“What?” she teases. “You mean I’m just as much of a badass as the ultimate mech in all creation?”
“…You’re close.”
“Close?” Noemi raises a skeptical eyebrow. “I can see I’m going to have to prove my strength.”
“I look forward to it,” he says.
“You know, I kind of thought it would be dull here,” Virginia says. She’s cleaned her baggy orange jumpsuit and added a green Genesis flag at the collar; like the others, she strolls a few paces behind Noemi and Abel, taking in this new, unfamiliar world. “You know, all virtue and straight lines and taupe.”
“Why taupe?” Ephraim, who described himself as “too tired to sleep” after his first hospital shift in Goshen, is by Virginia’s side. Coming from the severity of Stronghold, he must find Genesis even more surprising. His gaze moves from object to object, taking it all in. “Is there something especially virtuous about taupe?”
Virginia shrugs. “Nah. Just boring, like virtue often is. In other words, nothing like this.”
She stops in her tracks and spreads open her arms, taking in the whole vista before them: the winding river sparkling in the morning sun, the cobblestone paths, the brightly canopied booths. The view is both stately and pastoral, a scene of beauty and harmony almost unmatched in the galaxy.
“This is what I thought Kismet might be like, before I ever went,” Harriet says. She’s woven green ribbons through her braids as a sign of solidarity with the people of Genesis.
Zayan leans on the wooden railing of the small bridge they’re crossing and sighs. “I never even thought Kismet could be like this. I thought this kind of life was—only in the past, or in fairy tales.” Virginia, who might be expected to scoff at such fulsome praise, simply nods. Even in its battered state, Genesis has overcome her cynicism.
No wonder they fought for this, Abel thinks. No wonder Earth was so determined to have it. But if Earth had claimed it, the beauty would’ve been destroyed—soon, and forever.
“’Scuse me?” says a tiny voice. Abel looks over to see a child, male-presenting, approximately four years of age. He wears the loose pants and shirt that seem to be common for children on this planet. The little boy takes a step back, as if intimidated by the attention he sought, but he manages to say, “Are you the good mech?”
Is that how he’s become known? Abel must be careful with his answer. The boy’s parents are a few paces away, wide-eyed at their child’s audacity. He drops to one knee so that he’s at the little boy’s level and puts things in terms he might understand. “I’m the mech who came here with the medicine, yes.”
“What’s your name?”
“Abel. What’s yours?”
“I’m Tangaroa.” The name is of Maori origin, unsurprising given the tattoos on the father’s face. “You don’t look like a machine.”
“I don’t feel like one either,” Abel explains. The child-psychology information in his databanks tells him that explanations should be kept simple. It didn’t work with Simon—but Simon wasn’t truly a child, only the remnant of one. This simple curiosity, the chance to grow and learn day by day: That’s what Simon Shearer was robbed of, and it was a large part of what destroyed him. Abel finds it comes naturally, speaking gently to this boy, and that somehow it helps soothe the guilt he still feels about being unable to save Simon. “That’s because I’m not entirely mechanical. I’m part human, too.”
“What parts are human?” With wide brown eyes, Tangaroa avidly studies Abel’s face. “Is it the nose?”
Abel laughs. “Here, see for yourself.” He leans forward slightly, ducking his head and trusting the little boy to know what to do next. As anticipated, Tangaroa puts his hand out to touch Abel’s nose, then laughs out loud. Behind him, the parents smile. A few of the other passersby have stopped to watch this interaction as well, and Noemi is beaming. He has the definite sense that this is going well.
“That nose is kinda superhuman if you ask me,” Virginia says. “I know you’re too objective to take offense at this, Abel, but you’ve got a considerable schnoz there.”
“Just like my creator’s.” Mansfield’s features live on within Abel’s.
Tangaroa looks up at Virginia, then at Noemi, then at Ephraim, with new interest. “Are you mechs, too?”
“Nope,” Ephraim says. “One hundred percent human. But I’m from another planet. Have you ever heard of Stronghold?” Tangaroa nods eagerly. His class must be studying the other worlds of the Loop in school.
“We’re from Earth,” Harriet chimes in, taking Zayan’s hand. “But we live as Vagabonds and travel all over the galaxy.”
“Me, I’m from Cray.” Then Virginia frowns. “I mean, I’m from Earth originally, but I’ve lived on Cray most of my life.”
A woman a few years older than Noemi hesitantly asks, “Is Cray really just one big supercomputer?”
“Mostly!” Virginia agrees with cheer.
Then the few people by the river are all congregating in this one spot, wanting to hear more about Cray and Stronghold and everywhere else in the greater galaxy. Ephraim gets caught up in describing his world’s deep mines, while Virginia clearly enjoys talking about the Razers’ secret lab. It’s Abel himself who explains the newly discovered world, Haven, with its blue pine trees and clouds of bats, and what may be happening there even now. Surely not all the listeners gathered near have fully accepted Abel as a person like themselves… but he sees signs that such acceptance could be possible. A few Remedy members have also begun to mingle with the group, and he’s aware that Vagabonds have put in at ports across the planet. Genesis is still too battered to look far into the future, and the threat posed by Earth is very real—but already he can determine that the planet will never be as closed off again. Other humans will find their way here; they’ll shape Genesis and be shaped by it.
Could that be true for someone who isn’t human?
Abel looks over at Noemi,
