‘How many different techniques do you know?’ Sidra asked, thinking of the sign out front.
‘My specialty’s modern Aeluon style, but I also know how to do bots and temporary stuff like this.’ She nodded at the Aandrisk. ‘Most of my business comes from people who want bot art, actually. It’s pretty popular, especially for spacers. Everybody wants to say they got ink on Coriol. Apparently that means something out there. I dunno. I’ve never lived anywhere else, except for university.’
Sidra considered. ‘You don’t use bots on yourself.’
‘Not like you mean. I don’t have any moving art on me, true. But there are bots here,’ she said, trailing a finger down one of the stylised trees branching across her flat, bare chest. ‘They just don’t move.’
‘Then why have bots at all?’
‘They help maintain the integrity of the linework when my skin grows or shrinks. Keeps the edges from blurring.’
‘Why don’t you use moving ones?’
Tak made a face. ‘Because they drive us nuts. Aeluons, I mean. I don’t mind bots on other species. I can talk to a Human who’s swirling from head to toe, no problem. But on an Aeluon, that’d be a nightmare. Keep in mind—’ She pointed at one of her cheeks.
‘Oh,’ Sidra said. ‘Of course.’ A colour-changing tattoo during a colour-changing conversation would be an enormous distraction. ‘I’d imagine that’d be annoying.’
‘Confusing, mostly. And honestly, when I first started inking, it took me a while to get used to it with other species. I did a gorgeous nebula across this Human’s back once. All these rich purples and deep deep blues, swirling real slow. Art-wise, it looked fantastic, but combined with skin, I kept feeling like his back was pissed at me. Purple means angry, see.’ Tak’s cheeks rippled. She looked amused. ‘What about you? Got any ink?’
‘No.’
‘Just not your thing?’
‘No, I—’ Sidra paused, not wanting to insult this woman’s profession. ‘I don’t quite understand it.’
‘You mean, why people do it?’
‘I suppose so.’
Tak rocked her head in thought, adjusting her pipe. ‘Depends on the person. I mean, just about every species mods themselves somehow. Quelin brand their shells. Harmagians shove jewellery through their tendrils. My species and yours have both been tattooing for millennia. If you’re interested in different cultural practices, there’s a great collection of essays called Through The Surface on body art traditions by species. It’s by Kirish Tekshereket – have you read any of her work?’
Sidra added a note to her list. ‘I haven’t, no.’
‘Oh, she’s fantastic. Highly recommend it. But back to your question: why do people do it. I’ve always thought of it as a way to get a little more in touch with your body.’
The kit leaned forward. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah. Your mind and your body. Two separate things, right?’
Sidra directed all her processing power to the conversation at hand. ‘Right.’
‘Except not. Your mind comes from your body. It’s born out of it. And yet, it’s a wholly independent thing. Even though the two are linked, there’s a disconnect. Your body does stuff without asking your mind about it, and your mind wants stuff that your body can’t always do. You know what I mean?’
‘Yes.’ Stars, did she ever.
‘So, tattooing . . . you’ve got a picture in your mind, then you put it on your body. You make a hazy imagining into a tangible part of you. Or, to flip it around, you want a reminder of something, so you put it on your body, where it’s a real, touchable thing. You see the thing on your body, you remember it in your mind, then you touch it on your body, you remember why you got it, what you were feeling then, and so on, and so on. It’s a re-enforcing circle. You’re reminded that all these separate pieces are part of the whole that comprises you.’ The Aeluon laughed at herself. ‘Or is that too fluffy?’
‘No,’ Sidra said. She was intensely focused, as if she were plugged into the Linkings. There was an Aandrisk gesture that captured this feeling perfectly: tresha. Someone seeing a truth in you without being told. ‘No, that sounds wonderful.’
Tak lifted the gun away from the Aandrisk, and took out her pipe. She looked Sidra in the eye, studying her. ‘Tell you what,’ she said, after three seconds. She tapped her wristpatch against Sidra’s. Sidra registered a new download – a contact file. ‘You ever want to take the plunge, I’d love to assist.’
‘Thank you,’ Sidra said. She held the contact file at the forefront of her pathways for a moment, feeling like Tak had given her a gift. ‘Would you mind if I kept watching you work for a while?’