Counting Heads

Three Months Later

April and her Bolto fiancé were late for dinner. A place had been set for the mystery man—none of them had met him yet—next to April’s spot at the head table. Everyone wore nice clothes for the occasion, except Denny who insisted on dining in his work clothes. It was all he wanted to wear anymore, the jumpsuit with the large KODIAK MICROHABS patch on the back and his name embroidered over the front pocket. Kitty had recruited him when she started her microhab service up again. Several of her old clients had hired her back, which helped to kick-start the business, and already she was bringing in over five yoodies a day. She let Denny come up to the head table each evening to drop them into the soup pot. And each evening the ’meets cheered him till his ears turned red. Bogdan didn’t mind at all.

“While we’re waiting for April,” Kale said, “I might as well impart some news we just received.” He paused and rubbed his eyes. “It’s not good news, I’m afraid. Roger Beadlemyren called a little while ago. He says they can’t wait on us much longer. They’ll have to go with their second pick if we don’t get Hubert back soon, or at least make material progress in that direction. Sixty days, that’s how much time we have, and then our Intent to Merge agreement will expire.”

Kale sat down. No one said anything. The charter hadn’t even managed to force the Command to admit that they had the mentar in custody. The doors to Green Hall opened, and all heads turned, but it wasn’t April, only Sarah with the food cart. Kale waved her in and said, “Might as well get started.”

It was a grim meal. The ’meets mostly played with their food and let it get cold. Megan pushed her plate away and said, “At least with April’s marriage we’ll have a new member.”

Nobody responded, not even BJ, for they all feared the worst. When two people from charters as mismatched as the Kodiaks and Boltos were married, the rule was that the spouse from the lesser house joined the greater. As to whether or not April would leave Kodiak was unknown because she refused to discuss it, and no one had the nerve to come right out and ask. In fact, she had been pretty secretive about the whole affair right from the beginning at Rondy. She hadn’t even told them what this fellow’s first name was. But it was inconceivable that April, April Kodiak, would leave them in the lurch, causing their membership to drop below statutory minimum and throwing the house into regulatory limbo. Not April. And what about her NanoJiffy franchise?

At last, the door opened, and April came in. They hardly recognized her. It wasn’t only the fashionable new clothes she wore, or the fact that she was a full twenty years younger—they all knew the Boltos had paid for rejuve treatments—but she had apparently undergone some body sculpting as well, and she looked—pretty. She came in and smiled awkwardly at everyone.

Behind her entered a man, taller than she, in a tailored charcoal jumpsuit with navy and teal pinstripes. He also smiled awkwardly. He had nice teeth.

So this was the lucky fellow. The Kodiak ’meets followed him and April across the room with silent, appraising stares. But then someone else entered after them, another man, also wearing Bolto colors. This one was short and a bit ugly, and he didn’t smile at all. In the time it took for the three of them to reach the head table, the awful truth of the matter, the reason for April’s prolonged silence, began to dawn on the Kodiaks—April’s marriage was for a triad, not a couple. Now there was no question but that she would leave them and join Charter Bolto.

“Could you set another place?” April asked Louis, who had waiter duty. Louis shut his gaping mouth and hopped to it. April stood between the two Boltos and took their hands. “Sorry we’re late,” she said. “Everyone, I’d like to introduce my two special guys. This is Brad, and this is Tom. They brought a yummy dessert which we left down in the fridge.”

A chocolate cranberry torte, it turned out to be, but dessert proved as grim as the meal. A silent resentment filled Green Hall, which April tried unsuccessfully to dispel with nervous chatter.

Finally, Bogdan threw down his napkin and stood up. He was standing taller these days, having gained ten centimeters in the last three months. His voice was deeper too, and a mustache was sprouting above his upper lip.

“Where y’all going?” Rusty said.

“I’m going to find Hubert.”

The ’meets at his table stared at him, and Rusty said, “How d’you plan on doing that?”

“To tell you the truth, I have no idea, but I’m going to find him even if it kills me.” He went up to the head table and shook hands with Brad and Tom. To April he said, “My deepest congratulations. You done good.” And then, as he walked to the door, he paused and added, “Oh, and don’t worry about us. We’ll be just fine.”

MARY SKARLAND TOOK the lift down to the bunker level and hurried to the shelter. Ellen was out of the tank for a hardening session under the lights. Her infant body lay facedown on a mat with a towel draped over its bare rump and its gargantuan head turned on its side. The doctor and a jenny nurse were there, and Cyndee too. Cyndee rolled her eyes at Mary, and Mary saw why. The annoying little man had come to talk business again.

“We’ve had to push the launch back eleven months,” he was saying, “but what’s eleven months to a journey that’ll last a thousand years?”

“Myr Meewee,” Ellen’s voice said from the room’s speakers, “you know I can’t turn my head. Please remain where I can see you.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” Meewee returned to a spot in front of the baby. “As I was saying—”

“I heard what you were saying,” Ellen said, “I just couldn’t see you. Actually, when I think about it, I see too much of you. I put you in charge of the GEP because I didn’t want to have to deal with it on a minute-by-minute basis. So do your job and just handle it, will you?”

Meewee bowed and said, “Count on it, Ellen. All I need is your authorization for—”

“Ask Cabinet! Not me! How many times do I have to tell you?”

Cabinet’s chief of staff appeared then, and a moment later, so did Ellen’s recently adopted mentar, Lyra.

Meewee took one look at Cabinet and said with harping exasperation, “All of the chinaberry trees in the garden are heavy with fruit this time of year!”

The baby, choking with anger, retorted, “In that case, the neighborhood birds should be very happy!” The baby made fists, and her skin mottled.

The doctor stepped in and signaled the jenny. “Such a wonderful visit, Bishop Meewee,” she said. “Come again, yes?”

The little man left the room grumbling to himself, and the doctor and jenny lifted Ellen and placed her back in the tank. There her oversized head floated in comfortable ease.

“He’s such an unpleasant man,” Cyndee said.

“Oh, he means well,” Ellen replied, “but such a pest.” She turned to her new mentar and said, “Lyra, have we told the ’leens about the surprise we have in store for them at the studio?”

The mentar, in the persona of a short, young woman, came forward and began to speak, but Cyndee said, “Wait. Mary’s not coming today.”

Ellen said, “What’s this?”

“Sorry,” Mary said, “but I have a prior engagement.”

Cyndee snorted. “A prior engagement, she says. She’s going to see Fred. That’s where she’s going. She has a conjugal engagement. See how nice she’s dressed?”

“Oo-la-la,” said the doctor.

Mary blushed and the women laughed. “I just came down to say good-bye till tomorrow.”

“Then we’ll hold the surprise,” Ellen said. “Give Fred our love. Oh, and I almost forgot. I told Cabinet to put its attorney general on Fred’s case as co-counsel. Tell Fred to tell Marcus to expect a call.”

That was very good news indeed.

MARY PASSED THROUGH the scanway of the Homeland Command maximum security prison in Provo, Utah. From one visit to the next, she never knew how the russes on duty there would receive her. Sometimes they acknowledged her and her sisters’ heroism. Other times, her presence only seemed to remind them of her husband and their own shame.

They escorted her to the so-called joogie sweet and left her there to wait for Fred. It usually took another five or ten minutes to process him through. Mary crossed the dirty carpet and sat in the sticky armchair. The suite was furnished no better than a dormitory cell. A tired bed, a scuffed nightstand, a pair of uncomfortable armchairs. Not even a calendar to break the gray monotony of the walls. Every time Mary came here, she could feel her libido shriveling up like food wrap. Which was just as well, because during her very first visit Fred had pretty much put the kibosh on anything ever happening between them in this room.

They had led him in and unshackled him that first time, then left and closed the door behind them. She had been standing in the middle of the room, and the room was very small, so it would be hard to miss her, but Fred walked the length of two walls and scrutinized the paint before even acknowledging her presence. He went to the door and pointed at the latch—no lock. There were daggers in his eyes. That had been their first time alone together in three weeks, and he hadn’t forgiven her yet.

Hi, she had said, standing there. We can talk, you know. I was unsure of this place, myself, so I asked your Marcus, and he assured me there are no cameras or mikes or any snooping equipment of any sort in this room. So if you came over here and hugged me, no one would be the wiser.

But he didn’t. Nor did he speak. He stayed put and rolled up a sleeve and brought his pale arm to his nose to squint at his skin.

Dear, she said, I know you are fully colonized by now. So am I and all of Chicago and two-thirds of the rest of the country. Nobody likes them, but most people agree that they’re a hell of a lot better than the slugs were.

Fred slapped his own forehead. He had never done something like that before, and it got her full and immediate attention. Satisfied, he opened his great arms wide and leaned back to take in an unseen audience behind the ceiling and walls, and he spoke in a calm but commanding voice, My wife and I refuse to perform for you.

And that was that.

THE DOOR OPENED, and they brought Fred in and left. She got up and took a couple of steps. “Hello, Fred.”

His eyes told her he missed her, but he went to sit on the bed, and she returned to the armchair. First they discussed business: household matters, his case, the trial. It was pretty much all the talking they did, and today she had really big news. But she was unsure how to tell him.

“Ellen Starke says—” she began, and storm clouds gathered at the mere mention of the name. “She says that Cabinet’s attorney general will join Marcus as co-counsel. She said to—”

“No,” he said flatly.

THE BED SAGGED in the middle. They lay face-to-face, not touching, and spoke with their eyes, as they always had. He went first because his need was urgent. Mary witnessed a string of unpleasant incidents in his gaze. He let her see a little bit of his fear. He was swimming in loneliness and poisoned by a prison diet of humiliation. She ached to hold him.

After about an hour of this, when his pain had somewhat lessened, he yawned from the sheer relief of it and raised an eyebrow—her turn.

Mary had to struggle not to seem too elated with her own life. The clinic rescue was still on everyone’s lips, and the Evangeline Sisterhood was experiencing a rebirth of public awareness.

Not only that, but Ellen Starke decided to honor the Sisterhood by launching a hollyholo character for the novellas based on their type. They hadn’t even finished producing the sim and already offers were coming from major studios. Blue Loon Stories had signed for a thousand units, and Four Steps reserved five hundred just last week. Ellen said that all ten thousand units of the limited edition would be sold before its release date.

Not only that, but Ellen’s own Burning Daylight Productions was contributing all of the edition’s royalties to the Renata Carter and Alexandra Perry Foundation to fund the Sisterhood’s retraining and rejuve programs.

Not only that, but Ellen gave her and Cyndee and the other clinic ’leens their own units outright. I’m going to own a hollyholo sim, Fred. And it’s already signed to the Surly Shirley story mat! Do you have any idea how much a sim can earn? My unit will make me more in one day than I could earn in a month.

Do you know what that means, Fred? It means we’re set up for life. When we get you out of here, we can find a better apartment. We can take a trip around the world if we want to and stay away for as long as we like. It means—

Suddenly Mary was ambushed by the image of Renata lying on her bed of grass clippings. This still happened a dozen times a day. She began to cry. She cried for Hattie too, and Alex. And even for Reilly, not because Reilly was hurt—he was already repaired and back on duty—but because he was a true russ.

Mary cried for so many people that she curled up on her half of the bed and soaked the bedspread with tears. She hated giving this performance to the nitwork, but she couldn’t help herself. And Fred just lay there, dying inside.

THEY DOZED FOR a while, not touching, but breathing each other’s breath, giving this, too, to the nitwork. When she awoke, he was watching her with a grim expression. When she met his gaze, he pointed at himself, and then, breaking his own hard-and-fast rule, he touched her. He took her small hand and cupped it in his two big mitts. His hands were cold, but they electrified her, and she missed the glyph he was secretly drawing on her open palm with his fingertip. He drew it again, and this time she recognized it. It was Uglyph for Obligation, with overtones of Integrity and Unpaid Debt. He let go of her and waited for her to look at him, and when she did, he sucked in his cheeks and flattened the tip of his nose with his finger.

Mary almost laughed. Fred was making a dead-on impersonation of a TUG face. But he wasn’t joking; he was trying to tell her something of grave importance. He pointed again to himself. Obligation. Integrity. Unpaid Debt.

THE DIRECTOR’S VOICE came over the cueing speaker: “That last one was very good, Myr Skarland. Now let’s go back to Surprise/Sitting.”

In the Burning Daylight recording booth, Mary sat on the stool and took a breath, trying to empty her mind of all thoughts. “Ready,” she said.

“Leena,” said the voice, “they told me you were involved in an accident.”

Mary’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Good. Good. Now let’s do Surprise/Rising.”

“Ready.”

“Leena,” said the voice, “Myr Dodder is dead!”

Mary rose from the stool.

“Good. Now Surprise/False.”

“Ready.”

A COFFEE BREAK. Mary removed the ECG helmet and shook out her hair. She exited the booth and joined Cyndee and Georgine in the hall.

“It’s hard!” Cyndee said. “I never knew how hard it was to be an actor.”

“What cascades are you guys working on?” Georgine said.

“Surprise,” Mary said.

“Titillation,” said Cyndee.

“Oh, that should be easy for you,” Georgine quipped.

“Is that right?” Cyndee said. “Then why did I hear they picked you to do orgasm?” She mimicked the director’s voice. “Orgasm/Sitting. Good. Good. Now Orgasm/Standing.”

The sisters laughed, and then laughed at themselves laughing. (Laughter/Silly.)

Down the hall they heard someone not laughing. It was Ellen. Her voice kept rising, louder and shriller, in an angry crescendo, and Mary imagined her flushed face back home in the tank. As one, the sisters headed for the office. ’Leens to the rescue.

Ellen’s jacket, a lean, stylish woman, had her business partner, Clarity, backed against the wall of the small office. Clarity flashed them a look of welcome when they came in, but Ellen turned her rage on them. “Give us a minute!” she snapped. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”

“Sorry,” Cyndee said.

“We’ll just be going then,” Georgine said.

“But when are you going to show us that surprise you promised?” Mary said.

Ellen’s expression went blank. She looked from the ’leens to Clarity. She covered her face with her hands for a moment, and when she lowered them she looked a lot calmer, and she said, “How about right now?”

The evangelines agreed and followed her out of the office. Clarity mouthed a silent thank-you. Ellen led them to the mixing studio and said, “It’s only about sixty percent compiled, and the inference engine is buggy, and the highlights need serious tweaking, but—what do you think?”

The evangeline sim—working title Leena—appeared in the room. She wore a blue and teal jumpsuit, similar in cut to Applied People livery. She seemed to be within germline norms, though her nose was perhaps a bit too pert, her eyebrows too chiseled, her boobs definitely bigger and buttocks rounder. The sim broke out in a huge smile and said, “Sisters!” On its face was Mary’s own expression—Surprise/Recognition.

Ellen bustled about her creation, dictating notes to her mentar, Lyra. “This is feckin’ brilliant!” she exclaimed. “Do you ’leens have any idea how much production time we save by scotching the three of you together? If only all actors were clones.”

Mary hugged herself and watched the sim explore the studio, watched her sisters tease it with questions, watched their companion slowly begin to forget her own grisly death.

(Surprise/Happiness.)

(Joy/Unexpected.)