“Not since I left China ten years ago.”
“Okay, then,” the doctor returned. “Where can I set up?”
“There’s a guest room at the end of the hallway,” Sumi replied. “Will that do?”
“Fine. Give me a few minutes to prepare.” The man walked off, Sumi turning to Masters.
Reaching out, Kate tousled Sumi’s severely combed back hair, bringing it down on the sides and making bangs. She smiled with satisfaction when she was done as if, only now, could she truly accept Sumi as a woman.
“I’m ready back here!” Masters called from the guest room.
“Coming!” Sumi said.
Kate stopped her. “Sit for a second. I want to ask you something personal.”
“About sex, right?” Sumi said, feeling herself tighten up involuntarily. “I’ll tell you what I told Mr. Li. I have had to suppress those urges in order to maintain my charade.”
“Are you asexual?”
“No.”
“Do you like girls or boys?”
“I’m not attracted to women. Why are you asking me these things?”
“Okay. What kind of man do you find attractive?”
“Kate,” Sumi said, nervous, “what are you getting at here?”
“Just answer my question. What kind of man attracts you—young stud? Muscleman?”
“No.” Chan laughed. “This is silly. A game.”
“Play. What kind of man?”
“I don’t know … intelligent. Someone who’ll give me a mental challenge. Middle-aged … past all that young man’s nonsense. Strong but vulnerable. Sure of himself but open to interpretation…”
“You’re describing Crane.”
“What?”
“This is Crane you’re talking about.”
Sumi flinched, a hand coming to her mouth.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
Sumi gasped and turned away. Now Masters knew all her secrets. The woman hugged her from behind, resting her head on Sumi’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, then gently turned Sumi to face her.
“I’ve got something for you,” Kate said and held up a small metal slot with double sets of three-inch-long sensors sticking out the end.
“A chip port?”
“My Dad can have one of these in your skull in five minutes. Trust me. It will help you with your sexual problems.”
“Who said I had a problem?” Sumi asked sharply. “I’m not a chippie, Kate.”
“Neither am I.” Kate flipped up her red hair directly above her left ear, revealing her own port. “I’m a simple gal. If it’s bad, I do it. If it’s fun, I do it. Usually they’re the same thing. Trust me, honey. I can fix you up so that you can lead a full sexual life without ever knowing a man. Five minutes of your time. Under the hair, where no one will see it unless you want them to.”
Sumi Chan stared at her with wide eyes.
The holorain fell hard on Henan through Sumi’s bedroom window, a cool, damp, fragrant breeze blowing in with it. Her lights were turned out. Occasional flashes of lightning brightened the room.
A slight ache in her head reminded her of the chip sitting in its little case beside her on the night table. The checkup had gone well and the surgery had, indeed, taken only five minutes, most of that spent shaving the inch-long spot on her head where the port was to be buried. An anesthetic had been administered, then a small incision made, the sensors put right into the cut. The sensors were very sharp. Ben Masters used a small hammer to tap them through muscles and bone. Once he was through the skull, one shove jammed the sensors deeply into her brain.
It had been painless.
Lightning flashed again, and Sumi turned to look at the chip box and the small tweezers attached to it on a chain. There was no reason for her not to use it right away, Kate had said.
She sat up, her silk pajamas slithering along the covers as she swung her feet to the floor and picked up the box. She opened it and tweezed out the chip. She felt for her new port with her little finger, then homed in with the chip. It slid effortlessly into the driver and engaged with a whirring sound only she could hear.
She waited for a moment, then looked around the room. Nothing was happening, no hallucinations, no bright colors, no altered states. She lay back down, disappointed, drew the covers over herself, and watched the shadows on the ceiling.
Then, a sound. Tapping. Someone was knocking lightly on her door. She pulled the covers up around her chin. “Who’s there?” she called.
The door opened, and a man walked in carrying a candle. “I brought some light,” he said in Chinese. “I thought the storm might frighten you.”
Her heart was pounding as he walked closer, her hand edging toward the security alarm, though it would be too late to save her. How had he gotten in?
“I’ve been here all the time,” he said in answer to her unasked question.
“Who are you?”
“Who or what?” He set the candle beside them on the nighttable, then sat beside her on the bed. She could feel their thighs touching as he stared innocently down at her. She reached out to the candle, could feel its heat.
“Start with who.”
“I don’t have a name. You name me.”
“What, then. What are you?”
“I am your ideal man, I guess,” he said. “I’ve been living in your brain ever since old Doc Ben put the driver in. It appears to me that I am a combination of Lewis Crane, your father, and a secondary school teacher you had a crush on named Mr. Weng.”
“Mr. Weng,” she said, burying her face in her hands, her face reddening in embarrassment. “I haven’t thought of him in—”
“You thought of him today, when Kate asked you about the kind of man you liked.”
“Why are you here?”
“I’m here to be your lover, Sumi, if you want. Your friend if you don’t want a lover—though I must say, you’d be missing some incredible stimuli. This is a very good chip. I feel very much alive.”
“But you’re not … really here. I mean not physically.”
“Your brain thinks I am. That’s good enough for me.”
He put out a hand to lightly stroke her thigh. Her tension began to ease. Somehow, knowing she was creating her lover made it much easier. No fears. No need for fears.
“I’m going to call you Paul,” she said.
“Okay.” His hand moved up to her face, his touch setting off electric jolts all through her body. “But, why Paul?”
She looked at him with wide eyes. “Because I don’t know anyone named Paul,” she said. Both of them laughed.
His arms went around her and pulled her close. She could smell his aftershave, feel the coarse texture of his curly hair.
“I love you, Sumi,” he whispered into her ear.
“I know,” she replied, tears running down her cheeks. “I know.”
Abu Talib sat in the back of the large briefing room with Khadijah, his feet out in front of him, his head flung back. He was tired, bone weary. Five months ago he had completed negotiations with Tang for a deal that made him proud—and nervous as hell. In return for NOI’s agreement to cease violent protests, Liang Int had promised a national referendum on giving NOI a homeland. And tonight was the night, election night.
About thirty people filled the room, lining the walls, watching large teevs. They were monitoring the voting in cities that had War Zones. At the front of the room, the one Talib had been brought to his first night underground a million years ago, both Mohammed Ishmael and Martin Aziz stood, black robe and white robe, day and night, two men absolutely united in cause and diametrically opposed in method. They were looking at a huge screen that filled the front of the room. Khadijah sat with Talib, her head on his shoulder, cuddling tiredly. Talib kissed her forehead.