by C. Gockel
The ship went silent. The walls became ivory; they became statues of light, and someone said, “The little weasel did it.”
But then someone else said, “We’re in Republic space.”
At those words, the bridge became transparent, and Volka saw the familiar, elaborate puzzle of honeycomb-shaped windows that sealed Carl and Sixty’s asteroid from the void. Through their lenses, she could see the green of the carefully cultivated forests and lawns. Down there, there were deer, rats, and soft beds. On the asteroid, there was peace and safety. Around her, Marines groaned.
“It’s no use,” said Carl. “I tried to convey the urgency, the apocalyptic nature of the consequences if we cannot rescue the survivors of Time Gate 33. She doesn’t understand.”
“Oliver, a little boy I watched, seldom understood consequences,” Sixty said. “Apocalyptic or otherwise.” His eyes were in the distance, and he was frowning. Carl was standing on his hind legs near James and Young, still sitting on the floor. Young was touching his neural port. James’s head was bowed, and his eyes were closed. Presumably, they were all conversing with someone privately through the ether.
To Sixty, Volka whispered, “You’re right.”
His head snapped toward her, and his lips parted in question.
Volka’s jaw got hard. “A child doesn’t understand an apocalypse.” What would Sundancer understand? Volka looked at Trina. Her head was pressed to her knees, and she was rocking slightly. Her pain was invisible to Sundancer. Trina wasn’t a carbon-based life form, and even though Sundancer could “see,” as Carl had said, body language was its own way of communicating, and Sundancer probably couldn’t understand Trina’s tears or her obvious dejection…How to make Sundancer feel it? Volka had no feelings for John, but she did understand hopeless, bewildering love, and loss.
Releasing a breath, Volka put her hands on the floor, squeezed her ears back to block the murmured conversations around her, closed her eyes, and pictured John and the continent on the planet he was trapped on. She could hold the picture, but she had no emotion for John, no feeling. Almost without her volition, he morphed in her mind’s eye to Alaric. Part of Volka still ached for him, even though he’d tried to destroy her. Her eyes scrunched tighter. But Alaric had tried to save her, too, hadn’t he?
She swallowed. She’d been so madly and hopelessly in love with him for so long. From that first season, she’d hoped, prayed even, that they would be together, if not in marriage, then in a faithful patronage. Alaric’s uncle had gotten permission to remain unmarried by bribing a doctor to declare him infertile. He’d have helped Alaric to do the same if Alaric had only asked…and Volka had believed until the very end that Alaric would ask. Even after he bowed to his family pressure to join the Guard, she’d thought he wouldn’t bend to marriage. She’d rejected his patronage when he’d become engaged to a woman picked for him by his family, but how many times since had she wanted to run to him, to beg him to take her back? In the end, her jealousy was stronger. But she still wanted him. She still longed for him.
All the noise on the bridge faded away as she became consumed with the memory and the feeling. Memories of Alaric were a horrible, gaping, empty hole deep within her. And if he was the one trapped in System 33, after everything, she’d still go to him, still risk her life. Light flashed behind her eyelids. She’d march into Hell for Alaric, after all his betrayals. It terrified her, and she hated it, but it was how she was made.
“Volka,” Sixty whispered. She felt his hand on her back, and she opened her eyes. Her eyelids were soaked with tears and they tumbled down her cheeks.
Around her, the Marines were standing—Trina and James, too. Sixty was sitting on his heels beside her.
“You did it, werfle!” someone said.
Which was when Volka realized that they’d returned to System 33. The walls were transparent, and they were in orbit above the fourth planet, the continent that was their destination below.
“It wasn’t me,” Carl said. “It was Volka.”
A few turned to her, and she wiped her eyes and bowed her head. She couldn’t look at them and really couldn’t look at Sixty. She’d brought them to where they needed to be with longing for a human man who had wanted her dead and Sixty turned to slag.
13
Luddeccea: Last Nights
The early morning pterys woke Alaric before his alarm went off. He flexed his hand on the sheets beside him and found the bed empty and cold. In the distance, he heard Alexis’s footsteps. Somewhere in the house she was dressed and had already done her hair and makeup. He exhaled. He wished she’d stayed in bed. Sometimes when they made love or whatever it was they did, he could almost pretend there was something like feeling between them. Today of all days he needed that.
Giving up on sleep, he stood, went to the window and gazed across his uncle’s lawn to the guest house where he’d lived during his college years, and, for all intents and purposes, Volka had lived with him. During his imprisonment, Alexis had moved into his uncle’s house with their boys, ostensibly to be closer to Alaric, but probably more so not to sully her father’s good name with Alaric’s shame. The guest house would have been perfect for their small family, but Alexis hadn’t wanted to stay where “those vile things happened.” He was reasonably certain she’d been referring to the android briefly living there. Volka had happened before their engagement, and in any event, he’d always been discreet.
In the early morning light, he couldn’t see into the window of the guest house bedroom, but he could vividly remember Volka rolling and laughing in the sheets while the pterys called. Frowning, he went to shower.
Later, as he went down the stairs, the smell of eggs, bacon, toast, and fresh coffee greeted him. His uncle was at the table, sipping coffee, an empty plate in front of him. Alexis was at the stove. Turning as he entered, she gave him a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. As he suspected, her makeup was done, and her hair was pulled back in a fashionable bun high on her head. He’d liked it better when it was loose and twisted around his hand the night before.
“I’ve made the eggs just the way you like them,” she said, slipping them onto a plate next to bacon, toast, and artfully arranged fruit. Setting the plate down, she smoothed down her apron, hands passing over the bump that was their third child. “I’ll go get the children,” she said.
“Why don’t you join us?” Alaric’s uncle suggested.
Alaric contained a sigh.
Lifting her chin, Alexis said defiantly, “They must say goodbye to their father before he leaves,” and strode briskly from the room.
When she was gone, Alaric said, “I don’t even ask anymore,” spearing his perfectly cooked eggs.
“She won’t let me hire a weere to help out,” his uncle murmured. “She should have help in her condition.”
Alaric agreed but only shook his head. “She should have been the captain.”
His uncle scowled and sipped his coffee. “It isn’t right she has no help.”
Upstairs he heard the boys rousing, the sound of water, and a few protests that he knew came from Sam as Alexis ran a comb through his unruly curls.
Alaric’s uncle’s eyes got misty. “If Volka were here…I still don’t understand…”
Alaric tensed. There was very little he could say about Volka’s situation. On Libertas, it was well-known that weere and humans could have children. But the counselors—those who hadn’t died in the plague—still resisted having it be common knowledge on Luddeccea. He wasn’t allowed to speak of Volka’s reasons for running, or why she’d stunned his uncle during the escape under the android’s influence. Alaric stabbed another piece of egg.
His uncle continued. “She was very frightened when she…” He shook his head. “You won’t tell me what really happened.”
Alaric dropped his fork and took a quick swig of coffee. “I am grateful for you allowing my family to stay here,” he said tightly.
“I’m worried about her,” his uncle persisted. �
��She was like a daughter to me.” There was no denying the accusation in his tone or the sharpness of his eyes. Alaric knew his uncle hurt. His productivity had dropped since Volka had left, and he’d been turning down commissions, but there was nothing Alaric was allowed to say.
He was saved from having to say anything by a flurry of footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, Lucas, Alaric’s youngest, burst into the kitchen, hair askew, wearing his ptery print footie pajamas. “Daddy!” he shouted, bolting for Alaric. Picking him up, Alaric set him on his lap, and his boy buried his nose against Alaric’s neck. Alaric had vague memories of his own father doing the same when he was Lucas’s age. Or at least, he remembered the photographs of himself sitting on his father’s lap. Patting Lucas’s back, Alaric resumed eating.
Half a minute later, Alexis burst into the kitchen. “He isn’t dressed.”
“It’s fine,” Alaric said.
“He needs to learn discipline,” said Alexis.
Was Alaric lacking in discipline for having sat on his father’s lap in pajamas as a child? Alaric’s skin heated, and he growled, “Leave it alone.” His eyes leveled on his wife, and his muscles tensed.
Alexis’s shoulders fell, and she turned on her heel and retreated down the hall. “Where is Sam?”
Alaric exhaled.
“She’s easier on them when you’re not around,” his uncle said, and Alaric had no idea what to do with that information. He heard Alexis going from room to room upstairs. Patting Lucas’s back, he enjoyed his son’s weight on his leg, his warmth against his side. This was why Alaric was going back up today. This was why he would risk everything.
Alexis was still upstairs, going from room to room, when Sam came into the kitchen.
Alaric’s eldest was dressed in his Sunday clothes, his hair was neat and tidy, and his face was solemn.
“Father, I have something for you,” he said. “You look like you need it.”
Alaric almost spit out his coffee. Did he look that upset?
Sam placed a cap gun on the table next to Alaric’s coffee cup. Glued to the top of the barrel was a straw that had been painted with gold paint. “It’s an electro-disruptor,” Sam said. “If you point it at a robot and shoot, all their electrics will break.”
“An electro-disruptor?” Alaric asked, raising an eyebrow and fighting to keep a straight face.
“Well, it’s only a prototype,” Sam said.
Alaric almost laughed out loud, wondering where his five-year-old had learned the word “prototype,” but he bit it back. “I’ll show it to tech,” Alaric suggested, managing to keep his expression solemn. “They’re always looking for new ideas.”
Like the new idea he was going to test today. He didn’t know when he’d see them again. Or if.
Sam nodded. “Good.”
Making a show of slipping it into his belt, Alaric gave in and pulled Sam into a hug. They’d both grown so much—and Sam was making “prototypes.” Each time he came home, they were different people. He hoped he’d come home again.
A horn honked outside, and without letting Sam or Lucas go, Alaric lumbered awkwardly to the foyer, both boys laughing in his arms.
Alexis greeted him by the door with Alaric’s bag and a scowl for Sam. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”
Giving the boys one last squeeze—earning him screeches of laughter—Alaric put them down.
“When will you come home again?” Sam asked.
It was a loaded question, and Alaric answered in a way that was allowable. “I won’t be away as long this time,” he said, omitting the if I come home at all.
He picked up his bag, and Alexis dutifully proffered her cheek without meeting his eyes. Just as dutifully he kissed it and stepped out the door.
“Wild Solomon” was on the stoop but vanished into the undergrowth at Alaric’s appearance. Keep the rats away from my family, Alaric found himself thinking. Like you did for me in the prison. The werfle’s head appeared in the grass a few feet away. It nodded once as though it had heard Alaric’s thoughts and then disappeared again.
Alaric turned his head to the sky. It was still dark enough that Time Gate 8’s broken ring shone like a moon. Lights winked along its unbroken edge, and although he couldn’t see it from here, he knew that there was a Luddeccean warship docked there. A warship that would be Luddeccea’s salvation or Alaric’s doom.
14
Darkness Above
“Do not reach out to the local ether,” Lieutenant Young said to 6T9 as Sundancer glided into S33O4’s atmosphere.
6T9 cut off the hail he’d almost performed. It was automatic to reach out for the local ether whenever he came to a new system, but if the humans aboard Time Gate 33 were monitoring, his hail would give them away. Were there humans aboard Time Gate 33? Carl and Volka didn’t think so. If they were being controlled by…something…did that diminish their humanity? Noa had told him about an experiment that was part of the standard lesson plans of every Republic child. She and a classmate had replaced the antennae of cockroaches with ethernet receivers and proceeded to control the insects through the ether. It worked for a little while, but eventually, the cockroaches resisted the remote control. Even a simple cockroach’s mind was sophisticated enough to resist ether meddling indefinitely. Human minds were far more complex, with far more redundancies, which was why ether control didn’t work on humans—at least not any more effectively than traditional forms of mind control—hypnosis, false memory implantation by an authority figure, or information restriction. They could recover after such incidents.
The female Marine stepped over to Volka, a nano-injector in her hand. “Hold out your arm. I’m going to treat you for the radiation we just experienced.”
6T9 caught the woman’s wrist and held it aloft just as Volka raised her bared arm. “She’s a weere,” 6T9 said. “Her immune system is hyper-vigilant.” Weere were designed and bred to be radiation resistant.
The Marine protested, “But the amount of radiation she was just exposed to—”
Slipping into a dominance routine, 6T9 retorted, “The nanos could cause an immediately fatal reaction. Unless you’ve got a rapid-test kit for nano-compatibility, she doesn’t get that injection, Marine.”
The Marine gave Volka a concerned look, but then she nodded smartly to 6T9. “You’re right,” she said and moved on to the next person.
Touching her throat, Volka murmured, “Weere do sometimes get radiation sickness.”
Remembering the radiation level in the stream near her home—not to mention the toxic chemical soup—6T9 didn’t doubt that. He frowned. “Did you ever hunt in the forest by your house in the exclusion zone, Volka?”
“Yes, and we sometimes went camping there.” She shifted on her feet, ears going back.
6T9 frowned. “The dose you just received is minimal compared to your previous exposure.” He tried to give her an encouraging smile, but knew it was grim. “Your hyper-vigilant immune system should clean up the damage. However, we’ll test you when we get back to the asteroid for nano-compatibility.”
Volka nodded and rolled down her sleeve.
James came over and dumped a bag at 6T9’s feet. Rummaging through it, he said, “You need a suit, 6T9.”
“What about me?” Volka asked.
James looked over his shoulder at her, but said nothing, and that spoke volumes.
Volka took a step toward him. “You might need me. To summon Sundancer or just to let you know if that…thing…is close by. I can feel it. You can’t.”
“She’s right,” said Carl Sagan. “If something happens to my body, there may not be a compatible creature nearby to hop to.”
James raised an eyebrow at the werfle. Crossing his forepaws, Carl said, “You are taking me, too.”
Lieutenant Young said, “Sinclair, we have suits for Volka and Carl. We might as well use them.”
6T9 eyed the Marines’ envirosuits. They were very practical. Although the material wasn’t heavy, it would keep hi
m thermoregulated so he would expend less power. For humans, the suit’s helmet recycled CO2 into oxygen, and the bodies collected wastes and recycled water that could be drunk through a straw in the helmet. For androids, that recycling system could be filled with ethanol, which, since they were physically incapable of getting drunk, they could use as a backup power source. The suit was resistant to tearing. It was pressurized—although 6T9 could survive in vacuum, it wasn’t optimal. There was one thing he didn’t like about the suits, though. The camouflage. In it, he would be nearly invisible. “Do I really need a suit?”
Trina looked down at the landscape coming into view. “I don’t think so. The pathogen was carried in water. This region is very arid. The pressure is nearly identical to Earth Standard, and the atmosphere is breathable.”
“Let me check if the pathogen is nearby,” said Carl. Standing on four hind limbs, he closed his eyes and raised a paw. “No, it’s safe.”
“We’ll wear full suits,” said Young.
“Even us?” Trina asked.
“Yes, you, James, and 6T9, too,” Young said. “I don’t want any bugs in your gears.”
Carl sniffed. “Fine, don’t believe me.”
“Here’s your suit, Carl,” said James, pulling out a werfle-shaped suit. 6T9 blinked. Before he could ask, Young answered his question. “It’s borrowed. Admiral Dabiri has a werfle aboard the Churchill. He had an envirosuit specially made for the critter.”
“Ah, yes,” said Carl, rising to his hindmost legs. “I know the ‘critter’ well. His name is Fasssh-issha-wooosh-ia. That literally translates to ‘He who has lived within 10,001 bodies, on 5,002 worlds, beneath the icy seas of 301 moons, and—’”
“The name at the collar says ‘Pumpkin,’” said James, glancing down at the suit.
Sniffing, Carl said, “Yes, that is another one of his names. I will be honored to wear it.”
James pulled out another suit. “This is for you, Volka.” The other android began giving her instructions on wearing it. Nodding at James, she slipped off Sixty’s coat and handed it to him. His hands went to the shape of Eliza’s ashes in the front pocket.
