by Smith, S. E.
And then they waited for the Testudinians. And waited some more. Finally, the turtle-like creatures appeared. They were about half the size of a Volkswagen Beetle—and would have looked at home with any of the painted psychedelic versions from the 60’s. Their coloring was a strident mix of yellow, orange, and green, outlined in black. Before they reached the top of the ramp, the music had trailed off so that the slow scrape of their steps seemed loud in the quiet bay.
Only after they were out of sight did the scent of the sea drift past.
* * *
Sergeant Carolina City, USMC, paused just inside the Emissary’s bridge. She’d have drooled over the sassy alien tech, but she’d been there and done that while bringing the Emissary to Central Outpost.
Her copilot, Kraye, a super serious version of Jack Sparrow, was already seated in the copilot’s position. Normally she wasn’t interested in scalawags, but the guy could stack and shoot. She could admit to being intrigued, possibly even a little bothered by the sight of him. After a rocky start—technically her fault since it was one of her Marines who knocked him out—she’d sensed some reciprocal interest, but then he’d gone chill on her. She sighed. As the only human crew member on a ship of sentient robots, she could see why he might not have had a chance to develop people skills, and it was probably better if they both kept their hormones parked somewhere out of sight for the duration of the mission.
And speaking of robots…her attention shifted to the robot at the navigation station.
OxeroidR was big, square, and scary. The dull glow of his red opticals was the only “bright” element in his menacing facade. Though no weapons were visible, she knew he bristled with hidden ones because she’d seen them in action. While she’d never seen a live moose, this robot had reminded her of one from the first time she’d seen him.
Which made his later bonding with the flying squirrel incongruous, ironic, and hilarious. Not that she’d ever laugh at the robot or his purple-faced squirrel where they could see her. She wasn’t stupid. Officially, the squirrel was a Patagious, and it had been one of the prisoners they’d freed during their recent military action. She wasn’t sure if it had landed on the robot, or the robot had put it on his shoulder. But she hadn’t seen them apart since.
Moose and squirrel. Her lips twitched. In her mind, she called them Bull and Rocky. Okay, she called the squirrel Rocky to his purple face.
Not that she was in any position to judge. During the same action, one of the prisoners had attached itself to her. The expedition’s biologist had been unable to classify Tiger, other than to verify he was male.
His face was that of a tabby cat, with the requisite whiskers, pink triangle nose, soulful gaze—and a single horn protruding from his cat forehead. Behind the cute ears, the neck was long, sloping down to a horse body, hooves, mane, and tail.
The geeks on the outpost opined that Tiger—so named because of his tabby stripes—might be the result of genetic tampering. Unlike the other animals on the Emissary, Tiger didn’t speak Standard, a form of their Earth English that had been their unsteady communication bridge since the Expedition arrived in system. In an interesting twist, the Garradian language translator couldn’t understand him either. Despite these signs he was not as sentient as the others, City still had doubts. Of course, she knew that cats could look like they knew-it-all and it was possible they did. It wasn’t as if you could argue with a cat.
And, like a cat, Tiger knew how to get what he wanted. He’d not been approved to go on this mission, but she’d seen his tail whisk out of sight around a corner as she came aboard.
The last member of her bridge crew didn’t need a seat. Rita, the ship’s AI, had chosen her name. Apparently, she was a fan of Rita Wilson. Her favorite song? You Were on My Mind.
And then there was City’s mission.
Operation Ark.
She wasn’t Noah and had never wanted to be Noah, but it was hard to escape the parallels. Animal-like aliens. Safe passage from one place to another. The chance of stormy passage.
When she’d opted to boldly go to the Garradian Universe as part of the Project Enterprise expedition, she had anticipated action, adventure, and alien encounters.
And she’d experienced all three.
And now she was about to boldly go further than this galaxy.
With an alien, a robot, and a caticorn as her sidekick. It was like a bar joke without a punch line though she had a feeling it was out there—like the truth.
She took a calming breath and, trying to do it like Picard, sat down. She glanced at Kraye. “Let’s do a final systems check with Ms. Rita’s assistance, Mr. Kraye.”
Was that an actual glint of humor in his eyes?
“Aye, aye, Sergeant.”
Aye, aye, Sergeant.
“Bull, I mean OxeroidR—”
Oops.
“Bull is acceptable.”
There was no way his flat delivery could convey humor, but City sensed some. Or perhaps she hoped for some. If the big guy hoped to reach full sentience, he needed to lighten up.
“Bull, inform our passengers to prepare for launch.”
“Aye, aye, Sergeant.”
Were they pulling her chain with all the aye ayes? Did they even know how?
“Ms. Rita, are we go or no for launch?”
We are go, Sergeant.
For some reason, this exchange brought back the memory of her high school boyfriend.
“Marines? Girls can’t be Marines and even if they can, where’s that gonna take you?”
She smiled as felt the Emissary come to life around her. To the stars, sweetie. To the stars.
2
Thanks to the recently discovered Garradian comet drive, the Emissary should be able to make the trip to the various theres, and back again, in around a month, or possibly less. Of course, this estimate assumed that nothing would go wrong. City tended to be optimistic, but it was hard to be sanguine when there was so much that could go wrong.
It was unusual for a Marine Sergeant to be rated as a pilot without the NFO (Naval Flight Officer) and an officer’s rank. City had considered that route, because she loved to fly, but she wanted to be a Marine, not their bus driver. Her pilot creds had helped her join the expedition. With space at a premium, even on a freaking big spaceship, it helped to be able to multi-task.
She might be surprised there hadn’t been more push back about using the Emissary for this mission. Those in charge had speculated that it had been a diplomatic, possibly VIP transport for the lost Garradians. As with all things Garradian, the past was still something of a mystery.
In any case, it was better than cages in the hold of a crap pirate ship. And—this was almost City’s favorite part—there was separation from the three diplomats that had been detailed to transit with them.
It wasn’t that she disliked Joseph Faxton, the head of the team. He was nice looking in a mild-mannered way, kind of Clark Kent without the glasses and—she hoped—the “S” on his underwear. There were already plenty of unstable elements on this ship. City hadn’t met Brittani St. Danniels or Dr. Lowe Dauwn, the other two human passengers. She hoped that by the time she did, the impulse to giggle would be under better control.
Even better than the quarters, this ship had the goods in both stealth technology and weapons to give them decent odds for a good outcome.
City liked decent odds, though she had worked—and survived—worse.
The Emissary’s capabilities had tipped the scales on the mission from bat crap crazy to this might work. City had volunteered without hesitation. She’d worked with Kraye and Bull. Kraye was good in a fire fight, and Bull, well, he was a robot who had been designed as a super warrior—a super warrior with a flying squirrel for a pet, but still a robot with fighting creds.
She heard a plaintive half whinny, half meow.
“There you are.” She made the mistake of meeting his big, ‘I feel so neglected’ gaze. With a resigned sigh, she knelt down and ran a hand d
own his back. It arched like a cat and he purred when she scratched around his ears and horn. “You know you’re not supposed to be here.”
The purring increased, and she sighed again. A Marine was not supposed to be owned by a cat, even if it was a caticorn.
“Good thing I got your dietary needs programmed into the system.”
Tiger angled his head, his gaze meeting hers. The look was odd enough to make her wonder—but the Puss’n’Boots look came back. She felt its power, but let Tiger see her skepticism. At least she didn’t have to worry about his claws in her back. It didn’t seem like it should be possible for Tiger to increase the soulful, but he managed it. She chuckled, moving her fingers around so she could scratch his chin. “You win.” She said the words, not sure what he’d won, and she’d lost. It all felt a bit paranoid. Though a little paranoia never hurt anyone in a galaxy far, far away.
A slight sound jerked her gaze up. Kraye stood in the doorway to his quarters, a look of actual amusement in his eyes. She rose, flushing a bit.
“He snuck on board.”
“He is resourceful.”
For the second time in about a minute, she found herself making eye contact that she probably shouldn’t have. Though the heat that swirled into her mid-section was nothing like the warm fuzzy from petting a caticorn. His gaze altered to curious, perhaps also puzzled. It was just her luck to be almost alone on a ship for a month with a guy who didn’t know how to flirt, let alone make a pass.
She broke eye contact, her lips twisting a bit wryly.
“Your quarters all right?”
“They are optimal,” he said. He glanced back into his room, his gaze well into the neutral zone.
City knew what he saw. They were comfortable, but practical. Not home. As nice as this was, the Doolittle and her cramped personal space felt more like home. Was the Najer his home? This was not the first time she’d wondered about his story, his history. How did someone end up being the only human on a ship of robots? How did that even work? But she didn’t know how to bridge the gap without looking nosey, without being nosey, she amended wryly. He interested her. There, she’d admitted it, but he either didn’t notice her interest or didn’t recognize the signals. She’d even twirled her hair on a finger, something she vowed she’d never do while she wore the uniform.
Nothing. Not even a small flicker of “oh.”
A small body bumped against her calf. She was glad for a reason to look down at Tiger.
“You hungry?”
He bumped her leg again, his meow-neigh pointed.
“Excuse me,” she said, not sure if she felt awkward or disappointed.
“Of course.”
She palmed the door control for her quarters and her caticorn trotted inside. She paused, trying to think of something to say, but he’d already gone back into his.
It was going to be a long month.
* * *
“I believe she likes you,” OxeroidR said.
Kraye jerked around. He’d forgotten the robot was there. “How—” he stopped, his face heating. The question should have been who, not how.
“She played with her hair.” A robot finger lifted, moving as if he had hair. Because he did not have hair, the action was unsettling.
“So?” He shrugged, as if he did not care.
“I have observed female humans doing this,” the metal finger moved once again. “They also tip their heads to the side and angle their bodies toward the object of their interest.”
His big square body adjusted into a disturbing configuration that might be somewhat familiar. But once again, it was more troubling than informative.
The robot resumed his normal configuration, rubbing his metal chin with two of his fingers. His head lifted. “Kraye, when we were in space dock, did you observe females there?”
Of course he had, at every opportunity. He could not say he’d learned much from these relatively brief observations. He’d also—more discreetly—observed the females who had filtered into Central Outpost after the successful military action. Much observing, not much learning. He half shrugged. “I am not interested—” He stopped, but it was too late.
“One can learn from observation of any female. The signals they use to create intimacy can be similar.”
Was he really getting romantic advice from a robot? He wanted to protest. Those women on the space docks, well, he had considered accepting what they offered. He was a male with urges that were not unusual, according to the information he’d read on the subject. He had not because the risks to the ship, to his crew mates were too high for such casual experimentation. He was, as he well knew, the weak link on the Najer. As a human, he could be co-opted to betray them without even realizing it. He could be taken hostage in the belief that the robots would rescue him. He did not believe they would, but his belief was not relevant. If someone believed he was a way to pressure him, they would not hesitate. The knowledge of what would happen to him if he were captured had done much to tamp down his sexual curiosity.
And now, looking back at the casual curiosity he’d felt, and yes, interest in those dock-side women bothered him. It almost felt as if he’d betrayed…someone.
“She said I was her friend,” he muttered. He’d looked up the word in their databank. It was not what he wished for from her.
“Friends do not play with their hair or—”
“I see,” Kraye said hastily, fearful he would alter his configuration again.
“Females who desire friendship do not look directly at a male, then away, then look at them from the corner of their eyes,” OxeroidR went on, as if he’d not spoken.
Had Caro done any of these things? She had glanced at him at times, but mostly they had been involved in battle, in shooting others, and protecting each other.
“When initial intimacy has been established, a female will touch a male on the arm, or, as intimacy increases, on the chest.”
He touched Kraye’s arm with his metal finger, then withdrew it. Then his hand rested briefly on Kraye’s chest.
None of it felt particularly romantic.
“Look for small actions. Observe closely because some of their actions are barely perceptible. When a female is not interested, she will withdraw, shift away.”
Observe closely. He could do that. He had been doing that since he met her. For the first time since this uncomfortable conversation had began, Kraye looked at his friend. He was a friend. A strange, tactless, mostly emotionless friend, but still a friend. But in the flat delivery, he almost sensed…old pain. He did not know how long the robot had been sentient. Had their sentience developed into a longing for intimacy? There were signs their robot Captain had feelings for a human female they’d rescued in the previous action. He did not know if those feelings were romantic in nature, or if any of the robots could act on romantic feelings.
“Human women will sometimes purse their lips in what is called a pout,” OxeroidR added, much like one going down a list.
Thankfully he was unable to demonstrate this pout since he did not have a mouth.
Rocky lifted his head from OxeroidR’s shoulder, stretching his small legs and extending his webbed arms. “My kind are more direct. We dance for our females and present our—”
Kraye winced as the Rocky showed him what he showed females. Pain formed behind Kraye’s eyes. Had he thought it uncomfortable getting advice from a robot?
“Humans wait until later in their courtship for—” OxeroidR said.
Kraye hastily cut him off by waving his hand. “I, please…”
“Humans waste a lot of time,” Rocky said, though his tone was more matter-of-fact than judgmental. “Perhaps you should talk to the Testudinians. They take a long time for everything.”
If they talked as slowly as they moved, Kraye would be an old man before he learned anything from them.
He heard a discreet buzz and turned toward the opening with relief, giving it permission to open. The door slid back. It was Caro. He hoped s
he had not heard any of their conversation.
Her gaze moved between them and he could not stop the color that stole into his face.
“Sorry to bother you. I forgot to tell you that Mr. Faxton asked if we’d dine with them this evening.” She grimaced. “I have to, but you don’t. It’s sort of a meet and greet thing.”
“I would—yes, of course.” He studied her as he spoke, but could see no sign of the romantic cues they had been discussing. She did not lean or angle. In fact, her back was most straight, her hands clasped behind her back and in no position to touch him. Her lips were a line, one that was possibly a bit rueful, and not a pout, though he was fuzzy on what was and was not a pout. Despite the lack of encouraging signs, he was pleased with what he saw. She was not a tall woman, but she was sturdy, capable and confident. Her light blue eyes met his with directness. He had a feeling she would know what a pout was, but lacked the courage to ask her.
He glanced at OxeroidR, who gave his version of a shrug. Rocky turned in a circle before curling up on the robot’s shoulder.
Her gaze shifted past him to OxeroidR.
“You’re welcome to come, too, Bull.”
“Would it be useful?”
She considered this and then nodded, her lips curving in a wry smile. “The Harparian is…unsettling. Have you ever had dealings with one?”
OxeroidR turned his head in a negative. “We have only had dealings with space capable species.”
Her brows drew together. “That’s interesting. I think.”
