By the end of Tony’s speech, Belen had pulled herself together. Cold logic rescued her.
She was with Tony. That had been her choice. She had made the choice deliberately and with a clear head and in twenty-three years, Tony had never given her any reason to doubt that choice. He was a busy man and sometimes an absent-minded partner because politics never slept, however, he was kind and as considerate as a man in his position could be.
Belen knew Tony loved her. And she loved him. She did. Even if it wasn’t the same sort of breath-robbing, knee-trembling sensation she had once experienced, it was love. There was mutual respect, shared humor. He liked her intelligence and her ambition, which matched his own. They shared the same values…and that was the most important thing. That was the critical thing.
That was the thing that Rex had never properly understood and was why she had finally chosen Tony.
Belen focused properly upon Tony as he finished up his speech, her heart calming and her thoughts ordering themselves back into logical sense. She had chosen Tony. He had never let her down. What Rex did with his life was outside her concern and had been for a long time.
The applause at the end of the speech was thunderous, affirming Tony’s popularity and giving Belen even more justification. Tony was successful and beloved because he had never lost sight of the values they shared, even now at the peak of his career as Captain of the Endurance. He insisted they live in the modest Captain’s quarters on the Bridge. He had refused motions to increase the Captain’s salary three times. He paid for tickets to any tankball game they attended. He worked tirelessly for the good of the ship. Belen had heard people saying such things for years, admiring his modest lifestyle and his dedication.
Tony came back to the table, acknowledging the endless applause with lifted hands. He bent and kissed her again and murmured against her ear. “I’ve got a meeting I have to take. Do you mind heading home by yourself?”
Disappointment touched her. It was sharp, stealing her breath. “I was hoping for some alone time with you,” she told him, although that was a notion that had only occurred to her in the last few minutes, while watching him speak and struggling to throw off her fear and chaotic thoughts. Time alone with him would help reassure her.
Tony straightened. “Sorry.” He lifted his hand to acknowledge someone. “I have to go,” he said, with a touch of impatience.
He didn’t wait for her acknowledgement, because it was his job to be available to everyone, a priority they had settled years ago. He expected Belen to understand and work around it.
She watched him cross the room, weaving between diners who were getting to their feet and moving around the area. Some were heading for the dance floor, where music was just starting up.
Tony gripped a man’s arm, shaking firmly, as he laughed and talked. Then the man next to him. Then a third. The group turned and headed for the bar at the side of the dance floor, their heads already together, talking hard.
Belen watched them go, trying to tell herself that her disappointment was childish and unjustified.
Then, when the dance floor was full and she was certain no one was paying any attention to her, she got to her feet and left.
* * * * *
The arena was in the far corner of the Aventine, right next to Collina Gate, the public corridor to the Bridge, which meant Rex had to travel the entire length of the ship to get back to his house in the Palatine. He collected his car from the area on the other side of the magline and steered it onto the Artery. He didn’t let the computer take control. He wanted something to do with his hands.
He had told Emma he would meet her back at the house and even though she could reach him here in his private car, she had followed his directions and was leaving him alone.
It gave him a chance to pull himself together. He had initially planned to use the time to figure out how he was going to break the news to Emma. Instead, for most of the journey he fought off old, painful memories and relived the few short moments he’d had with Belen tonight.
Was there ever going to be a time when he could look at her and not feel as if his heart was being yanked out of his chest?
The Endurance was too small, the community too enclosed, to avoid her altogether. She was a public figure these days, as he was. Thanks to Tony’s career, the two of them attended the functions Rex could not avoid, so it was inevitable he would see her.
He could watch her from across a room and his pulse would only shift a little bit. He supposed that was an improvement. He could watch Tony kiss her or put his hand on the small of her back without reacting. He could even watch them share an intimate moment, talking quietly together, without wanting to murder the man.
It was the times when Belen was close enough to meet his gaze, when she acknowledged Rex was there in the room with her, that his heart began to hurt and the old pain rushed to the surface. She would look at him with that self-possessed, contained expression of hers and he would remember she had chosen someone over him.
She had left him. Recalling that fact could still bring his thoughts to a complete standstill.
Belen was still the most beautiful woman on the ship. He had thought so the day he had met her, a confident girl of fourteen with skinned knees and a direct gaze that saw everything, including his own bravado. Every time he saw her again only confirmed his opinion.
He reached the Palatine dock far more quickly than he wanted to. It only took a few minutes for the taxi-boat to get down to the house from the pier and he would need all that time to regulate his face and his feelings back to normal. There were too many people in the house with sharp eyes and no need to know his inner thoughts, including Michaela.
The driver of the taxi-boat nodded in greeting. He didn’t ask where Rex was going and he carefully lowered the boat down to the house in a gentle arc. The landing was flawless.
Rex pressed his wrist against the driver’s, giving him a small bonus for leaving him alone with his thoughts instead of trying to talk to him. The drivers were all paid by the Bridge as essential services, although Rex had learned that a little bit extra always helped smooth the way in the future.
He walked back into the house and shifted his shoulders under the jacket as the warmth made him realize how cold it was outside. It wasn’t very late and he could hear sounds from the floor above. Everyone was in their own suite, busy with their affairs. The staff didn’t stay in the evenings, except for occasions when there were guests. That left Rex alone on the lower floor and he was grateful for the reprieve. He wouldn’t have to dissemble. He wouldn’t have to school his thoughts and his expressions, or watch what he said.
He stopped in the kitchen to print a whiskey liqueur, then took the small glass into his office.
“Emma?”
“I am here,” she acknowledged.
“You sound…odd,” he said.
“I am experiencing the computer equivalent of anger, Rex.”
He was surprised. “You can experience anger? I thought you just simulated emotions?”
“I do not have a physical body with which to experience emotions the way you do, however, my empathy sub-routines give me an intellectual understanding of what emotions are. Because I can reason and learn, I experience reactions to events. Using my knowledge of emotions, I can match my reactions to human emotions. Practice has short-circuited that process now. I no longer intellectually match my reaction and therefore understand that my reaction is one of humor or irritation or anger. Now, I just simply feel the reaction and know I am angry.”
“And you pissed at me?”
“No.” Emma’s voice was low. “I do not know who to be angry with.”
“You’ve finished your analysis of the ship’s history since you were last active,” Rex surmised. He sigh. “I kept trying to find a way to tell you.”
“In hindsight, I can see now that you were apprehensive about my reaction.” Emma’s voice was stiff. “It was a valid concern.”
“Anyone could see how much you loved Micah and Laura,” Rex said slowly. He didn’t feel strange attributing love to an AI. “Now, no one knows who she is and everyone thinks Micah Thorn should never have been quickened.”
“That is not why I am angry.”
Rex looked at the screen, startled. The screen was blank. It wasn’t even switched on, but it was the nearest thing to looking at Emma herself. “It’s not?”
“Laura hated public attention and was relieved that Micah was the one to whom the ship credited their successes. That she has been forgotten by everyone except those who knew her best would be a relief to her. Such negative public opinion of Micah Thorne was inevitable, given the developments that followed their deaths,” Emma said dismissively. “It is the developments themselves that make me angry.”
Rex sat in the chair in front of his desk. “You’re going to have to explain that one to me,” he said.
“I would have thought it would be quite obvious to you, Rex Julyan. You are a man of influence and the culture of the ship affects your concerns, every day.”
“It does concern me,” Rex said quickly. “Public taste is fickle. Last year’s most popular entertainer is now this year’s forgotten talent. I’m constantly guessing what everyone will want next, trying to stay ahead of them. I don’t think that’s what you’re talking about, though.”
“You are correct.” Emma’s speech was stiff and correct, a product of her anger. “I am speaking of the hedonistic, self-absorbed and completely self-obsessed world you live in. How can you not see it?”
Rex blinked. “See what?” he demanded, his irritation stirring.
“Hoarding,” Emma said promptly and flatly.
Rex drew in a breath and let it out. “Hoarding,” he repeated, feeling stupid. This wasn’t the first time Emma had made him feel ignorant in the last few days. It was still a novel sensation. He wasn’t sure he liked it, either. The last time he had felt this stupid had been when he was much, much younger. It had been Belen, then, who had underlined his woeful lack of knowledge, although that had not been her intention. It wasn’t Emma’s intention either. Emma just expected him to keep up. It left him floundering at times. He had spent more time reading up on esoteric subjects in the last two days than he had in years and he had a feeling Emma was about to hand him a ton more to catch up on.
“If there is a single symptom by which the illness of the ship’s culture can be measured, it would be hoarding,” Emma said, her voice flat.
“Hoarding…food?” Rex guessed.
“Everything but food,” Emma replied. “Food is wasted in direct ratio to the degree everything else is held on to. Houses are three times larger than they used to be and at least four times larger than would be considered adequate living space. The Palatine was once considered to be a conservation area, for the raising and preservation of plants and animals. Human habitation was secondary and now, houses are far too close together, raising carbon levels beyond reasonable tolerances. There have been five major breakdowns in the air scrubbing system in the last two years…and no one has raised the issue of overcrowding.”
“The Bridge talks about it every day, it seems like,” Rex said gruffly. “When they aren’t reaching out for more taxes.”
“Taxes are another issue,” Emma said. “Taxes were never meant to be a part of the system that Micah invented. They spent years teaching the Bridge personnel how the economy must work if it was to sustain itself. Now, there are taxes and they have been raised twice in the last five years.”
“I thought I just said that,” Rex said, frowning.
“Michaela, the mother of your son Julian, has printed three hundred and twenty-four garments in the last six months,” Emma said. “She has recycled none of them.”
Rex laughed. “So? It’s just energy. I can afford it.” Besides, Michaela needed the distraction. If it helped keep her sober, she could print clothing all day long as far as he was concerned.
“At most, she would wear perhaps a quarter of those clothes from day to day, even if she changed clothing twice a day. It is wastage, pure and simple,” Emma said, sounding prim.
“You think that a more humble lifestyle will…what? Fix the ship? What’s wrong with the ship, anyway?” It bothered him that his voice was rising, as if he was trying to defend…what? The ship? Everyone on the ship?
“This culture is diseased,” Emma said.
Rex put the glass on the desk with a sharp knock. “Look, just because you woke up two days ago and come from some place in history where everything was fucking roses and wine, you don’t get to stand judgement on how things are now.”
“They are not the way they are supposed to be!” Emma cried.
Rex stared at the screen. “What?” he said, feeling stupid again.
Emma paused. It was possibly the longest pause he’d ever heard her take. She had to be marshalling an entire data river, to take this long to answer him.
“You don’t see it, because it has always been this way for you,” Emma said slowly. “I apologize. I should have given you more context, first.”
“What, history lessons?” he asked dryly.
“Of a very specific sort,” Emma said, surprising him yet again. “I will give you a simple example now. When Micah and Laura first invented the concept of a medium of exchange for the Endurance, the captain—Captain Middlesworth—had already spent decades grappling with the problems that money would introduce. One of those problems was that essential services would lose value and no one would be willing to do the work necessary to keep the ship running.”
Rex shrugged. “Essential services are still covered. They pay civil servants well, just to keep them in the jobs.”
“Yet those people you call civil servants are not honored for their contribution. They are derided for…there is an expression I came across—’eating at the public trough’.”
Rex shifted uncomfortably on his seat. It was true that civil servants were considered to be leeches, unqualified for anything but public work, unambitious and unable to take care of themselves if the government did not. He was also guilty of painting anyone in an essential service with those same assumptions. Everyone did it, though. Everyone looked down upon them.
“Laura was a software engineer,” Emma said quietly. “When she was alive, the term ‘civil servant’ didn’t exist. Everyone was a civil servant except for a few who chose to live precariously outside the norm.”
“Things change,” Rex said defensively.
“This is not the way things were meant to change,” Emma said. “This is not what Micah and Laura intended. They would be appalled at the changes that have taken place.”
“Because people are hoarding?”
“Yes!” Rex could almost hear Emma nodding. “It is a perfect symptom. There is no need to hold onto anything on the Endurance. Not even food. An individual will receive enough food to live on and can work to earn more food if they desire. They get basic energy rations to print the clothes they need and can be assigned shelter.”
“People want more than the basics,” Rex pointed out. “The basics are pauper’s rations.”
“They are adequate to provide good health. All other non-essentials are at the discretion and hard work of the individual. Yet people now print housefuls of clothes they don’t need. They buy artwork that goes unhung and unappreciated. You have a storage annex attached to this house that holds furniture you have not used for five years.”
“It’s my furniture,” Rex said stiffly.
“You could recycle it and return the energy to the ship,” Emma pointed out.
“I wouldn’t get back what I paid for it.”
“That should not be a consideration. As long as you’re holding onto that furniture, the energy inherent in it cannot be used for anything else.”
“You’re calling me selfish?” Rex breathed.
“If I were to do that, I would have to point at the whole ship and blame every single person on it,” Emma said. “It is not a flaw in your character, Rex Julyan. It is something you learned from everyone around you. Tell me…what do you intend to do with that furniture you have stored, in the end?”
“I haven’t thought about it,” he said flatly. He was beyond annoyed now. “I could sell it.”
“And receive a fraction of the cost of buying it. If you will not recycle it, you will not sell it. I also know that no one would buy it from you. Buying anything used or secondhand is considered shameful, now.”
Rex considered the screen. She was right on that score. No one would dream of admitting they had bought an item from someone else. That would make it old, used and out of date.
“Then there is fashion,” Emma added.
“You just talked about clothing.”
“Clothes are a sub-set of fashion,” Emma said flatly. “The dictates of fashion never acquired a strong foothold on the Endurance until now, because most clothing was essential and functional. Women, who have a biological imperative to look their most attractive, were more sensitive to the esthetics of clothing. However, even women did not follow a fashion trend because failing to do so would label them as frumpy or unattractive.”
“Until now,” Rex finished for her.
“Yes,” Emma agreed. “The dresses I saw tonight were all of the same kind. An excess of fabric, the fabric was impractical and expensive, the styles were extreme and often unflattering. The embellishments were excessive. There were layers and accessories and fripperies that pushed well beyond good taste. I am sure that every woman there tonight thought they were the height of fashion, though.”
Rex couldn’t help it. He thought of Belen’s simple cream dress. Even that gown had sparkled and shimmered and there had been folds and drapes and more. It had appeared simple only in comparison to the other gowns.
“Consider your own financial situation, Rex Julyan,” Emma continued.
It bothered him that she was pronouncing his full name in that way. She had called him Rex until a short while ago. Now it sounded as though she wanted to distance herself from him, as if she was drawing back in distaste.
“I am quite well aware of my financial situation,” he told her.
“Then you are thoroughly familiar with the fact that you have more credits than you could use in your lifetime, even if you continue the sybaritic lifestyle you currently maintain.”
Rex grinned, although he felt far from amused. “Good,” he said flatly.
“Why is this good?”
“Finances are public records. The bigger that figure is at the top of the sheet, the more power I have. People like money. They like what it can do for them. I like what it can do for me, too.”
“The freedom to shape your life as you wish would still be yours even if you had a fifth of the reserves you do now.”
“That’s what you meant by hoarding?” Rex asked grumpily. “It’s called fiscal prudence.”
“You are not the only successful, financially elite person aboard the ship, although I estimate you are in the top five of the most wealthy people, judging purely by the public records,” Emma replied, sounding quite calm. “All of you hold onto wealth far beyond your needs. You call it fiscal prudence. A long time ago it had another name.”
Rex took a sip of the liqueur. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that name was. He had a feeling he wouldn’t like it. But, damn it, she was getting to him. “Tell me,” he growled.
“Capitalism.”
He coughed over the mouthful of biting liquid, then spluttered and hacked even more. He managed to put the glass down without spilling the rest, while he coughed even harder. He had tried to breath the stuff in and now it was burning the back of his throat and making his eyes sting. Breathing was difficult, as his throat had closed down to a tiny aperture that felt raw.
When he could finally pull in a full breath, he leaned back in the chair. “That is not a term you should throw around freely, even with me,” he told Emma. “I’m an understanding man. People use terms around me all the time that aren’t polite, because it helps make a point, yet even I don’t like that one.”
“Nevertheless, the financial habits you have maintained for the last two decades fall firmly under the definition of capitalism,” Emma said, with the same unruffled calmness. “Consider the word to be a simple description of a type of society instead of the epithet you have always thought it to be. It is an economic model, just as communism and liberalism and socialism are also economic models.”
“The Endurance isn’t big enough to have an economic model,” Rex growled.
“Any society, regardless of size, has an economy. The Endurance began its journey with a simple barter system in place. Now people gather wealth to themselves and there is personal debt in the form of promissory notes and credit notes. The Bridge must collect taxes to pay for goods and labor it needs because the amount of free energy being exchanged has steadily decreased because people like you are holding on to it.”
Rex swallowed. “Energy credits….” he said, more to himself than to Emma. It had been a very long while since he or anyone he knew had used the full term for money. Most people simply called it money, or credits. “I had almost forgotten that credits represent energy,” he admitted.
“It was always intended that money should become fiat currency, a purely representational form of exchange,” Emma said. “Micah and Laura never dreamed that the energy it was based upon would be choked off the way it has. If they were alive to see what has become of the economy they gave birth to, they would be shocked and horrified. This was not what they intended.”
“You still haven’t said what’s wrong with it, except for calling me names,” Rex pointed out.
“I was labelling your behavior, not you,” Emma said shortly.
“And I was making a point.” Rex got to his feet. “I don’t believe you have done that, yet.”
“The point I wanted to make is that something must be done to change things, before it is too late,” Emma replied.
Rex laughed. “Too late for what?”
“Too late for the Endurance to survive the coming crisis.”
Rex laughed again. “Emma, there are financial experts on the Bridge who spend their working lives analyzing the flow of money on the ship. They have never spoken of a coming crisis and I would know if they did, because I spend time in their company so I can stay on top of shifts and trends. What makes you think you can see more clearly than they can?”
“Laura and Micah taught me everything they know and gave me access to the predictive models and the AI that built those models. I know what their intentions were and how it should have worked. I can see what has gone wrong. Your experts see the same things I do yet it does not occur to them to consider those things wrong because on the surface, they seem quite harmless. The hoarding, the debt, the Bridge collecting taxes, the food wastage. Decadent clothing, excessive drinking, an emphasis on having fun. The demeaning of those you call public servants. No one holds personal values in high regard anymore. And while you grow richer, there are people on the ship who live in the most squalid and desperate conditions, unable to work their way out of debt because the credit they borrowed a year ago is worth half its value today and they must work twice as hard to pay it back.”
Rex shifted on his feet, suddenly uneasy. He had heard stories over the years about the wretched life of people living in the Capitol, especially in the Wall district. He had never personally set foot near the place because the idea of being mugged and stripped of his clothes and valuables wasn’t appealing. “Those people…they took on debt they shouldn’t have. It’s their own fault.”
He realized he was quoting observations others had made, usually while they sat around a heavily spread table, drinking expensive wine. It made him uncomfortable now to hear himself using the same weak justifications for ignoring the poor.
“Is it their fault?” Emma asked, sounding as if she was genuinely curious. “Most of those poor are the civil servants you despise, who keep the ship running so you can enjoy your sybaritic lifestyle.”
Rex was more than uneasy now. He shook his head, anger stirring. “You have no right to judge me. Why shouldn’t I enjoy my life? I’ve worked my ass off to get it.”
“Do you truly enjoy your life, Rex Julyan?” Emma asked quietly.
He licked his lips. “Yes,” he said flatly. “I have two wonderful children, friends—”
“Business associates,” Emma interpreted.
“Who are also friends,” he said firmly.
“But you do not have Belen.”
Rex sucked in a breath, which made his throat burn all over again. It felt as if a weight the size of the ship itself was bearing down on his chest. “How…?” he whispered.
“I lingered at the arena after you sent me back here, to observe for myself that you were alright. It is part of my basic programming,” Emma replied with quiet dignity, “to monitor your health and I registered that your heartrate and adrenaline both spiked dangerously when you saw who had been eavesdropping. When I realized that the lady was known to you, I withdrew.”
Rex shook his head. “I don’t even know why I am letting this conversation continue,” he said. “You’re an AI who thinks the ship sucks, because it isn’t the way you left it. I’ve indulged you long enough. I should shut you down.”
“You won’t do that, because despite how uncomfortable I am making you, Rex Julyan, you know I am also making sense. The sensation of correctness is your true instincts speaking to you, telling you I am right.”
“My instincts are telling me I should delete your program before you cause any more trouble.”
“No, that is your self-interest speaking. Guilt is a powerful motivator.”
“I don’t feel guilty,” Rex shot back.
“You should.”
“For being successful?”
“I believe that deep in your heart, you know your success is the reason why Belen is not in your life.”
His breath shuddered as he sucked it in. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t turn you off right now and delete you? Why should I stand here and let you…tear at me like this?”
“I am merely speaking a truth you have long known and have refused to acknowledge. You have lost so many of your values you would penalize someone for being honest?”
“Who said I had values in the first place?” he said, his voice hoarse.
“Belen’s pulse and adrenaline also rose when she was speaking to you,” Emma said. “So did her cortisol levels, which implies that despite the stress of the moment, she was pleased to see you. I analyzed her life while waiting for you to return. A woman of such strong morals and character would not love a man who held lesser ideals.”
“She doesn’t love me.” Rex closed his eyes. “Not anymore.”
“More lies you tell yourself to justify your life,” Emma said gently.
His whole body seemed to flinch. “Shut up. Just…shut up.” He strode from the room, moving so fast he was on the verge of breaking into a run. He knew he was running away from Emma and the harsh truth she was handing out.
He also knew she was right. He wouldn’t delete her. He would stay away from her, though. Talking to Emma was far too uncomfortable.
He recognized that as another lie he was telling himself, too.