Darkness Rising

by C. Gockel

  Volka could feel rather than see Alaric’s jaw clenching at Sixty’s antics. Growling, she swatted James’s head and said, “He wouldn’t have been culturally insensitive if you had let him reboot. Alaric said you wouldn’t be harmed, and so he won’t harm you. Unlike the androids you send to Luddeccea who kill women and children!”

  “What?” said James and Sixty in unison.

  Wrapping an arm around her, Alaric lifted Volka off of James. “Easy,” he whispered, and she could feel how much he needed this union between Luddecceans and the Galacticans to work out. But she was too tired and exasperated to stop herself. “It’s true,” she growled. Hopping on her right foot, she hissed at James. “Alaric has seen it! Isssh told me.”

  Standing easily without any hint of a wobble, James turned to her and Alaric. Except for messy hair, the android appeared completely fine. It suddenly occurred to her that James could wrestle lions. She knocked him down fair and square, but he only stayed down because he didn’t want to hurt her.

  Shaking his head, James said, “No, that isn’t true.”

  Something in Alaric snapped. Volka could feel it in his tightening grip on her side and in her heart. “Next you’ll tell me you don’t know about the pirates that slip through from Kanakah either,” he shot back.

  “Pirates?” said Sixty. “The Republic doesn’t allow pirates to slip through the Kanakah Cloud.”

  James exhaled. “Actually, Sixty…”

  Sixty groaned. “May I please reboot before I start talking about pirate booties?”

  Volka growled at James.

  Looking down at her, James narrowed his eyes.

  Voice chill, Alaric said, “You’re insulting my honor by persisting to believe that you’re not safe aboard my vessel.”

  James stared at Alaric, his face as still as though it had been cast in stone. Alaric stared right back, nostrils flaring, rage pouring off of him.

  James took a deep breath, looked away, and rubbed his neck. “Fine. Reboot, Sixty.”

  “Thank you,” said Sixty. Settling down to the ground, his whole body abruptly went limp. The barely perceptible hum that he had instead of a heartbeat went silent. Volka swallowed. She’d been with Sixty for months, but she’d never seen him reboot. “His eyes,” she whispered. They were open and unfocused; his mouth was slack.

  “It’s like a discarded toy,” Alaric murmured.

  “He is not a toy,” Volka replied vehemently.

  James glanced once at her and went over and closed 6T9’s eyes with surprising gentleness.

  There were footsteps on the stairs. Alaric dropped his arm from Volka’s side and pulled away. Volka shivered.

  “Sir?” said a Guardsman.

  “Everything is fine,” said Alaric.

  Volka dropped her head. Obviously, what they said here could be heard below. As the Guardsman disappeared and Sixty rebooted, Alaric and James regarded each other without an attempt to hide animosity on either side for several long minutes.

  At last, a barely perceptible whirr came from her friend, and Volka cried, “Sixty!”

  His head jerked up, and his eyes opened. “Pirates, James? We allow pirates into the Luddeccean system?”

  James looked at the floor. “They’re not a priority.”

  “They raid our mining outposts and use the miners and their families as slave labor,” Alaric said. “If the miners are lucky, they are left with enough air and a radio to call for help when the Galacticans leave.”

  “It is not sanctioned,” James replied. “They are pirates when they are in Republic space as well.”

  Through gritted teeth, Alaric said, “If you took care of them—”

  “We don’t execute them on sight like your people. We give them trials,” James snapped.

  “Yes, and you send them to jail, and then they are released and come into Luddeccean space,” Alaric replied. “Where you conveniently let us do your dirty work.”

  Volka gulped. Alaric had only wanted to be a priest. She’d only wanted to be his. And now both of them had had to take up arms.

  James took a breath. “I don’t condone everything the Republic does.” His head cocked. “Do you condone everything Luddeccea does?”

  Alaric glared at him.

  “We don’t, however, have androids coming into Luddeccean space killing civilians,” James insisted.

  “I’ve seen it. Witnessed it. Smelled the corpses,” Alaric said, taking a step toward the android, a vein popping in his neck.

  James’s hands balled at his side. “You. Are. Mistaken.”

  “They could be acting independently,” Sixty said, still sitting on the floor, staring at his feet. He looked up. “I acted independently when I came into Luddeccean space.”

  For the first time, James looked uncertain.

  “Face it, James,” Sixty said. “Not all machines like humans.” He smiled ruefully and gestured to his chest and James. “Or even like machines that like humans or behave like humans.”

  “Lovely,” Volka heard herself murmur. “We’re all bigoted.” She blinked, wondering when she’d gotten such gall.

  Sixty grinned sharply. “In some ways we’re all equal.”

  James rubbed his eyes. “Why would androids want to risk their lives—”

  “They’re not risking their lives, James,” 6T9 snapped. “You and I don’t want to upload ourselves, but most other androids don’t care.” He tilted his head and his eyes focused at a point on the floor. “James…we can’t afford this right now.”

  James exhaled and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “I don’t want my wife to die.” He said the words with such finality Volka wondered if he cared about anyone else dying. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

  “Sixty is right,” James said to Alaric. “We can’t afford to be enemies in this matter. I will do everything in my power as an agent of the gates and as a member of Galactican Intelligence to find and root out any machines coming to your system. I will do my best to see that the guilty parties are punished.”

  “Trapped and released, like your pirates?” Alaric said.

  From the floor, Sixty said, “You could have your intelligence officers not murder Luddeccean defectors in Republic space.”

  Volka’s eyes went wide. That was her.

  “I have nothing to do with that policy,” Alaric said.

  “Kenji might be able to do something,” Sixty shot back.

  They regarded one another, and Volka winced. Her leg, where she’d kicked James, hurt. She bit her lip.

  “I will see what can be done,” Alaric said.

  James tilted his head. “I will do what I can to see that the sentences of our pirates and any machines guilty of murder in your jurisdiction stick.”

  He held out his hand. Alaric looked down at it for a long moment, but then took it in his and shook it.

  Volka bit her lip harder. Her leg really hurt.

  Edging toward Volka, Alaric said, “Gentlemen, as a fragile human, I would like to retire.”

  Sixty raised an eyebrow as he rose to his feet, but he didn’t say anything. He stepped toward the staircase, and Volka tried to edge out of his way but her left leg hurt too much to put weight on it. She caught herself on the wall.

  “Are you alright, Volka?” Alaric asked. His hand went to her side, and it occurred to Volka that he’d never do that in front of Luddecceans.

  “Just a cramp in my leg,” Volka suggested. “Probably just need to walk it out.”

  She tried to do so and nearly fell over. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes.

  “Cramps, my processors,” Sixty muttered. “James hit your leg with enough force to crack bone.” Glaring at James, his head jerked to the side.

  “She kicked me,” James muttered.

  Volka heard Alaric’s comm click, and then he said, “Doctor, I need a gurney in the officers’ wing.” She also heard the doctor’s reply. “If it’s not life-threatening, it will have to wait. We have some more burns.�
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  “Volka weighs as much as a werfle. Just carry her,” Sixty said.

  “I can get there myself,” Volka said, trying to take a step and hissing with pain instead.

  “No one would be surprised, Captain,” Sixty continued. “Even James probably realizes you two are an item.”

  Alaric inhaled sharply.

  “I, ah, try not to ah, pay attention to such things, Sixty,” James mumbled.

  Gritting her teeth, Volka stammered, “We can’t add fuel to…the…fire…” But her heart sank. If she were a human, Luddeccean chivalry would allow Alaric to carry her. He’d make an obligatory comment about not telling his wife and everyone would laugh good-naturedly. But carry a weere woman? Punching Sixty for impropriety out of sight of his crew was fine but being seen by his crew with her wasn’t. Her world blurred. It struck her that she’d almost broke the rules of God out of loneliness and fatigue. God’s rules had seemed cruel, but maybe they were only cruel in the short run? She wasn’t even thinking of a far-off heaven. She was thinking of herself, tomorrow. Tomorrow Alaric still wouldn’t be hers no matter what happened tonight.

  “I’m going to be culturally insensitive,” Sixty declared. Before anyone could speak, Sixty had hoisted her up in his arms and began carrying her down the hall. He reeked of sex and Walker. Volka didn’t protest. She just wanted to escape; she couldn’t look at Alaric. But she heard his steps clicking in a hard, staccato rhythm on the deck behind them. She imagined him being furious, jealous, and relieved—it may have been her “empathy” or “telepathy”—or wishful thinking. She kept her eyes focused on her friend.

  As Sixty carried her down the stairs, she tried to joke to keep from crying. “This is really unfair, you know?”

  “How so?” Sixty asked, eyes ahead.

  “When you were out of power on Libertas, I dragged you across the floor by your feet.” She could never carry him. He was even heavier than a human man. She shook her head. “This is much too comfortable.”

  Sixty gave her a cheery grin. “Well, I’d like to accommodate your sense of fair play, but dragging you by your feet when your tibia is fractured would violate my programming.”

  Volka sighed dramatically. “Well, next time.” To keep talking, she said, “How are you doing since your reboot?”

  “I’m much better,” Sixty said needlessly. She’d known that.

  He smirked at her and winked. “For instance, I’d never say something like, ‘carrying you through this sickbay door is like a groom carrying his bride across the threshold.’”

  She choked, laughed, and cried at the same time.

  “Volka,” 6T9 whispered. She was lying on a narrow bed in the sickbay. He’d used a flexi-cast to set her leg. The Luddeccean Guard, he discovered, had nano-injections for burns, breaks, and other common injuries, but Volka was a weere and possibly unable to tolerate them. They also had nerve disruptor technology for pain, but all the disrupters were in use.

  “What is it?” she mumbled. Her eyes were a brilliant yellow above the high-necked Luddeccean green dress she wore, but they were hooded. He had been able to give her pharmaceutical painkillers.

  “I think I inadvertently came between you and Alaric,” he confessed. “That is to say, well…I think the colloquial term is cockbl—”

  “Shhhh—” Volka said, lifting her head. Falling back into the pillow, eyes closing, she said, “It’s all right, Sixty. Hell’s a real place, you know. Not in the clouds.”

  “I think you’re getting your imaginary places confused,” Sixty said.

  She sighed and closed her eyes. He expected her to say something else, but her muscles twitched, and he realized she’d gone to sleep. A very un-Volka-like snore from beneath her bed made him start. He peeked beneath and saw Carl and Isssh asleep in an upside-down helmet on the floor, a tangle of white and golden snoring fur.

  Sixty had been given a space in an airlock to recharge, but he was still charged from the autoclave, and instead of going there to retire, he leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and entered power save mode. He’d been “out” for seven hours, eighteen minutes, thirty-seven seconds and four milliseconds when the sound of James’s footsteps in the sickbay woke him up.

  “How is she, Sixty?”

  6T9’s head tic returned, and his jaw ground in frustration. “She’d be better if you hadn’t broken her leg.”

  “She tripped me!” James whispered.

  6T9’s voice rose. “Because you were trying to kill the captain.”

  Every bed in the admittedly small sickbay was full, and everyone not asleep in their beds was suddenly sitting upright, looking at James.

  Clearing his throat, James said, “The captain is fine. This is all a misunderstanding.”

  “The captain is fine because Volka beat the gears out of you!” 6T9 hissed.

  James exclaimed, "She did not beat the gears—"

  Someone let out a low whistle. "She went all weere on you, did she?"

  Someone else in the sickbay cackled.

  James glared at 6T9. “What really happened, Sixty? Why were you even up there?”

  “What happened was I made an inappropriate comment, and the captain responded like a Luddeccean. As to why I was up there, I was helping Dr. Walker relax by—”

  James held up a hand. “I can guess how you were helping.”

  “Volka came into the cabin, because it’s hers too—”

  Putting a hand over his face, James said, “You helped Dr. Walker ‘relax’ in Volka’s cabin?”

  “Well, it’s also Dr. Walker’s cabin, James,” 6T9 replied.

  “And then you ran into the captain on the way out,” James finished.

  “Your Q-comm is connected,” Sixty said.

  Rubbing his eyes, James said, “You know, you could try not to help the competition.”

  6T9’s own Q-comm sparked…and drew a blank. “How was I helping the competition? Dr. Walker is a citizen and soldier of the Republic, not the competition. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Dropping his hand, James stared at 6T9 for 4.59 seconds. “No, I guess you don’t.”

  “What does that even mean?” 6T9 asked, inclining his head and studying James carefully, trying to decipher his meaning from his expression. But it was no use. Noa said James’s expressions were subtle. Sixty thought the android hadn’t upgraded his emotional expression app in over a century and it no longer played well with his operating system.

  “It doesn’t matter. Forget it,” said James. He gave a lackluster salute. “Everything is set up to go as you planned, Android General 1.”

  6T9 opened his mouth to rebuke him, but James said, “It is mostly your plan, and I’m actually over 96 percent confident that we can pull it off.”

  Jaw getting tight, 6T9 frowned. His Q-comm was sparking.

  “What’s wrong?” James asked.

  “Should we be so confident?” 6T9 asked.

  “The gate isn’t a military installation. Its defenses were built for space debris, not thirty kilotons of TNT,” James replied. “It has no real offensive weapons to speak of, and the defenses aren’t fully online.”

  6T9’s Q-comm continued to spark. “The best laid schemes o' mice an' men, Gang aft a-gley. That means—”

  “I know what it means,” James said. “It’s all without any risk to anyone aboard this vessel, too.” He peered at 6T9. “Are you getting superstitious? Do you need to reboot again?”

  “Maybe it’s not superstition,” 6T9 said, his Q-comm sparking wildly. “Maybe it is wisdom? Maybe we’re too certain?”

  “I’m not human,” James said, turning to the exit. “I won’t let the odds go to my head.”

  Sixty watched his back without really seeing him. His Q-comm was firing so fast his vision was almost white.

  The captain’s voice came on. “Crew, prepare for jump.”

  A moment later, sirens wailed, and red lights flashed. For 33.2 seconds the ship didn’t have gravity, and then it came
back on again. The red lights stopped and so did the sirens. In the sickbay, men threw up. Sixty’s feet reconnected with the deck with a jolt.

  “Sixty!” Volka said. The distress in her voice made a red light go off in the periphery of his vision. She was sitting up on her bed, her eyes were wide but unfocused, and she was shivering, though the temperature in the sickbay was more than adequate.

  “It’s on the ship,” Volka whispered.

  “What? What is on the ship?” Sixty asked, coming to her side.

  “The Darkness,” Volka whispered, grabbing his arm. “It’s rising, Sixty.”

  He could only stare at her. He didn’t feel what she felt or hear her mind.

  “Where is Carl? I need to speak to Carl,” Volka said.

  “Carl’s right here.” 6T9 ducked beneath the bed, but both werfles were gone.

  “I dreamed they were in the brig,” said Volka, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, and then gritting her teeth in pain. “Maybe they’re there. We have to speak to them. I know that the time gate has no offensive weapons, but—”

  6T9 put a hand on her shoulder because his vision briefly went white with the spark of his Q-comm. “No, I have to get to the captain. Now. We left something out of all our equations. Stay here,” he said, knowing that she wouldn’t, but he ran from the sickbay anyway to the stairwell that led to the bridge. The stairwell was flanked by two guards who raised stunners at his approach.

  “What do you want?” one of them said.

  “I need to warn the captain,” 6T9 said.

  “Warn him of what?” the guard said.

  6T9 forgot protocol and cultural sensitivity. He grabbed the man by both arms, ignoring the stuns going off against his chest. “There is an 87.6 percent chance that the time gate is armed!”

  The last words were cut off by the sound of klaxons.

  23

  Gravity’s Shadow

  The Merkabah came out of its jump just above the infected world’s atmosphere, outside of direct line of sight of Time Gate 33, and out of range of any known survey probes.