by P. R. Adams
The bridge crew spun around and came to attention. As one, they shouted out, “All hail the Supreme Leader!”
Which drew those lips out into a pretty smile.
The doctrine officer wore her cap, black as her tailored jacket, with a glossy black bill. She was the only one authorized for such a ridiculous display. There was something somewhere that justified the uniform. Perhaps it was intimidation. Perhaps there were style points scored in the depths of space if someone who acted as the eyes and ears of the Supreme Leader looked impressive.
And Voegel did. Her creator had even more control over her design than Morganson’s creator had over the Children. The androids never had to worry about eating properly. They never had to worry about becoming intoxicated. Or saying something stupid.
They never had to worry about…anything.
Voegel twisted her torso. “Captain Morganson. All systems functional. A job well done.”
A gracious captain would pass along acknowledgement to his crew. Morganson drummed his fingers on the command console. He was no gracious captain. “I have done what I could with what the Supreme Leader has given me.”
“The greatest fleet ever fielded by any power, Captain.”
“Certainly one that presents a threat in theory.”
The doctrine officer’s head tilted. “There is a need to discuss the next order of business.”
“Actually, there is a need to radio back to Himmel.”
“That would not be advisable.”
“Advisable or not, it is necessary. We will have a full assessment complete within the hour, and that assessment will enable me to present the case for reinforcements or for mission abort.”
Francisco and Mencias gasped.
Yes, it was soft, but it was audible.
One would be trying to control his beating heart; the other would be dreaming of setting in the course to return home. Their adventure was complete.
But no retirement awaited them, and they knew it. They would die in service, like most of the military.
In the name of the Supreme Leader.
Voegel bowed her head. “Captain, it is the voice of the Supreme Commander that I speak with.”
Morganson’s vision blurred. “And what does he say, Commander?”
“His word must be spoken in private. Between only us.”
Just as there were no bars imprisoning the captain within the Spear, there was no collar around his neck, no leash running to Voegel’s dainty gloved hand. Yet when she turned, he was compelled to follow behind her, like a simple-minded mutt sniffing after a bitch in heat.
It wasn’t an actual compulsion anymore than it would have been an actual collar-and-leash. There was simply an understanding of hierarchy.
One of the Children—even one as accomplished as Morganson—could be replaced. The exact genetic sequence used to generate the child could be replicated and a fresh version could be made available in as little as three years. It would lack experience and sophistication, but tailored memories could be passed along.
And no one would mourn the loss of the original. No one.
But someone who was the eyes and ears of the Supreme Leader?
That was the same as being the Supreme Leader. There was no replacement for that cherished entity.
Except through actual replacement, of course. Morganson was in no position for that at the moment. He had suffered a serious setback. A lifetime of successes and excellence would be erased if he returned home empty-handed.
That was what Voegel would say to him. And he didn’t want to hear it.
She waved him through the hatch to his cabin, then followed, pulling off her gloves and setting them beside—
Oh. No.
The attaché case.
It seemed so much cooler inside the cabin then. The light dimmed. Silence that would normally reassure and comfort him seemed ready-made for screams he was sure no one could hear.
But she didn’t open the case. Instead, she pulled her cap off and set that down on top of the case. “Tell me, Bryce, what problem troubles you?”
“What…problem?”
“The orders for your fleet have been known from the start.”
“We cannot possibly overcome their defenses now. They know we remain out here. They have some means of detecting us.”
“Yet they have failed to do so.”
Morganson threw up his hands. “In the vast of space, yes! If we re-enter their system, if we close on their defense fleet, they face no challenge ferreting us out from the void.”
“The Supreme Leader has placed absolute trust—”
“The Supreme Leader sent me on a suicidal quest to eliminate me as a threat!”
Even as the words slipped from Morganson, his heart sputtered, and his guts twisted. The realization had been there, burning in his head, demanding his acknowledgement, but he had refused to pay it attention. Now? He wished he had sensed it, dragged it to the fore, and crushed it. Annihilated it. Erased it from ever being a thought.
Voegel’s eyes were ice cold, still as a frozen river.
He stepped forward, trying to breathe. “That is a nonsense idea, of—”
She held up a hand. “I can delay the connection to the Supreme Leader.”
“Delay?”
“What I hear. What I see. They are what he hears and sees. But there are the challenges of distance and the concern for watchful enemies. At times, the transmissions remain unsent for days.”
“He… When you lay with me…?”
“A father takes pride in his children’s conquests.”
The captain turned, mind jumping from the thought of the wizened old man experiencing what the doctrine officer experienced to the idea of an actual conspiracy against the Supreme Leader being offered up…
By an android. An extension of the mad old despot. A machine.
What of the words that had been spoken? Were they sacrilegious? Was it wrong to acknowledge fear and frustration over something so terrible as a hopeless mission? Wasn’t the father always conspiring to destroy the most threatening son?
And the idea of a conspiracy? A machine turning against its master? How? Why?
It was a trap. Quite obviously a trap.
I spoke words that could be misconstrued as traitorous, but they were words I could deny. Rescind the words, complete the mission, and regain my good stead in the Supreme Leader’s eyes.
Except…
What if Voegel were more than a machine? She espoused the views of the Doctrine. She enforced, rehabilitated, and corrected.
But was it really the Supreme Leader guiding her? To…
No. She had a will of her own. She was offering conspiracy for a reason.
Morganson swallowed. “Why would you delay this? It could be misunderstood as me accusing the Supreme Commander of using resources ineffectively. I would never actually mean such a thing, but…”
Voegel pressed against him. “The Supreme Leader is mortal. He is frail.”
“These are things that can be addressed. Our sciences—”
“The mind cannot be preserved once damaged. His age advanced too quickly. The signs were missed.”
“You make it sound as if you operate with outside guidance.”
“It is the good of the Federation at stake. Those who run the government from day to day realize that things are failing. The idea of extending the war beyond the single front is madness.”
“The Command Staff approved the fleet—they approved this mission!”
“To avoid execution.”
“What insanity is that? If they felt the mission endangered our people—”
“Dying serves no purpose. They must outlive him and replace him. They must have someone who is capable of leading as he once led. They must have not just intellect but wisdom, not just knowledge but a mind capable of applying it.”
“Me?”
“You have been the favorite to assume the title for years. The Architect knew from the moment
you drew breath that you would be the one. But it has taken so long. The situation has worsened so quickly.”
Morganson pulled away. Even though Voegel wasn’t who he wanted, it was still impossible at times when she was close to be free of her inorganic spell. “What would they have me do? For the good of the Federation, of course.”
“For the good of the Federation.” The doctrine officer wrapped her arms around him. “And for your good, as well.”
The embrace was…comforting. Intimate and arousing. It felt so natural.
Yet it signaled something futile. “The attack? They still want me to carry on the attack?”
“The fleet is more capable than you think.”
“Not capable enough to survive—”
“Listen to me.” She turned him around and pushed him against the bunk. “A message has come. Your communications officer will process it soon enough—”
“Wait. Message? From whom? What—?”
“Our allies on Kedraal have indicated that the time is now. There is civil strife. The capital is poorly defended. Chaos spreads wide as the military must choose sides.”
“This is our mysterious ally? The one who fed us so much data?”
“It is.”
“The one who assured us we could defeat the Home Defense Fleet and destroy the prime minister’s task force without challenge?”
“She is dead now.”
“Who? The prime minister?”
“And most of her closest allies. There is a leadership void.”
“And this ally of ours offers the entire Republic on a platter, wrapped with a bow?”
Voegel ran soft fingertips along the length of his coat. “This person believes that once the leadership falls, their agenda will rise to the top. Perhaps we will have a new ally against the Moskav.”
“Or perhaps we step into another trap.”
“How close we were to our objectives.”
“Yes, then closer to being hunted down and blasted to atoms by whatever it is they have in their damned arsenal.” Morganson pushed the android away. “How can you not see the convenience of this incident? We arrive. We come close. Then we face annihilation if we stand our ground.”
The doctrine officer grabbed his coat. Her hands might have seemed delicate and fine, but there was terrible strength within them. Her scent that wasn’t truly a scent became almost suffocating. “Battle comes with risk.”
“And I welcome risk. But this? This is self-destruction.”
“The door has been thrown open. We must stride forward. We must seize the opportunity.”
His heart pounded, no doubt the way a trapped animal’s would. “It is different than you perceive. To be human, to have impossible expectations, to know mortality, to know that any misstep most likely ends with death—”
She released him. “Because my body is android? Is that it?”
“What?”
“You spurn me because I was built rather than birthed?”
“N-no. I don’t spurn—” He straightened. How was she getting to him? “Commander Voegel, the problem—”
“Sasha.”
“—is that I…”
“Sasha. That is my name.”
Morganson blinked. “Sasha.”
She kissed him. Gently. “An android is the same as a human, Bryce. We have feelings. We have memories and thoughts. The difference between us is nothing more than the manner of processing. In the years since my pairing with you, I have come to find you my ideal mate.”
It was hard to breathe, harder to swallow. “Mate?”
“Do I not appease you? You respond to my touch.”
“I—” Did she really think his response was anything but a reaction to the physical stimuli she had mastered? She was a machine. His tastes were…
What are my tastes? Ostmann?
Voegel’s lips were soft on Morganson’s once again. “Think of what we could accomplish. If your fleet is at even half strength, it has the power to slip deep into Kedraalian space. The shipyard that holds the Valor—”
“The ship is still there?”
“Yes. And the shipyard lacks defenses to stand against us.”
Destroying the Valor…it was more than a symbolic strike. It would set the Republic back years.
Morganson squeezed his eyes shut. There were so many flaws to what she was saying, what he was thinking. “If we strike the shipyard, we forfeit a strike—”
“They will send forces out to the shipyard. It will weaken their defenses.”
“But we will not create an ally. If we strike against Kedraal, we create an enemy. At best, we destroy an enemy.”
Voegel smiled, then walked back to the desk with the attaché case. Rather than open it, she unbuttoned her coat and set that on the back of the chair. “Your mind is so much more agile and capable than the Supreme Commander’s.”
“Yes. It is.” But that mind felt like mush. It seemed to Morganson that he was being led down a terrible path, and his mind was blissfully sitting the moment out.
The lights dimmed, and there was the rustle of clothing being placed on top of each other.
Then he caught the release of the clasps on the case again and flinched.
His jaw quivered. “There might be another way. If we left Kedraalian space…” He licked his lips. “Headed for Moskav space. Attacked their fleet…”
She was there again, rubbing against him. The scent of the gas was a faint sweetness coming from the respirator mask seal, still hidden from sight. “The Moskav come next.”
“But so many die there today. My own brothers. The bright future we represent, it is being wasted. We cannot possibly create enough of my kind to maintain even that one war. There are nowhere near enough children being born—”
The soft rubber seal was against his face then. The gas was in his nostrils, his throat.
“Your wisdom is beyond your years, my sweet captain. Breathe. Breathe.”
He tried to hold his breath, which was pointless. Her hand was pressing against his belly, forcing the air out, then digging down, clutching.
The gas flowed in, bringing acceptance. Compliance.
When she set him on his bunk, he had a moment to wonder if he would ever have thoughts of his own, beliefs that weren’t indoctrinated from the first firing of his brain’s chemical charges.
And then the mask was pulled away, and her lips were on his again, breathing out the gas and blowing it back in. “You are the future, Bryce.”
“The future.”
“Rise to the occasion. Meet your potential. Take us to our destiny.”
They were the Architect’s words. The special words shared only between them. Spoken by Amanda. Indoctrination by machine.
Tears trickled from Morganson’s eyes. “Our destiny.”
20
Beams of moonlight pierced the trees like silver spears. Benson couldn’t recall ever knowing such peace in her life. The cool wind rustling the branches, the sweet aroma of the leaves…
Yes, peace.
She shoveled the last of the meal—a salty, rich stew—down her throat and took the bowl inside the log cabin. Stiles glanced up from the bits of hardware that she’d laid out on the unvarnished dining area table. Like the table, the surrounding chairs were made to look as if they’d been hewn from a tree and lashed together. But it was all solid, professional craftsmanship, like the cabin.
A simple set of tools rested upon an open pouch to the lieutenant’s left, the sort of pouch Parkinson or Kohn might have carted around in tight spaces aboard the Pandora. The GSA officer didn’t seem particularly at home with the fine screwdrivers, pliers, and wrenches, but she didn’t seem ready to surrender to them, either.
Benson set the bowl in the sink, then after looking everything over took a small towel that smelled like sweet tree bark and scrubbed the bowl. “I’ve never lived like this.”
Stiles twisted around. “Roughing it?”
“I guess. Is that what this is?”
/>
“Some people consider it to be.”
Foam filled the gaps between the commander’s fingers, carrying food particles away, then plopping them into the sink. Surreptitious glances gave her a sense of what the younger woman was doing, which seemed to be merging parts from two different devices. It was hard to feel annoyed with the GSA officer after she’d rescued them, but there was something about her, about the perfection of her form and face, the way she seemed to fearlessly attack tearing electronic gear apart as readily as killing assassins. Even something as basic as handling the chill in the air—Stiles wore a T-shirt and underwear, as if she were on a sunny beach—just seemed natural.
Everything about her was so…intimidating.
Without looking up from the strange device spread across the tabletop, Stiles asked, “Is something wrong, ma’am?”
“Other than the prime minister being dead or my mother probably being dead or Corporal Grier nearly bleeding to death?”
“Other than that.”
“I guess not.”
“We’ll address the rest as soon as we can.”
“I know.” Benson rinsed the bowl, then her hands. “It’s pretty here. How’d you find it?”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“There are other places nearby?”
“I wouldn’t wander far. Scavengers can be pretty aggressive protecting their food.”
“Scavenge—?” Benson shook her head and dried the bowl. “How’d you find us?”
“I was being taken to talk with some people. When I met them, I asked some questions. They told me about the plan to eliminate you.”
“And they let you go after telling you that?”
Stiles turned around. “Like I said, scavengers can be pretty aggressive about protecting their food.”
Food. Oh. Benson wrapped her arms over her chest. For the first time ever, she actually enjoyed the feel of her heavy, long-sleeve shirt. “Where did all these people come from, Brianna?”
“The ones who tried to kill you?”
“And the others. It can’t just be a handful of SAID agents. What’s going on is…”
“A coup.”
