A Murder - A Maker Pt. 03

Vivian Voss does not travel in a compact fashion. It was close to noon by the time I had finished. She provided a smaller case for me, then, instructing me to take everything from the sectioned-off portion of the wardrobe onto the ship, save one dress that she pulled out for me to wear. It was a creamy sky blue in color, designed to wrap behind the neck and overlap at the collarbone, a strip of fabric wrapping over each breast and curving down to meet the garment's skirt at the outside of either hip. It left my back and sides entirely exposed, as well as most of my stomach, and no one could possibly have a reason to wear it on daily business.

Lunch was delivered to the suite and I set to with an appetite. When we left I spent a half-hour shadowing Vivian through the facility, avoiding the glances and stares of the Raptors we encountered while she bid farewell to our hosts. The man who had turned me away from the private section of the facility accompanied one of the higher-ups she spoke with, and though recognizing him made me all the more self-conscious he gave no sign of realizing I was the same person.

The hallway we embarked down had thick glass walls on one side that provided my first look at Vivian's ship - a luxury vessel with silvery plating and a graceful, swooping design that was reminiscent of a long-necked bird only beginning to stretch its wings. I stopped to marvel for a few seconds, but a brisk call from Vivian had me hurrying forward to catch up. We turned down a narrow airlock, and moments later we were aboard.

I had come to love the nameless ship I had lived on with the pirates, and the walls I so often cleaned came to have a comforting sense to them. I had grown familiar with the craft, but it had never astonished me. Vivian's ship was something else entirely; it sought to redefine luxury. The whole thing must have cost more than some entire cities, and it boasted absurd excesses for a personal transport: a room designed to be a pool with entirely localized gravity, a sitting room and master bedroom done entirely in real hardwood imported from somewhere on Earth, and countless other displays of wealth. Vivian's bedroom was opulent and large, decorated with mirrors, paintings, and wardrobes and dominated by an expansive bed. I was given a small bedroom adjacent to it, smaller and more humble, though still far beyond what I was accustomed.

Once we had departed the station I found time over the journey to explore the ship and meet the others in Vivian's service. The more practical sections of the ship - the engine room, the crew quarters, were exempted from the many displays of wealth and in a way were more comfortable because of that.

In addition to Jonathan and myself, five people operated the vessel and attended Vivian. In general my inclusion to her retinue was met somewhat frostily, but over the course of the journey I became fast friends with her tall, quiet bodyguard, Hoyt. Large, bald, and muscular, he had a quiet mien that was fairly soothing, despite his profession. Webs of thin white scars covered the left side of his head, a few wrapping forward far enough to cut over his cheek and brow ridge. His nose had been broken a few times and something had shifted to restrict his nasal passages, making a soft whistle accompany his breathing.

Hoyt made a habit of reading in his spare time, ever carrying a lightweight datascreen in one hand, head bent to read as he sat, leaned, or paced around. The others alienated me, and when Vivian was not making use of me for herself they shoved tasks and menial work upon me with glee, and so I quietly did as I was told and endured the suddenly-grueling lifestyle of the trip to the Moon. I thought the pilot would take more kindly to me after I explained that I had a working knowledge of some of the ship's systems, but it only served to heighten his disdain.

And so I found myself scrubbing floors, dusting corners, sorting through old supplies, and acquainting myself with every corner of the ship. Hoyt became my shadow, always reading nearby, and though he never interfered with the burdens the others laid upon me he raised my spirits considerably, occasionally sharing interesting passages of what he read or recent news he had picked up. He had a gravelly, coarse voice that I found pleasant to listen to.

"Hoyt," I asked him once, interrupting his reading. It was late at night, according to the cycle kept on the vessel. We were the only two in the kitchen, and I was gradually working through a stack of dishes as he read a story about a Russian noblewoman's infidelity. The work could have been automated but the chef had left it to me out of spite, I was certain, and I stood over the sink at an odd angle, trying to keep my shirt from pressing into the raw lines across my back that Vivian had left before retiring for the evening. Hoyt paused, glancing up at me expectantly.

"Why didn't I ever see you on the station? Wouldn't there have been more need for a bodyguard there than there is here?"

He lowered the tablet, offering a small smile that I caught before glancing down to refocus on the plate I was occupied washing.

"Usually I shadow miss Voss," he told me in a rumble. "Not there. Matter of pride. She has ties with the Raptors, and it would sting them the wrong way if she had her own guards in her wake while visiting. They take it real serious."

The way he said miss Voss made me fight a grin. It sounded proper: refined and sheltered, perhaps even innocent. It was difficult to reconcile that affectation with the side of Vivian I had grown to know since she had taken possession of me. She was cruel, self-absorbed, and hedonistic. And yet, though each of those aspects were rarely considered good, the whole of her persona was impossible not to admire. Satisfying her, and being drawn along with her plans, was an exhilarating experience. At times I worried at how enamored I became around her, but it never changed the power of my feelings.

It was Hoyt's turn to interrupt me, then. "How old are you, Min?" he asked.

The question made me stop, the plate in my left hand still beneath the steady rush of warm water. "It's not specific," I admitted. "Early twenties. Twenty-two, maybe. I was designed to look young and attractive. Professional-" I paused, glanced down at myself, and quietly laughed. I had a silk nightrobe on, the cleavage narrow but deep despite how tightly I'd cinched the sash that served as a belt. The whole thing came only to my upper thighs, and the voluminous sleeves were far from practical. "If permitted the attire for it, anyway."

"That isn't what I asked," he said, tone a chiding growl. "I can see how old you were designed to look like, girl. You're standing right there. I asked how old you are."

"Oh." I hadn't even realized I was trying to divert the question. I reached forward to turn off the faucet, letting go of the plate and slowly drying my hands on a towel. Questions about me always provoked a disquiet in my gut, even from people I liked. I hesitated, glanced at Hoyt, and shrugged. "I don't know, Hoyt," I told him, the careless affectation in my words sounding hollow even to myself. "Things aren't very clear before I was sold to Richmond Essar, really. Just impressions, a few glimpses. Mostly of Tremain Voss."

"When were you sold?"

"About... Five years ago, now. Plus a few months." I saw the surprise on his face and glanced away, snagging a damp towel nearby to wipe the plate down before setting it atop a set of others. "Not many people ask that," I said. "It makes them uncomfortable, usually, when they do. Like you." I wanted to say more but the effort seemed too great, so I took the last dirty plate waiting to be cleaned and flipped the water back on, beginning to rinse it off. Disinfectant followed next, melting away the residue of food and purging the bacteria, and whatever else, may have lingered.

"It's weird," he admitted, sounding at a loss for what else to say.

I smiled, washing the cleaning agents off as I glanced back over my shoulder at him. "I'm a product," I said, and if I kept my voice level I couldn't help but taste my own bitterness in the word. "Just a very convincing one. We don't have lives outside of our roles, we don't have histories. I don't, anyway. I've heard some of the newer versions Voss sells can have custom memories implanted."

"It isn't as bad as you think," Hoyt said. "Not being free. Plenty of actual people are tied down without any choice, either."

"Would you like to trade?" I challenged with a sudden flare of anger, turning off the water and facing him.

His expression was drawn and wearied, gaze drifting over me in a quiet assessment. "Don't think I'd fit in that robe," he gruffly speculated.

My anger evaporated and I leaned back against the sink, letting out a relieved laugh and shaking my head. "I'm sorry, Hoyt," I said, drawing the plate in front of me and gripping it with both hands. "I'm sure you're right, that there are people trapped in ways they cannot escape. And I'm not unhappy. Far from it, usually. I've just always been afraid of...

"I've always wanted to be real," I continued, the poor wording making me blush. "To be a whole person, to have a sense of identity outside of just one purpose, service, in whatever form that takes, to my owner. Not having a past makes that harder. There are some people that take that fear away, but with how... Vivian is so powerful to me that it makes me more nervous about things like that, when I'm alone."

He grunted dismissively. Irritation flared again, but before I could say anything he replied, "You've got plenty of history, kid. I don't know the half of it, but you ended up under miss Voss's thumb on a pirate base, and you got yourself there somehow. You might not have been a child, but you've got more story than some people have in their whole lives."

The assurance comforted me, my shoulders dropping as the tension across my back eased, though that only dragged the silk robe across a sore lash-mark and made me wince. "Thanks you," I murmured, gingerly straightening and reaching back for the damp towel. "You're right. It's nice to have someone put things into perspective for me, every now and then."

He grunted again, more gently this time, and raised the tablet in his hands.

I turned back to the sink, drying off the plate and finishing the stack dishes with a content feeling of success. A question struck me, then, and I asked, "Hoyt?"

He gave no reply, but when I glanced over my shoulder I found him looking at me again, brows raised expectantly.

"How old are you?"

The man's gruff face twisted in amusement. "Forty-three," he answered, reaching up to rub a palm across his face. "You'd best be getting to sleep, Min. It looks like you're done."

I nodded, glancing once more to the stack of dishes. They were immaculate, I decided. The chef wouldn't be able to find anything to complain about without some creative fabrications on his part.

"I think you're right," I agreed. "And I will. Hoyt, why do we get along?" He gave me a confused look, so I explained, "The others all don't like me. They add more work for me to do or just go out of their way to keep from being around. You don't."

He shrugged. "We all work for miss Voss. They fawn over her, I don't. Means you're a threat to them, not me, taking her attention like you do. They all have hopes of catching her eye, but who knows what they imagine happening then." He squinted at me. "Would have thought you'd pick up on something like that, figure it out."

I smiled and shook my head. "I'm not a mind reader. I know it might seem odd, but I'm actually not very good at figuring people out."

He grunted again, discomfort obvious. "That makes sense," he said. His lips pressed together firmly, skin whitening, and his mouth worked for a few seconds before he decided against whatever was on his mind. He nodded to me, straightened, and stepped out of the kitchen. The conversation with Hoyt left me feeling content. There was something about the man that left me bolstered, and I stepped out shortly after him, returning to my quarters and quickly falling into a deep, needed sleep.

The journey was busy but relatively short. I endured the cold antagonism from the others in service to Vivian and endured the strenuous demands she herself put upon me as well. The amount of labor and the constant healing my body was forced to conduct left me somewhat exhausted, but Hoyt's companionship and the simple pleasure of my own bedroom to return to each night gave me enough stability and relaxation to maintain my energy. And even the harshest treatments Vivian delivered to me left me with a sense of giddy fulfillment, in the end.

When we were a day away from making contact with the moon I broke from my daily routine and sought out the cockpit, as it provided the clearest view of space anywhere on the ship. Earth was difficult to make out, the near-constant swirl of clouds and pollution hiding much of its surface, even that obscured behind a dense screen of debris that orbited the planet, none of it valuable enough to make retrieval worthwhile. Much of the planet itself had started to recover from the slew of pollution and other destructive practices that took over during the start of the true space age, but it would likely never be pretty again. The colonies had learned by example, at least.

The moon was a bright glow, the grayish surface and the metallic buildings that formed an almost-uninterrupted web around it. When we drew nearer I could tell, with some visual enhancement, separate districts apart, and the spindly walkways and airlanes that connected them. Air transit was the norm on the moon, ground vehicles having been completely discarded as a possibility during the colonization. Sleek metal structures and walkways, vivid panels displaying news and advertisements, and quiet flying vessels characterized the moon-sized city, fulfilling humanity's first concrete view of the future. A mesh of smallish satellites orbited the planet, linked to one another and constantly tweaking environmental pressures to keep a captive atmosphere breathable for those upon the moon. I'd heard that virtually every district required its buildings be hooked into emergency air supplies, ever since the system's earliest prototype failed and the lack of failsafes had resulted in the first colony's complete destruction, all three hundred occupants asphyxiating before help could arrive. That tragedy had put a stop to any expansion on the moon for more than a decade, but society's fear ameliorated and by now few thought a repeat of such an error even distantly possible.

A large ring-shaped station orbited Earth shortly behind the moon, providing a central docking facility for any inbound spacecraft and deploying a regular schedule of shuttles that could fly to and from the moon without disrupting the artificial atmosphere. We docked there, forming a small procession that moved from from the landing docks to a private shuttle, and soon embarked for the surface.

The sprawling city that encompassed most of the moon's surface was composed of large public sectors, as early on it had been established that commercial interests would not be permitted to mark off private zones of their own. As a sort of compromise, and to keep the public shuttle points from being glutted with corporate traffic and shipping, private spaceports had been allowed on the surface, and our shuttle arced down toward one of these as we neared the surface. Vivian pulled me up beside her to stand in the observation cabin alongside Hoyt, and I permitted myself a petty grin at the man. The others, left on the cargo deck with the materials and boxes that accompanied the Voss woman wherever she went, were surely furious. He seemed to read my thoughts, smiling in reply.

The view was spectacular as we descended between tall spires, the immaculate metal buildings and walkways giving a feel of cleanliness, wealth, and order. I admired them until I heard Vivian sigh.

"What a dull place," she complained. I got the sense that she only half meant it, if that, but it piqued my curiosity.

"What do you mean?"

"Not enough strife," she told me, head shaking. "Too many rules. Perhaps it is my past speaking. Father made the family spend so much time here while he was working. I imagine he still does, but at least I am no longer subject to it." She glanced to me, her eyebrows lifting. "Which reminds me. Something of a homecoming for you, too."

I stared at her, my open confusion triggering another small sigh from the woman.

"This is where the vast majority of the research concerning empaths took place. For all the rules to keep things running smoothly, there is far less to restrict aggressive research practices. This is undoubtedly where you were made."

I had never doubted that the heart of Voss Technology's research had taken place primarily on the moon, but hearing it out loud shook me nevertheless. I swallowed, turning my gaze back to scan over the buildings rising before us. One, standing a little squatter and wider than the other skyscrapers, but still leaving the residential buildings surrounding it entirely overshadowed, bore the distinctive crest of the Voss family.

"Is that it?" I asked, leaning into the window. The view of the building flitted by as the shuttle angled away, spiraling down and coming to hover above a small spaceport.

"It was," she said. "The research headquarters for the entire company. There are other branches, of course, but that is the center of everything." She pulled a pair of thin leather gloves from beneath one arm, slipping into each before flexing her hands. "I do not have any business there for this trip. There are other possibilities that I need to explore. You might get a chance to see him nonetheless..." She paused, gaze scanning over me curiously. "I wonder what you would make of that."

The thought shook me. I could never manage to keep a secret from Vivian if she were intent on knowing something, I am sure, but she had never cared for what had brought me to cross paths with her on the station in Phobos, beyond that it had. She had no idea that I sought to harm her father - indeed, she likely had no clue that I was in any way discontent with my nature. How could she, when she overpowered it and banished worries from my mind as a matter of course?

"It would anger him," Vivian was saying, smiling. "He always talks about professional distance, keeping aloof from our own constructs. But I am not subject to him, and I think I shall enjoy reinforcing that fact."

I blinked slowly, continuing to stare at Vivian until a gentle tremor signaled that the shuttle had touched down. "How many children does he have?" I asked, turning to trail after her as she moved for the exit.

"Three," she answered. "One son, two daughters. I am the middle child, and he has always maintained that I have been the most difficult." Her words carried a thread of pride. I began to realize that her sense of superiority and the boldness with which she interacted with me was in fact the same way she interacted with everyone, whether they were in her service or not. She valued her assertiveness and cleverness, it was obvious, and it seemed she was generally successful, although how much of her wealth stemmed from her own work and how much from her father's was something I didn't know.

"They shall take care of it," she brusquely told Hoyt, waving to halt him before he could take up a crate. "Just come along." We disembarked the shuttle to be greeted by a group of workers in plain uniforms, one of whom exchanged short words with Vivian before ascending the ramp. Hoyt and I trailed in Vivian's wake, leaving the spaceport. We passed a security door that Vivian had to present a badge to, then slipped out the side exit onto a wide catwalk that lacked railings on either side. It crossed over a thoroughfare filled with pedestrians, providing access to the second floor of a palatial glass-and-steel building on the opposite side. I stopped to stare at the foot traffic below, but a chiding call from Vivian had me hurrying after her before I could gather much of the people.