Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

didn't want to contend with the chatter of the more public compartments. To Sam's relief no one else joined them. One thing he was not interested in was being subjected to mindless chatter until they reach Mission Point.
    Finally, as the sky cleared overhead, a porter stopped by to punch their tickets and to inform them it was safe to remove their respirators, which he and Bobby did. The scenery was made up of small towns closely situated for a long stretch of the kilometers eaten up by the train, turning eventually into farmland, and then soon enough a view of the ocean as they came closer to the small military community of Mission Point.
    Bobby went to the bar and brought Sam back a whiskey. He set it on the small wooden tray in front of Sam, who stared out the window at the passing scenery as it flew by. Bobby then seated himself across from Sam.
    "They don't serve absinthe here in the dining car," Bobby said. "I thought you'd prefer the whiskey over the gin."
    "Very astute of you. But perhaps you should have brought the bottle as well. This," he raised his glass in salute, "will not do quite the job I would have liked."
    Bobby rose to his feet. "Shall I go back, sir?"
    Sam sighed. He downed the whiskey in one healthy gulp. "No, it shall have to do. We're almost to our destination." He waved Bobby towards his seat and Bobby sat back down.
    "The facility is beneath the water, from what you've told me," Bobby said, obviously trying to make conversation. He'd been taught to do that. Fill in the silence when traveling, attempt to discern as much from traveling companions as he could. Small talk often warmed a body up. Bobby had learned his lessons very well.
    Sam stared at him, the whiskey warming him more than he'd expected. Bobby was so very handsome– what a waste. Even if one looked closely they would be unable to discern his true nature of automaton. His builders had done a superb job. And he was a quick learner. No, no one would ever know.
    "You truly are a perfect creation, love. I don't think even Dr. Ophelian will believe how perfect you are."
    "My," Bobby said. "I look forward to conversing with him. Will he wish to examine me?"
    Sam stared out the window. He wished he had another whiskey. "I expect he will," Sam murmured.
    "Did he make me for you, sir? Because he couldn't spend as much time with you as he wished to?"
    That question made Sam want to laugh. To Oberon everything and everyone was an experiment. Even his marriage to Sam was for an ulterior purpose. He'd married Sam just to maintain that connection with what he termed ordinary humanity. The question was: why did Sam agree to marry such a seemingly heartless man as Oberon Ophelian?
    When out of the man's orbit, that was something Sam still found difficult to answer. In his presence, it was a whole other thing. Love, obsession, desire, passion. All words– all emotions– that might apply to their relationship– at least on Sam's side of the equation. How was it that he was so drawn to men who could not seem to feel or return love? Even Bobby couldn't love. He could serve, but not love.
    "I don't think he made you for me, strictly speaking," Sam said finally. "Yours will be a far different purpose. He'll share that when we arrive."
    "Will he be pleased with me, sir? Do you think I'm what he envisioned for his design?"
    Sam studied Bobby. Truly, he never got tired of looking at him, although sometimes that perfection hurt his eyes and he was forced to look away. He leaned forward and cupped the side of Bobby's face. "He will fall in love with you, dear. No mistake about it." He leaned back in his seat. The town was coming into view. Just another few minutes.
    "Do you love him very much, sir? I wish I understood emotion better. Although it does seem to cloud and complicate actions, doesn't it?"
    "It does that," Sam said. He'd gotten himself caught up in a widow's web and now he was being eaten alive. The costs of mating with a dangerous, highly-evolved adversary– or more truly, the costs of fucking. Intimacy always carried emotional baggage along with it. Hovering too close to the flames inevitably got one singed.
    "Have you known each other for a long time?" Bobby asked. "Did you love each other at first sight? I've heard of that happening. You've never really explained much about your relationship."
    "We've known each other long enough, I guess one would say. We met at Hill University. But emotions didn't come into play for quite some time."