Harsh Lessons (8 page)

'Crunchy?' Emma whimpered.  'What- what did the Doctor think of it?'

'I don't know.  He was working while he ate, and didn't pay much attention.'

Emma mulled that over, her laughter at last dying, and she decided to ask about the other thing.  'Though it isn't just the emergency rations you've been raiding, is it?'  At Leeth's blank expression, she added, 'You've been eating all the chocolate, haven't you?  From the rec room.' 
Still no reaction.
'From the food dispenser: the "Black Magic" bars.'

'Oh!  They're chocolate?'  Leeth's expression became dreamy.  'They're better than lobster mornay.  I could eat them all up.'

Emma raised one eyebrow.  'I think you mean "did," not "could."  It's been empty almost every time I've looked since you arrived.  You'll get fat if you keep that up.'

'I don't get-'

'Not to mention pimples.'

Leeth's reaction was both instantaneous and out of all proportion.  She jumped up, one hand flying to her forehead, probing at first in dismay, then slowing as she found the skin smooth and unblemished.

'It's not ret- I mean, I don't have any pimples.'  She stared at Emma accusingly.  'Why did you say I had pimples?'  Her voice held a strangely flat inflexion.

'I didn't say you had pimples.  I was just warning you that eating too much chocolate
can
result in pimples.'

Leeth slowly relaxed; then seemed to realize she was standing, and sat back down.

'Besides, it's nice to leave some for the rest of us.'

But more than Leeth's over-reaction, something about the exchange was worrying Emma. 'Leeth, had you ever had chocolate, before the Black Magic bars?'

The girl grimaced.  'I don't remember.  I don't think so.  I sort of thought chocolate was a kind of egg.'  She rubbed her forehead.  'It's all kind of vague.  Colored eggs?  No, it's gone.'

'Easter eggs?  Back at the Institute?'

'What's an Easter?'

About to answer, Emma snapped her mouth shut.  She remembered the odd list of topics not to be discussed with Leeth, and suddenly saw not a naive young girl, but something
other
: some kind of strange experiment, memories created from nothing; or edited. 
The Institute for Paranormal Dysfunction.
  Was she even
human
?

With real effort, Emma forced a smile onto her face.  'Best ask the Doctor.  But I'm tired now, so I think it must be time for you to leave.'

'I'll help you clean up.'

'Leave it for the cleaning units.'

The tone was sharper than Emma had intended, and the girl froze.  'No, really, it's all right, leave it for the bots,' Emma added softly.

They stared at one another.

Leeth tried to work out what it was she'd done, as she stood unmoving before the blank surface, Emma's door closed gently but firmly in her face.  She'd thought they'd been getting on so well.

Eyes prickling, standing like an idiot in the empty corridor, bathed in the faint light of the projection of another random night-time woodland scene, she felt suddenly all alone.

Chapter 7 

'She needs dancing lessons.'

Father looked up, surprised by the sudden outburst.  Mother's area of responsibility included training, and he knew she'd been reviewing the new recruits' performance evaluations,
but…
dancing?

She looked angry.  At his unspoken query, she continued.  '
If
she passes training, we will often deploy Leeth in the guise of an innocent, harmless young girl, yes?'

'Of course.'

'So we can expect she'll visit nightclubs.  Go dancing.'

'Yes.  Undoubtedly.  And, ah, other things, afterwards.'

'Yes.'  Mother paused.  'Quite.'

Father opted to ignore the carefully bitten off words: each time someone referred to the
other
uses planned for the girl, Mother's expression soured as if taking personal affront.  Sometimes, Mother was too soft.  Any sacrifice was acceptable, for the good of America.

'Watch this footage from the gym.'

He accepted the internal link she sent, cueing the VR stream in conference-mode so they could share it.

It was Leeth, dancing in the gym, to a quite foot-tapping tune. 
Mmm,
very graceful.  Very athletic, too. 
He was soon engrossed, watching her leap and spin dramatically through the room, her movements perfectly timed to the rhythm of the music.

Mother's voice was an unwelcome interruption.  'I
said
, Father, if you can tear your eyes away from her performance, you can see why she needs lessons in formal dance.  Ballroom.  Rock and roll.  Jive.  Club.'

'Er…
'

'Father,' she began, in that overly patient tone he so disliked, 'that was the most beautifully deadly looking dancing I've ever seen.  Half those leaps, sweeps, and arm motions are katas from her martial arts training.  Were she completing
those moves she'd
slay
her partners, not seduce them.  She needs formal dance lessons simply so she'll have something other than her killing arts to draw on to express herself.'

He skimmed through the video again, then sighed.  'Agreed.'

'I'll have Nelson load James and Preacher's chips with dancing skills.  Emma's too, when they're all present at the same time.  She can practice with them.'

'Oh, they'll
love
that.'

'Then let them know that should they give less than their full support, I will add interpretive dance and ballet, too.'

Surprisingly, over the following weeks, the other agents complained less than either Father or Mother had expected.  Indeed, the girl's enthusiasm and enjoyment was so infectious, and the rare four-person-balls so joyous, that even Father joined in once or twice, to Mother's intense annoyance.
 

Chapter 8 

Holding James's arm, Leeth curled into his side.  Tonight, Leeth was trying her best to be a young ingénue, Samantha Westin.  They'd told her it wasn't a mission, but from her suppressed excitement, James suspected she saw this outing differently.

For just a moment, as he pulled out the chair for her, she'd scowled, but then appeared to remember Mother's lessons and allowed him to seat her.

So far, so good
, thought James, glancing from the impeccably set table to the exquisitely dressed young woman.  He’d doubted her readiness at first – when he'd had to
insist
she wear a bra with her cocktail dress, for example.  He planned to speak to Emma on the subject tomorrow.  Leeth had strange gaps in her social skills.  He wondered, again, about her upbringing by the Doctor.  Nothing that chap did struck him as accidental: so why did Leeth seem in some ways more like a young savage than a young woman? 

Leeth's eyes widened as she took in all the cutlery.  Lips moving, she studied the place setting, but at last nodded and relaxed.  Then read the menu with equal intensity.

'All right?'

She started to nod.  'Oh – wait!  Can we order stuff that's not on the menu?'

'Certainly.  This
is
a five star restaurant.'

She leaned forward, eyes wide.  'Then can we get them to barbecue some tarantulas?'

James went still.

'They're s'posed to be delicious.'

Still James said nothing.

'Just a few.  I've got this old documentary.  You pounce them with a forked stick and tie their legs up together.  You have to do that carefully, cause they can shoot their hairs-'

'No!  No, I'm afraid tarantulas are not currently in season.'

'Rats.'

'Don't you
dare
.  We would both be thrown out!'

'Huh?  Don't dare what?'

'Ah.  I thought you meant… never mind.  Just choose from what's on the menu.  Are you ready to order?  Do you need any help?'

She shook her head, and he met the Maitre'd's eyes.  Derek glided over, summoning one of his waiters with a glance.  Sizing "Samantha" up in a fraction of a second, Derek inclined his head in approval.

'It's been too long, James.  What would the young lady-'

'I'd like the seafood pasta.  That's a starter.  For the main course, I want, I mean, may I please have the seven-hundred gram sirloin steak, rare, with a, a
side
of vegetables.  For dessert, I'll-'

'Perhaps,' Derek interrupted, 'it might be wise to wait until you have finished your main course.'

'Why?'

'Ah… pardonne?'

'Why would it be wise?'

James seemed to be signaling her, so she waited for
Derek
to speak.  He was the one she had to fool each night, after all.

'In case madame decides she is no longer hungry.  When one considers the magnitude of such a cut…'  He smiled, tactfully indicating the size with two hands.

She sighed.  'Alright.  I get it.  It's a lot of meat.  So give me
two
servings of vegetables to go with it.'

Neither man spoke.

'What?'

'If madame is certain…?'  At her look, he turned to James.  'And for you, my friend?'

After dinner, they strolled together.  The air was warm, just a faint breeze, a full moon sailing the gaps between passing clouds.  Here, tonight, amidst the glittering forest of the city, the harsh reality of the real New Francisco seemed far away.

They were returning to the Opera House, still in good time for the performance.  Despite some awkward moments, in the end Mother's lessons on table manners had sufficed.  “Samantha” had even approached elegance once or twice.

She looked up at the moon, and he half-turned to her, noticing her cheerfulness had vanished.

'Something the matter?'

'I was just wondering what Faith was doing, tonight.'

'Faith?'

She pursed her lips.  Finally, nodded.  'We used to… do stuff together.  Play.'

James raised one eyebrow.

'Not that kind of stuff!  She's just a friend.  A dog, actually: an Asgard Model 3 CK9.'

James looked it up, and stopped dead, which forced Leeth to turn toward him.  'CK9s were designed to hunt and kill eco-terrorists!  It'd be deadly!'

'Well, sure.  But fun to play with, and super cuddly.'

She slipped her arm around his waist, and snuggled in to his side.

'Much like you,'  James suggested.  The comment appeared to cheer her, though her thoughts appeared to be far away.  'Did you have any, ah, adventures, with Faith?'

The look she turned to him held a great depth of feeling, and her mouth opened; but she didn't speak.  After a moment, she forced a smile.  'I'm Samantha Westin, remember?  I don't have cyberdog friends.'  She looked around.  'We need to stay in character.'

James checked.  The nearest person was well out of earshot, a hundred meters away – well, ninety-four, his optic range-finder showed – but he was happy to play along.

He patted her slender wrist, draped over his arm.  'You know, Samantha, this is probably one of the few places in the whole cityplex where people can walk the streets safely, at night.  It has the lowest murder rate of anywhere in New Francisco.'

Smiling down at her, he saw her expression sour and her lips purse as she pulled her arm free of his. 
Defensive
, he wondered?
Why would she-

'That's not
my
fault.  I've only ever even been here once before!'

He blinked.

'Uh-' 
She thinks I'm
blaming
her for the low death rate!
   Suddenly, the doubts were back.

They took their seats near the center of the eighth row comfortably in time for the performance.  As the crowd finished filtering into the large, ornately-decorated auditorium, James was all smiles and anticipation.  Leeth, however, pushed herself further back into the dark red velvet.  Her face had screwed up in disbelief, as if tortured by the orchestral warm-up.

'Stop over-reacting: they're just tuning up,' he admonished her. 

'Why wait till
now
?  Are they running late?'

James blinked.  'This is just the final tuning.  It's part of the ritual; adds to the ambiance.'  Her lips compressed into a thin line. 'Part of the joy is hearing harmony blossom from cacophony, like magic.'

Leeth put one finger into an ear, drawing it back to theatrically examine the tip.  'Huh.  Well, at least they're not bleeding. 
Yet
.'

James frowned, and met her eyes directly.  'Come,
Samantha
, try to be open-minded.'

Leeth scowled, then forced a happy expression, telling herself she was supposed to be
enjoying
this, impressed by it all.

'They're of course using
analog
instruments,' James added, nodding significantly.  Like that made them somehow better than digital.

Leeth was unconvinced.  Sure, the instruments sounded richer and
realer
played live – way different to recordings.  At the edges of hearing, some of the odd peaks and deep notes even sent shivers through her.  But a lot of those bits were also…
off
.

Maybe they
couldn't
tune them?  That'd explain why no one ever recorded them.

She kept her opinions to herself, but if the painful torture went on much longer, someone was going to be sorry.

James chose that moment to put his mouth to her ear: as if she was deaf or something.  'We're very lucky – this is the first part of
Das Rheingold
, the Ring Saga.  I think you'll like it.'

She quickly forced her grimace back into a smile. Then the lights were dimming, the massive gold curtain rising.

She wondered how long the performance would be.

For five disbelieving minutes Leeth kept silent, before conceding defeat.  'James, I can't understand what they're singing.'

James didn't seem to hear her, so she whispered it again, louder.

'James!'

Leeth gritted her teeth.  Not only was she being tormented by the piercing soprano, the vocals were drowning her out so James couldn't even hear her question!  She imagined jumping up on stage to claw the woman's throat out.