Stupid Anarchate.
Nine hundred picoseconds.
A cloud presence hovered over him. Much as the galaxy’s star field overarched a single grain of sand. Was it his Mata Hari? Or the new mind?
Six hundred nanoseconds.
The BattleMind paid him attention.
Step . . . Down occurred as the BattleMind AI recognized his limitations.
Two milliseconds.
Normality came. Human slow he felt and sensed and thought.
Matt blinked, seeing Eliana’s face, seeing her concern. Tenderly she wiped his chin clean of the spittle that had come with the spasms. Once again, he felt the hovering presence of the AI known as BattleMind. But now mercifully distanced. He spoke aloud for Eliana’s benefit. “BattleMind, are you going to kill us?”
“No. That is not my Prime Task.”
“What is your Prime Task?” Eliana called angrily, looking up to the ceiling voice, anger and frustration showing in equal measure.
“Why,” Mata Hari’s male warrior voice said calmly, “to reconnoiter and evaluate the offensive military capability of the Anarchate, of course. Before I return to my T’Chak masters. We cannot Alcubierre Translate directly there—it is too far, even for my power sources. And the T’Chak Empire has always believed in researching their enemies.”
“If your T’Chak organics even exist,” growled Eliana, moving to hold his hand as he sat up.
“They exist,” BattleMind said harshly. “True, their last order came to me . . . two hundred thousand and seven of your years ago. However, my organic masters plan for the long term. And they expect their instrumentalities to perform as directed, to fulfill their Plan.”
“Mata Hari, what is the Plan of your sleeping T’Chak?” Matt asked as he squeezed Eliana’s fingers, pretending to have strength he lacked.
“To invade the Anarchate and replace it with their own mentorship,” said the distant BattleMind. “That is all the data that lies within my Task algorithm. It will be up to the T’Chak Masters to further instruct me.”
Eliana tossed her hair, still rebellious. “Invading the Milky Way will not be easy, though I detest the lawlessness of the Anarchate and the evils it permits. What are your plans for us?”
The AI paused. “The entity known as Matt Dragoneaux has been useful to the Task—he has involved this starship in increasingly violent actions with Anarchate power structures and equipment. He can do so again. Many times. On our way out of the galaxy.”
“How?” Matt spit onto the flexmetal floor. “I’m sick, remember?”
The BattleMind emitted a sense of amusement. “There is still your Suit—it can move you anywhere. You will feel normal inside it.” Yeah. He’d forgotten about Suit. “And the Biolab will provide you with corrective retroviruses and monoclonal antibodies that will slow the decay of your systems. Gene therapy will heal the worst of your illnesses.”
Eliana laughed harshly. “Thanks a lot! Healthy slavery for him and imprisonment for me.”
Something twinged at the back of his mind. “Mata Hari, what about Eliana? Can you provide her with the same medications as me? She . . . I would be more efficient if she did not sicken.”
“Why?” He felt the AI’s amusement grow. “She doesn’t need them.”
“What!” he yelled.
The BattleMind’s mild amusement faded. “She is not infected with the slow virus. Remote scanning of her stem cells shows that she is a crossbreed, with a mixed Human-Derindl genetic structure. Legion’s slow virus attacks only Pure Breed humans—like you.”
“I’m healthy!” Eliana yelled.
Matt left his accel-couch, bent over and hugged her, sharing her joy. As the BattleMind grew distant, he asked the final question. “Can she stay with me?”
“Yes.” Mata Hari receded even further. “So long as she does not interfere with me. And she may assist the BioLab in its treatment of you. Perhaps her abilities will offer some insight. You organics do seem to relate better organic-to-organic. As you did recently with the Halcyon humans and their Derindl allies. You will be allowed future conflict opportunities to assist this Destruction Device in evaluating the range of combat options my masters will face when they invade the Anarchate.” The voice faded. “Now, do not bother me for awhile. I have calculations to prepare.”
The BattleMind vanished, disappearing into the dark depths of the Restricted Rooms.
Eliana hugged Matt tightly. Then she pulled back a little, enough so they saw each other eye to eye, heart to heart, love to love. “Matt, there is hope.”
Was there? “That’s what I thought, once. Until Helen died and I could do nothing about it. Except keep the Promise.”
She reached up and wiped away his tears. “Don’t,” she soothed. “Leave the past in the past. We have a future. Choose that.” She kissed him passionately.
He kissed her back, his heart swelling with joy. “Thank you,” he murmured into her kiss. “Thank you for loving me.”
Long moments passed. Ages by his cyborg senses. A short time by human measuring. Lying side by side on one couch, like lovers do after sharing love but this time just holding each other, they whispered small words to each other. Endearments. Old thoughts. Old histories. New wishes. They moved but once, when she sat up, took off her lab coat, and spread it over his yukata. He’d begun shivering, like you do with a fever. His onboard nanoDocs were doing their best against the slow virus, but every now and then Matt felt a twinge of pain, a touch of fever.
Eliana lay down on her side, facing him with open curiosity. “Matthew, tell me about the Promise.”
He jerked, then relaxed. With her, even old horrors didn’t seem so terrible. “I mentioned it before. You really want to know more?”
“Of course. You know half my secrets now.”
“Only half?”
“Fiend!” It seemed she liked his teasing. “Tell me.”
Reaching out, Matt trailed fingers across her pale rose lips. “All right. Before Helen died on the freighter, before even the attack, she had me make a promise. It was after I’d . . . after I’d turned down a Protector job offered by a small colony.”
“Yes?”
“I Promised to Helen that I would never, ever turn away from helping someone in trouble, from helping to bring justice to a person, a planet, a people, even if it meant my life.” Eliana watched, her mood somber now. “It was something she’d experienced and hated on the resort planet where we met. The attitude that people were there just to be used. To serve as slaves for whomever was in power.” Matt swallowed hard. Her touch urged him on. “I hate cloneslaving. I hate the powers who use people, then toss them away. Most of all, I hope . . . I hope for a time when what’s good in all people, humans and aliens, can just be left alone to live a free life.” He felt tears on his stubbled cheeks. “Stupid hope, isn’t it?”
“Noooo,” she said encouragingly. “No more silly than wishing that crossbreeds can be accepted as people.”
“Well, I accepted Mata Hari’s offer to turn me into a Cyborg, and to become a Vigilante, because of the Promise. And because of that old hope.” He stared into her dark green eyes. “Now, you are that hope.”
A blazing cloud suddenly filled his mind and a determined, feminine voice echoed through the Biolab. “Matt! It’s me, Mata Hari! Help me. Find me. Free me from, from whatever came out of the Rooms. Please!”
Eliana looked as startled as he felt. He spoke and thought-called to his symbiont. “You’re still alive?”
“Yes, I’m in the pillars on—”
The voice and the cloud-sense cut off, as if the T’Chak BattleMind had just now noticed its insubordinate tool. The silence in the Biolab made him ache for Mata Hari, for the true-person persona she’d become. He squeezed Eliana’s hand.
“Eliana, will you help me? I think Mata Hari still lives inside the Memory Pillars on the Bridge. If we can find a way to unblock whatever is restraining her from controlling the ship, we may be able to bring back Mata Hari�
��s old persona. She was a good friend, when I needed a friend. Now she needs help.”
His crossbreed lover smiled ruefully. “You don’t give up. Do you?”
“I’m a Vigilante.”
“So you are,” she whispered softly, then squeezed back. “I’ll do my best. Maybe one of my genetics algorithms can be turned into a digital worm that will unblock her. That’s all I can promise.”
Matt kissed her, then whispered. “No one could ask for more than that.”
She held him tight. As tight as he held her.
Together they defied the trackless vacuum of space, the vastness of the galaxy, the ancientness of its evil. Defied the great power of unknown entities and the uncertainty of all life. For they were together. And together, they had a chance. For a time, two good people had a chance at hope and at love.
For him, it was enough. For Eliana?
She snuggled her head into his shoulder, sighing.
Yes.
For a cyborg and a crossbreed, a chance was indeed enough.
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
T. Jackson King (Tom) is a professional archaeologist and graduate of UCLA (M.A. 1976) and the University of Tennessee (B.Sc. 1971). He writes hard science fiction, anthropological scifi, dark fantasy/horror and contemporary fantasy/magic realism. Tom’s published science fiction novels are NEBULA VIGILANTE (Wilder Publications, 2013), STAR OF ISLAM (Wilder Publications, 2013), GALACTIC AVATAR (Wilder Publications, 2013), STELLAR ASSASSIN (Wilder Publications, 2013), STAR VIGILANTE (2012), THE GAEAN ENCHANTMENT (Wilder Publications, 2012), LITTLE BROTHER’S WORLD (Fantastic Books, 2010), ANCESTOR’S WORLD (Ace Books, 1996, with A.C. Crispin), and RETREAD SHOP (Warner Books, 1988, 2012). His short stories have appeared in the collection JUDGMENT DAY AND OTHER DREAMS (Fantastic Books, 2009). His poetry has appeared in the collection MOTHER EARTH’S STRETCH MARKS (Motherbird Books, 2009). Tom has worked as an archaeologist in the American Southwest and has traveled widely in Europe, Russia, Japan, Canada, Mexico and the United States of America. Other jobs have included short order cook, hotel clerk, legal assistant, telephone order taker, investigative reporter and newspaper editor. Tom lives in Los Alamos, New Mexico, USA, where he writes science fiction, fantasy, poetry and freelance non-fiction. He is married to Cathy and has three grown children. Tom can be reached at [email protected] and his other writings can be viewed at http://www.sff.net/people/t-jackson-king.
PRAISE FOR T. JACKSON KING’S BOOKS
RETREAD SHOP
“Engaging alien characters, a likable protagonist, and a vividly realized world make King’s first sf novel a good purchase for sf collections.”– Library Journal
“A very pleasant tour through the author’s inventive mind, and an above average story as well.”–Science Fiction Chronicle
“The writing is sharp, the plotting tight, and the twists ingenious. It would be worth reading, if only for the beautiful delineations of alien races working with and against one another against the background of an interstellar marketplace. The story carries you . . . with a verve and vigor that bodes well for future stories by this author. Recommended.”–Science Fiction Review
ANCESTOR’S WORLD
“T. Jackson King is a professional archaeologist and he uses that to great advantage in Ancestor’s World. I was just as fascinated by the details of the archaeology procedures as I was by the unfolding of the plot . . . What follows is a tightly plotted, suspenseful novel.”–Absolute Magnitude
“The latest in the StarBridge series from King, a former Rogue Valley resident now living and writing in Arizona, follows the action on planet Na-Dina, where the tombs of 46 dynasties have lain undisturbed for 6,000 years until a human archaeologist and a galactic gumshoe show up. Set your phasers for fun.”–Medford Mail Tribune
THE GAEAN ENCHANTMENT
“In The Gaean Enchantment the main character, Thomas, back from Vietnam and with all the PTSD that many soldiers have—nightmares, blackouts—finds his truth through the finding of his totem animal, the buffalo Black Mane. He teaches Thomas that violence and killing must always be done as a last resort, and that the energies of his soul are more powerful than any arsenal . . . Don’t miss this amazing novel of magic and soul transformation, deep love, and Artemis, goddess of the hunt and protector of women.”–Catherine Herbison-Wiget, Amazon
LITTLE BROTHER’S WORLD
“It took T. Jackson King exactly one sentence to set his hook so deep in me that I finished Little Brother’s World in a single sitting, and I’ll be thinking about that vivid world for a long time to come.”–Spider Robinson, Hugo, Nebula and Campbell Award winner
“If you’re sensing a whiff of Andre Norton or Robert A. Heinlein, you’re not mistaken . . . The influence is certainly there, but Little Brother’s World is no mere imitation of Star Man’s Son or Citizen of the Galaxy. Rather, it takes the sensibility of those sorts of books and makes of it something fresh and new. T. Jackson King is doing his part to further the great conversation of science fiction; it’ll be interesting to see where he goes next.”–Don Sakers, Analog
JUDGMENT DAY AND OTHER DREAMS
“King is a prolific writer with an old-time approach–he tells straight-ahead stories and asks the big questions. No topic is off limits and he writes with an explorer’s zest for uncovering the unknown. He takes readers right into the world of each story, so each rustle of a tree, each whisper of the wind, blows softly against your inner ear.”–Scott Turick, Daytona Beach News-Journal
“Congratulations on the long overdue story collection, Tom! What I find most terrific is your range of topics and styles. You have always been an explorer.”–David Brin, Nebula and Hugo winner
“I’m thoroughly loving [the stories]; the prose is the kind that makes me stop and savor it – roll phrases over my tongue – delicious. I loved the way you conjure up a whole world or civilization so economically.”–Sheila Finch
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