“I’ve heard they get like that.” Niburu sipped his drink. “I’ve never spent time around one, but I hear their programming’s so interactive they begin to evolve personalities of their own. That’s why they get overhauled and reprogrammed at the end of every contract, and have to start all over from zero.”
She felt her face pinch. “I know. He… it didn’t want to go. It didn’t want to forget. I think it was afraid, of disappearing…. But that’s impossible, isn’t it? That it could feel anything like that?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. I would think so. It’s only a machine, after all. The Kharemoughis like things that don’t talk back.”
“Well anyway, when I saw they had this model available, I thought … well, maybe what if it did remember? If it wanted to come back.” Her mouth pressed together.
He studied her fora long moment, with what looked like genuine understanding. He looked down again, at his drink. “It’s probably not even the same one, you know. The Pollux units make up a whole line of heavy-work servos, with several specialty modes “
“I know that,” she said, a little shortly. “I used to work on the docks. But it was the same one … the same model, anyway. Only it doesn’t remember anything. I sure as hell wouldn’t let it dress me. It’s just a machine.” The servo came up to her, stood motionless, waiting for further orders. “Mix drinks,” she said, gesturing at the patrons who had begun to line up along the bar while she had been talking. It did what she told it to, without comment.
“You just got it?” Niburu asked, watching.
She nodded. “Picked it up yesterday.”
“Well,” he smiled, “give yourself some time to get acquainted. Give it some time, too. You only just met.” -
She looked at him, and felt her own mouth curve upward in a reluctant grin. “Maybe you’ve got a point. I will.”
The Ondinean, whose name seemed to be Ananke, came up to the bar beside Niburu, and picked up the other drink.
“Here,” Tor said, pushing a bowl of toasted seeds across at him. “For the quoll “
“Thanks.” He nodded at her, with a shy grin. He rarely said more than two or three words to her, but he seemed like an all right sort, and she liked his pet. He lifted the quoll out of its sling and set it on the bar. It buried its nose in the seed dish, making chortling noises as it began to eat. The Ondinean helped himself to a handful of seeds, chewing contentedly.
Tor stroked the quoll’s back, and it purred more loudly. She’d had a few complaints from customers who didn’t like sharing a drink with something hairy; but this was her place, and she didn’t care. There were other gaming hells on the Street now, and always plenty of other customers. “Where’s the Mystery Man tonight?” Usually Niburu and Ananke came in with another offworlder named Kullervo. She knew they worked for him; and she knew who he worked for. She’d seen the brand they all wore on their palms often enough, seen it all the time, back before the Departure, when she had run Persipone’s Hell for the Source. The sight of the brand had almost made her sick, the first time she’d seen it on somebody again, here in her new place. But she’d realized that just because they’d come into her club, it didn’t mean the Source had any interest in her anymore—didn’t even mean he was actually here at all, in the flesh. Things were different now, the Source couldn’t use a Tiamatan to shield his business from the law; because the law had changed with everything else.
She didn’t know what Kullervo did for the Source here on Tiamat; she didn’t care, as long as he didn’t do it to her. Just because any of them worked for a criminal didn’t mean she had anything against them personally. She’d almost married a man once who worked for the Source.
All she’d ever seen Kullervo do was win at her tables—and win and win, at almost anything he chose to play, when he bothered to play. She would have minded that, except that he didn’t play much, and he gave all his table credit to his two men, who invariably lost it all again. And it gave her other customers a thrill.
“He said he’d meet us here.” Niburu shrugged, and smiled a little. “Why? You miss him?”
Tor laughed. “Not me. Ariele Dawntreader’s been asking.”
“There he is now.” Ananke poked a thumb over his shoulder.
Tor followed his motion, and saw Kullervo making his way in their direction through the surreal patterns of light and darkness. Tor’s eyes stayed on him a moment longer than she wanted them to, as they always did—partly because she liked to look at his face, and partly because he always unnerved her. There was something about his eyes that wasn’t entirely sane. Seeing him always sent an irrational frisson of terror and pity through her, even though he had never so much as raised his voice to her. His strangeness, more than anything he’d actually ever done, was why she thought of him as the Mystery Man.
She glanced away toward the table where Ariele Dawntreader was sitting with some of her friends, to see if the girl had noticed him coming in. She’d noticed, all right. She was on her feet already, about to intersect Kullervo’s course. Tor saw Elco Teel Graymount get to his feet beside her, catching her arm, saying something into her ear that she didn’t seem to like much. She shrugged him off, frowning, and came on across the crowded, noisy room. She caught up with Kullervo just before he reached the bar, and spoke his name.
Tor saw the look on her face as he stopped and turned toward her—the brightness of her eyes, the flush of her cheeks; saw the breathless anticipation singing through every millimeter of her body. Tor had never seen Ariele look that alive, not since she was a child. She knew what that look meant: Ariele was in love. She wondered if it was the mystery Ariele was infatuated with … that wildness, the danger she had sensed in the man. Tor sighed. She hoped not. Maybe it was just his face. Thirty years ago, a face like that would have been enough to turn her own senses inside out. She wondered whether the Queen knew about this.
She couldn’t see Kullervo’s expression as he and Ariele talked together; his back was turned. But she knew that lately he had been in here almost every night, and so had Ariele … and that almost every night they had ended up in one of her private rooms. Kullervo nodded once, and they started away together. But Tor noticed, surprised, that he didn’t touch the girl, and Ariele didn’t touch him, even once, before she lost sight of them.
She looked at Niburu and Ananke again, as they turned back from watching the same scene. She saw Niburu meet Ananke’s stare and shrug, shaking his head. “Go figure,” he muttered.
Tor leaned on the bar. “Listen,” she said, “is she safe with him?”
“Safe?” Niburu repeated blankly.
“She’s the Queen’s daughter. And more than that, I’ve known her since she was a baby. She matters a lot to me. I don’t know anything about your boss, except I’ve seen his tattoos. …” And I’ve seen his eyes.
Niburu nodded. “The tattoos aren’t what you think.” He hesitated. “And neither is Reede. She’s safe with him. He’s not like that … like what you mean. In fact—” he turned to Ananke, “you know, he’s been in kind of a good mood lately.”
“Yeah,” Ananke said ruefully. “He hasn’t called me a dumb shit in days.” He slurped his drink, and reached for another handful of seeds. The quoll nipped at him, muttering irritably. “Sorry,” he murmured.
“I’ve never seen Ariele look at anybody like that, before. The gods only know what the Queen’s going to think if she finds out her daughter’s getting personal with one of the Source’s brands.”
Niburu started visibly as she spoke the name. But he said, “Reede’s not just some thug,” sounding defensive.
“Oh? What is he then?”
Niburu frowned, but she could have sworn there was uncertainty in his eyes. “He’s a biochemist. He’s Jaakola’s Head of Research.”