My mother held out her arms as if to hug me, then dropped them as she got within reach. They rose again a moment later; I stepped backward just in time. My father shook my hand. We sat.
My mother tried to smile. "You look good, Lee Lee."
"This brain hates that nickname just as much as the last one."
She flinched. "Sorry. Lia. You look...so much better. Than before."
"That's me. Clean, shiny, and in perfect working order." I raised my arms over my head, clasped them together like a champ. "You'd think I was fresh off the assembly line." I told myself I was just trying to help them relax. My mother wiped her hand across her nose, quick, like no one would notice the violation of snot-dripping protocol.
"Lia-" My father hesitated. I waited for him to snap. The unspoken rule was, we could-and should-mock our mother for her every flaky, flighty word until he deemed (and you could never tell when the decision would come down) that we had gone too far. "The doctors tell us you're nearly ready to come home. We're looking forward to it."
That was it. His tone was civil. The one he used for strangers.
You did this, I thought, willing him to look at me. Not over me, not through me. And he did, but only in stolen glances that flashed to my face, then, before I could catch him, darted back to the floor, the ceiling, the window. Whatever I am now, you chose it for me.
"Zo, don't you have something for your sister?" my mother asked.
Zo shifted her weight, then rolled her eyes. "Whatever." She dug through her bag and pulled out a long, thin rod, tossing it in my direction. "Catch." I knocked it away before it could hit me in the face, but the body's fingers weren't fast enough to curl around it. The stick clattered to the floor.
"Zo!" my mother snapped.
"What? I said *catch.'"
I picked up the stick, turning it over and over in my hands. It was a track baton.
"We won the meet last week," Zo muttered. "Coach wanted me to give it to you. I don't know why."
"We?"
My father smiled for the first time. At Zo. "Your sister's finally discovered a work ethic." He beamed. "She joined the track team. Already third in her division, and moving up every week, right?"
Zo ducked her head; the better to skip the fakely modest smile.
"You hate running," I reminded her.
She shrugged. "Things change."
"Tell us about your life here," my mother said. "How do you spend your days? You're not working too hard, are you?"
I shook my head.
"And you're getting enough to-" She cut herself off, and her face turned white before she could finish her default question: You're getting enough to eat?
"Ample power supply around here," I said, tapping my chest and noting the way her smile tightened around the corners. "My energy converter and I are just soaking it in."
I wish I could say I wasn't trying to be mean.
She didn't ask any more questions. Instead she talked. Aunt Clair was helping design a new virtual-museum zone with a focus on early twenty-first-century digital photography. Great-uncle Jordan had come through his latest all-body lift-tuck without a scratch, literally, since the procedure had worn away that nasty scar he'd gotten skateboarding in the exquisitely lame Anti-Grav Games, which, it turned out, were actually full-grav, anti-knee-pad. Our twin cousins, Mox and Dix, were outsourcing themselves to Chindia-Mox had snagged an internship at some Beijing engineering firm and Dix would do biotech research for a gen-corp in Bombay. Last I'd seen them, Dix had "accidentally" broken Zo's wrist in a full-contact iceball fight, and Mox had tried to make out with me. Second cousins, he argued, so it was okay. Bon voyage, boys.
Then there was our parents' best friend, Kyung Lee, who was having trouble with his corp-town, the workers who lived there rioting for better med-tech, something about a biotoxin that had slipped through the sensors. Kyung was afraid if things didn't calm down soon, he might have to ship them all back to a city and hire a whole new crop, although the threat of that, according to my mother, should be enough to settle anyone.
As the half-hour mark passed, I tuned out. After another twenty minutes my father stood up, giving his pants a surreptitious brush, like he wanted to shed himself of the rehab dirt lest it soil the seat of his car. A new car, according to my mother. After all, I'd ruined the last one.
"This has been a lot of excitement for you today, Lia," he said politely. "You must be tired."
I didn't get tired anymore. I only shut down at night because it was on the schedule, and I only followed the schedule because I didn't have anything better to do.
I nodded. They filed toward the doorway, and I followed, half-wishing I could leave with them and half-wishing they would go and never come back. This time my mother forced herself to hug me, and I let her, although I kept my arms at my sides. It was strange to have her so close without breathing in the familiar scent of rosemary. But then, it was probably strange for her, with our chests pressed together and her arms around my shoulders, that I wasn't breathing at all. I thought about faking it for a few seconds, just to make things easier for her. But I didn't.
"We're so proud of you," she whispered, as if I had done anything other than what I was told-turn off, turn on, survive. I felt something brush my cheek as she pulled away, but I couldn't tell what. Maybe a stray hair. Maybe a tear. Maybe I was just wanting to feel something so badly that I'd imagined it.
My father squeezed my shoulder. The new body was taller than mine, I realized. He and I were the same height. He didn't say he was proud of me.
Another family policy: Kahns don't lie.
Zo was last, and I stopped her before she could slip out the door. Her hair was looking better than usual. Not so greasy. And cut shorter, so that it bounced around her shoulders, the way mine used to when it was real.
"Zo, people at school..." I kept my voice low, so our parents wouldn't hear. "Are people asking about me? Or, you know. Talking about me?"
She gave me a funny half smile. "Aren't they always?"
"No, I mean..." I didn't know what I meant. "Have you seen, I mean, have you talked to any of my friends? You know, Terra or Cass or..."
"Walker knows I'm here, if that's what you're asking." Zo leaned against the doorway and kept scratching at the bridge of her nose, which, unless she'd developed a rash, seemed mostly like a convenient way to stare at her hand rather than at me.
"Did he-" But if he'd sent along a message, she would have said so already. And if he hadn't, I didn't want to ask. Besides, he would never reach for me that way, through Zo. "Is he doing okay?"
"I know it's hard to believe, but the world is managing to revolve on its axis even without your daily presence," Zo snapped.
"Rotate."
"What?"
"The world rotates on its axis," I corrected her, because it was all I could think of to say.
"Right. It revolves around you. How could I forget?"
I grabbed her arm. She yanked it away, like I'd burned her. Her face twisted, just for a second, and then the apathetic funk was back so quickly, I almost thought I'd imagined the change. "Why are you acting like such a bitch?" I asked.
"Who says I'm acting?"
I hadn't necessarily expected her to burst into tears and sweep me into her arms when she first saw me, just like I hadn't expected her to tell me how much she loved me and missed me or to gush about how scary it had been when she thought I was going to die. I guess, knowing Zo, I hadn't even expected her to be particularly nice. But we were sisters.
And she was the reason I had been in the car.
I'd expected...something.
"Come on, Zo. This isn't you."
She gave me a weird look. "How would you know?"
"I'm your sister," I pointed out, aiming for nasty but landing uncomfortably close to needy.
She shrugged. "So I'm told."
After she left, I sat down again on one of the uncomfortable benches and stared out the window, imagining them piling into the car, one big happy Lia-free family, driving away, driving home. Then I went back to my room, climbed into bed, and shut myself down.
I'd set my handy internal alarm to wake me nine hours later. But the brain was programmed to wake in the event of a loud noise. A survival strategy. The footsteps weren't loud, but in the midnight quiet of floor thirteen they were loud enough.
"Sleeping Beauty arises." A girl stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the hallway fluorescents, a cutout shadow with billowing black hair, slender arms, and just the right amount of curves. "I guess I don't get to wake you with a kiss." She stroked her fingers across the wall and the room came to light. I sat up in bed.
It wasn't a girl. It was a skinner.
I knew it must be the one Sascha had told me about, the one I was supposed to be so eager to bond with. I was mostly eager for her to get out and leave me to the dark. She didn't.
"You're her," I said. "Quinn. The other one."
She crossed the room and, uninvited, sat down on the edge of the bed. "And here I thought I was the one and you were the other one." She held out her hand.
I didn't shake.
Instead I stared-I couldn't help it. I'd never seen another mech-head, unless you counted the vids. Or the mirror. So this was what my parents saw when they looked at me. Something not quite machine and not quite human, something that was definitely a thing, even if it could lift its hand and tip its head and smile. It was better at smiling than I was, I noticed. If you focused on the mouth and looked away from the dead eyes, it almost looked real.
"You're Lia," Quinn said, dropping her hand after realizing I wasn't going to take it. "And yes, it is nice to meet me. Thanks for saying so."
I didn't speak, figuring I could wait her out until she got bored and left. But the silence stretched out; I got bored first.
"Quinn what?" I asked.
"Lia who?" she said. "Or Lia when? Lia why? If you want to play a game, you have to fill me in on the rules. But fair warning: I play to win."
So did I. At least, when I was in the mood. Which I wasn't.
"What's your last name?" I asked.
"Doesn't matter."
"I didn't ask if it mattered, I just asked what it was."
"It was something," she said. "But now it's irrelevant."
I didn't get her, and suspected that was the idea, like she thought I'd be so intrigued by her ridiculous air of mystery that I wouldn't kick her out. I wondered if Sascha had put her up to it. If so, they were both seriously overestimating my level of curiosity. "What do you want?" I knew I sounded like a sulky kid. I didn't care.
"Heard your parents finally showed. Figured I would see how it went."
They'd driven two hours for a fifty-minute visit, then gotten the hell out.
"Great," I said sourly. "Heartfelt family reunion. You know how it is."
She raised her eyebrows. It was a nice trick, one I resolved to master myself. "Not really. My family's not an issue."
"Too perfect for *readjustment pains'?" I used Sascha's favorite phrase for anything and everything that could possibly go wrong.
"Too dead."
"Oh."
I refused to feel guilty. Not when she'd so blatantly manipulated the conversation to reach this point. "Sorry." I lay back down again and turned over on my side, my back to her; universal code for "go away."
"Don't you want the details?" Quinn asked, sounding disappointed. "The whole poor little orphan saga, from tragic start to triumphant finish?"
If I'd still had lungs, I would have sighed. Or faked a yawn. "Look, if Sascha sent you in here to give me the whole *you should be grateful for what you have' guilt trip, I'm not interested. Yeah, it sucks that your parents are dead, but that doesn't make mine any easier to deal with."
Silence.
I couldn't believe I'd just said that.
"I'm sorry." I twisted in bed, risking a glance at her face.
She raised just one eyebrow this time, which was even more impressive. "Yeah. You are." She turned away, revealing a broad swath of artificial flesh exposed by her backless shirt. I didn't know how she could stand it. Even at night I tried to cover up as much as possible. The more of me I could hide under the clothes, the less there was for others-for me-to see. Beneath the clothes I could imagine myself normal. Quinn, on the other hand, left very little to the imagination. She stalked out of the room, but paused in the doorway, tapping her fingers against the wall console. Lights off, lights on. Lights off. "You coming?"
I was.
"What are you doing?" I whispered as we waited at the elevators. "It's not like they'll work for us."
"Why not?"
"Because..." Wasn't it obvious? "We're not supposed to leave here. The elevators are probably programmed."
"Have you actually tried?" Quinn sounded bored, like she already knew the answer.
"No, but-"
"I have." The elevator door opened, and as I hesitated, she asked again. "You coming?"
It had never occurred to me that I would be allowed to leave floor thirteen. Of course, it had never occurred to me to want to.
"The other floors are biorestricted," Quinn said, nodding toward the skimmer that would collect and analyze our DNA samples. If, that is, we'd had any to give. "But the ground floor's all ours."
"Where are we going?" It felt strange to be talking to someone new after all this time. I had no reason to trust her. But I did.
It's because she's like me, I thought. She knows.
But I pushed the thought away. It was like I'd told Sascha. Quinn and I had nothing in common but circuitry and some layers of flesh-colored polymer.
"Field trip." She smiled, and, again, it killed me how much better her expressions were than mine, how much more natural. In the dark it had been easy to mistake her for someone real. No one would make that mistake about me. "Don't get too excited."
The grassy stretch bounding the woods was larger than it had looked from the lounge window. The grass was beaded with dew, cold drops that seeped through the thin BioMax pajamas, but that didn't bother me. Just like the brutal wind raking across us didn't matter.