Èryuè 1st 250X (cont.)

Sirka's birthday dinner itself was a rather solemn affair with the entire army of staff stood around the table. Their nervous expressions served to make Sirka feel on edge - despite realising that she was the cause of the anxiety. Dabir, Akeem's personal manservant, stood as far away from her as possible.

His ear had been re-grown and reattached but there was still a faint pearled scar from where Sirka had sunk her teeth in. Or at least that's what Akeem told her had happened.

Sirka couldn't remember the details, it had occurred during her less 'sentient' months of adolescence. She couldn't understand why she ever would have wanted to bite somebody and whenever she tried to ask Iskra about it she received the same nonsensical answer sung to the tune of a Polis lullaby,

"The fruit caused the pod to split and out of pain the man got bit."

Medic Poulter arrived after the starters had already been served. He was wearing a high necked sweater of royal blue with white striped embroidery down one of the sleeves, it looked like it had been expensive. His greying hair was slicked back, although whether it was from the rain or a styling product, Sirka couldn't tell.

His goatee also appeared considerably more trimmed than the last time she'd seen him, serving to narrow his already slim face into a sharp point. Sirka knew he was in his mid-forties but his skin was shiny and taut, as if someone had stretched it too far across his cheekbones. She'd heard Tasha murmur something about obvious aesthetic procedures but Sirka wondered if the Medic had truly been so vain?

"Damn hold up on the Venae, more government checks, sometimes I swear the pass-checks take longer than the actual journey!" he grumbled at Akeem before curtly nodding at Sirka.

Sirka wasn't even sure Medic Poulter saw her as a human anymore. She was just a science experiment, the living hypothesis of his chemical concoctions and failed formulae.

"I feel older than twenty-five," she announced as the soup dishes were cleared away.

"Well you don't look it my dear," Akeem replied, smiling tightly, "one of the benefits of a stagnating aging process I suppose." He glanced at Medic Poulter, "The increased checks are due to the upcoming governmental elections. You know how the Polis gets during times of political change. There's also been further crackdowns on the running of street drugs."

"They'll never get rid of those," Medic Poulter scoffed, "especially that one they're calling 'Stardust'. Every other street rat you pass is a dustrunner nowadays and half of them are addicts." He huffed irritably, "It's not only the checks though -there's propaganda everywhere. You can't damn well move without running into another poster of some beaming, pearly-toothed candidate."

Akeem chuckled, "I hear Li Mei Chen is the bookie's favourite this year? She's certainly popular with the people."

Medic Poulter made a snorting sound, "Please Commander, as if you don't already know exactly who's going to be assuming power at the end of this quarter. It's common knowledge that the military dictate the poll results."

"Oh is that so?" Akeem questioned with an amused look. "Well I can assure you that I personally have no information on who is going to be the next Council Leader. I guess I will just have to cast my vote along with the rest of you."

Medic Poulter laughed as he reached for his wine glass.

"Can I vote?" Sirka asked quietly. Akeem raised his eyebrows at her, "No my dear, helixed cannot vote. You know that."

"They are not deemed able to make such an important decision with the required level of rationality and reasoning," Medic Poulter added.

"But lots of helixed have far higher IQs than average," Sirka protested glumly as Akeem's face hardened.

"Why the sudden interest in politics anyway Sirka? You wouldn't even know the candidates."

"I want to go to flight school," Sirka replied suddenly, straightening up in her chair. Akeem didn't even bother to look mildly surprised at the sudden subject change. It was a habit that was all too characteristic of Sirka and her unpredictable mood swings.

"I took the aptitude test," Sirka continued insistently, "the one you brought home from work and I scored within the top percentile of your current students."

"Is that true?" Medic Poulter asked her father with a curious expression.

"Yes it's true," Akeem sighed, running his hand down his face and across his shortly cropped beard. "Her coordination results were like nothing I've ever seen before."

Sirka beamed as she shifted forwards, strumming her fingers excitedly against the lace tablecloth.

"But say I even somehow manage to bend the helixed laws and let you enrol in pilot training Sirka," Akeem began, "what happens if you have a blackout when piloting a starcraft? Or a fractal episode?"

"I haven't had an episode for years," Sirka replied quickly, "I'm just like other people now." She frowned as her father's eyeline trailed down to the tattoo on her left wrist. Sirka jerked her hand back quickly from the tablecloth, bringing it to rest in her lap.

Akeem laughed gently, "My dear - you have no idea of what other people are even like."

"Broken toy. Broken toy. Broken toy. Broken toy..."

Sirka jerked her head round to see Iskra crouched in the corner of the room, chanting softly.

"Your brain chemistry still isn't at a level that the military would even consider accepting," Medic Poulter stated with an uncharacteristically sympathetic expression.

"You said there was a new drug?" Sirka asked, determined to get a straight answer out of the two men for once. "You said it was going to change everything to do with helixed-treatment? You said..."

"I said we'll have to see," Medic Poulter replied firmly, glancing at Akeem who gestured to Dabir for the next course to be brought out. "Trials on the Panacea injection start next month," Poulter added, "if they are a success then it will indeed mean that helixeds will start to be accepted onto career paths that they could not have previously pursued."

"Like a pilot?" Sirka asked hopefully.

"Like a damn pilot," Akeem replied loudly, "now can we please enjoy the rest of your birthday dinner with no more talk of helixed or medical trials?"

Sirka nodded firmly as the boiled fish and red Borscht soup was brought in. Medic Poulter cast her one last assessing glance before beginning to discuss the recent baseball results with her father. Sirka took advantage of their distracted ranting over an umpire's decisions to glance tentatively back at Iskra.

"Feel older than a Quart," the other girl shrugged before huddling further in on herself and starting to hum a nursery rhyme.