by C. Gockel
Alexis returned her focus to the woman. As in the coffee shop, her eyes were red rimmed. “I appreciated your … your … lecture, Professor.” She gave a wan smile and offered her hand.
Alexis took it, hesitantly. “Thank you, but I am not—” Her hand brushed the other woman’s and in the cool, smooth, uncalloused grip, Alexis felt a piece of paper. “—a professor, per se.”
“Please …” The woman wrapped her other hand around Alexis’s, pressing the paper more firmly into her palm. “Please … I appreciated it, very much.”
Alexis’s heart beat wildly. Hadn’t she read about poison on paper entering the bloodstream through the skin?
James Sinclair’s voice rose in the book shop. “Doctor Zeller?”
The woman released Alexis’s hand and turned to James and Noa, standing just outside the shop with Alaric and Alexis’s boys. Sam and Lucas were busily putting away ice cream, Markus was in a stroller gumming some old-fashioned keys. Solomon was at Markus’s feet. He’d risen to his hind paws, and his bewhiskered nose was pointed in Alexis’s direction.
Should Alexis drop the paper? Say something? Solomon shook his head in the negative. Alexis slipped it into her pocket instead.
“Ah … Mr. Sinclair … Admiral Sato,” the woman, Dr. Zeller, said. She bowed slightly.
“We heard about your family,” Noa said. “We are so sorry.” She had a lovely, rich voice that conveyed so much emotion in the simple words.
“Yes,” Sinclair said. “You have our condolences.” Alexis had grown, despite herself, to like the android. He was witty and always polite. He passed as human, for the most part, and had played human for their sons’ sakes. It could be dangerous for them if it became known on Luddeccea that they had an “Uncle James” who was a machine. But his words now gave him away. They seemed wooden and by rote.
The woman’s lips twitched as though she were trying to smile but couldn’t manage it. “Yes, well … I have just been from there …” Her expression became cloudy. “The memorial and … and tying up loose ends.”
“Of course,” said Admiral Sato gently.
Zeller’s eyes fell on Alexis’s children in a look of palpable longing. “I … well … It’s still a long way to home,” she said. She nodded at Alexis and Alaric, who’d come to her side, and again at Noa and James, and then left very quickly.
“She needs ice cream,” Lucas observed. “She’s sad.”
Noa frowned and patted his head. “She had some bad news.”
“A colleague of yours?” Alaric asked.
Pulling her hand away from Lucas, Noa wrapped it around herself. “More of an acquaintance, really.”
James scowled. “Yes.”
Alexis liked Noa and James, as they insisted on being called. They had been wonderful hosts the past few weeks. Although Noa had been very busy with the situation in System 3, she’d joined them whenever she could. At first, Alexis had been sure their kindness was just a very clever facade, a way to win them over to defection. But when Alaric and she had made it clear they were going home, the couple had understood, been gracious, and their kindness hadn’t diminished. They still spoiled their children.
However, now Alexis felt a prickle at the back of her neck. She liked them, but they were lying.
Volka walked with Sixty along a balcony lined with offices in the Fleet section of Time Gate 1. She clutched her stomach; it was so empty it was painful.
Hopping along the railing beside them, Carl said, “Butter rats would be more delicious.”
Volka groaned. “I’m too hungry to hunt, Carl. I want to eat now.”
“It would take you hardly any time to catch one,” Carl persisted.
“Presumptive of you to suggest she’d be the one catching the rat, Weasel,” Sixty said.
“I’m overlord. It would be my due,” Carl retorted.
Volka rolled her eyes. Sixty met her gaze, grinned, squeezed her hand, and didn’t let it go. She’d said yes to his offer of courtship. On the one hand, it had felt like a step back, less a certainty than an engagement. On the other hand, their engagement had been uncertain. Sixty had run away, because of jealousy he wasn’t supposed to feel and malevolence that was new. She didn’t think for a moment that he really would have killed Alaric, but she didn’t want to marry someone who ran away or didn’t trust her. It had scared her, turned her world inside out. Sixty promised he wouldn’t do it again, not that he wouldn’t run off to lead a ‘bot army if he had to, but that if he did, he’d say goodbye. She was still a little scared—but she wanted not to be.
So … courtship. “Dating with the intent, but not obligation, to marry,” as Sixty had described it. “Time to get used to our new apps.” It was really the way things were before, but with hand holding and kissing.
6T9 blinked and whispered, “Ether call from FET12,” and tapped his temple. “FET12, we’re coming. The reservation isn’t for another twenty minutes.” There was a pause. Volka couldn’t read android minds—or code—or processors, but she had a fairly good idea of what was being said. FET12 had become … protective.
Sixty scowled and answered the lecture she was sure he was receiving. “Don’t be ridiculous; Carl is with us.”
“I wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to practice baby making around me—” Carl said.
Volka’s face heated. Sixty shot a glare in Carl’s direction.
Carl sighed. “But they’re behaving in a perfectly respectable manner, FET12, even by Luddeccean standards.”
FET12 had designated himself guardian of Volka’s virtue. “Not that there would normally be anything bad in premarital sex,” he’d explained, “but you’re monogamous. I’ve studied this matter in depth, and it’s not worth the emotional risk. Wait for him to commit it to his code. I’ll review it for bugs.”
“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Sixty said. “What? No, I agree, no matter how hungry she is, don’t let Shissh eat any ice cream. You remember what happened last time.” Volka blanched; Carl shuddered so violently he almost fell from the balcony. Sundancer must have been listening in, because Volka felt the ship flicker anxiously.
“I don’t know how you stop her … maybe the restaurant can give her a femur to gnaw on while you wait?” Sixty suggested. “Okay, great. See you soon.”
He dropped his hand from his temple. A flicker of annoyance flashed across his face, but then vanished and smoothed into something … thoughtful, maybe? She didn’t know what he was thinking—it would be boring if she did.
Carl abruptly stopped his hopping, peered down from the balcony, and declared, “Hey, schmancy!”
Volka and Sixty stopped beside him and peered down at the scene below. There were rows of Fleet Officers in dress uniforms lined up facing a not-impressive looking shuttle. She blinked, and the shuttle’s lower hatch opened. A stream of Luddeccean Guard in Dress Greens emerged. They formed two parallel lines. Between them marched two officers—both with ribbons Volka thought marked them as pilots. At the same time, from the opposite direction, a presence tickled Volka’s consciousness.
Noa and James, and Alaric, Alexis, and their boys came into view.
Sixty put his free hand on the balcony. “The Darmadis.”
There was something about Sixty’s tone—something robotic—that made Volka look at him instead of the scene below. He didn’t notice. His eyes were on the Darmadis. His face, normally so expressive and human, was completely blank.
“Sixty?” she whispered.
Turning to her, he blinked. He hadn’t been blinking, she realized. That was part of the reason he’d looked dangerous.
Bringing her hand to his mouth, he kissed her knuckles. “They’re leaving.” He looked below again and frowned, and seeing that emotion, even negative emotion, was comforting. For a minute … for a minute, she’d almost believed he could have killed Alaric. She swallowed. Hadn’t Alaric believed he could?
One of the office doors behind them opened. Volka knew without turning that it was Captain O
rion Smith. He came over to the balcony’s edge and shook his head, his emotions a mixture of regret and schadenfreude.
Volka flicked her ears, trying to keep Orion’s thoughts out of her mind. She focused on the scene below with her ordinary senses. She thought the Darmadis all looked sad. Her ears perked. Alexis was keeping her eyes lowered, but they would occasionally dart from side-to-side, as though she were nervous. She was nervous. Volka couldn’t keep from knowing it … but forced herself not to pry.
The family, even Lucas and Sam, bowed to Noa and James. Noa and James returned the bow. It was all perfectly formal. Alaric gestured for Alexis to go before him, and she began pushing Markus toward the shuttle in a smart new stroller, Sam and Lucas beside her, her footsteps very quick. Volka leaned closer. Alexis was hiding something, and yet, all Volka saw in her mind was a blank page. How curious.
Carl’s voice whispered in her mind, “Leave it alone, Hatchling.”
Volka flushed and tried to use only her eyes. Alaric was hesitating. He raised a foot, as though about to follow, when James said in a deadpan voice, “Goodbye, Luddite.”
Volka couldn’t help but feel the immense effort Alaric put into not smiling. In an equally dry tone, he replied, “If I never see you again, Mechanical Monstrosity, it will be too soon.”
James put his hands behind his back and lifted his chin, and she did see a smile—a hint of one, anyway. Alaric spun too quickly to see his expression—but the exchange had left him happy.
The Luddeccean Guardsmen filed after the Darmadis, their boots clicking smartly on the deck, and the echoes creating quite a din.
Shaking his head, Captain Smith tsked. “I warned them, an android wasn’t a good fit as liaison. Sinclair failed to establish rapport.”
Volka’s mouth dropped open.
Sixty’s head jerked back, and his brow furrowed. “Are you kidding? They might as well have made out in front of everyone.”
Captain Smith blinked.
One of Volka’s ears went sideways. Sixty got the gist of the situation, but that wasn’t exactly how she would have put it. The surprise made it better. She laughed. “Yes.”
“Is something wrong?” Alaric asked Alexis.
The note from Dr. Zeller burned in her hand. They were in a conference room aboard the Luddeccean Net-Drive ship. The boys—and Solomon—were being taken on a tour by one of the junior officers. Markus was asleep in his new stroller. Outside the porthole, Time Gate 8’s broken ring glowed faintly. They’d dock there shortly, and her family and their belongings would be searched. She could just turn the note over when she was questioned … and yet … she remembered Ran’s probing before she left. Once she would have thought that Luddeccea was incorruptible, united as they were by a common cause in a way the Republic was not. Ran’s actions could be rationalized as a way to assure Luddeccea remained united, that he had merely been doing his job: finding out if Alaric was defecting … and yet …
Who could she trust?
“Alexis?” Alaric asked.
She looked up at her husband, sitting at a computer console a few paces away. She still didn’t understand him—calling James Sinclair a “mechanical monstrosity” in front of everyone. Granted, James had called him a “Luddite” in front of same, but Alaric wasn’t in control of Sinclair’s actions, only his own. It had been so improper at such a solemn proceeding. He was such a … such a … farm boy.
And yet, he’d given up everything he ever loved for his duty to his family and to his homeworld.
She bit her lip. Maybe she was being over dramatic. Maybe she had nothing to protect. “I was thinking of Dr. Zeller.”
Alaric’s face became very serious. “What a coincidence.”
Alexis cocked her head. “How so?”
For a moment Alaric stared at her, his expression so hard it could have been carved of stone. Again, Alexis felt that he was a stranger. But then, beckoning her to come over, he pulled away from the console so she could see it.
Her husband had been thinking of Dr. Zeller, too. The woman’s face was on the monitor, as well as what looked like an encyclopedia article on her, though it had the Luddeccean Guard’s logo at the top. Alexis skimmed the woman’s Ph.Ds, but did note Zeller was close to eighty years old. Her eyes caught on “One of the lead researchers in the Galactic Republic’s quantum teleportation fueled fusion weapons.”
Alexis wasn’t sure what that meant, but it sounded dangerous. “Teleportation fueled fusion weapons.”
Alaric exhaled and rubbed his temple. “Quantum teleportation fueled fusion weapons. The Dark used conventional fission bombs in New Grande. It attempted to land more, but only managed three—the Republic was able to destroy the others before they hit atmosphere. They were relatively easy to spot … being … well, conventionally large.”
“Quantum teleportation fueled fusion weapons are … smaller?” Alexis guessed.
Alaric stared at the screen. “The size and mass of a man’s fist, with all the firepower of one of the missiles that landed on New Grande.” He smiled thinly. “It is technology Luddeccea hasn’t been able to steal.”
Alexis squeezed the slip of folded paper in her hand. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears. “Alaric,” Alexis whispered, “She gave me this.” Alexis handed him the slip of paper. It was the wrapping from a candy bar. Old creases were visible along its surface—as though it had once been crumpled to be thrown away—but it had been folded smooth when Zeller had given it to her. Galacticans didn’t write on paper, unless it was for artistic purposes. Alexis imagined she’d used the wrapper to hide it from her guards. Alaric stared at it quizzically.
“Open it,” Alexis whispered.
Alaric unfolded the scrap. One of his eyebrows rose as he read the note. His hand found hers. “I did say, Alexis, that you’d save the galaxy.” He didn’t smile or even look up at her, and his hand squeezed hers with too much force. Alexis shivered, reading the note again. The printed letters were oddly childlike and wavering, as though their author was used to typing or simply thinking the missives they meant to share … or as though she’d written the message in fury.
The Dark murdered my family.
The Republic does nothing.
Help me defect, and I will help Luddeccea obliterate the Darkness.
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