But Dataran just jerked his head toward the landing gear. “Come on, I’ll show you the engine room and how far we’ve gotten in the wiring so far—which isn’t much. We could definitely use your help.”
Before he turned away, he glanced up toward the cockpit windows one level up, and his mouth quirked fast to one side.
Star followed the look.
Ochida Miko and her father were sitting in the cockpit. He appeared to be teaching her something, gesturing at the different controls, but Miko had spotted Dataran outside and didn’t seem to be listening.
Star had a sense that Miko’s bashful smile had not been intended for her, or Miko’s father, to see.
* * *
“Oh, it’s beautiful!” said Miko, sitting on Dataran’s other side.
Star knew that she was talking about the ship that was about to leave the hangar—a sleek, flashy thing that had been commissioned for the annual Space Race to Neptune (which everyone knew was a fallacy—the race officially ended at Jupiter, but the sponsors claimed that didn’t have the same ring to it). It was a beautiful ship, with its elongated thrusters and needle-sharp nose. The painters had outdone themselves, creating a very realistic montage of New Beijing’s skyline across its frame.
But Star did not care so much for the ship. Her attention had gone back up to the ceiling as it pulled back to reveal the endless sky. Although her new life as a human had given her the opportunity to gaze up at the night sky as often as she wished, her eyes never tired of it. The sense of vastness and eternity, the yearning to see what else the universe had to offer, even for one as small and unimportant as she was.
She didn’t think that Miko had glanced up at all since the ceiling had lifted to allow the ship an exit. Of course, she had already been to space countless times. Would be going again as soon as the Orion Classic was finished—another two or three weeks at the most. Ochida-shìfu had been growing more and more impatient, urging them to tighten the schedule, to work longer hours, to finish early.
Miko and Dataran, on the other hand, seemed to become more and more miserable as each step of the rebuild was completed. If anything, Dataran’s pace had slowed as the ship’s deadline loomed.
Star pulled her attention away as Dataran was explaining the different features of the racer, gesturing at the elegant curve of its back, the power behind the rocket boosters, and on and on. Star was more interested in the sound of his voice than his words. The subtle inflections. The careful pronunciation of very technical terms. The way he talked faster when something struck him as ingenious. Listening to him felt like being plugged into a power dock, feeling the gentle current of electricity warm and enliven her.
She glanced over at him, and the contented smile fell from her lips.
Dataran had laced his fingers with Miko’s and was holding her hand on his knee while his other hand drew explanatory pictures in the air.
Something flashed in Star’s chest—a spark, maybe, or a power surge. Her fingers curled into fists, tightening with the urge to reach across Dataran and rip their hands away from each other. To shove Miko aside. To wrap her own fingers around Miko’s neck.
Grimacing, she turned away and waited for the flood of white to fade from her vision.
It was not the first time such horrible thoughts had come into her head. Generally, she found that she enjoyed Miko’s company. She was a smart girl who talked just enough to keep Star from feeling strange that she couldn’t participate in the conversation, and who had insisted that Star take the occasional walk with her in a nearby park when she deemed that Star had been working too hard lately.
But when they were with Dataran, which was more often than not, Star found herself withdrawing away from Miko’s friendliness and discovering a darker part of her programming. She figured it had to be another glitch, this strange desire to hurt a human being, which seemed to emerge only when Dataran found some subtle way to touch Miko. Just placing a hand on her elbow or brushing a lock of hair off her shoulder.
These little moments made Star feel like she was disintegrating inside.
Maybe the malfunctions were getting worse. Maybe a new processor would help. Had she earned enough money now to afford one? She wasn’t sure, and she needed to weigh it with her need for a power source that didn’t threaten to die near the end of every workday.
“Star? Are you all right?”
Prying her eyes open, she forced herself to look at Dataran. A quick glance confirmed that their hands remained entwined, but she still forced her lips to curl upward and her head to bob up and down.
The concern lingered in Dataran’s gaze, but then a cheer rose up from the audience and the racer was taking flight; Dataran and Miko shifted their giddy attention back to the spectacle.
Star tried to focus on the ship, or even the starry night sky, but she couldn’t get the image of her own pale fingers around Miko’s neck to fade from her thoughts. It disturbed her, that her processor was capable of imagining something so horrific, and the shipyard mechanic’s words flashed through her head.
The fact is, an unpredictable android is a dangerous one.
Was she unpredictable?
Was she dangerous?
She felt the shudder along her wires as soon as the ship lifted up off the ground to another uproarious cheer.
Her energy was running out.
She switched her internal settings to power-saving mode, and the world dulled to shades of gray, the sound in her ears a jumbled hum as her audio receptors stopped sorting and cataloging the input.
She set a hand on Dataran’s shoulder and climbed to her feet. The movement came with a jolt of pain that threatened to cripple her. She grimaced and waited a moment before waving good-bye.
“Where are you going?” Dataran pointed at the ship. “It will only be another few minutes. We can take a hover together.”
Her fan whirred faster. On her third day at the shipyard, she had made up a home address that was near to his and they often left together when the workday was over. Sometimes Miko joined them too, and Star thought she and Dataran might have plans that didn’t involve her, and yet they were always so good to not suggest she was an unwanted intruder.
Those hover rides, simply listening to Dataran talk and laugh, were some of the best moments of her short existence.
But this time, she shook her head. She needed to find a charging dock, and quickly.
He did not expect her to explain, an unexpected benefit of being mute, and so he simply nodded, still frowning, and let her go.
But Star had not gone a dozen steps before she felt the power drain from her legs. Warnings pounded into her consciousness, but they were too late—she was falling. Her head crashed into the hard floor and she lay there with her arms twitching so hard she worried they would pull themselves right out of her shoulder sockets.
She picked out Miko’s and Dataran’s yells even from the chaotic roaring in her ears, and then they were above her, tenderly turning her onto her back. She scanned their faces, recognizing shock, fear, panic, uncertainty. Dataran was speaking but she couldn’t comprehend. Miko was pressing a hand against her forehead.
Her processor began to flicker back to life, programs gradually rebooting themselves. Though she still had no control over her legs, she could once again make out Dataran’s concerned questions, raining down on her like shooting stars.
Then Miko laid a hand on Dataran’s arms and said, with calm authority, “Bring her some water.”
With a frantic nod, he pushed himself to his feet. When he had gone, Miko sighed, her gaze full of sympathy as she tucked a lock of Star’s hair behind an ear.