I huff a small laugh through my nose.
So now we are three.
ALCOR. What are you doing?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – LYRA
“This way,” Serpint says, leading me through a bustling crowd of people who all seem to be heading in the same direction. “We’ve got a lift.”
Everyone is heading for the moving sidewalks that lead to the various levels, but Serpint takes me over to the edge of the open walkway and opens a door built into the glass half-wall.
He pans his hand, motioning me to step forward onto a small landing pad, then follows me through and shuts the door behind him. The bot—my bot now, I guess—hovers just at my shoulder as a flat ship-like bot floats up to us.
“Step on,” Serpint says, holding my hand to keep me steady as I board the lift-bot. “The ceremony starts at the bottom.” He smiles at me, but I can tell he’s not really smiling. It’s a very sad day. All the dresser borgs were talking about his brother Draden while they were busy getting me ready. He was well-loved on this station. The baby of the family, good-natured, charming, and even though they didn’t hide the fact that he was as ruthless and dangerous as the rest of the brothers, they brushed over it like that was just a small part of him.
They talked about Ceres, too. His bot. And worried over Booty, who, it seems, isn’t herself. I knew that because Serpint mentioned it last night. But I didn’t pay much attention to her since I didn’t grow up loving ships. It’s a foreign idea for me.
But everyone seems to have the same feelings for Booty as they do for Draden and Ceres.
I am both uncomfortable and at ease in my ceremonial gown. Uncomfortable because I feel beautiful. Truly special and stunning. And that feels wrong because of why I’m wearing it.
But at ease too, because it’s a princess dress. Something I’d wear back home on certain occasions. And they put a tiara on my head, which gives me rank. It probably doesn’t mean much here, but still. They did not have to acknowledge me in this way.
I’m his slave.
Or whatever they call them here.
I owe him servitude. I have the collar to prove that fact. And sure, this new one is encrusted with diamonds, but it still says Serpint on it.
Although I’m not feeling any self-righteous indignation over that at the moment. In fact… I kinda like being known as his.
After taking a few seconds to settle on the platform, we begin to descend.
I can’t help but look around in awe.
This station is amazing in every direction. I look up as the ceiling grows farther and farther away, then look down, over the edge of the lift-bot, and get a little dizzy at our staggering height.
“Take a step back,” Serpint says, tugging on my hand. “Believe it or not, people fall off these things all the time just because they want to look down.”
“They do?” I say, then stagger backwards as I picture myself falling to my death.
“Oh, don’t worry. ALCOR catches them with a safety bot. No one has ever died from falling off a lift. But they give it their best shot sometimes.”
I shoot him a weak smile. This ACLOR is really a lot more than he appears. He’s like a god here. In charge of everything. All-seeing, all-hearing, all-knowing.
All around us as we descend, people are making their way to the edge of each level, looking up and down, watching us as we pass. It’s only then that I notice there are other lifts with people on them doing the same thing.
His brothers, I realize. All dressed up in similar ceremonial garb as Serpint and I. And their companions or partner bots. One of them I recognize as Crux, who stands next to the cyborg master on his lift. The other one I recognize is Tray, who has no bot or companion.
Two more, on the same platform, have one bot between them, like mine, but a more military version. Higher series number. Maybe a 3000 or better.
And the last brother has a full-on, silver-metallic, sex-borg as his partner. But she looks like a weapon, not just a borg. Her legs look like they are encased in silver metal stockings. Her foot molds into a high-heel stiletto shoe, and she wears a tight, black bodysuit, much like the hostess did at the restaurant this morning and it covers all her skin, not just where she would wear a top. But she has no rifle strapped to her back. Weapons are mounted all over her body. Her forearms, her thighs, and holstered at her waist.
Note to self. Make friends with the killer sex-borg. She looks more dangerous than all the brothers put together.
We all reach the bottom of the station at the same time, lined up neatly in a circle, around the perimeter of yet another very large circular platform.