CHAPTER 2: IN YOURS AND MY DESIRE
Tol: Orette...
Orette: What is it?
Tol: All this time, I thought you decided to leave Mai-Sophos alone. I wanted you to be free to live as you saw fit. But, if I had known they extorted you, Orette, if I had known they did this, I would never have allowed this to happen. I have failed you. I’m sorry.
Orette: An apology doesn’t mean much.
Tol: Why did you not reach out to me?
Orette: You were the last person- thing- on my mind. It’s all the Service. You’re all the same. Can you stop? I didn’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this.
Teop: Perhaps a little break is in order, at the very least. I can see dear Siraa’s reactivity is slowing down as well. We can think this over and, if you change your mind, Orette, resume the simulation when we’re all thinking more clearly.
Tanslot: That is a good idea.
Tol: Very well, then.
Siraa willed it through numbed senses, and she became distantly aware of her fingers clasping the hairband around her head. Managing some slack grip, she pulled, and, with a groan, reality came flooding back. She was slumped in her seat, pale face damp with perspiration. Her eyes found the large tree in the tower’s centre; branches stretched all around this higher floor, and Siraa watched it for a time with a pensive look.
“Oh dear,” the Teop’s avatar removed her headband and fidgeted with it.
The Tanslot floated deathly still. Tessaloi’s galleon rocked on a captive ocean’s waves. Siraa stirred. Without meeting any of their gazes, she broke the silence.
“That all seemed very archaic. Dated. Their drones were still made of metal. The fieldwork was unsophisticated. How long ago was this?”
Teop huffed and resettled, adjusting her seated position, a hand on her belly. The avatars seemed troubled, and the chrome-skinned woman paused before answering.
“Relatively speaking, more than two point five 10¹⁰s.”
“Right.” Siraa grimaced, turning her eyes from the tree, towards Tanslot’s drone. Imagining it returning her look, she then sighed and stood.
“I’m going to think about this,” she said, walking away.
It was nine 10⁴s later, Siraa sat in a shuttle overlooking the Moss-Danph 12 Living Spire. Feeling restless, she had dared to reach out through her recent contacts and connect with Fhosanti. To her relief, the glamorous artist seemed both surprised and delighted to get the message and agreed to meet up in that very same light cycle.
“You probably don’t recognise me,” the shuttle’s drone said softly.
Siraa turned her gaze from the kilometres-tall living spire visible through the wide window.
“I was the shuttle who brought you home. May I?”
“No. I do,” Siraa said, managing a small smile. “Please.”
She gestured to the seat across her, and the drone hovered above it. Its spheroid force field rippled a pink blush.
“I’m Siraa,” she gently prompted the drone, who had gone silent. But, of course, the drone already knew this. The flight had been prearranged.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“I’m Es 231010. Please, call me TenTen.”
“TenTen. Glad to meet you properly.”
“I hope you don’t mind my say-so, but thank you for your service. I always wanted to join the E&E, but I never did get the invitation.”
“Really?” Siraa had heard that many times before but kept her smile polite, her expression interested.
“That’s right. Though that’s not to say I’m not satisfied with my own lot. I volunteer instead.”
“Ah. Hence...” She nodded towards the window.
“Exactly. I just wanted to know if everything’s alright? I understand if you can’t say anything. Still, I’ve never had someone on indefinite full priority before, and issued from the Caretaker.”
There it was. Siraa sighed, face falling. She didn’t want to lie to them.
“We’re doing what we can,” she said.
“Right. Of course,” the drone began to float back to its physical dock with the shuttle. “Thank you.”
“No.” She smiled again, looking over to the drone, who stopped, rotating to look back.
“Thank you, TenTen.”
The shuttle set down amidst a silver sky, where only the brightest stars pierced the ship’s surface field. It was a vast, airy gulf, and a band of light streaked across the sky, warm and bright, approximating a tropical climate.
The landing area was apart from the tower itself. This entire spire section was its own enclosed commune, surrounded by a shallow pool of water suspended in glistening hardlight. The water tumbled over the edge in all directions, creating plumes of gentle cloud vapour surrounding the vista and letting the pool appear to touch the horizon like a shimmering cosmic mirror.
Siraa stepped down from the shuttle, which waited for her as she crossed the towards the spire. She strode towards the commune, wearing only a black cloak fastened beneath the shoulders of her combat frame, her body covered by the shining bioceramics and exoskeleton that were now a part of her biology.
Under the field sky, women bathed in the bright, humid heat, lounging and drinking, chatting and relaxing. Their naked forms showed all kinds of body mods and augs, oiled or metallic skins in every colour, and perfected shapes with features grown on demand. None of them was built for violence, though. Instead, they were leisurely and soft. On the periphery of her senses, Siraa felt her lace receive social ratings, a buzz of approval and disapproval, for her arrival here.
A distinctly hairless woman with two sets of arms looked over from where she lay on a reclining seat. She made a show of rolling her eyes contemptuously at the arrival of the service agent before languidly moving off of her chair and burying her face between the thighs of the woman next to her, who gasped appreciatively. Siraa felt her cheeks burn, though not from the hot artificial light, and she quickly looked away.
In truth, Siraa had struggled to interact with people outside the Service for a long time now. They always felt slow. Objectively, Siraa knew her bioenergetics were baseline until unlocked, and she knew as a fact that the conceptual filters people had on their laces worked more quickly than was perceptible in a simple conversation. However, she always felt something was there, some pause, some delay, something she could feel if not see.
That wasn’t mentioning the conditioning, either. The filters stopped people from being able to think about the worst realities they faced. Instead, they tended to almost obsess over a couple of predictable subjects. Of course, being able to use their laces to induce pleasure and euphoria at will didn’t help either.
Communes like this were filled with women who made themselves feel good to combat the slightest hint of anxiety, using direct pleasure feedback or digital simulations of bespoke psychoactive effects. They called themselves psychonauts, explorers of the human experience, and artists divine. But from a Service woman’s perspective, it was just a gross feedback loop, letting them forget the looming threat, endlessly chasing some hyper-socialised ideal.
Was that who Fhosanti was? By the time she crossed the threshold and entered the spire proper, surrounded by people lounging in hedonistic bliss, Siraa began to doubt herself. This may be a bad idea, after all.
However, all that worry and prejudice evaporated when she saw Fhosanti descending in a glass elevator. She was talking to someone else but, when she saw Siraa, broke out into a wide smile. She was well dressed, her hair done up, her demeanour composed. As she stepped out of the elevator, wearing a long coat worn open, loose-fitting trousers, and large boots, she greeted Siraa like she was the only woman on the ship.
“Siraa!” Fhosanti beamed. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon!”
Her smile was infectious.
“I had some free time.”
“This is Mnesha,” Fhosanti introduced a shorter woman who waved politely.
“Hello.” She made a show of looking Siraa over. “You must be the mysterious ambassador we’re hearing all about...”
“The only one aboard, afraid to say,” Siraa said. “Nice to meet you.”
“Mnesha’s part of my team,” Fhosanti said as a little boast before turning to the other woman. “You’ll excuse us, won’t you?”
“Of course. Have fun, you two.”
"See you around," Siraa offered.
“Bye!” Fhosanti laughed and waved after Mnesha, before turning back to Siraa, and lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “I had a great idea for tonight.”
“Oh?” Siraa couldn't help but share a playful grin.