Starplex

Keith was left standing there, watching the Waldahud's back recede down the corridor, angry with himself for not being able to deal with the situation. He rubbed his temples.

We're all prisoners of biology, he thought. Teshima unable to turn down the request of a pretty woman; Gatt unable to disobey a female's orders.

Once Gart had disappeared from sight, Keith headed down the cold, damp hallway. Sometimes, Keith thought, he'd give anything to be an alpha male.

Rissa was sitting at her desk, doing the part of her job she hated — the administrative duties, the burden still called paperwork even though almost none of it was ever printed out.

The door buzzer sounded, and PHANTOM said, "Boxcar is here." Rissa put down her input stylus and straightened her hair.

Funny that, she thought — worrying about whether her hair was messy when the only one going to see it isn't even human. "Let her in."

The Ib rolled in; PHANTOM slid the polychairs to one side to make room for her. "Please forgive my disturbing you, good Rissa," said the beautiful British voice.

Rissa laughed. "Oh, you're not disturbing me, believe me. Any break is welcome."

Boxcar's sensor web arched up like a ship's sail so that she could see onto Rissa's desktop. "Paperwork," she said. "It does look boring."

Rissa smiled. "That it is. So, what can I do for you?"

There was a long pause — unusual from an Ib. Then, finally, "i've come to give notice."

Rissa looked at her blankly. "Notice?"

Lights danced on her web. "Profound apologies, if that is not the correct phrase. I mean to say that, with regret, I will no longer be able to work here, effective five days from now."

Rissa felt her eyebrows lifting. "You're quitting? Resigning?"

Lights played up the web. "Yes."

"Why? I thought you were enjoying the senescence research. If you wish to be assigned to something else—"

"It is not that, good Rissa. The research is fascinating and valuable, and you have honored me by letting me be a part of it. But in five days other priorities must take precedence."

"What other priorities?"

"Repaying a debt."

"To whom?"

"To other integrated bioentities. In five days, I must go."

"Go where?"

"No, not go. Go."

Rissa exhaled, and looked at the ceiling. "PHANTOM, are you sure you're translating Boxcar's words correctly?"

"I believe so, ma'am," said PHANTOM into her implant.

"Boxcar, I don't understand the distinction you're making between 'go' and 'go,'" said Rissa. "I am not going someplace in the physical sense," said Boxcar. "I am going in the sense of exiting. I am going to die."

"My God!" said Rissa. "Are you ill?"

"No."

"But you're not old enough to die. You've told me enough times that Ibs live to be exactly six hundred and forty-one. You're only a little over six hundred."

Boxcat's sensor web changed to a salmon color, but whatever emotion that conveyed apparently had no terrestrial analog, since PHANTOM didn't preface the translation of her next words with a parenthetical comment.

"I am six hundred and five, measured in Earth years. My span is about to be fifteen-sixteenths completed."

Rissa looked at her. "Yes?"

"For offenses committed in my youth, I have been assessed a penalty of one-sixteenth of my lifespan. I am to be ended next week."

Rissa looked at her, unsure what to say. Finally, she settled for simply repeating the word "ended," as if perhaps it, too, had been mistranslated.

"That is correct, good Rissa."

She was quiet again for a moment. "What crime did you commit?"

"It shames me to discuss it," said Boxcar.

Rissa said nothing, waiting to see if the Ib would go on.

She did not.

"I've shared a lot of intimate information about myself and my marriage with you," said Rissa lightly. "I'm your friend, Boxcar."

More silence; perhaps the Ib was wrestling with her own feelings. And then: "When I was a tertiary novice — a position somewhat similar to what you call a graduate student — I reported incorrectly the results of an experiment I was conducting."

Rissa's eyebrows rose again. "We all make mistakes, Boxcar. I can't believe they'd punish you this severely for that."

Boxcar's lights rippled in random patterns. Apparently, they were just signs of consternation; again, PHANTOM provided no verbal translation.

Then: "The results were not accidentally misreported." The Ib's mantle was dark for several seconds. "I deliberately falsified the data."

Rissa tried to keep her expression neutral. "Oh."

"I did not think the experiment was of great significance, and I knew — thought I knew, anyway — what the results should be. In retrospect, I realize I only knew what I wanted them to be." Darkness; a pause. "In any event, other researchers relied upon my results. Much time was wasted."

"And for this they're going to execute you?"

All the lights on Boxcar's web came on at once — an expression of absolute shock. "It is not a summary execution, Rissa. There are only two capital crimes on Flatland: pod murder and forming a gestalt with more than seven components. My lifespan has simply been shortened."