Defy the Fates

by Claudia Gray

  Noemi’s too elated to notice any evasion, at least for the moment. “That means the end of the war. It means victory at last.”

  Abel finds himself remembering Darius Akide’s desperation during their final, fatal encounter. Akide didn’t act like a man who knew Genesis had a weapon that would give them victory. Yet as a member of the Elder Council, wouldn’t he have known that?

  Krall interrupts his train of thought. “If we’re going to help with Bellum Sanctum, we have work to do in the Kismet system. They’ve stepped up security there—”

  “Exponentially,” Abel says. “Does Earth suspect a major Genesis strategy is about to be deployed?”

  “Doubt it.” Krall’s expression becomes faraway, uncertain. “I have my own suspicions about the Kismet system, but that’s for another day. The point is, we need your help there, as soon as possible.”

  “Why?” Noemi’s already beginning to think through the question in more depth. Her delight at the thought of Genesis’s victory hasn’t completely overridden her rational mind. “You’re the leader of the biggest fleet in the galaxy, outside of Earth’s military. We’re two people in a decades-old science vessel that doesn’t even have weapons.”

  Krall nods, acknowledging this. “But one of those people is the single most advanced mech ever created. Human talent alone can’t get the job done. We need you, Abel.”

  He glances at Noemi, who is in all probability thinking the same thing he is: that as a hybrid between mech and human, she might be as useful to Krall, and to Genesis, as he could be. Still, there’s nothing to gain from telling Dagmar Krall about Noemi’s hybridization, which means it’s not yet worth even the very minor risk.

  “Although Genesis has little use for me,” Abel says, “I am willing to undertake this work on that world’s behalf, once the full Bellum Sanctum strategy has been explained to us and I’ve heard exactly what you need me to—”

  “Commodore!” Yeoh leans over the table, his face stricken. He gestures toward a comm link at his belt. “We’re picking up signals from Stronghold security—they’ve received reports of Krall Consortium activity.”

  “Well,” Dagmar Krall says, “we knew taking sides in the war would win us new enemies. Looks like Stronghold is one of them.”

  Yeoh nods. “They’re already sending out patrols.”

  Immediately Krall stands, wrapping her scarf around her neck. With a wolfish grin, she says, “Looks like we’ll be discussing this further in the Kismet system. For now, we have more important things to do. Like run.”

  13

  Run.

  It feels like more than a statement. It feels like a command. The diagram of the way they came toward this café drops into Noemi’s head, unsummoned. It’s terrifying how quickly the mech within her responds to this command, how strongly she feels the need to get out of here as fast as possible—

  But in this case, the human within her agrees completely. She leaps away from their table, grabs Abel’s hand, and runs as quickly as she can.

  Abel’s swift reflexes mean he’s with her, stride for stride. Usually, when they’re running for their lives, she can sense him holding himself back so as not to leave her behind. He’s still doing it—though not as much. Her legs are fully human, but her brain’s sending messages at double or triple the rate it did before. She doesn’t have full mech speed, but she’s running faster than virtually any human could.

  Good. That means they can stay together.

  People spin out of their way as they dash by—flattening themselves against walls, yelping in surprise. She pays them no mind. Right now, the crowd is just one more obstacle between them and the Persephone.

  “If it helps,” Abel calls over the din of the crowd, “Stronghold security is only looking for Consortium members. Not for us.”

  “So far as we know! I’m not hanging around to find out whether they’ve tied us to Krall.”

  “Agreed,” Abel states, his attention still on the path ahead.

  As the spaceport appears in the distance, a Queen model steps in front of them, halting Noemi and Abel in place. She curses herself for not bringing her blaster along.

  The programming inside her urges her forward, and Noemi grabs the Queen by the shoulders to push her aside. This ought to start hand-to-hand combat—but instead, the Queen shuffles sideways, then drops to the ground.

  What the hell? Noemi thinks.

  A human security guard comes hurrying to the fallen Queen, shouting into the comm unit strapped to his wrist, “We’ve got another mech breakdown! Sector nine, section one—”

  Another?

  Abel pulls Noemi forward. “We can’t slow down.”

  “Right, of course.” Panting, she accelerates again, keeping her eyes on the spaceport looming larger as they go. The Queen’s appearance means they have to hurry. Either Stronghold is looking for the Persephone after all, or their frantic dash has betrayed them as allies of the Consortium.

  They’re within fifty meters of the spaceport, when Noemi catches sight of that wall of Smashers, the giant mining robots still standing there, waiting to be deployed.

  Except that they have been deployed. They’re stepping out of their metal frameworks, their heavy feet plodding upon the ground. One of the Smashers begins scanning, then stops when it reaches her and Abel. Another Smasher turns toward them. Then another.

  “Abel?” Noemi calls. “What’s happening?”

  “I can only conjecture, but I believe that due to regular fighter mech malfunction, Stronghold is now using mining robots for security.”

  “You mean, those monsters are coming after us?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  The Smasher closest to them leaps forward and swings a long arm, nearly striking Abel in the head—a blow that would surely have decapitated him. Noemi’s entire mind floods with the need to protect Abel—to put herself between him and harm.

  She tries to stay calm, reminding herself, Smashers don’t have cybernetic brains like Queens and Charlies, so they can’t launch a strategized attack.

  But they do have enormous metal frames and the ability to punch through solid rock.

  The trajectories in Noemi’s head appear again, pointing out the swiftest way for them to reach the ship. She doesn’t like the answer, but it’s their best chance, so she takes it.

  Noemi takes a deep breath and runs straight for the center of the line of Smashers beginning to approach them. At the last moment, she ducks down to roll between a Smasher’s enormous feet. Abel’s mind must’ve shown him the same route, because he’s right behind her.

  A metal fist slams down mere centimeters from her head, so hard dust flies in the air and the impact jolts her nearly as much as a real blow. Noemi skitters out of the way, pulling Abel with her.

  “Are Smashers fast?” she yells as they start running again.

  “So it would seem,” Abel answers. The pounding of heavy Smasher feet is getting louder by the step.

  “There!” she shouts, pointing to a nearby transport, hardly more than a hovering sled. “Let’s go!” They leap on board, activate the controls, and take off. It’s not a tremendously fast vehicle, but it moves more quickly than Smashers can run. As the mining robots lumber in pursuit, Noemi shouts over the roar of wind, “They’re not that far behind!”

  “I calculate we can make it to the Persephone. Whether we’ll have time to take off again is another question.”

  They came to this planet for repairs the ship hasn’t had. “The mag engines—”

  “If I deactivate certain safety limits, the engines should at least get us to the Cray system, perhaps one trip more.” He doesn’t have to add, And no farther.

  The two of them zoom along mere centimeters above the desolate, crater-pocked terrain. She looks back at the enormous, mindless robots chasing them—demolishing everything in their path in their thoughtless pursuit. There’s no question that the Smashers are capable of living up to their name; any single one of them could kill
both her and Abel with a single punch.

  The sled zips to the spaceport doors. They leap off and run through the nearest entry. Noemi breathes out in relief. “Thank God. The doors are too small for the Smashers to get through.”

  “That should help us,” Abel agrees.

  Which is exactly when the first Smasher crashes through the wall. Chunks of stone fly around the room, chips like shrapnel, and Noemi barely has time to cover her face from the debris.

  No time to think. All her strength and will are directed at running as fast as she can. She and Abel tear through the spaceport, trying to ignore the metallic din behind them. Glancing back once, she sees the Smashers coming toward them like a metal tsunami.

  Finally the Persephone comes into sight. Abel shouts, “I’m going to get the ship ready for takeoff. Just close it up for launch.”

  Normally he would never leave her behind. He trusts her abilities in a way he didn’t before. It would be more gratifying if she didn’t feel like he was trusting her for not being human. She yells no more than “Go!”

  Abel takes off ahead of her, disappearing into the silver teardrop of their ship. Noemi keeps running, and by now she can dare to hope. While Smashers can go through walls—are more or less built to do precisely that—they might have safeguards to keep them from damaging human machinery. If so, they won’t punch through the Persephone’s hull.

  If not, she and Abel will have to steal another ship or die trying. Probably the latter.

  Running through the Persephone’s door feels like crossing the finish line of a marathon in first place. Noemi begins cycling through launch procedures, her sweat a cool sheen on her skin, and when she hears the Smashers clank outside the door, terror seizes her as if in a fist. She freezes in place, unable to move, unsure whether it would do any good if she could.

  The Smashers don’t burst through.

  Noemi slumps against the wall of the docking bay in relief. The things are programmed to preserve spacecraft. That means she and Abel are going to make it.

  An enormous metal sphere rolls through the entry into the docking bay, then unfolds itself. As the Smasher takes its true shape again, she yells, “Oh, come on!”

  The thing in her head pulls out a memory—one Noemi has been too frantic to recall on her own. She studied robots and cybernetics in military training, to a limited degree; she only learned how to destroy them.

  Shape-modification technology usually routes all functions through a certain kind of core connector, says the military instructor from long ago in her head. Noemi can envision the diagram her squadron was shown. That connector looks a lot like the arc-shaped protrusion from the side of the Smasher’s head.

  Noemi jumps onto the Smasher, leaping as high as she can—high enough to clutch the thing’s shoulder and pull herself up. It isn’t programmed to deal with humans coming at it instead of running away. So it stands there dumbly, trying to process a solution, for the half second it takes her to grab that core connector and rip it out.

  The Smasher staggers backward. Noemi jumps down, clutching the bundle of wires in her left hand, breathing hard. As she hits the panel to close the Persephone’s bay door, she sees the lights in its cranium dome go dim.

  Abel must’ve completed takeoff prep, because the door belatedly pinwheels shut. At least no more Smashers can get inside. She sags against the wall in relief.

  Through the speaker, she hears Abel: “I show us ready for takeoff. Can you confirm?”

  “Confirmed. Get us the hell out of here.”

  The ship lifts off that instant, and she feels the shivery moment when artificial gravity kicks in.

  Abel says, “Are you all right?”

  “Exhausted. But yeah, I’m all right. No security ships came after us?”

  “A few ships seem to have engaged with the Vagabond fleet, but the Katara and most of the others appear to have gotten away safely.”

  The plan to win the war for Genesis remains safe. Grinning, Noemi says, “Oh, by the way, we now have a Smasher of our very own.”

  “We have a what?”

  She’s finally astonished Abel. As exhausted as Noemi is, she can’t help being a little proud.

  Noemi takes some time to rest while Abel checks the engines and examines their new Smasher for himself. She makes it back to the bridge before him, which gives her a little time to look over the engine readouts. They are… not good.

  It’s a miracle we’ve made it this far, she thinks. We’re good for one more trip through a Gate, the end. Even that is at a higher risk level than I’d like to run. Captain Baz would’ve grounded any starfighter with engines twice as sturdy as these.

  Yet her new understanding of probabilities makes her feel better about these numbers than she would’ve before. Is that more sensible? Or would good old human fear serve them better right now?

  I guess we’ll find out when the ship doesn’t blow up, Noemi tells herself. Or when it does.

  Abel reappears on the bridge smudged with grease and looking satisfied with himself. “It’s a very interesting inner matrix,” he says. “The Smashers are capable of significant intelligence upgrades, if desired.”

  “What would we do with an intelligent Smasher?” She laughs. “I think I should be the only ‘significant upgrade’ for a while.”

  His pleased expression fades. “Do you still resent your hybridization?”

  That takes a moment to process. “Wait. What?”

  “Have you not forgiven me for making you part mech?” As it often does when he’s feeling vulnerable, Abel’s mech precision kicks in. “Or, rather, for requesting that Gillian Shearer make you part mech—”

  “Hold it right there,” Noemi says. “Forgive you? Abel, you saved my life. That’s not the way I’d have wanted it saved, but I know you didn’t have any other options.”

  He blinks as he considers her words. When he speaks again, his tone isn’t as cool—but still wary. “You dislike being a mech-human hybrid. You’ve said so. To be part mech is to be lesser. Which means I, too, am lesser than a human.”

  Her face flushes hot, as though she’d been struck. “No, Abel. How can you say that? I’ve always—ever since I realized what you were, who you were, that you had a soul, I’ve always defended you! I’ve always said you were the equal of any human, and better than most of them. So where are you getting this ‘lesser’ stuff?”

  “You repeatedly expressed dismay about your new physical and mental functions—though admittedly less, as you’ve adjusted more—”

  “Exactly. I’ve been trying to adjust.” Noemi calms herself, trying to think less about his accusation, more about how threatened he must feel. “Abel, nobody wants their body changed around without permission. Even if it’s necessary! Nobody wants to wake up and find out they have to relearn how to walk, or even how to think. That doesn’t mean it can’t be done. That doesn’t mean you’re ‘less’ than before, or—or that you hate the parts of you that have changed. But it’s scary as hell.”

  When his eyes meet hers, he looks like himself again, so they’re getting somewhere.

  She sighs as some of her own words replay in her head. “I guess maybe I sounded… a little harsh, in the beginning. But did you expect me to be fine with everything right away? Did you think being a mech’s so much greater than being human that I wouldn’t need any time to adjust?”

  “Of course not.” Abel pauses. Maybe he’s rethinking some of the stuff he said, too. “It’s possible I focused on the physical issues inherent in the transition, while underestimating the emotional difficulty you would face.”

  Noemi folds her arms. “You think?”

  This time, thank goodness, he recognizes the humor. His smile has rarely been as welcome.

  “Humans need to get used to anything new. Like body parts. Definitely including body parts.”

  “I understand,” he says. “I’ll be more understanding of your transition in future.”

  “Hopefully I’m past the worst of it
,” Noemi says.

  Abel hesitates before asking, “Should I assume that all… adjustments to personal interrelationships made before your hybridization are now to be considered ‘on hold,’ as part of this transition?”

  It takes her 2.1 seconds to parse that. “You mean—you and me.”

  Abel’s blue eyes meet hers. “Yes.”

  They’d made some decisions, right before the Battle of Genesis. Noemi remembers the lightness, the rightness of her choice to travel through the stars with Abel. The way it felt to run into his arms. The intensity of their kiss.

  Can she be as sure of that any longer? Can she be that sure about anything?

  Noemi can’t entirely trust the mind and body she has now. Maybe she has to put her faith in the person she was before.

  “I guess I still want us to be together.” She takes a deep breath. “I don’t know how that works any more than you do, but I’d like to find out.”

  “You would?” He looks at her with such hope. Such simple, unguarded love. The beauty of it feels like it could crack her heart open. This must be the right choice after all.

  “Yeah.” Noemi slides her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “I think I would.”

  Abel leans close for a kiss, whispering against her lips, “Then let’s begin.”

  14

  ABEL UNDERSTANDS THE MECHANICS OF HOW HUMANS express physical affection. His databanks include all relevant biological information, a wealth of fiction portraying love and passion, and sociological input into the nuances of mating from sources as diverse as the twentieth-century manual The Joy of Sex to the second-century Sanskrit text the Kama Sutra.

  (Several Kama Sutra postures would be difficult or impossible for humans to achieve, much less maintain. They are well within Abel’s parameters.)

  However, his actual experience falls far short of his knowledge. Without emotion, Abel does not possess desire—he’d never fallen in love before Noemi, and so had never felt it for himself.