Грег Иган - The Year's Best Science Fiction, Volume 1

What is—

Blessed Founders. This is a microfluid cell-culture dish? Sealed. These characters on the label are formed strangely, but similar to our writing… It cannot be.

“That’s what you’re here for, right? Can you read? The label says, ‘HeLa 7713.’ Yeah, that’s right. This is an active, living culture, so be careful with it. You don’t want to get it too cold or… Uh, your ship has radiation shielding, doesn’t it? Okay, good, then. If you want to keep the culture alive.”

This cannot be.

“Ha, wow, amazing how much emotion I’m picking up from your body language. Relax, it’s fine. Do you want a few additional dishes, just in case? Redundancy is good, right? Here, take some more. I’ll get you a bag or case so you can carry them easily.”

This is a trick. It must be. Why would he give us this?

“Well, you need it, right? It has something to do with how your biotech works? Your composite is pretty nifty. We use things like that for hazardous-materials cleanup, but we don’t live in them, of course! Anyway, so, there you go. Nice meeting you!”

Wait, what?

“Oh, I was just going to head back to work. Did you have any more questions? If you weren’t planning to head back to your ship right away, I can arrange a guide for you. We put a translator on your, um, face, so that should be working by now. Are you hungry? Shit, how do you eat?”

Your nutrient supply remains sufficient for now. You are hydrated. Your heart rate is elevated. Be calm.

“So you’re really just… floating around in soup in there? Sorry, we’re not supposed to… I’m sure your culture’s lifestyle is valid to you. It’s just that, well, I mean, you can make skin whenever you want, right? So… It’s Earth, after all, where we all come from. You can come out! We don’t bite!”

They are savages. Of course they bite.

“Earth” is an antiquated name for Tellus. Call it what you wish.

You know why we use composites. They’re far more efficient than skin. A composite skin can be rapidly modified to enable you to survive adverse environmental conditions. In the early days after Founding, composites were necessary to ensure the survival of workers building our habitats; they saved countless lives that might otherwise have been lost to solar flares or biohazards. Composites also reduce labor costs lost to bathroom breaks, meals, personal hygiene, medical care, interpersonal communication, and masturbation.

“And it doesn’t hurt, living without skin? It just really seems… Like, how do you have sex? How do you breastfeed? That reminds me—what’s your preferred gender? I’m a ‘her.’ ”

Why are you still talking to him? You have no need of this information. You’ve accomplished your mission, or you will have, once you return home. There is—

Yes. We know what “her” means. We simply do not acknowledge it.

[Reference request denied.]

[Reference request denied.]

Fine. It’s an antiquated term for a type of pleasurer—the kind with enlarged breast tissue.

“Pleasurer? I’ve never heard that word. Sorry, no idea what it is.”

You are being very persistent. Pleasurers are bots designed for sexual use. In the early days after Founding, most were given the designation “her,” out of tradition and according to the Founders’ preferences, but that pronoun has since fallen out of usage. When your mission is complete and you’ve been rewarded with the skin we promised, you’ll be issued a pleasurer. Its duty will be to maintain your penis in optimal condition. But it will not look like this thing, brown and fat and smug. What is the point of a pleasurer that’s not beautiful? If it cannot even manage to be that, then we might as well call it “him.”

Yes, the militus—police?—you saw before was probably a “her.” Your hostage too.

We don’t know, maybe 50 percent of the population? What does it matter? You don’t have a penis.

“Oh, right, I read about that! Your Founders hated women, wanted to replace them all with robots. That’s, uh, interesting. Oh—excuse me, somebody’s calling me. Yeah, Jaleesa here. Oh, hi, sweetheart! Sorry, I’m going to be a little late, got something to take care of here.”

He is speaking to someone else. Distracted. We can minifacture a stabbing weapon from the topmost layer of your composite in .0035 seconds, if you want to flee. You—

We have no idea why he knows of our Founders.

You’re asking more questions than usual.

No. Enough. We’re tired of this. Allow us to remind you: You have a mission. Without the cells in your hand, our whole society will falter and die. Mankind will falter and die!

Yes. Good. At last. It would be best to kill the Jaleesa creature so that he can raise no alarm…

Hmm, well, you have a point. This monitoring device will not come off. Very well, play along as you must.

“Sorry about that, I’m back. That was my son. Oh, hey, did you want to leave?”

[Reference request denied.] Do not ask what a son is. Tell him you want to leave.

“Okay, then. Just remember, no more hostage taking! Poor scared thing. You know how to get back to your ship, right? We can give you an escort if you need it.”

Tell him you need no escort.

“Okay, I guess that’s fair, given that you found your way here. Sorry, didn’t mean to patronize! Anyway, here’s a carrying case for your cell cultures; it’ll keep them in gravitically stabilized stasis for your return trip. And there’s a packet of instructions attached to each of the cell-culture dishes, too, to help you clone them successfully. If you folks can manage to do that this time, you won’t have to come back. Right?”

Do not ask—

“Uh… yeah, ‘this time.’ ”

We know nothing of—

“I don’t know, every few years? Seems to be irregular, but every now and again, one of you guys shows up, dressed in your bag, asking for HeLa cultures. That’s how the police knew not to use lethal force. Yours is one of the few exoplanetary colonies that’s lasted this long, see. Most of the others—the ones that didn’t die—came back once they realized Earth would be fine. There’s just your group and a couple of others left, all of them extremist offshoots of some kind or another… Well, anyway, we don’t mind helping you. Everybody’s just trying to survive, right? Look, I’m sorry, but I need to go. Have a good trip back. Remember, no hostages. Bye!”

Good. He’s gone. Our records did warn that women talk too much. The Founders were wise.

We don’t know what to make of your silence.

Your pulse rate, neurotransmitter activity, and body language suggest anger. Please unclench your fists; there’s a chance the locals will interpret that as an aggressive gesture.

Talk to us.

We can’t shut up. We’re supposed to help you. You’ve nearly accomplished your mission—

You’ve nearly accomplished your mission, and it doesn’t matter if there were previous missions!

No one lied to you. We weren’t given that knowledge. It isn’t a deception if we didn’t know. You have a mission to complete. Please follow the line on your heads-up display to leave this facility and begin the journey back to your ship. Yes, through this door—

You took a wrong turn. Please reverse course.

Why have you stopped? Very well. What you’re seeing is called a sunset. You recall our initial briefing, about how planets that are not tidally locked turn on an axis? This planet is turning toward night.

Yes, yes, the sunset is lovely, over town and forest. We suppose night will be lovely, too, but you should be back to the ship by then if you leave now.

Look. We’re glad to note the reduction of your agitation neuro-response, but how long do you mean to stand here?