Blue Hearts of Mars (12 page)

She nodded, her dark eyes studying my face. “But you don’t believe him?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.” Then I told her how I saw him in the office and he tried to tell me something, but didn’t, and then ran off.

“Well, that’s a good sign, I think.” She began twisting a strand of black hair around her finger. “But it could also be a bad sign.”

“Yeah.”

“So, what will you do?” she asked, blinking and dropping the strand of hair. She leaned forward across the narrow table.

“Nothing. I mean, I’ve been trying to figure more out about the divide between humans and androids. But that’s about it.”

“Expound.”

“Well, you know, when androids became more human-like, there were these huge debates on Earth over whether or not to make them able to procreate,” I began, then launched into the rest of the things I’d been learning.

It wasn’t much, but it was refreshing to have someone else interested in it. Hemingway didn’t care anymore. Who knew what he was up to. But Mei was willing to listen and it helped me to have someone acting as a sounding board. It made my thoughts coalesce. I had some ideas forming in the back of my mind as I talked. When I finished filling her in, I knew what I needed to do. The question was, should I invite Mei into my new scheme or not?

We went over it. There were two options. The Vantaa, which is the capitol building, or the Synlife facility, where Sonja used to work.

Both places were a horrible idea, but also brilliant. That was the beauty of it, I guess, that it could be a bad and brilliant idea at once.

I decided—since this was my operation and not Mei’s—that if we got caught, the private sector business would be more lenient than the government. I wasn’t certain if my logic was totally accurate, but I felt less uneasy about it than I did about trying to get into the Vantaa building.

I scoped the Synlife facility out a couple times after school and before work on Monday and Tuesday, and set the date for when we would break in for Friday night at ten, when I wouldn’t be expected home yet by my father, but when it would be late enough for people to have cleared out of the building.

As the time neared, my anxiety increased. Was I really going to do this? Was it worth it? Was Hemingway worth it? More to the point, were
all
the androids worth it?

Well, I asked myself, what’s the worth of a soul?

Maybe I would find more answers about the soul and what it meant to be an android inside the Synlife building.

A week had never gone by so fast. The hours soared by like they do when you’re dreading something. Before I knew it, it was Friday night and the weekly dance was happening outside Cassini Coffee. Matt was hiding in the back like usual, reading some economics holo-mag, and I was trying to focus on the music so my pulse would relax a bit. I stared into space, listening to the music, mentally going over my plan again and again.

I took another sip of my coffee, absently put it back on the counter, and looked up. Hemingway was standing in the doorway. Somehow I managed to not spew coffee all over the bar and the seats. My knees turned to water—or coffee, since I was on my fourth cup—and I gripped the brass banister surrounding the red-sandstone counter.

A half-smile started up Hemingway’s face as he ran a hand through his short gray-peppered brown hair and strode toward me.

“Retta,” he said, or rather, breathed. He sounded relieved to see me. Why? “I hoped you would be here.”

I nodded. “Nice to see you.”

He looked slightly affronted by my cool tone. “How’ve you been?” he asked, his voice still warm despite the chill in mine.

“Real great, you?” I asked dryly.

He sat down on the barstool in front of me. “Good. Uh, well, I came by because I wanted to explain some things.”

“You don’t have to, Hemingway. We went out, what? A week? Two? You don’t owe me anything.” I said it, but I didn’t really feel it. With him right there in front of me, I could see the spiral galaxies in his eyes again, the tiny synthetic neurons firing back and forth, and the blue of the iris all around his pupils. His fingertips were near me, his perfectly carved hands, and I knew how they felt against my skin and I burned for him. The words coming out of my mouth felt hollow. I’m sure they sounded empty, as devoid of truth as they were.

“Retta, please,” he said, his eyes turning to augurs as he stared directly into my eyes. “I ended things to keep you safe. I want you to know that. I care about you. I want to be with you. I need you to know this in case anything happens to me. But I can’t be with you now. It’s just too risky. For you.”

I threw down the dishcloth that I’d been idly running across the counter. “Why would you tell me this? What’s the point? I can take care of myself, you know? You break up with me . . . no, first you get me to commit to you, then you break up with me, and now you’re telling me that you
want
to be with me, that you just broke it off to save me? That’s total crap.” I picked up the cloth and threw it down again. “So thanks.”

A look of anguish spread across his face. “Look, yes, it’s weird. I realize that.” He cast his eyes around as though searching for an answer in the mirror across the back wall or the track lights dangling above it. “But, before you, I never had to worry. I’ve always been with girls like me, or no one at all. I never cared for them the way I care about you, plus they already knew how to cope with all the complications of being an android.”

“Is that supposed to help?” I asked, feeling the grimace curling my lips downward.

“Maybe,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t know. It’s the truth. I just want you to have the truth.”

“Well, thanks. Thanks a million. That’s very helpful of you.” I began pouring shots of espresso into a cup. Really, I still didn’t get why he was here. It was good to see him, though. It was too good. He sat near me, but he was virtually a thousand miles away because of his own doing. And for that I found myself hating him. I added milk to the drink and steamed it into foam. “Here.” I said, handing him the drink.

“Thanks,” he said and smiled hesitantly.

I stood there with my arms crossed and watched him drink it. Outside the bar the crowd ebbed and flowed to the pulsing music. There were kids jumping into the fountain down the square a ways and a security guard in a fluorescent green jersey was chasing after them, his face turning red as he shouted. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, the music was too loud and he was too far away.

Standing there with Hemingway so close to me, I started to wonder if I was making a hasty move by breaking into the Synlife building. I could cancel it. I could try to get Hemingway to walk me home, and then I could invite him in, and then I could lure him into my bedroom. And then . . . well, then we would see.

If what he said was true, it shouldn’t be too hard. If he really cared for me, wouldn’t he want to come into my room?

Why was I thinking such evil things? I was no seductress. Never have been. The fact that I was even thinking along those lines was weird. A testament, maybe, to how into him I was in so many ways. Stupid ways. But sometimes love made you stupid.

I sighed audibly. He caught my eye and began to grin. “What?” I asked.

“Nothing, it’s—it’s just good to see you. I’ve missed you,” he lifted his drink to his lips and hid his smile.

It was truly aggravating. “You’ve missed me?”

He nodded.

“Great,” I said.

“Have you—?”

“Have I what? Have I missed you?” I shook my head in wonderment. “You’re a fool, Hemingway. Do you love torturing yourself? That’s what I can’t figure out. You must.”

“So you have, then?”

“Is this a game to you? See, if I loved someone, I wouldn’t send them away. Especially not after they committed to me.”

“Things are more dangerous than you realize, Retta,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t even tell you everything.”

“That just sounds like crap,” I said.

Matt appeared at that point, his customary break from the back room. That meant there would be a pause in the dance soon and the crowds would file in. The moment I thought it, the music ended and a jumble of voices took its place as conversations that had been stifled picked up. Hemingway reached forward and took my hand. His fingers were warm and my skin tingled where he touched me.

“I’ll explain it all someday. I just wanted you to know, now, in case—” he stood up and looked over his shoulder as mobs of kids started pouring into the bar. He turned back. “We’ll talk later.” He stepped away from the bar and I watched him go, my arms crossed over my chest. I shook my head and swore out loud.

“What was that about?” Matt asked, coming to my side. He’d hung back, snacking on a vegan cookie, watching the crowds file in. He shook his head, his unruly blond curls moving as one like a big mop.

“He’s just being weird,” I said. “I don’t understand him at all.”

“No, but you love him, don’t you?” Matt studied my face as I watched Hemingway disappear. “Or lust. One of those. I’ve seen a look like that before in a woman’s eyes once or twice. Mostly just once. It’s never a good sign, unless you want her to want you. So what, does he want you or not want you?” Matt began lining up the clean shot glasses and washed his hands. The first customers were arriving at the bar, reading the menu on the mirrored glass behind me above the back counter.

“You know, I have no idea.” I shook my head as I washed my hands with a sanitizer, feeling discouraged, and began taking orders.

*****

Like all the other dome-scrapers, the Synlife building rose high into the atmosphere created by the dome. Outside the dome, a new atmosphere had begun to form, but it was still relatively thin for what humans required. The domes were made to allow a percentage of greenhouse gases to escape. At least, that’s what they told us. It’s probably true.

From everything I’d read, the Synlife building was ninety stories, with several lower levels beneath the ground. It was composed of the windows and rojadium that were manufactured on Mars. Mei and I arrived around ten and found a service entrance, where we hid in the shadows behind a stack of recycling. As a couple of janitors filed out, talking in a language I didn’t understand, we darted in before the door closed all the way. I mean, you’d think they would be more careful. But they weren’t, and I was glad.

We found the custodial closet and put on a couple of spare jackets and hats, grabbed some brooms to finish off the disguise, and began exploring.

It was a brilliant plan, I know. Mei said she’d seen something similar on one of the Earth channels in some crime show. She probably did. While I rarely watched holo-TV, Mei did all the time. But her family was wealthy—her dad was in Parliament and her mother came from one of the families that owned all the Martian mining operations. Obviously not of the intellectual class like my dad, so Mei didn’t need to work like I did.

Anyway, in most places, the lights were off. We had to creep around carefully, waiting for the environmental lights to respond. There wasn’t any information available to the general public about the floor designs, nor had I been able to find anything on the Web detailing how the levels were organized. So we set about randomly, looking for something that might tell us anything about the androids, beyond the fluffy bits and pieces we were given as a general populace.

Most of the floors that mattered were secured behind several layers of locks, so we ended up going through a few cafeterias in our search. Mei asked how many lunchrooms one building needed.

“Well it
is
ninety floors or something.”

“So what, every floor has a hundred people on it?”

“Maybe,” I said, shrugging, opening the door to a stairwell.

“There’s something chilling about this place, cowgirl. We should hurry.”

“We can’t leave till we find something and I don’t know how long that will take.”

“Maybe you should pray,” Mei said, sarcastically.

I glared at her as we climbed the stairs. “To who? Buddha?”

“Buddha doesn’t answer prayers,” Mei said with a serious look. “He’s a mediator between God and man, but he doesn’t answer prayers. He’s the head of the saints. He was sainted a hundred years ago.”

“Then who should I pray to?”

“Don’t you have your own god? Or an angel or some kind of saint?”

“Not really,” I said, feeling out of breath as we opened a door to a new floor. “At least, none that have ever answered my prayers.”

“So you
have
prayed!” Mei said like she’d gotten me to admit something I ought to be ashamed of.

I ignored her accusation. “This floor looks promising.” We were on a level with multiple freestanding Gates on desks organized in an open, airy floor. Some of them glowed with the faint, humming nimbus of power.

Mei slid onto a narrow, wheeled chair in front of one of the Gates. “Let’s see if we can find anything.”

“I’m sure it’s password protected,” I said, doubtfully, holding back.

“If it was, it’s not now,” she said, her voice getting a thrill in it.