by Kal Spriggs
“No,” Aldera said. “The bombs are ready, I will work with Mr. Woodard to install them shortly. The other devices are also ready. Fenris has been most satisfactory in assisting me in readying them for completion.”
“Good,” Mel said. The other woman had shown about as much emotion as a computer as she spoke. “Let me know if there are any issues.”
She gave Bob a nod and as she left the compartment, she could hear Aldera and Bob start up a conversation. She shook her head at that, she really didn't understand what he saw in the woman.
***
“Mel?” Fenris asked. For once, his gravelly voice almost sounded hesitant.
“Yes, Fenris?” Mel asked. She set her handheld computer to the side. She'd spent the past hour pouring over the final details of her plan in her quarters. Mostly, she knew, that was because it was her plan and if it all went horribly wrong, it would be her fault.
She welcomed the distraction, even if it meant there would be other problems. “Is there something wrong with the repair process?”
“No,” Fenris said. “That is going well. However, I have to say I'm not entirely satisfied with what happened today.” The AI let those words hang for a long moment before he spoke. “I wish I had some way to help you when you were alone in there.” Mel heard real misery in the AI's voice.
“Fenris...” Mel sighed. “You did what you could. Bob was there in time and from what I understand, you navigated him through the corridors and around Giles' other minions to me. You did help.” For that matter, he had dealt with the other Lazaran after she killed Giles and he had noticed the problem when the rest of them hadn't.
“That is not what I mean,” Fenris said. “Bob Walker was able to save you. I helped him, but if he had not been there in time, Giles would have...” The AI trailed off, as if he couldn't say the words aloud.
“He would have killed me,” Mel said. In truth, her body and brain would still be there, but what Bob had described sounded like a living death: her body still around, but without her soul guiding it. “I know.”
The existence of her soul was not something she had thought much about in the past few years. Even in the hell aboard Fenris, it hadn't been a concern. She had been far more focused on survival and preventing the deaths of millions to have any time for introspection.
She felt more than a little atavistic fear of what Giles had attempted to do to her. If he could so easily crush her free will and make her his slave... then what would happen to her soul? She'd never been much on attending church; even at the Harlequin Station Military Academy, she hadn't felt any particular call towards any faith, not even that of her parents and grandparents. Certainly she hadn't spent much more than a passing thought about what might happen to it after she shuffled off this mortal coil.
That question seemed far more important with the realization of a living death... of her mind no longer being her own. What if Giles had forced her to do horrible things? If her hands did the deeds, would she bear the blame?
It was not something that she could answer, not really, and she found her eyes drawn to her parents' copy of their holy book. Rawn had saved it, with a handful of other items. Neither he nor she had ever even opened the leather tome, they had just kept it in memory of their parents, a reflection of the people they came from, not anything to do with the people they planned to become.
She wondered if maybe the time had come to change that.
“I wish I had a physical body to intervene, to help,” Fenris said, interrupting her reflection.
She pulled her gaze off the dark leather book. “You have your repair bots...” Mel trailed off. That was, she knew, an unfair statement. For one thing, Giles had subverted a pair of them. For another, they were only indirectly under Fenris' control.
His repair subroutines organized and operated them, there were too many with too many variables and they had too limited of computing power on each for him to do more than receive data and give general commands. The AI couldn't utilize them under direct control like he could his fighter and bomber drones or his fuel drone.
“They aren't enough,” Fenris said. “If we have another incident like this or even just a stowaway, I can't help. You can die so easily, Mel. I don't want that to happen. You freed me... my life is yours, in many ways. I would not want to be responsible, however indirectly, for allowing you to die.”
“Do you want us to repair or replace your security robots?” Mel asked. The seven quadrupedal robots resembled nothing so much as metal wolves. When Mel and the others had opposed Fenris, they had damaged or destroyed all of them, to include a huge one. She could admit to some misgivings about seeing them walk Fenris' corridors, what with how one had nearly killed her.
“Yes,” Fenris said, “but I'm not certain that will be enough. I want your help, I'd like to design a body.” There was a firmness to his voice, as if this were some decision that seemed obvious to him.
Mel snorted, “A body?” She shook her head, “Fenris, you have a body, it's a multiton warship.”
“Yes, but this would be for me to directly interact with the crew,” Fenris said. “Often I feel as if I am forgotten, until you remind people I am present. If I had a physical form that they could interact with, they would remember my presence.”
Mel couldn't argue with that. Certainly the others still seemed to have issues of thinking of Fenris as a person. Yet she felt uncomfortable with the thought of a bipedal robot. Such devices weren't illegal, per se, but they were frowned upon. For that matter, what Fenris was suggesting would be far more sophisticated than a normal robot. He would want something capable of not just combat, but also interaction, possibly of emotional expression. Just where were they to get something like that?
“It's an idea,” Mel said. “But can it wait until after we complete this mission?”
“Of course,” Fenris said. “I'll spend some spare cycles thinking about exactly what I want, but I wanted to run the idea past you.”
“Well,” Mel said, “Thanks. I will think about it and I'll back you when you run it past the others.”
She had no idea exactly how to go about that. She couldn't imagine it going over well with Marcus, especially. His general paranoia about everything extended to the warship. Brian would probably find the idea to be of some merit, but then again, he probably would just want to test himself against whatever body Fenris eventually received, probably in as rough and tumble a fight as possible.
“Thanks, Mel,” Fenris said. “I appreciate that.” He made it sound as if her agreement was all that mattered.
Mel nodded, yet some part of her wondered if her agreement might be a mistake.
***
Mel looked up at a rap on her hatch. She opened it to find Aldera Kynes standing in the hall. Her normal icy expression showed nothing and Mel almost slammed the hatch in her face, but she restrained the impulse. “Yes?” Mel asked, as politely as she could manage.
The woman gave her a sharp nod. “I wanted to speak with you. Privately.”
Mel restrained a sigh. Great, she thought, just what I want, private time with the woman who seems to have no soul. She unwillingly found her eyes drawn back towards the leather book on the shelf. Wouldn't they have wanted her to reach out and take the peace offering? She nodded.
“Sure, come on in.”
Aldera moved past her and stopped in the narrow quarters. She looked around for a moment, “I hadn't realized you had the same quarters as the rest of us. I thought, perhaps, that you had captain's quarters.” She sounded surprised, which in itself, surprised Mel a bit, she hadn't realized the woman could feel any emotion.
Mel shook her head, “I'm not the captain. I'm just part of the team. Even though I know how to pilot the ship and operate the weapons, Fenris runs himself, anyway.”
“Yes,” Aldera nodded, “but the team listens to what you have to say... even Fenris.”
Mel snorted at that, “It's not like they follow orders in lock-step, this isn't exactly
a military organization, in case you haven't noticed.” The very idea seemed absurd.
“No,” Aldera said, “It isn't. But I can't help but notice that we are here on your plan.”
“What do you mean by that?” Mel asked with narrow eyes.
Aldera didn't answer her immediately. Instead she examined some of the pictures that Mel had on her tiny desk. “When Jean Paul first contacted me, I thought that he was the one in charge of this team. Yet he warned me to listen to what you had to say.” She met Mel's eyes and gave her a slight, humorless smile, “I assumed that you were his second in command or perhaps his paramour.”
Mel flushed a bit, “I was his girlfriend, but that was several years ago.”
“Yes,” Aldera said. “I realize that, but that isn't why he told me to defer to you. He realized what the others have... you are the leader, Melanie. Even Mr. Cordenau and Mr. Woodard have picked up on that fact.” She said that as if it were some profound declaration.
Mel snorted at that, “That's absurd.”
“It is true,” Aldera said. “Which is why I realize that I need to tell you why I am here.”
Mel tensed at that. “I don't need to know.” In truth, she didn't want to know. If Aldera admitted to some terrible crimes, Mel would have to take some action. Please don't tell me you killed children or something equally horrible, she thought, I need you to do this mission, I don't want to have to kill you.
“You do,” Aldera said, “if only so that you can make appropriate decisions.”
She crossed her arms defensively and Mel realized with shock that the cold, beautiful woman was nervous. It was the first time Mel had sensed any emotion from her. “I've told your companion Mr. Walker some of my story in confidence, but I asked him to keep it to himself. Which is why he insisted that I wasn't the saboteur.” She brushed some of her dark hair out of her eyes.
Mel felt more than a bit of curiosity. What could make the woman so nervous to tell? Was her past that sordid? “I promise to keep it in confidence, if that's what you prefer,” Mel said.
“I would appreciate that,” Aldera said, “though I think since Jean Paul and Mr. Walker both know, then it is nearly a majority of the crew at this point.” She gave a sigh and looked at the chair.
“May I sit?” she asked with such grace that Mel felt her defenses lower a bit.
Mel blinked at her, “Of course, please.”
Aldera took a seat, her hands folded in her lap, her posture straight. “I was an engineer at the Freiberg Institute, here in the Emshaven system. I met a man, his name, he said, was Deitrich.” She gave a slight, humorless smile. “I did not get out much, I have never been very attractive...”
Mel shook her head, “Are you kidding?” The thing that had struck her most was the woman's aloof beauty. Mel had assumed she had her way with men and used them for whatever purposes she wanted.
“It is nice of you to say that,” Aldera said, so off-handedly that it had to be genuine.
That shocked Mel more than anything else, Aldera was one of those rare gorgeous women who truly didn't realize the effect she had on men. Mel had no illusions about herself, she was pretty but plain, Aldera could have been a model back home, especially with her deep blue eyes and raven-black hair. I almost want to hate her for that, Mel thought, but I just feel bad for distrusting her so much before.
Aldera sniffed, “Deitrich was nice. He gave me flowers. On Danzig, flowers are expensive, a rarity. I honestly had never seen actual flowers before.” She cleared her throat, “I'm sorry, I get a bit emotional as I think about this.”
Mel shook her head, “No, it's fine.” This was growing awkward, she thought.
“Well,” she said, “Deitrich and I had grown close. He gave me things, we... became intimate. Then one day a man from Guard Intelligence told me that Deitrich had been arrested for sedition. He was to be executed in only a matter of days.”
Mel's eyebrows went up at that. “Really?”
Aldera nodded, “I was told that if I worked for Guard Intelligence, they would spare his life. They wanted me to build equipment for them, weapons, transmitters, utilize my knowledge for their benefit, work in one of their secret laboratories.”
“I see,” Mel said. Her mind raced, no wonder the woman was so locked up tight. “What happened?” She couldn't imagine the choice that had faced Aldera, to work as a virtual slave to save a man who expressed feelings for her.
“I worked for them for fifteen years, in a lab, buried so deep underground that I didn't see the light of day,” Aldera said. Her gaze went distant, “Now and then I would get a letter from Deitrich, telling me he was sorry, that he had started a new life, that he, too, worked for them in a lab. He told me he...” her lips twisted into a sneer, “... that he loved me.”
Mel leaned back from the sudden rage that filled Aldera's voice. What had gone wrong?
“Then Jean Paul came to me. He was on his way out of the organization, he had become disillusioned, which was why he told me the truth,” Aldera said. Her voice had become leached of emotion once more, the anger gone so quickly that Mel wasn't quite certain if she had imagined it.
“He told me that 'Dietrich' didn't really exist, that he was a Guard Intelligence agent who specialized in recruitment of women... of assets like me. He showed me a recording of his debrief, where he had bragged to Marcus about how easily he insinuated himself into my life and my bed.”
“That bastard,” Mel snapped. Her sudden words made Aldera start and Mel saw tears in the other woman's eyes. “Did you find him?” Mel thought about what she would do to the man if she were the one he had so wronged.
“I didn't,” Aldera said. “Jean Paul helped me to escape, which was my priority. After that, I hid. I've worked as an engineer on tramp freighters, I've worked in sewers, waist deep in filth... all because I trusted that man. I know too much, my devices have been put to too many devious ends for them to let me run free, so I have lived the life of a wanted woman for the past decade.”
“I'm so sorry,” Mel said. She impulsively opened the locker under her bunk and then poured from the small flask she kept there, passing the flask cap to Aldera. The woman held the small shot of liquor without drinking, though she gave a polite nod of thanks.
Aldera gave a slight shrug, “It is my life, my decisions. I just want you to know why, though, so that you do not fear that I would betray you. Indeed, if this mission causes some harm to Guard Intelligence, so much the better.” She gave the first real smile that Mel had seen, “Indeed, Mr. Walker's stories about Guard Intelligence agents who met bad ends around your group has given me no little amusement.”
Mel matched her smile. “We do have something of a record, you know.”
“Well,” Aldera said, “Here's to adding more to their ranks.” She knocked back the shot and then coughed. “I think that is the first time I have had liquor.” She passed the flask cap back and Mel filled it up again.
“They don't drink on Danzig?” Mel asked as she passed it back over.
“We do,” Aldera said. “On Danzig, drinking is something of a national sport.” She flushed suddenly, “My father grew upset with me when I was a teenager and embarrassed him in front of his friends. I haven't had a drink since then.”
“Well,” Mel said as she took a sip of her own from the flask, “No time like the present. To hell with all men, right?”
“I can drink to that, I think,” Aldera said.
***
Bob froze in the corridor as he heard off-key singing.
What the hell, he thought, is someone watching some wretched movie or is that just what passes for entertainment here? He cocked his head as he heard two women's voices raised in raucous song. No, he thought as he paused outside Mel's hatch, I must be mistaken.
The hatch opened though, and Aldera stuck her head into the hallway, “Are we there yet?” she slurred. Behind her, Bob saw Mel stare blearily at him.
“Uh,” Bob said, “No. Six hours, I think.”
“Good,” Mel said, “Tell that man to get out of here, you can't trust any of them!” She was clearly drunk. “I told you about Marcus, right?”
“Yes!” Aldera closed the hatch in Bob's face. Behind it, he could hear their raised voices. A moment later, the off-key singing started up again.
“Fenris, is that what I think I saw?” Bob asked. He just wanted to be certain that Giles hadn't slipped hallucinogens into the water.
“If you're asking if Mel and Aldera are both extremely drunk,” Fenris said, “then yes.”
“Well,” Bob said, “At least they're getting along.” He winced and moved away from the door as a particularly off note seemed to resonate. “Is that Mel?”
“Unfortunately,” Fenris said, “it is. I had not realized that she doesn't sing well.”
Bob winced as another off key note echoed down the corridor. His eye started to twitch. “That doesn't adequately describe the experience,” Bob said. He winced again, “God, she could peel paint with that voice.”
“I'm not entirely certain that statement isn't accurate,” Fenris growled. “I'm shutting down my audio sensors in passenger quarters.”
Bob looked up enviously as he closed his hatch. He could still hear Mel's bad rendition of a song, one of the twangy ballads popular on her homeworld of Century. Something about horses and unfaithful men, he thought.
“I wish I was so lucky,” he said in response to the ship.
***
“Oh,” Mel groaned, “God. My head.” Why am I on the floor, Mel thought blearily, who is that snoring so loud? She winced at the bright light above her and crawled across the floor to the switch. She pawed at it, eyes closed until the lights finally shut off.
“Fenris?” Mel asked. “Fenris, what time is it?”
She heard the snoring continue. Mel looked over to see that Aldera was passed out, head back, on Mel's bunk. That's why I was on the floor, Mel thought. She didn't know why the woman hadn't just walked down the corridor to her own quarters. Just now, Mel didn't know much of anything.
