Keshona Far Freedom Part 1

by Warren Merkey

pushed him away, but he wanted to believe she cared about him.

  = = =

  "I hear his side of a conversation," Horss commented. "He's talking to his imaginary friend." If the child is her creation, he thought, he is a work of art. He couldn't imagine the planning and programming required for such a creature. Perhaps the AMI called Baby was an accomplice. Perhaps the child was also an AMI. Even so, the purchase of such an AMI would be very expensive and must involve many others who could compromise her security. Yet, who knew what resources she could call upon? She was the oldest admiral in the Navy. She had received the highest award for valor, at the cost of her life. Out of respect, he wanted to hear what she could tell him about the Freedom and its mission, if only she would begin! He could set aside his anger and resentment. He could open his mind to rational argument. He could try to accept the fate she had forced upon him. It was a terminal assignment but it was a hell of a ship, and he might die knowing why space beyond the frontier had been denied humans for the last two centuries.

  Most of all, that little gray sphere which had released him from the yacht, who had told him it was a spontaneous AMI, and feeling it was probably true: that alone made Demba special, and it meant he would try very hard to give the admiral the benefit of his doubt about her motives.

  "His presence is a great distraction," the admiral commented about the child, as if voicing a complaint to herself.

  The admiral understates the obvious, Horss mused. Samson was the greatest distraction Horss could imagine - greater than he could imagine! If the child was real he should not exist!

  "I am equally distracted," Horss admitted. "A total mystery. An entire continent, supposedly empty of human life, and you land your yacht on top of a child! As you probably understand, Admiral, I have to worry about both the possibility that Samson is real and the possibility he is not real. If he's real, we are responsible for his safety, and I have to learn why he exists. If he's not real flesh and blood, then I have to wonder if he's a device with a purpose I would not like. I would prefer to be arguing with you to withdraw the Request for Voluntary Reassignment."

  Admiral Demba delayed responding. Horss could not read her image in his ocular terminal for any clue to her mood or thoughts, not that anyone could tell anything about what any admiral felt. Her voice was his only possible source of data. It was an exquisite voice. It seemed wrong that a Navy admiral should possess such a vocal instrument with what seemed like a great untapped potential. She kept her voice flat, her words colorless, and it created an additional tension in Horss, almost a yearning for the voice to be released from bondage. This was a strange feeling to add to the even stranger situation.

  "I'll not withdraw the Request," the admiral finally said. "You know it's too late for that. You will need to refuse the Request."

  "You know I can't refuse this Request for Voluntary Reassignment!" Horss was surprised the anger returned so quickly. He was always able to control his anger or abolish it. Anger never truly helped any situation. His lack of anger was a major reason why he did so well in the Navy Games. This was a unique and vexing situation but he should be able to remain rational. "It's a damned dangerous mission and refusal would brand me a coward," he said, forcing calmness into his voice, if not into his mind.

  = = =

  "You're sure?" Samson asked the empty air. "I can't see them. How can you see them? You're talking now. Do you care if they hear you? They can probably hear every word I say. If they're invisible they could be walking right behind me."

  "They're keeping their distance from you," Milly's disembodied voice replied, "but they are following you. The admiral doesn't understand why you're here. She's suspicious of the situation. I don't think they can hear me."

  "You sound so different, Milly! Why am I here? And who are you, really?"

  "You were here to be found, Samson. I was only trying to help you, but it was difficult for me. You're saved now. You're healthy for the first time in a long time. You'll have your life. My job, though poorly done, is finally done."

  "Your job? You're not my computer, are you, Milly? You're somebody real, somewhere else."

  "I'm not real, Sammy. I'm not anywhere. I have to go now. Please, be careful."

  "No! Don't go! I have things to ask you! Why am I here? Why can't I remember? Why do you have to go? Will you be back?"

  "I don't think I will be back, Sammy. I'm sorry I could not help you better."

  "Milly! Why?"

  "The future endangers you, but perhaps less so now. I endanger you. She might find you. Good-bye, Sammy!"

  = = =

  Captain Horss was not handling the stress very well now, if Admiral Demba was interpreting the telemetry from his class-1 uniform accurately. She had brought him here partly because of the chance that his personal security could have been compromised by the Commander of the Navy. She was not very experienced in personal security screening because Navy Archives was never of much importance to the power struggles among admirals. She hated to lose Jon Horss. She hated to lose the Freedom. She was beginning to feel that she would lose both.

  "You've saved me from being an admiral, Admiral," Horss said. "You've volunteered me for the Galactic Hub Mission. I think you should be trying to sell me on the captain's job. Is there something I don't know about the mission, something that makes it different from what I think it is?"

  "What do you think it is?"

  "We've lost twelve Navy ships and more than three thousand civilian vessels at or beyond the frontiers of the Union, most of them toward the hub. The Freedom is not even armed and it's about to take its turn to cross the frontier."

  "That's about all there is," she agreed. "Other than an emphasis on stealth, there's nothing to insure we won't be joining the other lost ships. Were you planning on living forever, Jon?"

  "That's something you ask a Marine. Yes, I was hoping to go through one full rejuvenation and see what the next life was like. Why are you going on the mission? You haven't had your one child yet. You don't care about becoming a mother?"

  "I wonder," she said, "if you would ask the male version of that question, were I male."

  "I would ask myself that question, if I had looked upon the child the way you did, admiral."

  "Did I?" Did she? "Perhaps I did. I must also allow you to voice personal questions of me, even though I don't feel personally responsible for what is happening to both of us."

  "Who else would be responsible?" Horss asked almost angrily. "I don't think Etrhnk was even in the Navy when the Freedom and its mission was first proposed - by you."

  "As for that," Demba responded and paused. "I am no longer sure of anything about this mission. The boy has changed everything."

  = = =

  Samson squinted in the afternoon glare of equatorial sunlight. Another pile of rough debris stood in his way and he was getting tired. He found a place to sit and to contemplate the situation. The broken concrete masses captured the heat of the sun and made an oven of his place in it. He drank from his water container. He decided it was time to turn around. Perhaps the Navy officers would take him back now. With a last glance upward at the looming elevator shafts and their massive base, he shouldered his pack and turned around.

  "Giving up?" an invisible person asked.

  "Milly?" He didn't know whether to feel happy or worried. It sounded like Milly - but it didn't.

  "That's my handle," the voice answered. "Who're you?"

  "I'm Samson. Don't you remember me?" It wasn't Milly, not the Milly he knew. Every word was expressed exactly as if a real person spoke. The bodiless voice also moved around him as it spoke.

  "How curious. I see you have the Navy in tow. It's different this time. What do we do about the Navy? This will be interesting. They know you're here, don't they, Sammy?"

  "Their ship almost landed on me! They helped me get well but I have to stay away from them for a while. Then they'll take me with them. She promised! You aren't Milly! Where is she?"

  "I'm s
ure I don't know what you're talking about, child. Who was your Milly?"

  "She was my teacher."

  "Indeed? Here's my first lesson: get your butt away from this place before something wicked this way comes."

  What did the real Milly say? Samson thought. She might find you. Was that a warning of danger? Is this she? Samson picked his way around another pile of debris. He hurried to meet the Navy officers. A short distance back the way he came he encountered something he didn't notice before. Among the jagged chunks of concrete were odd surfaces, missing edges, and smooth depressions forming a path in the rubble. Where the path bridged a v-shaped depression a small object glowed in the sunlight. Samson descended the concrete V and paused as he straddled the bottom. He bent to look more closely at the colorful bit of rock or glass. It seemed almost alive, with intricate inner patterns that twinkled in the shadow of the V. He picked it up.

  He had made a mistake! The object stuck to his fingers! He tried to remove the red stone but it was welded to his skin. He yelped with pain when he pulled hard to remove the thing. A pinprick stung the finger under the stone, making him jump, and a sharp tingling raced up his arm. He felt strange.

  "Milly?" Samson said slowly, barely able to make his tongue and lips move.

  "Speaking."

  He described what happened. It took a long time, as though something else shared his brain and interfered with his thoughts.

  "Too bad," not-Milly remarked