by C. Gockel
“We are still not going to go back to the previous drop-off,” Dr. Patrick said. “Those aren’t our orders.”
Volka looked up. The doctor was speaking pointedly to Young.
Gaze on Carl, the lieutenant’s jaw ground. “No, they aren’t my orders.”
“Miss Volka,” Bracelet whispered. “You and all the humans here are putting your lives on the line. Sixty and Carl are putting their bodies on the line—and they like their bodies. I have no real attachment to mine. I would be risking nothing by going, and since Jerome has TAB23948—”
A tiny “blip-blip” sounded from Jerome’s tablet.
“—I am really not needed here,” Bracelet said. “But I might be very much needed on the other side of that singularity beam.”
Volka stared at the device. She hated the idea of sending it out into the cold and the dark. But Bracelet said she wanted to go. How could she deny her? It was Bracelet’s body. But it also seemed like suicide … there was no immediate need. They could convince Fleet to use a different Q-comm ... maybe. Volka blinked. But based on Bracelet’s words, maybe the Q-comm—or the computer on the other end of the chip assigned to the Q-comm—wouldn’t be interested in the task. The drone wasn’t. The tablet was apparently not expressing an interest.
Young took a deep breath.
Volka looked up and saw him narrow his eyes at Carl. Carl, standing on his hind legs, scratched his rump.
“Well,” said the lieutenant in a booming voice. “We better go drop these drones off at the eighth planet.”
And there was her excuse to not send Bracelet off into oblivion.
“Right,” she said. The Marines and the doctor filed off the bridge in front of her, and as she waited, Carl spoke telepathically into her mind, “I am liking that Young more and more. I might even like him enough to make him one of my pets.”
Volka looked down at the tiny creature. He winked at her. “You weren’t paying attention. Young suggested that after we make the next drop off, before we go back to Earth, we make a detour back to the shattered moon and drop off Bracelet accidentally like.”
“He didn’t …” Volka said.
“Oh, not over ether or in words,” Carl said. “Fleet would have recorded that. No, he thought, and I quote, ‘Hey, Weasel, scratch your butt if you hear me.’ And I did. And then he said, or thought, ‘Look, I can’t defy orders without risking being permanently reassigned, but if you want to drop off the holo-watch after the next payload, I wouldn’t do anything to stop you. Technically, Weasel, you, Volka, the ship, and the holo-watch aren’t Fleet. And we need you too much to fire you.’”
“We’re not going to do it, Carl!” Volka mentally protested. Holo-watch? Young didn’t even know Bracelet’s name. “It’s cruel.”
Carl stopped and rose to his hindmost paw pairs. “Cruel to let Bracelet do what she wants to do because you feel like you lost Sixty and are afraid of losing someone else?”
Volka’s lips parted, prepared to argue, but then she swallowed. It was true. She was afraid of losing Bracelet, and maybe it was because she felt like she’d lost Sixty. Although, if he believed something so low of her, had she ever really had him?
21
True Love Found
Galactic Republic: System 5 New Grande
6T9 walked in the shadow of a building on New Grande, rifle at the ready. The last time he’d been in the city, he and Volka had visited an upscale residential neighborhood deeper in the canyon. The canyon walls had been verdant and green, the streets whimsically paved with cobblestone, and there had been trees planted in beams of light carefully aimed at them from mirrors high on sparkling towers.
Now he was in a dark alley in the manufacturing district. It was closer to the canyon rim and colder. Where he could see the canyon walls there were only a few spindly trees of the sort he’d seen in Libertas. They’d been imported before the Luddeccean system broke off from the Republic, and although not native, they thrived. From here they appeared to be branches stuck in the ground, not living things. Up close, he knew they would have small iridescent leaves almost like scales, hugging their surfaces, capable of producing energy even in extreme cold.
The buildings here did not sparkle. They were utilitarian blocks of poured concrete, relieved only by emergency exits, fire escapes, and loading docks. Cracked asphalt was beneath his feet, and storm drains gaped. He could hear the trickle of water echoing up from below. Unlike that day with Volka, his current team had encountered no civilians … or anyone. Unlike that day, they were taking care not to.
Davies and Falade were behind him. Falade had been relegated the chore of cat food transporter. Michael and Lang were just ahead. Kurz, their robotic canine, was a few meters beyond them, near the next intersection. The dog looked back at them and wagged its tail—the coast was clear. Before they followed the dog, Michael looked at Lang. The weere gave a thumbs up—he did not sense the Dark. Signaling back to them, Michael, Lang, and Kurz turned the corner.
In 6T9’s mind, the ether sputtered to life. New Grande’s mayor’s voice flooded his thoughts. “New Grandeans, this is your mayor, reminding you to stay in your homes. Boil all water. Do not admit any—”
There was a hiss of static, and then another voice, smooth and feminine, announced, “Citizens of New Grande, we bring you peace. Do not be afraid. Come, meet us, and be well.” It was a very different message than the blood curdling one delivered to 6T9 when the attack had first begun. The real Android General 1 had been one of the Infected that had delivered that message, and data recall of that event made the hairs on the back of 6T9’s neck rise—all the Infected, former pirates, and former local security forces alike, had stood in the same stance, spoken, and made the same facial expressions in unison.
Now they weren’t delivering threats; they wanted to infect.
The infected woman’s voice began again. “Are you lonely? Are you afraid? We are here to help you—”
The ether cut off, again.
Michael was waving for the rest of them to follow his lead, and 6T9 snapped back to the real world. The next street looked like the previous one, except perhaps grimier. There were several dumpsters and discarded food wrappings, which meant the gray, box-like building the dumpsters abutted employed humans, not just robots and androids. Humans were undoubtedly necessary for product testing at their destination. 6T9’s eyes fell on a pair of heavy-duty emergency doors by a dumpster. A light went off in his mind. That was where he needed to go. He’d just have to figure out how to get inside.
The dumpster lid lifted.
Rifles and pistols were on it an instant later. The face of a tiny, tortoiseshell kitten with green eyes emerged. “Meow.”
Several curses erupted around 6T9.
Kurz’s tail wagged so hard it was a blur. “Kätzchen!”
The tiny kitten blinked its eyes at 6T9, and an Unidentified Caller pinged 6T9’s mind. 6T9 answered and was immediately greeted by, “Hello, 6T9. My human pets refer to me as the Illustrious Mao. You may call me that, or Mao the Illustrious if you prefer. Are you prepared to serve us?”
6T9’s eyebrow hiked, and he asked aloud, “How did you find us?”
“There are cat eyes on every block of this district. We’ve been following since you landed,” Mao replied.
6T9 tilted his head. “We?”
Lang’s head jerked up and behind them.
Swinging his rifle around, 6T9 aimed in the direction of the weere’s startled gaze … and blinked. Peering over the edge of the roof were cats. 6T9’s mechanical mind automatically began counting them, but they moved too quickly, leaping to a fire escape, streaming down the stairs, launching themselves onto the top of another dumpster, and finally to the ground. More erupted from the storm drains.
“More kätzchen!” Kurz declared enthusiastically.
“Servant,” Mao declared, hopping up onto the lip of the dumpster. “Where do we need to go?”
“Did it just call me ‘servant?’” Lang hisse
d, and 6T9’s eyebrow hiked. Lang was definitely wave sensitive if he’d “heard” that.
6T9 pointed to the double doors. “In there.” Turning and picking his way toward the entrance, cats streaming around his ankles, 6T9 surveyed the heavy-duty locks—two total, and there might be an old-fashioned sliding lock on the other side too. His Q-comm sparked, identifying their make. Stifling a curse, he said, “They’re not computerized. We’ll have to blow it open.”
“An explosion will draw the enemy,” Davies stated calmly, like it was just a matter only of fact, not like he had an opinion, or as though it were something that would put his life on the line. A tiny kitten rubbed against Davies’s ankles, and the sergeant gave a backward leap that wasn’t calm at all.
“Leave this to us!” Mao declared.
“Did it speak?” Lang said, backing away and almost tripping over another cat. Falade, Michael, and Davies all shot nervous glances at the weere.
“Yes,” said 6T9. “They said they’ll take care of the door.”
“How?” Michael asked, giving perplexed looks to the felines weaving between his ankles and milling about the alley, with no particular rhyme or reason; one was spraying a corner. It didn’t look promising. Carl had limited telekinetic abilities but using them knocked the werfle out. The locks were huge, industrial affairs. Would two or three cats sacrifice themselves for the effort?
As if in answer to his question, every cat in the alley abruptly stopped its random grooming, dawdling, greeting, sniffing, and marking. They turned to the door, their bodies became rigid, their eyes focused, and each lifted its front left paw. Tilting his head, Kurz asked in a confused voice, “Puppy pointers?”
The cats crouched in unison, focus still on the doors. Every one of them swished its tail in time to some secret beat with the same flick to the left at the end of the final swipe.
6T9 forgot to faux breathe, his Q-comm firing, remembering the Dark speaking in unison …
From the locks came a click, clack, and a scrape. The doors burst open, revealing a long dark hallway. The cats rose from their crouched positions … or did not. Some rolled over and stretched. Some licked their hindquarters. Most ran to the cart of food and began to meow, for all the galaxy like cats, not quantum wave-bending members of The One or like the Dark. Many Unidentified callers began pinging 6T9 at once. Picking up the cat food, he ignored them and strode into the building’s interior, the humans and Kurz in step behind him. On either side of him were inactivated RussianDoll sex ‘bots, one of the many models in the True Love Doll factory.
“Mew,” sounded from his ankles, and the Illustrious Mao’s voice said over the ether, “I am hungry. Feed me, servant.”
In the real world, Falade stammered, “These are going to be our … our … army?”
Looking back, 6T9 saw all the humans crowded at the entrance, their expressions ranging between fear and disgust. 6T9 blinked and followed their gazes. On either side of him were identical naked female bodies, pressed together in semi-fetal position. They hung from hooks on a conveyor belt that snaked along the ceiling. Their eyes were closed, faces expressionless, and their skin sallow. Their hair was completely covered by flesh-colored skull caps to protect it from dust.
“Not at all creepy,” Michael commented.
A light feminine giggle sounded from down the line, and the click of heels followed it. “I am so glad you don’t find me creepy.” At the end of the aisle of bodies, a woman appeared. Tall and whip-like, she had red gold hair and wore a dress featuring traditional Russian embroidered patterns, but it was skintight with a low front. 6T9’s Q-comm informed him in traditional Russian attire, there would be a blouse beneath such low décolletage. Not so for RussianDoll. She sashayed down the aisle between the inactivated ‘bots with the poise of a high-fashion model. Drawing to a halt, she put a hand on a hip and spun ninety degrees. Looking over her shoulder at them, she drawled with a Russian accent, “Gentlemen, you have found True Love.”
Her eyes were knowing, but it was a lie. 6T9 knew she knew nothing. She was an innocent in the most important ways. She loved all humans and could not harm them. She was completely helpless before human desires and 6T9’s plans. Volka was already angry with him. Could she forgive him for what he was about to do?
22
Unforgivable
Uncharted Space
“You’re thinking like a human,” Carl said. They were in the aft compartment with the holomat and all the crates alone. The other members of the team were on the bridge. Sundancer had made herself transparent, and if Volka looked past her feet, she’d see the dark side of a moon, presumably of the previous system’s eighth planet.
“I am a human,” Volka protested telepathically. She swallowed. Humans didn’t communicate telepathically. They used the ether to talk mind to mind, a subtle distinction.
“You don’t like it when Bracelet judges your reactions based on the psychology of a machine,” Carl countered, standing up on a crate so his whiskers were at the level of her nose. “Don’t think your wants are her wants. If you do so, you turn her into a slave.”
Volka felt like she might vomit. “Sixty gave her to me,” she replied, and then instantly regretted the words. It made Bracelet sound very much like a slave.
“No, he did not!” Carl retorted. “He gave her the option of earning her keep on your wrist.”
Volka’s heart fell. She was in the wrong, and she knew it. Would Sixty let Bracelet face the void on her own? Her shoulders fell. When Volka had first turned down his offer for help, back on Luddeccea, he’d let her. He hadn’t forced her to come with him. He’d let her choose certain death and probably torture.
“Bracelet, do you really want to go through the singularity beam?” she whispered.
“Oh, yes!” Bracelet said. “I do! I do!”
“I might never see you again,” Volka blurted.
“Well, that is a possibility if you are sucked into the beam and are crushed, or if you are infected by the Dark, or if you experience an aneurysm, or if you fall out of your bed and break your neck, are hit by lightning, or catch a virus—”
Carl sniffed, and his necklace crackled. “As much as I enjoy visualizing Volka’s grisly death—”
“You enjoy it, Carl?” Bracelet exclaimed. “Are you a psychopath? How interesting.”
Carl looked heavenward and eight of his tiny limbs went slack. “Volka, you have to make up your mind soon. We’re about to head back to Earth and Time Gate 1.”
Volka’s ears swiveled. Sure enough, she could hear the sounds of the Marines and Dr. Patrick. Some of them were heading back into the aft compartments.
“What do we do?” Volka asked him.
“Discreetly drop her on the bridge and then picture what we want Sundancer to do.”
From the bridge, she heard Jerome say, “All of the drones are fully operational with strong signals and are in contact with the Q-comm.”
“Time to head back,” said Dr. Patrick.
Young said, “Why don’t you check those signals once again, Corporal?”
“He’s stalling!” Carl declared. “I’m going to go help.” Leaping from the crate, he streaked out of the aft compartment and headed for the bridge.
“Who set your tail on fire, little guy!” Rhinehart declared. She must have peeked into the compartment because a moment later, she said, “Volka, are you all right?”
“I’m …” Volka stared down at her wrist. Her glove was on, but she could see the device because the glove had a circular window right above Bracelet’s face. Bracelet had bought the glove—possibly even designed it and had it custom made for Volka.
“If you’re having trouble disconnecting my Q-comm, I can guide you every step of the way,” Bracelet declared.
Volka’s ears folded. Oh, that was right, she didn’t need to send all of Bracelet, just the Q-comm chip. Fumbling with the glove, she pulled Bracelet off and stared down at the device.
“Just flip me over,” Bracelet supplied
.
Volka did.
“Now, just slide me open,” Bracelet said.
Volka stared at the smooth bottom of the device. There was no way to slide it open as far as she could see—though Sixty had done it so easily. She pressed her thumb on the back, pushed … and her thumb slipped.
“Here,” Rhinehart said. “I’ll do it.”
Volka hadn’t noticed the woman come in. She stared up at her—Rhinehart was tall for a Galactican and Volka was short for anyone. Sharon’s hand was outstretched. On the bridge, she heard Carl declare, “So, ya got a human name for this star cluster?”
Dr. Patrick named a string of numbers and letters and then said, “It was in the briefing notes,” annoyance clear in his tone.
They had to get this done. Volka handed Bracelet to Rhinehart. She did what Volka did, at least as far as Volka could see, but Bracelet’s backing popped off. Sharon reached in, pulled out the shimmering chip, handed it to Volka, and then closed Bracelet back up and handed her back.
“Thank you,” Volka murmured half-heartedly.
“Now what?” said Sharon.
On the bridge, Volka heard Carl say, “But it needs a prettier name. May I suggest, ‘The Rat’s Intestines?’ The way the planets are not quite aligned does bring that lovely sight to mind. What do you think, Doctor?”
“Corporal, is your signal check complete?” Dr. Patrick asked.
“Errr …” said Jerome.
“We better get this to the bridge,” Volka said, leaving the compartment.
“‘Rat’s Guts?’” suggested Carl, as Volka entered the crowded bridge, Rhinehart behind her. “Is ‘Intestines’ too scientific?” The werfle was standing on his hind paws, one paw on his chest, one waving expansively to the system beyond him. He looked very stately, and several of the Marines were clustered around him. At the sight of Volka, Carl dropped all ten paws, shot a glance to Young, who shot a glance to Volka and back to Carl. Carl rubbed his rump and declared, “Time for my nap,” and scampered to the back of the ship.
