21. Juno
CHAPTER 21
JUNO
Lucius gestures at the spacious seat opposite him, so I head over there.
This morning was a rollercoaster ride. I still can’t believe he sent his butler for me like nothing’s happened. But I guess it makes sense if he considers what went down yesterday as some sort of PDA practice.
By saguaro’s needles, I’ve never felt this conflicted. I should be relieved that the kiss wasn’t anything, but I can’t help an irrational feeling of disappointment. I must’ve wanted it be real. Or some crazy part of me wanted it.
I plop gracelessly into the leather seat, and it feels like a cloud. Ignoring Lucius for the moment, I scan the luxurious interior of the jet.
Damn.
Having passed by first-class sections on regular planes, I can compare this to them, and it’s like a five-star hotel versus a rat-infested hovel.
“If you want a massage, just press this button.” Lucius points at a controller next to his elbow.
Intrigued, I do so.
My chair comes to life. It leans me back, and the armrests and footrest open up, like three hungry gators.
“If you want an arm and/or foot massage, stick the appropriate appendages in there,” Lucius explains.
At the mention of a foot massage, I flush. Does he remember what I said that time? Probably—I still recall him saying he likes to give them…
Whatever. To satiate my curiosity, I stick my arms into the arm sections, and then, after a slight hesitation, I kick off my sandals and put my feet into the bottom part.
Hmm. Did Lucius’s gaze linger on my feet a moment too long? If so, why? Was I supposed to wear socks… or does it have to do with that whole foot-massage convo?—
Wow. The massage begins, and it’s amazing. Maybe too amazing—a moan is on the verge of escaping my lips.
“How do I turn this off?” I ask urgently.
Lucius leaps out of his seat and presses something on my remote, causing the chair to disengage.
“You okay?” he asks, looming over me with concern on his face.
I put my sandals back on. “It was too intense. I don’t think I can carry on a conversation and use this chair at the same time.”
He returns to his seat. “So… you are still willing to have a conversation?”
I roll my eyes. “Even if that means more of your silly get-to-know-each-other questions.”
He pulls out his phone and glances at the screen. “In that case, if you could magically get rid of one bodily function, which one would you choose?”
“Seriously?”
He hides the phone. “Why would I not be serious?”
“Because bodily functions aren’t usually part of polite conversation, outside of jokes. Unless a brain fart is a bodily function—because I think whoever created these questions must’ve had one.” What I leave unsaid is that Lucius must’ve also had a brain fart when he chose to ask said questions.
He rubs his temples. “The correct answer is fine for polite conversation.”
Is an eyeroll a bodily function? Because it happens again for me. “And what’s the right answer? Sweating?”
“Sleep.”
My eyebrows jump up—a bodily function you can fix with Botox instead of magic. “Is sleep even a bodily function?”
“An essential one,” he says. “But since we’re talking magical intervention, your health wouldn’t suffer if you gave it up in this scenario. Sleep is the one to get rid of because it takes up a whopping one-third of our lives.”
Maybe a massage is exactly what I need to keep myself calm as I talk to him?
“Get-to-know-you questions are supposed to be open-ended,” I say. “If they have right or wrong answers, that’s a quiz.”
“You ask something then,” he says.
“Sure. Why would you want to get rid of a bodily function in the first place?”
He rubs his chin. “That’s a good question. I guess it’s my dislike of being biological.”
I gape at him. “As opposed to what, metaphysical?”
He shakes his head. “One of the things I’m looking forward to in the future is uploading my brain’s contents into a sturdier construct, and then living inside a body much better designed than this meatsack.” He looks down at himself disapprovingly.
Should I reassure him that the meatsack in question is actually very nice-looking? And that it’s the brain inside it that could use some improvement—at least the parts responsible for social skills?
Nah.
Instead, I ask, “So… you wish you were a robot?”
“Or at least a cyborg,” he says, deadpan.
“And you’re sure you’re not secretly a robot already?”
It would explain a lot.
He scoffs. “If I were a robot, sticks and stones wouldn’t break my titanium bones.”
I can’t help but snort. “If we assume becoming a robot—or a cyborg—is a good idea, which it’s not, isn’t technology very far away from that?”
He shakes his head. “Many think so, but I believe it’s just around the corner. Gram is already a cyborg—in that she has a cochlear implant. And if she ever developed severe retinitis pigmentosa, I could get her bionic eyes, which many people already have.”
Wow. Bionic eyes already exist? I didn’t realize. “I understand why you’d get a gizmo to restore function, but you’re thinking of just ditching your body for shits and giggles.” I grin at him. “And if you were a robot, you would not be able to do either of those things.”
Did he just roll his eyes at me? “Don’t tell me you’re one of those who think the human body is perfect as is.”
“I’d say some people’s bodies are perfect.” My treacherous non-bionic eyes can’t help but scan his tall, hard-muscled frame.
“What about the throat?” he asks.
I look at his supremely masculine Adam’s apple in confusion… and with a small dash of lust. “What about it?”
“Same passage for food and breathing,” he says with disdain. “Do you know how many people choke? How many babies? And don’t get me started on how easy the neck is to snap—and how irreparable the damage is that results from doing so.”
Snap the neck? I hope he doesn’t do it to me for asking, “Will your robot body have a blowhole, like in a dolphin?”
He’s unfazed. “Assuming the body will require oxygen intake, maybe. Or maybe it will have solar panels, or use photosynthesis.”
Ooh, I do like the latter idea. If I could perform photosynthesis, I’d be like a cactus.
I rub the back of my suddenly-less-useful-feeling neck. “That’s just one body part. Why get rid of the rest?”
“That’s just the start. Our knees are ridiculously easy to tear. Our taste buds crave things that are bad for our health. And, unlike most other animals, we do not produce essential nutrients, such as Vitamin C, in our bodies.”
Huh. I never thought about it, but he’s right. Deer eat only grass, but they never have a protein deficiency, nor do they take multivitamins. Still, a robot body seems like overkill.
Then it hits me. “This is just like the city you plan to build. You’re trying to play God. To control everything. ”
He cocks his head. “You say that as if it were a bad thing.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes again. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m ready for the next question.”
“If someone evil told you that you’ll be forced to eat one type of food for a year, at every meal, which food would you choose?”
“That sounds horrible,” I say and pause, thinking. “Maybe potatoes. I believe they have everything I need to survive. At least that was the case for Matt Damon in The Martian .”
Lucius grins. “I was going to say bananas, but I like your answer better.”
Our conversation continues in this vein for a while. We learn that he’d rather eat a superhot red pepper, whereas I’d choose a colonoscopy. If he were a car, he’d be a Tesla, while I’d be Citro?n Cactus. And so on, including my favorite tidbit: when it comes to giving up personal hygiene to reach our goals, we both would do it.
Soon, it’s brunch time, and it’s a gourmet meal that turns out to have been prepared by one of Lucius’s private chefs.
“If it didn’t taste optimal, it’s not the chef’s fault,” Lucius says after we’re done. “Even with a humidifier, the air up here is cool and dry, which makes our tastebuds go numb. Another flaw of biology, in case you’re keeping score.”
I tilt my empty plate toward him. “If this is a less tasty version, your chef deserves a raise.”
“I’ll pass him your compliments,” Lucius says. “Did you have any more get-to-know-you questions?”
I rub my protruding belly. “I might be too stuffed for that.”
He sighs. “Another flaw of biological bodies—all the blood is used for digestion, leaving little for the brain.”
I yawn. “When are we landing?”
He looks out the window. “At two p.m. Eastern time.”
“What? Is it the lack of blood in my brain, or is that too quick?”
He grins. “This is a supersonic jet prototype. The flight is less than two hours. The change in time zones is the only reason we’re landing in the afternoon.”
Should I be surprised he’s got the latest and greatest technological marvels at his disposal? The surprise is that he hasn’t yet replaced Elijah with a self-driving limo.
“Would you mind if I got a massage?” he asks. “I like to do that if I can’t walk after a meal.”
I shake my head. “I could use one too.”
We both activate our chairs, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of this being a type of couple’s massage.
Then the chair begins to work its magic, and combined with the scrumptious meal, I end up giving in to the pleasure of that bodily function Lucius resents so much—sleep.
It takes me a moment to gather my senses when I wake up.
Okay, I’m on the supersonic jet, and the massage chair is still running, which may explain why I feel like a custard.
Huh. Lucius is sleeping in his chair, but the plane isn’t in motion anymore. How nice. On a regular plane, they wake you up when you land, but not here.
I clear my throat.
Lucius blinks open his eyes.
“I think we’re here.” I peek out the window at a green field. “Wherever ‘here’ is.”
“A private airport,” he says. “Come, the car is already waiting for us.”
Surprise surprise, the car turns out to be a limo. I guess when you’re as rich as Lucius, other types of cars refuse to give you a ride.
“What’s the itinerary?” I ask as we get moving.
“Right now, I’m heading to the meeting I came here for,” he says. “I’d appreciate it if you were to join me.”
He would? “Why do you need me there?”
He shrugs. “The land owner called himself old-fashioned, so I figure he might feel more favorably toward a family man—or at least one attached to a beautiful woman.”
If my heart were a cactus, it would bloom right here and now at the “beautiful woman” description he’s so casually tossed my way.
“Sure,” I surprise myself by saying. “I’ll join you.”
Saguaro bite me. Why did I say that? I’m here to visit the UF campus, first and foremost.
Oh, well. I guess it’s true what they say about the power of flattery.
The meeting takes place in a stately two-story building surrounded by impeccable landscaping. When we enter the conference room, I see why the landowner called himself old-fashioned. He’s so ancient he probably predates the invention of fashion.
“This is Mr. Winston,” Lucius says.
“I insist again,” Mr. Winston says with a smile that deepens the grooves and creases around his eyes. “Call me John.”
Lucius nods. “Sorry… John.”
“Nice to meet you, John ,” I say. “My name is Juno.”
“A pleasure, Juno.” John looks at Lucius. “Are you kids married?”
“Dating,” Lucius says.
“Ah,” John says. “I used to do that in my day. I dated my wife for a whole week before we tied the knot.”
A week? Things sure moved fast when you had to get married before hooking up.
“In any case.” John takes a seat. “You make a beautiful couple.”
“Thanks,” Lucius and I say in unison and sit down too.
“How about we get down to business?” Lucius says, pulling out a folder with some papers.
They launch into a discussion about surveys and development that I mostly tune out, until a question by John perks up my ears.
“Will you take any steps to preserve local plant species?” he asks.
“Plant preservation,” Lucius repeats with a frown. “I’m not?—”
“Honey, would you mind if I jumped in?” I ask. I may not be business-savvy, but plants I know.
Lucius gestures with an open palm. “Please.”
That may be the first please I’ve heard him utter, and the fact that he trusts me enough to speak at this important business meeting makes me feel things I shouldn’t.
“I’m not sure if you realize this, but urban landscaping already uses about eighty different native species, which means they can easily be salvaged during development.”
“Oh?” John’s white caterpillar of a unibrow seesaws on his forehead.
Lucius nods, as if that has been the plan all along. “Yes, thus saving on landscaping costs.” He gives me an approving look.
Encouraged, I continue. “In fact, we could build an onsite nursery to store the salvaged plants. Whatever isn’t used for Novus Rome could be sold to other developers.”
“Fascinating,” John says. “What are some examples of these plants?”
I take out my phone and do a search. “This here is red maple.” I display the picture for them both.
“I recognize it,” John says. “These would work well as shade plants.”
I nod. “They would indeed, and birds and pollinators would thank us in the process.” I show the next image. “This is American holly. It could provide privacy.” I look up another one. “Highbush blueberry could make nice hedges.”
Before I can search for something in the cactus family, John says, “Thank you so much. You’ve put my mind at ease.” He turns his gaze to Lucius. “I’m ready to proceed with the deal.”