by Steve Perry
Her dreadlocks were expendable. She wasn’t exactly trying to attract male action among the Hunters. Hell, maybe they even had some glue-ons she could use.
Her foot, though… her foot was a different matter.
She needed her foot.
Too bad about the Queen’s fingers. But the Hunters would be able to get control of the thing, and it would certainly still be quite able to do what they needed it to do: namely, lay the eggs they needed for their blooding exercises.
Negotiating her way through the air venting was a matter of relying on her intuition and sense of direction.
Over. Up. Down.
Eventually, she came to another grate.
She put her back against the wall, brought her legs up. Kicked. Kicked again.
The grate banged out of its fixture, fell back onto the floor.
She slipped out lithely and fell the few feet onto the metal deck, landing on the floor on all fours, sleek and ready as a cat.
The Hunters were standing there, watching her.
Just standing there in expectant repose.
She tore off her helmet and took in a deep breath.
She gave the ritual greeting of a warrior’s victory.
She wasn’t sure what she expected. A thank-you? As far as she knew, there was no such phrase in the Hunter vocabulary.
She’d saved their bacon, and they had nothing to say.
They just looked at her, as though trying to perceive what this strange Outsider that Dachande had Blooded was composed of. This honored companion they could never understand…
Then they did something remarkable.
They bowed.
She’d bowed for them before… something from her Japanese ancestry she’d shown them. They’d just stared at that, seemingly uncomprehending…
And now they were bowing.
All but one.
The others turned and left to be about the business of taking off from this planet. Of dealing with this captive Queen…
All but one.
The one lingered. He took his helmet off and his eyes were like lit coals in the darkness.
Shorty.
His mandibles danced menacingly.
He took a step forward, quick and menacing.
Machiko stood her ground.
Just inches short of her, the young Hunter stopped.
Machiko did not move. She did not blink. She just stared directly back at her challenger.
The mandibles bristled.
But then the Hunter spun, stalked away.
His steps echoed in the hallway.
She’d stared him down. Shorty dared not challenge her now, dared not hurt her after her incredible display of valor, after she’d risked her life to ensure the success of this operation.
No. She wasn’t one of them.
But they owed her more than ever now.
She felt the bliss of an endorphin rush…
…wings of lightning…
3
…heart of thunder…
Machiko crouched, holding her blade steady, waiting for the first move of her opponent.
For a moment the samurai warrior, in full medieval regalia, was just as motionless. His own long blade gleamed in the late-afternoon sun like a slender medallion of death, pendant from an azure sky.
The samurai warrior stepped forward, pleated armor jangle off an obviously immaculate build. She fancied she smelled the musky competence wafting off him.
She tasted a backbeat of fear.
He moved again, and he stepped forward with a familiar and startling arrogance.
He seemed in a hurry, as though he wanted to finish up this particular butcher’s order of slice ‘n’ dice and move on to the next bit of delicatessen fun.
“Hey,” she called in Japanese. “Are you hiding a salami in that codpiece, you miserable, impotent coward!”
The eyes shot open with fury.
The samurai raised his sword and, screaming, ran forward.
Machiko Noguchi feinted to meet him headlong, then at the last possible moment stepped aside. She flicked her sword down, then up and under the skillful but infuriated blow, and its blade slammed up the vulnerable break in the armor, cutting into the man’s body.
The man’s face grimaced a suitable expression of pain and surprise, and his mouth opened to let out a howl of extreme anguish.
Machiko’s sword whipped through shimmering light, coming out on the other side at full speed.
The man disappeared in a snap.
Machiko had to control the sword. She deflected its passage so that it whacked down into the sod.
She took a breath and steadied her nerves.
“Excellent,” piped a voice beside her. “Absolutely excellent, Machiko.”
She turned and looked at the speaker. There he was, beside that rock, crouching down so as to be out of the scenario that he had so ably created.
The holo-tube was already retracting into its compartment in his forehead.
“Thanks,” she said.
She suppressed a smile. It would not be advisable to give old A the H too much encouragement.
He stood up, dusting off his khaki knees, straightening his immaculate bush jacket just so.
“You’ve utilized the Sun Tzu’s principles very well,” pronounced the android in a clipped, punctilious tone that had an old-time mid-Atlantic quality to it.
“Pardon me?”
“Sun Tzu. The Art of War, of course.”
“Oh, yes. I thought you were talking about some land of disease-carrying fly.”
“That, I believe, is the tsetse.”
“Yes, yes, along with many other fine principles, Attila. You reiterate them to me constantly. I don’t necessarily have to be able to cough up whole sentences at the drop of a nunchuck! At some point, however, it all gets assimilated into my subconscious. It looked like a pretty obvious opening, though. You made the samurai display the flaw of pride and anger. I’m well acquainted with those flaws, and I know how to use that weakness in others. It’s a common trait, I believe, in men—and I traveled awhile with super—well, if not supermen, then at least exaggerated men.”
Attila looked a little troubled. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t have a subconscious. Perhaps I should save my money and buy one some day.”
They were about three kilometers out in the plains of Machiko Noguchi’s workworld. It was the corporation’s bureaucratic equivalent of Saturday, and Machiko used the day in her usual fashion.
Exercises.
Fighting exercises with Attila the Hun, her robot, to be precise.
Keep the body trim. Keep the soul sleek. Keep the old noodle alive. That was the ticket. Even when she’d been assigned out here in Zerosville, she’d realized that she was going to have to have some kind of trainer, some kind of companion, and since she wasn’t quite certain of the human availability in these departments out here in the hinterworlds, she’d bought herself a robot.
Well, “android” was the proper term, really, but as far as she was concerned, Attila was a robot. He’d been a number when she’d bought him, and she’d renamed him. It wasn’t often that a private citizen was able to afford the expense, and she’d had to get the Company’s approval. However, she’d explained in no uncertain terms what she’d needed the thing for, and since the Company was quite aware of her past and wanted to placate her as much as to get this loose cannon off their main deck, they’d complied. She had the money, and if she wanted to use it on a fabricated companion, well, what difference did it make if she used it to fight with or to fornicate with?
Attila the Hun was not the normal android used by the corporation. He was not an Artificial Person in the usual semiorganic sense, but rather a more mechanical sort. His strata of models was created to be affordable to the average populace, and used for commercial or private reasons rather than military or space exploration.
She programmed Attila to her specifications.
Unfortunately, she didn’t know qui
te what to do with the personality that came along with the whole package.
“A beautiful day, Miss Noguchi, is it not?” said Attila, casting a smile across the plains.
Machiko grunted.
“Not feeling particularly articulate today?”
“I just get really annoyed when you call me ‘Miss,’ dammit.”
“You’re not married.”
“Look, we’ve gone over this a hundred times before. I wasn’t aware that I hadn’t had your previous programs erased, okay? I didn’t realize that you had such a complex background. I realize that I can’t erase them now without erasing you in toto. Can’t you try to selectively erase habits—like calling me ‘Miss’?”
“Certainly.”
“Well, do it.”
“You’re not in a very good mood today, are you, Ms. Noguchi?”
“Machiko. Please, just call me Machiko.”
“Oh, excellent. I enjoy our informal exchanges. It’s nice to relate to you when you unleash me from the closet to do your will with me.”
“Right. Like you haven’t got a life.”
“My life is to serve.”
“And to watch your tapes and catalog your music.”
“One has to fill the spare moments.”
“I should have had you programmed to clean and cook. That’s what I should have done.”
“I do my share.”
“You can boil water and that’s about it.”
“You forget that although I have senses, they have to be calibrated to the proper specifications to cook to your taste. Also, I would clean more, if your odd meditation exercises did not call for such Spartan quarters and your regimen did not call for your cleaning it yourself, as part of your kata.”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just in a bitchy mood. Maybe defeating holographic opponents isn’t quite as satisfying as the thunk of real flesh, the splash of real blood.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not equipped with those sorts of simulations. Again, you attempt to make me feel inferior.”
“Nothing of the sort.”
Attila suddenly smiled, and it was a revelation. Usually when in repose that face was dark and dour. With a dark complexion, dark eyes, a natural frown, and a sharp, perfect nose set in a thin face topped with a perfect short gentleman’s haircut, Attila looked more like a mopey Neapolitan young man than a Germanic Hun. However, when he smiled, showing perfectly shaped white teeth, the entire face seemed to light up into a different dimension. Moments like this made Machiko forget entirely that he wasn’t a human being.
Moments like this also made her remember that she was a human being.
She’d always prided herself on her cool, her control. Her glacial characteristics had caused associates to dub her “Ice Princess” or “Snow Queen.” She had had very few friends. Her pride in life was remaining tough, cool, and efficient.
She had changed somewhat after her experience with the yautja. True, she had been more comfortable in some ways with creatures who had rules of behavior among them and who generally obeyed those rules. However, they were alien, and she was human. Her experience on Gordian made her realize that she had a deep instinctual love for, and loyalty to, humanity. She respected the yautja. In many ways she had become one of them. But she had discovered that she would have to do so in human terms and so was now trying to explore different dimensions of her humanity. This did not mean that she could deal with other people that well. However, she was trying. One of the best parts of being with Attila was that she felt comfortable with him and could be playful or bitchy, cold or charming, and experiment with emerging aspects of her personality.
“Oh, good,” said Attila “Then you’ll snap out of your funk and agree with me that it’s a beautiful day. I mean, all the evidence is here before you.”
Machiko looked around.
The scent of her own exercise had dissipated somewhat, so she was able to notice the smells around her. Prominent, of course, was the grass. Not Earth-type grass, but on the same principle, short and green and cast over everything like a luxuriant rug. It was this area’s version of summer here, pleasantly warm, just as the area’s version of winter was pleasantly cold. In between were the long, long autumn and spring, king and queen of this world of the bland and the mild.
Flowers.
That was what Attila was talking about, of course.
The floral addition was truly pleasant and combined with the odd shadings of color combed into the surroundings, poking out of unexpected spots in ochers and magentas and bright slashes of camellia. That, along with the uncommon blue-green of the sky, the way the cumulus clouds navigated the vast, silent reaches of it, and out beyond the reaches and humps of hills and flats, the faint suggestion of mountain peaks.
A slight, fragrant breeze ruffled Machiko’s still-short black hair, cooled the still-hot blooding mark on her forehead, that afterimage of lightning…
“Nice.”
“Nice?” The robot’s eyebrows rose with surprise. “Merely ‘nice’? Where are your aesthetics?”
She shrugged. “It has a kind of unruly, boring attractiveness, I suppose. You forget my background, though.”
A curious cock of the head. A finger lifted in understanding. “Ah, yes. As Japanese, you must prefer the more regulated and disciplined beauty of a garden.”
“I’m not saying I don’t enjoy wild beauty. I learned to thrill at the wastes of Ryushi, the violent dawns, the harsh sunsets…”
“Perhaps your opinion is presently reflected by your state of mind.”
“Oh?”
“You are not a content individual?”
“Oh, right… and you are?”
The robot shrugged. “As an android, I am merely content to be an individual.”
“Freedom in bondage, eh?”
“I do not consider my service with you as bondage, though I suppose legally and technically it might be considered so.”
“Oh, for emancipation! Let my people go.”
Attila’s face assumed a rather hurt expression.
“Perhaps we should continue our exercises.”
Machiko took out a scarf and wiped away a residue of sweat from her exertions. “I think I want to break for lunch. Maybe we can do some war maneuvers later this afternoon.”
Attila shot an arm forward and made a show of scrutinizing his wristwatch. “I believe I can fit you into my schedule.”
“Well, how thoughtful of you. There’s a nice little bistro in town I thought we could go to.”
“Well, since there’s only one bistro in town, I believe I know the one of which you speak. It’s a shame you didn’t bring a picnic lunch. We could have lingered and enjoyed the day…” He slapped his chin with exaggerated revelation. “But oh, my. How could I have forgotten?”
Attila fairly skipped over to the omniterrain vehicle, opened the trunk, and pulled out a basket covered with a red-and-white-checked towel. He whipped this off to reveal sandwiches, apples, and a bottle of red wine.
Machiko gave a grudging smile. “I didn’t realize that you were programmed to be thoughtful.”
“All androids have areas of latitude within which to move.”
“It’s the areas of longitude that trouble me.”
Attila sniffed with fake huffiness. “Perhaps you should just partake, enjoy, and then criticize if the fare does not meet your high standards.”
She laughed. “Come on, Attila. You’re just trying to cheer me up.” She followed him over to the boulder, where he motioned to a place where they could sit.
“Yes. I confess. And with good reason. Life is so much more pleasant when you’re in a reasonable mood.” He began to unpack the basket and place the meal on the tablelike rock. He lifted a small vase, complete with diamond-petaled flower, and made it the centerpiece for this sumptuous display. “There. To your liking?”
She nodded. “A pleasant surprise.”
There is more to existence than the Art of War.”
&n
bsp; “That’s nice to know. What kind of sandwich is this?” She began to unwrap the cellophane.
“Taste it. Guess.”
“I hope this isn’t some kind of new martial-arts exercise.”
“What? Sandwich karate?”
“Complete with the Movement of the Lettuce and Mustard?”
“And the Pickle on the Side Kick? Hardly. May I suggest that you taste it?”
She did. From one look at the contents between the rye slices she was able to guess that it was some kind of meat pâté, and the color was liverish—but surely not…
She bit into it, and her eyes lit up.
“Foie gras!”
“The genuine article.”
“But where—”
“Oh, a little barter with the gentlepeople in Shipping and Handling. I thought it would go well with a picnic, and you seemed so down in the dumps lately.”
She took a bite of the delicious fatty pâté and just let it linger meltingly in her mouth. She closed her eyes and savored it.
“Can you blame me?” she said finally.
“I had thought that you were happy when you were dating that mining foreman.”
“Who? Edward? That was a laugh. Just a diversion. It’s all pretty bland now, Til. It’s all anticlimax.”
“Hardly a very positive attitude. Surely those Predator sorts didn’t have foie gras sandwiches?”
“No. They ate their liver raw.”
“Surely they didn’t have clever and valuable android assistants?”
“No, and they didn’t have robot slaves, either. They were quite resourceful, those fellows.”
“Hmm. Sounds like they ate honor and valor for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
“Oh, no. There’s a biological reason for their interest in Hunting. They’re quite carnivorous. You can pretty much tell by their breath.”
“What a lovely bunch. And you say you actually miss them?”
“Miss them? I wouldn’t go so far as that, Til. They’re not exactly the lovable sort. No, they hardly inspire much sentiment.” She sighed and thought of a different way of putting her feelings. It pretty much came out exactly the way it came out before. “I felt alive then.”
“You’re alive now. You want me to engage my diagnostic functions?” He grabbed her wrist “Ah, a pulse. A very good sign.”
