Aug 24th, 2337
Exhaustion washed over Richard as he finally allowed his tense muscles to relax, and he let himself sink into the bed's comforting embrace. Like a delicate cascade, Brisleda tumbled down onto him, her laughter a melody of contentment that danced through the air.
He could feel his body's self-cleansing process, and he surmised that the sheets were likewise engaged in their own purification. The once invigorating red linens now seemed incongruent with the tranquil aftermath of their intimacy. Seeking a visual harmony, Richard reached for his Halo hanging above his head and, with a subtle thought, changed the sheets to a soothing pastel orange.
Amid their shared warmth, a subtle green dot in Richard's peripheral vision snagged his attention. Nearly two hundred years prior, Richard had opted to implant a minuscule, permanent display sheet at the upper corner of his eye. With its strategic positioning just above the skin, it deftly avoided interference from the vigilant BioNano within his system. This discreet device served a singular purpose: to signal with unobtrusive dots whenever people were remotely observing a room he was occupying. Now, the emergence of a green dot ignited a silent alert in his mind, a reminder that their intimate reprieve might be subjected to an unseen observer's gaze.
While Janice had arbitrarily — as much as it ever did anything arbitrarily — set its influence distance at 0.1 light seconds, Richard had never for a moment doubted that it could extend beyond that. After all, they routinely observed Earth. He pondered who might have been watching them, but upon reflection, he decided that if it turned out to be someone familiar, he would rather remain ignorant; thus, he chose not to ask Mushkin to inquire with Janice.
Leda's fingers traced idle patterns across his chest, pulling Richard back from his ruminations. As her touch lingered, his thoughts sprawled out once more, this time to the contrasting connections he had formed with Orla and her. And not just with them—Brenda too, in her sequential human and Immortal states. Throughout his life, Richard had intimately known the spectrum of humanity: from Human to Immortal, from Colonist to ex-Colonist. His heart had embraced each unique variant of human existence.
"Lee, you've been with someone both as a Colonist and now," Richard paused, the casual use of her nickname underlining the intimacy of their conversation. He carefully framed his question—experience had taught him to tread lightly, as Colonists were known for their uncompromising honesty. He plunged ahead regardless, "Is it very different?"
"It's a completely different experience," she said, her eyes igniting with the vivid recall, causing Richard to wince slightly at the intensity of her reminiscence.
"Is it something you can explain to this ancient, sensorily-bound Immortal?" Richard asked with a touch of self-deprecating humor.
She frowned, attempting to distill the universe into his more confined perspective. After a moment, she reconsidered, acknowledging that he was older and might perceive things with a depth she could not yet fathom. She tried to imagine his existence: no automatic command over his physiology, confined strictly to his own senses. Though she now had some understanding of that limitation, she could still utilize the residual infrastructure in her body to extend her sensory reach outward through a JANKI. However, multitasking as she once could was no longer an option. And sex—without Janice augmenting their systems—it was simply incomparable.
"Well, first off, here I'm completely absorbed in what we're doing together," she began, carefully choosing her words. "Whereas before, I might have been simultaneously engaged in a conversation with a friend, watching some activity on the promenade, and interfacing with Janice to work. It's a more singular focus now."
"But back then..." Her eyes momentarily glittered with an intensity that burrowed into Richard, triggering a feeling of inadequacy. She continued, hushed and reflective, "Back then, I could feel what my partner felt, making adjustments that magnified our experience. It was effortless, pure harmony. Plus, Janice's manipulations of our nervous systems added layers to the pleasure, ensuring a peak of shared, exquisite intensity."
She paused, lost momentarily in the visceral recollections. "If I ever missed a moment—perhaps while my attention was split—I could replay it, relive that ultimate sensation again and again. And should I choose, I could even share it with a friend. It was a connection, a depth that's... it's just beyond reach now." Her longing hung in the air, both understated and gut-wrenching, a silent testament to the vast chasm between memory and present reality.
"Do you regret leaving the colonies? It's not exactly irreversible," Richard found himself asking, unable to suppress his curiosity despite part of him wishing to let the subject lie.
"Fuck no!" Her response was immediate and vehement, leaving no room for doubt. "I lost a lot separating from Janice. Much of that has been regained with Sylvia," she added, gesturing towards the little floating box that was her much newer version of Mushkin.
Richard regarded the JANKI, shinier and a bit smaller than Mushkin, reflecting its surroundings with a bit more sparkle. But he knew that despite its luster, it was all programmable matter, subject to Janice's whims—something that gave him pause. Mushkin, on the other hand, predated Janice's interaction with manufacturing, constructed by nanobots under Brenda's watchful supervision. It was ancient by current standards, yet that very age lent it a semblance of reliability in Richard’s eyes. It could house no Trojan horses, making it the only AI Richard truly trusted.
Leda continued returning his attention to her words. "But in leaving, I gained myself, my freedom to act on my own volition, which comes with the responsibility of being accountable for my actions. Yes, on a sensory level, sex is not what it used to be, but there's a different kind of intimacy that comes with being truly present, entirely with another person. And that... that’s irreplaceable."
Suddenly, her eyes took on another look, one that sent a shiver down Richard's spine. With an unsettling intensity, she added, "And let's not forget that now, I have the opportunity to have as many children as I desire." The implications of her statement washed over him, leaving him with a sense of unease and a tinge of fear.
The comment was enough to finally silence Richard. His hand traced the contours of her body, the familiar curves now a canvas of Janice's subtle artistry. Despite their unnatural origin, the form beneath his hands was warm, yielding, as natural in feel as anything born of old biology. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate the perfection, a brief indulgence before a memory surfaced unbidden.
It was a memory of another time—a time when enhancement meant something colder, less sympathetic. He recalled with a twinge of discomfort the rise of hard, unyielding breast implants that simulated beauty just prior to civilization's fall. The sensation of encountering them, so sharply at odds with the softness of natural flesh, always felt jarring to him. He had regarded them as an intrusion, an imposition upon the human form that lacked the subtlety and warmth now available.
As they lay there, the comforting rhythm of their breaths filling the space between words, Richard sensed the quiet beginning to swell, pressing in with the weight of unspoken thoughts. Silence, once a gentle reprieve, was coalescing into an awkward barrier; it was the wrong moment for reticence.
"So, did I pass the entrance exam?" Richard chuckled, attempting to navigate the shift in their conversation. The humor was his shield, one he wielded to diffuse the uncertainties that had surfaced. "Was this a one-off encounter, or are we looking at the beginning of a three-week stand?"
Her response was unexpected and caught Richard off guard. "It was a little like being with my dad," Brisleda mused, prompting a momentary pause from Richard.
"I sincerely hope you mean because we're both Immortals."
"What else could I mean? Oh, ick. Only your mind would go there," she chided, giving him a playful elbow to the ribs. "But despite the odd reminder, it's worth exploring—to see if I can overlook that association," she added thoughtfully.
The playful twinkle returned to her eyes. "After all, there might be a delightful future for us to unfurl, don't you think?" Her voice held a teasing quality, inviting him to ponder the intriguing possibilities that lay ahead.
Leda reached over and plucked the Halo from Richard's head with a swift motion. Instantaneously, the top sheet became transparent—visible to the eye only by its subtle sheen against their skin. He could feel the texture of the linen, a ghostly sensation that barely registered against his touch. As Richard's gaze took in their entwined figures, a fleeting sense of vanity washed over him; they did look remarkably good together. The sheet's sudden change didn't escape his interpretation: it was likely a cue for another act, a silent prompt for an encore performance. Richard wondered when the green dot had gone away; he felt like having an audience.