The Spare Man

by Mary Robinette Kowal

The time her elementary school science teacher had marked her correct answer about the most recent supernova as wrong “because it wasn’t in the textbook” had impressed in Tesla’s mind how effective that stillness could be. It was also the first time she used any version of “I want to speak to the manager” when she asked to go to the principal’s office in a voice that was, in hindsight, too cold and flat for a ten-year-old.

She glanced to the side at a screen and smiled. “Ah. Good. The nice thing about being old as Methuselah is that you have time to get to know a lot of people. An old golf buddy works for Legal and is aboard and is not a vending machine of toad farts. Expect a call shortly.” And that was why you always had your lawyer on speed dial.

not tipping made Tesla shockingly uncomfortable. She had an ungodly amount of money, and one of the ways she’d always mitigated that was by tipping high—in places where she didn’t control the pay rate. In her own companies, people were paid living wages, which was just easier all around. Besides the general ethics of it, the problem with a tip-based system was that it made the server more loyal to the customer than to the nominal employer.

He’d said there were three important things when someone else’s lawyer was in the room. Never apologize for anything, or it could be used as an admission of guilt. Never lay all of your cards on the table. Never argue when your own lawyer can do the fighting.

There were an astounding number of bald white people, and they honestly all looked alike.

“Ton parent était-æl un voleur? Parce qu’æl a volé les étoiles du ciel pour les mettre dans tes yeux.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond. Shouting seemed appropriate. So did asking questions. She went with hospitality to buy herself some time. “Do you want something to drink? Tea? Water? Something stronger?”

“But if you trust me, I can guarantee that the vermouth, bourbon, and Campari are clean. Boulevardier? Old-Fashioned? Manhattan?”

On the other sidewalk, people were doing double takes and using various forms of cameras, subdermal, paste-on, handheld … all of them pointing her way and snapping pic after pic after pic. She was, as the kids these days said, utterly soaked.

The layers of Piper’s sigh contained information about Tesla’s upbringing, her inconsiderate nature, and deep concern about the amount of paperwork facing the security officer.

Even on-duty, Gimlet was fully aware that she was, indeed, the most adorable and worthy creature ever assembled by nature or laboratory. Her tail was generating its own electrical current of delight.

“Looks like he’s letting you through, so no need for me to yell at that open-dunghole canker-blossom. This time.”