‘Usually, yes. It’s not always possible. Here at the Port, we get a lot of spacers who have somewhere else to go once their shimmer’s over. There’s contact, at least. Our kids get sib calls. They get presents. A lot of species have this conception that our children don’t know their mothers, but that’s just not true. Aeluon mothers love their children as deeply as anyone does. That’s why they entrust them to professionals who can give them the best upbringing possible.’ He glanced over to one of his fellow fathers, who had given him a non-verbal signal Sidra had not caught. How did Aeluons detect such things in the middle of so much activity? They possessed electroreception as well as sight, she knew, but to her knowledge, cheek colours didn’t give off any additional sensory signals. They had to have an impressive attention to detail – a good quality, she imagined, for a parent.
‘You’ll have to excuse me,’ the Aeluon man said. An Aeluon woman had entered the creche circle. One of the children led her by the hand to the fathers, who greeted her with an effusive flurry of colour. Sidra longed to be able to understand the conversation, but even though she could presumably download a lexicon of Aeluon language, she wasn’t sure the kit’s visual sensors could parse things fast enough. Their cheeks were swirling as quick and varied as the skin on a bubble.
The woman pressed her palm to each of the four fathers’ chests – an initiation for a balsun. One of the creche fathers was clad in neutral grey, and he stepped back as the three white-clad men circled her. The children sprang into action, lining up with the neutral father in a way that suggested they wanted everyone to know they’d been practising this. He took the hands of the two closest to him, meeting their eyes with obvious affection. The neutrals began to stamp their feet on the ground in a synchronised pattern – left left, right, left-left-left, right. The white-clad men and the black-clad woman began to move in rhythm, circling and spinning in a curious way, never missing a beat. Sidra was fascinated. Presumably, their auditory implants were picking up the stamping, but this dance had been done since before the Aeluons taught their brains to process sound. Could they feel the vibrations in the ground? She found it likely, and wished she could share the experience. She watched the woman, covered in glitter, dancing in the hope that she might wake up to her skin shimmering on its own one day. She thought about the menu of services the parent had outlined. Massages, baths, places to sleep, people to mate with. Sidra could understand the desire for these things, in concept. She couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of the woman, even though jealousy was a waste of time. She wasn’t jealous of what the woman was receiving, exactly, but of how confident she looked, how confident they all looked. They each had a role, a place, a colour. They knew where and how they fit.
‘Hey.’ It was Blue, standing beside her. The kit startled; she willed it to stay calm. Stars, but she was tired of not being able to see behind the kit’s head. Did everything have to be a surprise? ‘We, uh, we bumped into some friends, and we were gonna h-hang out with them at their table. You can stay here, if you want to.’
‘No, I’ll come along,’ Sidra said. She followed him out of the creche display and toward Pepper, who was animatedly telling a story to a hodgepodge group of modders. A table sounded good. Sidra had seen the seating nooks, each with a table nestled into a low, free-standing three-sided wall. Three walls meant there was a corner seat. That was the place for her.
JANE 23, AGE 10
Jane 23 never stopped looking at Owl’s face. She moved closer to the screen, but kept her back close to the wall. She didn’t know what else was in here. She didn’t want anything to sneak up on her.
‘Are you a machine?’ Jane 23 asked.
‘Not exactly,’ Owl said. ‘Do you know what software is?’
‘Tasks that live in machines.’
‘That’s a wonderful definition. Yes, I’m software, technically. I’m an AI. I’m a . . . I’m a mind in a machine.’
Jane 23’s muscles went hard and tight. She glanced back at the hatch. She couldn’t see how to open it. ‘Are you . . . are you a Mother?’
‘I don’t think so. I don’t know what that means to you.’
That probably meant no, but Jane 23 had to be sure. ‘The Mothers are minds in machines, too. They take care of girls and make us on-task. They give us meals and help us learn things and punish us if we do bad behaviour.’
The face in the wall looked kind of angry, but Jane 23 didn’t think Owl was angry at her. ‘I’m not a Mother,’ Owl said. ‘I’m not like that. But I’m a similar sort of software, I think. I just . . . I don’t punish people. And I live in a ship. A shuttle, to be precise.’
‘What’s a ship?’
‘A ship is – a ship is a machine you use to get between planets.’
Jane 23’s head hurt. She was real tired of not understanding things. ‘What’s a planet?’
Owl’s face got sad. ‘Oh, stars. A planet is . . . what we’re on right now. I will explain in more detail later. That’s a bigger question than you should have to swallow right now. You’re not hurt, are you? Did they bite you?’
‘No.’ Jane 23 looked down. ‘I cut my hands, though.’
‘Okay,’ Owl said. She looked like she was thinking about something. ‘The water tanks are long gone, but there may be some first aid supplies. I hope so. Here, follow me.’ The screen switched off, but another one turned on, farther into the room.
Jane 23 didn’t move.
‘Hey,’ Owl said. ‘It’s okay. Nothing in here will hurt you. You’re safe.’
Jane 23 didn’t move.
‘Sweetie, I don’t have a body. I can’t touch you.’