Our Lady of the Ice

  Fascinating. But sickening at the same time. Sofia let the information wash over her, and that heaviness weighed her down. So did other things.

  And then the flow of information shifted, back to financial reports for the mainland. Sofia yanked the cord out of her head, and the world was suddenly full of silence. She sat for a moment, readjusting to being alone. She checked to make sure the information about the icebreakers was still secure in its secret place; then she wound up the cord and slipped it into her handbag. She left the computer room, closing the door behind her. Luis Villanueva was still stretched out on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, his irises moving back and forth, back and forth. He didn’t notice her.

  Sofia stepped into her shoes and left his apartment.

  More time had passed than she had realized—almost two hours. People were coming home from their offices, filling up the lobby with human warmth and beating hearts, with strained laughter, with the scent of alcohol and stale perfume. No one noticed her, but she memorized faces anyway. Just in case.

  A television was turned on in the lobby’s center. Humans clustered around it, watching with bored disinterest. Sofia wouldn’t have cared, except she caught a glimpse of one of the maintenance drones from the power plants on the screen. She stopped. Studio lights bounced off the robot’s shell, sending little white flares across the camera. A table was set up with electronics equipment nearby.

  It was the dismantling, she realized with a jolt. Punishment for the blackout on Last Night.

  An engineer in a white lab coat appeared on-screen. He said something. The sound was turned down, but Sofia could read his lips: Again, this was an isolated malfunction, not the work of pro-­Independence terrorists. No evidence has come to light supporting rumors about an AFF-manufactured computer virus. There is nothing to be concerned about.

  Sofia turned away so she wouldn’t see, although she knew when it occurred, because there was a momentary pause in the chatter of conversation. A sudden vacuum of sound. Something twisted inside her.

  She had known nothing about the blackout until it had happened. It was true that some of the maintenance drones were in the process of attaining their own peculiar sentience, but even those drones had denied their involvement, in their weird, nearly incomprehensible way. Sofia was inclined to believe the drones; she suspected this was the humans’ fault, all their old steam technology falling apart around them while they generated atomic power for the mainland—power they couldn’t touch. Stupid, stupid. If she weren’t so impatient, she’d just let them destroy themselves.

  That robot that had just been publicly dismantled, its insides ripped apart and shown to everyone in the city, was an innocent victim. Not that humans cared. A robot was a robot. In all likelihood, they’d grabbed the first one that hadn’t scattered when they’d come chasing after it.

  The thing that had twisted inside her tightened now, knotted. She left the lobby of the apartment building, not wanting to be surrounded by humans any longer.

  Yes, the blackout had certainly been the humans’ fault. They’d overtaxed their resources on Last Night, that sordid display of senti­mentality. Sofia knew that it was called Last Night because it was the last night that humans were allowed to leave the city before the spring. A client had told her that once, a long time ago when she had still done what she’d been programmed for. She had asked him, and he had told her, lolling on top of the bedsheets with his body coated in sweat, the Last Night celebrations raging outside.

  Even then, when her thoughts had been clouded by the humans’ programming, she had thought it strange they called it Last Night when ships still sailed from the docks every day during the winter, manned by robots. When that client had left, she had stretched out on the bed, the night air warm against her skin, and she had thought, There is no Last Night for robots.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ELIANA

  Eliana walked three blocks over to Julio’s, wrapped up tight in her heavy wool coat. The air felt even colder now than it had this morning when she’d dragged herself out of bed and away from Diego. She was supposed to meet Maria here at seven thirty. “I got the name,” Maria’d told her two hours ago on the phone, speaking over the trills and buzzes of the office. “Easy.”

  Eliana’d promised her ten dollars for her trouble. Maria liked helping because she found it exciting, and Eliana found it much easier to give money to a friend than to one of Mr. Vasquez’s contacts. Paying for information was part of the job cost, but if Eliana couldn’t save the money for her visa, she’d rather see it go to Maria.

  It was only six o’clock now, the dome lights just starting to dim over the city. Diego had called Eliana too, much to Eliana’s surprise. She really hadn’t expected to see him for another couple of weeks.

  “Meet me for drinks,” he’d said, and had hung up without waiting for an answer.

  Fortunately, “drinks” always meant Julio’s, no matter who Eliana was meeting. She found Diego there easily enough, sitting at the bar in the pool of blue light from the television. It was warmer here, with an actual fire in the fireplace, and mostly empty. Eliana sat down beside him and ordered a beer and a plate of fish strips.

  “I could’ve been doing something,” she said.

  “What?” Diego dragged on his cigarette. He was staring at the television like he expected something interesting to happen. It was just the news broadcast right now, talking about the Peronists and the elections on the mainland.

  “When you called, asshole. You just told me to show up. I could’ve been doing something.”

  Smoke wreathed Diego’s hand, filtering the light of the television. He glanced at her. “You weren’t, though.”

  “How do you know?’

  “You showed up.” He grinned and turned back to the television.

  Eliana grinned back at him, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit one. He kept staring at the television. They weren’t talking about the mainland anymore but the blackout on Last Night. The maintenance drone that malfunctioned. They were about to dismantle it.

  “Is this why you called me over here?” Eliana asked, pointing at the television with her cigarette. “You wanted to watch this?”

  “Nah, the bartender wanted it on. I was down here, felt like seeing you.” He wrapped one arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “Might have been thinking about this morning.”

  Eliana laughed. “I’ll bet you were.”

  Diego grinned. Eliana took a long drink of beer, broke the end off one of her fish strips. The dismantling hadn’t happened yet; it was just some man in a white coat talking to the camera. Diego idly watched the television, one finger wiping at the condensation on his glass. He wasn’t one for the news, although she’d seen him pick up a paper whenever Cabrera’s name showed up in the headlines. It was sweet in its way. Eliana knew that Diego’s involvement with Cabrera consisted of running errands and distributing contraband, an obligation born from the fact that Cabrera had taken Diego in after his parents had died when he was a teenager. That was another thing she and Diego had in common—they were both orphans.

  Eliana shivered and remembered Maria chastising her after she’d first met Diego. Dating a gangster! she’d shouted, when the two of them had been alone. What had Eliana said in response? This is the smokestack district. What do you expect? But that had been the glib response. The truth was, Diego had made her feel safe. Her parents were dead; she didn’t have any other relatives. And here was Diego, who was constant and inconstant at the same time. For Eliana, that was ideal. Too many men wanted a wife, but marriage and children were just traps keeping people in Hope City. She’d seen it with her parents. Diego wouldn’t do that to her.

  Still, sometimes she wondered how dangerous Diego was. She wondered that now, sitting with him in front of the television. But she didn’t pull away.

  On-screen
, they had wheeled out the robot. It was an old enough model that Eliana remembered learning about it in a grade-school civics lesson. It looked sort of like a millipede, segmented and million-­legged. The dismantling was in a studio, the lights as bright as the sun. They bounced off the robot’s metal shell. It had something like a face, a little black screen like eyes. Eliana focused in on it, expecting to see fear. But there was only a little black screen.

  Somehow, that was worse.

  “We assure the people of Hope City that this was an isolated incident,” the engineer said. “The rotopedes are an older model, one we’re currently in the process of replacing. The steam power is not as reliable, and so glitches occur. We are working on testing each rotopede in the city to avoid another failure such as what happened on Last Night.”

  “You think they’ll actually go through with it?” Diego tapped his cigarette over the ashtray, eyes on the screen.

  “Why wouldn’t they?” Eliana looked at him so she wouldn’t have to look at the robot’s empty alien face. “It’s the only way to fix a problem in the dome’s system, isn’t it?”

  “I guess.” Diego took a long drag off his cigarette. “Assuming it actually was a problem in the dome’s system.”

  “What?” Eliana stared at him. “Are you saying it wasn’t a system failure? That—what? Someone did something?” Anxiety calcified inside her. “Did you have something to do with the blackout? Is that it? You feel guilty, that they’re blaming some poor robot?”

  Diego turned to her. His face was as blank as the robot’s. “You think I turned off the goddamn power?”

  Eliana didn’t have an answer. He went back to watching the dismantling. She turned away from him, but the only place to look was at the television, where the engineer was hunched over the robot, cracking open its shell like a crab’s. All of its insides glittered. It was almost pretty, but her stomach turned into knots.

  “Jesus, that’s what I get for seeing a cop.”

  “I’m not a cop,” Eliana said automatically, unable to look away from the dismantling. She felt uneasy. Her skin seemed loose, like it was sliding over her bones.

  The engineer stepped aside, and the robot’s face was intact, staring at her.

  “Why would I turn off the power, huh?” Diego was still staring at the television, the light washing out his features. “I’d want to be off the continent before I even thought about it. And I sure as fuck wouldn’t do that when you were in the middle of a Last Night parade. Jesus.”

  On the television, the engineer announced that the robot was now completely inoperative. Dead, thought Eliana, and then Diego’s words registered with her—when you were in the middle of a Last Night parade.

  “Oh,” Eliana said.

  “I may be an asshole,” Diego said, “but I don’t want to kill everyone in the city.”

  “I didn’t think—”

  “Whatever. It’s done.” Diego reached over and turned off the television. The bartender didn’t protest. Diego leaned back on his stool and smoked his cigarette down to the filter and then lit another.

  “I’m sorry,” Eliana said. “I really didn’t think that you—that you would do that. I’m just on edge because of something I’m work­ing on.”

  Diego sighed. “You better be staying away from Cabrera.”

  “I am.” An almost-truth.

  “You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’ve had a long day too.” Diego drained the last of his drink. “Let’s go back to your place.”

  Eliana stared at him. He stared back, then stubbed out his cigarette.

  “Or I’ll go home,” he said.

  “I’m meeting Maria in an hour.” Eliana looked at her beer and her food. She’d hardly touched it. “We can wait at my place, though, if you want. I just— That thing had a face. Did you see?”

  “They all have faces.” Diego slid off his bar stool, grabbed Eliana’s hand, and pulled her over beside him. The dark scent of his cologne washed over her, and when he kissed her, she let him. Easier than asking questions.

  * * * *

  Maria was late, which wasn’t much of a surprise. Eliana’d gone back to her apartment with Diego and they’d fucked quickly and frantically on her sofa, his breath hot against her neck. She’d left him sleeping there, kissing him on the forehead before she’d left. He’d moaned like he was dreaming.

  Julio’s was as empty as before. She ordered another beer and switched on the television while she waited. The news program was over, replaced by a Brazilian variety show dubbed over in mainland Castilian. Eliana watched it and thought about Diego, how darkly he’d stared at the dismantling, how desperately he’d touched her afterward.

  “Hey, so sorry we’re late!”

  Maria. Eliana turned around on her bar stool, and Maria and Essie came swishing through the maze of tables. Both were still dressed in their office clothes, although Essie was wearing an ugly sealskin coat, one of the many sartorial emblems of Independence.

  “Both of you,” Eliana said, sipping at her beer.

  “She picked me up.” Maria pointed at Essie, who gave a sheepish little wave.

  “Juan gave me a car,” she said.

  “He what?” Juan was one of her artist friends. This one was more than a friend, apparently.

  “Yeah.” Essie tossed her hair as she slid onto her stool. “It’s not much. Probably twenty years old. He said it was a Last Night gift.”

  “A what?”

  “It was his first Last Night. He didn’t know gifts aren’t a part of it. His family’s mainland. He moved here ’cause he said the art scene’s better.”

  “So is this one a terrorist too?” Maria asked.

  Essie glared at her. “Just because someone supports Independence doesn’t mean they’re a terrorist.” She sighed. “Not that I think Juan really gets it. I still like him, though.”

  “Of course you do,” Maria said, and Essie made a face at her.

  Eliana reached over and turned the sound down on the tele­vision. “So,” she said, “you said you got the name—”

  “Well, yes.” Maria pulled a small white envelope out of her purse and set it down on the bar. Eliana leaned forward.

  “I see you put it in an envelope again.”

  “Well,” Maria said, grinning mischievously, “that’s what they always ask me to do down at Correia and Gallego.”

  Correia and Gallego was the biggest of the downtown PI firms, and the one that tended to take most of Eliana’s business. Eliana knew Maria was joking, but hearing the name made her cringe anyway, a reminder that she was living on C&G’s leftovers.

  “They tell me that’s what you’re supposed to do,” Maria said.

  “The only thing you’re supposed to do is not get caught.” Mr. Vasquez had told her that. It was one of the first things he’d told her, in fact, when she’d been just his secretary. Eliana picked the envelope up and ripped it open. The name was written on the back of a telephone message slip. Pablo Sala. Beneath that, a street address. Just what Eliana had asked for.

  “Oh, no worries there.” Maria laughed. “I just told Ligia—she’s the head of the steno pool down in Engineering—I told her that I needed a list of anybody who’d ever worked with the new gyro ’bots. For payroll, you know.” She winked. Eliana laughed. “Turns out that guy’s the only one.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. They haven’t released many yet. About ten or so. They’ve got atomic power, so you have to specialize to work with them. The city will be adding more people during the winter, apparently, and even bringing in some new men from the mainland come spring. You’re lucky.” She nodded.

  “Yeah.” Eliana looked down at the name, scrawled out in Maria’s neat, schoolteacher handwriting. “You sure you didn’t make anyone suspicious?”

  “Are you kidding? Ligia and I are pals. I never even
saw this Mr. Sala.”

  “Okay, good.” Eliana slid the telephone slip back into the envelope. “Thank you,” she said. “This really helps a lot.”

  “Of course.” Maria laughed. “What friends are for, right?”

  “Right.”

  All three of them clinked their glasses together.

  The Brazilian variety show had gone to commercial. An advertisement for hand soap. Eliana watched it as she drank her beer and mulled over the case, Essie and Maria laughing beside her. The next step was the difficult one. Sala had either stolen the documents himself or been forced to program the robot to do so. The other option was that Cabrera had already gotten his hands on one of these robots, and Sala had nothing to do with it. Eliana hoped that wasn’t the case. Otherwise, she’d have to start from scratch, and deal with Cabrera besides. Diego wouldn’t like it. Neither, in all honesty, would Eliana. She might have a license for her gun, but she didn’t want to have to shoot it.

  The soap commercial ended, and it was replaced by an image of Marianella Luna, speaking directly to the camera.

  Eliana immediately reached over and turned up the sound.

  “—feed the city,” Lady Luna said. “Your donation will go toward research and development of a series of agricultural domes, based on modern dome design, that will help Hope City, and all of Antarctica, achieve her independence.”

  She looked even more like a movie star than she had in Eliana’s office, her hair twisted up on top of her head in an elaborate bouffant, a diamond necklace shimmering at her throat. A ­cluster of white albatross feathers was pinned to her lapel, a show of Independence solidarity. Then Alejo Ortiz stepped into the frame. They smiled at each other like old friends.

  “Support for the agricultural domes comes from all walks of life here in Hope City,” he said. Everything about him was styled, molded into place, including his own albatross charm. Eliana found it off-putting. “Donation centers can be found in several convenient locations across the city. Please call to locate your nearest one.”