by Welch, David
“A natural,” she said, turning to Lucius. His face was only inches from hers, the scent of him immediate. She hesitated and then turned away quickly.
“M-maybe you can show him how the guns work,” she stammered awkwardly, instantly regretting it.
A sadness came to his eyes, even if his face retained its traditional blank façade. He stood back up and rubbed her shoulder reassuringly.
“Perhaps later,” he replied. “He seems happy.”
She heard his footsteps as he left the bridge. A sadness then came over her, an emptiness she was all too familiar with. She shifted Quintus to her other leg and kissed his head.
“I’ll teach you how to fly when I’m done learning,” she whispered to the child. “Just don’t ask me to explain love.”
* * *
Rex saw Lucius disappear into his cabin, the look of a shattered heart etched into the lines around his eyes. Just in case things might get boring…
He didn’t have time right now to console either his lovelorn gunner or the pilot-in-training who, he figured, had the ship currently spinning like a top at one tenth the speed of light. He was thinking about the task ahead of him.
Running from strange bioships and planning ways to disguise his engine trace had kept him busy before, but now he had time to wonder. And his wondering invariably focused on the most unusual member of his motley crew. If Second was becoming truly human, he had a short window to take advantage of her absolute obedience and learn all he could about this “Perfected Hegemony.” At least that’s what he told himself. Deep down he feared he was merely looking to uncover other horrible things done to her, to reinforce the promise he’d made to Chaki. To look for more reasons to justify freeing her.
Since when do you need more justification than freedom itself?
His mind repeated the question as he entered the common room.
She sat patiently at the table, wearing one of Chakrika’s old jumpsuits. It fit tighter than it should due to her greater height, but they had no other clothing for her. Second’s eyes followed him as he moved to the kitchen. He mixed some flavored sugar powder into a glass of water and then took a seat opposite her.
“Computer, record visually and audibly everything said in this conversation.”
There was no response, but he didn’t need one.
“Second, I want you tell me everything you can about the Hegemony,” he spoke.
If spilling secrets about her creators bothered her, she didn’t show it.
“What do you wish to know?” she asked predictably.
“Well, to start with, is that body, the ambassador’s, human?”
“He is not homo sapiens,” she answered. “They refer to themselves as homo superioris. The bodies they choose are predominantly made out of primitive human genetic material, but have been modified with contributions from numerous other species.”
“Such as?” Rex asked.
“I was not designed to know the specifics of their design,” she replied.
“OK. I want to clarify something. You have repeatedly referred to their ‘bodies.’ Am I correct in understanding that they can transfer their consciousness from one physical form to the next?” Rex asked.
“Their brains are regularly moved in a physical transfer. They can inhabit any body designed with proper nerve connections and a large enough cavity to fit their brain tissue.”
Rex nodded. His mind wanted to consider the implications of this, but he needed to stay focused.
“What about your mind, Second?” he asked. “Has it been ‘transferred?’”
“Nine times,” she replied.
His eyes went wide.
“Wait—what? Nine times?!”
“Yes. The Second line was created when it was determined that it would be necessary for the ambassador to discourage travel into Hegemony space. My mind has been transferred nine times since then.”
“If you have no will of your own and are not a ‘Master,’ why would they move your mind from one body to the next?” he asked.
“To take advantage of linguistic experience that I have gained over the years. The bodies of the Second line have been improved in the last century to better persuade male diplomats through pheromone secretion and better serve the ambassador as a translating faculty. When physical aging has rendered a body no longer capable of these duties, it is replaced.”
Rex let out a heavy breath, taking a long drink. His head hurt.
“How old are you, er—how long has your mind existed?” Rex asked.
“Ninety-seven years. In that time it has suffered two murders and seven replacements due to age.”
“Murders?”
“Yes. Homeostasis in this body has been terminated by the violent actions of others twice.”
“Do you remember these deaths?” he asked.
“I do,” she replied without a trace of emotion.
He moved to ask another question, but paused. Her left fist was balled, muscles taut under her skin.
“Note that her left hand is making a fist,” Rex said to the computer. Second noticed it and relaxed the hand. Rex pushed on, asking, “How old is your current body?”
“Three Rapanui years,” she replied.
“Rapanui, is that a ‘Hegemony’ planet?” Rex asked.
“It is.”
“OK, right. Second, since your civilization possesses the ability to move brains from one body to the next, how old are the ‘Masters’ you serve?”
“The ambassador is 204 years old. The oldest Master known is 246 years old.”
“Do they ever die?” Rex asked. “Besides the ambassador?”
“Death is possible, but rare. The last death of a Master was in a landslide thirty-four years ago.”
“How many Masters are there, Second?” Rex asked.
“I do not know exact figures, but I believe it is less than one million. They are not as numerous as primitive humans.”
“One million? How can one million people control the space beyond the Achaean Confederacy? There must be three hundred systems in the region,” Rex asked.
“They have many servants they have created to perform needed tasks. They serve as I do,” Second spoke.
“Are these servants genetically engineered as well?” Rex asked.
“They are.”
“You said you were designed to appear like a ‘primitive’ human. Are these other servants humanoid in appearance?”
“Some follow a basic bipedal body plan. Warriors, Runners, and Flyers all have two legs, two feet, a head, and a torso. Runners and Flyers have tails. Many specified lines are not humanoid and have little human DNA included in their design.”
“What are those three ‘lines’ you mentioned? Warriors, Runners, and Flyers, explain them.”
“Warriors are eleven-foot-tall humanoids armored with bony plates beneath their skin and thick external hair. They are several times stronger than a human and are designed to be vicious and without fear. They have clawed hands. They attack as ordered and do not retreat.”
“How are they kept under control?” Rex interjected.
“All lines excepting mine are designed to chemically obey the orders of the Masters. The Masters emit a pheromone that brings the Warriors under their control.”
“You are not vulnerable to this pheromone?”
“It was decided that should a similar pheromone exist among the primitives its use could undermine my loyalty to the ambassador. I am also not a physical threat to any Master due to the primitive nature of my design.”
“Yeah,” Rex spoke. “We all saw the muscle density of your ambassador. OK, Continue on.”
“Runners are fast-moving attack creatures five feet in height. They have reptilian skin and five-inch claws. They can attain speeds of forty miles per hour. Flyers are hollow-boned humanoids with extended arms and wings. They are scavengers who fly over our worlds and feast on servants who have broken from wear and can no longer serve the Masters. All three designs a
re in excess of 60 percent human, but have been modified to fit their roles with non-human DNA.”
“Great,” Rex muttered, images of all this madness floating through his mind. “You mentioned non-humanoid ‘servants.’ Give me an example?”
“Haulers. They are quadripedal beasts of enormous strength.”
“So you have lines for every purpose, basically. Carrying things, digging, building things.”
“There is no construction,” Second replied.
“What?” Rex asked, confused.
“Large, semi-conscious creatures with internal cavities provide housing. There is no construction of mechanical objects. Only in the construction of spacecraft is the presence of machines tolerated,” she replied simply.
“No machines? None at all?”
“None beyond those present in space—”
“Spacecraft, yeah. So your people have forsaken technology in favor of…biology?”
“The Masters believe that machines are abominations and dehumanize life. They tolerate it in spacecraft only out of necessity.”
“How do they genetically engineer life without machines?” Rex asked.
“Breeders,” she replied. “They are a line made from the genetic material controlling the wombs of several whale species, from which all lines gestate and emerge.”
“Even you?”
“Yes,” she replied, “Each of my bodies has been grown within a Breeder.”
He took another long drink, suddenly wishing he’d poured something alcoholic.
“How did all of this get started?” Rex finally asked. ”Why would people do this?”
“They believed life was imperfect, that primitive humans were imperfect and destructive to organic life. They fled Earth to create superior forms of life and society,” Second related.
“Superior? They actually believe that?”
“That is their purpose,” she said simply.
“Is that why they stay so reclusive? They’re worried about somebody stopping what they’re doing?”
“They worry about adulteration,” she said. “They have little fear of most primitive human nations. Hegemony territory is significantly larger than all but two primitive nations.”
“Which nations are those?” Rex said, already knowing the answer.
“The Free Terran Commonwealth and the Empire of Europa. The ambassador spoke of them often. He was fearful of the lethality of their mechanical spacecraft and spoke often of how they could match the forces of the Hegemony,” she explained.
Rex felt a small bit of relief at that and then asked, “Does the Hegemony plan on waging war on human nations? Or in the Chaos Quarter?”
“I am unaware of their plans. There is division amongst Masters on how to deal with the infestation of primitives. Some favor continuing to develop superior life forms, while others favor purging worlds of primitive man.”
“Purging? They want to eliminate us?”
“Some Masters consider your presence a relic that stands in the way of their expansion. Others believe that war is not advantageous and focus on improving their lives.”
“Which faction is in power?” Rex asked.
“I am unaware of their political machinations. I am aware the Masters of both opinions rely heavily on the thoughts of Him.”
“Him? God?”
“Not a deity. Him is the Ultimate Mind,” she replied simply.
“I don’t understand,” Rex said.
“He decrees and the Masters generally listen.”
“What is Him? Or He?” Rex asked.
“The Ultimate Mind.”
“Have you ever seen Him?”
“No. It is not required for me to perform my duties,” she answered.
“But Him has not decided to ‘purge’ the primitives from Explored Space,” Rex figured.
“He can not,” she replied. “He operates the society for the Masters. He does not determine the path the Masters take, only how the path will be achieved once decided. He has no independent will.”
“Well that’s good,” Rex said sarcastically. He rubbed his eyes. Any doubts over his decision had vanished, right around the moment Second had mentioned she’d been murdered. The madhouse she’d described afterward had just been icing on the cake.
“Thank you, Second. Please return to the bridge.”
She got up and walked away, disappearing down the hallway. Rex tilted back in his chair, digesting what he’d just heard.
He stayed that way for a long while.
* * *
Rex had taken a long shower after the interview with Second, using up far too much water. He didn’t care. Part of him had felt soiled just imagining the things she’d spoken of. Blending human DNA with animals to create slaves? What part of that didn’t send up red flags in a person? He’d heard of minor tweaking to effect human appearance. Heck, Chakrika’s people must have played around with pigment genes to look the way they did. And the blue-skinned woman he’d spent the night with on Halcyon clearly hadn’t been one of the original “types” that had evolved on Earth. But tweaking one or two of your own genes to make a different-colored human was worlds different than creating soulless slaves using human parts!
What kind of person, if they are even still people, would do that? It had bothered him long after the shower. What type of being would look at Second and not see a woman? Hell, he still had problems wrapping his mind around the fact a woman obeyed his every word! It still gnawed at his soul that she wasn’t a woman, that she had been grown to be a tool for somebody else’s use.
After drying and dressing, he’d called everybody to the bridge. They came in, Lucius taking his station, Chakrika sitting down at the empty communications station with Quintus in her arms.
Rex stared each in the eye and then looked to Second.
“Second, please go to your cabin and remain there,” Rex ordered.
She left the room.
“Close off the bridge,” Rex ordered.
The computer closed a metal door, sealing them in. Rex turned back to his tiny crew.
“Computer, project the recording done with Second this afternoon.”
For the next half-hour they watched, Second’s words spinning off tales of disgust and horror with her usual, unassuming monotone. Lucius kept his face as wooden as ever, but his eyes betrayed a deep shock. Chakrika was absolutely horrified, covering little Quintus’s ears so he couldn’t hear the madness that spun from Second’s lips. Tears streaked from her eyes by the end of it. When it concluded they sat silent for a long moment.
“I can understand why your nation has so much interest in them,” Lucius said gravely.
“It’s not possible!” Chakrika shrieked. “Nobody can do that! It isn’t possible!”
“We all know it is,” Rex said coolly. “And when we’re done, everybody will know. The whole of god-damn Explored Space will know.”
“That ship will continue trying to find us,” Lucius noted. “If this is what they wish to hide, they will stop at no lengths to destroy us.”
“I know,” Rex said.
“You can’t let them have Second,” Chakrika said fiercely. “I know she’s a freak, but you can’t let them get her back.”
“I don’t intend to. It’s her we’re here to discuss,” Rex spoke, looking sympathetically at Chakrika. “You asked me once to fix her.”
“Yes,” Chakrika said.
“Well her injury knocked loose nerves from the lobe that, I think, controls her mind. Last night with Quintus, the fist she made in the recording…these were not accidents. Strong emotion is overpowering the programming that controls her. Her right brain has lost most of its connection with the controlling lobe and is asserting itself. If the fix is as simple as removing this implanted section of brain, then we can make her normal,” Rex spoke.
“Do it,” Chakrika declared.
“There is a risk,” Rex said.
“Any time we would have to spend on a world while she was getting o
perated upon would give our pursuers time to track us,” Lucius figured.
“Yes,” Rex replied.
“I thought we’d lost them?” Chakrika asked. “How would they even know where to look?”
“They found our engine output from Cordelian servers. They could do the same from Helvetia. It would take longer due to all the traffic around that rock; they’d have to sift through everything. But if they kept at it, they would figure it out eventually,” said Rex. “And if what she said of their ‘Warriors’ is true, we could be facing an enemy in close combat that we might not be able to beat.”
“So we leave her a slave?!” Chakrika shouted, the outrage upsetting little Quintus.
“No,” Rex replied quietly. “I won’t.”
“You think it is worth the risk?” Lucius spoke.
“Yes,” Rex said. “My superiors would tell me to finish the mission, but I can’t turn my back on this. Human life isn’t meant to be used like a wrench or a hammer and tossed aside once you’re done.”
“I sympathize Rex, but consider what we face before doing anything. Most people learn to live with free will as they grow to maturity. This woman was never a child. She will not gradually develop her will as her mind becomes more and more capable. She will go from being a living machine to a person overnight. What is to say her mind can even handle that sort of transition?” Lucius asked.
“Nothing. Nothing guarantees she’ll ever be normal or well adjusted,” Rex replied. “But none of that really matters.”
“What do you mean by that? These are valid concerns—”
“A human being is an individual. Any human being. That is an entitlement, Lucius! It’s a prerequisite for being alive!” he seethed. “I don’t care if she goes mad and spends her days locked in a mental ward. She deserves to be herself!”
Lucius backed down, turning his gaze from Rex.
“It is your decision,” Lucius spoke. “I will abide by it despite my reservations.”
