Sidra looked to Pepper, who didn’t look sure about this, either. Her face was neutral, but unnaturally so, and a flush of tense red heated her skin. The Aeluon wasn’t the only one changing colour, and Sidra understood why. Pepper did not take kindly to situations she wasn’t in control of, and she knew Tak had a trump card in her pocket. This was Pepper’s shop, Pepper’s territory, yet here was someone whose lead she had to follow.
‘Sidra,’ Pepper said, her voice calm and tight, ‘Tak was wondering if she could have a word with you.’
The kit took a breath. ‘Okay,’ Sidra said.
Tak held her satchel strap tightly with one hand. Sidra could see the other trying not to fidget. ‘I was hoping somewhere private? A cafe, or—’
Pepper’s eyes snapped to Tak. ‘You’re welcome to step into the back, if you want.’ The words were nonchalant, but they weren’t an invitation.
Tak’s talkbox moved as she swallowed. ‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s cool.’ The uneasy reddish yellow in her cheeks deepened; this wasn’t how she’d pictured things, either.
What’s she doing here? Sidra thought. All her other processes were idling.
‘I’ll be right out here,’ Pepper said, as Tak made her way back. She was looking at Sidra, but the words were meant for everyone present. Sidra felt the kit’s shoulders relax, just a bit. Pepper was there. Pepper was listening.
Tak entered the workshop. Sidra didn’t know what to do. Was she a customer? A guest? A threat? She had directory after directory stuffed with different ways to greet people, but none of them applied. How did you treat someone whose intentions were unclear?
They stood facing each other. Tak had the look of someone with a lot to say but no idea where to begin. Sidra knew the feeling.
‘Would you like some mek?’ Sidra said. She wasn’t sure if that was the right way to start, but it was better than silence.
Tak blinked. ‘Uh, no,’ she said, with surprised politeness. ‘No, I’m okay. Thanks.’
Sidra kept searching. ‘Do you . . . want to sit down?’
Tak rubbed her palms on her hips. ‘Yeah,’ she said, and took the chair offered. She exhaled, audibly. ‘Sorry, I . . . this is weird.’
Sidra nodded, then considered. ‘Do you mean for you, or for me?’
‘For both, I’m sure.’ Tak went dusky orange, and pale green, too. Exasperated. Amused. ‘I . . . I don’t know where to start. I figured I’d know when I got here but . . .’ She gestured at herself. ‘Clearly not.’
The kit cocked its head. ‘I just realised something,’ Sidra said.
‘What’s that?’
Sidra paused, worried that she should’ve kept the thought to herself. Given Tak’s reaction the last time they’d been together, she didn’t want to draw attention to her synthetic nature – but there was no point in hiding it any more, either. ‘Neither of us is speaking with an organic voice,’ Sidra said.
Tak blinked again. A soft chuckle came from her talkbox. ‘That’s true. That’s true.’ She thought for three seconds, and gave a glance toward the door. Pepper was no longer welding, but she was doing something involving tools and metal. Something rhythmic and punctuated. Something you couldn’t ignore if you were in earshot. Tak shifted her weight. ‘There is no way I can say any of this without sounding ignorant. But . . . okay. Stars, I’m really trying to not . . . offend you.’ She frowned. ‘This is new for me. That’s a poor excuse, but I mean – I’ve never had a conversation with an AI before. I’m not a spacer. I’m not a modder. I didn’t grow up on a ship. I grew up down here. And here, AIs are just . . . tools. They’re the things that make travel pods go. They’re what answer your questions at the library. They’re what greet you at hotels and shuttleports when you’re travelling. I’ve never thought of them as anything but that.’
‘Okay,’ Sidra said. None of that was an out-of-the-ordinary sentiment, but it itched all the same.
‘But then you . . . you came into my shop. You wanted ink. I’ve thought about what you said before you left. You came to me, you said, because you didn’t fit within your body. And that . . . that is something more than a tool would say. And when you said it, you looked . . . angry. Upset. I hurt you, didn’t I?’
‘Yes,’ Sidra said.
Tak rocked her head in guilty acknowledgement. ‘You get hurt. You read essays and watch vids. I’m sure there are huge differences between you and me, but I mean . . . there are huge differences between me and a Harmagian. We’re all different. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since you left, and a lot of reading, and—’ She exhaled again, short and frustrated. ‘What I’m trying to say is I – I think maybe I under-estimated you. I misunderstood, at least.’
Sidra’s pathways latched onto that, hard. Was Tak here to apologise? Everything that had been said pointed in that direction, and Sidra switched gears as fast as she could. ‘I see,’ she said, still processing.
Tak looked around the workshop, at the bins, the tools, the unfinished projects. ‘This is where you work.’
‘Yes.’
‘Were you . . . made here?’