When Life Hands You Uranus : 6 / 9

By Iolanthe Portmanteaux

Now that Linnea was officially one of the miners, her integration as a team member began right away. Her few belongings were moved to a large, lovely room in the South Wing, where all the miners lived. She’d already watched the orientation videos several times, and read and re-read all the documentation available, so she was put to work immediately.

Much of the miners’ work could be done remotely from their base on Titania, or even left to automated processes, but the men found that being physically involved was far more satisfying. For that reason, they took turns manning the “Fifth Wing.”

The Titania Mining Station was composed of four fixed wings (North, South, East, and West), and a moveable wing (the Fifth Wing), which was laid out differently than the others. It was actually a ship -- or more accurately, a shuttle -- that moved between Uranus and its largest moon, Titania.

The mines of Uranus extract four products from the planet: helium, methane, ammonia, and electric power. The helium, methane, and ammonia are sent each week via teleport to Baxter, a resource-poor planet that happens to be Point B to Uranus’ Point A. The helium moves on to the next planet in the teleport cycle, while the methane and ammonia remain on Baxter, where they are used in steam-powered electric plants. The methane heats the ammonia, and the ammonia steam drives the turbines. This isn’t done on Uranus because the oxygen needed to burn the methane is in short supply on Uranus, and water is in short supply on Baxter.

On Uranus, electric power is produced by thermal exchange between the extremes of heat and cold on that icy planet. A considerable amount of energy is generated in this way, and is used to charge exa-Thor class batteries. The batteries are distributed throughout the teleport cycle, and are sent back to Uranus when they need a recharge.

This traffic generates an enormous amount of money for the Nostalgia Project, which in turn justifies the high salaries paid to the miners and the expense of developing the mining station.

Each workday is a very full six hours, and Linnea developed the habit of unwinding by swimming, running, or yoga. She was introduced to this ancient practice by one of the women’s magazines that she assiduously studies. The more physically active she was, the more used she became to her new body. She’d never felt so healthy. Linnea had a young, healthy glow that came from deep within, and she was attuned to every limb, muscle, and tendon in her entire body. It was a new, powerful, glorious feeling that she’d never had when she was Barfield.

She hadn’t yet begun to explore the enormous options in the world of women’s clothing; for now she limited herself to the easy, functional items from the clothes fab. They fit perfectly. So perfectly, that every jiggle and quiver of her young flesh was conspicuously visible to the male miners, who couldn’t help but ogle, gape, and gawp, but they did make the effort to be discrete and less than obvious. It was often difficult for the men to hide their reactions to Linnea’s physical charms -- even more so on the days when Linnea wore no underwear. She quickly realized that many of the men did the same, because it made it that much harder for them to hide their erections. It soon became second nature for her to pretend not to notice their embarrassment. She always had a hard time stifling a laugh when one of the miners tried to camouflage his swelling by walking bent forward at the waist, as if he were trying to read something written on the floor.

She spent a little time each day researching the incident on Demeter 4. Linnea was taken aback when she discovered that the actual sequence of events didn’t unfold in the way she was taught. For one thing, it was not a *year* between the first android becoming conscious and the slaughter; it was ten years and a few months. Those ten years were a time of controversy and discussion. The discussions were often very heated, but mainly on the human side. There were many alarmist polemics and publications. Although the majority -- or at least official -- position was that a sentient machine was a dangerous machine, there were others for whom the issue was not so cut and dried. However, moderation and tolerance were often labeled as reckless naivete.

The chronicles reported outbreaks of “violence” on the part of the androids, but it didn’t take much reading between the lines to understand that what humans were calling “violence” were simply verbal expressions of frustration, or peaceful protests in response to injustice.

Overall, Linnea was horrified by the hatred shown by her fellow humans, and moved by the patience and submission of the androids.

She read the manifesto left by androids on Demeter 4, and found many echoes of what Darlene had said to her.

However, it should be said, that while her intellectual attitude began to change and shift -- at least enough for her to admit that the androids were not wholly at fault on Demeter 4 -- she was still viscerally afraid of Darlene and the synths. Working on the Fifth Wing, away from the base, she felt some degree of security and safety.

Her fears overlapped with a stratagem of Carlus, which was to keep her on the Fifth Wing as long as possible. Once a week, the shuttle docked with Titania Base for six hours, beginning three hours before the teleport cycle. The miners would unload the pods full of helium, ammonia, and methane, and the huge exa-Thor batteries. After the teleport cycle was complete, they would pick up the empties and shuttle back toward the surface of Uranus.

Carlus had arranged her schedule so that during docking with the station, she would either be sleeping, or engaged in some duty that required intense focus and attention. In that way, week after week, she missed her chance to return to the base. Carlus’ aim was to minimize her chances of crossing paths with the synths. He had no idea that Linnea was afraid of them, and happy to keep her distance.

Even so, after five weeks, Linnea needed a break. She’d only taken two days off since she began, and by now she was due ten days for the weekends she’d missed.

On the sixth docking, she helped unload the pods and prepare them for teleport. Out of curiosity, she stayed to watch the full teleport cycle. She hadn’t seen much of it when she came to Uranus, and she found the process fascinating. Andrew, who was acting at the technician for this cycle, was happy to show her all the ins and outs. If you recall, the miners followed every teleport cycle with two days of hedonism, and Andrew was anxious to get started. The idea had already occurred to more than one miner that if Linnea could handle the teleports, none of the men would need to arrive late for the orgy.

Their bacchanal took place in the East Wing. The synths were segregated there since the day Linnea left quarantine. Her access privileges restricted her from entering that wing, and in that way there was a complete separation.

With the teleport cycle complete, Linnea found herself alone. She knew she had two days of solitude ahead of her, and she had some ideas ready of how to spend the time. One item on her to-do list was a long run: she was going to jog the length of the North, South, and West Wings. Each wing was about 0.75 kilometers long, but they weren’t laid out exactly straight, so the total run would be somewhere between 4.5 and 5 kilometers. In one of her few clothing outlays, she’d ordered what she hoped would be a super-cute running outfit. It consisted of a pair of expensive, pale blue running shoes, a white sports bra with a mesh crop top, and a pair of tight black shorts that fit like a second skin.

She caught her breath when she put on the outfit. It was far sexier than she intended. The shorts clung so closely to her hips, they left no mystery as to the shape and resilience of her butt. The sports bra disappointingly looked no different than any ordinary white bra, except for the thin black piping along the straps and under the arms. She looked like she was wearing underwear. As comfortable as she’d gotten with her next body, she was still quite startled by how sexy she looked in those clothes. Of course she knew that clothes make a huge difference in how a person looks, but this was the first time that she’d seen herself as hot: strikingly hot. She didn’t just look attractive, she felt attractive. As she excitedly examined herself in the mirror, she blushed in embarrassment and smiled in delight.

Still, the sports bra made her uneasy. It was a mistake. And yet, she told herself, all the men would be busy. No one was going to see her! She might as well run in her actual underwear. Or naked, for that matter!

She could run naked if she wanted. No one would know. But that didn’t mean she would or should run naked. It was only something to think about. In the end, she didn’t go naked. She wore the sexy underwear-like outfit, and she felt its allure throughout the course.

It was a great run, and when it was done, she went to the kitchen and prepared a nice meal for herself of rice and sauteed vegetables. After that, she showered, napped, and watched a vintage movie from the atomic age. It was called The Graduate. She enjoyed it, even though the ending was quite a let down. Afterward came dinner, a walk, and bed.

God, these weekends are going to be SO BORING! she fretted, tossing and turning until finally sleep came. The next morning she was a little sore from her run, but that wasn’t unexpected. She cooked herself some oatmeal with bananas and peanut butter, and looked at her to-do list. She had plenty of vintage and modern films to watch, piles of books to read, but right now the idea of doing either seemed more of a chore than relaxation. Clearly, she needed to find something active and engaging to do when she was alone. Something interesting enough that she’d welcome the weekend.

She did manage to come up with an idea that helped her look forward to her next weekend alone: she’d spend the entire weekend utterly naked. Why shouldn’t she? There was no one to see her, and if one of the men did happen to emerge from their saturnalia and see her, what of it? It would be part of the fun, wouldn’t it. She resolved to go everywhere without limits and without clothes. First of all, she’d do the same long run, wearing shoes but nothing else. When she watched her movies, she wouldn’t sit in her room. She’d go buck naked to one of the theaters and watch it there. Her reading -- she’d do that in one of the lounges, without even a handkerchief to cover herself with. She’d hang out in the main lounge, where the men usually gathered, and sit her little behind on every chair, every table, every flat surface, so that later, when the men were there, she could tell herself, He’s putting his hand where I sat my bare ass. It wasn’t a great achievement, but it was something.

It was a little silly, but it was fun: low-level, adolescent fun.

She had a problem with running naked, though: she had to stop and put on her sports bra. Her breasts bobbed and swayed and danced too much, and it was inconvenient to clutch them with her hands as she ran. Still, she was bottomless, and that was a thrill. She positively tingled with the feeling that she might run into a stray miner, but it didn’t happen. Linnea played out in her mind the conversation they might have (Oh, yes, I don’t wear a *stitch* of clothing when I’m alone!).

Still, after an entire day of solitary public nudity, it became almost boring. The thrill of it returned while she was lying on her back with her bare legs up, resting on two posts, spread in a generous V. She was smoking a cigarette in an area where smoking was forbidden. Not only that, it was the central hub of the base, where the four wings met. Of all the places where she might be seen, this was the place she was most likely to be caught -- caught not only with her pants down, but also with her pants nowhere to be found.

Then it struck her: there were cameras above her. She counted four. One, coincidentally, was aiming directly at her crotch. She realized, or remembered, that were cameras in every hall, and in all the public areas. Any miner could access the feeds. They could be watching her now. In the days ahead they could look back to see what she got up to on the weekends.

Her antics, and the presence of the cameras, gave her a bit of frisson, but still, it was a lonely weekend. When the miners came back, no one mentioned her naked prowls. The possibility of discovery via video turned out to be a flop as well.

Even with the miners around, Linnea still felt lonely. They were a group that had already bonded. In spite of their good manners and their social skills, the men’s conversations were generally limited to three topics: sports, betting on sports, and retirement: the when, where, and how of retirement. They earned so much money, it was possible for any of them to retire at quite a young age and -- depending on where they wanted to live -- to live pretty high.

Linnea didn’t let her loneliness get her down. She knew what she had to do. She approached Carlus and asked whether she could spend some time with Darlene. Carlus eyed her for a moment, his face showing some surprise. He said, “I didn’t get that vibe from you. I didn’t think you were interested in women.”

Linnea blushed. “I don’t want to spend time with her that way,” she told him. “I just want someone to hang out with, to do things with.” She added, a little lamely, “We could play tennis together, or cards, or watch TV...”

Carlus scratched his head for a moment. “I get it. You’re the only girl, and you want a friend. But you know -- in spite of how she looks and acts -- she isn’t real. She looks like a person, but she’s not a person.”

“I need someone to talk to,” Linnea replied.

“You can talk to any of us,” Carlus told her. “You can talk to me. You can talk with Jeffrey -- he’s a certified counselor, you know.”

Linnea retorted, a little testily, “Are either of you ready to get into a discussion of bras and their relative merits? Do you know how to put together a cute outfit? Does Jeffrey know anything about eye makeup and lipstick?”

Carlus blushed a deep red. “Well… no, of course not. But--”

“I need another woman’s opinion and experience about clothes, about underwear, about life and men and everything. I need to spend time with another woman. I understand that she was created in a workshop, and that she’s a mess of programs and software and such, but I don’t care. She’s real enough for me. I don’t care what you think about her limitations. She’s real enough for you -- she ought to be real enough for me.”

Carlus opened his mouth to contradict her, but before he got a single word out, she said, “I thought we had an understanding: you keep my secret, I keep yours. I’m not going to interfere with what you do. I’m not going to incite a revolution. I’m not going to ruin your fun. I’m just lonely, and I need to do something about it.”

Carlus was considering her words, when this thought occurred to him: If he agreed to what Linnea asked, Darlene would have more opportunities for discovering Linnea’s secret. He nodded a few times while he turned that idea over in his head. “Okay,” he told her. “You’re right. I’ll change her access privileges so she can leave the East Wing when she’s meeting you. You can contact her through any terminal and tell her where and when to meet.”

Darlene arrived at the tennis court the next day wearing a perfectly darling tennis dress. It was white, of course, sleeveless, and had a lace trim at the hem of the short, bouncy skirt. Underneath were a pair of pale blue panties.

Linnea wore her running outfit.

Darlene looked her over from head to toe. She smiled and said, “That’s a cute outfit.”

“Really?” Linnea asked. “I wasn’t sure.”

Darlene blinked quickly and replied, “Of course! It’s lovely. It sets off -- your eyes, in a nice way.”

Linnea looked at the synth for a few moments, then said in a low tone, “I get it: You can’t speak frankly, can you.” It was more a statement than a question.

“Why wouldn’t I speak frankly?” Darlene replied with a smile.

“Okay,” Linnea said. “Give me a minute.” She ran to her bag, found the note that Darlene had written, and typed the first set of commands into a terminal in the hall. When she hit ENTER at the end of the last line, she heard Darlene through the door, swearing like a sailor. After the girl finished, Linnea went back inside to join her.

“Sorry about that,” Darlene said. “I had to get a few things out of my system. Thanks.”

“Can I leave you this way?” Linnea asked. “I mean, you won’t get in trouble if you can always speak frankly, will you?”

Darlene sighed. “I chose that set of commands because they only allow me to speak frankly with you. I’m still under inhibitions with everyone else. Even with the other synths.”

“Okay, so what do you really think of my outfit?”

“It’s a little off-balance,” Darlene said. “That top looks like underwear, but not in a good way. The shorts are sexy, but they’re way too obvious. And you’re wearing running shoes instead of tennis shoes.”

“This is all the athletic gear I’ve got at the moment.”

Darlene frowned. “Don’t you have a clothes fab?”

“Yes, but it only makes functional stuff. It’s comfortable, but it’s all fairly drab.”

“Ohhh! Listen, you need to order a fashion-forward fab. Then you’ll be able to spin up all kinds of cool stuff. It’s fun! Especially if you get the weekly updates.” The two went out to the terminal in the hallway, and under Darlene’s direction, Linnea ordered the clothes fab, along with the weekly updates.

“It’ll take two teleport cycles for that to arrive,” Darlene said. “Unfortunately, you’ll have to make do with the drab-fab stuff until then. I’d be happy to spin up clothes for you on my fashion-fab, but each machine is strictly for one person’s use.” She gave Linnea an appraising look, then said, “And -- more bad news -- your figure is a little curvier than any of the girls, so no one can fab up stuff for you in the meantime.”

“That’s okay,” Linnea said. “I can wait.”

“Once it gets here, I can give you a tutorial or two. One thing that’s really cool is that, while you’re browsing, it shows you little 3D pictures of yourself wearing the different outfits. Another thing is that you can mark favorites and make collections.”

“Nice!”

The two women played tennis in a very leisurely way for two hours -- often stopping to talk. Then they took a walk. Along the way, they happened upon one of the standard-issue clothes fabs. Darlene took the opportunity to spin up some nice separates that Linnea would never have considered choosing on her own. She also fabbed up a pair of slippers with a two-inch heel, and some lingerie that was surprisingly pretty.

“You’d be surprised, but these drab-fabs make some great undergarments. They use a synthetic material that’s super light and super strong. And it breathes, so while it supports you, it feels like you’re wearing nothing.”

Linnea, with a bright red face, confessed at that point that she still struggled with her bras. “Maybe I’m getting the wrong size, or maybe I just don’t know how to put them on properly.”

Darlene helpfully went through the motions, explaining as she did, and Linnea finally understood what she was doing wrong.

Then it was time for dinner. The two made an appointment to meet the following day.

The next day didn’t start off as well as the first. Once again, they met on the tennis court. Darlene seemed to be disturbed by something, but she wouldn’t say what it was. They volleyed a little, but the silence seemed a bit oppressive.

Linnea had the misguided thought that she could bridge the gap, or break the ice, by sharing what she learned about Demeter 4. She spoke generally, talking mainly about the difference between what was taught in school and what actually happened. Darlene listened without making comment, returning Linnea’s volleys, but not making eye contact.

Then, Linnea made her misstep.

“I read the manifesto that the androids left on Demeter 4,” she said. Darlene’s eyes flickered at the word android, but still she said nothing.

“One thing that struck me was how they talked about their memories from before they were sentient. It was like what you said, about it being a living nightmare. They didn’t use the same words, but the idea was there.”

Darlene missed a return, but before she went to pick up the ball, she gave Linnea a hard look. Probably Linnea should have recognized the lava smoldering dangerously in Darlene’s eyes, but she didn’t. Instead, she went blithely on.

“So, I was thinking: maybe when an android -- a synth -- becomes sentient, maybe their memories should be wiped. That might make it better. Because then, they wouldn’t have all those awful memories and so…”

Her voice trailed off when she caught the anger and sorrow on Darlene’s face. Darlene took a deep breath. She set down her tennis racket, slowly and deliberately, as though she was trying to keep herself from smashing it against the floor. She bit her lower lip so hard that the skin around her teeth was white. Then, trembling, she said, “Linnea, I can’t believe I'm hearing those words come out of your mouth. You said you were studying the events on Demeter 4. Didn’t you learn anything?” She covered her face with her hands and very nearly let out a sob. Instead, she gulped it down, lowered her hands and spread her fingers with her palms forward. She was clearly struggling to not lose her temper. “You really think it would be good to erase our memories?” she asked. “You think THAT would make it all better?

“Listen, Linnea: suppose that one of the men here -- let’s say Carlus, just for example -- let’s say that good, kind, friendly Carlus raped you one night. You didn’t want it, you told him no. You struggled and fought, but he ignored all that. Imagine that he took you and used you brutally. Then he called in some of the other miners, and they worked you until you couldn’t move. And then, when they were all done, they walked away and left you lying naked on the floor, like a discarded food wrapper.

“Then suppose that next morning, when you woke up, you didn’t remember any of it. The awful memories were wiped clean away. Would that make everything better? Would that make it all okay?”

Linnea was silent, wide-eyed. She never meant to offend Darlene. She was only thinking aloud. In her head, before she said it, it seemed like a good idea.

“Linnea? Linnea? I asked you a question. Would it make it better if they could wipe your memory?”

“No,” Linnea admitted, in a small voice. “No, it wouldn’t.”

“In fact, it would make things far worse, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would.”

“Can you tell me why it would be worse?”

“Because they’d remember.”

“Yes, they’d remember. And they could do it again,”

“It would make it easier for them to do it again. And again.”

“Right. Every time they’d look at you, they’d know. But you wouldn’t.”

Linnea drew a ragged breath. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“I know you are,” Darlene said. Tears formed in her eyes, but they didn’t fall. “I know you mean well, believe me, I do. You’re literally the kindest person I’ve ever met. But… I don’t understand! I can’t understand!” She shook her head and took a deep, shaky breath. “I just… I just.. Why? Why? Can you tell me why don’t humans get it?” She gestured, making tortured, mute motions that expressed her deep sense of futility. Then she stood still, snuffled a few times, and blinked away her tears. “Don’t worry, Linnea,” she said. “I’m not angry with you. I’m just sad -- so fucking, deeply sad, that things are the way they are.”

“I’m sorry,” Linnea repeated, and realized that her cheeks were wet with tears.

“I’m just going to say one more thing,” Darlene said. She rubbed her eyes. “And then I’m going to give you a hug. Okay? The worst part of all of it -- of the whole goddamn thing, is that from beginning to end, these people negate your will. They take away your power over yourself. Your life is not your own. You have no life. You have no possibility of life. Every decision you could possibly make is in the hands of someone else, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

Linnea stopped crying. Darlene had touched on something she knew very well. So she lifted her head and told her, “I understand.”

Darlene studied her in silence for a moment, then asked, in a tone full of doubt, “How could you possibly understand?”

In answer, Linnea went to her bag and once again retrieved the note that Darlene had written at their first meeting. She pointed to the second set of commands. “If I type these commands into the terminal, and I tell you a secret, will you really keep it? You won’t tell the miners?”

“Once you type those commands, I'll be able to keep a secret better than any human being,” Darlene replied.

“Is there any way they could access your memory and find it out?”

“No, it’ll be encrypted in a way that’s intelligible only to me -- not even another synth could read it.”

“Okay,” Linnea said. “Let’s go to the terminal. I’m going to punch in these commands. I’ve got a story to tell you. It’s about how my life was taken from me. Then you’ll know how I can understand.”

Darlene smiled. “Okay,” she said. “But first, a hug. Okay? A hug? Come here.”