Gears of Troy: A Scifi Fantasy Harem

by Daniel Pierce

  She said she was from Sparta, but she was also made in Egypt, and she spoke about the real Helen like they were both the same person. I wondered how much she knew about the other Helen, if she somehow shared her memories or something like that. Working off of that assumption and the little I remembered from history class back in high school, the real Helen was from Sparta, and my Helen wasn’t from Sparta but claimed to be. She said she chose to leave Sparta for love, but again I assumed that was the real Helen she referred to. An android with an identity crisis. I wasn’t sure how to handle that.

  I thought about how she wanted so badly to be a real human and cracked a smile as the thought of Pinocchio ran through my mind. Maybe all she needed was a little validation, a little reassurance that she wasn’t some kind of freak. I could give that to her easy enough.

  I must not have had an hour to myself before I saw her strutting up the steps.

  “I no longer desire to rest,” she said.

  “Come on up, then. The water’s fine,” I said as she approached.

  She stood before me in silence, looking over the sea as it danced by the light of a billion stars, the rhythmic brushing of water lapping against the hull. My nerves had finally begun to settle now that I was back to the old familiar motions of manning my ship on a calm summer night.

  She did not speak for the longest time. She meandered around the Moonshadow, perhaps inspecting it for storm damage. She would run her hands along the ropes and the railing. I tried not to stare, but I kept finding my gaze drawn to her standing in the starlight like a radiant figure from a painting. I did not have much interest in art, but if there were portraits of women like her in museums, I might take a trip to one if I ever got home.

  A few times I caught her looking up overhead, and I could not help myself from asking, “Why do you keep looking at the stars?”

  “Why do you look at the stars, Troy?”

  “Because, well, they’re beautiful, I guess. They inspire me, make me wonder what’s out there.”

  “I too look to the stars because of their beauty and wonder. They make me feel small but also big, in a way it is difficult to describe.”

  We exchanged knowing smiles, and she joined me. I don’t know how long we sailed in silence, but at some point, I found myself nodding off in my chair to the comforting aroma of cinnamon and the rocking of the boat. Every now and again, as my eyelids began to fall, I would jerk upright and make sure I was still on course. It was during one of these moments that I noticed she had gone, presumably below deck to rest. I turned the autopilot back on and let sleep take me.

  I awoke just before the sun came peeking out over the horizon and watched it in awe, wondering if it was even the same sun I had known my whole life or just another part of the same dream as the rest of this strange world.

  I got to my feet to go down and get Helen, but she came up the steps before I was halfway across the deck. Whatever manner of “rest” a half-android needed, it must not have included the kind of tossing and turning that accompanied human sleep, because she looked just as flawless as she had the moment I found her in the wreckage the day before—no smeared makeup or tousled hair. She greeted me with another one of those bright smiles when our eyes met.

  I was about to ask her if she had rested well when she pointed to the horizon and called, “Land!”

  As much as I squinted, I couldn’t make out what she was pointing at. Maybe that was a perk of robotic vision. I hurried over to the wheel and took it off auto to adjust the course.

  “Want to steer?” I asked as she approached.

  She grabbed the wheel before I let go, her hands covering mine. It startled me and I almost pulled back. I had gotten used to people touching my new hands when I was first learning to use them, but they had all been what a person might call “clinical” touches. There was no tenderness with them, just a literal handful of poking and prodding. This was different. This was gentle and kind, almost like an embrace the size of my fake palm. This was the first time my prosthetics had felt such a touch.

  We looked at our hands for a moment, both still grasping the wheel. “Your hands seem . . . different,” she said.

  “We have more in common than you may know,” I responded, lifting one to show her its palm. “This material is close to skin, but it’s not quite. It’s commonly called organo-metal. My hands are robotic, like yours.”

  She removed a hand from the wheel and ran her fingers along mine. She then took my wrist and rubbed my palm on her face. “I cannot feel the difference. This organo-metal feels the same as human skin to me.”

  “Yeah, I was surprised at how convincing it is myself. What made you realize they were different?”

  “They are very solid. It is like stone beneath your skin.”

  That made me happy to hear. “I do think they’re pretty tough. They served me well in the storm, but I don’t think I’ve seen all they have to offer yet. I’ve been told they can likely bend steel. I haven’t tried, but I intend to.” She rubbed her cheek with my hand some more. “I’m actually supposed to be getting used to them by working the sails, but with all that’s happened since the storm, I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

  “I see,” she said. “How did you come to have such hands, Troy?”

  “They were crushed on duty—in battle, I mean.” I took a moment, unsure whether I wanted to elaborate. “By a machine.” It was actually an armored car, but I did not want to take time to explain what that was to her. “I was knocked over, and the enemy was aiming for my head. Lucky for me, he was not very coordinated. We never caught up to him, but my buddy took out his passenger before they were out of range.”

  “I am so sorry, Troy.” She closed her eyes, still feeling my touch on her face. “It seems what you say is true, that we do have more in common than I believed.”

  “Yeah, we do. In a lot of ways, these hands are better than my old ones. They don’t age, so they might look a little weird when I’m old and covered in wrinkles, but I’m not too worried about that.” I laughed. “Honestly, they make me wish I was more robot.” That wasn’t really true. I would have killed to have my goddamn hands back, but I was only trying to lighten the mood.

  I expected her to laugh a little at the idea that what I wanted was the exact opposite of her deepest longing, but she didn’t. She just looked up at me for a moment and smiled, saying, “Well, let us hope that one day we will meet somewhere in the middle.” Then she touched my nose with the tip of her finger before turning back to the horizon.

  No, I thought, it seemed like we weren’t very different after all. I had only known Helen for a day, but I could already see a piece of myself in her. I hoped to get to know her much better in the days to come.

  Another twenty minutes passed before I could see the land. As we drew closer, I began to worry. Something seemed off. I scanned the shore but saw no port. Surely a city like Troy had a port.

  “Is it further inland?” I asked. “Do we have to bring the boat onto the beach and travel before we reach Ilium?”

  “Did I not mention, Troy?” She grinned mischievously. “We are making a stop before Ilium. Ilium is beyond this island, which belongs to a tribe called the Thirians. They are ruthless warriors and will help us save the city.”

  “Wait, what?” No, Helen, you did not explain to me that I was about to charge headfirst onto an island owned by a tribe of savage warriors. “So, what’s the plan? We just ask them to help us out of the kindness of their hearts, and they’ll be like ‘sure, bro, no problem’?”

  “That is not the exact plan, but—a part of the plan, rather. I feel things unlocking within me, and I understand that more is required of us than a direct route. Is that acceptable to you? That we must change as I change?” Looking at her then, I felt the same hint of something else that her proud, fearless demeanor revealed to me the day before. I wondered if the magical organic part of her was more complex than I imagined. “We will speak to them, yes,” she continued. “I k
now a little of their language. I hear their respect is not granted with ease, but once it is earned, they will see us as their own.”

  “Okay, I can get behind that, but how do we go about earning their respect?”

  Instead of responding directly, she looked back to the island and rested a hand on one of the dimpled knives at her waist. It seemed things were about to take an unexpected turn. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any weapons on my personal ship, but I wasn’t about to let that stop me from having some fun. If I needed to help this willowy girl earn some Thirian respect, that was what I was going to do.

  7

  I dropped anchor near a reef not far from the island. We’d have to take my raft and row to shore. Normally, I would jump at an opportunity to test my prosthetics, but I didn’t know what to expect when we made land, and was worried I would be too tired by the time I hit the beach.

  I lowered the raft and we set out. Not only was it another beautiful summer day, but the water was clear as glass. I could see straight through to the sand over a dozen feet below. Never while on tour had I come across such a sight. Schools of fish swam beneath us, some inching closer to the raft, their interest piqued, but never coming within reach of my paddles.

  “So, this is the Mediterranean, huh?”

  Helen sat directly across from me, preferring to watch me work instead of keeping an eye on the shore as it approached. She did not seem the least bit worried about what might happen when we got there. I wondered if that was because of her robotic side, or the royal mentality of the Helen she was created to imitate. Her confidence in the face of danger seemed unshakeable, an admirable quality for a travel companion to have in a war-torn country.

  “That is almost correct, Troy. This sea is the Aegean. To the south of us is the Sea of Crete, and below that is the Mediterranean,” she sang with her lilting voice. “They all run together, and their boundaries are not so well-defined. Beautiful, yes?”

  “Very.” I thought for a moment, trying to reach back to tenth grade geography when Mrs. Riddell had me label a printout of the Mediterranean and all surrounding countries with their geographic features. I was amazed that I still remembered any of it, but that old crone had a way of hammering things in. “So that means Greece is west, right?”

  A snarl flashed across her face at the mention of the country. “That is where those vain, petty people live, yes.” I was beginning to think her stance in the war was more personal than I had assumed.

  “Is that why you don’t like them? You think of them as petty?”

  “And vain,” Helen emphasized. “I despise the Greeks. They live for war and conquest, yet they parade around as if they are driven by some noble purpose that isn’t centered around forcing all others to bow and cater to them. They are nothing and must be made to leave the rest of us alone. If this means driving them to extinction, then so it must be.” She looked out over the sea, apparently lost in her own imagery.

  “I know people like that back home. They think of themselves as little less than gods, unable to do any wrong. They act like the picture of confidence until you do something they don’t agree with, and then all of a sudden you’re scum to them.” I laughed. “It’s funny coming from them though. Most of those people don’t have armies at their disposal and weigh over 300 pounds. They’re all talk.”

  “As are the Greeks. They, too, are ‘all talk’.” She turned back to me with a look of seriousness. “Not like the Trojans. Not like me, and not like you, Troy. We are strong. You would not go to war over a woman who decided she did not love you any longer. You would not throw a tantrum and murder thousands in an attempt to reclaim her when she did not desire to be reclaimed. Would you do these things, Troy?”

  “Maybe before I knew what it meant to be an adult, but no, I wouldn’t do something like that. It’s about respect, and caring, and even understanding that everyone is meant to be free. We own ourselves. Even when it comes to love, I think.”

  “This is why you are so admirable, Troy Weston. The Greeks, they are our opposite. They are a nation of violent infants,” she spat.

  I felt like she was assuming a lot about me at that point. It wasn’t that I didn’t think her view of me was fairly accurate, but I didn’t think she knew me well enough yet to know for sure. But whatever, I thought, I’d take any brownie points this beautiful muse would freely toss my way.

  I studied the shore as we drew closer. There wasn’t much beach before the wall of thick forest that seemed to span the entire length of the island. It was a pleasing scene in its own right, but the uncertainty of what, or who, might be hiding in those trees added to my feelings of unease.

  The raft skidded to a sudden halt as it struck the glimmering sand. We climbed out, and I started to pull it out of reach of the tides when I was greeted with a sneer by the jagged, menacing teeth of a stone spear.

  At its other end stood a bronzed beast of a man, more intimidating than the weapon he carried. Sinewy muscles rippled from beneath his calloused leather skin. Standing a solid half-head higher than me—and I wasn’t a short guy—this man was a sight to behold, and he meant business if his dead eyes were any indication. This was the look of a man who had seen many battles, who had killed to survive.

  I held my hands up and glanced behind him. There were dozens of them, brandishing all manner of crudely crafted instruments of war—spears, swords, daggers, and bows. Hints of metal winked at me here and there, but most of what I saw was stone, like the tip of the spear ready to end me with a moment’s notice.

  I assumed their numbers and reflexes compensated for their lack of armor. There wasn’t much need to play defense if they ambushed and outnumbered any unwilling prey that happened across them. Many of them wore nothing more than loin cloths, like you would expect of a typical tribesman, and others wore collections of bones strung together, draped over their chests or legs. Some had bones pierced through their ears and even their arms. Many sported red and white streaks painted across seemingly random parts of their bodies. If their goal was to present a scene of chaos and disorder, it was working. My quick appraisal met the bloodshot eyes of a knobby knife-wielding man whose eyelids had presumably been ripped off in some prior encounter. Holy fuck, I thought before turning my attention back to the immediate threat at hand.

  Big Man’s cracked lips parted and he spoke a language that sounded like nothing I’d ever heard before. His tone did not sound angry or aggressive, but pragmatic and even. I looked at Helen over my shoulder, hoping these were indeed the Thirians whose tongue she claimed to know.

  She responded to Big Man with words that resembled his but had her own musical touch, showing no sign of any perceived threat. If I were only hearing the exchange and not in the middle of it with my life hanging in the balance, I might have assumed she were speaking to a friend over lunch about the weather or some other innocuous subject.

  Big Man responded to her, and she addressed me in return. “This man says he is called Artession, and he is leader of the Thirians. He says that we must simply prove ourselves in battle against his men. If we succeed, we are free to roam the island as one of their tribe. If we fail, we will be dead, and they will consume us, as is their way.”

  I jerked my head around at her again, eyes wide. In response, she flashed that same sadistic, feral grin from before and removed the blades from her belt. Oh God, I thought. Not only was I going to have to defend myself against a handful of savages, but I was also going to have to make sure Helen’s over-confidence didn’t end up getting her killed.

  I looked Artession in his dead eyes and dropped my hands. He nodded and lowered his spear, backing away. Six of his tribesmen stepped forward to take his place. In all my time in the navy, I hadn’t experienced much hand-to-hand combat outside of training. I’d had my fair share of fights in the ring during my time in MMA, but those fights were structured, they had rules. I didn’t know how that experience would hold up in my present situation, but I was about to find out.

  With
out waiting for someone to say go, the goon to my left thrust his spear straight for my gut. I turned my whole body to the side, avoiding an attack that would have ended me before I even got started. I reached out and grabbed his spear with both hands and rammed the blunt end of it into his solar plexus. He doubled over but wasn’t ready to give up his weapon, so I helped convince him to do so by ripping it from his hands. The sharp end was already in and out of his throat by the time his buddies registered what had happened.

  My eyes met Artession’s several yards away, his face still without expression. I made a quick visual sweep in Helen’s direction to see her also in the throes of battle with six fearsome savages. To my surprise, she was holding one of them in a headlock, one of her knives at his stomach. Her eyes dared his friends to make the next move, threatening to gut him if they did. Her devilish grin said she was probably going to do it anyway. That was it. That was the something else I’d been waiting to see come out.

  I turned my attention back to my group just in time to see two of them lunging at me, one swinging a metal sword like a maniac and the other darting forward with a stone dagger in each hand. I thrust my spear into the knifeman’s stomach and guided him over to brush Maniac, the other man, to the side. Maniac lost his balance and stumbled to the sand. Daggers, the nickname I gave the guy with the knife, was tiny, so I tried to lift him off the ground with the spear. These people seemed to speak the language of intimidation fluently, so I thought a move like that could go a long way with them. It didn’t work like I intended. I probably had the strength to pull it off, but Daggers wasn’t in a cooperative mood. He fumbled around with the pole at the entry point, but did not accomplish much aside from shifting his weight too much for me to pull off my trick. I got him on his tiptoes before he flopped to the side and I decided to just drop the spear with him.

  Maniac was back up and coming at me like a bull seeing red. He swung his sword from overhead with both hands, and I caught an exposed part of the hilt with one of mine. My other prosthetic was free to grab his throat, so I took his neck up on the offer and had him on his back in seconds, his breath leaving in a hurry as I punished every one of his ribs with the impact.