Heist

by Ell Leigh Clarke

  “All are bound!” the crowd chanted from the upper decks. “So all be unbound!”

  Jade shifted uncomfortably between Olofi and Loco as she glanced back at the crowd. “So, this is, uh… kinda creepy, huh?”

  “Tell me about it,” Olofi concurred.

  Loco smiled down at the scene. “I dunno. I kind of miss when humans were like this. Back when their routines were interesting instead of that corporate nine-to-five bullshit. You know?”

  Nikola raised both arms above his head to silence the crowd. “Know that today the crimes they stand accused of are no less than high treason. Our oaths make clear that an offense against our comrades in arms is an offense against the Zion itself. Bring forth the accused.”

  Ivor stepped before his father and kneeled at the podium. Angela took a bit more urging, but ultimately followed suit.

  “Ivor and Angela, brother and sister of the Zion’s noble fight,” he said. “I place you here before this tribunal, cradled in the hands of justice itself, to bring your crimes to light. You stand accused of sabotaging our allied ship, the Odysseus, on the night of our great victory against the evils spawned by the Federation. Once boarded, you turned your weapons against the ship’s crew, and commandeered their weapons console to misfire upon itself, damage calculated to break the ship’s engines beyond repair. Do you deny these charges?”

  Nikola gazed at his son with a furious authority.

  Ivor hesitated, but raised his head and spoke. “I don’t,” he said. “But the plans were mine and only mine. Angela only acted out of a warrior’s loyalty in seeing them through.”

  Angela shook her head so her raven locks moved from her eyes. “Don’t try to protect me, Ivor,” she shouted over to him. “I know what I did, and I’d do it again. I was the one who commandeered the android ships’ weapons systems. Like they did to ours when we first met, I might remind you all.”

  There were shouts of support for Angela from one side of the room that quickly got drowned out with bellows from the remainder of the mob. Until Nikola quelled them with a loud shout and a heavy stomp of one foot that seemed to serve as a replacement for a judge’s gavel.

  “Furthermore!” Nikola yelled. “Not satisfied in attacking one of our allies, you each turned your weapons on the crew of the allied ship Chesed. Ivor, you have grievously wounded the warrior Bentley, wounds from which she is still recovering, when attacking her in a defenseless position. You have shamed our clan both with your treacherous conduct and with the cowardice in which you employed it.”

  Ivor lowered his head again and said nothing.

  “And Angela,” Nikola faced her while she defiantly glared back at him. “You turned your weapons against the ship’s captain when he attempted to intervene on your sabotage.”

  “I was defending myself,” Angela stated. “I won’t ever apologize for that.”

  “Nobody wants an apology!” Nikola yelled at her furiously, seeming to break the guise of the Arbiter to speak like himself. “You can feel shame for what you’ve done, or you can be proud of it to your grave. But your punishment will still be the same. The blood you’ve spilled, and the blood you’ve tainted, can only be made right in one way. The poison of this wound has to be sucked out and spat into the void.”

  Ivor turned pale and Angela now finally had no recalcitrant words. What he’d said seemed to shake them to their core. “Dad, no!” Ivor yelled out of turn. “You can’t mean…!”

  “You stand accused of the highest crimes,” Nikola said through gritted teeth, the pain of what he was saying apparent on his ceremonially painted face. “And it merits the highest punishment. Your body will be launched into the empty void, and your soul will be without a home. Your corpus and animus will both be doomed to wander aimlessly, never finding rest, never seeing the glory of battle or the company of your brothers. You will be a frozen husk that floats free. Unthinking, unmoving, irredeemable until time’s end.”

  Even the crowd fell silent at this. The prospect seemed terrifying to every one of the rebels, no matter what crime might have merited it.

  “No!” Ivor shouted. “I’m a warrior! I would die for our cause as I’ve lived. But I won’t die apart from it. Let me prove my mettle one last time against our enemies, and die as a warrior.”

  “You forfeited the right to such mercy when you twice betrayed your clan,” Nikola replied. “When you betrayed me.”

  Angela’s head hung down, not in shame, but to hide the slow tears that escaped from her tightly shut eyes.

  “I’d never betray you,” Ivor insisted. “What I did, I did for us. To keep us on the path. To save our humanity.” His battered face softened to one of sadness. “Please… Don’t make me face the void. Think about the blood I’ve shed for everyone here. Time and again.”

  Nikola looked conflicted at his son’s plea. Silence filled the chamber while he lowered his arms and folded them in front of him, his ever-burning eyes moving between the two accused while he considered their ultimate fate.

  “You are warriors, both,” he said finally. “You’ve proven yourself to us in battle hundreds of times. And those victories don’t even begin to erase the stain you’ve made on us that can never be removed.” He made a slow, controlled exhale, as though passing down judgment took more strength in that powerful form of his than any battle might. “But it may be enough to save your souls. I have decided your punishment shall be commuted to exile.”

  There was an uproar in the crowds, some of relief, others in anger.

  “You will never be called blood of our clan again,” Nikola declared. “No ship allied to the rebellion will give you quarter. No weapon of our hand will be raised in your defense. You will be dropped off at our next port and we shall never again answer your hails.”

  Ivor looked no less pained by this than the previous judgment, lighter as it might have been.

  Olofi and Loco looked over at one another, and Shango turned to look up at them as well in recognition. All of them sympathized with this plight, knowing the pains of exile themselves.

  “He’s as good as dead that way anyway,” Loco observed. “Without anyone protecting him, the LaPlace’ll be on him in seconds.”

  “I have handed down my judgment as Arbiter,” Nikola shouted. “Do any dare challenge this ruling?”

  Even the few rebels that were clamoring stopped here. The gravity of such a challenge was apparent, in that none seemed willing to even be suspected of it. Not an eye in the crowd was willing to meet Nikola’s gaze.

  Except for one pair. From his place as an honored witness, Blackfriar raised a hand, and stared out at Nikola. “I would object, though not in challenge.”

  Nikola looked surprised at this, uncertain of how to respond. It was clear that none of his ceremony was quite prepared for this eventuality. “As the captain of the wronged crew, I guess you’re entitled to input,” he said. “But this is my ship, and my tribunal. Remember that.”

  Blackfriar nodded respectfully and stood up. “Of course,” he said. He looked to the other side of the courtroom floor to Shango and motioned for him to approach. “If you will… May we instead have a private parlay of captains? Just the three of us.”

  Nikola looked as though he felt like he should be furious at his tribunal being undermined in this way, but his anger softened in consideration. It was clear he felt uncomfortable denying the request of someone he now owed a debt to from his son’s actions. “Alright,” he said, turning away from the podium. “Let’s talk in the conference room out back.”

  Even Nikola’s body language suggested he was dropping the ceremonial act as he turned to exit to the conference chamber immediately beside the bridge.

  It was now only the three captains: Shango, Nikola, and Blackfriar.

  Nikola glared at Blackfriar with suppressed anger. “Look, what he did to you was bad, and I can never make that right. But he’s a long-serving fighter, and my son. I can’t—”

  “You cannot exile him,” Blackfriar finished
the sentence in a way the rebel captain clearly did not expect. Shango had had his suspicions, but still found himself surprised to hear the words.

  “Sorry, what?” Nikola said, almost reeling from what he’d heard. “You don’t want him exiled? Then what are you asking for?”

  “Mercy,” Blackfriar answered. “And forgiveness. I cannot allow you to lose your child to the conflict that continues between our peoples. That would only inflame further animosity, and send others down his path. But if he remains with you, perhaps he can see that there is another way.”

  “He almost blew up your ship,” Nikola reminded him. “Left it derelict. Could’ve killed all of you after I told you that you could trust us.”

  “And I see your regret that this occurred,” Blackfriar said, seeming not offended while also acknowledging the severity of the events. “But humans and androids have a long and bloody past. And we also have a long and undetermined future ahead of us. If it’s to be a bright one, we will both need to learn forgiveness and reconciliation. I can only ask you, one captain to another, show clemency to your crew for straying from the path.”

  Nikola was dumbfounded and could only turn to Shango as the only other person in the room. “Are you okay with this?” he asked. “After what he did to your crew? After mine attacked you?”

  Shango didn’t hesitate to answer. “Blackfriar has been wronged much more greatly than I. If he can find cause to forgive, so can we. And I would like to hope that no man is beyond redemption.” He spoke of himself, but perhaps neither of the others knew this.

  Nikola looked both pained and liberated. He shut his eyes and nodded in determination. “Alright,” he said to Blackfriar. “But I still need to make this right. We’ll keep your crew on the Zion for as long as you need. Take you wherever you need to get to. Least we can do after losing your ship.”

  Blackfriar lowered his head graciously. “I appreciate the sentiment, but Shango has already quite generously offered to give us a temporary home on the Chesed while we regroup. We have much to plan, and perhaps we can salvage what remains of the Odysseus into something newer and grander.”

  “Huh.” Nikola seemed somewhat disappointed that he couldn’t be of any service, but instead extended his hand to him. “Fair enough. But I won’t forget my debt to you. Remember that.”

  “I absolve you of any debts,” Blackfriar told him, still reaching out to shake his hand. “Instead, I would ask only friendship.”

  The three captains left the conference room, and Nikola stood once more at the podium. Everyone stared at him expectantly. He spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Those who have been wronged have asked that we hand down mercy upon our comrades for their crimes. Mercy is not in the Arbiter’s nature, only justice. However…” Nikola stared at his son, like he was speaking only to him even as his announcement went out to all. “For the future we fight for, we must all adapt and grow. And we cannot deny such a humbling request. Therefore, as Arbiter, I use my authority to declare this tribunal dissolved in its entirety. All shall be forgiven in the sanctity of this room, though nothing will be forgotten.” He outstretched his arms for this declaration and waited for a few moments for a reaction.

  None of the rebels seemed to know how to respond to this. There was silence, then muttering. Then a general air of confusion. Then Nikola gave them his usual fiery glare. “Well, what the fuck are you all still standing around for? Dismissed!”

  Everyone flooded out of the room, and Nikola moved to untie his son.

  Jelly Bean stood next to Svend, both of them having watched silently beside one another this entire time.

  “I must say,” Jelly Bean said to him. “I did not expect this outcome.”

  Svend smiled with admiration while looking out at Blackfriar. “I did. Or at least I hoped I was right. Or else my captain wouldn’t have been the man I know he is.” His smile faded as quickly as it came while he looked towards Jelly Bean. “Is Bentley alright?” he asked, showing a deep concern.

  Jelly Bean’s virtual face tilted forward to nod. “She will recover,” she said. “She is currently resting. Also… I was hoping I would have an opportunity to thank you for helping her. You may have saved her life.”

  Svend humbly shook his head. “No need for thanks,” he said. “I’d do it again, as easily as I breathe. Without question.”

  “Then, at least, I believe I owe you an apology.”

  “An apology?” This seemed to pique his interest. “What would you have to apologize to me for?”

  Jelly Bean almost looked shy. “I must admit, I always thought myself superior to your kind. That I was of a class above those that sought to emulate humans as you do. At times, I would take offense when people classified me as an android. I took it as an insult, like it diminished the truth of what I am.”

  “But you don’t anymore?” he asked.

  Jelly Bean tilted the physical portion of her head. “Negative,” she answered. “Now I see that your kind has a perspective that I do not, that is worth exploring. When I am referred to as an android, I will now see it as a designation of honor, that I would be mistaken for creatures capable of such courage, and kindness, and limitless potential.”

  The room had quickly begun to clear, and as the androids passed the rebels, there was a feeling of unity that had not been there before.

  Just prior to his departure to the Chesed, Blackfriar and Nikola shook hands once more. This time, Ivor looked on in wonder, as though he’d been presented with a great question that he could not place the answer to.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Bentley’s Conscience, Dream State

  As Bentley slept, she found that the world within her mind had converged into something more coherent than the one she had faded away in some time ago. Here she had some semblance of peace and control, a clarity of who she was that she instinctively knew would not survive the process of waking to the conscious world.

  She was standing at a massive supercomputer, interacting with a series of viewscreen interfaces that each addressed different, complex problems that she fed more data into. Some of these were problems that she vividly remembered solving in the deep scientific research areas of Dracon station, but as her dream became more lucid, she realized she could call for new information, new events, and look back on them on command.

  She touched the screen. “I want to see my mother.”

  And then she was still at a console, though a much smaller one, hunched in front of a small box in a dimly lit room. Light spilled out into it and she turned her head to see her mother in an open doorway, holding a plate bearing a freshly made sandwich.

  “You’ve been working all night,” her mother said to her. “Don’t burn yourself out.”

  “I couldn’t possibly,” Bentley heard herself speaking in a much younger, but oddly more articulate voice. “These problems are so complex… Once I start them it’s like unraveling a knot, and if I can’t get it totally untied, it’ll bug me until I can. I don’t even think I could sleep right now.”

  Her mother placed the plate next to her and gave Bentley a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “Such a smart girl,” she said. “I’m glad the academy didn’t take you. The life of a soldier would have been such a waste of someone like you.”

  “I was only deferred,” Bentley answered turning back to her console. She reached for her sandwich and took a bite while still operating with another hand. “I’ll be going next year for sure.”

  “You won’t get to use your brain like that on a LaPlace ship,” her mother warned, the unspoken worry clear in her voice. “There’s only long, dangerous work. Your father—”

  “I don’t want to talk about dad tonight,” Bentley cut her off. “This has nothing to do with him. But I want to get off this planet. I want to be on a real ship, and see new things, new places. Not to just sit in some room compiling data and figuring out what could be.”

  Her mother looked saddened but leaned in to give her a gentle hug. “You can be whatever y
ou want to be,” she assured her. “But make sure that it’s what you want, and not what anyone else wants.”

  “Yeah. This is what I want,” Bentley replied. She looked back to her mother, and found she was no longer there. Now she was looking directly at Legba, smiling at her while watching her work a new console in an equally dark room.

  “What do you want?” Legba answered her. “Do you want to know the truth?”

  “Who doesn’t want to know the truth?” Bentley countered to him with a strange familiarity.