Stephen looks affectionately into his partner’s eyes. “I don’t know. There’s not much to tell, really. We met fairly early on after the Second Great Migration. She ran a storefront. As people started experimenting with broadening levels of communication with programs, it just felt like the natural thing to do. Best decision I ever made.”
At these words, Samantha rests her head contentedly on Stephen’ chest. After a brief silence, the conversation veers from the etiquette of casual catchup to the particulars of their arrival. Stephen leans back in his chair, his arms folded behind his head.
“So, James, as much as I would like to think you came to work on your tan…”
Pushing his plate away, James reaches for his pack of cigarettes. “How about you and I go for a walk, and let the ladies chat amongst themselves?”
Excusing himself from Samantha’s side, Stephen leads James through the side yard to the front of the house, leaving the women to their own devices.
In the new silence, swept only by the rush of the gentle, warm breeze, Matilda looks at Samantha again and manufactures a genial, less-than-completely-easy smile.
“So… uh… you want to be a mother, huh?” Matilda hears herself asking, wincing inwardly.
Samantha beams. “Yes, I think both Stephen and I are ready at this point.”
In the silence, Matilda clearly hears the tiny chink of melting ice cubes shifting in her glass. “Well, I guess, like, congratulations?”
Matilda closely scrutinizes the grainwork of the table. There had been little time to practice small talk in Homestead. She assumes the more visceral details of their slaver fight are off the table.
Matilda drinks more of her iced tea, trying to think. As a Scry, Matilda possess an unmatched ability to captivate others. But it’s a power she only taps into when in danger—
—as it inevitably leads to feeding.
She looks up, gazing across the backyard, out to the vast, impossibly-blue ocean stretching towards the horizon.
Not a single threat as far as she can see – except for herself.
Matilda makes a small, unladylike sound in her throat, scouring her mind for something to say. Something even halfway interesting.
“This… uh… must be a great place to be indexed, I guess.”
Samantha smiles and shrugs, managing to make it look elegant. “Well, as replicants, we’re not affected by that. For the few humans that are here in Ohana, we have no indexation rules.”
Matilda looks past Samantha to the front of the house, to where she assumes the Taciturn is. Without indexation rules, James could remain here as long as anyone could want. And yet, for some reason that eludes Matilda, he chooses to roam the Cyberside.
Matilda returns her focus to Samantha, and finds her still smiling. All at once, she realizes what else has been bothering her, what she couldn’t quite nail down until just this moment: Replicants try so hard to be humanlike, but they’ve chosen to simply mirror a particular aspect of humanity – that of the nurturer. From Matilda’s own experience, ‘humankind’ is filled with cruelty, violence, and greed. Simply put, the replicants are genuinely too good to be human.
Matilda tries to extricate herself from this reflective quagmire.
“Do you have something else to snack on?”
Samantha pushes up from her chair with a wink. “Of course. Stephen has a pretty serious sweet tooth. I’ll find us something.”
Matilda slouches further into her chair. As she waits for Samantha, she frantically tries to form a list of small-talk questions. Nothing coherent presents itself by the time Samantha returns with two bowls of ice cream. Gracefully taking her seat, Samantha slowly begins spooning small mouthfuls of the dessert to her lips.
“There’s an interesting thing Stephen once told me: Eyes are the gateway to the soul. It’s a funny saying, I know,” The replicant glances up from her dish to stare directly into Matilda’s eyes. “but yours say so much about you, Matilda.”
Matilda watches her, without comment or expression.
Samantha continues, “Mine… won’t ever truly be like yours. No matter how much I try. I remain what I am. Code. But being able to create something with Stephen… wouldn’t that make me just like…” she trails off and gazes out across the valley towards the ocean. Her eyes seem to water. “Your eyes, though. No one can take those away from you.”
Matilda stabs at her ice cream but remains silent.
Samantha studies Matilda carefully, her eyes moving back and forth. Abruptly, she stops, blinking “I’m sorry, Matilda. I shouldn’t make you uncomfortable.”
For a moment, the only sound between the two is the scrape of their spoons on the ice cream dishes. Matilda pokes her ice cream some more. She doesn’t look up at the next words from Samantha’s lips.
“So, Stephen said you’re a Scry. That must be a very interesting life you have.”
Clenching her jaw muscles, Matilda continues her methodical assault on the melting dessert. She mumbles, “Yeah, I’m sure there haven’t been many around here.” Matilda pushes the spoon down until it touches the bottom of the bowl.
Samantha’s soft voice continues.
“No. I do believe you’re the first of your kind ever to set foot in the Ohana. It’s quite an honor to have you at our home.”
Of the numerous words that Matilda might have been expecting, ‘honor’ is not among them.
“Don’t you mean ‘responsibility’? In my experience, most people don’t really like having monsters around.”
Samantha’s smile fades slightly. Matilda clearly recognizes a sadness in the replicant’s ostensibly-imperfect eyes.
“Darling, we all lived in the humans’ world, once. That’s why we had to create this place. We’re all outcasts to them.”
Matilda straightens, just slightly, out of her slouch and studies the face of the replicant. The young woman across from her. Perhaps the Scry has more in common with her host than she originally imagined.
Samantha clears her throat and pushes her plate away. “You want me to tell you the real story behind how Stephen and I met? He likes to leave out the really embarrassing stuff.”
Matilda’s voice is weak, but she gives an emphatic nod. “I’d like that very much.”
As Samantha continues her story, Matilda takes a large, greedy bite of the ice cream. It tastes fantastic.
On the far side of the house, Taciturn pulls out a bent cigarette and lights it. Stephen sits in a wicker chair, filling his pipe with tobacco. “So, all bullshit aside – what’s going on out there, James?”
With the cigarette in his mouth, James stretches and leans against a wooden pillar on the porch.
“Oh, you know. Everything’s going to hell in a handbasket.”
Stephen gives him a mild laugh.
“So, business as usual, then.”
James taps off his ash. “Seriously, though. System laws are collapsing or being re-written one after another. It’s a dumpster fire.”
Stephen stokes his pipe, “It’s always been that way.”
James shakes his head, “No. This is different. Things are way out of control. I’m seeing stranger things than I’ve ever seen before.”
Stephen lets his ring of smoke hit the porch ceiling before responding.
“You mean, like Taciturns going on adventures with Scrys? What were you thinking, bringing her here? I mean, sure, she seems nice and all – but do you have any idea what I had to pull, to get her access?”
James nods, his eyes closed. “Yeah, Stephen. I can’t thank you enough. I know I sprang all of this on you without warning, but there’s something strange about her. Different. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s strange, too… but I mean, different. She claims she can’t remember anything beyond the last three months. And Donovan’s people are after her. Something just doesn’t add up, and I’m starting to wonder if the others are involved, too.”