I stood right in the middle of the rumpus room inside the creature I’d cut into with my own hands and gave an impassioned speech about the nature of freedom and independence, and reminded them all of the reasons we’d left. If they wanted their value micro-accounted, they could go right back down belowground.
I thought it was a good speech, but apparently not. When it came to a vote, I was the only one blocking consensus.
I believe—hand-to-heart—if they’d only listened to me and did what I said everything would have been fine and everyone would have been happy. But some people can never really be happy unless they’re making other people miserable. They claimed I was trying to use my seniority, skills, and experience as a lever to exert political force. I’d become a menace. And when they told me I had to submit to psychological management, I left.
Turned out we’d brought the albatross along with us, after all.
When Jane pinged me a few days later, I was doing the same thing as millions down belowground—watching a newly arrived arts delegation process down the beanstalk and marveling at their dramatic clothing and prosthetics.
I pinged her back right away. Even though I knew she would probably needle me about my past, I didn’t hesitate. I missed having Ricci and Jane in my head, and life was a bit lonely without them. Also, I was eager to meet her. I wasn’t the only one; the whole crew was burning with curiosity about Ricci’s pretty friend.
When Jane’s fake melted into reality, she was dressed in a shiny black party gown. Long dark hair pouffed over her shoulders, held off her face with little spider clips that gathered the locks into tufts. Her chair was a spider model too, with eight delicate ruby and onyx legs that cradled her torso.
“Hi, Doc,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you, finally. I’m a friend of Ricci’s. I think you know that, though.”
A friend. Not a therapist, peer counselor, or emotional health consultant. That was odd. And then it dawned on me: Jane had been donating her time ever since Ricci joined us. She probably wanted to formalize her contract, start racking up the billable hours.
When I glanced through her metadata, my heart began to hammer. Jane’s rate was sky high.
“We can’t float your rate,” I blurted. “Not now. Maybe eventually. But we’d have to find another revenue stream.”
Jane’s head jerked back and her gaze narrowed.
“That’s not why I pinged you,” she said. “I don’t care about staying billable—I never did. All I want to do is help people.”
I released a silent sigh of relief. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to say hi and ask how Ricci’s getting along.”
“Ricci’s fine. Nothing to worry about.” I always get gruff around beautiful women.
She brightened. “She’s fitting in with you all?”
“Yeah. One of the crew. She’s great. I love her.” I bit my lip and quickly added, “I mean we all like her. Even Vula, and she’s picky.”
I blushed. Badly. Jane noticed, and a gentle smile touched the corners of her mouth. But she was a kind soul and changed the subject.
“I’ve been wondering something, Doc. Do you mind if I ask a personal question?”
I scrubbed my hands over my face in embarrassment and nodded.
She wheeled her chair a bit closer and tilted toward me. “Do you know what gave you the idea to move to the surface? I mean originally, before you’d ever started looking into the possibility.”
“Have you read Zane Grey’s Riders of the Purple Sage?” I asked. “You must have.”
“No.” She looked confused, like I was changing the subject.
“You should. Here.”
I tossed her a multi-bookmark compilation. Back down belowground, I’d given them out like candy at a crèche party. She could puzzle through the diction of the ancient original or read it in any number of translations, listen to a variety of audio versions and dramatic readings, or watch any of the hundreds of entertainment docs it had inspired. I’d seen them all.
“This is really old. Why did you think I’d know it?” She flipped to the summary. “Oh, I see. One of the characters is named Jane.”
“Read it. It explains everything.”
“I will. But maybe you could tell me what to look for?” Her smile made me forget all about my embarrassment.
“It’s about what humans need to be happy. Sure, we evolved to live in complex interdependent social groups, but before that, we were nomads, pursuing resource opportunities in an open, sparsely populated landscape. That means for some people, solitude and independence are primary values.”
She nodded, and I could see she was trying hard to understand.
“Down belowground, when I was figuring all this out, I tried working with a therapist. When I told him this, he said, ‘We also evolved to suffer and die from violence, disease, and famine. Do you miss that, too?’”
Jane laughed. “I hope you fired him. So one book inspired all this?”
“It’s not just a book. It’s a way of life. The freedom to explore wide open spaces, to come together with like-minded others and form loose-knit communities based on mutual aid, and to know that every morning you’ll wake up looking at an endless horizon.”
“These horizons aren’t big enough?” She waved at the surrounding virtual space, a default grid with dappled patterns, as if a directional light source were shining through gently fluttering leaves.
“For some, maybe. For me, pretending isn’t enough.”
“I’ll read it. It sounds very…” She pursed her lips, looking for the right word. “Romantic.”
I started to blush again, so I made an excuse and dropped the connection before I made a fool of myself. Then I drifted down to the rumpus room and stripped off my goggles and breather.
“Whoa,” Bouche said. “Doc, what’s wrong?”
Eleanora turned from the extruder to look at me, then fumbled her caffeine bulb and squirted liquid across her cheek.
“Wow.” She wiped the liquid up with her sleeve. “I’ve never seen you look dreamy before. What happened?”
I’m in love, I thought.
“Jane pinged me,” I said instead.
Bouche called the whole crew. They came at a run. Even Vula.
In a small hab, any crumb of gossip can become legendary. I made them beg for the story, then drew it out as long as I could.
“Can you ask her to ping me?” Eddy asked Ricci when I was done.
“I would chat with her for more than a couple minutes, unlike Doc,” said Treasure.
Chara grinned lasciviously. “Can I lurk?”
The whole crew in one room, awake and actually talking to each other was something Ricci hadn’t seen before, much less all of us howling with laughter and gossiping about her friend. She looked profoundly unsettled. Vula bounced over to the extruder, filled a bulb with her favorite social lubricant, and tossed it to Ricci.
“Tell us everything about Jane,” Chara said. Treasure waggled her tongue.
“It’s not like that.” Ricci frowned. “She’s a friend.”
“Good,” they chorused, and collapsed back onto the netting, giggling.
“I’ve been meaning to ask—why do you use that handheld thing to talk to her, anyway?” Chara said. “I’ve never even seen one of those before.”
Ricci shook her head.
“Come on, Ricci. There’s no privacy here,” Vula said. “You know that. Don’t go stiff on us.”
Ricci joined us in the netting before answering. When she picked a spot beside me, my pulse fluttered in my throat.
“Jane’s a peer counselor.” She squeezed a sip from the bulb and grimaced at the taste. “The handheld screen is one of her strategies. Having it around reminds me to keep working on my goals.”
“Why do you need peer counseling?” asked Chara.