Are You Sure About This?
“Attention,” Tim barked as he held up his security ID. “I’m commandeering this lift as official security transport. Y’all can have it when it comes back down.”
Ms. Aggy was watching their performance.
15:03:19 [AggyHook] -!- GENHAB(Lift A): SUBJECT(Simonee Saran) :: STATUS(In Custody) :: THREAT LEVEL 0.05
15:03:19 [AggyHook] -!- GENHAB(Lift A): SUBJECT(Timothy Gallagher) :: Behavior(Cocksure) :: THREAT LEVEL 0.02
But Simonee’s agents were on track too.
15:03:20 [PrimPeacock] He’s a bit melodramatic but Ms. Aggy’s taking it.
15:03:21 [GossipyGecko] The crowd is stirring; anti-authoritarian sentiment is on the rise. (13 devices monitoring).
Having her agents back felt like easy breathing—but it couldn’t last. With her smartcomm online, Ms. Aggy knew exactly where they were, and that wouldn’t do when they deviated from the expected route. She needed to go dark again, and soon.
The doors closed and Simonee’s stomach dropped as the lift rose. She swallowed and looked up to see Tim staring at her.
“You really turned things around back there,” he said.
She nudged him and whispered low, “I saw an opening and took it, and keep it quiet—there are mics.”
“Right,” Tim muttered, then louder, “But we caught you in the end you... brigand.”
Simonee side-eyed him upward.
15:05:23 [PrimPeacock] 🙄 Step on his toes for me.
“But I mean, that was one hell of an act,” he whispered.
Simonee shrugged, but winced when the ties bit into her wrists. “It was the truth.”
“Yeah, but, the way you delivered it.” He shook his head. “How’d you know they’d go all in for it?”
She looked at her boots. “If we didn’t give them something they might have escorted us both to containment just to get the whole story.”
When the lift opened, they wove through the crowd onto the nearest tram platform. Tim raised his ID again and shouldered through to the front of the line, demanding priority boarding.
15:09:18 [GossipyGecko] This whole scene is on the network feed. (27 devices monitoring).
15:09:19 [AggyHook] -!- SPINE: SUBJECT(Timothy Gallagher) :: BEHAVIOR(Overweening) :: THREAT LEVEL 0.03
15:09:20 [PrimPeacock] 😫 Tell him to tone it down a bit.
Tim swiped his ID over a sensor by the tram doors and they glided closed.
15:10:23 [AggyHook] -!- TRAM: SUBJECT(Timothy Gallagher) :: STATUS(Check-In) :: ETA to Detainment 15:00
Simonee plopped sideways on a seat, arms angled. She stretched her pinned-back shoulders with a wince and looked at Tim; he smiled back.
She studied him until his smile faltered. “What?”
Simonee looked at the tram doors. “So... where are we getting off?”
“Uhm,” he looked around and whispered, “LuxHab, why are you asking?”
She shook her head. “What happens when you don’t check-in at the lift down to Services?”
Tim blew air through his lips. “I figure we’ll have about fifteen minutes. After that, shit hits the fan.”
Simonee looked at him again. “Are you sure about this? If you get off at Services, I can duck back onto the tram and it’ll look like I ditched you. I’ll go dark and you can half-ass try and find me.”
Tim’s smile reappeared big, his teeth glowing in the blue LED light.
He patted her shoulder. “You’re in my custody, Ms. Saran. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
A grin flickered across Simonee’s face and quickly died. “But why?”
“Well, for one, those three back there would make my life hell. Guys like that care too much. And then there’s Mariem...” He slapped his knees. “Nope, I’m all in.”
15:11:24 [PrimPeacock] 😥 I take it all back.
Simonee nodded. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Besides, if anyone official gets their hand on you, that’s the end isn’t it? What Mason said back there—you aren’t human.”
Simonee studied him again as the tram hummed beneath them. She shook her head, sighed, then looked Tim in the eye. “I’m a construct—grown in an artificial womb—you know, a jar baby. My DNA was generated by AI, prompted to suit the desires of SynBio’s clientele and decanted with a batch of sisters for Novaya Moskva.”
“But you seem… you’re not…” Tim wove his hands in the air.
Simonee raised an eyebrow, “Docile? Simple minded? Submissive”
Tim’s hands collapsed to his lap. “Yeah, those things.”
She looked at the wall behind Tim. “I’m defective.”
Tim sought her eyes, his were soft. “What happened?”
“I lost my faith.” She looked away again. “Mix around DNA all you want but to make something human enough to satisfy, you get a mind with similar structure, and similar weaknesses. We’re not submissive by design, for that SynBio gave us a religion. And I believed in it.”
She told him about the programming center where 70371 danced with her sisters around a dais shrouded in colorful tapestries. Drums beat low and steady; a light ignited the dais from within and Mother danced there with them—a silhouette of curves and motion.
Tim gaped; Simonee’s eyes lost focus as she continued. “Worship for us was service, service to our handlers, our new owners, to our clients. Submission was not our design, it was our faith. But I got curious. I needed to see her, embrace her, join and become. The Obrabotchik didn’t see me climbing.”
Simonee narrowed her eyes at Tim. “And there I saw the lie.”
70371 spun in place, but the dais was empty. Yet the silhouette danced on the tapestries as they billowed and swayed. A light shone on the floor, dust flickering in the glare. She reached out and there, on her palm, danced a tiny goddess.
Simonee cast down her eyes. “And I fell.”
Through the tapestries, into a sprawl over her sisters. Pochemu net Materi? Why is there no Mother? Over and over, she cried. They kissed her tears and told her to hush, but they were like strangers now. The Obrabotchik grabbed her from the pile and threw her to the floor where he pinned her and took his tithing.
Tim shook his head. “They don’t print that on the brochure.”
Simonee cracked a short laugh. “Trade secrets. Ideologies of control cannot tolerate apostasy, so I was... disposed of. But Mariem saved me.”
Tim nodded, then looked at Simonee with a half smile. “So... does that mean you don’t have a belly button?”
Simonee burst out laughing. “Why wouldn’t I have a belly button? You watch too much SciFi. Artificial wombs have to get nutrients into the embryo somehow.”
The tram stopped at the Services ring platform, and as the crowd of passengers coming and going confused the cameras, Simonee had Tim turn off her smartcomm.
His hands hovered. “Um, it’s in your pants?”
Simonee rolled her eyes and nodded.
Tim reached in. Fumbled around. “Man these pockets are deep—Ooh, sorry, was that...?”
She sighed. “Just my ass, Tim.”
The speakers above warbled to life, “This tram is about to depart, please clear the doorway and take your seats.”
“Ah, got it!”
15:15:45 [System] Shutting down...
On the way down to LuxHab, Tim tried to stay invisible with Mariem’s trenchcoat hitched up over his uniform with the collar up. Simonee tucked under the coat close beside him, pressed close as they melted into the lift crowd. Awkward as the going was, they made it to the ring clean. The suites lobby was a different matter.
Tim peeked around the corner. Two officers manned station just outside the glass door to the suites. One was a giant with red hair, the other was… smaller.
“What are the odds these guys don’t call us in?” he whispered.
“The big one likes me.” She backed through the door, eyes on Tim. “This time, let me do the talking.” Then she turned to the desk.
Shit. Tim hurried to catch up, grabbing her arm to keep up their custody cover.
The larger officer slammed his hands on the desk. “Uh, oh! Here comes trouble!”
“Kak pozhivayesh’, Gora,” Simonee called back to him.
Gora poked the other officer at the desk. “Hey, Pierre, look who showed up in custody. This is a very strange breach of protocol heh?”
The other officer just kept scrolling through the tablet in front of him. “Yes, yes, very strange.”
Tim gulped. With the push of one button, these guys could lock down the entire ring.
What was his line here? A bit of truth worked before.
He cleared his throat. “I’m escorting the prisoner to Dalia Ledas. She has information she’ll only give Dalia in person. It’s... been approved.”
Gora turned to him, his face hardening with each degree. “Bullshit.”
The blood left Tim’s face and a portion of his legs.
Gora laughed and turned back to Simonee. “So, Lastochka, they have finally caught you!” But then he put on a frown. “Please, tell me what you did to make our Dalia so sad today.”
Simonee grinned and winked. “I wish I could tell you, Gora, but it’s a secret.”
Simonee was playing a different character this time, and Tim was just the understudy. So he kept quiet.
Gora laughed. “Ho! Pierre, you hear, Lastochka has a secret.” He winked. “What else is new!”
Pierre ignored them.
Gora laughed again. “Alright, I’ll buzz you in.”
The door opened, but Tim wasn’t pressing their luck.
He grabbed Simonee’s arm. “Okay Ms. Saran, let’s go.”
Simonee stumbled forward, sagging in Tim’s grip. She winced.
Gora stood. And stood. And then he stood some more.
“Hey, mu’dak,” he growled. “You be gentle with my Lastochka. You hurt her, I crush you.”
Tim gulped. “Sorry.”
Gora looked down at Simonee and landed a paw on her shoulder that was about the size of her head. “You’re going to fix this, pravda?”
Simonee looked back at him and nodded. “Pravda.”
The glass door finished opening, and Tim guided Simonee through—extra carefully.
They stopped at the vestibule in front of Dalia’s suite where an alabaster swan unfurled its wings atop a glittering fountain. Beyond were double doors flanked by a gryphon and a unicorn cast in frosted glass. The doors themselves were trimmed with blue oak leaves jutting from branches set in silver-foil.
Tim grunted. “Fancy.”
Simonee nodded. “Yep, just wait until we get inside.”
A standard, dull-gray intercom panel broke the luster to the left of the entrance, as if to remind them they were still on a space station. Tim pressed the contact button. Waited. Pressed again—
The panel squawked, “You’re not welcome here, please leave.”
Tim looked at Simonee. Her face reddened, but she didn’t speak. He leaned in toward the speaker. “Your highne… I mean, Ms. Ledas, Ms. Saran has something important to show you.”
Tim leaned back.
“I don’t care,” the intercom hissed.
Simonee stepped forward. “Dalia, please!”
The panel stayed silent.
“I don’t think she wants any,” Tim muttered.
But the door clicked open, and Dalia stood there in the crack, eyes rosy and hard. Her blue dress was slit to the hip, revealing an icicle of flesh.
“You may release her, officer,” Dalia croaked.
Tim cut the zip-ties, and Simonee rubbed her wrists. Dalia let her pass but stopped Tim at the threshold.
She took his hand and shook it. “Thank you for your service, officer.” Her grip was firm, her tone final. “I’ll call if I need assistance. She won’t get away this time.”
The door closed with a click, and Tim was left staring at his palm.