Admiral Wolf

by C. Gockel

  Giving her a slight smile, he turned to the audience below. “My team has been working on translating the history of The People, a spacefaring alien race destroyed by the Dark. They had thousands of settlements throughout the galaxy. Time after time, we’ve seen the Dark destroy the ones it could not conquer outright. You should heed Android General 1’s advice.”

  “Fear mongering!” someone exclaimed again.

  Michael protested, “It’s not. We’ve seen the Infected make traps of their bodies.”

  “Pirates do that,” someone else said. Arguments erupted around the table.

  The mayor cleared his throat. “As grateful as we are to 6T9 and his unusual army, we’ll have to debate this matter in the city council.”

  Someone shouted, “It’s a matter for the System Council—not all of the Infected are citizens of New Grande.”

  The mayor nodded. “That is correct.”

  “Debate it fast,” 6T9 said. “If you’re not going to buy time, you’ll need to evacuate.”

  Shouts rose around the table. Volka noticed the woman from Fleet was conspicuous for her silence. Her calculating gaze was shifting between Sixty and the mayor.

  “We will, under no circumstances, call a general evacuation order!” the mayor declared.

  The woman from Fleet spoke, her voice quiet, but firm. “You may not.” Everyone at the table went silent, perhaps straining to hear her. The woman continued, “However, Fleet belongs to the people of New Grande, and we will offer evacuation to anyone who requests to leave.” The Fleet Officer nodded at Sixty. After a moment, he nodded back.

  Someone shouted, “That’s an usurpation of local authority!”

  Volka’s heart rate picked up at the same time her ears sagged, but beside her Lishi whispered, “They’re wrong. Legally, they can’t order Fleet not to do that.”

  Huffing, the mayor cast a dark glance at the Fleet Officer. But then, rolling his eyes and clearing his throat, he said, “There are issues with electricity needing to be restored in some of our wards—”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Sixty said, jaw very tight. “I need to get back to work.”

  The Fleet officer said, “I need to speak with you about evacuation protocols.”

  Sixty inclined his head to the side of the room.

  Leaning over the not-really-there bannister, Volka saw a door there that appeared to be made of white gold.

  Looking relieved, the mayor said, “Of course, of course.”

  Sixty and the Fleet Officer left the table and headed to the door. The sex ‘bots winked out of existence.

  Volka’s eyes widened. “We can help with the evacuation!” Now that there was no fighting, the “Skimmers” wouldn’t be in any danger, and even if they could only lift out a few, every little bit helped.

  Carl straightened up to his hindmost paws. “Yes!”

  “Can we speak with him?” Volka asked.

  Bracelet piped from her wrist, “We’re not barred from following them.”

  Volka looked around, wondering how to get down to the lower level and found herself facing the human-looking Lishi again and … she looked up at the tall, brawny man. He grinned. “Jack Hammer.”

  Her lips parted in shock. She remembered him as a large ‘bot with a jack hammer appendage. His human appearance fit that look, and Lishi’s former smaller, nervous ‘bot form fit his new professor look.

  “Oh,” Volka whispered, her heart racing, but feeling terrible leaving them. “It is good to see you … but …”

  “You must go,” Lishi whispered. “We hope to see you again soon. In these or other forms.”

  Volka half curtseyed. “Thank you …” She craned her neck. “How do we …?”

  FET12 squeezed her hand, and the council chamber disappeared.

  The virtual conference room 6T9 entered with Vice Admiral Wong had the same celestial ceiling as the previous council chamber—only the lighting was pale and silver, like moonlight, instead of bright and warm, like noon. Besides the single door, there were windows that showed scenes of the oceans on the world beneath Time Gate 5. His footsteps echoed on the tiles, and the air tickled his taste receptors with salt and sea. Five had not spared any computational resources when he’d created this virtual reality. At first, when 6T9 had glanced up and seen Volka on the balcony, he’d thought perhaps that Five had just created an avatar of her for his … comfort? Pleasure? But then she’d spoken, and he knew it had been her. Five couldn’t have faked the sincerity he’d heard or imagined the complete disregard for protocol.

  Behind him, the doors to the meeting room closed with an ominous finality. He couldn’t very well beg a moment for personal matters when there were lives at stake.

  In crisp tones, Wong said, “We need to discuss how to best evacuate the planet.”

  6T9 touched the ashes of Eliza beneath his suit. The stress of their flight from Luddeccea had pushed her into dementia. “It might not be necessary if they use the Infected as hostages.” The echo of his voice in the mindscape was eerie because of Five’s simulation or because the thought of evacuating so many—upending so many lives—unnerved him. He’d killed many Infected today. He didn’t feel guilty about it, but he did care about the millions still alive. He was still himself.

  Wong frowned. “We should be prepared for either case. Homes were destroyed in the initial conflict. People who want to leave should be given that opportunity. Not announcing a general evacuation order may work out for the best in either event. We’ll avoid panic.”

  6T9 looked at her sharply. “You don’t think that they will take my advice.”

  Wong met his eyes. “They are elected officials. Announcing that they will be giving citizens to an enemy that will use them as slaves will end them politically.”

  “As will a targeted strike on the city,” 6T9 countered.

  Wong raised an eyebrow. “Either way, the local elected officials lose, so where is the incentive to do good?”

  6T9 took a deep breath that was a facsimile of humanity within a facsimile of the real world. An oddly fitting metaphor for the current situation? Offering the Infected to the Dark need not be a sincere gesture, but it was the appearance of humanity that mattered to the politicians. “Good” humans did not offer enemies human sacrifices.

  Wong was right, though. Without a general evac order, they might be able to begin operations in a more orderly fashion—and be even more successful if the worst came to pass. Still, he mused, “Even if we can make the council’s vote later, rather than sooner, it might hold off the Dark.”

  “Perhaps. In the meantime, let’s discuss logistics—”

  Volka’s voice echoed from the entrance. “We can help.”

  6T9’s head whipped in her direction. Clutching FET12’s hand in one hand and her sketchbook in the other, Volka was wearing pajamas—a loose, white Luddeccean silk tunic and pants that had faint lavender pinstripes. Bracelet glimmered suspiciously brightly on her wrist. FET12 was wearing his usual dark hoodie, and the hood was drawn low. The knuckles of the hand holding onto Volka’s were white. Volka took a few steps toward 6T9, and the padding of her feet was barely audible. 6T9 wondered how Five knew she moved so stealthily—or maybe it was FET12’s observation translated into code. Standing next to FET12 just emphasized how small Volka was. That, and the pajamas, might have made her look like a child, except that her stealth was that of a predator. Or maybe it was the poise of a princess. He couldn’t decide.

  Carl popped into existence at her feet. “Yes, we can help with the evacuation!” His little bewhiskered snout bobbed furiously.

  Wong’s gaze flicked between the two of them. “I thank you for your offer, but I think it best you stick to your current assignment. There will be hundreds of Fleet vessels and potentially thousands of private vessels as well, manned by inexperienced, nervous pilots. Collisions wouldn’t be dangerous for you but could be deadly for conventional ships.”

  Volka’s brow furrowed, and her ears swiveled the way they
did when they were trying to locate the source of a sound.

  Carl’s shoulders sagged, and he gazed up at Volka. “Hatchling, she has a point.”

  Volka gazed at Carl, ears sagging. This was the woman 6T9 had proposed to. They were in a mental space together, but they were light-years apart in every other way. When he considered it, she wasn’t in this mental space at all; her presence was only facilitated by FET12, an interpreter. This was the woman he’d altered his programming for. She felt like a stranger. Did it feel the same to her? He couldn’t enter her mental space—there was no interpreter for him.

  He was glad he’d altered his programming. He wasn’t sure of the proposal.

  Volka squared her shoulders. “Of course, but we’re ready to assist if you need us.” There was a pause that stretched 3.5 seconds longer than was considered comfortable by humans, and then Volka turned to FET12 and said, “We should let them discuss their plans.”

  “Thank you, Admiral,” Wong said, and 6T9 looked at her askance.

  Volka released FET12’s hand and disappeared—perhaps out of FET12’s line of sight.

  It was admirable of her to do that. It showed a great deal of maturity to put the mission to save the people of New Grande first.

  FET12, however, didn’t disappear. For the first time in the meeting, he met 6T9’s gaze. The other android’s jaw clenched, and he scowled. “If you and Volka break up, I’m staying with Volka. You would have let me be turned into scrap.”

  6T9’s jaw sagged. He supposed he should have expected that; in some ways, FET12 was only a few days old.

  Carl squeaked. “Don’t make me decide!”

  Wong’s eyebrows hiked.

  … And FET12 and Carl disappeared.

  A tiny light flashed in the air at the level of Volka’s wrist and spoke with Bracelet’s voice. “Oh, dear, oh dear.” And then it vanished, too.

  Wong shook her head. “Custody battles are always hard.”

  “Eh …” Was that what had just happened? 6T9 stared at the space Volka had just occupied. His brain, perhaps for lack of something better to do, pulled up a still shot of the drawing that had been in Volka’s hand. The angle she’d held it had been extreme, but his processors automatically shifted the perspective. It had been a portrait of FET12 in one of the nook windows of the mansion on the asteroid. It was not photorealistic. The young android’s features had been slightly elongated, and the side of his face in the light had been drawn so faintly FET12 had appeared half in halo. Volka had made a battered, shy, disturbed sex ‘bot … ethereal. A thought occurred to 6T9. “You called her admiral?”

  Wong waved a hand. “A sort of honorary title as I understand it.”

  Of course it was. Still, 6T9 inclined his head, wanting to know exactly what that understanding was, but in a brisk voice, Wong said, “I’m sending you logistics data now. Let’s talk a little more about procedures—” and 6T9 put the picture and the question away. He smoothed his hand down the side of his body where Eliza’s ashes lay. He had no time for ethereal things when a real hell was a possibility.

  37

  Hell

  Volka couldn’t help feeling Rhinehart’s vexation and apprehension as the Marine stared down into the Bengal Tiger’s unblinking eyes. Or maybe she wanted to feel Rhinehart’s vexation, so she didn’t think as much about Sixty’s dismissal in the mindscape … she took a sharp breath. Released it. And tried to focus. She hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, and the sleep she’d managed had been disturbed by dreams of her life unravelling. She’d woken feeling empty.

  Shaking herself, she focused on the present. They were in Time Gate 1, in a large hangar. It wasn’t a space designed for aesthetics. The light was harsh, and the fixtures that produced it buzzed faintly. There were small hovers porting supplies, their tiny engines whining instead of producing the normal roar and producing a scent not unlike ozone. The hangar itself smelled like dust. The new crews for Volka and her team filled the space, too, smelling unmistakably of nervousness and adrenaline, their voices echoing in the din. In the drab space, among all the commotion, the elderships and Sundancer—or Skimmers as their species had been now dubbed—were hovering silent and shimmering, like a string of misplaced pearls.

  Volka focused on Rhinehart to avoid adding the thoughts of the crews to the general din. Fortunately, Rhinehart spoke exactly what was on her mind so Volka didn’t have to feel guilty reading it. “You are not what my ship expected when she said she wanted a kitten.”

  “I am much better, obviously,” Shissh declared, an unmistakable smile on her tiger lips.

  Rhinehart’s eyes narrowed. “I’d almost prefer a real tiger. I get the feeling they’d be less likely to want to eat me.”

  Shissh chuffed in a laugh. “Oh, no! I wouldn’t dream of eating you. Humans are disgusting creatures.”

  “How do you know that, Cat?” Rhinehart asked dryly.

  “One can surmise,” Shissh said sweetly.

  Rhinehart got down on one knee so her eyes were level with the big cat’s. “Your little brother has an annoying habit of trying to boss me around.”

  Carl, seemingly asleep on a crate, perked at that. “Annoying habit? I was exercising my rights as the obviously superior species!”

  Rhinehart poked a finger at Shissh’s chest. “I didn’t let him, and I won’t let you.”

  “I am aware you subjugated him with scratches,” Shissh replied, leaning her great head to Rhinehart’s nose.

  “Did not!” Carl protested, rising to his hindmost paws.

  Volka hid a smile behind her hand. Carl pointed a claw at her and hissed. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

  Shissh chuffed. “You handled him masterfully.”

  Rhinehart leaned back and squinted at the cat. “I will give you scratches just so you remember who is boss.”

  “Scratches didn’t make you the boss of me!” Carl sniffed.

  “I would expect no less from you,” Shissh replied.

  Rhinehart reached out and scratched Shissh behind the ear. Shissh leaned into her touch, and her finger-length claws clicked as she kneaded them on the cement floor. Rising, Rhinehart said, “All right, Cat. Let’s make this work.”

  Rhinehart gave a little wave to Volka. “Good luck.” I’ll miss you. Damn, if you’d just give me a sign you’re interested, I’d be yours in a heartbeat, Rhinehart didn’t say aloud.

  Most of the Marines had sexual thoughts about every woman that came into their orbit at least fleetingly. Rhinehart had sexual thoughts about Volka, but they were wrapped up in the purest of romantic sentiments. The Marine was noble, smart, and brave, and Volka loved her a little but couldn’t return the romantic attraction. She’d miss Rhinehart, and how the Marine managed Carl, but all she said was, “Good luck to you, too.”

  Frowning a little, Rhinehart nodded, as though confirming something to herself, and then turned away with Shissh. Together they walked toward Rhinehart’s Skimmer. Rhinehart’s thoughts quickly turned to excitement, and her ship reached out to touch her mind. At that moment, another mind touched Volka’s. Stratos was now picturing Rhinehart with blue aliens, a tiger woman that might be an anthropomorphic version of Shissh, and a female Marine and scientist assigned to his crew. Scrunching her eyes shut, Volka tried to block out the visions. It didn’t work. The man was obsessed with Rhinehart … and other women.

  Beside Volka, Carl sniffed. “Rhinehart wasn’t the boss of me.” There was so much dejection in his statement that it swept away Stratos’s explicit daydream. Opening her eyes, Volka focused on her dejected … friend …

  “Overlord,” Carl corrected, sighing and hiding his head in his paws.

  “Does my overlord desire scratches?” Volka asked.

  Carl sniffed dejectedly. “Yes.”

  Volka stroked his soft fur, and Carl shared a memory with her of Luddeccea. She knew it was Luddeccea, because of the lizzar he was remembering, but he remembered it from a werfle-eyed view. The bull-sized, lizard-like beast towered ov
er Carl, its massive feet and legs shimmering oddly in a kaleidoscope of colors—normally Volka thought of the scales there as just dull black and brown. Carl explained, “Lizzar can see in ultraviolet, like Earth birds, and see a broader spectrum of colors. Especially colorfully footed lizzar attract more mates. Werfles probably evolved to see ultraviolet so we don’t get stepped on by lizzar. For adult werfles, the dumb oafs are practically our only enemies.”

  He was distracting her. “Thank you, Carl.”

  He peeked at her between his claws. “No problem, Hatchling.” And then he unwound his body and looked behind Volka. “And there is my other Hatchling!”

  Volka turned to Carl’s “other Hatchling.” It was FET12 in a child-sized suit of armor, emerging from a small storage room where he’d been dressing. Most of the Marines had their helmets off for comfort. Not FET12. He had on his helmet and even had his visor pulled down halfway. He was hiding within his armor, she suspected, as he usually hid in a hoodie. She’d been too busy telepathically to notice his approach with her ears or nose. He was blissfully a blank to her. She silently asked Carl, “Is that why you like androids?”

  “Mystery keeps relationships interesting,” Carl replied.

  Aloud, to FET12, Volka said, “You look quite smart.”

  Carl bobbed his body. “Thanks for coming with us.”

  Blushing, the small android ducked his head. “There is a shortage of Q-comms. I should help.”

  The Skimmer crews were short of Q-comms. The Skimmers themselves could communicate with one another across space time, but then their thoughts would need to be converted to digital format by humans. That might take only seconds, but seconds could be the difference between life and death in a military situation. Q-comm communication was by default digital. Anything FET12 knew, so did Time Gate 1. Time Gate 1 could relay that data to every gate and Q-comm connected ship faster than the speed of light, and from there, relay it to every etherly-connected human at lightspeed. Volka’s brow furrowed. The Skimmers and humans spoke two different languages.