Originator (59 page)

“Mini thinks the big red fish is the prettiest,” said Kiril, pointing at the pond. “I think he's the boss fish, he tells all the others what to do.”

“Maybe the fish don't have bosses,” Sandy suggested. “Maybe they just do what they want.”

Miniya shook her head. “No, they don't.” With no more explanation, because surely it was obvious.

Sandy sighed. “Mini, your mum wants you. All the girls are getting their hair done up fancy. Would you like your hair done?”

Miniya looked doubtful. She had a big head of hair like her mother, but
African-frizzy rather than Turkish-Caucasus, which was as close as anyone had placed Amirah's ethnic inspiration. “You should get
your
hair done,” Kiril suggested.

“I don't have very much to do,” said Sandy. She always wrestled with how much decoration she felt comfortable with at events like this, but she was actually quite enjoying the salwar kameez pants and loose top, mostly because she could move in them. And she could keep a pistol strapped to her thigh without anyone noticing, which in a Western-style dress would have been awkward. “But I'm going to get my hands done with henna, and I know Svetlana will too. . . .”

Mentioning Svetlana was usually enough, and Miniya nodded. “I want some henna.”

“I said I wanted some henna too,” said Kiril, taking mock offence, “but they said it's only for girls! It's not fair.”

Sandy laughed and held out her hands for them to take. They walked back into the party, which was a moderate-sized do for a Tanushan movie star wedding—only about eight hundred people crowded into an enormous mansion with huge rear gardens. And scandalously, it was only going to last a weekend, rather than the entire week some of the bigger weddings took. Sandy had heard some rumours at the budget—about six times her annual salary, and she wasn't paid peanuts anymore either. For months Amirah's work colleagues had been teasing her, interrupting her media briefings with fake magazine articles about hot GIs who married for money.

Sandy led the kids past several food stops set up on the patio around the pool, where chefs made finger food on barbeques to be carried by waiters amongst the crowds who mingled in the din of conversation, laughter, and music. There was a live band playing Indofunk inside, and they pressed through dancers and dodged elaborate decorations and people ferrying armfuls of drinks to their friends, before they finally reached the end of a huge lounge where gold and red silk drapes had been hung from the ceiling to make a separate space.

They went through the flap and inside found a cacophony of female conversation and laughter. In the middle of it was Amirah, looking obscenely pretty in a wedding sari and all the jewellery, her hands decorated with henna
up to the elbows as someone else put final touches to her hair. She saw Miniya and held out her arms, and Miniya ran to her with a grin.

“Quick quick!” someone shouted, pointing at Kiril. “The height test!”

“Oh, he's not too big already!” Sandy protested. “Don't tell me that! I want him to be small and cuddly forever!”

As Vanessa came up in her own salwar kameez and an embroidered vest and stood beside Kiril. “Nope, not over my waist yet!” she opined, standing on her tiptoes and ignoring that Kiril was now somewhat taller than her waist, as others laughed.

“Doesn't count on you!” someone told her.

“Oh, ignore them, Kiril,” Vanessa told him, “you're not too big yet, you come and sit with me.”

They went, and Sandy observed the crazy scene—the bride's side of the family, which was funny, of course, because the bride was a GI. And so female friends and colleagues piled into the girl-zone, making it full of synthetic female warriors more accustomed to armour and combat boots, but now bedazzling in every colour imaginable. Several henna artists moved among them, decorating hands, while several guests who actually knew about these things attended to hair and makeup. Rhian was here, little Maria on one arm playing with some bangles, and Raylee Sinta, somehow managing to look better than even women who'd been designed in laboratories. Radha Ibrahim was also there, the boss's wife injecting some much-needed age and wisdom, Amirah having become something of a daughter to them both these past years. And Sandy's old friends Anita and Pushpa, the net-tech geniuses who were friends with all GIs with their unconditional help to all new asylum cases.

Sandy talked with Bec and Taylia, both high-des GIs and FSA squad commanders who had never attended any wedding before, let alone something this size, and seemed to regard it as something between a game and a practical joke. Crazy just what large percentage of Callayan-based elite soldiers were now female, Sandy reflected—when she'd first arrived here it had been rare, with Vanessa practically the only female grunt of any rank. Now the female GIs were just everywhere, and both FSA and CSA had never had so many local girls just out of school applying, apparently inspired by all these unexpected role models. Sandy still wasn't sure that adopting synthetics as role models
was the wisest thing for straights, but on the social level, to say nothing of the emotional one, it was kind of nice.

Ari pushed through the drapes, looking very flash in a black kurta that came down to his knees, and was met with shouts of “Height test!” Lila, who was newly promoted section commander, proceeded to carry out the height test by forcing Ari to his knees and face-to-face with her bare midsection, to hoots and hollers from the rest, until Raylee broke it up with mock offence. Then Danya came in behind, and Sandy grabbed him before any more lewd females could take advantage of him, with a warning finger at any who might dare. Fifteen and handsome, he was nearly as tall as her now, and he observed this mad cluster of femininity with wry bemusement mixed with predictable interest. Many of the GIs had opted for sexy two-piece numbers that were theoretically fitting with the Indian theme, but only in fantasy movies.

“Like what you see?” Sandy asked in his ear, arms about his shoulders from behind and grinning.

“Um, yeah, maybe. S'not bad out there either,” he said, jerking a thumb out the drapes. “Ari's been showing me around.”

“Oh, he has, has he?” said Raylee with a deadly stare.

“Nah, no,” Danya came to the rescue. “He's been good, Ray, relax.”

“See?” said Ari, pointing. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Don't want blood on my conscience,” said Danya, tapping his head. As Raylee dragged Ari away for some closer attention.

“So you bring that girl Sandy was telling me about?” Vanessa asked Danya, suffering the indignity of having to look up at him these days . . . but she was used to that.

Danya made a face. “Nuh.” A glance sideways at Sandy, chin over his shoulder. “And Sandy shouldn't gossip.”

“Aw, poor boyyy,” said Sandy, and ruffled his hair.

“So what's up with the girl?” Vanessa pressed. “Not hot enough for you?”

“See, now you've got Vanessa asking questions,” Danya accused Sandy. “And she's like a pit bull with smaller teeth.”

“Not a good kisser?” Vanessa continued. “Smells like an old cabbage, what?” She clicked her fingers. “Won't go down, will she?”

“Vanessa,” Sandy said sternly, as Danya cracked a grin.

“Doesn't compare to any of Sandy's friends,” Danya said diplomatically.

“Ah!” said Vanessa, very impressed. “Holy shit, Sandy, he's getting smooth.”

“Tell me about it,” said Sandy. It was nearly alarming how fast he was growing up, matching verbal jousts with the likes of Vanessa on questions that just a year ago would have turned him red.

“So what is it really?” Vanessa repeated mercilessly.

Danya exhaled hard in defeat. “Girls my age are boring,” he said. “You name it, she's not into it, won't try it, never heard of it. And don't even start with the sexual innuendo.”

“Nah, shit, you're right,” Vanessa agreed, munching a prawn cocktail she snagged from a passing female waiter. “I was dull as mud that age. Sandy was . . . hell, Sandy's
still
that age, right?”

“Not quite,” said Sandy.

“Anyway, we get more interesting, thank god for all of us. And if you wanted a girl to learn the ropes with, free of emotional entanglements, plenty of hot GIs here.” Indicating the room before them.

“Hey, I've been getting requests,” said Sandy. “Or offers, you know—hey, if you want someone you can trust to show your boy a few things before all the nasty girls get to him . . .”

“Um, okay,” said Danya, freeing himself from her, “I'm now officially uncomfortable having my Mum and her best friend discuss this like I'm not even here. . . .”

“But if you do make a move,” Vanessa added with evil mischief, “you'll keep us in the loop, right?”

“Sure,” Danya deadpanned, “oh, Sandy, nearly forgot, Ambassador Quan's looking for you. Where's Svet, out back?”

“Yeah, looking after Darge, she promised Ami she would.” Danya nodded and ducked out.

“I shouldn't,” said Vanessa with a grin, eating the rest of the prawn. “But he's too adorable when he's embarrassed.”

“Gotta go,” said Sandy. “League Ambassadors are calling.”

“Hey!” called Amirah as Sandy made to leave, from where she and two others were addressing the difficult task of braiding Miniya's hair. “Sandy, where are you going, are you working? There's no working at my wedding!”

“Oh, that's sweet,” Sandy teased her for the crowd. “Look, everyone, Ami
still thinks there's a distinction between her home life and her work life, isn't she cute?”

“Don't you get all matronly on me!” Amirah called after her as she left. “You're only twenty-five years old!”

“Which is twice as old as you,” Rhian retorted on Sandy's behalf. “You shouldn't be allowed to have sex yet, what's with all this marriage business anyway?”

It was a running joke among Tanushan GIs, especially in the light of Jane's ongoing civil trial. The “world of their own” brigade were protesting fervently at Jane's defence team's arguing that GIs should be held to a separate moral standard. Jane bore the same moral burden for having killed those Tanushan civilians seven years ago as any legal adult did, they said. Sure, Sandy and Amirah had replied whenever the media asked—the same way GIs aren't allowed to drink alcohol until eighteen, or have sex until sixteen, or operate vehicles until fourteen, or have uplinks before eighteen, or make decisions without a parent or guardian present before sixteen, right? It was self-evidently preposterous to argue that GIs and straights should be treated the same, when GIs were fully formed and legal adults from anywhere between three and six years depending on their designation and developmental method. They had “adult” physical and technical capabilities from an age when human children were still wetting the bed, but nothing close to full mental maturity—especially when, as in Jane's case, that psychological development had been achieved dangerously early by taking crude and nasty shortcuts.

GIs already had waivers from all the usual age restrictions in Tanusha, be it for sex, alcohol, uplinks, or anything. Everyone knew that “age,” as measured for organics, meant almost nothing for GIs, as physical maturity did not equal mental maturity, and the ability to question one's early programming for most arrived late, and for some not at all. The responsibility for murder conducted under the influence of that programming, logically, rested upon the people who programmed her. Oh, well, Sandy thought as she pushed through the dancing, shouting crowds to find Ambassador Quan, this was the fate of synthetics in an organic-predominant society—another day, another legal test case.

She found the Ambassador talking to Phillippe, who was holding little Rupa and talking about violin concertos, of which the League's latest
Federation Ambassador was a big fan. Sandy waved to the baby and got a cheesy grin back.

“Hello, cheeky girl! Where's Sylvan?”

“Oh, you know that one,” said Phillippe, “straight to bed after feeding. But this one loves a party, don't you?”

Immediately a woman came and tugged on his arm. “Phillippe, your other little bundle is awake and bawling.”

Phillippe sighed. “Should have kept my mouth shut, shouldn't I?”

“Oh, here, I'll take her,” said Sandy, removing the baby from his arms. “You go see to the troublesome male child.”

“And how's Vanessa, well?” Phillippe asked sarcastically.

“Baby-free and wonderful,” said Sandy.

“Must be nice,” said Phillippe, and left for the creche on the second floor.

“He wasn't complaining when his cousin got married last month and Vanessa juggled two babies all night,” Sandy remarked to the Ambassador, wiping a little drool from Rupa's chin. “Although come to think of it, that was me and Ami, actually.” And she smiled at Quan properly for the first time and extended a free hand. “Hello, Ambassador! Enjoying the party?”

“Quite so, yes,” said Quan. He was a tall, elegant man, and probably a bit too cultured for an event like this. But everyone who was anyone in Tanushan and Callayan security was here, from Fleet to Intel to the relevant politicians Federal and local, so he could hardly pass up the opportunity. “And how is young Kiril?”

Kiril was of great interest to all senior League officials after the Federation had agreed to share what it had of the aiwallawai tech in his head. League had replicated and farmed it out at rapid speed, with massive upgrades conducted for the general population whether they liked it or not. Many had refused, understandably cynical of League Gov intentions, but plenty were by now aware that the crazy increase in political violence was not just a “thing,” and the brain scans that proved it were widely available on the nets. Enough had agreed on the upgrades to mitigate the existing crisis to the point that no more moons or planets had lately been destroyed, though they weren't out of the woods yet.