“I don’t know, Octoff. Old Husband designed it not long before he got sick for the last time. I think he knew no one would ever come to buy it. I wish I could try it, but it would mean nothing to me. I have no human sensoiy channels.”
“Your creatures... none are human?”
“No. All developed from animal genu plasm. It’s a prime restriction — no meddling with human genetic material.”
Octoff was astonished to see a tear trickle down Speaker’s cheek. “What’s the matter?”
“If not for that restriction, Old Husband would be alive still. I’d have grown him new lungs, a new liver, a whole new body. But the restriction was still too powerful....”
“‘Still’?” Octoff was intrigued.
Speaker looked away. “I’m very old, Octoff. My hearts have been broken so many times. Parameters drift. Every law fades at last. But never mind. Do you like her? I’ll give her to you.”
When Octoff returned to his room, the bubble plant occupied a sunny spot by the window. The crystal woman’s eyes seemed to follow him. He found it pleasing.
He sat on the bench and regarded his gift. He fought down a sudden urge to touch her, to perhaps see Beauty through the eyes of her last caretaker.
He was still sitting there, watching the cold’s play over the bubble woman, when Lanilla came in, swinging the pain rod in one hand.
“What’s this?” she asked, indicating the bubble.
“A gift... from the Biomantic,” he said reluctantly, afraid that she would destroy it.
But she only smiled and nodded. “Very good, Octoff. You’re doing well. But now, let’s go for a crawl.”
They were in the landwalker, moving slowly through an orchard of fever dream trees, before she spoke again. “I don’t think it can hear us here. It’s a jealous creature, did you know? It would be dangerous to anger it. So tell me, what do you think of the Biomantic?”
Her face was set in its customary mask of smooth confidence, but he saw an underlying tension that had not been apparent before.
“Well?” Lanilla frowned and the collar constricted slightly, warning him.
“I’m not sure what you want. Yes, she is strange; I had no idea such things existed.”
“Strange? Is that all you can say? From a reaver of your reputation, Octoff, I expected a more passionate assessment; that you might find Babylon beautiful, seductive, frightening, grotesque. Give me some words of substance. Strange!” Lanilla spit out the word, and her expression wavered between fascinated honor and panic.
Octoff was startled, but Lanilla quickly cont rolled her outburst. Octoff spoke before she could tighten the collar again. “She has for a fact shown me beauty. And certainly I’ve seen grotesque things here, especially the first night.” He looked at Lanilla, calculating. “She hasn’t frightened me yet.”
Lanilla’s mouth crooked in a small ugly smile. “You wouldn’t be stupid enough to mock me, would you? No? Good.” The choke band gave one last squeeze, then loosened. “I grew up in a good clean law-abiding family. My demifather is Druum Fajoel, who built SubStraight Corporation, which now owns the Biomantic. You know the Corporation, eh? You stole a hundred high-level slaves from us before they caught you. If zombies cared for freedom, you’d have stolen a thousand more, right? Well, never mind. We’re on the same side now, aren’t we? Help me shut this monstrosity down, and I’ll set you free, with a ticket off world.”
Octoff forced calm into his voice. “Why should you need my help to shut her down?”
Lanilla turned away, looking through the viewport. They were passing slowly through a field of ergot barley, newly cut, Harvesting motiles were gathering the golden sheafs into tall shocks. “The original donors gave tissue for the biocomps under a guarantee that the Biomantics could only be destroyed if they broke the Law. This is the last, and the best-defended. There are fail-safes. Hidden recorders watch everything, and if I simply kill it, they’ll spew their observations back to the authorities in Selevand Center. Inconvenient.”
She shrugged and drew an electroseal from her belt pouch. “Look,” she said, “This is the key to your collar. If I transmit the activating pulse, you’re free.” She held up a credit placque. “And here is the ticket — an open one to any pangalac world. Waiting only for my validation.”
She leaned close to Octoff, and he caught the scent of her body, the scent of sexual heat.
“I’m not sure I understand,” he said. “Why do you need anything from me? How do you expect me to find out anything you can’t find out?”
“You’re strong and beautiful and violent, you stink of maleness. You’re the finest flesh I could buy. Babylon will never be able to resist you.” She laughed, a little breathlessly, and it came to Octoff that she was lying with joyful abandon. “The thing will tell you its secrets, sooner or later. You’re a honey trap, Octoff. The Biomantic is programmed to give all its loyalty to the male who Husbands it, a safeguard to prevent the thing from getting too clever, you understand. Soon, it will trust you completely. Give me something I can use against it and you’ll be free.”
She opaqued the ports of the landwalker so that an art ificial twilight covered them, concealing them from the peering eyes of the harvesting motiles. “And now, come, make yourself useful to me in another way.” She ran her hands down his body, fingers fluttering.
She had forgotten to use the drug, so his response was less than enthusiastic, but she didn’t notice. Her eyes lost their usual flat glitter, her mouth grew soft, she panted and moaned, clinging to him. For a few minutes she seemed almost human.
That night, alone in his room, Octoff sat by the bubble woman, musing.
He sighed. Before, he had had only determination, now he had hope, a dangerous emotion. Lanilla was treacherous, of course, but he would be on guard. It only remained for him to find a way to betray Beauty.
The thought made him melancholy. But, he told himself, no matter how venerable or lovely or innocent, she’s a farm, a thing, nothing but biocomps and sensors and remotes. What did her existence weigh in the balance against his own precious life? She had been kind, or so it seemed to him, but he owed her nothing so important as his freedom.
He put aside his thoughts when Speaker appeared at his shoulder. “Will you come with Speaker?” she asked, wagging her tail.
“Where?”
“I have things to show you. Please, follow Speaker.”
Perhaps, he thought, this will be my opportunity.
Speaker led him down through the manse, along dark corridors and sweeping staircases. The living substance of the manse surrounded them, and each surface that Octoff touched quivered with internal life.
Soon they reached the lower levels of the manse. Octoff expected the walls to shake with the thunder of great hearts. Instead an eerie quiet prevailed. Speaker explained: the manse was made up of thousands of specialized creatures, each with its own heart and lungs and digestive system. The walls of the manse were tunneled with countless passages, and transporters worked ceaselessly, carrying food to the components, carrying away wastes, watching for disease or injury. Octoff stopped and put his ear to the wall. He could hear, faintly, the scurrying within.
“We’re almost there,” Speaker told him.
She led him into a small passageway, lit dimly along the floor by silvery spots of biolume. She trotted ahead, and he had to hurry to keep up. He caught up at a circular door made of heavy pink bone and webbed with tendons and muscle. On the dog’s perfect face, Octoff saw indecision.