“Well, why? You mean you can’t—”
“I’m not all plastic.” He frowned, numb fingers rapping stone. “God, I’m not. Sometimes I wish I was, but I’m not.”
“No one? They never want to?”
“Branduin”—he faced the questioning eyes—“you’d better go back down. Get some sleep. Tomorrow laugh it off, and pick up some flashy Tail in the bar and have a good time. Come see me again in twenty-five years, when you’re back from space, and tell me what you saw.” Hesitating, he brushed her cheek with his true hand; instinctively she bent her head to the caress. “Goodbye.” He started up the hill.
“Maris—”
He stopped, trembling.
“Thank you for the brandy…” She came up beside him and caught his belt. “You’ll probably have to tow me up the hill.”
He pulled her to him and began to kiss her, hands touching her body incredulously.
“It’s getting—very, very late. Let’s hurry.”
Maris woke, confused, to the sound of banging shutters. Raising his head, he was struck by the colors of dawn, and the shadow of Brandy standing bright-edged at the window. He left the rumpled bed and crossed cold tiles to join her. “What are you doing?” He yawned.
“I wanted to watch the sun rise, I haven’t seen anything but night for months. Look, the fog’s lifting already: the sun burns it up, it’s on fire, over the mountains—”
He smoothed her hair, pale gold under a corona of light. “And embers in the canyon.”
She looked down, across ends of gray mist slowly reddening, and back. “Good morning.” She began to laugh. “I’m glad you don’t have any neighbors down there!” They were both naked.
He grinned. “That’s what I like about the place.” He put his arms around her. She moved close in the circle of coolness and warmth.
They watched the sunrise from the bed.
In the evening she came into the bar with the crew of the Kiss and Tell—756. They waved to him, nodded to her and drifted into blue shadows; she perched smiling before him. It struck him suddenly that nine hours was a long time.
“That’s the crew of my training ship. They want some white wine, please, any kind, in a bottle.”
He reached under the bar. “And one brandy, on the house?” He sent the tray off.
“Hi, Maris…”
“Hi, Brandy.”
“To misty mornings.” They drank together.
“By the way”—she glanced at him slyly—“I passed it around that people have been missing something. You.”
“Thank you,” meaning it. “But I doubt if it’ll change any minds.”
“Why not?”
“You read Ntaka—xenophobia; to most people in most cultures cyborgs are unnatural, the next thing up from a corpse. You’d have to be a necrophile—”
She frowned.
“—or extraordinary. You’re the first extraordinary person I’ve met in a hundred years.”
The smile formed, faded. “Maris—you’re not exactly twenty-five, are you? How old are you?”
“More like a hundred and fifteen.” He waited for the reaction.
She stared. “But, you look like twenty-five! You’re real— don’t you age?”
“I age. About five years for every hundred.” He shrugged. “The prosthetics slow the body’s aging. Perhaps it’s because only half my body needs constant regeneration; or it may be an effect of the anti-rejection treatment. Nobody really understands it. It just happens sometimes.”
“Oh.” She looked embarrassed. “That’s what you meant by ‘come back and see me’… and they meant— Will you really live a thousand years?”
“Probably not. Something vital will break down in another three or four centuries, I guess. Even plastic doesn’t last forever.”
“Oh…”
“Live longer and enjoy it less. Except for today. What did you do today? Get any sleep?”
“No—” She shook away disconcertion. “A bunch of us went out and gorged. We stay on wake-ups when we’re in port, so we don’t miss a minute; you don’t need to sleep. Really they’re for emergencies, but everybody does it.”
Quick laughter almost escaped him; he hoped she’d missed it. Serious, he said, “You want to be careful with those things. They can get to you.”
“Oh, they’re all right.” She twiddled her glass, annoyed and suddenly awkward again, confronted by the Old Man.
Hell, it can’t matter.… He glanced toward the door.
“Brandy! There you are.” And the crew came in. “Soldier, you must come sit with us later; but right now we’re going to steal Brandy away from you.”
He looked up with Brandy to the brown face, brown eyes, and salt-white hair of Harkané, Best Friend of the Mactav on the Who Got Her—709. Time had woven deep nets of understanding around her eyes; she was one of his oldest customers. Even the shape of her words sounded strange to him now: “Ah, Soldier, you make me feel young, always… Come, little sister, and join your family; share her, Soldier.”
Brandy gulped brandy; her boots clattered as she dropped off the stool. “Thank you for the drink,” and for half a second the smile was real. “Guess I’ll be seeing you—Soldier.” And she was leaving, ungracefully, gratefully.
Soldier polished the agate bar, ignoring the disappointed face it showed him. And later watched her leave, with a smug, black-eyed Tail in velvet knee pants.
Beyond the doorway yellow-green twilight seeped into the bay, the early crowds began to come together with the night. “H’lo, Maris…?” Silver dulled to lead met him in a face gone hollow; thin hands trembled, clenched, trembled in the air.
“Brandy—”
“What’ve you got for an upset stomach?” She was expecting laughter.
“Got the shakes, huh?” He didn’t laugh.
She nodded. “You were right about the pills, Maris. They make me sick. I got tired, I kept taking them…” Her hands rattled on the counter.
“And that was pretty dumb, wasn’t it?” He poured her a glass of water, watched her trying to drink, pushed a button under the counter. “Listen, I just called you a ride—when it comes, I want you to go to my place and go to bed.”
“But—”
“I won’t be home for hours. Catch some sleep and then you’ll be all right, right? This is my door lock.” He printed large numbers on a napkin. “Don’t lose this.”
She nodded, drank, stuffed the napkin up her sleeve. Drank some more, spilling it. “My mouth is numb.” An abrupt chirp of laughter escaped; she put up a shaky hand. “I—won’t lose it.”
Deep gold leaped beyond the doorway, sunlight on metal. “Your ride’s here.”
“Thank you, Maris.” The smile was crooked but very fond. She tacked toward the doorway.
She was still there when he came home, snoring gently in the bedroom in a knot of unmade blankets. He went silently out of the room, afraid to touch her, and sank into a leather-slung chair. Filled with rare and uneasy peace, he dozed, while the starlit mist of the Pleiades’ nebulosity passed across the darkened sky toward morning.
“Maris, why didn’t you wake me up? You didn’t have to sleep in a chair all night.” Brandy stood before him wrestling with a towel, eyes puffy with sleep and hair flopping in sodden plumb-bobs from the shower. Her feet made small puddles on the braided rug.
“I didn’t mind. I don’t need much sleep.”
“That’s what I told you.”
“But I meant it. I never sleep more than three hours. You needed the rest, anyway.”