Free Context by John Meaney Page A

good.
‘Very ... interesting.’
     
    ‘I suppose.’ Anne-Louise shrugged
again. ‘My tutor says the primary AIs are too jokey, and the secondary
characters are too “predictably unpredictable”. I mean, what’s a hack to do,
eh?’
     
    ‘Too bad.’ Ro wound her
infostrand bracelet-wise round her wrist. ‘Um ... I need to take a shower.’
     
    ‘After which, the refectory will
be open. Good plan?’
     
    ‘I reckon so.’
     

     
    Despite
the holo graffito in the physics lab washroom— Flush twice, it’s a long way
to the refectory— the food was in fact delicious. Ro spooned more huevos
rancheros into her mouth, swallowed, leaned back and sighed.
     
    ‘Not bad.’
     
    ‘Apart from the coffee.’
Anne-Louise nevertheless drained her cup.
     
    ‘You were on an archaeological
field trip?’
     
    ‘Right. A new find. Petroglyphs,
my speciality.’
     
    The refectory was bright, with
floor-to-ceiling windows, and still mostly empty. There were glass-framed sand
paintings and Navajo rugs on the orange walls.
     
    ‘Archaeology, anthro,
storytelling. Interesting combination.’
     
    A modest shrug. ‘My mother calls
me le terrassier. The digger.’
     
    ‘Charming. How come you’ve an
UNSA internship?’
     
    ‘Apparently “to stimulate
interdisciplinary serendipity, and present a positive image to the academe-nets”. That’s what it said on my application.’
     
    ‘Oh, God.’
     
    ‘C’est ςa. Actually, it’s just money. I do
PR, and UNSA gets grant money from a humanities foundation.’
     
    ‘That’s ...’ Ro’s attention was
distracted ‘... not bad.’
     
    Anne-Louise looked over her
shoulder, to where a lean twentyish man—bronze skin, narrow waist encircled by
a silver concho belt, wide athlete’s shoulders—was making his way, tray in
hand, towards them.
     
    ‘That,’ said Anne-Louise, ‘is Luís.’
     
    Definitely not bad.
     
    He stopped by their table.
     
    ‘Hey.’ Anne-Louise raised her
hand. ‘Yá’ át’ ééh abíní.’
     
    ‘And bonjour to you.’ He
sat down, and held out his hand to Ro. ‘I’m Luís Starhome.’
     
    ‘This is Ro,’ said Anne-Louise. ‘Cool
contacts, don’t you think?’
     
    Ro’s skin tingled as she shook
hands, scarcely noticing the remark about her eyes, which were their natural
all-black obsidian.
     
    ‘Definitely,’ His attention was
all upon her. ‘She hasn’t challenged you to chess yet, Ro?’
     
    ‘No...’
     
    ‘Don’t let her. She’s a demon.’
     
    ‘Thanks’—Ro did not even glance
in Anne-Louise’s direction—‘for the warning.’
     
    Anne-Louise stood up. ‘Sorry,
guys. I have to finish unpacking. Um, that ceremony at your uncle’s hogan, Luís
...’
     
    “The Skyway?’
     
    ‘I won’t be able to make it.
Perhaps Ro would be interested?’ She picked up her tray. ‘Later, guys.’
     
    They watched her go, then Luís
said formally, ‘I’m Luís Starhome, as I said, born for the K’aahanáanii, the
Living Arrow Clan, born into the Tangle People, Ta’neezahnii.’
     
    Ro nodded, her expression
serious, acknowledging the importance of his words. She would have to get
Anne-Louise to explain Navajo kinship relations.
     
    ‘I’m Dorothy,’ she said, ‘known
as Ro, of the clan McNamara.’
     
    Luís’s face was a bronze warrior’s
mask.
     
    ‘I’d say today’—with a sudden,
startling smile—‘is a day of bright beginnings.’
     

     
    The
morning was given over to a seminar. Old Professor Davenport and his partner,
an AI doppelganger, were entertaining enough, but the fractal calculus was too
easy for Ro and she sat quietly, visualizing unblemished bronze skin rather
than equations. Dark eyes. A turquoise and silver necklet—
     
    Davenport was asking a question,
but the woman beside Ro answered.
     
    Ro let her attention drift again.
     

     
    The
sky was one huge sapphire, still devoid of cloud. At the end of the afternoon,
Ro used the outdoor walkway to the dorm block,