Nebula Awards Showcase 2003 Part 14

"Doubtful," said the ship. "Independent sentients create a signature disturbance in the sixth dimension."

"Could there be some secret dictator among the humans, a hidden oligarchy?"

"I see no evidence that anyone is in charge. Do you?"

She shook her head. "Did they choose to live in a museum," she said, "or were they condemned to it?

It's obvious there's no First Right here; these people have only theillusion of individuality. And no Second Right either. Those bodies are as plain as uniforms-they're still slaves to their biology."

"There's no disease," said the ship. "They seem to be functionally immortal."

"That's not saying very much, is it?" Mada sniffed. "Maybe this is some scheme to start human civilization over again. Or maybe they're like seeds, stored here until someone comes along to plant them." She waved all the screens off. "I want to go down for a closer look. What do I need to pa.s.s?"

"Clothes, for one thing." The ship displayed a selection of current styles on its screen. They were extravagantly varied, from ballooning pastel tents to skin-tight sheaths of luminescent metal, to feathered camouflage to jumpsuits made of what looked like dried mud. "Fashion design is one of their princ.i.p.al pastimes," said the ship. "In addition, you'll probably want genitalia and the usual secondary s.e.xual characteristics."It took her the better part of a day to flow ovaries, fallopian tubes, a uterus, cervix, and v.u.l.v.a and to rearrange her v.a.g.i.n.a. All these unnecessary organs made her feel bloated. She saw b.r.e.a.s.t.s as a waste of tissue; she made hers as small as the ship thought acceptable. She argued with it about the several substantial patches of hair it claimed she needed. Clearly, grooming them would require constant attention. She didn't mind taming her claws into fingernails but she hated giving up her whiskers. Without them, the air was practically invisible. At first her new v.u.l.v.a tickled when she walked, but she got used to it.

The ship entered Earth's atmosphere at night and landed in what had once been Saskatchewan, Canada.

It dumped most of its ma.s.s into the empty dimensions and flowed itself into baggy black pants, a moss-colored boat neck top and a pair of brown, gripall loafers. It was able to conceal its complete sensorium in a canvas belt.

It was 9:14 in the morning on June 23, 19,834,004 CE when Mada strolled into the village of Harmonious Struggle.

the devil's apple Harmonious Struggle consisted of five clothing shops, six restaurants, three jewelers, eight art galleries, a musical instrument maker, a crafts workshop, a weaver, a potter, a woodworking shop, two candle stores, four theaters with capacities ranging from twenty to three hundred and an enormous sporting goods store attached to a miniature domed stadium. There looked to be apartments over most of these establishments; many had views of nearby Rabbit Lake.

Three of the restaurants-Ha.s.sam's Palace of Plenty, The Devil's Apple, and Laurel's-were practically jostling each other for position on Sonnet Street, which ran down to the lake. Lounging just outside of each were waiters eyeing handheld screens. They sprang up as one when Mada happened around the corner.

"Good day, Madame. Have you eaten?"

"Well met, fair stranger. Come break bread with us."

"All natural foods, friend! Lightly cooked, humbly served."

Mada veered into the middle of the street to study the situation as the waiters called to her. ~So I can choose whichever I want?~ she subvocalized to the ship.

~In an attention-based economy,~ subbed the ship in reply, ~all they expect from you is an audience.~ Just beyond Ha.s.sam's, the skinny waiter from The Devil's Apple had a wry, crooked smile. Black hair fell to the padded shoulders of his shirt. He was wearing boots to the knee and loose rust-colored shorts, but it was the little red cape that decided her.

As she walked past her, the waitress from Ha.s.sam's was practically shouting. "Madame,please , their batter is dull!" She waved her handheld at Mada. "Read thereviews . Who puts shrimp inm.u.f.fins ?"

The waiter at The Devil's Apple was named Owen. He showed her to one of three tables in the tiny restaurant. At his suggestion, Mada ordered the poached peaches with white cheese mousse, anasparagus breakfast torte, baked orange walnut French toast and coddled eggs. Owen served the peaches, but it was the chef and owner, Edris, who emerged from the kitchen to clear the plate.

"The mousse, Madame, you liked it?" she asked, beaming.

"It was good," said Mada.

Her smile shrank a size and a half. "Enough lemon rind, would you say that?"

"Yes. It was very nice."

Mada's reply seemed to dismay Edris even more. When she came out to clear the next course, she blanched at the corner of breakfast torte that Mada had left uneaten.

"I knew this." She s.n.a.t.c.hed the plate away. "The pastry wasn't fluffy enough." She rolled the offending sc.r.a.p between thumb and forefinger.

Mada raised her hands in protest. "No, no, it was delicious." She could see Owen shrinking into the far corner of the room.

"Maybe too much Colby, not enough Gruyere?" Edris snarled. "But you have no comment?"

"I wouldn't change a thing. It was perfect."

"Madame is kind," she said, her lips barely moving, and retreated.

A moment later Owen set the steaming plate of French toast before Mada.

"Excuse me." She tugged at his sleeve.

"Something's wrong?" He edged away from her. "You must speak to Edris."

"Everything is fine. I was just wondering if you could tell me how to get to the local library."

Edris burst out of the kitchen. "What are you doing, bean-headed boy? You are distracting my patron with absurd chitterchat. Get out, get out of my restaurant now."

"No, really, he . . ."

But Owen was already out the door and up the street, taking Mada's appet.i.te with him.

~You're doing something wrong,~ the ship subbed.

Mada lowered her head. ~I know that!~ Mada pushed the sliver of French toast around the pool of maple syrup for several minutes but could not eat it. "Excuse me," she called, standing up abruptly. "Edris?"

Edris shouldered through the kitchen door, carrying a tray with a silver egg cup. She froze when she saw how it was with the French toast and her only patron.

"This was one of the most delicious meals I have ever eaten." Mada backed toward the door. She wanted nothing to do with eggs, coddled or otherwise.

Edris set the tray in front of Mada's empty chair. "Madame, the art of the kitchen requires the tongue of the patron," she said icily.She fumbled for the latch. "Everything was very, very wonderful."

no comment Mada slunk down Lyric Alley, which ran behind the stadium, trying to understand how exactly she had offended. In this attention-based economy, paying attention was obviously not enough. There had to be some other cultural protocol she and the ship were missing. What she probably ought to do was go back and explore the clothes shops, maybe pick up a pot or some candles and see what additional information she could blunder into. But making a fool of herself had never much appealed to Mada as a learning strategy. She wanted the map, a native guide-some edge, preferably secret.

~Scanning,~ subbed the ship. ~Somebody is following you. He just ducked behind the privet hedge twelve-point-three meters to the right. It's the waiter, Owen.~ "Owen," called Mada, "is that you? I'm sorry I got you in trouble. You're an excellent waiter."

"I'm not really a waiter." Owen peeked over the top of the hedge. "I'm a poet."

She gave him her best smile. "You said you'd take me to the library." For some reason, the smile stayed on her face. "Can we do that now?"

"First listen to some of my poetry."

"No," she said firmly. "Owen, I don't think you've been paying attention. I said I would like to go to the library."

"All right then, but I'm not going to have s.e.x with you."

Mada was taken aback. "Really? Why is that?"

"I'm not attracted to women with small b.r.e.a.s.t.s."

For the first time in her life, Mada felt the stab of outraged hormones. "Come out here and talk to me."

There was no immediate break in the hedge, so Owen had to squiggle through. "There's something about me that you don't like," he said as he struggled with the branches.

"Is there?" She considered. "I like your cape."

"That youdon't like." He escaped the hedge's grasp and brushed leaves from his shorts.

"I guess I don't like your narrow-mindedness. It's not an attractive quality in a poet."

There was a gleam in Owen's eye as he went up on his tiptoes and began to declaim:

"That spring you left I thought I might expire And lose the love you left for me to keep.

To hold you once again is my desireBefore I give myself to death's long sleep."

He ill.u.s.trated his poetry with large, flailing gestures. At "death's long sleep" he brought his hands together as if to pray, laid the side of his head against them and closed his eyes. He held that pose in silence for an agonizingly long time.

"It's nice," Mada said at last. "I like the way it rhymes."

He sighed and went flat-footed. His arms drooped and he fixed her with an accusing stare. "You're not from here."

"No," she said. ~Where am I from?~ she subbed. ~Someplace he'll have to look up.~ ~Marble Bar. It's in Australia.~ "I'm from Marble Bar."

"No, I mean you're not one of us. You don't comment."

At that moment, Mada understood.~I want to skip downwhen four minutes. I need to undo this.~

~.this undo to need I .minutes four downwhen skip to want I~ .understood Mada, moment that At ".comment don't You .us of one not you're mean I, No" ".Bar Marble from I'm"~.Australia in It's .Bar Marble~ ~.up look to have he'll Someplace~ .subbed she~?from I am Where~ .said she ",No"

".here from not You're" .stare accusing an with her fixed he and drooped arms His .flatfooted went and sighed He ".rhymes it way the like I" .last at said Mada ",nice It's" .time long agonizingly an for silence in pose that held He .eyes his closed and them against head his of side the laid ,pray to if as together hands his brought he "sleep long death's" At .gestures flailing ,large with poetry his ill.u.s.trated He ".sleep long death's to myself give I Before desire my is again once you hold To .keep to me for left you love the lose And expire might I thought I left you spring That" :declaim to began and tiptoes his on up went he as eye Owen's in gleam a was There ".poet a in quality attractive an not It's .narrow-mindedness your like don't I guess I" .shorts his from leaves brushed and grasp hedge's the escaped He ".likedon't you That"

".cape your like I" .considered She "?there Is" .branches the with struggled he as said he ",like don't you that me about something There's" .through squiggle to had Owen so ,hedge the in break immediate no was There ".me to talk and here out Come" .hormones outraged of stab the felt Mada ,life her in time first the For ".b.r.e.a.s.t.s small with women to attracted not I'm" "?that is Why ?Really" .aback taken was Mada ".you with s.e.x have to going not I'm but ,then right All" ".library the to go to like would I said I .attention paying been you've think don't I ,Owen" .firmly said she ",No" ".poetry my of some to listen First"

As the ship surged through the empty dimensions, three s.p.a.ce became as liquid as a dream. Leaves smeared and buildings ran together. Owen's face swirled.

"They want criticism," said Mada. "They like to think of themselves as artists but they're insecure about what they've accomplished. They want their audience to engage with what they're doing, help them make it better-the comments they both seem to expect."

"I see it now," said the ship. "But is one person in a backwater worth an undo? Let's just start oversomewhere else."

"No, I have an idea." She began flowing more fat cells to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. For the first time since she had skipped upwhen, Mada had a glimpse of what her duty might now be. "I'm going to need a big special effect on short notice. Be ready to reclaim ma.s.s so you can resubstantiate the hull at my command."

"First listen to some of my poetry."

"Go ahead." Mada folded her arms across her chest. "Say it then."

Owen stood on tiptoes to declaim:

"That spring you left I thought I might expire And lose the love you left for me to keep.

To hold you once again is my desire Before I give myself to death's long sleep."

He ill.u.s.trated his poetry with large, flailing gestures. At "death's long sleep" he brought his hands together as if to pray, moved them to the side of his head, rested against them and closed his eyes. He had held the pose for just a beat before Mada interrupted him.

"Owen," she said. "You look ridiculous."

He jerked as if he had been hit in the head by a shovel.

She pointed at the ground before her. "You'll want to take these comments sitting down."

He hesitated, then settled at her feet.

"You hold your meter well, but that's purely a mechanical skill." She circled behind him. "A smart oven could do as much. Stop fidgeting!"

She hadn't noticed the anthills near the spot she had chosen for Owen. The first scouts were beginning to explore him. That suited her plan exactly.

"Your real problem," she continued, "is that you know nothing about death and probably very little about desire."

"I know about death." Owen drew his feet close to his body and grasped his knees. "Everyone does.

Flowers die, squirrels die."

"Has anyone you've ever known died?"

He frowned. "I didn't know her personally, but there was the woman who fell off that cliff in Merrymeeting."