a pilot – at least, not a qualified one. My documents are forged. I’m self-taught.’
‘I don’t see what you mean.’
‘I’m a fake, Smith.’
‘But you’re a simulant. You’re built to be a pilot. They wouldn’t make you otherwise.’
‘They made me for a purpose,’ she said. ‘But it wasn’t that.’
He took a very small step back from her, turning a little. The sword was on his belt; he could draw it more easily with his right side facing her. ‘Then what are you?’ he said.
‘I’m a sex toy.’
‘What?’
‘I’m a custom built sex toy.’
‘But you – you can’t be. I mean, you don’t look sufficiently…’
‘Inflatable?’
‘No, that’s not what I mean. You don’t look like you’d be… sufficiently…’
‘Attractive?’
‘No, no. That’s not what I meant at all. No. You’re not unattractive in the slightest – you’re just, well – different . I didn’t mean to imply that you wouldn’t be attractive enough to qualify as – sod it, yes, that’s exactly what I meant.’
He looked at her. Carveth was watching him keenly, as if worried that she might miss him do a trick. ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘What?’ It seemed profoundly unfair that he was now feeling the need to apologise for having criticised faults that were self-evidently true. How did women manage that? ‘It’s just that I… ah… happen to look upon you as a crewmember, and I find it difficult to envisage you not as a fully rounded person, but as a mere sex object.’
Carveth stuck her hands out like a cartoon robot and made a huge O with her mouth. ‘This help?’
He shuddered. ‘Rather too much, actually.’
She lowered her arms. ‘You’re right, though. I’m hardly my type, let alone anyone else’s. I was developed for one particular man. They custom-made me according to answers to a questionnaire. Apparently I’m exactly the girl he was looking for. Except for the hair, of course. I dyed that over the sink.’
‘I did wonder.’
‘So there you go. I overheard them discussing it: they talked about it outside the tank they grew me in. First chance I got, I overpowered the head scientist and got out. Luckily there were some items of restraint nearby.’
‘But what about your pilot’s licence?’
‘I forged it.’
‘But it has a signature from the Ministry of Trade.’
‘Me.’
‘And a picture of the Minister.’
‘Me in a hat.’
Smith stared at her in the growing dark. Never had she looked so sincere, or so pretty, strangely enough. She had never talked like this before: the jaunty, facetious part of her was gone, lifted up like a shell to expose the rawness beneath. ‘I believe you,’ he said.
‘I just thought I’d mention it. I mean, the Ghasts’ll be looking for us, and, well, it’s good to get it off my chest.’
‘That’s quite alright,’ he said.
‘Sorry to piss you off.’
‘Don’t worry about it. You’re a very good pilot, by the way.’
‘I downloaded the information straight to my cerebellum. Well, most of it. I was in a hurry.’
‘Who ordered you to be made?’
‘Paul Devrin, from the Devrin Corporation. They’re rich beyond anything either of us will ever know. There are planets that they run. That’s how he was able to get away with it. Apparently he’s so depraved no normal woman will sleep with him. Typical, eh? The man I was made to meet would freak out the Marquis de Sade.’
She sighed. ‘So, er, there you go. Let’s get back, shall we?’
‘Did they mess with your mind? I know simulant personalities are pre-built.’
‘I’m not sure. I’m surprised how independently-minded I am. Perhaps they did tamper with my head.’
‘Probably just dropped you on it.’
‘I don’t know. I have a feeling there is something there, some kind of behavioural inhibitor. Sometimes I find it difficult not to make innuendo, for instance – not just sexual stuff, but anything childish and crude. I’ll be talking normally, as we are
‘I don’t see what you mean.’
‘I’m a fake, Smith.’
‘But you’re a simulant. You’re built to be a pilot. They wouldn’t make you otherwise.’
‘They made me for a purpose,’ she said. ‘But it wasn’t that.’
He took a very small step back from her, turning a little. The sword was on his belt; he could draw it more easily with his right side facing her. ‘Then what are you?’ he said.
‘I’m a sex toy.’
‘What?’
‘I’m a custom built sex toy.’
‘But you – you can’t be. I mean, you don’t look sufficiently…’
‘Inflatable?’
‘No, that’s not what I mean. You don’t look like you’d be… sufficiently…’
‘Attractive?’
‘No, no. That’s not what I meant at all. No. You’re not unattractive in the slightest – you’re just, well – different . I didn’t mean to imply that you wouldn’t be attractive enough to qualify as – sod it, yes, that’s exactly what I meant.’
He looked at her. Carveth was watching him keenly, as if worried that she might miss him do a trick. ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘What?’ It seemed profoundly unfair that he was now feeling the need to apologise for having criticised faults that were self-evidently true. How did women manage that? ‘It’s just that I… ah… happen to look upon you as a crewmember, and I find it difficult to envisage you not as a fully rounded person, but as a mere sex object.’
Carveth stuck her hands out like a cartoon robot and made a huge O with her mouth. ‘This help?’
He shuddered. ‘Rather too much, actually.’
She lowered her arms. ‘You’re right, though. I’m hardly my type, let alone anyone else’s. I was developed for one particular man. They custom-made me according to answers to a questionnaire. Apparently I’m exactly the girl he was looking for. Except for the hair, of course. I dyed that over the sink.’
‘I did wonder.’
‘So there you go. I overheard them discussing it: they talked about it outside the tank they grew me in. First chance I got, I overpowered the head scientist and got out. Luckily there were some items of restraint nearby.’
‘But what about your pilot’s licence?’
‘I forged it.’
‘But it has a signature from the Ministry of Trade.’
‘Me.’
‘And a picture of the Minister.’
‘Me in a hat.’
Smith stared at her in the growing dark. Never had she looked so sincere, or so pretty, strangely enough. She had never talked like this before: the jaunty, facetious part of her was gone, lifted up like a shell to expose the rawness beneath. ‘I believe you,’ he said.
‘I just thought I’d mention it. I mean, the Ghasts’ll be looking for us, and, well, it’s good to get it off my chest.’
‘That’s quite alright,’ he said.
‘Sorry to piss you off.’
‘Don’t worry about it. You’re a very good pilot, by the way.’
‘I downloaded the information straight to my cerebellum. Well, most of it. I was in a hurry.’
‘Who ordered you to be made?’
‘Paul Devrin, from the Devrin Corporation. They’re rich beyond anything either of us will ever know. There are planets that they run. That’s how he was able to get away with it. Apparently he’s so depraved no normal woman will sleep with him. Typical, eh? The man I was made to meet would freak out the Marquis de Sade.’
She sighed. ‘So, er, there you go. Let’s get back, shall we?’
‘Did they mess with your mind? I know simulant personalities are pre-built.’
‘I’m not sure. I’m surprised how independently-minded I am. Perhaps they did tamper with my head.’
‘Probably just dropped you on it.’
‘I don’t know. I have a feeling there is something there, some kind of behavioural inhibitor. Sometimes I find it difficult not to make innuendo, for instance – not just sexual stuff, but anything childish and crude. I’ll be talking normally, as we are