that.”
In all the times I imagined meeting O’Mara again, this is not how it went. Like a student being reprimanded by a teacher. What I remember about school, which isn’t much, that happened almost every day. I sort of want to crawl back under the table.
“Can I walk you back to the promenade?” I try again. “Let’s walk. It’s a nice night.”
She huffs and turns, striding back to the passageway, while I rush to catch up with her. Sure enough, in the shadows, the slender figure of a Cull I vaguely know gives me a quick nod and slips out of sight. O’Mara doesn’t even notice.
The protectiveness is part of our nature. Once a counsellor suggested to me it might be because of our odd hormonal condition, but I think it’s just psychological, cultural even. We all remember the stories of knights and princes saving damsels from dragons and ogres. Men are supposed to be heroes. When else would a Cull ever get the chance?
Or maybe we just know what it feels like to be weak and alone.
We emerge into the Columns, bathed in their amber glow and warmth as we turn back towards the Promenade. O’Mara walks with her arms crossed, holding her media jacket closed, pointedly not looking at me.
She’s angry at me, though I can’t imagine why.
“I can fix that,” I say as the last of the Columns recedes behind us. The bright lights and music of the East Promenade beckon us.
“Fix what?”
“Your jacket’s headphone jack. It’s not retracting all the way. Probably just a broken spring.”
“The heat function doesn’t work anymore either.” Still not looking at me, but speaking at least.
“You’ve tried a new battery?” She nods. “Hmm. Might be a dirty connector. I can fix that too. If you need new coils that’s a bigger job. I don’t have any coils but if you get them I can put them in. Otherwise it’s expensive. Might as well buy a new jacket.”
“I can’t afford a new one.”
“They don’t pay you well at Island News?”
“Ha! No.” She flicks her eyes in my direction at last. It’s brief, but worth waiting for. “Technically I’m an intern, so I barely get paid at all. If I joined a harem or had a child they would promote me but…”
“Too high a price to pay?”
She just shakes her head and sighs.
We walk in silence for a moment. A man hustles past us, on the way to the Columns. He’s shoving flat bread in his mouth as he walks. A cloud of garlic lingers in his wake. It makes my mouth water. I sneak a glance at O’Mara as she flicks the malfunctioning headphone jack off her neck. The skin of her neck is making my mouth water too. People think we don’t feel those things—we can’t feel them, but that just what they tell themselves so they don’t have to think about the truth.
I feel everything a normal man does. I just can’t do much about it.
As the noise and light of the promenade begin to surround us something occurs to me—something that might explain O’Mara’s strange mood.
“Have you been having nightmares?” I ask.
She stops so abruptly I have to backtrack.
“How did you know?”
I wince. Of all the citizens who played with my machine, I wish this rare side effect hadn’t happened to her. “It happens sometimes. I guess I’m in the nightmares then?”
She puts her hand over her mouth and closes her eyes. And I’m left wondering what horrific things I’ve done in her dreams.
“I’m so sorry, O’Mara. I didn’t even know that was a side-effect until about a week after we met. An old harem wife complained that she was having nightmares about her husband killing her that started after she visited me. I figured it out. I’ve changed the electrical frequencies since then but…”
She just shakes her head, her eyes still closed.
“Please,” I try. “You have to believe me. Whatever I did in the dreams I would never do those things to you or anyone. Honestly. I’m a pussy-cat.”
She opens her eyes at last, letting out a snuffled laugh
In all the times I imagined meeting O’Mara again, this is not how it went. Like a student being reprimanded by a teacher. What I remember about school, which isn’t much, that happened almost every day. I sort of want to crawl back under the table.
“Can I walk you back to the promenade?” I try again. “Let’s walk. It’s a nice night.”
She huffs and turns, striding back to the passageway, while I rush to catch up with her. Sure enough, in the shadows, the slender figure of a Cull I vaguely know gives me a quick nod and slips out of sight. O’Mara doesn’t even notice.
The protectiveness is part of our nature. Once a counsellor suggested to me it might be because of our odd hormonal condition, but I think it’s just psychological, cultural even. We all remember the stories of knights and princes saving damsels from dragons and ogres. Men are supposed to be heroes. When else would a Cull ever get the chance?
Or maybe we just know what it feels like to be weak and alone.
We emerge into the Columns, bathed in their amber glow and warmth as we turn back towards the Promenade. O’Mara walks with her arms crossed, holding her media jacket closed, pointedly not looking at me.
She’s angry at me, though I can’t imagine why.
“I can fix that,” I say as the last of the Columns recedes behind us. The bright lights and music of the East Promenade beckon us.
“Fix what?”
“Your jacket’s headphone jack. It’s not retracting all the way. Probably just a broken spring.”
“The heat function doesn’t work anymore either.” Still not looking at me, but speaking at least.
“You’ve tried a new battery?” She nods. “Hmm. Might be a dirty connector. I can fix that too. If you need new coils that’s a bigger job. I don’t have any coils but if you get them I can put them in. Otherwise it’s expensive. Might as well buy a new jacket.”
“I can’t afford a new one.”
“They don’t pay you well at Island News?”
“Ha! No.” She flicks her eyes in my direction at last. It’s brief, but worth waiting for. “Technically I’m an intern, so I barely get paid at all. If I joined a harem or had a child they would promote me but…”
“Too high a price to pay?”
She just shakes her head and sighs.
We walk in silence for a moment. A man hustles past us, on the way to the Columns. He’s shoving flat bread in his mouth as he walks. A cloud of garlic lingers in his wake. It makes my mouth water. I sneak a glance at O’Mara as she flicks the malfunctioning headphone jack off her neck. The skin of her neck is making my mouth water too. People think we don’t feel those things—we can’t feel them, but that just what they tell themselves so they don’t have to think about the truth.
I feel everything a normal man does. I just can’t do much about it.
As the noise and light of the promenade begin to surround us something occurs to me—something that might explain O’Mara’s strange mood.
“Have you been having nightmares?” I ask.
She stops so abruptly I have to backtrack.
“How did you know?”
I wince. Of all the citizens who played with my machine, I wish this rare side effect hadn’t happened to her. “It happens sometimes. I guess I’m in the nightmares then?”
She puts her hand over her mouth and closes her eyes. And I’m left wondering what horrific things I’ve done in her dreams.
“I’m so sorry, O’Mara. I didn’t even know that was a side-effect until about a week after we met. An old harem wife complained that she was having nightmares about her husband killing her that started after she visited me. I figured it out. I’ve changed the electrical frequencies since then but…”
She just shakes her head, her eyes still closed.
“Please,” I try. “You have to believe me. Whatever I did in the dreams I would never do those things to you or anyone. Honestly. I’m a pussy-cat.”
She opens her eyes at last, letting out a snuffled laugh
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