Expendable - James Alan Gardner [96]
He was a drunk, but he was also an Explorer. He had a good brain, no matter how many neurons he’d pickled. In time, he’d find the truth…especially since the solution was as easy as detaching his prosthetic arm. The AI would acknowledge him as completely flesh and kowtow to him, laying the town’s resources at Tobit’s feet.
Tobit with an air force.
If he came to the door now, he might even catch sight of the missiles. It wouldn’t matter that the weapons were disarmed. He could just instruct the AI to make more.
Maybe the next Exploration Team to visit Melaquin wouldn’t find the surface quite so unspoiled.
The Second Farewell
Languidly, the lark wheeled forward. The light of the hangar gave way to the darkness of the airlock area. At least we’re clear, I thought. No matter how angry Tobit may be that I kept this a secret, he can’t catch us now.
The airlock door started to close.
We might make it, I thought.
Stupid.
Tobit and his disciples raced into the hangar. A Morlock pointed her finger at our plane—the source of the noise. Tobit’s face twisted with fury. I had let him believe Oar and I were leaving in sharks, not a flier. He fumbled out his stun-pistol and pointed it in our direction.
His hand shook. I couldn’t tell if it was a meaningless tremor or if he had pulled the trigger.
I remembered what my stunner did to the shark.
The lark vibrated. It had been vibrating all along, trembling with the roar of its engines.
Had he fired? Had we been hit?
The airlock door squeezed shut, cutting off the light from the hangar. We were in darkness.
The jet noise choked to burbling as water flooded into the airlock chamber. The roar in my ears faded to a damp hiss—not a real sound but an aftermath of the aural onslaught, my eardrums stunned into a bruised sensation of white noise.
I lay back in my seat panting. Behind me, Oar moaned; my hearing was so battered, I couldn’t tell if her whimpers were loud or soft.
Should I unbuckle myself and go to her? That was dangerous…especially if the lark suddenly shot forward when the other airlock door opened.
“Please,” I said aloud to the plane. “Can we have some light? I want to see how Oar is.”
A soft blue glow dawned around the edge of the floor—a ribbon of illumination barely the width of my finger.
It was enough; tears trickled down Oar’s glass face, but she gave me a look of determined bravery. I almost laughed—she sat bolt upright in her chair, strapped in so tightly she could only move her head.
She would be all right. She was built to be immortal.
I turned away. With dim light inside and blackness out, I saw my reflection in the cockpit’s glass.
My face was perfect. My cheek was perfect.
I was whole.
Part XV
BEAUTY
My Blindness
It was my face. It was not my face.
I did not know how to look at myself when I wasn’t disfigured.
Was I now beautiful? Was I now merely normal?
What would other people think?
What would Jelca think?
It was ridiculous to ask such questions. I refused to be so weak that my self-image depended on others.
But I didn’t know how to look at myself. I didn’t know how to see myself. I didn’t know how to assess myself.
Not that the reflection in the glass was truly Festina Ramos. I was wearing a mask: an invisible mask, but underneath there still lurked my purple “pride.”
The real me: damaged…deformed.
But I couldn’t see the real me. I didn’t know what I was seeing.
A woman with clear brown skin. Strong cheekbones. Green eyes you could actually look at, without your attention being dragged downward in guilty fascination.
I couldn’t remember ever looking into my own eyes—not beyond searching for fallen lashes and my few attempts at using kohl.
Were they beautiful eyes? What does it mean to have beautiful eyes?
What does it mean to be beautiful?
Up Revisited
The lark gurgled forward. “Lights off,” I said—partly so I could see outside, partly to hide my reflection. Prope and Harque might gaze dotingly on their faces; but I wouldn’t.
I refused to think about it. I