The spider’s claw froze in the air. “Types?” it asked. “What types do you mean?”
“Well…” Javier sipped his tea. What types did he mean? He had a clear picture of the people he’d met in prison in Nicaragua, and an even clearer image of the ones passing their time in the waiting area at the Walls. Describing that picture was something else. Should he tell the story about the woman with the shaved head? Or the New Eden pedo and his little vN lover? What level of gritty realism would convince the machine sitting in front of him? “Well, angry types,” he said. “Or sad. I think people come to Mecha to be happy. And I’m happy when I see humans who are happy.”
The spider nodded so vigorously its claws rattled a little in their couplings. “That is so true,” it said. “It can be so frustrating to spend time with a depressed human. No matter what you do, they just keep on feeling bad!”
“It’s an organic problem,” Javier said.
“Ours is not to know how,” the spider said. It appeared to sigh, slumping forward on its legs. Then it popped up and spun both claws. “But! Here in Mecha, we strive for the best user experience imaginable! There are many humans who leave our island feeling completely cured of all social disorders! Every Mechanese is devoted to the happiness of human beings!”
“Oh, of course!” Javier held up both his hands, palms forward. “I don’t want you think that I can’t make humans happy. I just want to try doing so in a different way, from now on.”
“It sounds like you’re ready for your citizenship test, then,” the spider said.
“Citizenship test?” Javier frowned. “I thought I’d already passed. I thought only passing tests were entered in the lottery.”
“Oh, that’s just the theoretical exam,” the spider said. “This is something new. This is the practical.”
For a moment, he thought he was back at the Akiba.
At least, that was what it looked like. The spider led Javier down a narrow, accordion-style hallway that opened onto what was probably a portable building. The spider pushed open the door, and ushered Javier inside.
Inside was a festival on a summer night. It was warm, and terrifically humid. Fireflies blinked greenly through the air. They were real. They drifted toward hanging paper lanterns and fairy lights strung down a busy street full of humans in tourist clothes. There were some of Rory in there, too – mingling and looking pretty without really saying anything. Most of them were in traditional clothes, but a few of them weren’t. They were buying skewers and playing games. They fished for goldfish and held up charms and compared bolts of cloth.
“Everyone,” the spider said, “this is Arcadio!”
The crowd turned. “Hi, Arcadio!”
“We’re going to start the clock, now.” The spider turned to Javier and took his right hand in its right claw. “Now, I’m sure you recall the terms of citizenship agreement you signed when you completed your application, but I must remind you of this one detail: you are not allowed to discuss what goes on in this exam with any other potential applicants. Sharing that information is grounds for revocation of your citizenship.”
“Uh…”
“Good luck, Mr Corcovado. We’re all rooting for you.”
The spider sped out of the room. Above the door, a clock flashed: 14:59. Fifteen minutes. He had fifteen minutes to prove that he belonged here. But what did that involve? Ordinary citizenship exams required a bunch of forms, and maybe an interview, and then an oath. Was this the interview? Were they going to ask him how much he knew about his new home? About its history? If so, he was completely fucked.
He went up to the nearest Rory. “What am I supposed to do, here?”
“You’ll see,” she said, as a cart rolled up at the end of the street. On it were the words “FREAKS OF NATURE”. Another Rory jumped out, wearing a circus ringmaster’s uniform. It was very cute: tophat, tails, fishnets, everything.
“Step right up!” she said, cheerily. “Welcome, one and all, children of all ages, to the last human freak show on this island!” She gestured at the cart, and its display rippled. “See Kappa-Kodo, half-boy, half-fish!”
Everyone applauded.
“See the Onibaba, the Bearded Lady!”
The applause increased.
“See Shinji, the Man Without Feelings!”
Out of the cart stepped a man. His age was hard to place. He had some teeth missing. He was Japanese. He smelled like alcohol rub. And his pupils said that he’d just taken a load of beta blockers.
“Everyone, this is Shinji,” Ringmaster Rory said.
“Hi, Shinji.”
“Shinji has a special neurological disorder. It’s called congenital analgesia.” She said the word loud and slow. Everyone cooed. “Shinji, please explain.”
Shinji apparently had a hard time working his jaw. Maybe it was just that he was having a hard time with the English. “I can’t feel any pain.”
“None at all?” Ringmaster Rory asked.
“None at all.”
“Have you ever felt any pain?”