Sidra noted that Blue was still watching her, and that his face had become one of guarded concern. He thought he’d done something wrong, she realised. She made the kit smile at him. ‘This is so very kind of you,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
‘Do you like it? If you don’t, then—’
‘I do,’ Sidra said. ‘It’s interesting, and the thought behind it is even better.’ She considered. ‘You two don’t keep pets like some Humans do.’
‘No,’ Pepper said. She sat down on the couch, in the spot nearest to Sidra’s chair, washing down a mouthful of beetles with a fresh bottle of berry fizz. ‘We don’t.’
‘Why not?’
Pepper took a long sip of her drink, watching the petbot snuggle in the kit’s lap. ‘I’m not very good with animals.’
JANE 23, AGE 10
The air outside the wall was still cold, and it wasn’t a good kind of different any more. Jane 23 pulled her arms around herself as close as she could. The little bumps on her skin were so tight they kind of hurt, and her arms and mouth were shaking. This wasn’t good. She wanted to be back in bed. She wanted to have never gotten out of it.
The Mothers hadn’t followed her. She didn’t know why. She wasn’t being very quiet. The floor crunched when she ran on it, and she’d made a lot of noise when she’d fallen down the last bit of the slope. Could the Mothers not go through the wall? Did they just not care?
She didn’t know where she was going. The scrap piles stretched way up overhead, all shadows and scary in the dark. She’d been walking for a long, long time – hours, probably – but she kept going anyway. She didn’t know what else to do.
Run! 64 had said, and Jane 23 had, until breathing hurt. Her bunkmate’s voice was stuck in her head, and she felt so dizzy and sick. She wanted to cry, but she didn’t. She was in enough trouble as it was.
Her foot hit something hard, and she fell, right smack onto the crunchy dusty floor. She yelled, scared more than hurt. She couldn’t see very good, but her knees hurt so loud, and she could feel angry new cuts on her hands. She looked back at what had made her fall. Just a piece of scrap, stuck in the floor. Just a bad piece of scrap, in her way. She kicked it. Kicking was bad behaviour, but she was already doing lots of that, and nothing made sense and they’d taken Jane 64 and it was her fault.
She kicked the scrap again, and again, and again, yelling sounds without words.
Another sound happened. Not the scrap, and not herself. A low, popping sound, kind of like a motor trying to start. It wasn’t a sound she knew, but something about it made her go real quiet.
There was a . . . something, standing not too far away. She had no idea what it was. It wasn’t a machine, but it moved. She was kind of sure it was breathing, but it wasn’t a girl, either. She looked at it best as she could in the dim light of the three bright things in the not-ceiling. The something had eyes. It had eyes, and four legs, and no arms. She couldn’t see any skin, just fuzzy soft-looking stuff all over. It had a mouth, too, and . . . teeth? Were they teeth? They were pointier than her teeth.
The something was looking right at her. It bent down a little bit, all of its legs bending back. It made the popping motor sound again. It was not a good sound.
She felt the same feeling in her legs that she’d felt when the Mother had stared at her so so angry through the hole in the wall. She heard Jane 64 in her head again. Run.
Jane 23 ran.
She didn’t look back, but she could hear the something running, too, making bad wrong sounds as it chased her. She ran fast, fast as she could, fast as she was never allowed to run during exercise time. She had to keep running. She had to. She didn’t know why, but her body knew it, and whatever that something chasing her was, it wasn’t good.
Another something appeared, and it ran at her, too, knocking down some scrap as it went. She ran harder, not caring about the cold air, not caring about the Mothers, not even caring about Jane 64. Run. That was all she could do and think. Run run run.
Her chest hurt. Her shoes rubbed at her toes wrong. The somethings were getting closer. She could hear them, so loud. Their mouths sounded wet.
There was another sound: a voice, coming from up ahead. But it was a weird voice, all wrong around the edges, not making any sense, not making any good words. Just a bunch of junk sounds.
She felt some spit hit the back of her leg.
The voice changed. ‘Hey! This way! Come toward me!’
There was no time for questions. Jane 23 ran at the voice.
A machine stuck out from one of the scrap piles, a huge machine with thick sides and – and a door. An open door leading into it. Two red lights blinked from the corners of the raised hatch.
‘You can do it!’ the voice said from behind the door. ‘Come on, hurry!’
Jane 23 scrambled up the scrap pile, sharp pieces catching her clothes and tearing her hands. With a yell, she threw herself inside the machine.
The hatch banged shut behind her.
One of the somethings crashed into the other side of it with a real loud sound, but the door didn’t move. She heard angry angry noises, and scratching at the outside. The door stayed closed.
‘Be still,’ the voice said in a whisper. ‘They’ll go away.’
And after a little bit, they did.
‘Oh, stars,’ the voice said. ‘Oh, stars, I’m so glad. Are you all right? Here, let me turn on some lights.’
Lights flickered on. Jane 23 picked herself up off the floor. She was in a tiny room, or a closet, maybe. Four metal walls, standing real close.
The voice talked fast. ‘You’re probably covered with germs. I don’t have enough power for a scan, or a flash – later. We can clean you up later. It’s protocol to scan you, yes, but this counts as a dire emergency, and that means I don’t have to follow that rule. Come inside. It’s okay.’
One of the walls turned into a door. Jane didn’t move.
‘There’s no one in here but me,’ the voice said. ‘And I can’t hurt you.’
Jane didn’t know what else to do, so she listened. She moved. She walked into another, bigger room – much, much smaller than the sorting room or the dorm, but too much space for just one girl. There were interface panels and places to sit, and some kind of small workstation. A workstation. A workstation in a room inside a machine, outside of the factory.
None of this made any sense.
Jane 23 tried to breathe, taking in big mouthfuls of air. She was crying. She wasn’t sure when the crying had started, and it scared her, because crying meant she’d be punished, but she couldn’t stop. Even if there’d been a Mother there, she wouldn’t have been able to stop.
‘It’s okay,’ the voice said. ‘You’re okay now, honey. They can’t get in here.’
‘Who are you?’ said Jane 23. Her voice felt strange, like it wouldn’t stay still. ‘Where – where are you?’
‘Oh, oh, I’m so sorry. Let me put a face on. Here. Over here. To your right.’
A screen lit up on one of the walls. Jane 23 walked over, real careful. A picture came up. A face. Not a girl’s face, though – well, okay, kind of a girl, but not a girl like she was used to. An older girl, even older than the girls who left when they turned twelve. The face had stuff sticking out of the top of her head, and a little bit over each eye, too. The picture wasn’t a real girl. It was more like a vid. But the face was smiling, and that made Jane feel a little okay.
‘Hi,’ the voice said. The picture on the wall moved her lips along with the words. ‘I’m Owl.’
SIDRA
Sidra didn’t care much for waiting – not out in public, at least. Installed in a ship, she could’ve sat for hours – days, even – without needing much external input. But with no systems to monitor but her own, and no Linkings to keep her occupied, waiting was a deeply irritating way to spend time. However, this wait, she’d been assured, was worth it. She looked at the others standing in line with her – Pepper, Blue, dozens of strangers, all anticipating entry i
nto the Aurora Pavilion. The never-ending night was thick with the sounds of sapient chatter, the smells of alcohol and varied kinds of smoke, the flicker of luminescent moths trying bravely to nip at open cups and sticky flasks. If the people around her minded the wait, they didn’t show it. This was a Shimmerquick party, and apparently, standing around doing nothing was a fair price to pay for what was about to happen.
Shimmerquick, the GC reference files had said, was a very old holiday. Long before the Aeluons achieved spaceflight, the celebration was one of the few en masse interactions between male and female villages. Back then, Shimmerquick lasted for over a tenday and had no spoken name, as the silent Aeluons had yet to encounter the alien practice of auditory language. But Aeluons had been an integrated species for over a millennium, and their traditions were no longer bound to a single planet. Though Shimmerquick was, at its core, a fertility festival created by a species with a storied history of difficulty in that department, it had become a popular shared tradition in many mixed colonies – Port Coriol included. As Pepper had put it: ‘There aren’t many species that don’t enjoy a big party, especially if its central theme is getting laid.’ Granted, Aeluons had a clear social distinction between recreational and procreative coupling, and Shimmerquick was much more a celebration of life and ancestry than of lust – but apparently that nuance was either lost on or of small consequence to others in attendance. Sidra knew her understanding of such things was limited, but it did seem that most species generally didn’t need much context as to why a party was happening.
Sidra eyed the line stretching far back beyond them. ‘This is one of the smaller celebrations?’ she asked.
‘Yeah.’ Blue nodded. ‘The, um, the ones on the light side are huge.’
‘They’re also a complete clusterfuck,’ Pepper added, ‘and entirely tourists. Everybody here’ – she pointed up and down the line – ‘either lives here or is with someone who does. I also know folks who run this place, which is a big bonus.’
‘We also th-thought an indoor venue would be more comfortable,’ Blue said, smiling at Sidra.
Sidra was a little embarrassed to realise he meant more comfortable for her, but she was grateful, too. This was her first holiday. She didn’t want to spoil the fun for Pepper and Blue by not having a good time herself.
As the line moved forward, Sidra picked up the first sign of an acquired multicultural tradition: music. A species without a sense of hearing had no need for a soundtrack, but clearly they’d gotten the memo that other people couldn’t imagine a party without it. Sidra enjoyed the thump of the drums, the jangle and swing laced through. She liked the patterns within the sounds, the way they made organics move.
The non-Aeluon celebrants they shared the line with were following their host species’ lead as well. With few exceptions, everyone arriving at the event was wearing at least one item in a shade of grey – a hue that, on an Aeluon, would make the colours on their ever-changing cheek patches stand out all the more. For other species, any sort of grey would do, but for Aeluons, more traditional rules were at play. Among their galactic neighbours, Aeluons used the usual set of male-female-neutral pronouns that any species would understand. But among themselves, they were a four-gendered society. At Shimmerquick, their clothing reflected this: black for those who produced eggs, white for those who fertilised them, dark grey for the shons, who cyclically shifted reproductive roles, and light grey for those who could do neither. It was striking to see such a delineated display in a species whose sexual dimorphism was relatively slight compared to other species, and whose apparel had little to no gender distinction on any other day.
Even though the clothing cues could not be missed, Sidra was glad she had downloaded additional social references before leaving home, as the latter two genders were impossible to distinguish through physical features alone. Shons changed reproductive function multiple times throughout a standard, and were always considered fully male or female, depending on the current situation. Calling a shon by a neutral pronoun was considered an insult, unless they were in the middle of a shift. Such terms were reserved for those too young, too old, or simply unable to procreate. As neutral adults of breeding age looked exactly like their fertile counterparts, they generally did not mind the assumptions of other species where gendered pronouns were concerned, but appreciated it when the correct terms were used. Despite knowing that the kit’s Human appearance would absolve her of any pronoun mishaps, Sidra appreciated the colour-coded clothing. She loathed the idea of getting such things wrong.
Sidra glanced down at what the kit was wearing: a top printed with white and grey triangles, a darker grey pair of trousers, and a close-cut jacket, to give the impression that dark side’s cold air affected her. Sidra’s picks, Pepper’s credits. Sidra had felt awkward about that, as she was beginning to feel about most purchases made for her benefit. Her hosts didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, but she wasn’t sure what she was providing them with in return, other than potential trouble.
Blue patted down his pockets as the line crept forward. ‘Ah, damn. I forgot my – my—’
Pepper reached into her pocket and presented a packet of mints. Blue accepted it with a grin and a kiss. Sidra swung the kit’s eyes away, letting them have their moment. It seemed like a nice sort of thing to have.
They reached the door at last, and two young Aeluons greeted them – a boy and a girl, both clad in neutral grey. A painted stripe of the same colour hugged the lower edges of their iridescent cheek patches. The talkboxes in their throats and speech-processing implants in their foreheads were far less decorative than the ones worn by adults, but this made sense. These implants were temporary, and would be swapped out as the children grew.
‘Shimmer quick and shimmer often, friends!’ the boy said with practised pomp. Xyr silver skin was heavily dusted with glitter, and the pulsing blue in xyr cheeks indicated xe took pride in xyr role that evening. ‘How many are you?’
‘Three,’ Pepper said, holding out her wristpatch. Blue did the same, as did Sidra.
The boy scanned their wrists in turn, while the girl picked up a pot of light grey face paint and gestured the Humans forward. She had three other pots on hand, each coloured for a respective gender. Pepper bent down. The girl stuck xyr delicate thumb in the pot, then drew a thick, short line along each side of Pepper’s jaw – the rough equivalent of where her cheek patches would end, if she had any. Sidra noted the symbolism with keen interest as the same was repeated for Blue, then herself. She and her friends were being designated as the equivalent of neutral Aeluons for the evening, and with the exception of children, neutrals were welcome partners in romantic relationships. Mainstream Aeluon aversion to interspecies coupling was known far and wide, and given that the taboo stemmed from a concern regarding the ability to further the species, marking aliens as potential sexual partners at a fertility festival was a bold statement. Such a gesture would not have been made in, say, the Aeluon capital of Sohep Frie, or likely even the gatherings on Coriol’s light side. The Aeluons in attendance at the Aurora were clearly of a more radical stance than most of their peers. Sidra was beginning to understand why Pepper and Blue had chosen this party.
They walked down a coolly lit ramp, which curved and swayed as it wound its way underground. NO REDREED IN COMMON AREAS, a printed wall sign read. SAVE IT FOR THE SMOKING ROOMS.
‘How come?’ Sidra asked. She’d seen about a dozen different recreational substances being consumed in line, including some that required a pipe.
‘Makes Aeluons’ eyes itch,’ Pepper said. ‘Which I imagine would be absolute hell in a closed space like this.’
Down, down, down they walked, music growing louder, the line getting ever more excited. All at once, the wait was over. They arrived.
A deluge of information hit Sidra’s pathways, but in a way that exhilarated her. There was as much happening as there would be in a busy market square, but there were edges here. Walls. Her field of observation was inst
antly defined; her protocols did not reach endlessly outward. The same was true whenever she went down to the tech caves, but the activity there was often confined within shops and behind doors – places she saw only hints of as she walked by. The main hall of the Aurora, on the other hand, was a wide-open space filled with booths and tables and accessible displays. The caves were a series of closed cupboards; this was a buffet. Her field of vision was a nuisance, as always, but much of what overwhelmed her topside and bored her at home was absent here. This . . . this was a party.
‘Look at you.’ Pepper laughed.
Sidra realised the kit was smiling with an open mouth. She wrangled it into a less effusive expression. ‘It’s very exciting.’
‘Good!’ Blue said, squeezing the kit’s shoulder. ‘That’s great.’
‘First order of business,’ Pepper said, clapping her hands together. ‘Drinks.’
Sidra took in as much as she could as they searched for a refreshment vendor. Aside from the decorations – braided garlands of leaves dyed in monochrome, hanging metal charms displaying superstitious numbers for good luck and fertility – she had little immediate impression that this was a specific cultural event. On the contrary, everything about the happenings around them screamed ‘Port Coriol’. She saw an Aandrisk acrobat playing with a shielded ball of water, a Harmagian laughing at a Laru’s joke, a group of Humans blissfully plugged into a portable sim hub. There were places to sit. Places to dance. Nooks filled with cushions and lighted globes and shouting faces. Clouds of smoke – not redreed, she hoped – appearing and disappearing. A cacophony of smells: sweat, slime, food, feathers, flowers. A merchant selling handmade jewellery. A modder showing off a petbot with webbed wings and gem-like eyes. A tray of sugar-snaps upended. A tray of fried root vegetables devoured. The whirs and clicks of gadgets and implants piercing the sound of overlapping languages, all underlaid with the thick thoom-thoom-thoom that made the dancers buck and sway.