Pureline

Chapter 11

THE CIRCULAR BANQUET HALL WAS domed in glass, tables arranged in a circle with another line of tables bisecting it -- the Pureline symbol. The outer circle of tables glowed according to the delegation's respective colors. The bisecting line led to the dais and podium and was to be populated with the Pureline directorate. It was, of course, in pure white.

Maman had not come to my room to inspect me before the closing dinner and gala. Even the technicians were confused about the routine. When their messages were not returned, they brought me to the hall, as if Maman's inspection was checked off on their itinerary. I saw her and Selo at our red table, speaking heatedly to each other. I saw from the quick dart of her eye that she saw me, but she would not look at me. I felt cold. I did not know what it meant.

I couldn't concentrate on the Founder's speech, but scraps of it found their way to my attention before my mind would wander away.

There is no past," he said. "When you speak of the past, you anchor yourself there, in its stale, lifeless waters.”

I am afraid of water. So it was an effective image. I am floating in the cold, salty ocean, water pushing at my nose, pushing at my throat, my eyes open and stinging, flooded with liquid light. The lip of the surface beyond my fingertips, nothing to hold to pull myself up.

Maybe, I thought, death would be easier. Maybe Pureline is benevolent, and I am already too old, too compromised for a synth.

The heads in the crowd were bobbing up and down in blithe agreement at something the Founder said, and I wasn't in harmony with the gentle rhythm. I was noticeable again.

When my eyes darted to the left, I saw another face that was as still as mine. The doctor was studying me. As if I were an oddly shaped cell under a microscope. Something to be cut out.

The pale, thin man sat at the Brahmulin delegation. I had immediately located him so that I could avoid being within his proximity or reach. He wore dinner attire like the rest of the scientists and technicians. A gray suit. At his table, was the white-eyed girl and another synth, a young boy with mottled skin. The boy was nervous, studying the technician next to him to determine how to hold the utensils. He toppled a glass by accident, and the servers quickly rushed to remedy the mess. He caught my gaze, and I gave him a smile, what I hoped was a comforting one. He quickly looked away, but then I saw his eyes wandering back to me, then a shy smile.

The dinner was always equal parts awkward and pleasing. Synths were invited, as a kind of reward for the marathon of testing. Delegations would usually invite only a select few synths to motivate us to do well. But we were surrounded by technician-chaperones and were forced to navigate a minefield of what was considered appropriate. Delegations were always eager to show their stoic, scientific mindset, that they didn't anthropomorphize their synths. So what was appropriate was a moving target depending on how other delegations behaved. My memories of these dinners were mostly studying Selo's and Maman's faces looking for the slightest indication of disapproval. I have since learned to do and say very little. I stand with the rest of the attendees when the Founder enters the room. I nod and smile during his speech. I eat my meal with the proper utensils. I decline the wine and champagne. I leave behind the souvenir gifts that are placed on or under the chairs for the technicians to scavenge. I sit with the technicians in our delegation when the dancing begins. I talk to no one outside our delegation. I watch the dances. And then I retire to my chamber.

When the dinner ended, the delegations were led to the alcoves and viewing decks while the tables were cleared away. Servers ambled through the crowd with glowing drinks and sweet finger foods. The delegations began to mingle, as was customary. Selo and Maman were visiting colleagues in the Kelis and Su delegations, and I watched unfamiliar faces make their way into our alcove. From a short distance, I saw the pale man, the female synth at his elbow. I slunk back deeper in the room, tried to stay hidden near the curtains. I saw his eyes scan the delegation, then he turned his back. After a few moments, the hall doors reopened, and the crowd poured back in, eager for the new spectacle.