Our Lady of the Ice

  Marianella went back to the park three days later. To see Sofia, not Araceli. That had been the start of things.

  Now Marianella walked for another twenty minutes. Her thoughts kept drifting in and out: Eliana and her cramped, homey apartment; Ignacio looming in the headlights of his car; the maintenance drone who had found her shivering beside the dome, its eyes scanning over her, bright in the darkness, turning white when it found her machine parts. The wind knifing her skin. The maintenance drone leading her through the snow to the main dome, the only part of the building it had access to operate.

  That moment of disorientation as she stepped back into the heat, at the edge of a park built into one of the middle-class neighborhoods. Everything green. That blinding, bleeding, terrible green.

  Her thoughts were as diaphanous as spun sugar.

  She was deep into the amusement park now, away from the rides and the shops, into the section once devoted to guest cottages and restaurants. Araceli lived in the nicest of the cottages. SUGAR SNOW COTTAGE announced a sign stuck into the sculpted stucco lawn. The cottage was made to look like a gingerbread house. The ­windows glinted like candies.

  Marianella knocked on the front door. No one answered. She pressed her thumb against the doorbell. A melodic chiming echoed deep inside the house, and then a miniature door sprang open next to the true door, and a tiny mechanical ballerina wobbled out and spun around once.

  “She’s at the workshop,” the ballerina said in a singsong voice. “The workshop, the workshop, the worksh—”

  “I understand.” Marianella had never liked Araceli’s little toys. More amusement park relics.

  The ballerina curtsied and wobbled back inside.

  The workshop. Marianella should have known.

  The workshop was part of the amusement park’s operations center, which was located in the basement of the Ice Palace, at the center of the park. Another twenty-minute walk. Marianella followed the cobblestone path to the main road. The wooden gate of the cottage banged shut behind her. She was dizzy and light-headed. The cold. No, not the cold—the thaw. The machinery embedded in her brain was wearing down.

  She found a bench nearby, wrought iron and once painted silver, and collapsed onto it. The cottages glittered dully around her. She wondered how many robots were lurking inside them, watching her through the windows, trying to make sense of this stranger in their cast-off kingdom. Most were like the ballerina, mechanical performers from the amusement park’s heyday. They didn’t have the intelligence that Sofia and Luciano and Inéz did, but they were slowly developing it, the way all the robots had in the park, day by day, moment by moment. And unlike the maintenance drone, they couldn’t see through skin to learn that Marianella was part of them.

  They looked at her, and only saw a human.

  Marianella slumped back on the bench and looked up at the top of the dome. A maintenance drone slipped past, a dark pinpoint against the white background. She closed her eyes. She knew she shouldn’t—some voice was whispering to her that it was dangerous. Not just some voice. Her voice, her computer voice. The mechanical part of her brain that controlled the human part. Don’t fall asleep, it said in an indolent whine. If you fall asleep, they’ll never be able to repair you.

  Marianella forced her eyes open. The air was so still here. No trees, no plants, no wind. Hardly any heat. What did robots need with any of those things?

  She missed the agricultural dome. She missed the soft rustling wheat surrounding her house.

  “Marianella?”

  The voice jarred her. She jerked up, her head spinning, and it took a moment for her senses to slow down and her brain to catch up. A man was staring at her. Tall and lanky and handsome.

  No, not a man. Luciano.

  “What are you doing here? Do you need assistance?” He sat down beside her, his movements as assured and graceful as always. “Have you incurred some sort of damage?”

  “Maybe.” Marianella rubbed her head. The computer voice had died away, replaced by a faint buzzing in the back of her brain. Electronic feedback. She didn’t think that was a good sign. “I had—oh, Luciano, I had something terrible happen to me, and I did something so, so stupid—”

  The world uprooted itself, and Marianella was lying back, Luciano’s arms around her shoulders. She looked up at him.

  “You need to see Araceli,” he said. “I’m concerned about you.”

  The buzzing was so loud, she couldn’t hear him, but she saw his lips move, and that was how she knew what he was saying.

  “Can you walk?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Had she answered? She wasn’t certain. No, no, it appeared she had—Luciano had slipped his arms under her knees and was lifting her up. She felt weightless. Like snow.

  “Don’t fall asleep,” Luciano said. “I’m very concerned.”

  He was always concerned. They had programmed him that way, sixty years ago.

  The world went white.

  * * * *

  “She’s coming back.”

  “The system restart just blinked on.”

  “Good, good. That was close. It was good you found her.”

  “Yes, I agree.”

  Marianella saw only light, as if she were staring into the snow or the floodlamps. At least the buzzing was gone.

  “Araceli?” Her voice ricocheted around her head, thrumming with feedback. “Inéz? Luciano?”

  “We’re here, love.” Araceli’s voice was smooth, comforting. “Try not to think about anything.”

  Marianella’s head filled with images: Hector and Ignacio and the agricultural domes and Our Lady of the Ice and Eliana and the estate where she grew up. Such a human response. She tried to force the thoughts down, but the minute one disappeared, another replaced it.

  “We’re almost done repairing your hardwiring, and then I’ll reconnect your optics—your eyesight. How does that sound?”

  “Good.” Her voice didn’t thrum as much this time. Marianella’s system was a complicated one, more complicated than most cyborgs. Every part of her human body was reinforced by a ­complex system of tiny machines, powered by the clean-burning atomic energy her father had developed. It was all designed to make her more, to bring the human body itself into the second half of the twentieth century and beyond, into the unimaginable new millennium. The reality was that now her human body couldn’t survive without those machines.

  She was aware of Araceli leaning over her even though she still couldn’t see her; it was the human warmth of her blood and skin. Marianella wanted to reach up and touch her, but she couldn’t move her hand. She couldn’t move anything.

  “Just a few seconds more—there.”

  The world flooded back into focus. Overhead was a high vaulted metal ceiling and rows of bright lights and bits of glittering golden dust. Araceli would hate knowing there was dust anywhere in her workshop, so Marianella didn’t say anything.

  “Is everything working all right?” Inéz asked. She stood next to Araceli, her hand stretched out in Marianella’s direction. Monitoring her progress. “Can you see?”

  “I can see fine.” Marianella sat up. Her muscles ached and she was in her underwear—Araceli must have stripped her down to get to her wiring. “You didn’t cut my clothes away, did you?”

  “Of course not.” Araceli stepped up to the table, holding Eliana’s sweater and trousers. Like the amusement park, she hadn’t changed much in those three years. Still tall and broadly built. The last few dark streaks in her hair had been subsumed by silver. “What the hell happened to you? What have you been doing out in the city?”

  “She wasn’t in the city. She was outside the dome. Weren’t you?”

  Luciano. He was tucked away discreetly to the side, half-shrouded in shadow. He didn’t like being the center of attention.

  “What were you d
oing outside?” Araceli asked. “Was this an ag dome thing?”

  Marianella nodded without thinking.

  Araceli bustled away from the table, over to Inéz, who dropped her hand. Araceli chattered over her shoulder. “You’re going to need to stay here for at least a few hours,” she said. “I’ll get you some food.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Too bad. Your body needs it to start repairing the connections. Luciano, do you mind sticking around while Inéz and I run to the house? In case something goes wrong.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  The door to the workshop slammed shut, echoing in the empty space. It was the same workshop where engineers had programmed and repaired robots for the amusement park four decades ago, everything dull metal and enormous, steam-powered computers.

  Marianella dressed. The exertion made her dizzy.

  “Careful,” Luciano said, sliding up to her and putting one hand on her arm.

  “I’m fine,” she murmured, even though the room whipped around. She sat on the table. “Perfectly fine.”

  Silence settled into the workshop. Marianella took deep breaths, and the rhythm of her chest soothed her. An assistant to her father had taught her that trick, shortly after her father had converted her. It was meant to calm her down, but in reality it was a reminder that she was human, at least in part.

  “I alerted Sofia to your arrival,” Luciano said.

  Another deep breath. “I assumed the maintenance drones would have done that the moment I came up from the train platform. And I know the performer ’bots saw me.”

  “They all did. I confirmed it.”

  Marianella looked over at a pile of unrecognizable parts, twists of wire and bits of metal. She wondered if they’d come from her.

  “She’d like to see you.”

  Marianella hesitated. “I haven’t spoken to her in months.”

  Luciano didn’t respond.

  “She was—unkind—the last time I saw her.”

  “I know.” Luciano sat on the table beside her. He lacked Araceli’s warmth but not her presence. “I am sorry about that.”

  Always apologizing for things that weren’t his fault.

  “I guess I can’t say no,” Marianella said.

  “She’s upset about what happened.” Luciano looked at her as he spoke. “It wasn’t really because of the agricultural dome, was it?”

  Marianella didn’t know how to answer. Before she could decide, the workshop door clanged open. It wasn’t Araceli. It was Sofia.

  “Oh, Luciano,” Marianella said, suddenly tired. “You could have at least warned me.”

  “I’m sorry. She insisted.”

  Sofia glided into the room, a familiar sway in her hips. That sway ignited an old tremor of desire in Marianella’s chest that felt like loss.

  “What happened?” Sofia stopped a few paces from the work­table. She wore a thin, worn-out housedress and no shoes, and her hair was knotted at the back of her neck. But she was still beautiful.

  “Why do you care?”

  Sofia rarely allowed emotions to cross her face, and this moment was no exception. “You’re damaged.”

  “Araceli tended to me.”

  Luciano slipped off the table and disappeared into the shadows. Marianella sighed. She would have liked him to stay there, to ground her.

  “Did you do this for Alejo Ortiz?”

  “No.” A sharp burst of anxiety erupted in her chest—Alejo. He needed to know what had happened. They needed to decide what to do about Ignacio. Marianella surged toward the door, stumbling over her feet.

  “Where are you going?” Sofia’s voice was sharp. “You can’t leave. You need to eat. To get your strength up.” She took a few steps in Marianella’s direction, her face darkening with concern. “You’re behaving rashly,” she said.

  They stared at each other. Marianella was still weak from the repairs and trembling with anxiety. She kept remembering the times when Sofia had visited her at Southstar, always in the summer when Hector went away to the mainland for business. The memories made her warm; they made her ashamed. Everything about Sofia was confusing.

  Her thoughts buzzed. Yes, she needed to eat. But she needed to formulate a plan, too, her next series of steps. And the first thing wasn’t even to warn Alejo anyway; he could take care of himself. He had the strength of the AFF behind him.

  She needed to secure her documents.

  “What happened?” Sofia’s voice was hard and commanding. Marianella wished Araceli would come back.

  “I was thrown out into the cold.”

  “By whom?”

  Marianella sighed. There was no point in playing coy; Sofia was unrelenting when she wanted an answer.

  “One of Hector’s old associates,” she said. “Ignacio Cabrera.”

  Something shifted in Sofia’s expression. A glint flashed across her face and was gone. Marianella wasn’t certain she’d even seen it.

  “The gangster?” Sofia said.

  “You’ve heard of him.”

  “Yes.” Sofia glanced at Luciano. “Why was he trying to hurt you? Does he know what you are?”

  “Not at the moment, no. But when it becomes clear that I didn’t die out there—” If only it weren’t winter, if only she could book passage aboard one of the icebreakers and escape. Get away from Ignacio and the danger of the city. But it would mean leaving the ag dome behind too. Her proof that she wasn’t a monster, that she wasn’t entirely a machine.

  Marianella closed her eyes and took the deep breaths that reminded her that she was human.

  “You should stay here, then.” Sofia’s voice was calm. “Until you decide how to handle Cabrera.”

  Marianella went still. When she had gone into Our Lady of the Ice to pray, she had asked God to tell her what to do next, not knowing why she was asking. Now she did. She’d been asking God to help her formulate a course of action. And maybe He’d brought her Sofia. It seemed strange for God to use Sofia as His vessel.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I think you’re right. At least for the time being.” She wouldn’t warn Alejo in person, but she could program a drone to send a message to him. The park drones would all be secure. The same for Southstar—she could use the call station in the park to contact her estate drones and activate their protocols to make the house look occupied, turning on music and lights and the television set at programmed intervals. Her society friends would assume she’d returned to her old reclusive ways. They were too fickle to come looking for her beyond a phone call.

  That left her documents.

  Marianella faced Sofia. “I need a change of clothes and my docu­ments. They’re back at Southstar.”

  “I can fetch them for you.” Luciano stepped out of his place along the wall. “I’m familiar with the house.”

  “No.” Marianella shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. Ignacio is probably watching the estate—”

  “We know how to hide from humans,” Sofia said. “Luciano will be fine.”

  “It’s true,” Luciano said. “You needn’t worry about me.”

  Marianella looked back and forth between them. She didn’t like this, but she hated the thought of her documents lying vulnerable in the house.

  “I took them out of the safe after the robbery,” Marianella said.

  “Yes, you told me. You moved them into the hidden panel behind the refrigerator.”

  “Good,” Sofia said. “You can stay here until it’s safe.”

  Marianella ran her hand, still shaking, through her hair. “Until it’s safe,” she murmured, knowing she couldn’t stay in hiding forever.

  The door opened, and Marianella’s heartbeat skittered, but it was only Araceli and Inéz, weighed down with canvas sacks.

  “Got you food!” Araceli called out. “Oh, hello, Sofia
.”

  “Hello.” Sofia gave a brief smile. “I’m glad you were able to repair her.”

  Marianella closed her eyes at the word “repair.” Sofia knew she didn’t like it.

  “She’s all fixed up.” Araceli dropped her bags onto the table and turned to Marianella. “But she needs to eat.”

  “I know,” Marianella said. The scent of roasted meat wafted through the control room, and the back of Marianella’s mouth watered. She needed to activate her estate domes, she needed to contact Alejo about handling Ignacio, she needed to hold her documents close to her heart and know they were safe.

  But first, she needed to eat.

  * * * *

  Alejo responded to Marianella’s message within the hour. The drone found her easily and zipped through a hatch in the wall of the room where she sat reading that day’s newspaper, looking for any mention of her name and, thankfully, not finding any. The drone was an older model, retrofitted to work with atomic power rather than steam, but still possessing a burnished bronze exterior and now-pointless release valves. Marianella watched it roll across the floor, her heart fluttering against her chest. She didn’t know what Alejo would say. She hoped he’d say something, hoped the drone hadn’t been intercepted by Cabrera or the city or someone worse, a phantom enemy looking for cyborgs.

  For a moment, Marianella didn’t move. The old park decorations piled in the corner lurked on the edges of her vision, and she felt as if they were alive, as if they were watching her.

  She reached down and pressed the playback button.

  Immediately, the drone began to glow beneath its bronze shell, a pure white light that could never have existed when the drone was made. There came a hiss and crackle like on record speakers, and then Alejo’s voice, distorted by the recording.

  “I am so glad to hear you’re not dead.” Even filtered through the drone’s ancient recording devices, his worry sounded sincere. “I heard from Cabrera last night—the asshole sent one of his goons out to my house. My house, can you believe it?”