Page 28 of Skyn
“Wow…think a lot of yourself there, buddy.”
His voice is suddenly serious. “I don’t think we can be friends, Fawl. Not in the clear-cut way I thought.” His voice drifts from Crispin, who is knee-deep in the pond.
“Thendon’tbe my friend. Come and kiss me if you want to, just don’t leave me alone out here.”
“I didn’t think of that. How lonely it must be.” Crispin tries to open his mouth in time with Ben’s words, but he is a half-step behind, making the whole conversation seem dubbed in another language.
“You don’t have to make their mouths move,” I say, squinting at the bot. “It’s weirder than you think.”
Ben pauses. I hear the quiet flick of him adjusting something in the interface, and Crispin stills, mouth finally closing.
“Are you going to see me before the Food and Science Ball?” I ask. I try to sound casual. I do not succeed.
“Of course. I don’t trust you to dress yourself,” he says, and there’s the smallest, warmest curl of amusement in his voice. Then, quieter, “And you know how I have my hypothesis of dampeners?”
I glance up at him.
“I’ll be testing it.”
Crispin shifts his weight, and I know Ben is doing this very thing in a lab somewhere.
“I think contact can heal,” Ben says. “I think skin is more than just an appendage of pre-Burn weakness. It’s a sensor. A receiver. Maybe even a converter.”
Crispin looks at me then, and I feel no filter, no firewall. Just Ben.
“I think touch might be the last real technology we have left.”
“Good luck convincing the rest of the world of that.” I point to a street vendor, and Hank runs him down returning with a rolled caramel waffle cone with alarming speed.
“This event is a good place to test it,” he says. “Oh, I love those.” Hank pushes the cone toward his closed mouth, and the cream slides down his face. He licks the corners of his mouth before I can wipe it completely clean.
Ben likes food? I wipe the bot’s mouth with my sleeve. “I don’t really see you eat,” I say.
“I, er,usedto love those,” he corrects. It’s a kind of a sad correction.
“Can you taste that?” I ask.
“I can,” he says, and Hank smiles genuinely and nods his head.
“Will Lily be there tomorrow night?”
“Yes,” he says. I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. The mannies idle for a while, and I imagine Ben lost in thought, wondering what the logical next step is.
“So, this is our first test,” I say
“The first of many,” he says.
Chapter13
The Jacket
The Food Science Ball is to benefit refugees from the bunker system three hundred miles north, poor souls who lack the technology for seed cloning and are likely living off rations older than they are. Ben’s lab generously donated two kilos of precious seed to the community, and as a reminder of just who made this largesse possible, a stunning hologram of Ben’s grandfather rotates in the foyer.
Nearby, everyone mills about in their finest glittery platinum. Necks, legs, and asses shine under the twinkling misty light above. The room buzzes with the sound of clinking glasses, but when we step into the dining hall, it’s like someone hit the pause button. Every single conversation crashes to a grinding halt. Forks freeze midway to mouths, and a few people actually throw their napkins down in disgust and leave the space as if our very presence contaminates the air.
Whispers float around the room, venomous and hissing:
“Disgusting…”
