Admiral Wolf

by C. Gockel

  Gazing at the orange glow, she whispered, “It’s just … it’s supposedly an honor … and yet … with everything going on, with the threat of the Dark, it seems meaningless, trivial even.”

  Alaric caught her chin and brought her eyes back to his. “It’s not trivial, Alexis. Maybe if they know more about The People, they will be less likely to surrender, less likely to attempt to appease.”

  She pressed her lips together.

  “I know you will make a brilliant case for the cause,” Alaric whispered, and kissed her—not just because it was true, but because he wanted to, and wanted her. Her lips softened beneath his. Without breaking the kiss, he gently lifted Solomon from her hand and deposited the tiny werfle on the high-backed chair. They had to fight what battles they could, claim what victories they could, and take pleasure while they could. Worse was yet to come.

  38

  Hund of War

  Galactic Republic: System 5 New Grande

  Davies and 6T9 followed Michael and the RussianDoll Mila through a narrow alley. To their left was the abandoned System 5 Interstellar Bank Building. To their right was a warehouse. Four of 6T9’s team of Q-comm-less ‘bots were tagging behind them. The rest were either out of power or were quarantining newly Infected.

  Halting at the corner where the alleyway intersected a wide boulevard, Mila peered around the corner. Sometime during the day, the RussianDoll had exchanged her evening gown for a pleather jacket, trousers, shirt with a print of a popular animated holo character, and athletic shoes. She held their One companion, a small, gray cat, in her arms. “The front door is slightly ajar—that must be how they got in—but the way is clear.”

  Davies immediately went around her, dropped to one knee, and raised his rifle.

  Repositioning herself on Davies’s head, Mao lashed her tail.

  6T9 translated her message to Davies. “She says there is no one on the first floor. She doesn’t think they intend to come out.”

  Davies grunted and didn’t move.

  Mao mewed. “Biscuit is coming with the robot hound. We could use the firepower.”

  Touching her temple, Mila said, “We wouldn’t need their extra firepower if I was allowed to kill.” She scowled, not meeting 6T9’s eyes.

  6T9 didn’t regret that decision and didn’t bother to explain himself. He was busy. New Grande’s public ether boards were buzzing.

  “No way am I leaving. That’s admitting that the terrorists won.”

  “I think our family will go to our vacation home on Neela Chaand until things settle a bit.”

  “Not everyone can afford a second home on Orbital 8’s moon!”

  “I can’t believe they even debated offering Infected to the terrorists.”

  “Who was the idiot who thought of it?”

  “Idiot? Psychopath more like it.”

  6T9 switched off the channel. Along the wide boulevard before them, streetlights winked on, and the buildings across the street came into view. They were midrise residential flats, ranging from six to nine stories high, each about a third as wide as the bank. The flats were partially obscured by balconies, but the first two floors were retail shops with glass walls and doors. 6T9 could see the front of the bank reflected in them. In the alley they hid in, the walls were solid, unadorned dark red brick, chipped with age, and uninterrupted by windows. The front of the bank was very different.

  The first two meters were made of pale orange polycrete, the same color as the canyon walls. Although worn by time, elaborate reliefs featuring the farmers, tradesmen, and spacefarers of the early colony were still visible on its surface. The polycrete, and its nuevo-futuristic depictions, curled around what once had been doors and massive windows, that were now covered over by gray cement. At the top of the building the polycrete appeared again, although there, the decoration was a pattern of stylized fields, circuit boards, and engines. Between the polycrete reliefs, the building was made of the same dark red brick as the alley, chipping and crumbling along with the building’s mortar. “It was the bank’s flagship branch.” Michael’s voice became wistful. “I know about it from an architectural history class. Work on a nearby transportation tunnel damaged the foundation. It’s too expensive to fix, but someone always protests tearing it down.”

  It was illogical to keep such a building standing, but 6T9 understood. The polycrete reliefs were completely unnecessary, and yet 6T9’s Q-comm fired with the desire to study them. His Q-comm started recreating how the reliefs had appeared before wind, rain, and freezing temperatures had smoothed them. The roar of hover engines made him cut the simulation short.

  Davies whistled. “There she goes.”

  A Fleet transport vessel they’d helped fill was rising in the air. Smaller, private vessels flitted around it, and its ascent was at first agonizingly slow. Some air traffic controller must have broadcast its course, because seconds later, the transport’s path abruptly cleared. The roar of the transport’s engines increased, and her ascent accelerated. In a few minutes, all that was visible were her lights, and she could be mistaken for a star in the darkening sky.

  6T9’s circuits lit with fulfillment. There were at least three hundred civilians on her. Other Fleet transports were charting the same course. The smaller vessels, with less powerful hover engines and modest time bands that couldn’t counteract gravity as well, were slipping southward toward the equator, where they’d use the planet’s rotation to propel themselves out of atmosphere. A few hovers were charting courses inland. Fortresses against the cold existed there, clustered around geothermal vents and sheltered in valleys too small to support massive settlements. 6T9 hoped they would be safe.

  Over the ether, Biscuit’s channel buzzed, “Yeehaw!” and Kurz came bounding down the alley with the orange tabby on its back. Wagging his tail, his mouth opened in a facsimile of a pant or a dog smile. The dampeners of the weapons duct taped to the dog were glowing, already ready to fire. FireMan, as the Q-comm-sporting ManNUniform liked to be known, was at their heels. He hadn’t changed his clothes—or even zipped up his coat.

  Fifteen seconds later, Falade and Lang appeared with Lolita. The human and weere were jogging. The BarelyLegal sex ‘bot was … flouncing. She still wore her school uniform and still had her lollipop. She winked at 6T9 as she approached.

  Addressing The One, Sixty asked, “Six Infected inside, correct?”

  The gray cat hissed. “I think I was wrong.”

  “It’s difficult to say,” said Mao. “Their consciousnesses are all blended together. It’s hard to tell one from another.”

  The humans shivered. The One on their respective mounts just blinked their jewel-like eyes.

  Biscuit added, “I would say at least eighteen.”

  Mao bobbed. “I think that is right.”

  Michael and Mila glanced at the gray cat.

  Mao hissed on Davies’s shoulder. “Lizzar droppings, there’s only one way to solve this properly. Put me down, Servant!”

  6T9 cleared his throat. “Would you please put the kitten on the ground, Davies?”

  Davies held up a hand, and Mao stepped onto his palm. The sergeant lowered the kitten to the ground, and Mao scampered over to a rat-sized hole 6T9 hadn’t even noticed.

  “You can’t go in there, Cat!” Davies blurted, but Mao had already disappeared.

  “He’s no bigger than the rat that made that hole,” Davies said, shaking his head.

  6T9’s eyebrow rose. Davies sounded almost protective of the creature he swore he hated. But he didn’t have time to ponder it. Was the estimate of their enemy’s numbers going to triple again in the next five minutes? “I’m calling backup.” With a thought, he sent the request to Fleet and received acknowledgement. He accessed the architectural drawings. “According to the original plans, there were four exits.”

  Inclining his head down the boulevard, Michael said, “Except for that one, they’re all bolted shut. We left sex ‘bots outside of them just in case.”

  According to
the building’s original plans, in the front there had once been an immense glass entrance. Now there was just a rusted metal door, ominously a few centis ajar. 6T9 accessed satellite data. “The roof is empty, and all the windows are cemented over. We’ll cover the door until Fleet reinforcements arrive. Then we’ll help them take the building.”

  “We’ll take positions here.” 6T9 gestured to the boulevard. “And—”

  FireMan dashed past 6T9 in a blur. “I’ll make sure the door stays shut.” Reaching the metal door, he spun and leaned sideways against it, crossing his arms, lowering his chin, and smirking at the team. “Do I look hot?”

  “What is wrong with you?” Lang hissed, and 6T9 pictured his wolf ears folding back.

  “Nothing, Darling. Every centimeter of me is perfect,” FireMan replied with a wink.

  Lang sputtered more than was necessary in 6T9’s opinion.

  Sex ‘bots were curious about humans’ responses to sexual overtures, and 6T9’s sex ‘bot programming fired off queries—that 6T9 cut short. Instead, 6T9 commanded Michael, “We’ll also take positions in the alleyways adjacent. You and Mila at the far alley there, and Lang and Falade across the way.” Michael nodded, and then he and Mila headed around the corner.

  Falade and Lang almost followed him, but movement across the street to 6T9’s right caught his eye, and he held out a hand. A man and a woman were emerging from an alley kitty-corner to their location. They were dressed as civilians and carrying large bulk toilet paper, which would be an odd disguise for the Infected. Still, 6T9 lifted his rifle.

  “They’re not Infected,” Biscuit mewed.

  6T9 put the rifle down and stepped out from the shelter of the alley.

  Michael paused and shouted, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Flushing, the man shouted right back. “What does it look like?”

  “There are terrorists in this building and on the streets. Go home!” 6T9 ordered.

  At that, thirteen humans, ranging in age from pre-teens to their thirties, emerged down the block from the left, heading toward the first pair. They paused at 6T9’s words, and the first pair halted.

  “Home’s exactly where we’re going!” the woman protested.

  “Go around!” 6T9 ordered to the pair and the others. No one moved.

  The first man said to the woman, “Place has been sealed up for years. It’s safe.” The two began walking past the team, and the other group came toward the first.

  “Carmichael’s open?” One of the newcomers asked.

  “Yep,” said the first man, gaze darting darkly to 6T9.

  6T9 stepped toward the first pair, now past him, rifle coming up again. In the corner of his eye he saw Davies signal to Falade and Lang, and they fell into step behind 6T9.

  “You gonna shoot us?” the man asked, not breaking stride.

  6T9 heard Davies ask, “The stores are open?”

  And Michael reply, “No.”

  After slowing and lowering his weapon, 6T9’s Q-comm sparked. “Did you steal this toilet paper?”

  The first two humans’ eyes went wide. The other group sped up, someone muttering. “Nebulas, hurry.”

  6T9 sighed. He did not want to shoot anyone for stealing toilet paper. “Rusted gears” was on the tip of his tongue, but before the words could leap from his lips, an explosion ripped from above. The next instant, the world was a storm of gray cement chunks and dust. Someone coughed. An instant after, the gray was pierced by orange streaks of phaser fire.

  A woman screamed and then was silent. Flames and black smoke were all that 6T9 saw in the space the man had been. When he looked up, 6T9 still saw nothing but dust.

  “They killed them. Fleet killed them!” someone shouted. He heard people running. Phaser fire shone above him, the dust cleared slightly, and 6T9 saw that a window that had been cemented over had been blown open. Phaser fire ripped in both directions, and Mao’s voice screamed over the ether. “Get inside! It’s clear here.”

  6T9 leaped back to the wall of the bank. FireMan pulled the door open. 6T9 saw a shadow emerging in the window above. Shouting, “FireMan, move!” 6T9 fired his rifle at the shadow.

  FireMan looked up, and then was knocked over by the man 6T9 had just shot as he fell from the window.

  “You should have ordered me to move out of the way!” FireMan complained, struggling to rise. Another shadow was appearing above but was shot down by Davies. The man tumbled by 6T9’s feet. Michael, instead of running toward the door, jogged backward across the street, improving his angle but making himself exposed. A shadow moved above, but Michael was already firing from across the street into the bank. A strangled choke came from the building. More civilians screamed and fell. 6T9 aimed at the window, but the Infected had retreated inside.

  Behind 6T9, Lang whined, “Falade, get up!” There was another muffled explosion, and a shower of dust and much bigger chunks of cement. “Falade’s down! Rock hit his neck.”

  “Get him back here!” Davies shouted, and the next instant Davies was behind 6T9, pushing him in the door.

  “Michael!” 6T9 shouted over the screams of civilians, explosions, phaser fire, and breaking glass.

  “He’s fine!” Davies replied. “Girl ‘bot got something for him to hide behind.”

  The smoke cleared just enough to see what Davies was talking about. Michael was shooting at the windows from behind an enormous metal dumpster tipped on its side. Civilians were running for its shelter, and Mila was dragging someone behind it. Another explosion ripped from above. Michael’s voice rang over the ether. “The Infected are starting to fire into the flats across the street!”

  “Stay where you are, do what you can,” 6T9 replied over the ether.

  Turning to Davies, 6T9 touched his own chest, pointed at Davies’s chest, and then up.

  Davies nodded in understanding. They weren’t waiting for backup; they were going to try to take out the remaining Infected now.

  At just that moment, Kurz came bounding in, Biscuit on his back. “Android General 1, I am here to help!” the robot dog declared, body wagging, tail thwapping against the wall loud enough to be heard over the din.

  6T9 winced. So much for stealth.

  The phaser fire abruptly ceased. And then a voice 6T9 remembered too well from the Copperhead pirate ship, and the Dark’s promise of revenge just days ago echoed down from above. The original Android General 1 laughed. “Android General 1, you stole our name. Now you will pay.”

  39

  Unwinnable War

  Standing just outside the stone walls and iron gates of the Luddeccean Embassy in Chicago, Captain Orion Smith raised his chin and shivered. The Luddecceans had chosen a fortress of a building on the city’s Lake Shore Drive. Nebulas, it even had a bloody turret. Glancing up, he caught sight of a man with a rifle in a window edged with frost.

  Orion pressed a buzzer in the stone wall that was perhaps only slightly newer than the building. A sharp frigid wind blew from the lake, carrying icy flakes of snow that glittered in the bright winter sunlight. Perfect.

  The iron gates swung open, and four guards appeared. Three were human, one was a male weere, all wore Galactican armor. They’d glued their names and rank insignias to their shoulder plates. Not that he needed that information; he’d downloaded intel on all of them and also had met them before, and committed the basics of his last interaction and impressions to his own eidetic memory app. None of them was over nineteen. The weere was seventeen. They were children … with firearms.

  One of the humans barked, “Is it him?”

  Lifting his head as though sniffing the air, though he wore his visor down, the weere gazed at Orion with disturbingly orange eyes. “It is, and he isn’t infected.”

  One of the humans came forward and patted him down; another ran a scanner over him. Orion was relaxed through the ordeal. He knew they’d find nothing they’d recognize. Finishing quickly, they pulled away. Jerking his chin, eyes not leaving Orion’s, the first man said, “
Go ahead.”

  Snapping his hands behind his back, stepping through the gate, he winced only slightly when his ethernet connection cut out. They were jamming him and thinking they were clever. Shaking his head, he continued up the walk. The gates clanged behind him, and another frigid blast of wind hit him with icy flakes like knives. Behind his back, he opened his hands, releasing a handful of tiny, etherless spy devices, each no larger than the tip of a pen. If they were seen, they’d be mistaken for the sparkle of sun on snow. Slipping his hands into his pockets as though to ward off the chill, he climbed the front stoop, and his fingers were enveloped by more of the devices. They were as insubstantial as dust, and if they’d been seen during the pat down they would have been mistaken for that, or perhaps glitter.

  The door opened, and he brought his hands out once more. He was met by the ambassador’s aide. He was dressed in the Luddeccean Guard’s Dress Greens. An inset reminded him the aide was a lieutenant, first class; last name, Susilo. Orion’s downloaded intel reminded him that Susilo was only twenty-four. The lack of a neural interface made him appear even younger. The aide greeted him with a tight smile and bowed slightly. Returning the bow, Orion flexed his fingers, as though trying to stimulate his circulation. More spy devices caught in the air currents coursing from a nearby vent. If they were seen, they’d be mistaken for dust motes.

  He continued to flex his fingers as the aide led him through several sitting rooms to the Office of Ambassador Zucker. Zucker was sitting at a desk, sunlight from a large, stained glass window burnishing his shoulders. He wore the robes of a Luddeccean Priest. Orion’s download reminded him that Zucker held dual “doctorates” in computer science and theology. Zucker had earned his place at university-seminary by enlisting in the Luddeccean Guard. He’d made it as far as sergeant. The only thing that might be considered diplomatic experience in Zucker’s history was a hostage negotiation with pirates during his enlistment. Only forty-one, his lack of a neural interface was accented by a receding hairline.