As a Docking Station, McLan has more
bars and drinking places than it does establishments to buy food at.
Home isn’t much, but it is
invite-only, often littered with officers who prefer peace and quiet
and by unspoken consent a place where station politics are left far
outside. You come to drink problems away and it is as simple as that.
My problem is an old one: when over sixty percent of your body is
replaced by cybernetics, it is hard to find drinks that get you drunk
without disrupting your systems entirely. So
I drink boost, which sends a buzz of energy through my entire body,
shuts minor systems down. Rinse. Repeat. It’s like a continual
series of random spasms at once good and scary because you never know
what will be shut down.
It’s not illegal,
not quite, and I am a medic. That makes it safe, if anyone asks. The
person who slips into the seat beside me isn’t the sort to ask,
mostly because they seldom have to. Adjudicators aren’t quite as
reviled as true psychs (there are reasons people prefer dealing with
psychbots to someone trained in taking apart the psyche) but knowing
someone might sit in judgement on you tends to strain any friendship.
Jaci is no exception to that rule, and gets themself spiced water.
“Boost?” Pale
eyebrows raise. “Was your vacation that bad, then?”
“Ask Dar.” I
take another sip of my drink.
“I did. He said
it had been ‘nice’ and refused to talk about it further, saying
he had two weeks of updates in the infoweb to catch up on.”
“And
you let it go?”
“He turned off
his projection and viewscreen and ignored me.”
“Dangerous.”
Jaci smiles at
that. “Probably wise as well. Transfers are hard to read at the
best of times, and he’s old enough to know how to use that to his
advantage.”
I grunt. A lot of
what a psych does relies on body language and mannerisms as much as
profiles. The dark days of psyches using apps to ‘read’ memories
are long past but not forgotten at all. Transfers circumvent a lot of
that and Dar has to know it drives Jaci up the wall. I would call it
a dangerous game to play; Dar would just consider it practical to
survival. He’s survived longer than any other transfer into a
non-human body – the only kind of transfer of the mind that lasts –
and more than one psych would love to get into his head and learn
why.
“So, your turn.
Two weeks on Garnet IV. With Dar. Talk to me.”
I feel a flush
creep up my cheeks. I could prevent it, but not without Jaci noticing
that. “Go away, Adjudicator.”
“Orien.” Jaci
doesn’t raise their voice, but there is an edge under the words.
Jaci knows me of old, long before I was a medic. When we both had
other lives and did things neither of us are proud of. That is the
the cost of our lives in this era: we can live long, if we are
careful, and have at least two or three lives to our name. It doesn’t
mean we should be proud of some of them.
“Jaci. Go away.”
Jaci pauses at something in my voice.
Blinks. “I’m not asking as an Adjudicator, Orien. We know each
other of old and Dar interests me. You know that.”
“Yes. which is why I said to go
away.”
Jaci blinks, sits back, and their eyes
widen a little, jaw dropping. Jaci hasn’t changed their body in all
the years I’ve known them: thin, the kind of body that can pass as
male or female, preferring to be addressed as a singular they or them
and not caring at all that it’s outdated. I’ve seen Jaci do many
things with their body, some of them quite distressing. I’ve never
seen them stunned to silence.
Jaci calls up a privacy baffle about
us. “You’re embarrassed. You,
Orien? I remember how you held the Inkul
Gulf. Hero and butcher, we called you at the trial, and you didn’t
back down from either claim.”
I say
nothing. It had been an ugly war, and if the Gulf had fallen at least
one planet might have beyond it. I’d meshed an entire corps of
soldiers together, linked us into weapon systems on craft. We fought.
we even won, though few survived the experience. I’d given them no
choice about joining the gestalt, abused the legal oaths to fight in
the war
into areas that had been made illegal
since. I’d won, but no one wanted me on their side after that.
Bounty hunting had led to drifting
and eventually being a medic. It happens. We change or we die.
Sometimes we even
surprise ourselves.
“It
was a nice two weeks,” I say softly. Jaci twitches, but doesn’t
throw her drink in my face. I grin. “Garnet IV is one of the only
vacation worlds that actually had rooms and systems catering to
transfers. He was happy
and that alone made the trip worth it, until I pushed things. Between
us.”
Jaci
goes still a moment. I can almost see things coming together even
they didn’t want it to.
Even
Adjudicators have limits; I don’t know if I should be pleased at
finding one of Jaci’s. “As
more than friends. With a transfer.”
“We
did go on a vacation together,” I say dryly.
“Yes, but.
Transfer.” Jaci drums the table with a finger. “How did Dar take
it?”
“Dar
was mostly confused and didn’t get it until near the end. He’s
mostly been quiet since. I don’t think he knows what to think.”
“He won’t be
the only one. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, but –.” Jaci
pauses. “It is mostly storylines uses in bad drama, isn’t it”
“I
think love usually is.
I don’t even know if it is
love, or what it is. Or what Dar will let us be.” I consider
another drink, cancel the order and stand.
“Orien.”
I pause, wait. “You will need to do something about your blush
reflex, given what people will say.”
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