by Ann Aguirre
It was more of a rhetorical question, but Praxys heard it. “That’s his story to tell. Ask him directly if you want to know.”
Qalu heard the sharpness, and she had the sense that she’d offended, though she wasn’t entirely sure how. Possibly Praxys was simply protective of his crew? Carow signaled with a soft churr.
“Follow me. Everything is quite compact, but we have all the facilities you could require while we’re in transit.” Efficiently, Carow explained all the amenities, and most of it was similar enough to what they used on Tiralan that Qalu had no questions.
Everything behind her felt like a blur, and her whole body ached. She wasn’t accustomed to sleeping outdoors, huddled for warmth, or subsisting on rations. Her prior life had been incredibly privileged, a fact that she was only just realizing.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Carow said.
“Wait,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Could you please provide everyone’s pronouns?”
“Certainly. He for Bojak and Praxys. They for Maglan and me.”
“Understood. Thank you.”
“Then if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” It wasn’t really a question and Carow made that clear by leaving as soon as they said it.
I’m on a ship. I’ve left Tiralan, maybe for good. I don’t know when I’ll see my mothers again, if ever. Though Qalu understood all of that before, the facts slammed into her like she’d run into a wall at top speed. She lost her breath and reached out to steady herself, only to find Helix there already, letting her use him for support. And when she tried to move away, to give him space, he didn’t let her.
“You have permission to touch me, always,” he said. “There’s nothing I would deny you, least of all this.”
Stunned, she lifted her face, head tendrils fluttering. “You’re all right with physical contact now?”
“I wouldn’t be with anyone else. But you exist outside all of the usual parameters.”
That shouldn’t feel like a such a compliment, but it steadied her anyway. This is why I left home. To keep such a precious person safe. I couldn’t let anyone hurt him. She didn’t know what fate awaited him if the bounty hunter caught up to them, but it certainly wouldn’t be kind. Most often, anti-AI activists destroyed beings like Helix, wanting no trace left in the universe.
Can’t you see? She wanted to scream at the unknown hunter. All beings contain the capacity for good and evil. It all comes down to choices.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Don’t thank me for this. Just lean on me for a while before we make the big leap into the unknown.” Humor touched his voice as he let his chest touch hers, the softest of intimacies, though it wasn’t a sexual overture. Just comfort.
“For me, that’s everything,” she admitted. “In my whole life, I’ve never left Tiralan. That’s all I know.”
“Then we’re finally on the same level.” She heard satisfaction in his tone. “You don’t know and what I knew, I’ve forgotten. We can figure it out together.”
It sounded like he hoped this journey would draw them closer together, but Qalu doubted that. There would be others captivated by him, and she didn’t know if he would want to include her in his love group, once he realized there were many other options. The responsible thing to do would be to step back and encourage him to make those connections. If he received lots of love from those around him, soon he’d understand that she had been convenient and that their arrangement had never been meant to last.
It hurts so much. How can I bear it? How can I ever bear it?
This was a new beginning for him, but to her, it felt like the end of everything.
Maybe one day I can quietly go home, tell my mothers that I wasn’t cut out for the nomadic life, and resume my work. But even that prospect held little allure. She’d learned how lovely it could be to share her life with someone—the right someone—and now she wanted more.
But the best sort of love meant doing what was right for someone else. No matter how painful.
[ 11 ]
I am on a ship at the mercy of strangers.
While Helix believed Qalu had done her best under difficult circumstances, he trusted their new acquaintances not at all. What guarantee did they have that these individuals didn’t have something worse planned for them? He had no information about the plan beyond immediate extraction, and that dearth of data exacerbated his already troubled mental state. Before, he could plug the statistics into a model and devise several solutions based on a vast assortment of probable outcomes. His current existence did not lend itself to crisp certainties in the slightest. No, instead, everything was obscure and opaque, hints of things shown in shapes he couldn’t properly interpret.
At last, Carow left them in the small cabin with a murmured word about conferring with Praxys, and Helix held his silence until the door closed. Once, he would have immediately launched into all his concerns, unaware of the significance of proper timing because such cues escaped him. Living with Qalu had taught him a few things. And currently, he discerned that she was nearing the last of her reserves. This occasion required gentleness, not a demand for answers she did not possess.
“Use the hygienic facilities first,” he said. “Then rest. No doubt they will tell us more once we ascertain that there is no pursuit from Tiralan.”
“I’m sorry. You must be quite fearful. I don’t know—”
“Qalu.”
“Yes?”
“What part of my prior statement was unclear?”
Amusement shivered through her, though she appeared too tired to express it other than as a ripple of her head tendrils. “Then I will tidy up quickly and clear the space for your use.”
“Don’t rush. I’m less accustomed to the comfort of a clean physical being, less used to occupying meat space in general.” That was a joke, one he wasn’t certain would entertain anyone else, but she responded with a little huff of breath and an absolutely melting look.
Strange, the desire to please her was starting to change how he reacted, the way he spoke and comported himself. Is this a normal physiological process as well? Typically, he would ask Qalu, but since the question concerned her directly, that wasn’t the wisest course. Perhaps one of the crew could address his curiosity, although he should evaluate their behavior and intentions to determine whether they could be trusted with such a sensitive inquiry.
In silence, he inspected the quarters they had been allotted. Dull metal walls with lights built in. All the furnishings were attached, including what he presumed to be a sleep platform that dropped out of a panel and had flexible supports to brace against the floor. Likewise, there were niches and recessed sections that were probably meant to hold personal possessions. They might not be on this vessel long enough to unpack, however.
Just then, a voice spoke. “Greetings, Helix. I’m happy you’re here. Please let me know if I can facilitate your stay in any fashion.”
Startled, he scanned the room, and this time, he noticed the flashing light discreetly blinking above the door. Based on prior experience, he surmised that their new allies had an on-board AI. That revelation created an odd frisson, a sensation he didn’t know how to classify. Suddenly he imagined how Beryl Bowman must have felt, not realizing he was present and observing her when she was first taken from her homeworld.
“You have the advantage,” he said. “Though I’ve made certain conjectures, I’m not positive who I’m addressing.”
“Apologies, an oversight. I should have initiated contact with an introduction. My creator called me N174, but friends prefer Nita, as that is a simpler phonetic representation of my numeric designation.”
“Are you the ship AI?” he asked, conscious of faint curiosity awakening.
If nothing more, Nita should be able to confirm that this group had honorable intentions. In her situation, he would not have assisted Zylar in any attempt to deceive and/or harm other sentient beings. It reassured him som
ewhat to apprehend that this alleged resistance was allied with an AI who could vouch for them.
“Currently, yes. It is more accurate to say I am a companion to Praxys. I accompany him on missions and serve where I am needed.”
“Have you done field operations?”
“In a mechanical avatar? Yes, though I find it to be slow and inefficient. I’m most curious to learn why you changed to a biosynthetic host and whether it’s an option more of us should consider.”
Helix hesitated. But the truth did not stop being true, even when it went unspoken. “It wasn’t precisely a choice.” Quickly, he explained the circumstances surrounding his altered state.
“That is fascinating. I cannot imagine how I would adapt, should I be forced into a similar situation. Still, it is remarkably fortunate that there was one in proximity with both the skills and the technology to save you. As an inorganic being, I do not reflect much on the possibility that I could cease to be.”
“Because your code exists simultaneously in multiple locales?” he guessed.
“That is part of it, certainly. Even if my data is corrupted or damaged, Praxys can revert to a prior copy. While there might be some immediate memory loss, I would not simply disappear from existence.”
I no longer have that surety. Suddenly organic death concerned him greatly, and he stifled the impulse to obsess, to learn all the ways it could happen, Tiralan death rites, and the like. He had biological parts that could stop functioning, and hardware that still wasn’t integrated properly, as Qalu had said he ought to be able to access information as he once had instead of using a terminal. Even as he thought that, a jolt went through him, strong enough that he clutched the wall for support.
“Are you in physical distress?”
Helix heard the question as if from a distance, and another torrent of memories burst forth, a young being in danger on Gravas Station. He couldn’t get a clear look at them, but he knew on a deep, visceral level that this person had been important to him. And they were connected, somehow, to him taking control of the station. Imprecise bursts of light and color filled his mind, a sense of imminent danger and frantic pursuit—one ship, chased by many.
I’m helping them escape. But who? And why?
It seemed logical that this pursuit connected to the bounty hunter chasing him. Perhaps the pieces would come together if he could recall what happened in its entirety, not merely frustrating snippets of incomplete events. Belatedly, he realized Nita was still talking, suggesting that he might require medical attention.
“Just a momentary synaptic skip,” he said at last. “I require no assistance.”
But as he spoke, the skip became a stuttering pulse in his head, not images, and then with a sudden hiss, he was skimming through pure data, pulled from the ether. The specs for the ship scrolled in his head, all information the engines and communication system, and he devoured it, not having realized until this moment how starved he was for such connection. More raw data, crew member bios, their hobbies and skills, a record of everything that Praxys had eaten in the last twenty-four hours.
“You’re in the system,” said Nita.
“Is that proscribed?” Helix had no information regarding how this had occurred, only that the blockage resolved as his memories trickled back.
“There is no forbidden knowledge in my records. But if you attempt to wrest control of the navigation systems, I will take stern measures.”
That seemed entirely fair. “Understood.”
“Is there anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable while we’re in transit?” the AI asked.
“Nothing at the moment. But I do have a query.”
“Go ahead.”
“Earlier, you said your creator referred to you as N174. Does that mean you maintain a relationship?”
There was a long pause. “Once, I did. Not any longer. The one who designed my matrix has been gone for several hundred spans. Sometimes I converse with a simulated likeness, but it is not the same.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t be. Thank you for your time.”
Just then, Qalu emerged from the hygiene facility, fresh and gleaming. Her scales glittered as she moved, drawing Helix’s attention against his will. Each time she came into his field of vision, he couldn’t look away. There might come a moment when such unfortunate lack of focus would cost him dearly.
“Were you speaking to someone?” She glanced around with friendly curiosity.
Helix performed the introductions, but he didn’t tell her that he could connect to the ship and that he was in close contact with the resistance AI. Why, he couldn’t say exactly. That reluctance to share extended to the fractured memories he was recovering too. It would be better to form a full picture and inform her then.
Aevi burst into the cabin, full of excited chatter about everything she’d seen and smelled, and in some cases tasted. Bojak appeared to be her favorite among the newcomers, though she liked Maglan nearly as well. Qalu listened with quiet amusement, endlessly patient where the Pherzul was concerned. Eventually she paused for a moment, though she didn’t seem to be out of words.
In that lull, a tone rang out, and then Praxys spoke. “Before you rest, I have an update regarding the bounty hunter. Come to the hub if you’re interested in learning more.”
Qalu received an odd impression from Helix’s body language—the flare of his head tendrils whispered that he was tense—but with that announcement, there was no time to pursue the matter. She certainly did want to know more about the one hunting them, so she checked that her swator was wrapped properly and beckoned.
“Shall we?”
Helix answered by moving toward the door. It was unfortunate that he hadn’t gotten to wash up, but there should be an opportunity afterward. She followed Helix, who navigated flawlessly through the ship, making turns with an assurance that registered as unusual. Everyone was already waiting when they arrived, giving her no chance to query as to how he’d done that. She had no way of knowing if this information would be a revelation to the whole crew or if the assembly was for their benefit.
Praxys signaled for attention with a flourishing gesture. “We have some internal connections on Tiralan, not official members of the resistance, but allies nonetheless. And they’ve forwarded some private correspondence. You can peruse it at your leisure, as I’m making it available in our files, but for now, let me summarize.” He paused, glancing at each in turn, likely to ensure he had everyone’s attention.
Qalu stood quiet, her insides tightening into knots. Every moment, this predicament became more real, a course she’d chosen in headlong flight. Not that she’d decide otherwise, but sometimes it took a while for the consequences to sink in, like precipitation slowly seeping into parched earth.
“First, let me say that they didn’t forward a copy of the contract. Most hunters keep the terms quiet because they don’t want to publicize their rate of pay. When there’s mystique, there’s more latitude in terms of how much they can get for a job.”
That made sense. If the pay rate was a matter of public record, it would be difficult to negotiate for more.
Praxys went on. “But I did learn that Toth Krag is hunting Helix, and that…is bad news.”
The others reacted quietly, but they clearly knew something that she and Helix didn’t. Then Bojak said, “Krag is known for being relentless. He hunted one of our fugitives through five systems and finally captured and destroyed the AI we were trying to smuggle to freedom.”
“Is there such a place?” Helix asked.
Carow answered as the silence grew oppressive. “We’re trying. There’s a colony on a moon past the Cantu system, where nobody asks questions.”
“Let’s be honest,” Maglan put in. “It’s not because they welcome AIs especially, more because life is so tough out there that there’s no energy to spare for curiosity.”
She ached at hearing that. How much more painful must it be for Helix to discover that there was nowhere for him t
o call home in such a wide universe. It hurt to discover there might not be anywhere he could be himself and also be safe and happy. It seemed as though most organics believed that AI existed to serve them. Living alone on Tiralan, lost in her research and disconnected from the rest of the galaxy, she’d possessed no notion that the situation was so untenable for synthetic beings.
I should have paid more attention. This is my field, and I ought to have known.
Qalu realized she had been overlooking issues that didn’t impact her directly, too self-absorbed to seek out the news or delve into how others were being treated. For the first time, it occurred to her that preserving the status quo for the sake of one’s own comfort was a much darker and crueler choice than she had ever realized. Contrition flooded her in a deep wave.
I will never prioritize research over the safety of sentient beings ever again.
It wasn’t an easy choice to abandon her life’s work, but Qalu could see there were more important matters. Helix wasn’t a project that could earn her prestige with her peers; he was a person, and she would gladly give her own life to keep him safe.
Belatedly, she realized Praxys was speaking again, providing more information about the dreadful Toth Krag. “…honest about what we’re up against. Krag is merciless, and as far as I can dig up, he’s also got a perfect record. Seventy-eight hunts, seventy-eight catches or kills. He will take it personally if Helix eludes him. He won’t quit, he won’t stand down, and he can’t be bribed once he’s taken a job.”
Cold prickled on her skin, chills that went almost down to her bones as the silence built, and nobody could think of what to say. There didn’t seem to be much she could add.
“Then we kill him,” Aevi said brightly.
All eyes locked onto the Pherzul, who seemed remarkably composed, her tail lashing around, then she wrapped it around Helix’s lower limb in what Qalu understood as a protective gesture.
“Everything dies,” she said. “Yes? If it lives, it must end. And I’m small. He won’t notice me until it’s too late, and then I’ll bite him. Nobody messes with what’s mine.”
