A Closed and Common Orbit (Wayfarers #2)(9)
‘This is the Bruise,’ Blue said quietly. ‘Not a good place to hang out. It’s where folks end up if, ah, if they got dealt a b-bad hand.’
As they passed through the station there, Sidra saw the weary faces of a family of Akaraks, digging through a trash receptacle with the help of their badly dented mechsuits. It was a troubling sight, and Sidra found other things to process as quickly as she could.
At last, they reached the modder district – Sixtop. The name was a pun, a reference to both the six small hills the homes were tucked around, and six-top circuits, a ubiquitous mech tech component. Sidra didn’t know what to expect of the place, but what she saw upon exiting the Undersea was surprisingly organic in aesthetic for a multispecies community of tech lovers. Yes, the signs of its inhabitants’ various trades were obvious – personal power generators, empty fuel drums, receivers and transmitters of all kinds. But likewise, there were lovingly tended strips of plantlife basking under sunlamps, and glowing fountains that glittered in the dark. There were sculptures made of scrap, smooth benches utilised by chatting friends and amorous couples, soft lighting fixtures that looked like the pet projects of individuals with disparate senses of style. There was nothing bureaucratic or single-minded about the public decor. This was a place built by many. She saw a food shop, a gaming bar, a few vendors of this and that. There was a quiet slowness here, absent in what she’d seen of the light side. Perhaps modders got enough flash and bustle in their day jobs. Perhaps they, too, needed a place to unplug.
The smooth path leading from the Undersea station was curved, branching out like a river into the clusters of homes beyond. The dwellings themselves were low to the ground – nothing over two storeys tall – and rounded at the edges, like someone had moulded them out of handfuls of . . . something. She didn’t have any stored files on building materials. Yet another thing to download.
‘Watch your step,’ Blue said. Sidra moved her gaze down to see a gauzy winged insect right below where the kit’s right foot would have fallen. She had no information on the species, but it was beautiful, whatever it was. The wings were thick and fuzzy, and luminescent patches along its thorax pulsed with gentle light. She stepped safely aside, glad to have avoided it. The idea of killing something, even if by accident – especially by accident – was unsettling.
‘We keep things dim here, to keep light pollution down,’ Pepper said. ‘It’s kinda hard to see what’s in front of you sometimes, but you get used to it.’ She considered something. ‘Though I guess you could just, y’know, adjust your light intake. Might make it easier.’ She led the way forward, and reached her hand back. Blue took it. He fell in step beside her.
Sidra did not adjust her light intake. She wanted to see the neighbourhood as her companions did. The dim light Pepper spoke of came from hovering blue globes, situated here and there along the path. They bobbed slightly, buoyed by unseen energy. Below them, night-blooming moss and chubby mushrooms lined the edges of the path. More of the winged insects clustered there, their lighted sides illuminating the veins of the leaves as they searched for nectar. Sidra looked ahead, and around. She could see sapients behind windows, silhouetted as they ate and cleaned and spoke. A trio of Aandrisk hatchlings chased each other around a fountain, shouting in a haphazard melange of Klip and Reskitkish. A Harmagian whirred by on her cart, waving her heavily pierced dactyli at Pepper and Blue in an approximation of the Human greeting. The Humans returned the gesture with their free palms. Sidra couldn’t say why, but frayed as she still was, something about Sixtop made her relax.
They approached a modestly sized dwelling, not much different from the others. The plants around the outer walls were overgrown, a little forgotten. Pepper approached the door and swiped her wrist over the locking panel. The lights inside switched on and the door slid back. ‘Welcome home,’ Pepper said.
Sidra watched Pepper and Blue carefully as they entered the building. She wasn’t sure what the correct protocol was here, and she didn’t want to do anything impolite. They removed their shoes; so did she. They hung their jackets; so did she. And then . . . then what? What did a person do inside a house?
‘Make yourself comfortable,’ Blue said.
That did not answer her question.
Pepper caught Sidra’s silence. ‘Just take a look around,’ she said. ‘Explore. Get used to the place.’ She turned to Blue. ‘I . . . am hungry.’
‘We’ve got leftover noodles in the stasie. But I don’t think there’s enough for th-three.’
‘She doesn’t need to eat.’
‘Oh, right! Right. W-well, then we’ve got enough.’
‘You missed the part where I am hungry,’ Pepper said, balling her hands into pleading fists. ‘I don’t want noodles. I want protein. I want something that will stick in my belly and make me regret it later.’
Sidra moved the kit through the room as the Humans discussed dinner. It was not a big home, nor one that gave the impression of wealth. The main room was a round, soft-looking space, with a cooking area branching off to the side. The walls were lined with shelves straining under the weight of bins of spare parts, pixel plants, and kitschy knick-knacks. Judging by the cluttered worktable stationed by a broad window, Pepper liked to bring her work home with her.
Sidra approached one of the shelves, which was devoted solely to figurines. Palm-size little people, all screaming with colour.