“You know, Aya laughed at me for still playing pixel games. She said they’re not cool.”
Sissix blinked. “Tell me she doesn’t have a brain jack.”
“Oh, no, no, she just uses slappers.”
“Okay, then. Whew.” Slap patches weren’t anything to worry about. They had a box of them in the rec room, little sticky sheets applied below the brain stem, a necessary accessory if you wanted to create a neural link between yourself and a sim, a vid, or the Linkings. Slappers had come around after Sissix had reached adulthood, so while she used them on occasion, she still preferred the more tangible comforts of a pixel board and a scrib. Brain jacks, on the other hand, made her skin crawl. She couldn’t imagine loving any hobby so much that it warranted putting a techport in her head.
Ashby gestured at a pawn. “Besides, I can’t believe there’s a doctor out there who’d put a jack in an eight-year-old. Not to mention a parent who’d let it happen.”
“Have you met any of Kizzy and Jenks’ friends?”
“Fair point.”
Sissix took a sip of mek. She didn’t usually start her mornings with the sleepy brew, but she had nothing to do until the cage was finished. She could justify being lazy. She tugged at the heat blanket wrapped around her shoulders, trying to coax away the lingering torpidity. “Little brains have enough going on without getting all wired up. So do big brains, for that matter.”
“That’s what I told Aya.”
“And what’d she say?”
“She called me old.” He rubbed his stubbled chin as he studied the board. “I am officially the old, boring uncle.”
Sissix laughed. “I highly doubt that. You let her fly our shuttle last time we visited the Fleet.”
Ashby chuckled. “I thought my sister was going to kill me.”
“Exactly. And that makes you cool. Your move, by the way.”
Dr. Chef lumbered down into the garden, walking on two handfeet, carrying gardening supplies in the other four. “How’s the spice bread?” he asked Ashby.
“The crust’s a little crisper than last time,” Ashby said. “I like it.”
“Glad to hear it. I thought you could all do with some complex carbohydrates after last night.”
Ashby smirked. “Hey, I left the carrier bar at a reasonable time, with my reputation intact. I am the very picture of restraint.”
“Ha,” Sissix said.
A guilty grin spread across Ashby’s face. “Okay, maybe I got a little happy.”
A chorus of laughter erupted from Dr. Chef’s throat. “At least you were quiet about it. Unlike a particular trio of inebriated Humans I found raiding the med bay at sixth hour.”
“Oh no,” said Sissix with a smile. “What did they do?”
“Nothing scandalous. Kizzy and Jenks were in search of some SoberUps, and Rosemary had fallen over onto one of the examination tables. Dead asleep. I think she actually tried to match drinks with those two.”
Sissix laughed. “Oh, I bet she did, and I’m sure they talked her into it. By the time I left, they were six rounds of kick deep, and had just ordered sugarsnaps. Poor thing, she’ll be miserable today. Did you get her to her room?”
“Kizzy did. I think she put her in the freight elevator. Her feet and her brain were operating on completely different frequencies.”
Ashby shook his head with amusement as he moved his rook. “Well, hopefully she understands that the techs just wanted to give her a welcome. And that she never has to go through it again.” He leaned back in his chair. “Also, checkmate.”
“What?” Sissix cried, leaning forward. “No, that’s… wait… shit.” Her shoulders sagged. “But I had a strategy and everything.”
“Sorry to mess it up.”
She studied the board, trying to figure out where she’d gone wrong. Nearby, Dr. Chef was tending to one of his planters, breathing out a low, droning whisper, as always. His version of silence. Sissix watched his pudgy fingers weave bracing knots of twine around the wandering shoots. Sissix never failed to be surprised by how agile Dr. Chef’s movements were. The man looked like a pudding with legs, yet his handfeet let him move as nimbly as a dancer.
“How’s your ginger?” Sissix said.
“Fat and happy,” he said, tying back the tall stalks. Dr. Chef puffed his cheeks with pride. The ginger had been Jenks’ idea, and few things made Dr. Chef happier than meeting the crew’s culinary requests. “Although, I have to admit, I like eating the flowers much more than the root. Far too potent for my taste. Nice and crunchy, though.”
Ashby turned his head. “You know ginger’s an accent, right? Like a spice?”
“What? No. Really?”
“Did you try to eat it whole?”
“Oh, dear. Yes.” Dr. Chef rumbled a laugh. “I thought it was some sort of spicy potato.”
“I have never understood potatoes,” Sissix said. “The whole point of a potato is to cover it with salt so you don’t notice how bland it is. Why not just get a salt lick and skip the potato?”
“Don’t ask me,” Ashby said, standing up. “Potatoes are a grounder thing.”
“You done playing?” asked Sissix.
“Yeah, it’s a little after tenth hour. The news feeds will be updated.” His tone was easy, but there was a serious look in his eye as he said it.
“Okay,” she said. She knew what feeds he’d be checking, and it made her want to hug him. Not a quick, stiff Human hug—a long hug, the kind you give to friends when you know something’s bothering them. But she’d learned long ago that those kind of embraces just didn’t happen platonically among Humans. It was one of the many social instincts she’d learned to temper.
Dr. Chef tied one more knot, grumbled with satisfaction, and took Ashby’s empty seat. In his top handfeet, he held a mug printed with an Ensk expression: “KISS THE COOK.” A past birthday gift from Kizzy, who always ignored the fact that none of the non-Human crew members traditionally celebrated birthdays.
Sissix lifted the pitcher of mek sitting beside the pixel board. “More?”
Dr. Chef considered. “Just a half cup,” he said, extending the mug. “I suppose we’re all entitled to a lazy day once in a while.”
“That we are.” Sissix filled Dr. Chef’s mug halfway, then filled her own to the brim. She could feel the muscles in her cheeks and throat relax as the warm, bittersweet brew washed over them. The feeling bloomed throughout her shoulders, her neck, her arms, washing away all the remaining scraps of tension that the previous cup had softened. Stars, she loved mek.
Dr. Chef cradled his mug in his handfeet. He nodded toward the pixel board. “A very typical Human game.”
“How so?”
“All Human games are based around conquest.”
“Not true,” she said. “They’ve got lots of cooperative games. What about Battle Wizards?” Scarcely a tenday went by in which Kizzy and Jenks didn’t plug into that game—with slappers, even those two weren’t dumb enough to jack—exploring magical worlds and sharing merry adventures inside their heads.
Dr. Chef waved a free handfoot dismissively. “I don’t mean brain games. I mean stuff like this,” he said, gesturing to the pixel board. “The classics. Things Humans have been playing since before they even knew there were other planets out there. All conquest, all competition. Come to think of it, even Battle Wizards is like that. The players work together, but they’re still working to defeat a common enemy—the game itself.”
Sissix mulled this over. The idea of Humans as conquerers had always been a laughable one. Not just because they had meager resources or because the Diaspora could never get anything done, but because the Humans she knew personally were so unassuming. Ashby was one of the kindest individuals she’d ever met, of any species. Jenks didn’t have any ambitions beyond living comfortably alongside people he liked. Kizzy had managed to drop a sandwich into an air duct last tenday, so they hardly needed to worry about her launching a coup. Corbin was a hateful pain in the ass, but harmless, and a coward, too. And yet, Human history—pre-Exodus, at least—was rife with cruelty and endless war. Sissix had never been able to make sense of that.