Mom had mentioned Uncle 42S coming to stay with them, but it didn't happen right away. Although B9 had asked to come along to visit him at the medical facility, she had been told every time to stay home with dad. She would be bored, and Uncle 42S was still tired and unwell, not ready for new people. B9 wasn't entirely sure what mom meant by that, but listening to dad talk about Uncle 42S made for a decent consolation prize. A long time ago, Uncle 42S had had a radio show- sound and music carried by electricity in the air, sort of like the jukebox in the Resistance camp- and had been very famous. Dad was a fan, but told B9 not to tell Uncle 42S that.
When Uncle 42S finally did come to stay at their house, B9 couldn't help feeling shy and a little nervous. Although she had no solid image of him in her head, between dad's stories about his celebrity, and mom's warnings about his poor health, B9 was almost afraid of him. In her mind, he was bigger, taller than both her parents, and a little scary. When she finally laid eyes on him, she wasn't sure what to think.
He was only a little taller than mom, and looked a lot like him too, except his hair was curly where mom's was straight. He must have been cold, because he wore mom's cloak over a heavy blue jacket. He needed help to get up the stairs, and almost fell as mom guided him to the couch. About then, he noticed her. B9 ducked behind dad, shy and a little nervous. Uncle 42S had a bandage over one eye, and it unsettled her in a way she could not describe.
"Who's this?" he asked. His voice was quiet, kind, a little like mom's. His smile was gentle, but very sad.
"This's B9. Come say hello, honey." Mom held out a hand to her, and B9 edged away from dad until she could grab mom's hand and hide behind him instead. Mom drew her around so she had to face Uncle 42S.
"Don't traumatize the poor kid, Nines," Uncle 42S said to mom. "She doesn't have to stay."
"What happened to your face?" she asked, mesmerized by the bandage.
"B9!" mom scolded.
"No it's okay," Uncle 42S told mom. Turning his attention back to B9, he offered her another sad smile. "Does it scare you?"
"No," she lied. "It's just… Androids don't need that sort of thing, do they?"
"Usually, no. I hurt my eye during the last battle I ever fought in. Well, 'fought' is stretching it a bit. Anyway, I got hurt, and a Scanner's eyes are delicate and difficult to repair. This is just to protect my eye until it's fixed."
She nodded. It made sense. Still, she'd feel better if he could look at her with both eyes.
B9 had trouble falling asleep when bedtime came. The idea of Uncle 42S and his bandaged eye and wobbly legs sleeping just across the hall was not at all comforting. He seemed nice enough. Perhaps it was the strangeness of another person being around. It had always been herself, mom, and dad. Soon it would be herself, mom, dad, and her little brother- mom had said the new baby would be a boy; a Scanner like him. B9 wasn't sure how she felt about that, but liked the idea of someone else to play with.
A small noise made her lift her head from the pillow. Usually the ever-present spill of the little waterfalls outside muted most sound. Sliding out of bed, B9 crept out into the hall. The door to mom and dad's room was mostly closed, but Uncle 42S' stood open a few inches. It didn't sound like mom and dad talking in their room, she was used to that. This was different. It sounded sad. Like the baby bird she'd taken to Uncle Pascal. The bird had fallen from his nest, but had been otherwise unharmed. He would eat seed from her hand now, and sometimes perch on her head or her shoulder. But this wasn't a bird. Birds didn't cry. Neither, she had thought, did grownups.
Evidently, she'd been wrong. Mom and dad happy-cried sometimes, but this was the first time she'd seen a grownup sad-cry. There was no possible way Uncle 42S was happy. He lay huddled under a messy pile of blankets, curled tight with his Pod in his arms, tears streaming almost silently down his face. What did one do when an adult was sad? Would it help if someone were to kiss his damaged eye better? B9 didn't think she was brave enough for that. If anything, watching him cry unsettled her even more. What could be so bad that it would make a grownup cry?
She spent the rest of the night thinking about it.
Uncle 42S did not wake up until late the next day. B9 supposed it was because he was tired from crying, or maybe he still wasn't feeling well. Maybe his eye hurt? She wanted to ask, but something held her back. As much as she wanted to know, to understand, making him cry again would be worse. So she kept her thoughts to herself. Well, mostly to herself.
"Dad," B9 asked as they walked hand-in-hand to school. "What does Uncle 42S like?"
"Like?" Dad echoed, confused.
"Yes. What would make him feel better?"
"Oh." Dad had to think about that. "I'm not sure. Mom would probably know better than I would."
"But you were a fan, right? Don't you know a lot about him?"
Dad blushed and glanced to one side. "That was a long time ago, and it's not the same. I only knew him from a distance. All I knew about him were the things that made him famous; his voice, his music, the way he spoke… I did feel like I knew him, like we were close friends, but we really weren't. Before he came to our house, I'd never even seen him in person before."
B9 nodded slowly, mulling that over. "Are you friends now?"
"I...don't know…" Dad sounded unsure. "I hope we will be. I haven't really talked to him yet."
This was not unusual. Dad wasn't much for conversation and usually let Mom do the talking. Mom liked to talk. This worked out well because Dad and B9 liked to listen.
"He's scary," B9 confessed.
"Why?"
"I don't know. He just is." How could she explain what she did not understand herself?
"Is it because of his eye?"
"Kind of?" B9 hedged. That wasn't all of it, but she had no idea what else about Uncle 42S unnerved her. He wasn't at all like her other uncles, who didn't have pieces missing and didn't cry all the time.
Uncle 4S was nice. He was a lot like Mom, but quieter. He was always happy to let her talk, or answer questions. Uncle 11S was a little weird, but nice. He got confused sometimes, but B9 liked playing hide-and-seek with him and his pod in the warehouse. Sometimes he let her help put things away. Uncle 32S was more like a cousin than an uncle. He was always ready to play with her; to explore, or hunt for buried treasure. She wished he wasn't gone so often.
"He's… I don't know. He's...he's sad, and he hurts, and I don't know what to do, or if I should do anything."
Dad stopped and rested both her hands on B9's shoulders. "I'll tell you a little secret: adults don't always know what to do. Mom and I aren't really sure how to help him, either."
B9 stared back, eyes wide. "Really?"
"Really," Dad nodded. "For right now, Mom thinks it would be best to let him rest. He was sick for a while, and he's still recovering. I hope once he's had a chance to recharge, he'll feel at least a little better."
"Me too." B9 got the feeling it was going to take more than a vacation to help Uncle 42S feel better.
Once at school, B9 found it hard to concentrate. Ordinarily, she loved listening to Uncle Pascal, looking at books, and playing with the other children, but today her mind was too full of other things.
"B9?"
B9 jumped. Uncle Pascal stood at her shoulder, looking down at her.
"Are you listening, dear?"
B9 blushed, mortified she'd been caught not paying attention.
"I'm sorry, Uncle Pascal. I was thinking."
"What were you thinking about?"
B9 squirmed in her sear, reluctant to answer. Uncle Pascal was quiet for a moment, then turned to the rest of the class. "Children, please finish reading the chapter on ferns. Afterwards, I'd like you to draw a picture of your favorite variety, and list three facts about it, and why it interests you."
He turned to face her again.
"Now then. Is there something I can help you with?"
"I don't know," she confessed. "I was just trying to think of something nice to do for Uncle 42S. All he does is sleep and cry. He's so sad all the time. I just want to make it better for him, but I don't know how."
Uncle Pascal thought about that. "I see. You're very observant, and very kind to want to do something for your uncle. I should think he'd appreciate any gesture of kindness you were to offer. Why don't you draw him a 'get well' card?"
"I guess…"
"I think it would lift his spirits."
"Yeah," B9 agreed, more because it was the expected answer than what she actually thought, "but it's not enough. It should be something that would really matter."
"Well, let's start small," Uncle Pascal suggested, and offered her a sheet of paper and a box of stubby crayons.
"Wow that's really good!" Flora had to stand on tip-toe to lean over B9's shoulder. Short Stubby models were, well, short and stubby, but that was alright. B9 made up for it by being the tallest in the class. She and Flora had been best friends since the first day of school. B9 eyed the card she'd drawn critically. It had come out well enough; it was bright and colorful, and she was proud of how the birds and flowers had turned out. Uncle 42S would probably like it okay, but a drawing alone didn't seem like it would do much to make him less sad.
"Thanks. It's for my uncle."
"Which one?"
"42S. He's sad."
"Oh. Why?" Flora sat down next to her, little ski-like feet stretched out straight in front of her.
"I...don't know," B9 admitted. "Grownup stuff."
"Ah," Flora nodded. This explained a great deal. The machinations of the adult mind were indeed an enigma.
B9 went on. "I want to help, but I dunno how. I thought maybe I could do something, or give him something nice, but I'm not sure what. Dad says he used to have a radio show, and he played music, but that's all I know."
Flora pondered this for a moment. "Isn't there a thing that plays music at the resistance camp?"
B9 had thought of the jukebox, but there was one considerable drawback. "Yeah, but it's big. I can't take it to him. And he can't walk very well, so it would be hard to bring him to it. I don't think he wants to be around other people right now."
"Can't you just bring him a CD?"
"Yeah but what would he play it on?"
"I don't know," Flora admitted. "Would Uncle Pascal know?"
"Maybe," B9 said, as inspiration struck, "but I know who definitely would!"
Grownups were useful, but in this instance, they were no help. What B9 needed was someone who would help her without treating her like a child. Someone who wouldn't withhold information because they assumed she would not understand. What she needed was a bigger kid.
Emil fit the bill perfectly.
It could, however, be difficult to track him down, and then to draw his attention. Fortunately, mom and dad had given B9 a map of the city and her own pod. Flora had to hop to keep up, but they managed to corner Emil not far from the broken overpass.
"Oh hey guys!" Emil greeted them cheerily, permanent grin seeming a bit more organic. "What can I help you with?"
"We need something that will play a CD," B9 said without preamble. "It's for my uncle."
"Sure! How about that?" He nodded toward the junk piled in his truck bed. Among the various bits of salvage was another jukebox that was considerably the worse for wear. It was, however, blaring Emil's promotional song at full blast.
"Do you have anything smaller?" she asked, hands over her ears.
Emil's grin took on a sheepish tint and volume dropped a few levels. "You mean like a portable CD player?"
"Is that small?"
"Yeah, you can hold it in your hand. It's about the same size as a saucer, but fatter. It can play one CD at a time. Oh- And you'll need a set of headphones to go with it!"
"Do you have one of those?" B9 asked, hopeful.
"I do, but it's broken. We'll need to fix it up before it will play music."
"Okay." A horrible thought struck her. "I don't have any money…"
"That's okay," Emil said easily. "It's a gift! And it's the thought that counts. Tell you what. IF you can find a stretched coil, a stripped screw, and some copper alloy. That should be enough to fix it."
"Really?" B9 asked, delighted.
"Really."
Flora bounced a little where she stood. "Hooray! That stuff will be easy to find."
"What about the headphones?" B9 wanted to know. "Do you know where we can find those?"
"Um…." Emil stalled, trying to think. "Gee, I dunno. If there's none at the Resistance camp, maybe the old Defense Barrier? I could take you there if you want?"
"Yes please!" B9 grabbed Flora and boosted her onto Emil's truck bed before climbing up herself. "Let's go!"