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He looked at the two of them--a short, middle-aged human, with hair the
color of lead, and a fat, wide Waldahud, with fur the shade of oak wood.
Keith didn't know either of them well, didn't know what it would take to
placate them. Hell, he didn't even know what they were fighting about.
He opened his mouth to say--to say something, anything--when a door slid
open a few meters away, and a young woman--Cheryl Rosenberg, it
was--appeared, wearing pajamas. "For Pete's sake, will you keep it down
out here?" she said. "It's nighttime for some of us."
Teshima looked at the woman, bowed his head slightly, and began to walk
away. And Gatt, who likewise by nature was deferential to females,
nodded curtly and moved in the other direction. Cheryl yawned, stepped
back inside, and the door slid shut behind her.
Keith was left standing there, watching the Waldahud's back recede down
the corridor, angry with himself for not being able to deal with the
situation. He rubbed his temples.
We're all prisoners of biology, he thought. Teshima unable to turn down
the request of a pretty woman; Gatt unable to disobey a female's orders.
Once Gart had disappeared from sight, Keith headed down the cold, damp
hallway. Sometimes, Keith thought, he'd give anything to be an alpha
male.
Rissa was sitting at her desk, doing the part of her job she hated--the
administrative duties, the burden still called paperwork even though
almost none of it was ever printed out.
The door buzzer sounded, and PHANTOM said, "Boxcar is here."
Rissa put down her input stylus and straightened her hair.
Funny that, she thought--worrying about whether her hair was messy when
the only one going to see it isn't even human. "Let her in."
The Ib rolled in; PHANTOM slid the polychairs to one side to make room
for her. "Please forgive my disturbing you, good Rissa," said the
beautiful British voice.
Rissa laughed. "Oh, you're not disturbing me, believe me. Any
break is
welcome."
Boxcar's sensor web arched up like a ship's sail so that she could see
onto Rissa's desktop. "Paperwork," she said.
"It does look boring."
Rissa smiled. "That it is. So, what can I do for you?"
There was a long pause--unusual from an Ib. Then, finally, "i've come
to give notice."
Rissa looked at her blankly. "Notice?"
Lights danced on her web. "Profound apologies, if that. is not the
correct phrase. I mean to say that, with regret, I will no longer be
able to work here, effective five days from now."
Rissa felt her eyebrows lifting. "You're quitting? Resigning?"
Lights played up the web. "Yes."
"Why? I thought you were enjoying the senescence research. If you wish
to be assigned to something else--"
"It is not that, good Rissa. The research is fascinating and valuable,
and you have honored me by letting me be a part of it. But in five days
other priorities must take precedence."
"What other priorities?"
"Repaying a debt."
"To whom?"
"To other integrated bioentities. In five days, I must go."
"Go where?"
"No, not go. Go."
Rissa exhaled, and looked at the ceiling. "PHANTOM, are you sure you're
translating Boxcar's words correctly?"
"I believe so, ma'am," said PHANTOM into her implant.
"Boxcar, I don't understand the distinction you're making between 'go'
and 'go,'" said Rissa.
"I am not going someplace in the physical sense," said
Boxcar. "I am going in the sense of exiting. I am going to die."
"My God!" said Rissa. "Are you ill?"
"No."
"But you're not old enough to die. You've told me enough times that Ibs
live to be exactly six hundred and forty-one. You're only a little over
six hundred."
Boxcat's sensor web changed to a salmon color, but whatever emotion that
conveyed apparently had no terrestrial analog, since PHANTOM didn't
preface the translation of her next words with a parenthetical comment.
"I am six hundred and five, measured in Earth years. My span is about
to be fifteen-sixteenths completed."
Rissa looked at her. "Yes?"
"For offenses committed in my youth, I have been assessed a penalty of
one-sixteenth of my lifespan. I am to be ended next week."
Rissa looked at her, unsure what to say. Finally, she settled for
simply repeating the word "ended," as if perhaps it, too, had been
mistranslated.
"That is correct, good Rissa."
She was quiet again for a moment. "What crime did you commit?"
"It shames me to discuss it," said Boxcar.
Rissa said nothing, waiting to see if the Ib would go on.
She did not.
"I've shared a lot of intimate information about myself and my marriage
with you," said Rissa lightly. "i'm your friend, Boxcar."
More silence; perhaps the Ib was wrestling with her own feelings. And
then: "When I was a tertiary novice--a position somewhat similar to what
you call a graduate student--I reported incorrectly the results of an
experiment I was conducting."
Rissa's eyebrows rose again. "We all make mistakes, Boxcar. I can't
believe they'd punish you this severely for that."
Boxcar's lights rippled in random patterns. Apparently, they were just
signs of consternation; again, PHANTOM provided no verbal translation.
Then: "The results were not accidentally misreported." The Ib's mantle
was dark for several seconds. "I deliberately falsified the data."
Rissa tried to keep her expression neutral. "Oh."
"I did not think the experiment was of great significance, and I
knew--thought I knew, anyway--what the results should be. In
retrospect, I realize I only knew what I wanted them to be." Darkness;
a pause. "In any event, other researchers relied upon my results.
Much time was wasted."
"And for this they're going to execute you?"
All the lights on Boxcar's web came on at once--an expression of
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