Divergence

Ben’s viewing field shrank away to nothing.

In the hollow space of the little cargo hold, Maurice watched flowing colors ripple into life above his console as the Eva Rye ’s FE software hand-shook with that of the A Capella . Silence fell in the little hold. Black-and-white tiles twinkled amongst the sparse collection of crates that lay scattered about over the walls and ceiling.

“Can I give you some advice?” said Judy suddenly.

“Would I be able to stop you?”

“Sleep with Saskia,” said Judy, ignoring his weary tone. “You are both sexually frustrated and more compatible than you would imagine: I saw the way you looked at her in that viewing field. I think recreational sexual intercourse would do you both some good.”

Maurice turned and stared at her. He was already voicing his reply before he properly had time to think about it.

“Well, if we’re being frank, why don’t I sleep with you instead? You’re so good at reading people, you must know I find you attractive.”

“You can’t sleep with me. I’m a virgin,” said Judy simply. “I thought I told you this already. Besides which, you find Saskia more attractive—you just don’t know it yet. Now, why don’t you play me a tune on your clarinet?”

Maurice stroked the case and said nothing.

“Okay,” said Judy, “let’s make it worth your while. Let’s put it through the FE software. You play for me, and I’ll sleep with you. We’ll get FE to work out the difference on the transaction.”

Maurice turned pale. “Don’t make jokes like that, Judy. You don’t know what FE is like. Your virginity will come at too high a price. You’ve no idea how such a transaction would affect the ship!”

“I’ll take the risk if you will, Maurice.”

Maurice was frightened. Judy was gazing at him like a robot might. It’s not me she’s doing this to, he thought. She’s doing this to make a point—but to herself. A flicker on the console caught his eye.

“There’s the next one.” He pointed, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“The next what?” asked Judy.

“The next FE-equipped ship. You’re right, Judy. Someone has something planned for us.”

He turned to face her, unable to keep the frustration from his voice.

“Who are you Judy?”

Judy said nothing. He began to wonder how old she was. Older than she looked, he guessed. The skin on her face was so smooth, and yet he noted tiny little lines at the edges of her eyes. She lacked some of the easy joy of a younger person, but she had gained the relaxed grace and poise of experience.

“Who are you?” he repeated. “When you say you’re a virgin, you make it sound like it’s some sort of species, not a life choice.”

“Who am I?” said Judy. And for a moment Maurice expected to hear the words “no one special,” but he realized this was not what Judy was thinking. Quite the opposite, in fact. “Me?” she repeated. “I’m Judy. I had twelve copies made of my mind. We were all virgins, and we all pledged to remain so.”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t understand. But it was a way of holding something in common. We all worked for Social Care, myself and my twelve digital sisters.”

“What’s the matter? What happened? You look so wistful.”

Judy brushed her hands through her hair again.

“They were all killed,” she said, “each and every one of them.”

“But why?”