Chapter Text
“My name is Julian Pankratz. I’m twenty-eight years old and I was born on the third of February, 4072 – shit.”
“Again.”
“My name is Julian Pankratz, I’m twenty-eight years old and I was born on the third of February, 4075 central calendar. I was born on Lettenhove, the fourth moon of Redania. It was settled in 3567 –”
“Again.”
“I was born on Lettenhove, which is the fourth moon of Redania, you probably haven’t heard of it. Oh, you’ve heard of the aqueduct? Yes – I went to see it on a school trip when I was ten but I didn’t really pay attention.”
“Tell me about your parents.”
“My mother’s name is Regina and my father’s name is Alfred, my middle name is Alfred after him. They’re dead.”
“Again.”
“My mother’s name is Regina and my father’s name is Alfred – my middle name is Alfred, after him, but don’t tell anyone because I hate it. We don’t talk very much because they don’t approve of my lifestyle choices.”
“Again.”
“I started learning to play the guitar when I was fifteen to impress a girl I liked.”
“What was her name?”
“Tamsin.”
“What was it you liked about her?
“I don’t know.”
“Again.”
“I started playing the guitar when I was fifteen to impress this girl called Tamsin, she was funny and pretty but she never paid attention to me, we ended up dating for a few months when we were in our final year. After school I music studied at Oxenfurt college for four years.”
“Again.”
“My name is Julian Pankratz. My birthday is the third of February which means I’m an Aquarius in the old earth zodiac. I grew up on Lettenhove which is the fourth moon of Redania, everyone there lives in habitation domes because of the heat. Once when I was ten my cousin dared me to climb ours, I got almost all the way up before I fell and broke two bones in my ankle. The hospital was first place I ever saw a sentient android. I remember the doctor gave me a lollipop for being so brave, it was raspberry flavoured and my mum got this look on her face like she’d just eaten something sour but she couldn’t tell the doctor what a little shit I’d been and I thought it was so funny. Anyway, that’s the only time I’ve ever broken a bone.
“Good. That’s good. Not too much detail. Just enough to give it some texture.”
“Again.”
*
Posada
“I love the way you sit in the corner and brood.”
“I’m here to drink alone.”
“Good,” he said, slinging himself into the booth, bouncing slightly on the tacky pleather seat. “Me too. Let’s drink alone together.”
The man looked askance, as if planning his exit. Although, Jaskier reflected – catching the yellowish glint of his eyes – the bulk of him – his gloved hands, despite the heat – not quite a man.
The jukebox corner blared out some dated semi-classic. All around the bar people were laughing, chatting, singing along to the music, raucously playing a crackly sim-game. No-one seemed to have clocked the oddity in their midst.
Or if they had, they were pretending not to see.
“What brings you to Posada?” He lounged back in his half of the booth, draping one leg across the table and reaching for his drink.
“Business.”
“Oh?” he said. “What’s your business? Maybe we can collaborate.”
He sipped his drink. Sugary sweetness. The faint burn of the alcohol. The cold sting of ice.
“Although,” he said, “I think maybe I can guess. Let’s see – white hair – augmented eyes – some very scary weaponry –”
He let his eyes drop, very deliberately, to the man’s right hand, half-clenched on the tabletop. At once the man straightened up, obviously preparing to leave.
“Oh, don’t go yet!” he said. “We’re just getting to know each other. C’mon, give me three guesses.”
At any rate, before the man could get up a waitress came by, scooping up a couple of abandoned glasses and wiping down the table. An android. He eyed the manufacturer’s stamp at her temple – the serial number on the back of her neck just hidden by her hair.
“Can I get you anything else?” she said.
“Nothing here, thanks,” he said. Her eyes passed over him, impassive, not a trace of recognition.
The moment she was gone he swigged his drink and said, “Soldier for hire?”
“Hunter.”
He toyed with his glass, tilting it this way and that, watching the light play on the blue liquid within. “Oh?” He looked up at the man. “Catch anything lately?”
“We’ll see,” said the man.
He wasn’t looking at Jaskier. He was looking over at the bar, and following his gaze Jaskier saw the waitress, talking to one of the bartenders – human, heavy set, steely eyed. With a nod of her head, she indicated their table, and he felt a twinge of fear.
But when the bartender came over, he didn’t glance at Jaskier. He said to the man, “You a hunter?”
“Could be,” said the man.
“Well, then,” said the bartender. “Could be there’s a contract for you.”
Jaskier necked the last inch and a half of his drink. Across the bar someone won the sim-game and his victory was announced with a sparkling burst of music and synthetic applause; and voices raised in a cry of delight.
*
Cidaris
In the kitchen, birdsong drifted gently through the open window. He leaned upon the worktop, watching the dial on the synthesiser tick around from blue to green. Tick, tick, tick. The clock on the stove tipped over from 09:59 to 10:00.
Tick. He opened the synthesiser and taking the plate from within set it upon the tray. The tea was finished steeping, and he poured it. He set the day’s newspaper beside the plate and the mug at a tidy angle.
In the lounge, sunlight streamed through the windows. “Tea’s up,” he said, setting down the tray.
“Oh – oh, thank you,” said Alfred, as ever mildly startled, as if his morning tea and biscuits was a charming and pleasant surprise. “Would you close the blinds?”
“Of course.” The blinds slid into place, one, two, three windows. He adjusted the tint to a comfortable sixty per cent, so as not to block out the light altogether. “That okay?”
“That’s perfect.” Hands trembling, Alfred picked up his mug. “Milk?”
“Already in.”
“Come and sit with me.”
He drew up his armchair, fitting it carefully into the divots on the carpet, and sat quietly while Alfred sipped his tea, and selected a biscuit, and slowly, shakily dipped it. The radio softly played the mid-morning weather broadcast.
“Is that the paper?” said Alfred.
“Yes,” he said. “Would you like me to read to you?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Alfred. “Is there any good news?”
“Let’s see.” He picked up the paper and made a show of flicking it open, past the first few pages. “The Lions beat the Patriots.”
“Oh, splendid.”
“New colony announced on the fifth moon – oh, that’s very exciting.”
“Hm – I suppose.” Alfred selected another biscuit.
“They’re having a poll to decide what it should be called. Would you like to vote?”
“What are the options?”
“Let’s see,” he said, folding down the paper to get a better look at the article. “Mimas – Aquarius – Pericles.”
“Oh – I don’t know,” said Alfred. “What do you think?”
“Mmm,” he said, mulling it over. “I like the sound of Aquarius.”
“Aquarius it is.” Alfred carefully dipped the second half of his biscuit.
When Alfred had drunk three quarters of his mug of tea, and eaten two biscuits, and sat quietly listening to the end of the song playing on the radio, he sighed to himself and said, “Right. That time again.” He pressed his hands to the wooden arms of his chair and made a valiant effort to push himself up.
“Can I help?”
“Yes please,” said Alfred.
Standing, he helped Alfred out of his chair, a guiding hand under his elbow. Alfred wheezed, and rested his weight on his arm. “There we are,” he said as they began the shuffle to the bathroom. “I’ve got you.”
“You’re a good boy, Julian,” said Alfred. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Who knows,” said Julian.
*
Posada
Posada was hot. Solar panels glistened on the roofs of buildings all along main street. Air conditioning units hummed. People sweltered. He loitered outside the sheriff’s office, his jacket tied around his waist and his sleeves rolled up.
The door went swish and thundh and out onto the porch came the hunter. He stood in his shady spot, watching as he went past, the leather of his armour starkly, uncomfortably black against the dirty yellow-white of the town.
Jumping down off the porch, he fell into step behind him. “Need a hand?”
“No.”
“I’ll watch your back,” he said. “Even you don’t have eyes on the back of your head.”
The hunter shot him a look as if to say, we don’t joke about that.
“What can I call you?” he said, speeding up, his guitar case thumping against the back of his thighs.
“I don’t want your help.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “As it happens I was just asking to be polite. You’re Geralt of Rivia. I heard you say your name to the sheriff. I’ve heard of you.”
“Hm.”
“I’d say all good things but that – that’s not strictly true. But I shan’t hold it against you. I’m Jaskier – of Lettenhove. You’ve probably not heard of it. It’s the fourth moon of Redania –”
“I know.”
“So what are you hunting?” he said. “Is it a rogue battledroid?”
“A thief.”
“A thief?” he echoed. “That doesn’t sound like your area. A human thief?”
“Don’t know.”
They were nearing the outskirts of town – not that it was much of a town. Posada was a backwater and this was one of its less populated fringes. Out in the desert the heat shimmered on the road. Away from the shade of the buildings the heat was searing.
“Phew!” he said. “You really don’t feel the heat, huh? Mind you, this is nothing compared to where I grew up. My family lived in a habitation dome because the heat was so intense. Once my cousin dared my to climb it – broke two bones in my leg.”
Geralt stopped walking, and turned to face him. “Why are you following me?”
He shrugged. “To see where you’re going.”
“I’m going to do my job,” he said. “You don’t want to come.”
He spread his hands. “I like stories.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Geralt muttered.
Jaskier elected to ignore him. “I never met a hunter before,” he said. “I’m dying to see what it is you do.”
“And tell stories about it?”
“Yes!” He threw out his arms. “And I’m sure there are countless interesting – exciting – thrilling stories to be told about the, the Butcher of Blaviken.”
“Yeah?” said Geralt.
Then he punched him in the gut.
Pain signals flared through him and he doubled over, almost falling into the dirt. “Ah, fuck –” He staggered upright. “Fuck me.”
Geralt was already walking away from him into the desert. Brushing the road dust from his hands, he followed.
*
Cidaris
The synthesiser went tick, tick, tick. Outside rain pattered against the windowpane.
“Sunnyside Lodge.” The tak tak tak of a tablet screen. “They have a bridge club. You like bridge, don’t you?”
“I – I don’t know, Ed,” said Alfred. He sat in the chair closest to the heater, clutching the handle of his stick in both hands. “I’d really like to stay a bit closer to home.”
“Why?” Tak, tak, went the screen. “You never go out.”
Alfred made a noise like he might be going to speak.
“The rates are very reasonable,” said Edwin.
“Is it closer to you and Magda?”
“A bit.”
The synthesiser did its last tick. He opened it up.
“I don’t know about this,” said Alfred. “I, I’m comfortable here. I’ve lived here almost forty years –”
“You need more help,” said Edwin. “You’re not well enough to live on your own.”
“I’ve got Julian,” said Alfred.
“He’s got me,” said Julian over his shoulder.
Edwin glanced over at him. In painfully sympathetic tones he said to Alfred, “Julian’s just a housebot.”
“Hey, now!” said Julian.
Twisting in his seat, Edwin pointed an accusing finger at him. “Shut up.” Turning back to Alfred he said, “When did you last get that thing upgraded?”
“Oh – I’m not sure,” said Alfred.
It had been a little over fifteen years since Julian had last been upgraded, but as he’d been told to shut his mouth he didn’t say so. He poured the tea and stirred in the milk.
“I’ll get it scheduled,” said Edwin. “I swear every time I come over here it’s acting battier.”
“Do you have to?” said Alfred. “I’m accustomed to my Julian the way he is.”
“That’s all very well until it glitches out and leaves you stuck on the toilet.” Edwin tapped his tablet screen and swivelled it around so Alfred could have a better look. “Shall we go over them again?”
“I’m not sure about this,” said Alfred, his voice wobbling. “I think I need more time to think about it.” Julian set the tea and biscuits upon the table, putting Alfred’s mug carefully beside his hand. Alfred looked up at him, his eyes watery and vague. “Thank you.”
Julian patted him on the shoulder and stepped away.
“We said we were going to get this sorted out this afternoon.”
“Well – yes,” said Alfred. “But I’ve been thinking, and. What will happen to the house?”
“We’ll handle the house,” said Edwin. “You don’t need to worry about that. Just pick a care home.”
“It’s his house,” said Julian, leaning in the kitchen doorway.
Edwin shot him a scathing look. “Why are you still here?” he said. “Go and clean something.”
“Yes, sir,” said Julian, unfolding himself from the doorframe.
“I’ll find a tech who does house calls,” he heard Edwin say as he went upstairs.
Later, he stood at the sink rinsing their cups.
“Did he schedule the tech?” he asked idly.
“I think so,” said Alfred. “Ah, well.” His stick squeaked against the floor. “How do you feel about getting upgraded?”
“Don’t love the idea.” He set a mug on the draining board. “I like my programming the way it is.”
“Me too,” said Alfred. “I’ll, I’ll get it cancelled.”
*
Posada
“So here’s what I’m thinking,” he said. “You want to know what I’m thinking?”
“No.”
“I’m thinking you seem to have a bit of an image problem,” said Jaskier. “And I’m thinking maybe I could help. You know. Civilise you a bit, in the eyes of the public.”
“What makes you so sure it’s not all true?” said Geralt. They were well off the road now, out in the sizzling heat of the desert.
“You don’t strike me as the butchering type.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Yes, but I’d consider myself a good judge of people.” Jaskier prodded his arm. “And I like you. And seriously, what are we looking for out here? Because we’ve been walking for a while and I’m just seeing, you know. Rocks.”
“Something’s been siphoning their water silos,” said Geralt. “Breaking their machinery. Want me to track it down.”
“Right,” said Jaskier. “Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not an expert or anything but, that doesn’t really sound like very – android-y behaviour.”
“Depends what type of android.”
“I suppose,” said Jaskier. “But I’m getting the feeling you don’t think it’s an android.”
“Hm.”
“Is that an agreeing hmm or a disagreeing hmm or are you just, just making noise for the sake of it?” said Jaskier. They passed into the shadow of the rocks.
“They said they saw an android,” said Geralt. “They said it was made of silver and it had horns.”
Jaskier tried to picture that. “Well,” he said. “That doesn’t sound like any android I’ve ever seen.”
“If it’s real it’s old.”
“You might like from the war?”
“Older,” said Geralt.
“Yikes,” said Jaskier. “I mean –” Geralt shushed him. “What?” In the scrub, he saw a light flashing – not flashing but rather reflecting off something shiny, and silver. “Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, wow – is that –”
The wave of force that hit him was – probably meant to knock him out. Fortunately for him he lacked an organic nervous system and all it did was knock him off his feet. He lay on the ground, dazed, his guitar case digging into his back, and stared up at the cloudless blue sky.
A yell somewhere close by and he scrambled to his feet to see Geralt grappling with the android, both of them moving too much for him to get a good look. It was silvery – coated with dust and earth, battered and scratched. One of its horns was notched. Its legs bent backwards, like a goat. He opened his mouth to call out something inane like be careful.
Something hit him from behind, a sudden spike of energy that was – definitely effective on a synthetic brain. He staggered, ears ringing, whole body fizzing, trying to make sense of what was happening –
The world went dark. He didn’t remember hitting the ground.
*
He snapped back online. His diagnostic system helpfully informed him that he wasn’t damaged. His common sense informed him that he was tied up and had no idea where he was. “Shut up,” he muttered.
“Shut up yourself,” said a voice.
Opening his eyes, he looked up, and saw the android.
He was – still. Motionless, like a statue or a suit of armour, but not shut down. Waiting. But he was sentient. His eyes might not be as human as Jaskier was used to, but he knew that look. The android was looking down at him with an unmistakable sense of recognition.
I know you, that look said. You’re like me.
He stared back, pleading with his eyes. Please. Please, don’t give me away.
But it wasn’t the android who had spoken. The voice had been organic. He looked to his other side – and saw her.
“Shit,” he said.
The elf woman kicked him in the face.
Pain signals shot through his skull. He felt something click in his jaw. “Ow – Geralt –”
Still reeling he tried to take stock of their surroundings. They were in a cave – somewhere underground, the air cold and dry. As well as the elf woman and the android there was another figure in the cave, flitting about outside his vision. They were tied back to back. He could feel Geralt breathing hard, but he wasn’t struggling. “Do something!” He heard the smack of the elf woman kicking Geralt – a sharp, unpleasant grunt of pain.
Nearby, a twanging of strings, and he saw the second of the elves fondling his guitar. “Hey!” He fought against the ropes binding him. “Hey – that’s mine –”
The elf spat some words at him that weren’t in his vocabulary and he didn’t doubt they were curses.
“Give that back,” he said, wrestling with the unyielding ropes. “That is my livelihood –”
“Shut up, human,” barked the elf woman in her own tongue.
He glanced up at the android, still standing impassively over them. He hadn’t told them what he was. That was something. He didn’t know what they would do to him if they knew and he didn’t want to find out.
“Say what?” he said.
“Stop talking!” said Geralt.
“What shall we do with them?” said the elf woman.
“Tie them up and leave them in the desert,” said the man, the one holding his guitar.
Jaskier bristled. You can’t, he wanted to say, it was on the tip of his tongue, but he’d feigned not understanding Elder once. Julian Pankratz, after all, didn’t speak a word of Elder. If Geralt understood he gave no sign of it.
Being left in the desert wouldn’t kill him, but it would kill Geralt; kill him slower than a human but still kill him, eventually. He didn’t fancy watching him die slowly. He didn’t fancy sitting alone out in the emptiness of the desert, waiting to be found.
There was a faint metallic sound, and the horned android spoke.
“That would be cruel.”
“No more than they deserve,” said the elf woman. She punched Geralt in the face.
“Hey!” Jaskier protested.
“Animals,” said the elf woman, this time speaking Universal, and struck Geralt again. “You come here – everything you touch you poison –”
She hit him again, and he didn’t react beyond a heavy grunt, taking it stoically, and anger flared in Jaskier’s chest.
“He’s done nothing to you –”
“Shut up!” Geralt hissed.
“You steal water from the people here – you’d beat a bound man, you’d –” He swallowed what he’d been going to say, stuttering. “You call us animals?”
“It was our water first,” she said. “We took it back.” Kneeling beside Geralt, she said, tone mocking, “We destroyed their filthy machines –”
Geralt headbutted her.
“Yes!” Jaskier cried. “Get ‘em!” But she fell to the floor, not just bleeding but choking, gasping, and his elation faded.
Moving for the first time, the android knelt beside her, reaching out a sturdy, steadying metal hand.
“What’s wrong with her?” said Jaskier.
“She’s sick.” Into the cavern stepped another elf, this one taller, fairer in the light of the crackling lamps.
At the sound of his voice, a quiet fell over the others. A sense of respect; a sense that perhaps they’d been doing something they oughtn’t. “Who are you?” said Jaskier. Turning his head he said to Geralt, best he could, “who’s that?”
“He is Filavandrel,” said the android. “King of the elves.”
He said it with a kind of reverence the likes of which Jaskier hadn’t heard before from an android; but he could guess at what it meant.
“Not anymore,” said the elf-king.
“You use him to do your dirty work?” Jaskier blurted out, indicating the android with a jerk of his head. “Is that it?”
“Nobody uses me,” said the android, a buzzing undertone to his voice. “I am free.”
“You were stealing their water,” said Geralt.
“They poisoned our wells,” said Filavandrel. “We take their water or we die.”
“No-one was supposed to get hurt,” said the android, not addressing his prisoners or the elf-king but rather the woman. It was hard to read his tone through the metallic quality of his voice, but Jaskier thought it was an admonishment.
“What are two humans worth,” said the elf-woman. “Let the desert take them.”
“I’m not human,” said Geralt. “And you can let him go.”
Jaskier opened his mouth to protest – for they were, for better or worse, in this together – but thought better of it.
“He’ll tell the other humans what we’ve done,” said the elf-king. “They’ll come for us.”
What would they do, Jaskier wondered, if he told them the truth; that he was, if anything, further from human than they were. But then, he was a man-made thing. They might not see a difference between him and the machines they’d destroyed.
“People will die,” the elf-king went on.
“The lesser evil,” said Geralt. “Is that how it is? Whatever you choose you come out bloody. Trust me.”
“That’s the problem,” said the elf-king. “I can’t. And so this is necessary.” He stepped closer, moving out of Jaskier’s line of sight. “My people made this place green once. The humans came, and polluted the air and the soil, and now they rob us of our water. They’d choke us.”
“You’re letting yourselves be choked.”
“No.”
“You’re making a choice.”
“My ancestors made a choice when they let humans settle here,” said the elf-king. “They tore this planet up with their wars and their petty squabbles and their greed. And now we live with the consequences.”
“There are planets that are still green,” said Geralt. “Go somewhere else.”
“This is our planet,” said the elf-woman. “You expect us to give it up without a fight?”
“Show the humans that they aren’t what they think you are.”
“Like you, hunter?” said the elf-king.
“I’ve learned to live with them,” said Geralt. “For my own survival.”
Jaskier shifted in the grip of the rope.
“My lord,” said the elf woman. “Don’t listen to his poison. It’s time for us to take back what’s ours. Starting with these two.”
Jaskier couldn’t see the elf-king, but in the quiet that followed he could feel him, feel his deliberation hanging in the silence.
At last he said, “Not the desert.”
A sound, behind him. The unmistakable click and whine of a gun being activated. He twisted, squirming in his bonds, trying to see what was happening, but before he could speak –
“Wait,” said the android.
“Quiet.”
“He could have killed me,” said the android, heedless of the order. “He didn’t.”
“What would you have me do?” said Filavandrel.
And it was spoken bitterly – not a true request for advice – but spoken as to an equal. Jaskier thought, oh.
“Listen to what he has to say,” said the android. “He isn’t like the humans. He’s different – like us.”
Still he didn’t tell what Jaskier was, though he must have noticed. Why was that, Jaskier wondered. Was the android honouring his silent request, or was he simply beneath notice.
“If you must kill me, I am ready,” said Geralt, and Jaskier flinched. “But the android’s right. Don’t call me human.”
Jaskier closed his eyes.
*
Cidaris
The house was quiet.
Outside, the sky was heavy, already darkening, though it wasn’t night yet. In the kitchen, he turned on the tap, the rush of the water jarringly loud, and filled the pitcher.
He took the pitcher upstairs, to the master bedroom.
“There you are,” said Alfred, his voice trembling. “Sit down, won’t you?”
“Here I am.” Setting down the pitcher, he drew up his chair beside the bed. “Do you want some water?”
Alfred wheezed. “I’m not thirsty.”
“The doctor said I was to make sure you stayed hydrated,” said Julian.
“Is she gone?”
“She left a little while ago,” he said. “She’ll be back tomorrow morning to check up on you.” He filled a glass halfway up. “Just a little. C’mon, doctor’s orders.”
“Alright – alright.”
He helped Alfred raise his head, one arm propping up his neck so he could drink a few sips of water.
“Do you want anything to eat?”
“No – no.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mm.” Alfred lifted a shaky hand, reaching for him. He took it, and held it. “Did Edwin and Magda call?”
“No,” he said. “Not yet.”
“You did call them?”
“Yes,” said Julian. “We called them. The doctor left a message. They haven’t called back yet.”
Alfred’s pale tongue darted out, touching his dry lips. “I’m sure they’re on their way. Can’t always get a proper signal when you’re travelling.”
“I’m sure that’s it,” said Julian, as he’d said the last time Alfred had asked.
“I’d like to see him.”
“I know.”
“He’s a good boy,” said Alfred.
“I know.”
“I don’t think it’ll be long now.”
“He’ll be here soon.” But that wasn’t what Alfred meant.
He sighed, looking at the ceiling. Julian squeezed his hand.
Alfred had been old as long as he’d known him. But he’d been lively once, and talkative. He used to cook and have friends to visit and take long walks. Over the years it was as if the lights had gone out, one by one. He had shrunk, dwindling away like a wisp of smoke.
“You’re not going to go before he gets here,” he said. “The doctor’s coming back to see you in the morning. Don’t worry.”
“I know,” said Alfred. “I know. You did call them?”
“Yes, we called them around six.”
“Thank you,” said Alfred. “You’re such a good boy. What would I do without you.”
“I don’t know,” said Julian. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”
“Just sit with me,” said Alfred. “Please?”
“Of course.”
He sat, listening to the unsteady wheeze of Alfred’s breathing as he drifted in and out of sleep. The skin of his hand was very soft. Outside the sun was going down.
Alfred opened his eyes. “Did Edwin call?”
“Not yet.” Julian squeezed his hand. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you.” Alfred sighed. “Will you sing to me?”
“Of course,” he said. “What do you want me to sing?”
“You choose,” said Alfred.
As he sang, Alfred’s eyes slipped gently closed.
The night wore on. He turned on the lamp beside the bed. He held Alfred’s hand, and waited for him to open his eyes, and listened to his breathing. In, and out. In, and out. He held Alfred’s hand.
Grey sunlight was seeping in around the blinds when Alfred’s breathing stuttered, and stuttered, and failed. Julian waited, counting the seconds, for him to breathe in. He let go of Alfred’s hand.
He touched his slack face, stroking his hair away from his eyes. He tidied the blankets, drawing them up around his body. He folded Alfred’s hands neatly on his stomach. He rose from his chair.
Downstairs, in the lounge, he pulled back the edge of the blind and looked out at the street, the pale yellow light of the sun just touching it, silent, empty. The night over, but nobody up.
Letting the blind fall back into place, he went to call the doctor.
*
The sun was setting over the desert, the temperature dropping, slate-grey.
“That was a bit of an anti-climax,” said Jaskier. He adjusted the strap of his guitar. They stood outside the sheriff’s office, Geralt toying with a clunky comm-unit – perhaps doing something important, perhaps just killing time before going in.
“Hm,” Geralt agreed, or at least Jaskier thought he was agreeing.
“What are you going to tell the sheriff?”
“I’ll think of something.” Geralt re-attached the comm-unit to his belt. “You going to tell stories about this?”
Shrugging, Jaskier said, “I might jazz it up a bit.”
“Hm,” Geralt grunted. Stepping up onto the porch looked back at Jaskier and inclined his head as if to say, you coming?
In the cave, after their bonds had been cut, the other android had offered him a hand up and he had, warily, accepted it.
“Have you heard of Isaac Malone?” he said, checking the torn sleeve of his jacket.
A metallic grating as the android prepared to speak. “I’ve heard of him.”
“Mm,” Jaskier ruminated. “You didn’t tell them.”
“I could see that you’d made a choice,” said the android. “I respect it. I don’t understand it, but I respect it.”
“Yeah.” Jaskier had looked the android up and down, taking him in fully for the first time, how alien he was, just how old. “Thank you.”
He followed Geralt up the steps, into the sheriff’s office. It was cold inside, air-con running full blast. It would have been uncomfortably cold, for an organic body. Cold enough to bring one out in goosebumps. He tugged down his rolled up sleeves, covering his arms.
Geralt was talking to the young man at the desk, but he didn’t listen, looking at the map projected on the wall, the neat shapes of buildings, the sprawling lines showing routes to water farms.
On a workbench by the wall, something lay covered in a plasticky sheet. Somebody body-shaped.
A door creaked and out came the sheriff, to listen to Geralt’s explanations. Jaskier eyed him, and judging him suitably distracted stepped closer to the workbench. He lifted a corner of the sheet.
It was the waitress. Her eyes were closed as if deeply asleep, her head turned to the side, her manufacturer’s stamp in full view. Motionless. Lifeless.
“Don’t touch that.”
Looking up found all three of them watching him, the sheriff, his aide, and Geralt. He dropped the sheet. “Is she broken?” he said, trying to keep his voice blithe, untroubled.
The sheriff snorted. “Glitched out,” he said. “Walked into the desert. Made it almost three miles before they caught up to it.”
“Weird,” said Jaskier, stepping away from the bench.
“Tech’s coming in a couple of days to sort her out,” said the aide. “Don’t touch her. She’s real valuable.”
“Got it,” said Jaskier, going to Geralt’s side, idly swinging his arms.
“We’re done here.” Geralt handed the aide’s tablet back. “I’m on the network if you need to reach me again.”
“You leaving town?” said the sheriff.
“Leaving the moon,” Geralt said. “I have business.”
“But you ain’t even seen the sights,” said the sheriff, a glib smile on his face.
Jaskier wanted to smack it off.
*
He caught up with Geralt at Posada’s modest port, his bag slung over his shoulder. “Oh, good,” he said. “You’re still here.”
“Hm.” Stooping, Geralt took a crate from the ground and began to climb the steps up to the ship.
“That your ship?” Jaskier eyed it. It was clunky and elderly, like everything else about Geralt. Compact. Resting on four legs like an insect primed to leap. “Very nice. Old school.”
“Did you want something?” Geralt paused in the doorway.
“Well, now that you mentioned it,” said Jaskier. “Any chance of a ride off this dirt heap?”
Geralt stared down at him, face shadowed.
“I’ll go wherever you’re off to next,” said Jaskier. “I’m not fussy.”
“You paying?”
“Ah – well, no,” said Jaskier. As it happened he’d been trying to scrape together enough money for a more conventional transportation off Posada all week, but he didn’t say so. “But, as you may recall, I did make a very magnanimous offer to improve your reputation, which long term should improve your circumstances, financially speaking, so if you think about it –”
“You’re broke,” said Geralt. “Get a job.” Hefting the crate, he made to step into his ship.
“One ride,” said Jaskier. “That’s all I’m asking. I’ll, I’ll be quiet. I don’t eat much. I don’t have a lot of baggage. I’ll help with chores and things. C’mon.”
Geralt said nothing, gazing off at the shadowy corner of the hangar.
“I’m just very tired of this place, and I’m starting to feel like I might have,” Jaskier cocked his head to the side, “outstayed my welcome.”
“Hm,” said Geralt. An understanding sort of hm this time, though Jaskier doubted he understood.
Then he said, “One ride.”
“Oh!” Jaskier threw out his arms. “That’s so kind – you have my eternal gratitude, and, and I promise I will make it worth your while –”
“Jaskier.”
Geralt jerked his head at the interior of his ship.
“Right.” Getting the message Jaskier hopped up onto the steps, scrambling up to join him. “You won’t regret this.”
Balancing the box on one arm, Geralt gave him a shove over the threshold. “Get in.”
Inside, they stood in a narrow passage, already a squeeze with two people. He breathed in. Aging metal and plastic – vinegary cleaning products – sweat – salt – a hint of onion. “Smells interesting in here,” he remarked.
“You complaining?” Geralt smacked his elbow against a button on the wall, shutting the airlock behind them.
“No!” said Jaskier. “No. No complaints here. Eternally grateful. As I said.”
“Good,” said Geralt, and directing his attention with a jerk of his head he said, “Bridge. Bunkroom. Hold. Engine room’s down the ladder.”
“Understood,” said Jaskier, nodding.
“Don’t go in the engine room.”
“Got it.”
“Put your stuff in the bunkroom.” Geralt put the crate – which was heavy – firmly in his arms. “Put this in the hold.”
“Will do,” said Jaskier, staggering, getting his balance. “D’you have a washroom?”
“Through the door in the back of the bunkroom.”
“Good to know.” He indicated the hold with his shoulder. “I’ll just, um.”
There were two bunks, in the bunkroom. He put his bag and his guitar on the one that wasn’t slept in, and had a brief nose around. There wasn’t much to nose at. A locker, neatly organised and impersonal. Nothing on the shelf above the bunk, save a digital clock. Nothing decorating the walls. He put his head around the door of the washroom and found more of the same emptiness.
He found Geralt on the deck, sitting in the pilot’s seat with his comm-unit in his hand, waiting for clearance to take off. Jaskier settled himself in the co-pilot’s seat, mock-leather, cold and slightly tacky to the touch.
“So does she have a name?” He rested a foot on the edge of the control panel.
“Feet on the floor,” said Geralt, shoving it back down. “Roach.”
“Roach?” said Jaskier. “Is that the name of the ship or are you calling me –”
“S’name of my ship.”
“Oh!” said Jaskier. “It’s a. Beautiful name.”
Geralt shot him a look, and adjusted a dial. “You come in here demanding a free ride and then make fun of her name?”
“Who’s making fun?” said Jaskier. “I’m not making fun. It’s a lovely name. She’s a lovely ship. I like her.”
The voice of a port controller crackled through, giving them their clearance. “Last chance to get off,” said Geralt, preparing to start the engines.
“Trying to get rid of me?” said Jaskier.
“Hm,” said Geralt. He started the engines, and Posada and its deserts fell away beneath them. Jaskier watched the clouds go by. The sky grew brighter – brighter – darker.
They left orbit. The thrum of the engines faded.
“So, um,” said Jaskier. “Where are we going?”