One Hundred Percent Human

First Date

"My name is Chel-C with a C at the end," she said, leaning over the counter.

The woman behind the desk had a face paler than moonlight, with glittering skin. A vampire. There seemed to be a lot of them around here. Why would Love Inc. have sent her to one of these places? She'd specifically asked them to find her someone without genetic modifications.

"Do you want a room overlooking the graveyard?" the woman asked. "Or one facing the blood sea?"

Chel-C blew a hair off her face. "Do you have anything bright and cheerful?"

The woman wrinkled her nose.

"Sorry," Chel-C said. "I'm just not into this."

She gestured vaguely at the hotel's interior, the large statues of gargoyles, the guttering candles, the waiters in dark suits serving glasses of blood.

"Hi," a male voice said. "Chel-C?"

She spun. He was pale, but not nearly as much as the many vampires. The set of his jaw bespoke strength. His eyes, however, were deep as empty sky. They were pale blue, the color tears would have if tears had color.

"I'm Vincent," he said.

He stretched forth a hand, and she took. It was cold, enough to make her wonder. Did his heart beat? Love Inc. had said he was a one hundred percent match.

"Can we go somewhere else to eat?" she asked. "I don't like the smell of blood."

"Neither do I."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Then why did we meet here?"

"I'm the owner," he said. "The Bloodlands of Tau Ceti have been in my family for over a century."

And there they were: pointed teeth. It was a shame, really. Well, it wouldn't hurt to go on one date. She followed him outside. As soon as they were through the door, he reached in and pulled the teeth out.

"I hate these things," he said.

He shoved them in a pocket.

"So you're not...?"

"Check my heartbeat."

He held out his hand and she put her fingers to his wrist. The vampires of literature were some form of undead, and thus had no heartbeat. The genetically modified creatures of the thirty-fifth century had veins filled with quietly pushing cilia.

A pulse thrummed in Vincent's wrist.

He smiled. "Please don't tell my customers."

She laughed, relieved.

They traveled one town over by horse. Not the actual biological animals, unfortunately. As wealthy as Vincent was, he couldn't afford them. These creatures were mechanical, and while they felt and looked real, they rode smoother, smelled less, and were easier to control.

"Life should be messy and difficult," Chel-C said. "Not like these--these things."

They arrived at a small inn, a building assembled from what appeared to be fitted wood. He threw a clover hitch knot around a nearby pole to tie his horse, as if it would consider running away. Chel-C played along.

"These are real wood," he told her they climbed the steps. "This planet's version of it, anyway. Cut from the native vegetation."

She leaned closer and sniffed. The scent of the boards reminded her of a mixture of vanilla and lemon.

Dinner was likewise lovely. Though very little of what grew on this world was edible for humans, a few things were. What remained came from plants and animals transplanted here from other worlds, nothing was printed or synthesized.

Vincent was a gentleman. He brought her back to the hotel and kissed her goodnight. She stood in the doorway, feeling the tingle on her skin where his lips had touched her.