From where he was scraping dishes, 6T9 piped up, “She still could have practiced!” Eliza tittered at that, but Noa’s eyes were riveted to the page. Beneath Grace’s obituary, were more … and she said, “I recognize one of the names.” She closed her eyes. Her hand went to her stomach.
“Who?” said Eliza.
“Manuel,” said Noa. “Oliver Manuel.”
“He was only eighteen months old … ” said Eliza.
“I knew his parents,” Noa rubbed her eyes and began pulling their address up in her mind. The location gave her a start; it was worth risking Eliza’s driving for. “Eliza, get ready to fly your hover. We’ll go offer our condolences to his parents.”
Eliza looked at her watch. “Noa, there will be a curfew tonight; we won’t make it back in time.”
Noa looked down at the picture of Oliver Manuel. “They’ll help us,” she whispered. “And if they don’t help us, no one will.”
And no one else lived as close to her little brother.
James was flat on his stomach in the boot of Eliza’s hover. Noa was beside him, and 6T9 on the far side of her. The back seat was pushed down so they could stretch. Eliza was driving, Carl Sagan hopping on and off her lap. If Eliza was stopped, they could pull the seat back up quickly and curl into fetal position and in Noa’s words, “Pray they don’t search the vehicle.”
“This thing itches,” Noa said, scratching at the base of a pink wig Eliza had loaned her. Eliza had also loaned both of them her makeup. The tan liquids and powders made James look darker and Noa look lighter, and both of them look pasty and unnatural, but they were going to need to get out of the hover at the Manuels’ residence, and were bound to be seen.
“How are you not itching?” Noa demanded, turning her head in his direction.
James touched the blue wig he wore self-consciously. “It’s no different than wearing a hat.”
“It is a lot different than wearing a hat,” Noa protested. “It feels like I’m wearing a hot, tight helmet filled with fleas!”
“We could be doing much more exciting things with our bodies in this tight confined space than tear at your wigs,” 6T9 said, without any apparent segue.
Rolling onto her stomach, and in the process, closer to James, Noa shouted at Eliza, “He just touched my ass! Did you not turn off his flirt app?”
“I may have forgotten,” said Eliza. “I like him flirty, and the pink wig may be confusing him. His processor is old.”
Noa slid even closer to James, the full length of her side pressing against his. He was less repellent than a sex ‘bot. He wasn’t precisely relieved.
“6T9,” snapped Noa. “It’s me, not Eliza, keep your hands off.”
“Oh, it is you, Noa,” James heard 6T9 say. “I’m finding the strange locale, the wig, and the makeup confusing.”
“How can you get me confused with Eliza when she’s right there, in the front seat?” Noa said.
6T9’s skull started making a beeping sound.
“Don’t overload his circuits, Noa!” Eliza snapped, turning her head in their direction.
“Keep your eyes on the sky!” James and Noa screamed in unison.
“Turn your eyes on me anytime you want, my darling,” said 6T9.
Eliza blew him kisses, and the frantic beeping from 6T9’s skull stopped.
“Oh, Lord, if we succeed, we’ll have this day in, day out,” Noa said, slapping a hand over her face. The hover stopped abruptly and Noa, James, and 6T9 nearly flew into the front seats.
“That hover came out of nowhere,” Eliza said.
Noa sighed. When the craft resumed its journey, she nudged James with an elbow. “You’ve been unusually quiet.”
He tried to think of a witty reply, and couldn’t.
“Aren’t you going to tell me how ridiculous my plan is?” Noa asked him.
“I have already stated my objections to your so-called plan,” James said. Noa intended to show up at the Manuels’ door without giving them any prior notice. James believed it would be better to approach them incrementally—send Eliza over, have her gently probe and see if they were dissatisfied enough with the administration to leave. Noa had agreed with him, but then said they didn’t have time, and that had been the end of it.
“You never listen to my objections,” James commented.
“I listen, I take them into account. I just never agree,” said Noa.
James stared up at the roof of the craft. What was he doing here? His vision darkened. He’d failed. Failed at what? His head ticked rapidly three times to the side.
“Hey,” Noa whispered. “You okay?”
The compulsive movement ceased. James lay mute for a moment. The proper response was, I’m wanted by fundamentalist Luddeccean lunatics, stuffed in the boot of a hover with another Luddeccean lunatic and a sex ‘bot being driven by someone who isn’t fit to park it in a garage. Of course I am not okay. He felt as though his consciousness was condensing again. It was so cold in the hover. Did Eliza really need the air at full blast? But all he said was, “I’m hungry.” As he said the words, he realized they were true, and his vision was getting fuzzy at the edges again.
Noa’s brow furrowed. “You just ate … ”
He shook his head in annoyance. “I was there, I remember.”
“We’re here!” 6T9 shouted.
The hover started wavering wildly, and Noa and James slid across the floor toward 6T9. “Just let me land this thing!” Eliza shouted.
Noa put her head under her arms in a crash position. The craft lurched sideways, and James rapidly assumed the same pose. 6T9 crooned, “Darling, you drive like you’re in the Mars Rally 6000.”
The Mars Rally 6000 was a demolition rally. James blinked beneath his arms. “Well, he isn’t wrong.”
Noa huffed in what sounded like a laugh, but then the hover hit ground, bounced, and bounced again and all James could hear was Noa’s and his teeth rattling, 6T9’s head bouncing, and a frantic-sounding squeak from Carl Sagan. James thought the worst was over when Eliza cut the engines, but then the hover settled down before the risers could engage. Metal screeched against metal. James felt as though his eardrums and the auditory regions of his brain were burning with agitation.
He barely had time to catch his breath or for his frantic nanos and neurons to cool before Noa said, “Let’s go,” and slipped over to open the side hatch. Mercifully warm air from outdoors flooded the hover.
James considered just lying on the floor with his head down.
“James, are you alright?” 6T9 said, scooting closer. “If you were injured during the landing, I give excellent back massages.” James hastily scrambled to his knees and crawled out of the side hatch after Noa, Carl Sagan hot on his heels. Noa was already at the door to the Manuels’ residence, hand on a brass knocker. The building was a two-story white stucco townhome with red tiles. It and its identical neighbors had covered balconies on both levels to shield the windows from the equatorial sun. Beneath the sheltered stoop, the light at the corner of the porch was already on; its blue-white glow made Noa’s pink wig appear almost lavender. James reached her just as she let the knocker fall. She stood facing straight ahead, back straight, eyes on the door’s peephole. James looked around, surveying the surroundings. The Manuels’ home was on a cul-de-sac, set off of a narrow street. All the townhomes on the cul-de-sac and street had narrow front lawns with palm-like trees near the street, and neat sidewalks paved with recycled glass of various colors. Each had a short driveway in the front; Eliza had managed to land her hover squarely at the center of the Manuels’.
James tilted his head, listening—the sun was close to setting and the nocturnal pterys were starting to sing their songs. A rustling in the ferns close to the house made him turn sharply—just in time to see a white cat dart across the street. At Noa’s feet, Carl Sagan stood up on his back four legs and hissed at it. Other than himself and Noa, he saw no humans outside, but he did see a few children’s toys left on the lawns. There w
ere none in front of the Manuels’ house, he noted. Noa had promised that the Manuels would help them. Their son had been born with a faulty heart that had had to be replaced regularly with artificial devices as the boy grew. Noa was certain the Luddeccean philosophy had managed to kill the boy.
“Can you hear if anyone’s home, James?” Noa muttered. She scratched at the base of her pink wig, and then adjusted the dark glasses she wore.
James turned his attention to the door and tried to focus. The ptery’s cries seemed to increase in volume, the cat that he knew was four meters away sounded as though it was just a few steps behind him, and the sound of Eliza being helped out of the hover by 6T9 was deafening. His head jerked to the side, and those extraneous sounds faded. Behind the door he heard the very faint sound of breathing.
“Someone is home,” he said.
Noa looked around. Turning back to the door, she took off her glasses, spit on her fingers, and rubbed a long stripe across her cheek.
Behind the door, James heard a gasp. And then a soft voice. “It’s—Commander Noa Sato. Go quickly!”
He heard feet racing from the door inside the house. And then he heard the sound of marching boots. In the cul-de-sac he couldn’t see anyone, but he estimated they couldn’t be more than 400 meters away. There were no gaps between the houses; the ferns were too small.
“Patrol on the way,” Noa said, evidently hearing it, too.
The door swung inward just as the words were out of her mouth. A man stood there. He was of indeterminable ethnicity: brown skin, dark brown hair, light brown eyes and medium build, which was to say, normal. What wasn’t normal was the flare of his nostrils, and the sweat on his brow in the cool night air. Carl Sagan darted between his feet and into the house. The man didn’t appear to notice. He stared at Noa open-mouthed, and then his eyes swept to James, 6T9, and Eliza.
“Lieutenant Manuel—” Noa began softly.
The man waved them inside, whispering, “It’s almost curfew.”
Noa and James immediately entered, and Eliza and 6T9 followed. Just before they crossed the threshold, 6T9 swept the old woman into his arms and cooed, “Milady.”
“Hurry, darling!” said Eliza, for once not giggling at his flirtations. Thankfully, 6T9 didn’t argue—but the Lieutenant looked at him in alarm. A moment later, he shook his head and darted outside the house, slamming the door behind him. Outside, James heard the troopers turn into the cul-de-sac.
13
“Manuel?” said Noa as the door slammed behind her. She shivered, and not just because the Manuels seemed to have set the air conditioning too high. James grabbed her arm and pulled her back. From outside the house she heard the sound of breaking glass, and the slightest band of blue-white light peeking through the curtains disappeared. She heard loud footsteps over the sound of her heart, and almost immediately heard a Guardsman say, “You there, what are you doing? It’s past curfew!”
Inside, a woman’s voice whispered, “Grandmother, are you injured?”
“I’m fine,” Eliza whispered back.
Beyond the door, Noa heard Manuel say, “My porch light was blinking … broke the damn thing trying to replace it.”
The Guard’s voice went from accusing to solicitous. “Do you need help?”
“Yeah, that would be great.”
A second later, yellow light broke between the cracks in the curtain. The Guard said, “There you go. Just to follow procedure, may I see your identification?”
“Of course,” said Manuel.
“This way, all of you,” the woman whispered. Noa turned and saw a slender woman with long straight hair who must be Dr. Hisha Manuel. She was leading 6T9 to what looked like a small cluttered kitchen.
As he entered the kitchen just behind Noa, James muttered dryly, “I hope that they don’t invite the Guard in for milk and cookies.” Noa gave him a sidelong smile, but he was looking away from her.
“That would be crazy,” the woman whispered.
“Crazy like a fox,” said Eliza.
6T9 growled. “My silver fox.”
Hisha dropped her hand from the ‘bot’s arm. “You’re not her grandson?” Hisha asked in a cautious voice.
Gently setting Eliza down by a chair, 6T9 said cheerfully, “No, I am her personal cybernetic consort.”
The hand that hadn’t been on 6T9’s arm fluttered to Hisha’s chest. She looked between Noa, James, 6T9, and Eliza, swallowing audibly. The woman sidled to the sink. “My husband will be back in just a moment, Commander.” Looking away from Noa, she washed her hands in the sink—concentrating on the hand that had touched 6T9 … which … sadly, Noa sort of understood. Touching a walking, talking, sex toy was a little disquieting, although she knew intellectually sex ‘bots were programmed to practice scrupulous hygiene. Her eyes flitted to the ‘bot. He didn’t seem to have noticed the slight. Despite herself, Noa still felt for him. Which was why ‘bots were so dangerous. Worrying about ‘bots distracted people from worrying about their fellow humans.
The front door slammed, and Noa breathed out a sigh of relief when she heard only Manuel’s footsteps hurriedly coming down the hall. Standing straighter, Noa stepped forward. “I’m sorry about your loss,” she said, before anything else. Manuel raised his chin. When Tim had died, Noa had felt empty … afloat. Manuel looked angry, and something else; she couldn’t put her finger on it.
The engineer hadn’t changed much in the past few years. His hair had gone gray at the temples. It was longer, too. She noted it flopped over the spot where his neural interface was. He was sporting about three days’ worth of stubble; but he was still in decent shape, as was his wife, who was a doctor. She could be useful. And they would be motivated to help her … if Noa had correctly surmised the reason for their son’s death.
“You have a plan, Commander?” Manuel said.
“I have a plan to summon the Fleet,” Noa replied.
Smiling tightly, he said, “Commander, I hoped that you were coming to say they were on their way … that maybe by some miracle they were already on the edge of our system’s space.”
“No,” said Noa. “We have to go get them.”
Manuel’s eyes slipped to 6T9 and back to Noa. “Who is ‘we’?”
Noa didn’t flinch. “So far, only the people you see in this room—”
“ —and the ‘bot,” added Eliza hastily.
6T9 looked at Eliza. “Why are we summoning the Fleet?”
“6T9,” said Eliza. “Please shut down for now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the ‘bot said. He abruptly went silent; he’d been producing a barely audible hum, Noa realized. His eyes went dark.
Manuel looked at Noa, his forehead written with lines of concern. And then he took Hisha’s hand. They looked at each other; and, before Noa could say another word, Manuel said, “We’re in.”
“We’ll do anything,” Hisha said. There was desperation in her voice, not anger. To Noa it seemed too fast, too easy, and that didn’t feel right. But, if Manuel was going to turn them in, he would have done so already. Wouldn’t he? Noa’s eyes sought James’s, but he was looking at the ceiling. Her hands clenched at her sides. She wanted the Manuels’ help too much, but for the wrong reasons. Kenji was so close … the map of the city flashed in her visual cortex … if she could only get a chance to see him …
James said, “There’s someone upstairs,” and Noa snapped from her reverie.
“A cat!” said Hisha.
Noa’s shoulders relaxed, but then James said, “You are lying.” He stepped quickly to Noa’s side, but kept his eyes on the Manuels. She felt a warmth rising in her chest that she hadn’t felt since she’d returned to her home planet—trust—the kind of trust that only happened between comrades-at-arms.
Dipping her chin, Noa demanded, “What are you hiding?” An elaborate ruse to find out what her end game was?
It was Manuel’s turn to hold up his hands. She saw his Adam’s apple bob. “My son.”
Eliza gasped, a
nd Noa rolled back on her feet. James tilted his head. “But the obituary … ”
“False,” said Manuel.
“But the body … ” Noa said.
Hisha spoke. “It was an animatronic—a ‘bot someone had commissioned when their child died. I knew about it. They’re illegal now so I begged it off them and then faked a death certificate. Some of my patients had their augmented children taken away, or they just vanished. Oliver would have been next.”
Manuel took a step toward Noa. “Do you understand now, why we’ll do anything?” A baby’s cry from upstairs mournfully punctuated the question. Noa’s heart sank.
James paced through the house, listening for sounds outside, and occasionally peeked through the blinds. Since their arrival, he hadn’t seen nor heard more than a cat. He also listened as Noa related her plans to Manuel. Afterward, he heard Manuel say, “Dan Chow … don’t trust him; but you’re right, he needs to leave. Since he built the system that controls the ground defenses, he’s probably the best bet to shut them down. Still, you have the Local Guard to deal with. You need weapons … ”
“I was hoping you could help with that,” said Noa.
“And,” continued Manuel, “you need more than an electrical transformer station explosion to keep the Luddeccean Guard at bay while you steal the Ark.” A transformer explosion was an idea James and Noa had floated to distract the Guard.
James padded back to the kitchen and found Noa sitting at the table with the engineer and Eliza. Eliza had fallen asleep in her seat. She was leaning against 6T9. The ‘bot was standing beside her, hand on her slumped shoulder. 6T9 was in an energy-conserving “sleep mode.” Although he was upright, his eyes were dull and dry instead of shiny and wet. James hadn’t realized how much that contributed to a life-like appearance. 6T9 was also mercifully silent.
Rogue Stars Page 23
