Angry Young Spaceman (10 page)

Hugh laughed. “Marvellous!”

I looked at the hand on the table. It was still fisted, and wobbled back and forth a bit because of the uneven surface, and when it wobbled towards me I could see the gleam of metal inside.

“Whoops,” 9/3 said as his arm cavity foamed over. It slid down his arm to be soaked up by the roll of his plaid shirt, since of course he couldn’t slurp it up. I had a weird flash of Hugh leaning over to do so, but of course he didn’t.

9/3 clicked the fist back into his hand and wiggled his fingers alive. “I borrowed this body from one of my teaching aides — Theodore.”

“You’re pretty open minded,” I said. “It’s so... humanoid.”

“Yes,” said 9/3, almost sadly. “My... friends would be shocked and disgusted. But they didn’t understand why I was happy to leave Roboworld, either.”

I picked up a mug of beer and Hugh did the same. I raised it to 9/3. “A toast to the rebels,” I said.

“Hear hear,” Hugh said.

“Where’s
my
fuckin’ beer?” said Matthew.

“You’ve got a head start on us there, bucko,” I said. “Reign it in. I don’t want you wreaking havoc on
my
planet.”

Matthew looked at me with the floating eyes of the Already Tanked and said, “Gotta take a piss.” He left.

“So does it absorb it all at once, or does it feed the alcohol slowly into your brain?” I asked 9/3.

He held up his arm and showed it to me. “You see those spots there?” he said, pointing to a few small dots. “When they go away, I am ready for another.”

“Really!”

“No.” 9/3 said. “Ha ha ha. They’re just freckles. Ha ha. Gullible fleshpot.”

Hugh let out an astonished hoot.

“Fuck you, blockhead,” I laugh-blustered. “You ain’t so tough without your goddamn flame-thrower.”

“He’s still got the laser eyes, remember that,” Hugh said.

“Oh yeah. I was just joking.” Took a sip of my beer. “Spare parts motherfucker.”

“Ha ha ha. Actually, I cannot power the laser without my body. I am completely helpless. Ha ha ha.”

I cracked up.

Matthew returned, an anticipatory smile on his face. “What?”

“He called me a gullible fleshpot!”

“What?!” Matthew said.

“Yes, and I am completely helpless. Ha ha ha.”

We cracked up again. That fucking laugh is unbelievable! I looked around the table, amazed that a month ago I had hated Hugh, feared 9/3, and had just met Matthew.

I was also amazed by the attention that a noisy table of offworlders got without half trying. A cook, or maybe the manager, was framed in the kitchen door. The couple closest to us moved their chairs slightly to get more table between them and us. No one else at our table seemed aware of it, so it may have been a case of host anxiety. I wondered, would I blind myself to this if I could?

“They think I look like Sean Plynn,” Matthew was saying. “Can you beat that? Soon as I get into the classroom, it’s ‘Sean Plynn, You are Sean Plynn.’”

We all laughed. “He’s not even from Earth!”

Hugh shook his head with mock grief. “I’m afraid I don’t see the resemblance.”

“Thank god for that,” Matthew spat, “Prettyboy.”

“And how,” I said, clinking glasses with him. The clink was muffled and echoey. “Next time they accuse you of being some lunarian flit you just show ‘em some muscles.” I whacked my biceps.

9/3 looked down at his own muscles, flexed them. “Muscles are a poor substitute for steel.”

I snagged a waitress and ordered more beer. Once that was done, I held my hand up to cover my view of 9/3’s head. “You know, you look OK like this — like some kind of Neb farmboy — or like this,” I moved my hand so I couldn’t see the body, only the head, “That’s fine too. But together,” I whipped my hand away and said slowly, “You-look-like-a-total-
freak.
”

9/3 shrugged, holding those too-human hands aloft. “Why? I do not understand your complaint.”

I looked around. Matthew was doing the hand trick I had done a moment earlier and Hugh wore a mild smile. “Am I wrong?” I asked.

“It’s just disturbing, is all,” Hugh said. “It’s not that much more unusual than a human brain in a robot body, which is the entire population of Roboworld. It’s just an extreme example of seeing someone with a hat on who never wears it or vice versa.” Hugh looked around. “Frankly, we’re all freaks, and I don’t think
they
can tell the difference between us. What I find hard to understand is why the Montavians would want such a large android.”

“He’s an Earthling model,” said 9/3. “They use it for English class and... other exercises.”

Smirks all ‘round. When the talk turns to androids, can sexual innuendo be far behind? And would we have it any other way?

Oddly enough, it was Matthew who saved us from that particular predicable conversational black hole. “So did you sing?” he asked me, his beer mug not quite hiding a sneaky smile.

“Sing?” asked Hugh.

I told them the story.

“Green Earth Forever?” Matthew hooted.

“It was the only one I knew by heart!”

“A little controversial,” said Hugh.

“They didn’t understand the words,” I scoffed. “You kidding me?”

“And there was no chance of them recognizing the tune,” Matthew said.

“Yeah, I made sure of that.” I looked at Matthew. “What’d you sing?”

“Sing?!” he made a dismissive sound. “No way. I was ready. When they asked me I said it was against my religion to sing. The kid who asked looked ready to hang himself.”

“So you knew about the singing?” I sputtered. “Fucker! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Ah, I knew you’d do fine,” he said with a grin.

“Actually, I got a standing ovation,” I said proudly. “I think it was the somersault I did in the second verse that won them over.”

Hugh looked at Matthew. “An experience you’ve missed out on.”

The beer arrived and 9/3 popped his fist out on the table. The waitress squealed in amazement. 9/3 spoke to her in Octavian, his Speak-O-Matic built in. She had a plate of fruit as well which I knew we hadn’t ordered. She pointed to it and spoke, saying a word that I knew and loved: free.

“The fruit is free,” 9/3 translated. “It is to thank us for drinking here.”

“I knew that,” I grumbled. “So did you guys bring your translators?”

Hugh and Matthew shook their heads. “Too risky. You know how expensive they are out here?”

I shook my head, morose. I didn’t want to know.

“You’ll be OK,” Hugh said. “You’ve obviously got a knack for learning languages.”

I thought about Hugh’s recent let-down and took heart from my comparative good fortune. And I
was
picking up words with a surprising ease. I had actually been avoiding learning, still pissed about losing the damn thing...

“I forgot my translator in my apartment when I went to the store for some juice,” Hugh said, “
repugnant
protein juice, the staple of Armoured food, and when they gave it to me I’d forgotten how to say
thanks
. I felt like such a...” Hugh’s face was pruney from the memory, “such a... typical human, no manners at all. It was the first time in a long time I’d felt shame like that.”

We drank quietly for the first time that night. Then 9/3 said, “The far table says that Matthew looks like Sean Plynn.”

“Ask them if they wanna fuck,” slurred Matthew, not looking up from his beer.

“Ha ha ha. No.”

Matthew sighed.

I gave the girls a long look, and was impressed to see that they didn’t bury their heads in their tentacles.

“Well, that’s a good thing about not having a translator,” I said gamely. “I now have a good excuse for being alone and loveless. Plangyo’s not exactly a fashiontank, either.”

“They all go to big cities like this for university,” said Matthew. “But have you met your workshop teachers yet? Some of mine are awfully cute...”

“I’m supposed to get them next week,” I said.

“Let’s not talk about work,” said Hugh. “I’m drinking to forget.” He looked over at 9/3. “I got stuck with the Armoured.”

9/3’s arms jerked. They talked about that for a while.

I looked at Matthew. He was staring right at me with a wicked grin.

“....I even told them I did a paper on Unarmoured culture, which was embarrassing, because it made me sound like some kind of groupie...” Hugh was saying.

“Let’s go whoring,” Matthew said to me.

The conversation stopped. Hugh looked at me, his eyebrows raised.

Matthew got up and stumbled for the door.

“I’d better...” I thumbed towards him. “I’ll meet you guys back here?”

I gave them a handful of beeds for our beer and took off after Matthew. I pointed the suspicious waitress in their direction, and noticed 9/3 patting Hugh’s hand in commiseration, already deep in conversation.

I pushed the door open (and I really had to push, the liquid atmosphere felt like a stiff wind against it) and Matthew was standing there, hands on hips, looking down the street like he was directing a movie.

He turned around to look up the street and saw me. “That way looks good to me.”

I looked up at the sign, and tried to get my beer-addled brain to lock on this location. I took note of the clothing store across the way and the small cart selling dubious-looking food, and we walked off together towards the dark and steamy.

I had noticed two identical clothing stores and three carts before I had even figured out what I wanted to say. I didn’t want to seem like a sanctimonious jerk.

“I thought... um... you were pretty dedicated to... your girlfriend.”

Matthew looked at me, surprised. “I am. What, just ‘cause I’m looking for a whore now doesn’t mean...” He looked at me sharply. “You’re not one of those monogamy freaks, are you?”

“Well, no,” I said defensively, “not really.” But there was something about the exclusive couple that did have a forbidden fruit appeal, perverse and selfish though it was...

“Man, I’m hungry. Those snacks just didn’t do it,” Matthew said.

“Yeah, same here,” I said, a little relieved not to have to talk any more about it. We stopped at one of the carts and got some breaded fried things on sticks with yummy red filling.

“You know that guy Simms? Who was on our floor during orientation?” asked Matthew, his mouth full.

I shook my head.

“The guy with all the back implants,” he said, and I nodded. “Well, he got a Neb outpost planet, and he keeps getting offered flesh to eat.”

That was shocking. “Has he reported it?”

“S’hard to enforce the law there, I guess.” He shrugged, throwing the stick in a garbage can. It took a few seconds to float to the bottom.

We were definitely in a different area — whether or not it was likely to have hookers wasn’t something I could judge. There were more offices, but also a few rowdy bars.

“Anyway, about the whore thing: I figure, you know, she’s never going to know. So no one gets hurt.” He looked over at me.

“How would you feel about her doing that?” I said.

“She wouldn’t. Because she’s Squidollian. But if she did, and I didn’t know...” he shrugged. “Then I wouldn’t know.”

“OK, but it’s not really fair, because you really can’t see it happening. Who’s your best friend back home?”

“Wing Lau,” he said.

“OK, so what would you do if you found out Wing was having an affair with her?”

A bunch of guys foamed out of the bar in front of us. One of them had his tentacles all over a girl, but still had the time to gawk back at us. He yelled something at us everyone else found really funny.

“That’s different,” Matthew said, his face troubled. “That’s more of a betrayal. Plus everyone knows.”

The guy in front of us said something else in our direction.

“Shut your fucking pus-hole!” I advised at a high volume, feeling adrenaline rush in to replace the energy yelling had expended.

Matthew’s eyes popped out. “Sam, take it easy.”

“I’m kind of in the mood for a fight,” I told Matthew by way of explanation. “I haven’t scrapped for
weeks
.” Half the group ahead of us were hurrying to get away, half were lagging behind. The wise-ass was staring at me. “What you looking at, chump?” I called.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter much what I actually
say
, huh?” I said to Matthew, enjoying his discomfort. Perhaps whoring wasn’t to my taste, but there were other parts of the night I was well acquainted with. “Yea, verily,” I bellowed at the wise-ass, “’Tis better to
give
than to
receive
!” I looked at Matthew. “That’s the kind of accent the English pugs would use,” I said, educationally.

“Man, they’re slowing down...”

I smiled, folding up a nice fist to give the wiseass’s weak chin, and walked straight for him.

“Hello,” said one of his companions, with his tentacles twined in polite greeting. He was wearing glasses.

“Hello,” I said dourly, feeling my righteous anger start to soften and droop.

“My friend, he is drunky. He is so sorry.”

“Damn,” I said.

Matthew offered Glasses a hand to shake.

Drunky had gone to join his maulfriend who stood with the other girls a little ways ahead.

“Shall we go?” Glasses asked.

I shrugged. When you don’t know where you’re going, any direction’s good as any. I shoved my hands in my pockets.

seven

I pulled the door closed behind me and inserted the card-key. It took me a second to find the slot in the dark. It gave a reassuring “click” and I slipped the card into my pocket.

As I walked out, I realized that if I lost it, I could not get into my own apartment. How strange. I stuck my hand to feel if it was in a deep enough pocket, enjoying the bumpy texture of the key as I did so.

When Mr. Zik had given me the key originally, I had flipped it over, thinking that a password for the apartment’s security system would be on it. But all it had on it was a scribbled note in Octavian.

“Key?” I had said, wondering if it was a language thing.

Mr. Zik had taken it from me and walked outside the apartment. I had followed. He had showed me how the key worked, locking it with deliberate slowness, then opening it.