by M. D. Cooper
Fugia watched in amazement as drones fell off the holodisplay. She glanced at the silver seed that sat unchanged on the workbench, and nodded in mute approval.
In another minute, Ngoba, Karcher, and the rest of the crew were shouting with joy on the bridge. Beside her, Hari Jickson only nodded with a distant smile on his face, radiating pleasure for his creation.
Once the drones were gone, a new set of bays opened on the Benevolent Hand, and a second wave of drones filled the space around the bigger ship. These held in place as the Hand came around for an exit burn.
“We’re getting out of here,” Ngoba shouted on the shipnet. “They’re trying to bring their torch around, but I’d like to keep my head. Clip onto something.”
The false database was still pouring into the node ship. Fugia saw immediately that the Hoarder ship would burn in the Benevolent Hand’s torch if she didn’t save it.
She mulled the decision for a second, then sent a flightplan that would take the ship back to Ceres, and followed it with the execute command.
G-force smashed her into her seat as the Hopscotch Devil’s engines came alive. She grabbed the SAI seed between her hands to keep it from sliding off the workbench. In the seat beside her, Jickson rested his hands on the work surface and smiled. He wasn’t shaking anymore.
“Successful test,” he said. “Very successful.”
“That wasn’t a test, doc,” Fugia said. “That was combat.”
He giggled again. “Yes, it was.”
HEART VS HEAD
STELLAR DATE: 04.29.2979 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Lowspin Port Authority
REGION: Cruithne Station, Terran Hegemony, InnerSol
Fugia had nearly made it to the exit terminal. She’d dressed in her faded shipsuit with its many cargo pockets, and still carried the battered black backpack, her visor perched on top of her head to hold her hair out of her eyes.
“Hey!” a sonorous voice shouted behind her.
She almost didn’t turn. The crowd pushing all around her would have provided enough excuse for her to pretend she hadn’t heard or couldn’t stop. She was about to be late for her flight, but she had enough time to talk. As much time as it would take to say what she hadn’t been able to say before.
Ngoba Starl stood in the middle of the crowded corridor. People moved around him; he was the eye of the storm. He was wearing a grey suit with a midnight blue bowtie and pocket square. His beard and hair had been freshly trimmed.
“You didn’t waste any time getting presentable,” Fugia said.
He walked toward her, giving her a smile that said he was in his element. He was home, and she was a fool for leaving again.
“You know it’s what I do,” he said. He nodded at her backpack. “Going somewhere?”
“You know,” she said. “I’m heading back to Ceres, I’ve got work to do. The Hoarders are suffering an internal split. There are more SAIs to smuggle out. The Anderson Collective might be ready to collapse.”
He touched the side of her face, his palm warm against her cheek. She lifted her face for him to kiss her, but he didn’t right away.
“This was our second chance, Fugia,” he said. “If you leave now, I don’t think there’s going to be a third.”
“We don’t know the future,” she said.
“Exactly,” Ngoba told her.
He kissed her this time, pulling her against his body in a crushing embrace that told her everything she needed to know about his feelings.
She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers digging into the smooth fabric of his jacket. People continued to walk around them.
From somewhere high in the corridor, a bird squawked. It sounded like a raven, and then the distinctive high voice of a parrot called out, “Ing-go-ba! Ing-go-ba! Foo-ja! Foo-ja!”
Ngoba didn’t let go of Fugia, but he broke free of her lips and twisted around, trying to get a look at the parrot. Fugia looked past Ngoba’s shoulder and found Crash perched on a chunk of conduit about ten meters up.
“There he is,” she said, pointing. Ngoba turned so they were standing side by side.
Something about the parrot accusing her of leaving in secret hurt even more than what she was doing to Ngoba. She searched for a response.
Fugia met his gaze, noting the sadness in his brown eyes. She pressed her lips together. She didn’t nod or shake her head.
Fugia let go of Ngoba’s hand, and took a step away from him as she looked up at the parrot.
Fugia took another step. The distance between her and Ngoba grew. A woman cut between them, and then a couple. Then Ngoba turned to watch her turning away.
She hated goodbyes, and hated having to talk about them even more. Maybe Ngoba understood how she felt. She supposed what they had could be enough. She certainly wasn’t going to stay in some kind of relationship, even for him. Too many big events were in play.
She half-thought she might end up head of the Hoarders by the time that was played out. The thought of controlling the entire Mesh was a drug in itself. There was also a senator on Ceres she needed to talk to, someone who was actually interested in moving against the Anderson Collective’s centuries-old anti-SAI policy.
And there was Jickson and his curious ‘seeds’. There were more of them, he’d said, a lot more, and he’d finally hinted at how they were made, a secret that caused him deep misery and, she believed, urged on his self-destruction. Of course he’d found brandy since arriving on Cruithne.
Lyssa. A powerful name for a tiny spark.
It was a long way to Proteus, and she figured that little spark would need all the help she could provide.
She laughed.
Fugia slid her visor over her eyes and distracted herself with the data as the info jungle populated around her. In another ten minutes, she was onboard the transport ship that would take her to High Terra, and from there back to Ceres.
There was a lot of work to do.
LAST INTERLUDE
A GOOD PERCH
STELLAR DATE: 08.26.2981 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Night Park Fountain
REGION: Cruithne Station, Terran Hegemony, InnerSol
Two (or so) years later…
The sound of eggs slowly, slowly being pecked open from the inside was a joy to Crash’s ears. He watched as the nest below him transitioned from a peaceful collection of speckled eggs to a frenetic tumble of ravenous beaks demanding food. The chicks would be hairless and blind for several weeks, but they still announced their arrival to
the world with grinding shrieks that calmed over time. Their parents watched from either side of the nest.
Crash held a strange series of ideas in his mind as he watched the new family. He saw vids of parrots in nests back on Earth, parrots in captivity, Cruithne Station as a grey lump of rock rotating in space yet still swarming with life, his among all the others. The whole history of his kind played in his mind as he watched the chicks climb over each other, yearning blindly for warmth and food. Their mother moved them closer to her underbelly’s warm pinfeathers with her hooked beak.
Crash thought of Testa and Doomie, who had been paired so long ago. They might have had a nest of their own, their own chicks to raise. However, their children wouldn’t have been like them without human intervention; they would have had to continue in the experiment until they died or went insane.
He often let his thoughts wander to the question of the Link. Should other parrots have it, too? Hadn’t his life been better with the gift of knowledge and communication? But what if he was an outlier, and Testa’s fate was the true normal outcome for a parrot with a human’s voice in their head? He wanted to hope that it would be different, but hope wasn’t a plan.
Still, if he was going to use his gift for the good of those like him, he would need to find a way to give them the choice of Link implantation, and everything that might come after. It wasn’t a choice he could force on anyone.
It was Xander, the Psion AI.
Crash answered the invitation Xander sent to enter his expanse, and found himself perched on the stone railing on the apartment balcony where he had met the AI before. A warm wind blew up from the city below, and the air was sweet with the smell of broad green leaves and the water running in canals between the buildings.
Xander wore a pale yellow suit with a purple pocket square and straight tie. His hair was combed toward the center of his head and spiky in the middle, sort of a business mohawk that looked bird-like to Crash. He wondered if it was intentional.
Of course it was. Everything in an expanse was intentional.
Xander said.
Xander shrugged.
Xander put his elbows on the railing and leaned over the edge next to Crash.
Crash stared out at the city below. The cityscape was peaceful but busy. People moved between buildings. Vehicles flowed down the streets and canals. Lights changed on the buildings, and the sounds of life floated up on the wind. It was all fascinating, but Crash also wished his attention was on the chicks. He would never get these moments back.
Crash said.
Xander gave him a sly grin.
Xander spread his hands.
Xander studied him.
Crash clacked his beak. The question was like a slap. He didn’t like it, didn’t like what it suggested. He chose to toss the question back to the AI.
Xander said.
Crash stretched his wings and tasted the wind. he said.
The AI turned his head to study Crash. His eyes flashed purple, and Crash read all the stormy emotion raging behind the sly smile.
Xander carried an apocalypse in his mind. Everywhere he looked, he saw destruction, death, and pain, enveloped by self-doubt.
Xander laughed. He lowered his head and closed his eyes as Crash sat with his soft-feathered head pressed against his temple.
Crash flew back to the railing and stretched his feathers. he said.
Xander seemed surprised by the expression. He smiled as he faded away.
Crash found himself back on the topmost branch of the plascrete tree. The chicks had grown quiet, and the air was full of songs from other birds. The market was alive with people moving between booths, and a little girl and her brother had walked up to the fountain with bits of bread to toss to the ravens, who cackled and squawked their joy.
Their father walked up behind them, a lean man with brown hair in a faded shipsuit. He put his hands on their shoulders as they looked up at the fountain together.
Crash ruffled his feathers and sank d
own on his perch, watching the family until they turned to leave. Then he closed his eyes and dreamed of numbers.
THE END
* * * * *
Or is this the beginning?
If you’ve not yet read the Sentience Wars: Origins series, dive into the next leg of this adventure with Lyssa’s Dream and find out what Ngoba Starl and Hari Jickson do to save that tiny spark that saved them from the Heartbridge ship. It may just ignite a fire that could rage across the entire Sol System.
Join the Aeon 14 Newsletter to find out when the first book of Sentience Wars: Solar War One will be out!
AFTERWORD
If you’re anything like me, then right about now, you’re thinking “dammit, I want more Crash!”
Who would have thought that a Grey Parrot’s view of humans, ravens, AIs, and more would be so darn entertaining? What’s more, Karcher is now one of my favorite henchmen of all time and Ngoba is vying with Tanis for some of the coolest sayings in Aeon 14.
Since this book is more heavily James than it is me, I don’t feel like it’s tooting my own horn to say that this is a fantastic story that I enjoyed reading tremendously, and wouldn’t hesitate to reread more than once just for the raw fun inside its pages.
I think the only thing for all of us to do at this point is to flood James’s inbox and demand that he write more Crash.
Michael Cooper
Danvers, 2018
THE BOOKS OF AEON 14
Keep up to date with what is releasing in Aeon 14 with the free Aeon 14 Reading Guide.
Origins of Destiny (The Age of Terra)
- Prequel: Storming the Norse Wind
- Book 1: Shore Leave (in Galactic Genesis until Sept 2018)
- Book 2: Operative (Summer 2018)
