‘That’s okay.’
‘You’re gonna do great, I know it. Just let me know if you need a break.’ He leaned in, moving the needle with the same care and sincerity as Blue with his brushes, as Pepper with her tools. Sidra watched with interest as little lines of still-dormant bots appeared, dark and clear below the surface. The kit bled. Tak dabbed the dishonest red liquid up with the corner of a clean cloth. He saw no difference.
‘So,’ Tak said, never taking his eyes off his work. ‘I watched that vid series you mentioned last time. The documentary on the first Exodans leaving the Sol system.’
A warm little glow danced through Sidra’s pathways. ‘What’d you think?’
‘Absolutely fascinating,’ Tak said. ‘It lost me a bit toward the end—’
‘The montage of images of the original crew?’
‘Yeah. Dragged on a little too long. But don’t get me wrong, I thought it was terrific overall. Much, much better than the scraps about Human expansion I learned as a kid.’
Sidra was delighted that her recommendation had been well received. ‘If you want to keep going in that vein, there’s another series called Children of War. It’s not quite as weighty, but I think it offers some very good complementary ideas about the politics on Mars at the time.’ She processed. ‘You went to university, right?’
‘I did.’ A nostalgic orange-flecked ripple crossed Tak’s cheeks. ‘I had aims to be an historian when I was younger. Started my certification track and everything.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. It’s the only time I’ve lived away from here. Spent three standards at Ontalden – you know it?’
‘No.’
‘It’s one of the big universities on Sohep Frie. Had a lot of appeal to me back then. I wanted to see the homeworld, wanted to see what life was like outside of the Port.’ He shifted his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other. ‘But it wasn’t for me, in the end. I love learning. I love history. But there’s history in everything. Every building, everybody you talk to. It’s not limited to libraries and museums. I think people who spend their lives in school forget that sometimes.’
Sidra wished she could watch the needle and Tak’s expressions at once. She was keen on processing both. ‘Why wasn’t it “for you”?’
Tak thought as he worked. ‘I like history because it’s a way of understanding people. Understanding why we’re all like we are right now. Especially in a place like this.’ He rocked his head toward the door, toward the multispecies crowd beyond the wall. ‘I wanted to understand my friends and neighbours better. But when I was on Sohep Frie, I spent a lot of time holed up in the university archives, learning about my own species’ history. We shons, you know, we used to be cultural conduits. We brought a little bit of each village with us when we switched between. Something about that really spoke to me. Not like it’s in my genes, or something. I don’t believe we’re defined by this.’ He held up the wet rag, speckled with false blood. ‘But that idea of being an ambassador of sorts grabbed me, for whatever reason. I realised I wanted to work with a more tangible kind of history. That’s why I do bot ink, and scale dying, and all that stuff. There are few better ways to get to know how a species thinks than to learn their art.’ Tak lifted the needle off the kit’s skin, adjusting his pipe between his delicate teeth. ‘You sure you’ve never done this before?’ he asked, nodding toward the kit’s arm. ‘You’re doing really well.’
A jolt of nervousness shot through her. She’d forgotten to maintain the appearance of pain. ‘Yes.’ She gave the kit a tight smile that communicated toughness – or so she hoped. It was a good thing that she’d seen so little of physical pain, but some frame of reference for how often and to what degree she should make the kit look uncomfortable would’ve been helpful. She chastised herself for not thinking to find some vids of organic sapients getting tattoos. Still, Tak seemed impressed, and in Sidra’s estimation, that was a good turn of events.
They sat that way for an hour and a half – Tak altering the kit, Sidra watching his progress and pulling faces, the time punctuated by idle chit-chat (vids, food, waterball) and lulls of comfortable silence when Tak was most focused.
At last, Tak sat back, switching off the pen. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘There’s your first layer. What do you think? Let me know if there’s something you don’t like. You won’t hurt my feelings.’
Sidra examined the outline that had been driven into the kit’s synthetic skin. The kit started smiling almost before she’d had time to process. ‘This is great,’ she said.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah, it’s wonderful.’ The kit grinned at him. ‘Can we do the next layer now?’
Tak laughed, talkbox bobbing in his throat. ‘I need a short break, and so do you. I’ll get us both some water.’