Our Lady of the Ice

  She quaked with excitement.

  One of Cabrera’s bodyguards appeared at her table. She could smell the powder in his gun and the spice in his aftershave.

  “Hello, Diego,” she said.

  “Cabrera’s ready for you.”

  “Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that.” She stood up, gathering her handbag and her coat. Diego walked side by side with her through the dining room and down the hallway. He didn’t say anything—he never said anything. Some deep-rooted part of her wondered why, wondered how she had displeased him.

  She hated that part of herself.

  They walked to Cabrera’s office, where Sebastian was waiting outside the door. He nodded at Diego, then pushed the door open.

  The office was dim but tidy. A row of filing cabinets stood along the back wall; a painting of a horse hung between the two windows.

  And a record player waited in the corner, music lilting softly in the background.

  Sofia stopped.

  “Music,” she said. “We had a deal, Mr. Cabrera.”

  Cabrera leaned back in his big leather chair and smiled. “I swore to never play anything from before 1936,” he said, “and this little number was released last year.”

  Sofia didn’t move from the doorway.

  “Relax,” he said. “If we’re going to work together, you’re going to need to learn to enjoy music.”

  Sofia knew that she would never enjoy music.

  “Come, sit, sit.” Cabrera snapped his fingers in Sebastian’s direction. Sebastian nodded and disappeared down the hall. Sofia watched him go, then turned back to Cabrera. The music ­whispered on, rubbing her nerves raw.

  “I sent him to fetch your payment. It’ll take a few moments. I didn’t want to bring it off the ship just yet.” Cabrera made his face look solemn. “I do have some bad news, I’m afraid.”

  “What?” Sofia dug her fingernails into her palm. The song fizzled into silence, and another took its place.

  “I couldn’t quite get all the things you asked for. This time.” Cabrera held up one hand and pressed the other to his chest. “I’ve got my men seeking out the rest, but we may need to go north, up into Brazil. Some of the items are quite obsolete, and we’ll need to find Autômatos Teixeira’s old supplier in order to acquire them.” He grinned. “But I swear you’ll get them as soon as possible.”

  Sofia stared at him.

  “Oh, really, Sofia, just sit. Is the music bothering you so much? I’ll turn it off.” He lifted the record needle. The silence was beautiful.

  “Thank you.” Sofia glided across the office, cautious. She sat down in front of his desk and crossed her feet at her ankles. “I’m sorry to hear you couldn’t acquire everything.” She regulated her tone as best she could; Araceli had told her this was likely, that some of the equipment, as old and outdated as it was, might be hard to find. She still thought he might be lying.

  “You’ve done excellent work with my icebreakers, and I want to ensure you receive the payment you deserve.”

  Sofia nodded. She found it difficult to look at him. Instead, her gaze was drawn to the silent, unmoving record player. Maybe she should have brought Luciano after all. Of course, he couldn’t have done anything about this situation either.

  “Such excellent work,” Cabrera repeated, and Sofia was aware of Diego lurking behind her, leaning up against the wall. “Did you know I used to have a former park engineer do the reprogramming for me? He died. Heart attack.”

  Sofia didn’t say anything. She remembered crawling into the engineer’s bedroom in the middle of the night. She remembered the sight of him lying stretched out on his bed, the way he’d let out a sigh when she’d slid the needle full of poison into the vein of his neck. It had been the first stage of her plan. No one but she and Luciano and Inéz knew about that moment.

  “A shame, of course, but being a city man, he was costly. I have to say, I like working with robots. Even having to send a man into Brazil, you’re still cheaper than he was. Helps my bottom line.” He smiled and folded his hands over his desk like a businessman.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Sofia said.

  Silence settled around them, burning at Sofia’s ears. The office was lit with green-globed lamps that cast strange, liquid shadows across the floor. Cabrera leaned back over his record player, and Sofia tightened her grip on her handbag.

  No.

  He rifled through a stack of albums and pulled out one with a sleek silver cover. She didn’t recognize it, but that didn’t mean anything. She’d never seen the album covers when she’d worked the dance houses.

  “My niece likes this one,” Cabrera said.

  “No music, please.”

  “Sofia, Sofia, I’m just trying to get you accustomed to our ways.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “This isn’t like anything you’ve ever heard, I promise.”

  It better not be, she thought.

  He put on the record. As the needle crackled, tension racked down Sofia’s spine. The music started, soft and faint, an opera ­singer’s shimmering wail.

  She didn’t recognize it. And opera was never used for programming anyway.

  “Told you,” Cabrera said. “Like nothing you ever heard before.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what? Playing a bit of music while we wait for Sebastian to bring your payment? I do this with all of my contract workers. I like to make you feel welcome.”

  Sofia glared at him. Her insides twisted and churned. Rage coiled around her like a wire. She hadn’t been built for strength. None of them had. Strength was not required to be the amusement at an amusement park. But she wished she could leap across the desk, wrap her fingers around Cabrera’s throat, strangle him until he slumped down dead.

  She didn’t move.

  Cabrera smiled. “Sebastian is certainly taking his time, isn’t he?”

  “Perhaps you should hire someone more efficient.” Her words were ice. The music played on in the background, a mournful Italian soprano. Sofia could speak Italian, but she couldn’t hear the lyrics, not with the music digging into her programming, trying to find a connection.

  “One or two of the items were rather large. It’ll take some time for Sebastian to prepare your car.”

  Sofia clenched her fingers around the armrest.

  “Could you at least turn off the music?” she said. “Please.”

  Cabrera tapped his fingers against the desk. “I’m trying to help you.” He wasn’t. She could see it in his cold shark’s smile.

  “Please.”

  Cabrera closed his eyes in defeat. “Fine. No appreciation for culture.” He lifted the needle. In the sudden buzzing silence Sofia’s thoughts stopped trying to find instructions.

  But Cabrera didn’t turn away from the record player. Instead, he extracted another album. This cover he kept hidden.

  Sofia went cold.

  “Just one more.” He peered up at her, eyes glinting.

  “No.”

  “Sofia.” He said her name as if it were a sound to comfort a baby. “You know I couldn’t stand to hurt you. You’re too important to me.”

  He switched out the albums. Sofia was rigid. She knew what he was going to do. He was a dangerous man. Araceli had said that. A dangerous man, and Sofia had corrected her—a dangerous human. But now Cabrera was going to poison her thoughts, and she didn’t know how to stop him.

  The needle dropped.

  The speakers went hiss, hiss.

  And Alberto Echagüe began to sing. “Paciencia.”

  But the singer and the song didn’t register in Sofia’s thoughts. This wasn’t one of the new songs, the safe songs. Those, she heard the way a human would. This song, she could only hear through her programming.

  The music was a code, and she was programmed to recognize it.
The notes and beats and melodies told her what to do.

  Dance, the music whispered. I want you to dance.

  Sofia stood up, pushed the chair away. Cabrera leaned back and watched her, not with lust or wonder or even admiration but with a cold calculating menace, as if he wanted to see what she was capable of.

  She lifted her hands above her head, twisted her spine contrapposto. And then she danced.

  It was a tango. A nighttime dance. She didn’t have a partner, but she still swept across the room, twisting her hips and stomping her feet. The music pounded in her brain, and it stripped away everything: Cabrera and Diego, the dimly lit office, her supplies. As far as Sofia was aware, she was performing in the ballroom of the Ice Palace, cast in blue lights, her bustier dripping with sparkles.

  This was what she was programmed to do.

  The music stopped. The flood of information ceased, and Sofia collapsed. She didn’t hit the floor. Diego caught her and helped her to her feet without speaking, without looking at her, and moved the chair back into place. Sofia slumped into it.

  Cabrera’s face was a mask.

  “Don’t ever do that to me again,” Sofia said.

  “It doesn’t seem to me that you have much choice in the matter.”

  I will kill you, Sofia thought.

  “It wasn’t difficult,” he went on, “finding the old songs. The city offices keep all the old park records.” Nothing changed in his voice, in his expression. “I was surprised to learn all you’re capable of.”

  Sofia trembled. Her thoughts bled together, indistinct, fragmentary.

  “I respect you, Sofia. I’ve always loved Echagüe. You dance beautifully, by the way. I would never have asked you to do any more than that.”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  Cabrera pulled his head back, a false recoil. Then he laughed. “Sofia! Did you say that to your clients?”

  “I didn’t have clients,” she said. “I had masters. But I don’t anymore.” She stood up and turned to Diego. “Where’s Sebastian?” she demanded. “He’s waiting for some sign, right? You tell him Mr. Cabrera’s done with his little game.”

  Diego looked away from her.

  “It wasn’t a game,” Cabrera said.

  Sofia glowered at Diego. But he didn’t move.

  “It wasn’t a game,” Cabrera said again. “It was a reminder.”

  Sofia turned around, slowly, her whole body aching with fear. Cabrera smiled a hollow smile at her.

  Cabrera was not human, she realized. Not in the sense that humans meant the word.

  “A reminder,” he said, “not to cross me. You think I did that to you because you’re a robot?”

  “Yes.”

  Cabrera laughed. “You aren’t any different from the weasels at the city offices that I keep on my payroll. Oh, the wiring’s different, I guess. Same result.” His eyes were empty. “Everyone has something, some hidden control panel. Maybe not quite as literal as yours, but there’s always something. A wife, a little boy. A ­fucking pet.” He shook his head. “You aren’t special, my dear.”

  Sofia felt hollow. The music always did that to her. It stripped her of her own mind and then didn’t bother to replace it.

  “Ah,” Cabrera said, “and here’s Sebastian now.” He stood up. The door clicked open. Sofia refused to look away from Cabrera. Footsteps. Voices. Human warmth. Everything came to her through a fog of rage.

  “Your keys, my dear.” Cabrera reached into his pocket and then held out one hand, palm up, the keys glinting in the lamplight. “I expect to see the car the next time I see you.”

  “Everything’s there?” she asked dully.

  “All of the things I was able to acquire, yes. In matters of business, I’m a man of my word, and you’ll see the rest of your payment soon.”

  Sofia grabbed the keys, shuddering at the moment his skin touched hers. Diego and Sebastian stood like guards on either side of the door. She looked from one to the other. Neither met her eye.

  “I haven’t seen much evidence of that today,” Sofia said.

  Cabrera didn’t answer. She left the room and walked down the hallway. Her joints, her movement, were all out of balance, but she knew that was just an aftereffect of the music. This was the first time she’d heard music that old in years, and it had strained her system.

  The car was parked beside the docks, one of Cabrera’s sleek black automobiles. His trademark. She opened the trunk. The ticker tape was there, along with a handful of some of the less obscure models of vacuum tubes. They were all tucked away in boxes and wrapped up in plastic. The clockwork engines and the programming key were missing. Of course. The most important things, and he hadn’t managed to get them.

  Sofia slammed the trunk shut and looked out over the water. Only one boat was in port, an actual shipping boat, not a renovated cruise ship like the others. Its lights glimmered in the darkness, and she could smell the brine and wind of the iced-over sea.

  Someday the humans would all be gone, and then she could tear down the domes and smell the sea and the ice whenever she wanted.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MARIANELLA

  Marianella stepped off the train, and cold wind rushed around her. No one stepped off with her because no one else had been on the train. It was a private line, running from a station tucked away at the edge of Hope City, through the snow and wind and ice to the agricultural dome.

  This stop, with its simple wooden platform, its bare light fixtures, was the end of the line. The train sat on its tracks, engine sounds dying away. It would wait for her.

  Marianella stepped down from the station and followed the path until she came to the robot who guarded the entrance to the fields of crops. It was an older, repurposed model—human-shaped, although taller and wider and cast in dull burnished metal, with a round, old-fashioned speaker instead of a mouth. She had installed atomic lights into his faceplate, the new set into the old. As those bright white lights scanned over her, warmth tickled her skin.

  “Hello, Escobar,” she said.

  “Hello, Lady Luna.” His voice was scratchy and distorted through the speaker.

  “You know you don’t have to call me that.”

  Escobar didn’t answer. He wasn’t intelligent enough to understand the complex system of human names. But Marianella always reminded him anyway. She did not like robots to call her Lady Luna.

  The scan finished. Escobar stepped aside and pressed his palm flat against the door. His palm was the key and the doorknob both, a design trademarked by the city’s founders. With a click and a grinding of gears, the door slid open, and Marianella at once smelled the sweet organic scent of dirt and oxygen and growing things.

  A little over a week had passed since the party. Marianella had delayed the trip to check on the maintenance robots longer than she’d intended because the party had brought with it a flurry of social engagements—her phone had rung constantly the last few days, old friends and acquaintances asking her to come for a visit. This was the first chance she’d had to get away, and she’d been looking forward to it. It was always a joy to dress in her city clothes and ride the private train to the agricultural dome.

  To her agricultural dome.

  Marianella stopped in the middle of the main path, next to the cornfield. She slipped out of her coat and waited the three seconds for the domestic robot to notice her; it came swooping out of the rows of corn and purred as she draped it with her coat, her gloves, her scarf, her hat. The dome was warm, warmer even than Southstar, and certainly warmer than Hope City. It had to be, for all the plants to grow.

  For a moment, Marianella didn’t move, only stood in the center of the path, taking in everything around her. The ag dome was not just a container of seeds but a seed itself, the start of a new nation of Antarctica. A hundred years from now this dome would be immortalized, and Hope
City would once again represent the best of humanity.

  The wind switched on. Elsewhere in Hope City, wind was a luxury, but here it was used to re-create the natural environment and to help disseminate seeds. The corn rippled and rustled, a hollow empty sound she felt in her chest. Beyond the corn were other crops: wheat, sorghum, and potatoes, plus short test rows of grapes and a cluster of apple trees. All the crops had been chosen based on the mild climate of this dome; other domes, later domes, would be hotter and more humid, for growing sugarcane and citrus fruit. Marianella had chosen every crop herself, all of them designed to say, Look, we can grow food, just like the mainland.

  Marianella turned and walked down the path.

  She stopped at the crossroads, where the path split off into the corn, leading to the sorghum and the wheat. She lifted her head and whistled the first few bars from the “Ave Maria.” For a moment nothing happened but the wind. Then robots gathered along the roof of the dome, dark scurrying spots that coalesced above her head. She watched them, squinting against the floodlamps. Twenty-five total. They had helped build the dome in secret, and now they ran it. They adjusted the sunlight, they activated the wind and the rain, they pulled weeds and watched for rot.

  She whistled the hymn again, and the robots dropped down on invisible filament, showering around her, landing in the dirt with soft dry puffs. Marianella knelt down, mindful of her stockings, and picked up the closest. It was the size of a cat and shaped like a beetle, with a row of lightbulbs illuminated across its back. Marianella twisted each bulb, and they winked out in turn.

  All around her, the robots’ lights went out. The dome seemed suddenly empty.

  Marianella walked a few paces away from the empty robots and placed the one she cradled in her arms on the ground. She pressed an indentation on its underside and held it in place for ten seconds, counting under her breath. When she dropped her hand away, the robot split open, revealing a tangle of metal wires that caught the reflection of the floodlights.

  “I know you’re fine,” she murmured under her breath. “But I suppose we can never be too careful.”