hope not. It was my dad’s idea to begin with, only he never really got it off the ground.”
“Okay,” Anca said. She put down her half-eaten apple slice. “Do you want to see something with me?”
“Sure.”
*
It was a little museum of oddities near The Pike Place Market. She led me to a trembling holo of a Martian desert. A sign with a down-pointing arrow said: LISTEN. Anca nudged me. I leaned into the aural sphere and heard . . . wind. After a moment I drew back and made a question mark face. Anca shook her hands like she was trying to dry them.
“It’s the wind on Mars.”
“Okay.”
“From the first times, before there were any people. From a robot lander. A digital recording. So old .”
“It’s nice.”
“Oh you’re dense.” She giggled, quirking her lips, holding in the happy bug. “It’s the idea. The way it was so distant you could never be there, the way the wind was blowing on another planet and there was only a little robot to record it. A whole empty world. It’s romantic , Jack.”
I leaned forward again and listened to the lost romantic wind of Mars.
*
“Who is she?” Anca said a month later.
“Who’s who?”
We were walking in bright October sunlight in an urban park not far from NanOptions’s offices.
“The woman, the one you can’t let go,” Anca said.
“Whoever said—”
“Shhh.”
“Well.”
“Of course you don’t have to tell me.”
The sidewalk was plastered with wet leaves gone an ugly dun color.
“It’s irrelevant who she is,” I said. “And besides I have let her go. Mostly.”
“You haven’t.”
I scraped some leaf slime off the path with the heel of my shoe.
“Why don’t you call her?” Anca said.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“She’s Outbound to Tau Boo.”
“Oh.” Anca became thoughtful then said, “Oh,” again.
“Yeah.”
“And you didn’t go with her.”
“I couldn’t. You only get one shot at the qualifying exam.”
“I see. And you failed but she passed. How terrible, but why didn’t she stay with you if she loved you? Why—”
“Anca. I didn’t fail the exam.”
“No?”
“No. I haven’t taken it yet.”
“But why not?”
I transmitted and felt better about not answering.
“But how long?”
“Since she left? Two years, almost.”
“Two years,” Anca said.
I transmitted until the two years didn’t matter.
*
She came back to bed with two glasses of wine. It was that uncomfortable stage in the relationship. The stage where I wanted to go home by myself even before the sex. Transmitting oxytonin helped by producing hormonal arousal, but on the down side was a concurrent feeling of emotional attachment. Anca handed me my glass and slid under the covers with me.
“I lost mine, too,” she said. “But it happened in a different way.”
“Lost your—?”
“My beloved. Perhaps I was mistaken and he wasn’t my beloved, or supposing I wasn’t his is more truthful. He said he loved me, from all our talking and virtual intimacy, while I was in Bucharest. But when I came, at my own expense and using everything I had, things were different. So. I warned him I was not what he might want in a woman. This happened in San Diego. He flew away to Tokyo and stopped calling. I did make a fool of myself but it didn’t help. When my money was almost gone I began offering my DAT skills on the Ethricnet. That’s how I came to Seattle after my beloved abandoned me.”
She had finished her wine. She reached around to put her glass on the end table and it tipped off the edge and fell empty to the carpet. Her reaching arm, the way her shoulder blade slid under the skin, like bird bones.
“Oopsie,” she said. And: “Aren’t you going to drink that?”
I gave her my glass.
*
“I challenge you to something,” Anca said.
We were drinking Guinness in an Irish Bar called McGerry’s and it was a mistake. The bar, not the Guinness. Lynne and I had spent one of our last nights out in this same
“Okay,” Anca said. She put down her half-eaten apple slice. “Do you want to see something with me?”
“Sure.”
*
It was a little museum of oddities near The Pike Place Market. She led me to a trembling holo of a Martian desert. A sign with a down-pointing arrow said: LISTEN. Anca nudged me. I leaned into the aural sphere and heard . . . wind. After a moment I drew back and made a question mark face. Anca shook her hands like she was trying to dry them.
“It’s the wind on Mars.”
“Okay.”
“From the first times, before there were any people. From a robot lander. A digital recording. So old .”
“It’s nice.”
“Oh you’re dense.” She giggled, quirking her lips, holding in the happy bug. “It’s the idea. The way it was so distant you could never be there, the way the wind was blowing on another planet and there was only a little robot to record it. A whole empty world. It’s romantic , Jack.”
I leaned forward again and listened to the lost romantic wind of Mars.
*
“Who is she?” Anca said a month later.
“Who’s who?”
We were walking in bright October sunlight in an urban park not far from NanOptions’s offices.
“The woman, the one you can’t let go,” Anca said.
“Whoever said—”
“Shhh.”
“Well.”
“Of course you don’t have to tell me.”
The sidewalk was plastered with wet leaves gone an ugly dun color.
“It’s irrelevant who she is,” I said. “And besides I have let her go. Mostly.”
“You haven’t.”
I scraped some leaf slime off the path with the heel of my shoe.
“Why don’t you call her?” Anca said.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“She’s Outbound to Tau Boo.”
“Oh.” Anca became thoughtful then said, “Oh,” again.
“Yeah.”
“And you didn’t go with her.”
“I couldn’t. You only get one shot at the qualifying exam.”
“I see. And you failed but she passed. How terrible, but why didn’t she stay with you if she loved you? Why—”
“Anca. I didn’t fail the exam.”
“No?”
“No. I haven’t taken it yet.”
“But why not?”
I transmitted and felt better about not answering.
“But how long?”
“Since she left? Two years, almost.”
“Two years,” Anca said.
I transmitted until the two years didn’t matter.
*
She came back to bed with two glasses of wine. It was that uncomfortable stage in the relationship. The stage where I wanted to go home by myself even before the sex. Transmitting oxytonin helped by producing hormonal arousal, but on the down side was a concurrent feeling of emotional attachment. Anca handed me my glass and slid under the covers with me.
“I lost mine, too,” she said. “But it happened in a different way.”
“Lost your—?”
“My beloved. Perhaps I was mistaken and he wasn’t my beloved, or supposing I wasn’t his is more truthful. He said he loved me, from all our talking and virtual intimacy, while I was in Bucharest. But when I came, at my own expense and using everything I had, things were different. So. I warned him I was not what he might want in a woman. This happened in San Diego. He flew away to Tokyo and stopped calling. I did make a fool of myself but it didn’t help. When my money was almost gone I began offering my DAT skills on the Ethricnet. That’s how I came to Seattle after my beloved abandoned me.”
She had finished her wine. She reached around to put her glass on the end table and it tipped off the edge and fell empty to the carpet. Her reaching arm, the way her shoulder blade slid under the skin, like bird bones.
“Oopsie,” she said. And: “Aren’t you going to drink that?”
I gave her my glass.
*
“I challenge you to something,” Anca said.
We were drinking Guinness in an Irish Bar called McGerry’s and it was a mistake. The bar, not the Guinness. Lynne and I had spent one of our last nights out in this same
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