Broken People (Serial)

Thirty

Aurore forced her fingers to unclench the edge of the balcony. Had her fingernails been real, they would have been broken by now. The way it was, half-moon shapes had remained engraved in the fine layer of gold covering the polished wood. Gold didn't scratch gold but, of course, her hands weren't made of gold. They just looked like they were. She discreetly flexed her fingers, hoping her companions hadn't noticed. The only other time her prosthetics had malfunctioned, it had happened during a cold winter when the entire city was without power for a week. Her technician had blamed it on the low temperature, though she had been sheltered in the house and hadn't even caught a cold.

Keeping her back straight and her hands folded in her lap, Aurore urged her body to relax. Unfortunately, she had no control over what was going on inside her prosthetics. She felt no pain, but having lived with them for over a decade, she instinctively knew the circuits inside were overcharged, and she couldn't figure out why. Her prosthetics didn't make a habit out of moving without her willing them to do so. Yet, they had. The stumble while walking up the stairs had shocked her because she never stumbled. All her moves were perfectly calculated and executed. She didn't have to think about them after her brain had sent the command.

Her mind scrambled to think of a reason for such behavior, terrified it could happen again. She paid no attention to the show. Colorful lights flashed in front of her eyes, and loud music assaulted her ears, but everything happened far away as, frozen in her seat, she waited for the next twitch to come. When the drums, sounding like cannons, announced the leap made by one of the gymnasts from on top of the human pyramid over the smaller tower in front, in did. Her left foot jumped, slamming down so hard, the heel of her shoe broke the floorboard underneath and remained stuck in it.

Dale's arm rested heavily on the back of Aurore's chair. "Calm. Down."

"It's because of the excitement," she said in a weak voice.

"Sure it is." Dale kept his eyes on the stage but didn't remove his arm.

Aurore waited for another act to start before slowly rotating her ankle in an attempt to free her heel. Dale's hand landed on her knee, steadying it. She was about to protest when Uncle Tem clapped his hands.

"Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!" he said, referring to the group of female contortionists performing on stage, all tangled up in a human jumble. "Don't you agree?" His eyes strayed to the hand on her leg and widened. Still, the big grin didn't leave his round face.

"They're very ..." Aurore paused, unable to find the right word.

"Gifted," Dale said.

"Yes, gifted indeed." She nodded, though her thoughts were not on the contortionists, no matter how skilled they were.

"Gifted. I like that!" Uncle Tem gave Dale a knowing smile and turned his attention back to the action on the stage. "I like that very much," he repeated to himself.

Aurore rolled her eyes, which startled her because she couldn't remember the last time she had done that. People were usually careful not to act silly around her or, God forbid, upset her, but that wasn't the case with her uncle, the mayor. She also didn't remember the last time someone had touched her. Dale's hand burned her through the thin fabric of her dress. It was her bad knee, the one still made of flesh and bone.

Pure hatred flared through her, aimed at the man who made her resent what was left of her human body. She placed her hand on top of his and squeezed, not enough to break the bones, but close. Dale tensed beside her and gritted his teeth. Aurore decreased the pressure, relieved to have the prosthetic work correctly. And then, there was another shower of lights and loud music, and her other foot jumped.

"Is it the visual or audio stimulus that triggers it?" Dale whispered in her ear.

Aurore shook her head from left to right, her jaw locked too tightly to get the words out. I don't know.

"Is there going to be an intermission?" he asked.

She nodded at the program. Dale's dark eyes trailed from her face, down the curve of her breast, to the glossy, brown piece of paper lying in her lap. The lack of change of his expression told her the answer. No intermission.

"Do you want to leave?"

"I ... can't."

After a short pause, Dale said, "I should go and talk to Renard, tell him to tone it down."

"These things ... are programmed in advance ... They can't change them ... on the fly. I'll be fine."

She was for a while. The Nightingale's marvelous singing helped her remain relaxed in her seat, and while aware it was misleading, Aurore couldn't fight the feeling nothing bad could happen to her. Then Nicholas came out on stage, and she relaxed more. His act required no special effects so no lights assaulted her, and he preferred to work in silence, interrupted only by the audience's gasps and claps when a number was particularly astonishing. Her attempts to free her heel failed due to Dale's hand stilling her foot each time so, in the end, she gave up trying.

"Oh, no ...," Dale murmured when the magic number ended and a big wheel appeared on stage.