Jaelle looked up and sniffed. “Snow is in the air.”
Dusko, who loathed the cold, gave her a sour look. “Not the hardest of forecasts. It snows all the time on this miserable world. If it wasn’t for its wealth of natural resources, I can’t imagine why anyone would land here.”
She nodded. “The best natural furs in the galaxy, imperishable quick-growing hardwoods, and gems found nowhere else. Worth a little hardship.”
I zipped my too-thin ship-jacket under the cloak and turned its heating element up. “I’m wishing we’d pulled a few of those furs out of the cargo containers.”
“Hah,” Jaelle said, “with what they cost? You’ll make do with synthetics and like it.”
“Easy for you to say,” I replied. “You have fur in spots.”
We started up the street. Sodium lamps were flickering on as the locals scurried through the streets. This city rolled up early. Underground passages and skyways linked some of the newer buildings. The section near the port was less protected, being of older construction and with buildings set closer together, a common setup for a landing site colony.
Colonists bundled in the wonderful local furs and inured to the cold, marched around us with only the occasional curious look. Heavy snowflakes began to fall, muffling the sounds of the city around us. The wind began to whip us.
“Never a taxi around when you want one,” I said, my breath fogging the air.
“Stauver will be warmer,” Jaelle said. “We’ll pick up machined goods there at a good price, lots of factories.”
Dusko glared at the sky. “That alley cuts through the warehouse district, we can reach the covered walkways to the spaceport quicker.”
We cut into a narrow street between towering, dark-stone and wood buildings dodging a cargo carrier that trundled out of the alley. Lights on the main street were supplemented by a few wan doorway lamps.
Running footsteps sounded behind us. A crew of muffled and cloaked figures ran in and filled the alley. The three of us set our backs to the wall of one building.
“What gives?” I demanded. “Who the hell are you people?”
One figure threw back its hood to reveal a dark-skinned, human face under goggles. “I’ll keep it short,” he rumbled. “We represent certain interests in the cargo field here that don’t appreciate your undercutting our prices. We got a good thing going here. So you’re going to lift off tomorrow morning, empty.”
“Why don’t we give them a little taste of what’s in store for them if they don’t,” said the man next to him. He slipped an ornate club from under his cloak. I could barely see his face in the hood, but the smile on it said he was enjoying himself.
Suddenly a travel-cloaked figure dropped from the sky, landing between us and the menacing, half-circle in a crouch. The figure stood, slender arms in dark-blue extended from the cloak and threw back the hood. Maauro looked up at the dark man with her big, gentle eyes and delicate features.
“Retreat,” she said, “while I am inclined to let you go.”
Goggles looked at her in disbelief. The roof overhead was at least three stories high. But Clubman was neither patient nor smart. He wound up a swing.
Maauro snatched the stick away and struck him so fast it sounded like she was drumming. The others surged forward, but Maauro crashed into them, smashing men to the ground or flinging them into walls. Goggles took the time to pull a weapon. I shouted a warning to Maauro as he leveled the weapon, which emitted a harsh buzz, a stunner. We were behind Maauro and out of direct line, but the beam made me a little woozy. I sagged against a wall.
Maauro turned back to Goggles. “What an interesting sensation,” she said, then beaned him with the club she’d taken from his friend. As he fell, she lunged and snatched the stunner from his hand, studying it like a new toy.
“Nice to be able to enjoy this scene this time,” Dusko said with smug satisfaction.
“I’m guessing non-violent weaponry wasn’t in her training,” Jaelle said, looking at the pile of bodies.
“No,” Maauro answered. “We did not take Infestor prisoners for other than interrogation, after which they were killed. Do not worry. I merely broke bones and hit pressure points. No fatalities.”
She turned the stunner over in her hands. “Wrik, what is this?”
I was still shaking off the effects. “Sonic stunner, they developed them a few decades ago.”
“An odd weapon, it subdues without damage.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you could feel the headache they generate.”
“Your military uses these?”
“It’s more of a police weapon.”
“I’m surprised your Creators didn’t have that technology,” Jaelle said. “What if you had to take a Creator prisoner?”
Maauro looked at her with surprise and a tinge of dismay. “I was Creator Military. They would never use me on civilians.”
“Then they are the only species I’ve ever heard of that wouldn’t,” Jaelle replied.
“Can we go?” Dusko said. “It’s not getting warmer.”
“We have to get these assholes in somewhere first,” I said.
“Why?” Maauro and Dusko said at the same moment. They looked at each other.
“They’ll freeze to death out here. We don’t need trouble with the authorities. Maauro, bypass security and open one of these buildings.”
The android cyberhacked a nearby warehouse and dragged the crew of thugs in. Some moaned, but none stirred. Maauro secured her new treasure inside her travel robe. “Now back to the ship,” she said, looking at the swirling snow with evident delight
“Yes,” I replied. “So I can take a bath in hot coffee.”
Jaelle smiled. “Room for two?”
“You bet.”
“Then we lift off in the morning?” Dusko asked, his teeth chattering.
I nodded. “On to Stauver.”
Chapter 18
We land on Stauver in the early morning. I study the world as Wrik takes us down. This is an older colony and far more established than even Kandalor. I detect many cities and towns as we fin down near the capital. The city has nearly one million inhabitants, primarily humans.
We are greeted at the port by officials who inspect our fictitious documents. I watch them on the monitors, unwilling to chance a meeting. They depart, satisfied with our legitimacy.
I join Wrik on the cargo deck. In the distance, I see a series of vehicles approaching.
“Transporters,” Wrik says. “Here for the cargo.”
I activate the crab robots and have them unload the larger freight.
The lead cargo hauler parks next to us. A pleasant-looking, older human female leads a group of strong-appearing men and a few women.
“No need to break out your lifters,” Wrik says to her. “We’ve got some general purpose models.”
The woman stares at them. “GPs my butt. Those are combat models. I used to be a tanker with the ASATs.”
“Yeah,” Wrik says, covering smoothly. “They’re demobbed. Picked ‘em up in lieu of cash when a customer went bankrupt. They’re kind of overkill, but what are you going to do?”
The woman laughs. “Overkill is what they’re best at. Wouldn’t trust them to move cargo myself, but you seem to have them all but waltzing.”
“I have worked very hard on their programming,” I say, stepping out of the shadows and into view.
The woman does a double-take.
“One of our crew,” Wrik says quickly. “Aurelia is from a lost colony.”
“Hi, Aurelia,” the woman says. “My, but you have some big eyes. Bet that gets all the boys’ attention.”
“A useful mutation,” I respond.
“Aurelia is very good with machines,” Wrik says.
The woman looks over her shoulder to where the crabs have
already loaded all the bulky cargo. I could use them to get everything else, but I am concerned the level of improvement I have made in these units will attract too much more attention. I could actually have done all this myself in less time but only at the expense of my cover.
“We have more delicate cargo in here,” I say.
“Well, folks,” the woman calls to her crew, “looks like there’s some work for you to do after all.”
The noisy mob of humans follows me into the ship and removes the smaller and breakable objects. The woman carefully checks everything against a manifest. The sunstone packages are opened and checked visually.
“OK, Captain,” she says to Wrik. “Countersign and we’re done. Your payment will transfer to the port’s escrow account and the balance after port fees is available for your immediate use.”
With our cargo now delivered, we are handsomely paid off. I join the others in the galley, which has become our usual meeting place.
Jaelle is reviewing our port account. She is singing softly, an indication that she is well pleased.
“What now?” Wrik asks her.
Dusko, our unofficial steward, has brought us four cups of steaming hot chocolate. Wrik nods at him, a rare civility. It seems that old animosity dies hard among biologicals. It is different for me. That which I am programmed to kill, I kill. That which does not activate that programming is safe. I thank Dusko for the chocolate.
“We need a new cargo and a new destination,” Jaelle muses. “Stauver is well known for its small mechanicals and tools. There are frontier worlds along the Theta Hyperdrive Current out of here. We could reach them in easy sidereal time about three months out of the galactic time stream. Could be quite a profit in such a venture. No other ship has a flight plan for Theta and the last one that went that way carried rare atomic ores for a fusion plant in a new colony.”
“Shall we go into town?” Wrik says, excitement in his face. “Find some trade goods?”
“Yes. All of us,” Jaelle says.
I am unsure if this last is just a precaution to keep an eye on Dusko or pleasantry on her part. Jaelle seems more disposed than Wrik to allow the past to vanish into the past. While Wrik nominally serves as captain, I note that he follows Jaelle’s lead in most things beyond the flying of the ship itself.
“I’ll get my coat,” Dusko says. Expressions are difficult for me to interpret, but he seems pleased to be included in the expedition.
We seal the ship and I leave the crab robots on guard. While their weapons are hidden aboard to preserve the fiction that they are demobilized military, their pincers and sheer weight should deter any hostility. Wrik notes my preparations and nods approvingly. “Stauver’s a law-abiding place, but the Guild is everywhere.”
“Just so,” Jaelle seconds.
We rent a transport and head into the commercial district, past blocks of sturdy apartments and some older homes from the earlier days of the settlement. Overhead, standard aircraft are soaring to their destinations overseas or further into the continent. I see graceful suspension bridges arching over rivers and large commercial vessels. It occurs to me that the speed of sea transport has changed little over the centuries. We may bring cargo at hyperlight speeds, but the cheapest and most efficient way to move them onworld involves an immense hull displacing water and driving forward at the speed of a running human.
We park in a lot and don our light traveler’s cloaks. There seem to be no taboos of clothing or dress among the scurrying Stauvers, but the travel cloaks protect against inadvertent offense. Ours are gossamer light as the climate is moderate; we have landed in spring and have no need of additional warmth. We sit in a courtyard under a slatted, wooden cover, admiring the view of the river beyond. A variety of wide-leafed trees toss slowly in the breeze that cools us.
A young male attendant serves us. Work that on an inner world might be done by machine is done by the young as labor is cheap. He seems to take a great interest in me while we order our food. I order something inexpensive, merely to share the experience. Wrik’s voice acquires something of a warning growl when he orders and the youth hurries off. Jaelle seems to find this encounter somewhat amusing.
“Protecting your little sister?” she teases
“Just making sure that Maauro…pardon, Aurelia…doesn’t attract too much attention.”
“I seem to be passing without too much incident,” I mention. “I do need to be able to pass as a human among humans.”
Wrik’s expression is clearly dubious.
“Well, Dusko,” he says unexpectedly. “What do you say? You’re a keen observer”
“Keen or not,” he replies, “I am not a human and to be frank you all look rather alike to me, save in skin tone.”
“Jaelle?” he asks.
“Hard to say. Her eye size is dramatically bigger than yours, Wrik, or even mine. Still, to me she appears human, though I have spent little time with your kind before this.”
“I have considered trying to alter my basic matrix to more closely approximate a human,” I say, “but the last time I went through matrix reconstruction I malfunctioned soon after. This was a new ability built into the late models of the M-7 series and I was one of the first to be so equipped. I never had occasion to use it before the asteroid.”
Wrik studies me. “Any idea why it might have caused that?”
“Yes, but it borders on the metaphysical.”
Wrik’s eyebrows shoot up.
“My shape is dictated by programs, as my body is very malleable. Simply put, I look the way I do because from moment to moment, I think that I look this way. Drastic changes may interfere with my sense of myself and make it difficult for me to remain stable. In a very real sense if I lose my image of myself, I could lose bodily coherence and be unable to retain any shape.”
“Oh,” he said.
“As I said, I must eventually learn to move among humans. Stauver seems like a safe location for me to explore this,” I say.
Wrik seems unconvinced, but forbears to argue further.
We enjoy our meal then head into the shops beyond. Jaelle is constantly checking a portacomp, looking at suppliers’ virtual displays.
Suddenly she straightens. “This looks promising.”
We are before a large, factory-style building. It has a showroom and guided by Jaelle’s comp we go over. In the show window sits a variety of cunningly-wrought tools: folding shovels, extensible drills and power units.
“That,” Dusko points at a case full of small power tools, “would sell.”
Jaelle waves her comp at it and an advert pops into the air. “Machine shop in a suitcase,” a voice says seductively. “Are you the do-it-yourself type? Or far from help? Machine shop in a suitcase covers almost every repair and at an amazingly low factory-direct price.” The advert reels off additional details and specs. Dusko and Jaelle exchange nods and head for the entrance, trailed by Wrik and me.
Inside, an older, heavyset man wearing a large, orange apron smiles and greets us. “Welcome to Kruger Machine Works.”
Jaelle and Dusko give their assumed names and identify us as from the Stardust. They are quickly involved in discussing the details and merits of a variety of tools and mechanical goods. I lose interest.
“Wrik,” I say. “I will leave you to these arrangements. I wish to explore the city at greater length.”
The older man laughs. “Guess that trade talk gets boring for the young. Now mind you be careful if you’re going near the offport. It can be kind of rough down there.”
“I am very capable in matters of self-defense.”
“No denying that,” Dusko says.
Wrik looks a little surprised, even hesitant. “I don’t know if you should go off without me.”
“Gotta cut the apron strings sometime,” the older man says, apparently free with advice on all topics. “I
didn’t mean to suggest Stauver City is dangerous. We have almost no violent crime here. She’ll be safe enough.”
“Yes,” Jaelle says, a smile playing on her lips. “Just be back before dark, young lady.”
Wrik too smiles, seeming to get into the spirit of the interaction. “And no boys either!”
I review my list of responses and settle on one that seems appropriate for the teenage female I appear to be. I roll my eyes. Laughter follows me as I walk out of the shop.
I continue down the broad avenue, hopping a slidewalk back to the riverfront that intrigued me earlier. I wander among the humans and others of Stauver, studying faces and customs. It occurs to me that this is the first time I have traveled among biologicals without Wrik or Jaelle accompanying me. Have I become timid?
I stop to buy an ice cream and to watch the ships in the river. I do not need the calories, though they will be converted to energy, but it is also part of my development to learn more pleasurable sensations as I become more sophisticated. As I’d pointed out to Wrik, while I have existed 50,115 standard galactic years, only seven of those had been active before my enforced stay on the asteroid. I have learned more in the year since Wrik found me than in those eight before, when I was little more than a weapon.
A pair of males come over as I watch an ocean-going skimmer setting out to sea.
“Hi,” says the taller, slender male. His blond hair is pulled into a long ponytail that sweeps his back.
I nod.
“Are you an offworlder?” asks the other, a stocky teen who has a pile of dark hair that hangs down to his eyes.
“I am.”
“That’s why she’s wearing a travel cloak, numbskull,” the tall one says. “I’m Toldas. Short and wide here is Bralt.”
“Who you calling short, Beanpole?”
I am confused. Their comments to and about each other are antagonistic, but does not match their energy levels or actions. It seems they are networked.
My Outcast State (The Maauro Chronicles Book 1) Page 16
