pain. Next Chastity raised her hand to my face and trailed one silky fingertip down my cheek, feeling for traces of the damage I sustained from her outer wall. “That’s healed nicely too.”

  She was a caricature of seduction. I could scarcely believe this vamp worked on anyone—but then, I’d had forewarning. And she was extraordinarily beautiful. I paid the expected tribute to miraculous technology. “Whatever was in that salve is amazing! I’d forgotten just how solid walls can be.”

  “I’m sorry you were injured, Leslie, but privacy is very important to me. Had I known you’d come calling, I’d have arranged to admit you.”

  “Well, thank god your faxim was here! Did she do all the repair work?”

  “Not all of it. I had a hand in it too.” Again that subtle inference of intimacy.

  “But you were gone when I came to…”

  “Unfortunately, I had business to conduct.”

  “While you were away, your faxim told me a heart-rending tale.”

  “So I gather. She’s programmed to randomize—which produces some surprising twists. Otherwise, she’d be pretty boring to have around. Occasionally, she superimposes her own interpretation on events.”

  “This is none of my business, Chas…but why choose Taylor Hemingway for your faxim? You must have known zillions of gorgeous women. You could be living with any of them.”

  “True. But Taylor had a special quality that touched me deeply. I don’t know what she’s told you about us…?”

  “Not much.”

  “Well, we were an odd couple, but there was incredible chemistry between us—I was madly in love with her. And don’t fall for Taylor’s ‘humble scientist’ shtick. We were media darlings and she enjoyed every minute of it. Then that hellacious attack…it changed everything.”

  “In what way?”

  “Trauma’s like that, Leslie. It rearranges people’s priorities. Taylor blamed our fame for the assault, which was ridiculous. People were mugged every day in every city on Earth. And she blamed me for our exposure to UltrA—a disease her precious science hadn’t cured.”

  “Why?”

  Eyelashes fluttering, Whitehall said, “She believed we were singled out for rape because of my appearance…More than anything though, the baby ruined our relationship. Taylor had never mentioned wanting children. Suddenly, she was very ill and pregnant on top of it, with serious choices to make. She felt solely responsible for two lives—and I was no longer one of the ‘two’ that mattered. I was devastated when she left me.”

  If the regret in Chastity’s voice was counterfeit, I couldn’t tell it. Suddenly I was wondering why I’d so readily invested my trust in Hemingway’s version of this story. How well did I know her, after all? The answer: just barely. “And now, Chas?”

  “Now we find ourselves on opposite sides of the fence, enemies almost. And, naturally, Taylor’s still blaming me for every sad thing in her life. It’s no surprise she assumes I have something to do with her missing child.”

  But hadn’t Whitehall virtually admitted that by bringing Belladonna to my apartment? And what about the faxim’s story? I was having trouble keeping track of competing claims and decided to sidestep the kidnapping for a while. “Why are you and Taylor at such odds?”

  “I told you—she’s an idealist. Taylor believes there’s a lot wrong with Jashari, and feels obligated to change the culture.” Chastity lifted glossy hair off her neck, then let it fall back in place, a move I’d seen in countless shampoo promos. And yet it worked. She really did look as desirable as she meant to. Shaking every shimmering strand back in place, she continued. “I’m a realist, Leslie. A survivor. I admire Jashrine society. Nothing’s perfect, including this place and time. But Taylor could have had a terrific life here. She had her health, her child, all the money anyone could want—”

  Money! I whipped out my little golden SU card, stopping Chastity in mid-sentence. “Oh! My! God! Maybe you can decode this for me!” Because who better to explain what my resources were good for than the lovely Ms. Whitehall? And this was one more way to prolong our conversation.

  Her eyes scanned that streaming display, calculating at warp speed. When she returned my card with studied indifference, her color was heightened and her eyes glowed with an intensity that was almost sexual. “The sky’s the limit, Leslie. You can have, buy, do and be anything you want.”

  “So I’ve heard. I just can’t figure out what’s for sale on Jashari.”

  “Use your imagination, for heaven’s sake! What luxuries do you long for? What kind of home would you like?”

  Complete and vivid, it rises up before me—a dream I hadn’t dared to acknowledge on Earth, where it would never have been within reach. I want a home of my own on an isolated piece of ocean front. Nothing ostentatious, just a perfectly proportioned dwelling where I can watch the water from every window—real windows.

  I can see them, tall and graceful, endlessly admitting the shifting light of twin suns, and I can hear the sound of the surf. I see the garden too, a marvel of form and color. See the boardwalk to the beach, can imagine myself taking those steps two at a time in my eagerness to reach the water. I can picture a sunny kitchen, picture friends laughing around a crowded dinner table. And I can visualize an art studio—an airy, expansive space, stocked with every conceivable material…

  I caught my breath at the image. Chastity reached out, stroked my arm. “Tell me.”

  I shrugged. “Just a beach house.”

  “You can have it, you know. Exactly as you’ve imagined.”

  “I doubt it. I’d want doors. And windows…actual glass windows. And a wood exterior—but I’ve yet to see a tree on Jashari.” Except in Bahji’s bedroom, though that didn’t bear thinking about right now.

  “Leslie! This isn’t even a challenge! You just have to be willing to spend the money.”

  “What are you telling me? Can timber be imported from somewhere?”

  “That’s hardly necessary. The molecular makeup of wood is well understood. It would simply be configured to your specifications. An expensive proce
ss, but it wouldn’t begin to make a fraction of a dent in a percentage of your very considerable means. The same method was used to duplicate all the objects in your desk drawers. Keep going.”

  And just how does Ms. Whitehall know what’s in my desk drawers? Focus, damn it! Don’t blow this! “Knowledge, I suppose—there are a hundred things I’d like to study.”

  Chastity rolled her eyes. “With your resources, study is hardly necessary. Additional adaptation modules can simply be activated, as they were when you acquired Jashari’s language. You already know that’s an outpatient process and the information would be accessible immediately. What else?”

  What else indeed? I’d traveled widely while working on Earth. I’d strolled the Ramblas of Barcelona. Explored the nooks and crannies of Paris. Picnicked on the grounds of the oldest university in Europe. I’d attended plays in London and marveled at Stonehenge. I knew the piazzas of a dozen Italian villages like the back of my hand…or had. But if there were places to visit on Jashari, they meant nothing to me. Travel was no longer on my wish list. And I’d never longed for power or stardom or the other trappings of affluence.

  Most of what I craved was the fabled stuff money can’t buy, things forever out of reach, no matter how vast my fortune. Meredith. Moonlight. Mountain streams. Pine forests. I wanted love and community. Meaningful work, an audience for my art. Liberty. I gave voice only to the last item. “Can I exchange my fortune for freedom?”

  “Oh, Leslie, grow up! Jashari’s like any other place. No better, no worse. There are always rules in civilized societies. And if one follows those rules, a measure of freedom is granted. Consider my experience: I’m a member of the most despised class here, yet I’ve increased my wealth, won acceptance at the highest levels and I live as I please. All because I made a realist’s accommodation to cultural expectations.”