+++

For the first hour Noble flew in circles, trying to choose a destination, vetoing every name suggested, until finally she decided to test a theory she’d thought of while looking at one of Debit’s grey paintings in West Hollywood.

Is it possible to fly into space?

All the way to Triton perhaps?

Picturing a moon-base on ice lake construct, she aimed vertical and switched the rocket boots to conservative power, but the higher she climbed, the more the picture started to shift to the journey over to Triton, which would be decades, and

now that she thought of it

that time in space would literally be life in space, constant flying with no end reference points, no map to guide her the right way as the planets were in continuous orbit, no people to talk to

good or bad.

At an altitude of 40,000 feet she did an abrupt U-turn and headed east, swooping down low as she approached Lantau to avoid the airport sensors.

Total flight time: four and a half hours. Not bad for a relic.

+++

Her old flat had been taken, which was expected, but the same area had other flats lying empty, most of them bought in batches by wealthy mainlanders.

She selected one at random, landed on the roof of the building and switched to dormant mode. The flames from her rocket boots turned dark, the green LEDs went off and no one in any of the windows opposite seemed to notice. Checking her arms and deeming them safe, she walked to the edge of the roof, positioned herself and jumped.

It took almost a minute to float down to the desired window and another forty seconds to cut a small hole in the glass.

Once again, despite the insane density of people to square metre, no one saw a thing.

Noble did a tentative scan of her new flat then sat down on the surprisingly comfortable couch. It was surprising cos the arms of the couch were rock solid, but the main cushion was quite spongy. Noble sank into it and slumped towards the TV.

What’s happening here? She wondered, ripping off the plastic, turning it on, and quickly remembering how bad her Cantonese was.

Okay, the rest of the world, what’s happening there?

War?

Corruption?

Oppression of Sissy Spacek?

Noble pulled out her phone, scrolled down the news page.

All three.

All three were happening,

with no topic bar to separate them and no distinction in proportion of outrage.

+++

The next day she left the flat early, doing her stairwell trick on the first floor, and headed for where she’d read the asylum seekers headquarters was situated.

To Kwa Wan was a place she didn’t know well, but she knew the bus to take cos she’d taken it before to see one of those women from the forums. Of course, rocket boots could’ve taken her there in two minutes, but that would draw attention and if there was one thing she was truly tired of it was that.

All it would take was one video clip uploaded to YouTube and those fucking robots would be over here and in her face, one side calling her a traitor, the other demanding sources for the Armenian genocide and, no, she was done with all that, she was gonna-

‘Apple?’

Noble blinked and saw an apple floating magically on an amputated hand. No, not floating, not amputated, held out by a real, live woman.

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘You can eat, it’s okay.’

Noble looked at the apple and, after being asked again to eat it, took it into her own hand.

‘Your skin is very grey.’

‘It’s natural.’

‘Natural…’

‘I’m Finnish.’

The woman nodded then touched Noble’s hand, stroking it up to the wrist.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Noble.

‘Metal skin.’

‘No, it’s-….’

‘You are robot?’

Noble pulled away her hand. ‘You know about me?’

‘I know about robots.’

‘Good or bad?’

‘Wah, you don’t live here? If you like, I can show you. It’s not a problem for me.’

‘I lived in Hong Kong before. No need.’

‘You want me to show you the places?’

‘No I lived here, I know the city already.’ Noble looked around and saw the sign for the asylum seeker’s building two doors down. ‘You are going in there?’

The woman followed Noble’s finger and said, ‘I go already. Now I’m free. Nothing to do.’

‘What language do you speak?’

‘You want to take me somewhere?’

‘French?’

‘No?’

‘Actually, it doesn’t matter. Yeah, I want you to take me to a coffee shop. Or McDonalds. And get some of your friends too.’

‘McDonalds?’

‘I’ll buy you breakfast, you teach me French.’

‘… … …?’

‘Or whatever language you speak.’

‘You want me take you there, McDonalds?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Not show you here?’

‘No.’

‘Sure?’

The woman stroked Noble on the arm, this time going all the way up to her neck and then down the side of her chest.

‘Maybe later.’

The woman smiled and took Noble by the hand, leading her onto the main road and three blocks over to a McDonalds with a lot of old people inside.

The lesson went okay for the first ten minutes, lots of stops and starts and basic nouns, a long silence when South Sudan came up, frowns when the apple pie appeared, but

three hours later,

when the woman cut the façade and directly offered a blow job plus fuck, Noble reassessed her plan and decided a] she’d underestimated the desperation of some asylum seekers in this city, and b] it might be better to actually go inside the building and talk to someone in charge before initiating the lessons idea.

+++

Four weeks into the hibernation, before heading out for her second exchange of the day, Noble received an e-mail.

‘Dear Noble

I’m dying of cancer. Suppose I deserve it in a way. Hope you can forgive me for everything. Hope I can see you one more time. If not, I understand. If yes, I’m on an island off the north west coast of Japan. Look at a map and you’ll see it. Not Okinawa.

Miriam’

Noble read it a few times, pretending for some reason to wonder which Miriam it was, even though she knew. Though it was strange that she hadn’t used Spanish.

Keeping the e-mail on an open tab, she continued on to her exchange and, after half an hour of pros and cons of pets in beginner Urdu, explained the situation plus background to Amir, asking him what she should do.

Amir was in his forties, from Pakistan, and claimed to know all about forgiving people for horrible things, though that was on a provincial level, not one to one, and the people he’d forgiven had later tried to arrest him again.

‘You should go, see her.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it is cancer.’

‘That’s all?’

‘Cancer is not good.’

It was a shorter conversation than Noble had expected, Amir’s English was pretty decent, his Spanish too, he could’ve elaborated if he’d wanted to, but what more needed to be said.

She’d go, Miriam would apologise, things would work out.

‘You’re going now?’ asked Amir, putting lips to his coffee cup but not sipping any.

‘We can finish our lesson first. Our exchange.’

‘No, it is done. Your brain is already somewhere different.’

‘Not true.’

‘You’re looking that way…at the exit.’

Noble blinked at a group of international school kids coming in, not realising that’s where she’d been looking.

‘I am a little distracted.’

‘Then you go. Take a flight to see your friend.’

‘You’re right.’

‘Maybe you can get a last- minute deal at the airport. I don’t know.’

‘No need.’ Noble smiled and tapped her rocket boots.

‘Flying boots?’

‘Yes.’

‘Take a long time?’

‘Not that long.’

Amir nodded and ate some of the muffin Noble had bought him, chewing slowly. He stared at Noble’s boots as he chewed. ‘Airplane is better,’ he said, finally. ‘You remember how to say it in Urdu? Airplane?’

‘… … … …?’

‘No. That’s pharmacy.’

‘Oh.’

‘Not close at all.’