Realware

CHAPTER TWO

YOKE

February 20

"Rather snug in here," said Onar. "But I like it. Remarkable way to travel." Yoke and Onar were packed in back-to-back, with Cobb's moldie plastic flesh wrapped all around them. They were streaking through space near the top of a long parabolic trajectory that led from San Francisco to Tonga. Cobb had an ion-jet in his feet, and the algae in his moldie body provided a steady flow of oxygen.

The moldie flesh near Yoke's face was transparent, like a faceplate. Looking down at the great fat curve of Mother Earth's body, Yoke could see the familiar black of space above the bright curving line of the atmosphere. Phil had called it Gaia's skin. Yoke felt bad about not saying a proper good-bye to him. But the scene with Kevvie last night had been too gnarly. How had a straight babe like Phil ended up with a bloblolly? "Bloblolly" was an insulting expression for

"female merge user" that Yoke's twin sister Joke liked to use; Joke herself had gotten the expression from a loonie viddy show called Kid Skid. Occasionally Joke had dared to call their mother Darla a bloblolly to her face, and a fierce Darla tongue-lashing would ensue. Joke was brave. Yoke felt a sharp pang of loneliness as she thought of her sister and her mother; this was the longest by far that they'd ever been apart. Seeing the black of outer space was making her homesick for the Moon. Getting back to Phil, the fact that he lived with a bloblolly probably meant there was more wrong with him than met the eye. He seemed a little passive, almost paralyzed. No doubt bailing had been the best thing for her do. Still, there was something sweet about Phil. He'd been so eager for her to like his food.

"Did I tell you that I'm friends with King of Tonga?" Onar asked just then. "The Tu'i Tonga himself. He's a delightful fellow." His voice sounded fruity and intimate in the little cavity of air that surrounded his and Yoke's heads. Spongy little palladium filters in their nostrils eliminated Cobb's characteristic moldie smell.

"You did tell me that," answered Yoke. "Twice." She wasn't quite sure about Onar. "Why does Tonga have a King anyway?"

"It's the only Polynesian nation never to have fallen under the rule of a foreign power," said Onar. "Right, Cobb?"

"That's right," said Cobb, talking to them via uvvy. "Do you want to browse a guidebook, Yoke?"

"No. I like real things better than virtual things. I'm done with school." Pretty soon they were arcing back into the atmosphere, heading down toward the multitudinous islands of Tonga,

tiny dots in the vast Pacific Ocean, visible through the gaps in the clouds. The clouds were arranged with a surprising regularity, like cabbages in a farmer's field. Onar guided Cobb to the biggest of the Tongan islands, Tongatapu, on one side of which was Tonga's main town Nuku'alofa.

They landed in a sandy shell-strewn parking lot next to the city dock. Cobb split open to disgorge his two passengers and the two carry-on bags they'd brought. And then he formed himself back into his original old man shape, grown a bit beefy from the sheet of imipolex he'd gotten from Babs. Judging from the stature of the golden-ski

"Here we are," said Onar. "This is the Queen Salote Wharf."

"It's quiet here," said Cobb. "I like it."

Besides the Bay Area, this was the only place on Earth that Yoke had visited so far. She was surprised at how primitive things were. Like in a travel viddy. A rusty Tongan Navy ship floated in the harbor; in addition there were a ramshackle ferryboat, a few motorboats and one or two yachts. That was it for the capital city's port. The rutted and potholed road along the waterfront carried a light traffic of battered electric trucks and cars, old models from the 2030s. A low shack across the road offered drinks and food; next to it was a

"Guest House" that looked barely big enough to house the owner's family. Farther down the waterfront was a weathered white building like a Victorian mansion, and inland from it was what looked to be the town center, a dingy cluster of patched-up buildings.

"Welcome to da neighborhood," said a huge man with a horizontal wrinkle in his forehead. "Malo e lelei." He was wearing a torn white shirt and a brick-red polyester skirt. "My name is Tiko."

"Greetings, Tiko," said Onar. "We've met before, no? I was down here six months ago visiting with HRH."

Yoke knew by now that Onar used "HRH" to stand for "His Royal Highness," meaning the King. Ugh. For whatever reason, Yoke hated all things British -- with the single exception of Lewis Carroll.

"That's right," said Tiko. "Onar Anders. My wife Waloo is working at the New Beach Guest House. You go

"Yes indeed," said Onar. "We'll walk there from here. As you see, we traveled light." He nudged the two little bags at his feet.

"All the way inside dis moldie," mused Tiko, gingerly patting Cobb's shoulder. He leaned close to Cobb, sniffed him, and burst out laughing. "Low tide at da lagoon."

"I'm actually a human in a moldie body," said Cobb, drawing back. "Cobb Anderson. Perhaps you've heard of me?"

"No sir," said Tiko. "What are you known for?"

"I built the first robots for the Moon, sixty years ago," said Cobb. "The boppers? And then the hoppers chewed up my brain and extracted my software. I've had a series of robot bodies since then. This one is the best. Look." Cobb flipped his wrist and his right arm split up into five thin arms, with a tiny hand at the end of each of them. He picked a different seashell up with each of the five minihands and waved them about.

"Most kinky," said Tiko. "And you can fly. Yes, I saw you three come shootin' down like a diving bird. Did you come in one jump all da way from America?"

"Never mind where we came from," said Onar.

A big handsome woman had joined Tiko. She wore a ground-length skirt and a yellow T-shirt with a picture of some kind of sea creature that Yoke couldn't make out. "Did Onar pay you?" the woman asked Yoke. Odd question.

"No," said Yoke. "We're friends. My name's Yoke. I'm from the Moon."

"I'm Oofa," said the woman. "That's my boat over there." She pointed to an insectlike hydrofoil boat with a quantum-dot-powered water-jet motor. "When you're ready to go diving, I'm the one to take you."

"I'm very interested in diving," said Yoke.

"I've got the equipment and the helpers," said Oofa. "I work with Sea Cuke Divers, right over there behind the guest house." She pointed across the street.

"I'm pla

"Moldies are the only way," said Oofa. "But I think you better use a local. We've got moldies working out of Sea Cuke. I dive in them all the time. I'll engage two moldies and show you some very special things."

"Just get one for yourself, Oofa. I trust Cobb. Maybe we could go diving tomorrow. Is that okay with you, Cobb?"

"What?" The old man moldie's attention tended to wander.

"Okay if you and I go diving with Oofa tomorrow?"

"We'd better check our schedule with HRH first," said Onar. "It's possible that he'll have plans for us tomorrow. Or perhaps Cobb will have something he'd rather do."

"What's with you, Onar?" said Cobb. "Of course I'm taking her diving. I didn't get a new body and fly all the way

down to Earth just to start kissing large Polynesian butt."

"No problem, no problem," interrupted Oofa. "We'll go diving in the morning. I'll line up two moldies just in case Cobb changes his mind. Tashtego and Daggoo."

Tiko walked down to the New Beach Guest House with them; he insisted on carrying their bags. It was early afternoon and plenty hot in the sun. Down here, February was high summer. Onar pointed along the heat-shimmering road to the white Victorian building in the distance.