A Closed and Common Orbit (Wayfarers #2)(50)
Tak loaded the final cartridge with a decisive snap. He lit his pipe and inhaled deeply, ribbons of smoke curling out his flat nostrils. He gestured over his scrib, bringing up the image he and Sidra had worked on so intently together. A crashing wave, teeming with all manner of sealife. The image moved, just as it would on the kit’s skin, fins and tentacles gently, gently pulsing forward and back, no faster than a sigh. The movement was noticeable, but not distracting. It’d take the bots a full minute to cycle through the image. ‘A subtle bit of background action,’ as Tak had put it. Sidra looked at it hungrily, trying to imagine how it would look on her housing. Her pathways practically vibrated with excitement.
Tak noticed her eagerness. ‘You ready to do this?’
Sidra leaned the kit back into the eelim. ‘I’m ready.’
Tak sat in his workchair, dragging it close as he could to her. He disinfected the surface of the kit’s skin with a small spray bottle, then shaved the fine hair away with a hand razor. Sidra hadn’t realised that would be part of the process. That hair would never grow back, and having a bald patch on the kit’s upper arm would look odd. She made a note to shave the rest of the kit’s arms at home. It would be less obvious that way.
Tak tapped the pen on. It was louder than Sidra expected, though maybe only due to its closeness. The needle touched the kit’s arm; she directed the kit to inhale softly. Tak pushed the needle through the skin; Sidra closed the kit’s eyes. The needle buzzed forward. She inhaled again, a little sharper, a little shorter, just as she and Blue had practised.
Tak pulled the needle back. ‘That’s how it feels. Is that okay?’
‘That’s okay.’
‘You’re gonna do great, I know it. Just let me know if you need a break.’ He leaned in, moving the needle with the same care and sincerity as Blue with his brushes, as Pepper with her tools. Sidra watched with interest as little lines of still-dormant bots appeared, dark and clear below the surface. The kit bled. Tak dabbed the dishonest red liquid up with the corner of a clean cloth. He saw no difference.
‘So,’ Tak said, never taking his eyes off his work. ‘I watched that vid series you mentioned last time. The documentary on the first Exodans leaving the Sol system.’
A warm little glow danced through Sidra’s pathways. ‘What’d you think?’
‘Absolutely fascinating,’ Tak said. ‘It lost me a bit toward the end—’
‘The montage of images of the original crew?’
‘Yeah. Dragged on a little too long. But don’t get me wrong, I thought it was terrific overall. Much, much better than the scraps about Human expansion I learned as a kid.’
Sidra was delighted that her recommendation had been well received. ‘If you want to keep going in that vein, there’s another series called Children of War. It’s not quite as weighty, but I think it offers some very good complementary ideas about the politics on Mars at the time.’ She processed. ‘You went to university, right?’
‘I did.’ A nostalgic orange-flecked ripple crossed Tak’s cheeks. ‘I had aims to be an historian when I was younger. Started my certification track and everything.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. It’s the only time I’ve lived away from here. Spent three standards at Ontalden – you know it?’
‘No.’
‘It’s one of the big universities on Sohep Frie. Had a lot of appeal to me back then. I wanted to see the homeworld, wanted to see what life was like outside of the Port.’ He shifted his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other. ‘But it wasn’t for me, in the end. I love learning. I love history. But there’s history in everything. Every building, everybody you talk to. It’s not limited to libraries and museums. I think people who spend their lives in school forget that sometimes.’
Sidra wished she could watch the needle and Tak’s expressions at once. She was keen on processing both. ‘Why wasn’t it “for you”?’
Tak thought as he worked. ‘I like history because it’s a way of understanding people. Understanding why we’re all like we are right now. Especially in a place like this.’ He rocked his head toward the door, toward the multispecies crowd beyond the wall. ‘I wanted to understand my friends and neighbours better. But when I was on Sohep Frie, I spent a lot of time holed up in the university archives, learning about my own species’ history. We shons, you know, we used to be cultural conduits. We brought a little bit of each village with us when we switched between. Something about that really spoke to me. Not like it’s in my genes, or something. I don’t believe we’re defined by this.’ He held up the wet rag, speckled with false blood. ‘But that idea of being an ambassador of sorts grabbed me, for whatever reason. I realised I wanted to work with a more tangible kind of history. That’s why I do bot ink, and scale dying, and all that stuff. There are few better ways to get to know how a species thinks than to learn their art.’ Tak lifted the needle off the kit’s skin, adjusting his pipe between his delicate teeth. ‘You sure you’ve never done this before?’ he asked, nodding toward the kit’s arm. ‘You’re doing really well.’
A jolt of nervousness shot through her. She’d forgotten to maintain the appearance of pain. ‘Yes.’ She gave the kit a tight smile that communicated toughness – or so she hoped. It was a good thing that she’d seen so little of physical pain, but some frame of reference for how often and to what degree she should make the kit look uncomfortable would’ve been helpful. She chastised herself for not thinking to find some vids of organic sapients getting tattoos. Still, Tak seemed impressed, and in Sidra’s estimation, that was a good turn of events.