Archangel Down: Archangel Project. Book One

by C. Gockel

  “Ma’am?” said another officer, less than five meters behind him just beyond the fence laden with ivy and head-high flowers.

  “She’s a brown and black tortoise shell,” the old woman continued.

  “I thought I saw someone hiding in the vines, Sir,” said the man who’d spotted them.

  “Ohhh!” squealed the old woman. “That was her, that was her!”

  “Are you sure, Ma’am?” said someone else just before James and Noa stooped to enter the darkened door. James’s vision slowly adjusted, and he found himself in what might have been a gardener’s shed, except it was set into the main building of the house. In front of him was a wall of old-fashioned pruning equipment, shovels and spades of every sort, rakes, gloves, aprons, and little houses he estimated were for the pteranodon-like creatures that flew in Luddeccea’s skies.

  He heard the door click behind them, and the male voice said, “I’ll show you the way.”

  James turned toward the man and his eyes went wide. Striding through the shed toward the wall of gardening supplies was a young man with Mediterranean features too symmetrical to be natural. He appeared to be wearing only a pink apron. The man strode by them … and … he was only wearing a pink apron.

  Apparently unconcerned with his nudity, the man went to the wall and lifted a spade. The wall opened with a click. Turning to James and Noa, he beckoned with a hand and whispered, “This way, Noa.”

  “I can barely see, Sixty,” Noa said.

  “Oh, it is dark,” the man who was apparently “Sixty” answered. “But Eliza told me not to turn on the light until you were inside the safe room.” The man stood ramrod straight by the door without a word after that statement.

  “Maybe if you gave me your hand, Sixty?” Noa suggested.

  “Of course,” said Sixty, lifting an arm James could not help but notice was well-muscled.

  James’s vision darkened. Guiding Noa past Sixty, he said, “I can see fine,” even if at that moment he couldn’t.

  Standing oddly still, Sixty didn’t put down his hand as James led Noa into the narrow half meter-by-three meter space beyond. It was completely devoid of furniture, and there were handles set into the white-painted walls at regular intervals. James drew up short, the compact space making his neurons and nanos pulse in alarm.

  “What is it?” Noa whispered.

  “It’s—”

  The door to the garden tool room shut, a light flicked on, and white flashed behind James’s eyes as they struggled to adjust. Noa’s hand dropped from his and he felt her spin around.

  “Sound and light proof!” exclaimed Sixty.

  James turned around, rapidly blinking his eyes. As his eyes recovered, he found Sixty standing not ten centis from Noa’s nose. The man was smiling brightly. Clutching the coat that contained Carl Sagan, now completely hidden in the folds of fabric, Noa stumbled back against James’s chest with a yelp. James put a hand on her shoulder, and he heard her swallow.

  “I was going to say cramped,” James finished. He saw no sign of another exit.

  “Please tell me you’re wearing more than an apron, Sixty,” Noa whined in a way quite unlike her.

  “You know a lie would go against my programming,” Sixty said. “And I was cooking—I have a new cooking app. Of course I would be wearing an apron.” He looked up at James and held out his hand. “You haven’t introduced me to your companion.”

  James stared down at the hand, an inkling beginning to form at the back of his mind.

  Noa sighed. “James, this is Sixty—”

  “6T9,” the man corrected. “The number, the letter, and the number again.” He smiled and winked.

  James stared at the hand. The inkling in his mind became a 99.99% certainty.

  “6T9,” Noa said. “This is James.”

  “Hello, James,” said 6T9, hand still outstretched. Looking to Noa, he said, “Noa, are you and James in a mutually exclusive sexual relationship?”

  James’s hand on Noa’s shoulder tightened. He almost said “Yes,” estimating it would end the line of questioning.

  “Why are you asking?” Noa said.

  Hand still outstretched, 6T9 said, “Because James is a fine specimen of the masculine gender. Sometimes Eliza likes it when I and—”

  “Not interested.” The words spilled from James’s mouth in the same unconscious way he’d pulled the trigger in the forest, or kicked the man on the train.

  Finally dropping his hand, 6T9 shrugged. “I have to ask. It’s part of my programming. Please do not take offense.”

  “You are a … ” James could not bring himself to finish.

  Noa sighed and rubbed her temples.

  6T9 smiled. “A sex ‘bot. A very high-end one.” He winked again.

  James echoed Noa’s sigh. Most ‘bots were designed with a function in mind, and being human- formed was rarely the most ideal for that function—whether it was cleaning a home, sailing through the clouds of gas giants, or doing archaeological digs. It took a lot of processing power to move like a human, smile like a human, and sound like a human when speaking. When you created a ‘bot that could do all those things, you didn’t leave a lot of room for processors that could do other things. Like thinking. Sex ‘bots were designed for their primary function, and that involved looking like a human. James had heard that they were very good at their primary function, but he hadn’t indulged. It was considered extremely gauche. However, it wasn’t just that. He remembered being really drunk and telling a friend, “Even when I’m this pissed, as soon as they open their mouths, I feel let down and annoyed.” He must have had some need to connect on an intellectual level ... His head jerked at the unconscious past tense. Not must have had. He was the same person, no matter how different that person sometimes felt. He looked at the vacant expression on the ‘bot’s face and felt a mild revulsion sparked by more than just his preference for women. Some things he still had in common with that other him.

  6T9 lifted his head, as though hearing a far-off sound. “I am supposed to turn on the monitors to the rest of the house now.” He turned around, exposing his back side.

  “Couldn’t you put on some clothes?” Noa groaned.

  Grabbing a handle on the far wall, 6T9 looked over his shoulder. “You know I can wear clothes, Noa. And I am wearing an article of clothing.” The ‘bot’s head tilted. “Was that a rhetorical question?”

  “It was a request,” James supplied, intensely irritated by the ‘bot after only a few minutes.

  “Oh,” said 6T9, opening a cupboard and pulling out a hologlobe that had a tail of cords trailing from its underside into the wall. It was hardwired—of course, if the signal was transmitted wirelessly, it could be picked up with signal augmenters.

  “I don’t have any other clothes down here,” 6T9 said. He turned around so only the front of his pink apron was showing and Noa muttered, “Thank you,” and wiped her eyes.

  “Whatever for?” said 6T9, the hologlobe flickering to life in his hand. Neither Noa nor James bothered to answer. They both turned their attention to the globe. In it, James saw the old woman he’d briefly seen before, apparently in her kitchen. With her were two Luddeccean Guard members. The woman’s voice filled the room. “Would you boys like some fish stew?” James shifted agitatedly on his feet and looked up at the ceiling feeling as though it might fall on his head. She was suggesting they stay?

  “Ma’am, we can’t have any when we are on duty,” said a man who appeared to have a lot of ribbons on his chest.

  “But it smells delicious,” said the other.

  6T9 smiled. “It is delicious. I have a fantastic cooking app.”

  “Well, I’ll do anything to help the fellows who find my cat,” said the old woman.

  “Why is she encouraging them to stay?” James asked.

  “Where are the others?” asked Noa.

  “Probably looking about the house,” said 6T9.

  The globe flickered again, and James was staring at what appear
ed to be a sitting room. One trooper was staring at a chess set. It was set up on a coffee table next to an enormous blue couch draped with a knitted afghan. Pieces were arranged on the board as though it had been halted mid-game.

  “Ma’am, is there someone else in the house?” one of the troopers asked.

  “Oh, no,” Eliza’s voice replied from out of the globe’s glow. A moment later, she wobbled into view. “I was playing with a friend on Earth over the ethernet.”

  6T9 made a sound that sounded like a sigh. “I’m not a good enough player to offer her sufficient stimulation.”

  “Shame about those aliens, I may never finish my game,” Eliza said breezily.

  “Ma’am,” one of the Patrolmen said, “I hope you’ve turned off your neural net.”

  “Turned it off?” said the old woman. “Son, I am one of the original settlers. I never fooled with any of that newfangled gadgetry! I chat with my Earth friends via holo chat.” She harrumphed, and the trooper actually tipped his helmet.

  “Sorry, ma’am, just had to say so.”

  “There were more troopers,” James said.

  The globe flickered, and James was looking at two troopers in what looked to be a laundry room. “That’s just to your left,” said 6T9 cheerfully.

  Before James could take a breath, the globe flickered again, and the gardening room came into view. There were two troopers in the room, stunners upraised. “And that,” said 6T9, “is the room to your right.”

  “Shhhh … ” said Noa.

  In the globe, one of the troopers approached the wall of equipment and reached toward the wall.

  “Oh,” said 6T9, “perhaps they know we are here.” James glanced up at the ‘bot. His face was completely serene.

  James’s eyes dropped back to the globe just in time to see the trooper’s fingers passing within inches of the spade. James found one of his hands balling into a fist, the other on Noa’s back.

  Instead of picking up the spade, the trooper picked up one of the pteranodon houses. Stunner upraised in his opposite hand, he turned to his companion and said, “This is really well done.”

  His companion shook his head and swung his flashlight beam around the room. “Don’t take granny’s ptery house.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” the first protested.

  “Come on,” said his companion. “There are still rooms to check upstairs.”

  The globe flickered once more, and James saw four troopers in the kitchen around a table eating bowls of soup. “This is really good!” said one.

  “Undisciplined.” Noa shook her head. “Eliza is still an old fox.”

  “Oh, yes, she is,” said 6T9. “I call her my silver fox.”

  “Please don’t tell me any more,” Noa said, throwing up a hand.

  “That comment wasn’t gratuitous at all,” said 6T9.

  “But you wander off on gratuitous tangents all the time,” Noa said. “And I’m trying to nip it in the bud.”

  6T9 tilted his head. “I like to nip—”

  “Shut up,” said Noa.

  6T9’s mouth snapped shut, and James found himself unexpectedly feeling pity for the ‘bot. In the twenty-first century, humankind had hoped for so much from robots, androids, and AI—and feared so much, too. But that was before Moore’s Law ran smack into Moore’s Wall—significant improvements in computer processing power hadn’t been made in centuries. Instead, humankind had plugged into perhaps the most sophisticated processor in the universe with nanos and neural nets … their own minds. Augmented with nano storage, and apps for memorization tasks and computations, humans could do all the feats they’d imagined AIs would do. ‘Bots, on the other hand, seemed like simple humans.

  A few breathless minutes later, in the hologlobe the Luddeccean patrolmen said goodbye to Eliza.

  Her head bobbled, and she grinned and waved as they left—the perfect granny. As soon as she shut the door behind them, her demeanor changed completely. Her eyes went to slits. She looked directly up at one of the cameras and shook her cane.

  “That is the sign for us to go up,” 6T9 said. Putting the hologlobe back in the cabinet, 6T9 jumped up, grabbed another handle set into the ceiling, and pulled. A chunk of the ceiling opened up and 6T9 pulled down a ladder. He was about to start up it when Noa said, “I’ll go first. I don’t need the view of your moon and saber.”

  Lifting his chin, 6T9 smiled. “I know those metaphors. They have sexual overtones.”

  From above came a cackle. “I quite like the view of your moon and saber, 6T9!”

  6T9 pointed up. “Eliza quite likes my—”

  “Shut up,” Noa grumbled, sliding by him, arms protectively around the still completely-hidden Carl Sagan.

  6T9’s mouth snapped shut.

  From above, Eliza said, “Noa, are you insulting the love of my life?”

  Noa snorted.

  6T9’s face went blank. He turned to James, and for just a moment James thought he saw a flicker of something—concern maybe?

  But then 6T9 smiled at James. “Would you like a view of my moon and saber?”

  “No,” said James.

  “After you then,” said 6T9, holding up a hand, a pleasant smile on his face and all trace of concern gone.

  For a moment, James froze. ‘Bots of all sorts could “feel” concern for matters within their primary function—James’s dig ‘bots “fretted” often enough about the proper force to use when clearing dust from artifacts—although “voiced concerns” was perhaps a better description than “fretted.” But what about the last statement could concern a sex ‘bot, James couldn’t imagine. Shaking his head, he hastily climbed up the ladder.

  * * *

  Noa ducked her head and crawled out of a narrow doorway into Eliza’s kitchen. She blinked back over her shoulder. The doorway was cleverly disguised as a kitchen cabinet. Scrambling to her feet, wobbling only a little in exhaustion, she smiled at Eliza, a snappy comment on 6T9’s nudity on her tongue. The comment died as she looked at Eliza for the first time in proper lighting. It had been only a few years since she’d last visited Eliza—but the woman seemed to have aged decades in that time. She was shorter, more stooped. Her hair, once steel gray, was now completely white, thin and wispy, and didn’t completely conceal her scalp—although Noa noted that the fine wisps were strategically collected with a colorful rose bloom pin right above the spot her data port would be. Her face seemed to have collapsed in on itself in wrinkles. Inwardly, Noa’s heart sank, but with some effort she was able to keep the smile on her face. Carl Sagan poked his nose out of the cocoon of her jacket. She stroked her fingers between his ears.

  “So you’ve got a young man at last,” Eliza cackled, leaning on her cane. “About time.”

  Noa scowled as the werfle ran up behind her shoulder. “I do not have a young man,” she hissed in irritation. Eliza had never remarried, and the implication that Noa was better off with a significant other was downright hypocritical.

  “Really?” said Eliza, her voice wheezy, high, and chiding, an impish smile on her thin lips.

  Before Noa could retort, James poked his head out and nodded politely up at Eliza.

  The old woman’s eyes went wide, the chiding smile vanished. “He looks like––”

  Tim. It wasn’t just Noa who saw the resemblance, and Noa wasn’t sure how that made her feel. She shook her head, to say, no, we’re not a couple, or no, don’t talk about Tim, please.

  “Like who?” James asked, climbing to his feet and dusting himself off.

  “Like he’s hungry!” Eliza said brightly, in true Luddeccean grandmotherly fashion. Noa nodded her head at Eliza in acknowledgment of the small mercy.

  Thumping her cane, Eliza commanded, “6T9, get these people” ––Carl Sagan chirped from Noa’s shoulder–– “and their werfle some soup!”

  Poking his head out of the cabinet door, 6T9 stared up at Carl Sagan. “That’s not a rat?”

  Noa barely heard Eliza’s response. On shaky legs, she sa
nk gratefully into a chair. Following her, Eliza said, “And while he’s doing that, I expect you to tell me all about how you came to be on the Luddeccean Most Wanted list.” Her voice lowered and her eyes narrowed sharply. “And then you can tell me why you need my help.” There was accusation in that voice, and oddly it made Noa smile with relief. As much as Eliza’s body had aged, her mind was still sharp.

  * * *

  At Eliza’s table, Noa sat with a half-eaten bowl of soup before her. 6T9’s cooking app was very good, but Noa couldn’t finish. Carl Sagan was lapping from a bowl of broth in the corner. Next to her, James was on his third bowl of the stuff. 6T9 had left the room to prepare rooms for James and Noa to sleep in.

  Eliza was sitting in front of her, nervously playing with some beads around her neck. Her eyes were still bright and sharp—Noa’s relief at that was tempered by the fact that the more of her story she told, the deeper Eliza’s frown lines became.

  “So,” Noa said, “I think at this point the best option is to bring in outside assistance.”

  “The fastest any deep space vessel can reach the next time gate is 9.633 years,” Eliza said. She exhaled shakily.

  Noa leaned back in her seat. She wasn’t sure how many details of the hidden time gate to reveal—she trusted Eliza, but good intentions weren’t enough to hide the truth if someone were to pry loose your neural net. And Eliza still had her neural net in place, that was for certain. Although Noa couldn’t see the port, the old woman’s observations were too precise to be anything but net enhancement. One of Eliza’s eyebrows rose. “And frankly my dear, I don’t think I’ll live that long.”

  Before Noa’s brain and net had a chance to process that reply, 6T9 walked into the kitchen and interjected, “The doctor said you’re perfectly healthy. The cancer you had was completely eradicated by the immunotherapy and the plaques in your heart and brain were removed by nanos.”