Chapter 7 Elanie #2
I considered that for a moment. Was Blake nice? It wasn’t a word I’d ever used to describe him. What word might I use to describe my boyfriend? I thought about it for a moment, getting no further than male, available, and interested before abandoning the exercise as a waste of time.
“Would you like something to drink?” Sunny asked, flagging down a serving drone.
“VitoWater,” I told the drone, who beeped a few times before zooming off toward the bar.
While Tig, Isla, and Sunny talked loudly over the music, I poked my seaweed salad with my fork. Was it normal to feel so alone in situations like this one, surrounded by countless other beings? Was it a bionic thing?
Glancing around the ballroom, noticing other bionics at other tables smiling and laughing and fitting in, I doubted it.
Then a shock of blue snagged my attention.
Under the dimmed glow of the ballroom lights, Dr. Semson’s skin was even more vibrant than usual, the rich, deep blue contrasting with the white marble pillars of the ballroom.
With the crisp white collar of his shirt, the cuffs folded above his wrists.
“We’re going to the spa tomorrow,” Isla said, pulling my focus from the way his webbed fingers spread out over his glass. It was so similar to the way they’d spread out over my skin. “Declan claims to hate it, but he’s always less grumpy after he gets a good massage.”
“Which spa?” Sunny asked. “Deck ten?” Her brows jumped. “Or thirty-six?”
“Stars above.” Isla burst into laughter, her black curls sliding down her back as she tilted her head toward the ceiling. “Could you even imagine Declan on deck thirty-six? A single accidental glimpse of a live sex show in one of the window displays, and he’d pass out from shock.”
“What are you doing tomorrow, Elanie?” Tig asked, fiddling with her straw.
“Working,” I replied, because what else would I be doing?
“What about on your day off? Do you have any plans?” Tig glanced down when Sunny grasped her hand.
“Tig,” Sunny began, “Elanie doesn’t—”
“I don’t get days off,” I said.
Tig’s jaw dropped. “Never?”
I pressed my lips together. Maybe it shouldn’t, but it always astounded me how little most beings knew about bionics.
The first few generations of bionics were shrouded in secrecy.
But it had been over a century since bionics like me had become available for widespread servitude in the public sector.
Information about us—how we’re made, how we’re purchased, what rights we did or didn’t have, how long we were indentured before receiving benefits like time off—was readily available for anyone who took the time to look.
More often than not, they didn’t bother.
“I won’t qualify for my first day off for another twenty-three years, forty-two days, and sixteen hours,” I said. “But who’s counting.”
“Twenty-three years?” Tig had stopped blinking. “How can you stand—”
“It’s just the way it is.” Isla said this with finality, saving me from Tig’s shock and Sunny’s understanding that sometimes felt like pity. “Isn’t that right, Elanie?”
I nodded at Isla, grateful for the conversational shift when she asked if anyone else at the table had seen the most recent episode of Kuiper Worm Chasers.
While they burst into an animated discussion about some worm-related nonsense, my skin seemed to sag, my bones filling with lead. It took me a moment to identify the sensation, because I rarely allowed myself to feel it, but I was exhausted.
It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy being the assistant to the hospitality specialist on this ship.
It filled my days. Gave me purpose. I liked working with Sunny.
And what else would I do with my time? I didn’t have any hobbies.
No passions. I didn’t even know who I’d be without my work.
But when I looked at Dr. Semson across the room, when our eyes met and a corner of his mouth quirked, I couldn’t deny that a small part of me wanted to find out.
Maybe I wanted something other than a life of unending service.
Maybe I wanted a hobby. Maybe I wanted a passion. Maybe…I wanted more—
Elanie.
Spinning around, my chair scraping across the floor, I scanned the room.
Adrenaline flooded my bloodstream, my heart launching into a chaotic gallop.
Because my name, that deep, rumbling voice, it wasn’t from my VC.
It wasn’t someone whispering behind me. It wasn’t anything.
There was no record of it in my memory at all.
“Are you all right, darling?” Sunny’s brow was furrowed, her lips downturned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
My heart knocked against my ribs. Was I hallucinating? Was my operating system malfunctioning? My code breaking? My organic neurons misfiring? “I don’t know. I—”
Join us, Elanie. Join Golgunda.
Gasping, I jolted up from my chair, tipping it over with a crash.
“Stars!” Tig cried.
What was happening to me? How could I hear a voice that didn’t exist?
Sunny stood and grasped my arms. “What’s the matter? Are you ill?”
I reined my panic in tightly. “Bionics don’t get sick.” But we can go insane. “I’m fine. I’m just”—hearing voices—“I need to use the bathroom.
I didn’t wait for Sunny to respond as I turned, striding toward the restrooms, walking directly past Dr. Semson’s table where he sat with Freddie and Chan. Where he stood halfway from his chair at the sight of me, his brows pulling together as his lips parted.
Before he could say a word, I put my head down and picked up my pace.
The restroom was cool, quiet and, thank the stars, empty. Sitting on the toilet, I held my breath, listened, waited. There was nothing but the water running through the pipes, the dull thud of bass reverberating from the ballroom.
I searched my memory. Again, nothing. No evidence of any auditory abnormalities. Nobody calling my name. It was like it had never happened.
Burying my face in my hands, I ground my palms into my eyes until tiny galaxies exploded over my vision.
My arms flew out, my palms slamming into the stall walls at the room-tilting sensation of another voice in my head. At least this voice was real.
I commed back.
Staring down at my disheveled pants, my shoes dangling off my heels, I didn’t feel hot. I felt out of control.
Biting my cheek, I commed,
He clicked his tongue over the comm.
I raised my head, frowning at the stall door. I asked. Why did nothing make sense anymore?
I groaned at the suggestive, listless tone he used when he was trying to convince me to do something I didn’t necessarily want to do. My shoulders tensed like I was bracing for impact in front of an oncoming bullet train.
I cried, confused, drained, my systems completely crashing out.
I said, hating the thickness in my throat, the hot pressure building behind my eyes.
There was something about tonight. Maybe it was my visits with Dr. Semson. Maybe it was my close encounter with my vagina. Maybe it was Blake being Blake.
Maybe it’s the fact that you’re hearing voices.
Whatever it was, it was too much.
Dropping my face into my hands again, I commed,
he said, offended.
I commed, rising to my feet. He was missing my point. He was missing everything. And I didn’t have the energy to argue with him.
he asked.
I clicked off the comm, washed my hands, straightened my top, and slammed my hand over the bathroom door panel so hard it cracked. While the door slid open, I closed my eyes and took a breath. And then I walked straight into Dr. Semson’s firm, blue chest.