Joy
This is chapter 9, have you read chapter one yet?
Darla sauntered through the arch into the arena dressing room, leather tassets flapping over pale, cell-shaded thighs, and Simonee ducked in behind, breath heavy, heart thumping still after the match. With a flick, Darla’s battle axe flew into the corner where it landed perfectly placed on the rack with a clang. She loosened the strap on her breast plate.
She turned as she wiggled out of it. “Hey, don’t boot out yet, will ya? I’m gonna change, but gotta favor to ask.”
Simonee opened her mouth, but Darla ducked behind a partition before she could say anything. Glancing one way then the other, she tried flicking her longsword at the rack, but it just clattered on the stone in front of her. Darla was so much better at this—having a direct brain interface probably helped.
So she sat. Her leather armor tugged and stretched tight, every crease and bend registering on her skin through pinpoint nerve induction. She’d gotten over the ick of Bastien’s cockpit chair, but refused to wear the grundle harness, so those parts just felt polyester.
Behind the partition, Darla shuffled, fabric rustling, bra hooks snapping—it seemed completely unnecessary seeing as she could flip a toggle and load a new outfit. She did it all the time in the volumetric displays.
But then what time would there be for girl talk? “It’s been really great, you know, having you hang with us the last few weeks. Don’t your friends ever wonder where you are?”
They didn’t. Venus was still six weeks out and neither Estrella nor Mariem frequented the common areas. When they did cross paths, it became a duel of who could out-ignore the other while making it painfully obvious they were doing so. Carlos... well Carlos spent a lot of time setting the monkey free.
“Oh, no, things are a little tense over there right now. You guys are great though.”
They were—they talked and laughed. She played their game with them.
They listened to her stories—the grand ones, the sad ones—never judging, always holding that space for her to breathe.
And she quickly fell in love with them—their banter, their play, fighting the dark they all knew was somewhere near ahead.
“Well, I’m not complainin’. It’s nice fightin’ beside another badass lady for a change.”
“Ha, just wish I wasn’t such a noob.” She stretched out her arms. “This setup you guys have is great, though.”
“Don’t down yourself girl, you held your own with that Wyvern today. Dragon slaying is not for the faint of heart, you know. If things don’t lighten up over there, you’re always welcome to float along with us. Get you some practice with that long sword.”
Her jaw dropped. “I... I don’t know about that.” She did know, but— “I feel like I owe them something for Enceladus Station.”
Darla snorted. “You don’t owe nobody your misery, hon. Change your mind though, and we’ve got bunks here to spare.” Darla stepped out from the partition.
Simonee gaped—grey sweats, slippers...
And she wasn’t a cartoon anymore. It was all the more shocking against the cell-shaded environment.
Darla was the real one now, as if the woman on the ventilator stood up from her bed and dressed for a slumber party.
“Watch it, Sim, you’ll catch flies.” But the snark didn’t carry through it.
Darla broke the rules, and Simonee didn’t know how to play anymore. “What... are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She looked down and pulled her hair back into a ponytail with a tie that rolled off her wrist. When she looked up her eyes were shut, shoulders sagging. “Ah, feels good to be frumpy. Oh...” A pair of glasses materialized in her hands. She put them on. “There, perfect.”
Simonee scooted as Darla shuffled beside her and sat. Waggling her fingers, the arena dissolved and the cell-shading texturized into photorealism. Simonee’s armor softened to cotton and she was now in black sweats and the bench was a couch and the room became... soft.
Darla stared at her hands.
“What’s going on, Darla?”
“I need your help.” Her voice was so small that Simonee scooted closer.
“With what?” She asked.
Darla spread her hands in front of her and a document window appeared midair. She nudged it over and Simonee pulled it in.
She read, skimmed, flipped charts, studied diagrams, gasped then swallowed. “Echo protocol? Are you—”
“I’m sure.” She eyed Simonee.
“Why not Bastien?” Simonee croaked.
“Because he won’t, and I won’t make him.” She shook her head. “I need options, Sim. Do you know how it feels to fight a dragon and your heart won’t race, to look at the man you love and never feel it skip? We didn’t build an emulator for that. My destiny is coming for me, and when it does, I need it to be clean—for his sake.”
“Hey guys!” Bastien’s voice blasted into the environment. “You about done in there, I need Simonee for a minute.”
Simonee looked up, then at Darla.
Darla nodded. “Give it a think, will ya?”
The inductors cleared and the cold cockpit shivered over her skin, gooseflesh chasing away the residual buzz as the damp rustle of sweaty polyester rode her back into reality. She yanked off the goggles and unstrapped.
When she stood, Bastien was there, goofy grin at full blast.
“Have fun? I saw the Wyvern battle on the little screen, that was some smart swordpl—hey you alright there, Sim?”
She wiped her eyes. “Yeah, no, I think I had the focus off, eyes kept twitching.” She fought a smooth breath through a shaky chest.
His eyes wavered but he kept the grin. “Right, well, if you’re not too tired from slaying dragons, you think you could help me out with 90955 a bit?”
Her belly went cold, but she nodded anyway. “Sure.”
She followed Bastien into the corridor. He walked slower than usual, hands in his pockets. She matched his pace.
Then he said, “So, uhm, did she ask you?”
Her eyes snapped to his. “What?”
He winced. “Ooh, she didn’t? About hanging out with us? On the long haul?”
She nodded. “Oh, right—she did.”
He grinned. “I don’t know what you’ve got goin’ on with Carlos and Co. But since you’re a free agent and all—”
“When do you leave Venus?” She asked.
“As soon as we deliver 90955 and fuel up, we’re headed to Earth for a pickup, then Mars... then back to Venus... it’s a whole loop. No rush in answering, obviously.”
They reached 90955’s room and she looked up at him, smiled—real. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.”
His eyes squinted. “Super! So, how do you feel about sponge baths?”
“What?” She glanced in the room—a bucket of soapy water sat on the floor with a large yellow sponge poking out.
“It’s uhm... bath time and, well I’ve only been washing her extremities. But this time she needs a more, thorough cleaning, if you catch my drift.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Right.”
90955 lay still on her bunk, the covers pulled away, her legs bare and pale in the warm lights above. Her hair had grown a lot in the last few weeks—coppery and tangled, the ends bunched and frayed like old exposed wiring.
Bastien went on, “Seeing as you’re, uh, you know, female and I’m a happily married man, it might be more appropriate for you to, well, you know…” He waved his hands in the air. “Rub-a-dub-dub?”
She couldn’t help the lift in her cheeks. “Yeah.” But it brought a sting, and she turned to the bucket as she blinked it away. “You go boot in with Darla, I got this.”
“Gee, thanks, Sim, really appreciate’cha. Here, might want to look this over.” He handed her a tablet from the med cart, it snapped on to display a document titled, Care and Feeding: the first six months.
She side-eyed Bastien. “Really, an instruction manual?”
He grimaced. “Yeah... in hindsight, that’s pretty bad, given the audience but... it’s been helpful. Oh and there’s a fridge—that panel right there.” He shuffled over and clicked it open, pulling out a small box with a plastic straw glued on the back.
He handed it to her. “Mother’s Milk?” She grunted. “That’s a bit on the nose.” She turned it over: Synthetic protein supplement for weening constructs onto a human diet.
“Yeah, they sent me a whole crate of that stuff. Don’t ask how I know it tastes like moldy cucumbers.” He shivered. “If she needs a snack, she’ll drink it even when she’s out of it like this. Just listen for the grumble.”
She set the box down and grabbed the sponge as he turned to leave.
He spun and back walked, pointing. “Oh, there’s fresh gowns in the drawer under her bunk, and a brush—her hair’s gotten real tangly.”
And he was gone.
She was alone with 90955, again. The room was silent but for the faint hum of the air circulators and a steady click coming out of the med scanner. The girl stared at the top of her bunk, face unmoving even as her chest rose and fell. She blinked, but slowly and none too often.
Standing there, sponge dripping in her hand, Simonee was stuck.
She kept seeing that leg kicking, those hands curling, those eyes rolling white. She remembered that voice croaking her own number like a decree.
But this girl was limp, oblivious.
“Alright,” She muttered. “let’s get this over with.” Louder—”Hey, remember me? It’s Simonee.”
90955 didn’t respond.
Simonee dipped the sponge back into the bucket on the floor, wrung it out. Gently, she took the girl’s arm and lifted, rubbing the sponge from elbow to wrist, over knuckles, and around fingers.
90955 didn’t respond.
She was paler than Simonee by design, with freckles that tumbled down her arms, skin so smooth—taut over muscle and sinew without sag or crease—young.
Her own hands told a story of age—radiation mottled in dull patches, light scars, skin thicker at the joints, nails chipped and torn.
Simonee wasn’t old by any human measure, but living had tugged her loose and worn
How long do constructs live? They aged differently, she knew—quick then slow.
She was washing the same arm again and stopped.
Not like this. She sighed—the gown had to come off.
It tied in the back, but it was long. She needed her to stand.
“Don’t freak out,” She muttered at the girl on the bed but she was talking to herself. “I’ve got to take off this gown. Can you stand up.”
90955 didn’t respond.
She got an arm under her back and lifted—the girl sat up without resistance. She tugged the girl’s legs over, feet on the ground. 90955 cooperated like a posable doll, moving as directed, but never looking.
“Can you stand?” She asked.
No response.
“Okay.” She took one hand and lifted the other arm. The girl bowled over headfirst but Simonee caught her. The girl’s legs shook, but held as she pulled her to standing.
The girl stared right through her.
“And now the gown.” She pulled the tie loose and undone and slid the gown down her arms.
90955 didn’t even blink.
Simonee blew through shut lips and grabbed the sponge.
“Back first, okay?”
90955 didn’t respond.
She ran the sponge over 90955’s shoulders and back. Goose-pimples scattered down the girl’s arms.
She stopped. “Is that cold?” But the water was warm.
And 90955 didn’t respond.
Simonee scrubbed all over, but 90955 didn’t move on her own. Bastien really hadn’t done much more than keep her hands clean—dead skin and grime caked in the creases and shadowed her breasts.
And the whole time 90955 didn’t even move.
Until she did.
The sponge splashed in the bucket for the last time. Simonee pulled a fresh gown from the drawer, and put the brush on the bunk. She tore open the gown’s plastic overwrap.
And a voice croaked behind her, “Sim…”
“Agh!” She spun. 90955 was looking at her, then herself, brow cinched, mouth half open.
“Sim… Sim—Sim—”
“Sim-oh-nee.” She blurted. “Yes, my name is Simonee.”
“Sim… nee.” 90955 seemed to push it out.
She’d feared what words might come out of this girl’s mouth, but this wasn’t that other voice, this was a voice that sounded like her own, but... new. The girl said her name again and it hit her chest in a way she didn’t understand.
“Hey there, nice to meet you again.”
90955 shook her head and stared down in front of her.
“It’s okay, don’t force it. You’re doing good.”
90955 looked up and smiled. Simonee’s ears pounded. She didn’t know what she was feeling, but it felt so light—but oh, so heavy. She had so many questions that this girl couldn’t answer. They all bundled up in the back of her throat.
“I’m…” Then she realized the girl was shivering. “Let’s get you dressed. Can you put your arms out?”
90955 nodded but the effort to lift them seemed extreme, so Simonee helped, sliding the gown up and over, tying it in the back.
“There, you go, 909—” That wasn’t right.
She grabbed the brush and stepped behind the girl, pulling the brush down her hair in long strokes, fighting the nests and tangles. She’d gone too long without grooming. What was Bastien thinking?
Why didn’t she care sooner?
As she brushed, the thought pushed through her chest. It wasn’t even bad though it hurt a little. And now her eyes burned. Why?
The girl reached up and grabbed her hand, stopping her. The girl turned, hand still cool on Simonee’s. She pulled the brush down between them, just holding it, hand over hand. But the girl was smiling. And Simonee’s own face lifted.
“Sim-nee,” the girl said.
Simonee nodded.
“Thank… Sim...nee.” She fought out the words.
Simonee gasped. “You’re welcome.”
The girl reached in and wrapped around her. Simonee’s arms folded over. Cheek met cheek—warm. Simonee squeezed—eyes burning. What was this?
“Joy,” Simonee spluttered
The girl pulled back, head tilted. “Juh… joy?”
Simonee stared at the girl. Her smile, her puzzled eyes, and what with the burn in her head and the lift in her heart...
She nodded. “Yes, Joy. Could I—would you like me to call you that?”
The girl’s face lit bright.
“Joy it is,” Simonee said. “No more numbers. Just Joy.”
And Joy pulled in and kissed her.
Not sensual—gratitude—and she pulled back.
But her eyes dimmed and her arms fell slack, knees buckled. Simonee caught her and rolled her into the bunk.
She was sitting on the floor, back to the wall, knees up, and watched Joy sleep, when a knock jerked her eyes to the door.
“Safe to come in?” Bastien asked from the doorway.
“Yeah, she’s resting.”
Hands in his pockets, he leaned on the wall. “Everything go okay?”
She nodded. “We need to wash her more often. She was really grimy.”
He chuckled. “Hnnn, yeah. We?”
She looked at him. “I want to help you take care of Joy.”
“Oh, well, that would be much appreciated, but… Joy?”
She crossed her arms. “I gave her a name—Joy.” Shook her head. “No more 90955.”
He waggled his head. “Unn, don’t get too attached to that. They do their own naming at the sanctuary.”
She stood. “Wait, really? Like their handlers—”
He shook his head. “Nope, no handlers, just the constructs—I don’t presume to pry, but they’ve got all kinds of rituals and stuff. Very religious like. Naming a new member is a pretty big ceremony.”
She glanced back at Joy, and pulled Bastien out of the room. “Tell me more. What are they like? Are they all like-like—her?”
He threw up his hands. “Hey, now I’m just the delivery guy. All I know is what Apa told me. He called it Molly’s program.”
She shook her head. “Apa? Molly?”
“Hmm, okay, so Apa Mann’s my client, Molly’s one of them—you... I think. She’s in charge of all the ritual stuff. That’s all I know.”
She leaned in. “But why? Why does he… collect them—us?”
His hands went up again. “That is where I end my business. All I know is he used to work for SynBio, and now he’s buying up their defects. Not for anything kinky, mind you, just... to let them be.”
She peeked in at Joy again, and the sight pulled something straight down from her chest and through her belly.
“I need to talk to Molly... can you...?”
He winced. “I mean, I could ask Apa. Maybe he can introduce you but... well we’ll only be parked there for a day so, if you plan on staying there awhile...”
Her chest sunk and she stared at the floor a moment. She never thought of what she’d do when they got to Venus. But their offer... Darla’s request. The Fénix.
She looked down—up. “I’m sorry. But, I... I named her, and I’ve gotta make sure it sticks. I’ll tell Darla, okay?”
Bastien grinned. “Remarkable. Well, they’re a pretty insular group, but I think they’ll make an exception. You’re family after all.”
New to Simonee’s story? The Cannibal of Cloud Ball 9 is Book Two of The Girl with the Cybernetic Eye. Book One—The Ice Princess of Enceladus Station—is complete and free to read. Start here.