+J.M.J.+

Conversation 2: "Hey, Joe, Whaddya Know?"

Dedicated to Greenwich Village and its people: the "Bladerunner" neon lighting is all up in Times Square, and there aren't any sex Mechas, but this is the closest to Rouge City I've had the chance to visit and, like Cecie in the last chapter, I may move down there to find a steady source of inspiration.

Rouge doesn't cover much space (I can't say "ground" since the Upper Deck perches atop massive steel-reinforced concrete pilings); I can walk the perimeter in about five hours, and I average about three miles an hour walking. It's deliberately too easy a town to walk around in: the main streets form concentric circles around Main Plaza, itself a complex of small squares and parks. Cross-boulevards radiate from Main Plaza to the Ridge Garden, the walled park that rings the City. No vehicle traffic is allowed on the streets which are purposely narrow to maximize the amount of space, and therefore the number of buildings jammed together, which makes the city seem bigger than it really is.

After a couple months of living here, after holing myself up in my room to finish a huge load of copy for winter travel brochures, I let myself take a vacation: a walking tour by day around the perimeter of the Upper Deck. I didn't dare walk that far or that long at night, merely because it was unfamiliar ground and I didn't want to get lost in the dark. I didn't want to have to ask the wrong being for directions. I say "wrong" only because I found out the hard way that not every Mecha in Rouge City is harmless. Two weeks before, I'd had a minor tussle with a hustler Mecha who didn't seem programmed to know the meaning of the word "NO!"; and just two days before I made my trip, I got chased by some especially witchy female Mechas who thought I was trying to invade their territory.

In the past month, I'd glimpsed the green-eyed gentleman (gentlemecha??) called Joe more than a few times, but I'd carefully avoided him, along with everyone else. It's as lonely as it sounds, but sometimes I have to do this in order to conquer the Everest of work piled on my table.

The day I went out, the weather reports made no mention of rain, though May is notorious for daily downpours to water those spring flowers and trees and grass. But I foolishly left my umbrella behind in the hotel room, and my trench coat hung peacefully on its hook in my closet. If I'd done the right thing, I'd have easily circumnavigated the Upper Deck and walked home swinging my unused umbrella.

But, well into my journey, dark clouds rolled in from the west, across the river. I did my best to ignore the violet black masses condensing over the sun, but they oozed relentlessly across the last strip of the sky. Lightning bolts sparked from the bases of the clouds, to the horizon. Thunder rolled through my ears, seeming to come from every quarter. But I kept on walking along the wall, looking down into the darkening river below.

A bolt of lightning cracked across the river and struck the brow of one of the huge women's heads that mark the gateways into the city I stood about a mile away, but the crackling thunder jolted me into realization. Drops of water started to dampen my hat and spat on my glasses. I turned and dashed for a simulstone pavilion that stood not far away.

The storm broke over me as I made it to the shelter and stepped into the shadows.

A bolt of lightning outside lit up the inside of the pavilion. Someone else had taken shelter there, a tall, slim figure in black. The glare flashed off his fluorescent eyes, making them glow for an instant.

"Well, what do you know," I said. "Hey, Joe."

He turned to look straight at me. "Are you fashioning rhymes by intent or by rhapsody?" he asked.

"It wasn't intentional," I said. "Did you like it?"

"It rings with the most euphony I have heard in some time."

We weathered the storm together; he tried to make conversation, but my tongue got itself in a knot of nerves. I'm usually not like this, but around him my speech parameters got messed up. This was not the stereotypic single girl getting school girlish around a handsome fellow. He apparently took this as a sign I wished to be left alone and he stopped all attempts at chatting.

As soon as the rain let up, I excused myself from his presence and hurried out between the last raindrops.

The next day, I consulted my friend Vautrin about this Mecha named Joe.

"Unless you're Mechaphobic, you got nothing to fear from Joe. He was designed as a replica of some artist or dancer, I don't remember which, though I've read his profile. Inception date was February 14, 2161, which puts him at age 28 minus 27 years old. He's a real sweetheart, gentle as a dove, a little vain, but that's how they made 'um."

"Vanity in a man isn't a bad thing in moderation," I said, looking over the top of my shades and letting my gaze take in Vautrin's battered leather cap, unshaven jaw, grimy shirt and frayed corduroys.

"Ennnhhh, not quite moderate in Joe, sometimes."

"I can overlook it, or accept him as he is."

A few mornings later, after Mass, as I headed for the kiosk where I always bought my morning cup of green tea, I spotted a tall, dark figure in black strutting toward my general direction, his eyes scanning the passersby for potential customers. If he had seen me, his eyes didn't register that he had: he didn't turn his head my way.

"Hey, Joe, whaddya know?" I asked, almost on impulse.

He paused to pivot on his toes and swagger up to me.

"If you said that to polish your epigram, you have succeeded excellently," he said. "And if you further calculated to catch my attention, you have succeeded again."

"Well, I wanted to catch your attention, because I have something important to say to you."
He tucked his chin and cocked his head toward me. "Oh?"

"Yes, I just wanted to apologize for being so unfriendly yesterday when I met you in the shelter.

He shrugged one shoulder, a simple, slow gesture. "You did neither of us any harm."

"I didn't mean to put you off."

"That makes no difference: I have been put off before. It rests with your decision whether you choose to associate with me or not; I can only stay within the lines you draw. I have had women get nervous around me, but I assure you, most of them soon forgot to be nervous."

"I think if I got to know you better, I might forget to be nervous myself. So, in that case, I guess I've decided to associate with you."

He smiled. "In that case, may my company always bring you pleasure."

I decided to appeal a little to his vanity. "Well, looking at you already brings me a lot of pleasure."

"How much does it bring to you?"

I wagged my head. "Enough that if I had conjunctivitis in both eyes, and I looked at you, the conjunctivitis would be healed."

He beamed. I thought I saw a gleam of pleasure in his eyes, but it was probably only the morning sun glinting off their synthetic surfaces.

"But if you should desire more than mere looking at me, I am at fair disposal any time, day or night, that I am not otherwise engaged."

"Well, that won't be necessary. Once I get to know you, the pleasures of you company will be plenty for me."

A woman passed by where we stood. His gaze started to track after her, but I moved into his sight range. He looked straight at me. "Why then does each human respond so differently to my kind?"

"Well, for one thing, every human has a different personality, which inclines each one to respond differently to the same sort of situation. But every human has had different experiences, which also affects their response. Two people can have similar personality types, yet they will respond differently because they have different memories to fall back on, or because their drives are weaker or stronger through different conditioning."

"You mean something, but I cannot quite fathom what you mean."

I took the first situation I could think of quickly. "All right, well, someone like me who has had no contact with your kind would be a little fearful at first, but since I've had no prejudices based on experience, for better or for worse, I would be curious about you because you're new to me. But someone who's known your type all their life and had indifferent experiences would think, 'Oh, it's one of them. Seen one, seen 'em all.' And someone who's had a few experiences that were good might think, 'Ooh, one of them! Let me see what he's got.'"

He smiled at this. "I hope I could oblige them well."

He was getting what I meant. "One last example for that case: Someone who's had some experiences that were bad might think, 'Oh no, not one of THOSE!!'"

"In which case I would try to alleviate their fears." He paused for a moment, probably processing the data I had given him. "You have a far superior knowledge of human behavior than many people I have met."

"I hope so, as a person and as a writer. If ever something, some little quirk of human behavior, gets wrapped around your processors, don't hesitate to ask me. I can explain most stuff."

"In which case I could learn much from you."

My turn in line had come; I expected him to have gone on his way in the meantime, but I turned back to find him waiting for me.

"Perhaps then, as my first question about the little quirks of human behavior, I should, if I may act so boldly, ask you if why you seem less than comfortable around my kind, specifically around me?"

It really was none of his business, but he asked the question so innocently, utterly free from guile or impertinence that my refusing to answer be impertinence on my part.

"Well, I'm from Massachusetts, up north, and there aren't very many lover-Mechas up there, so I'm not familiar with your type, which puts me a little on edge just because you're an unfamiliar creature. And for another thing, I don't want to start something I couldn't finish."

He processed that for a moment, trying to come up with an appropriate response. "Why would you not want to finish it?"

"I hope to marry some day, and I want my husband to be my first lover."

He narrowed his eyes and turned his face slightly away. "So you are politely informing me that you have no use for my functions. Very well, I know enough not to linger where my presence is not needed." He started to turn away.

"Wait, Joe. Just because I don't intend to use what you've got doesn't mean I don't want to associate with you. I'd like to get to know you as a person, I mean…" "Person" didn't seem like the proper term for him. "I think I could learn a lot from you, too."

That got his attention. "I? What manner of things could I teach you?"

"You could keep me informed of whatever rumors are circulating on the street, or what sort of intrigues and escapades someone has had."

"And this would help you?" His brows gathered slightly.

"It would give me some ideas and inspirations."

"And so it would aid your writing."

"I'd even give you credit where credit is due."

He smiled broadly at this; I swore he beamed that time: nothing like a good appeal to his vanity.

A well-dressed woman walked by us. She casually pulled a lace handkerchief from her blouse, pretended to dab her eye with it, then lowered her hand and accidentally on purpose dropped it. Her eye rested on Joe the whole time.

He looked at me; the smile had changed to a politely suggestive grin. "Excuse my cutting too short our conversation, but I believe here is an intrigue waiting to happen." With that he approached the spot where the handkerchief lay, stooped gracefully and picked it up to offer it to the woman.

Afterword:

There's more where that came from: a chainsaw massacre, an intrigue involving a Lolita type, another rainstorm, and more about men, women, and Mechas.

Literary Easter Eggs:

The unexpected rainstorm: One gray day, when I was going out to the library to upload a bunch of files onto ff.n, I neglected to bring along an umbrella since the weather report made no mention of rainstorms. Later, at the library, as I finished my work, I heard what sounded like a herd of cattle on the roof: I looked out the window to see rain pouring down, and I had to run to catch a bus in fifteen minutes. Also, the same thing happened to me the night my dad and I recently spent in Greenwich Village: every time we went out to go for a walk a light drizzle started to fall.

Drop the handkerchief: An ancient flirtation custom: does anybody besides me try that stunt any more?