Supernova

by C. Gockel

  “Get. Out,” Volka said.

  Lauren shook her hair. “I will not—”

  “Squeak …. Aaacchoo!”

  “Ugh!” screamed Lauren. Thick, vaguely fluorescent green ooze was dribbling down Lauren’s cream silk blouse.

  6T9 blinked. Carl was standing on the table in front of the other ‘bot, wiping his nose. “Whoops. Venom. Won’t hurt your synth skin, but your blouse might—”

  At the corners of the green stain, Lauren’s blouse became brown and then black, and then curled inward.

  “—yep.” Rising to his hind paw pairs, Carl sniffled. “That synth Neptunian silk does not handle werfle juice well. Sorry ‘bout that.” Swiveling toward Sixty, Carl said, “When’s the bacon going to be done?”

  Lauren stammered, “Why, you … you …”

  Inhaling deeply, Carl exclaimed, “Uh oh … feel another one comin’ on!” He swiveled his body toward Lauren. Shrieking, she dodged, but Carl still managed to hit her sleeve. He began to sniffle fiercely again.

  “You better leave, Lauren G3.” The words came from FET12, entering the kitchen from the hallway. “I heard everything, and I intend to report you.”

  “I can’t be convicted,” Lauren G3 declared.

  “I’m gonna blow again!” Carl shouted.

  Giving a cry, Lauren G3 bolted out the door.

  FET12 followed her to the stoop. 6T9 heard him murmur, “The court of public opinion will not be so kind.” Whether Lauren G3 heard, he didn’t know. At that moment, Shissh came bounding across the lawn toward Lauren. Screaming, the android broke into a run, Shissh on her heels. Lauren’s shuttle, parked near Sundancer, dropped a gangway, and the android dashed aboard. Shissh skidded to a halt at the bottom of the gangway and roared. An instant later, the gangway clanged shut, and the ship launched from the ground, its hover engines sending dirt and debris flying. Sundancer turned gray in what 6T9 could only surmise was disgust.

  Shissh loped toward the house, and FET12 held the door open for her to join them. The big cat chuffed. “If anyone asks, I’ll say I thought she was playing.”

  The kitchen was silent for 3.4 seconds, and then Volka growled. “Is it true she can’t be convicted?”

  6T9 frowned. “Possibly. Not if her visit to Luddeccea was sanctioned by some government agency, or by someone agencies rely upon.” He stared at the knife in his hand. “Like Time Gate 3.”

  “I wanted to kill her too,” Volka snarled, staring out the door.

  FET12 sighed. “It would be an inappropriate response.”

  “Inappropriate?” Sixty set the knife on the table. “She admitted to murdering human civilians.”

  Gazing down at Shissh, FET12 said, “You can’t permanently destroy her. Not at all an appropriate punishment for someone who has murdered many.” FET12 sounded almost … murderous, which was impossible with his programming.

  “You believe in the death penalty now?” Shissh asked, raising her eyes to the small android.

  FET12 blinked. “No, but I believe there must be justice. Sixty or Volka giving up their liberty without any repercussions for her is not just. She is dangerous. She thinks killing children was … was … funny. She should not be allowed to be free.” FET12’s face flushed. “We must find a way to … to … she must get a true trial. Not a farce.”

  Shissh sat on her haunches and wrapped her tail around herself. “I am sure there is a way you can do that. However, we have a war to fight and bigger problems than Lauren G3.”

  6T9 swallowed. His circuits misfired. Their enemy, the Dark, was the bigger threat. It was the reason he’d chosen to have the ability to kill. If he’d destroyed or damaged Lauren G3, that would be for nothing. His glitchy programming had almost made Volka face the Dark—and today’s mission—alone.

  2

  Reconnaissance

  Galactic Republic : Time Gate 1

  Alaric walked through the corridors of Time Gate 1, his wife on his left arm. James Sinclair, Alaric’s android minder during their visits to the Republic, was on his right side. Alaric and Alexis were wearing civilian clothes. James wore Fleet armor. Behind them walked Five Luddeccean Guardsmen, and one person who only looked like a Guardsman—a very short Guardsman.

  Alaric liked Sinclair. He told himself not to feel guilty for what he was doing at the moment. The ends justified the means in this circumstance, and he thought, or perhaps only hoped, that Sinclair would agree with him.

  “It was an unexpected pleasure to see you both again so soon,” James said. “I hope we will be seeing more of you, Ms. Darmadi. I thought your presentation on the nuances of meaning in the various script forms of The People’s logographs was compelling.”

  The presentation was the alibi given for Alexis’s and Alaric’s return visit. Alaric’s wife was perhaps the galaxy’s preeminent expert on the language and culture of The People, an alien race extinguished by the Dark over a million years ago. Her preeminence was hard won. She’d been infected by the Dark. It was a telepathic species—though its telepathy only extended to other members of its own—and she had absorbed the knowledge it had gained of The People during her period of illness. She’d held onto the knowledge through determination and grit.

  Now, Alexis laughed musically, a sound like bells, carefully cultivated by her Luddeccean first family upbringing not to be jarring or too loud. If she felt nervous about their current subterfuge, she gave no sign. Her arm in his wasn’t tense; her smile seemed genuine—perhaps because it was genuine. She had enjoyed the trip, and she had enjoyed speaking at the University of Oxford no matter the pretense. “I thank you, Mr. Sinclair, though I don’t think that the audience was compelled as much as I’d like them to have been.” She’d tried to subtly work into her presentation the danger of the Dark—a danger too many people in the Republic ignored.

  James frowned. “I am not a good judge of human emotional response. So, I have to take your word for it. And yet, I hope, that if the danger is just reiterated enough, that attitudes in the Republic will change. With time.”

  Alexis’s arm tensed in Alaric’s. Her lips pinched together, and he imagined she was thinking exactly what he was thinking. They didn’t have time.

  They passed a public holo on the promenade. A news program was flashing over its surface, and an announcer was declaring, “The Galactican Senator from System 5 is insisting on a declaration of war for the terrorist actions in the city of New Grande and against Time Gate 5, however—” They passed too far to hear the rest. Alaric did not look over his shoulder to see how the imposter among his guardsmen had handled it. Alexis’s arm tightened again in his, but she didn’t look, either.

  They approached the Fleet section of the gate. Members of the Fleet Marines stood with phaser rifles at the ready, their backs to a large metal sliding door. Worse, more Marines stood with scanners. Solomon, in the new body of a gray werfle hatchling, poked his head out of Alexis’s purse. Lifting her chin, Alexis stood a little straighter. Alaric tried to keep his body loose, his expression even. He did not look back at the imposter marching with his men. This was the moment upon which all things depended. They were in the hands of Solomon and The One.

  “We cannot change what appears in their scans,” Solomon had explained when they had devised this plan, “but we can let their minds slide over what those reports reveal.”

  Alexis had challenged the werfle. “More than The One are telepathic, Solomon. What if we should run into Volka? She reads minds.” Alaric’s jaw ground at the memory. He hadn’t realized until that moment that Alexis knew Volka’s secret.

  “Distract her with small talk,” Solomon had replied.

  Alaric hoped they did not run into Volka. He was not adept at small talk even in ordinary situations. Pinned between his wife and his former lover … his mouth went dry, and his skin became clammy at the mere thought of it. Which was ridiculous. Volka was not here, and he was not one to borrow trouble.

  They were within ten steps of the checkpoint. The metal door slid
open, and a man in crisp Dress Grays stepped out, flanked by four more Fleet Marines in combat armor. The man in Dress Grays smiled at Alaric. An officer, no doubt, but Fleet didn’t wear their bars on their shoulders—they transmitted their name and rank etherly—Alaric had no idea who the man was or of his rank. The open smile lasted too long and was …disturbing.

  James drew them to a halt five steps from the scanners. Alaric tried hard not to measure the distance with his eyes. “I’m sorry. I cannot accompany you to your shuttle,” Sinclair said.

  He’d informed them earlier this was the case, and so this was no reason for alarm. Arm loosening in Alaric’s, Alexis smiled at the android. “Next time we’ll try to give more advance notice. We were surprised ourselves that the Luddeccean Counsel let me accept the invitation.”

  Inclining his head, Sinclair said, “Please do.”

  Alexis nudged Alaric slightly. He was supposed to say something, but the man with the disquieting smile in Dress Grays was approaching. Sinclair lifted a hand in the man’s direction. “In the meantime, this is Captain Orion Smith. He’ll be your guide and will provide you with anything you might require.”

  The smile of the man in Dress Grays grew impossibly wider. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain Darmadi, Mrs. Darmadi.” He bowed slightly.

  Sinclair hesitated. Alexis nudged Alaric again … Time for small talk. But was it really appropriate? Sinclair hated it as much as he did and that was probably why they got on so well. Alaric said the first thing he could think of. “Next time, we’ll give you more notice so we can go skiing.” He narrowed his eyes at Sinclair in challenge.

  … A challenge, Sinclair perceived. The android smiled shark-like. “Downhill.”

  “Cross-country,” Alaric countered. The android was inhumanly strong, but Alaric had learned cold sapped his power reserves. If they did cross-country through snow, Alaric might just beat him.

  Sinclair’s smile lost its toothy edge. “You’re on, Luddite.”

  Alexis sighed. Captain Orion’s expression was strained. Alaric smiled, genuinely, and then they were closing the last few steps to the scanners.

  The metal door slid open again, and an enormous Bengal tiger and a small, golden-haired werfle appeared from within. Alexis, Alaric, and the Luddecceans had been warned about the tiger’s potential presence, and they did not flinch. The great beast’s head swung toward the men with the scanners, and they did flinch. Alaric wondered if The One meant to simply terrify the Galacticans in charge of the scanning.

  “Carl Sagan, Shissh … you’re needed at the meeting,” Sinclair said, sounding perplexed.

  The golden werfle wore a collar with a medallion on it, an “ether-to-speech” device that gave the creature the ability to talk aloud.

  Rising to its back two paw pairs, the werfle glared at Alaric, touched the device, and declared aloud to everyone, “It’s a necklace, Darmadi.” Solomon made a noise like a laugh. Carl narrowed his eyes at the other werfle, but then, swiveling his body around to James, said, “We’re hungry.”

  Volka’s voice rose from the Fleet section of the gate, behind the werfle and the tiger. “How can you be hungry? You just ate.”

  Alaric’s gaze jerked up. There was Volka, all her attention focused on Carl. Next to her was James’s android … friend … 6T9. Alaric had been sure 6T9 was going to kill him when he hung in the void. Archbishop Kenji Sato assured him that 6T9 could not harm humans, and once Alaric would have believed him, but now the android’s expression was blank. Murderous.

  Well, damn.

  The Fleet section of the gate was gray. The public promenade was nearly blindingly white. Also, Volka was exasperated with Carl, so at first she didn’t see, feel, or smell the presence of Alaric and Alexis Darmadi.

  “But there are butter-rats here, Volka,” Carl declared, touching a paw to his chest and twisting his body nearly 180 degrees. “Shissh hasn’t tasted them.”

  Volka gave Carl the side-eye. She only looked up when Sixty halted beside her, just a few steps from the exit. She took a deep breath and smelled Alexis and Alaric, and saw them indistinctly, haloed in the promenade’s glow.

  For a moment, there was an uncomfortable silence. Volka’s brain shut off.

  And then Alexis, leaning forward on Alaric’s arm, said, “Volka, I hear congratulations are in order. You’ve been made Admiral.”

  Volka blinked. That wasn’t mean. It was even more than polite. When was Alexis not mean to her? Her ears twitched. Alexis was very anxious about something; there were a thousand pterys fluttering in the other woman’s stomach. Volka reached out through the waves—

  And Sixty’s voice cut through the silence. “Now she outranks you, Darmadi.” His gaze was on Alaric.

  Alaric’s eyebrow rose. He looked like he was prepared to bow, but then Captain Orion Smith interjected quickly, “Volka’s rank is really only honorary.”

  Volka’s ears flattened. She wasn’t a Fleet or Luddeccean Guard admiral, that was true, but it wasn’t precisely an honorary title, either. Seventeen members of Sundancer’s species had selected her as their leader. Admiral wasn’t quite the right word, but she was the leader of a small, very unusual fleet.

  Captain Orion chuckled nervously. “Like Joan d’Arc.”

  Volka’s nostrils flared. Had her new crewmember, Lieutenant Dixon, gotten that idea from Smith?

  “I am sure,” Alexis gasped. “Volka is not—”

  “—going to burn at the stake,” Sixty ground out through clenched teeth.

  Orion rolled on his feet. “Well, certainly not, but she is ahh … something of a spiritual leader.”

  Volka’s ears flattened. By that, he meant she was a figurehead only.

  Alaric bowed as one would before a proper Admiral. “More like Queen Elizabeth the First. Tactical and spiritual.”

  James had been standing quietly to the side, but at that moment, he broke out into a funny-sounding speech. “Be I only a weak and feeble carbon-based life form …”

  Rising from his bow, Alaric beamed. Alexis laughed, but for once, it wasn’t cruel. Whatever James had said was witty and clever for some reason Volka didn’t understand.

  Orion was not smiling. Touching his temple, he cleared his throat. “Ah, Captain Darmadi, your shuttle is docking. We should get going.” He was distinctly uncomfortable, but Volka could feel no pity as he led Alaric, Alexis, and the men following them into the Fleet section of the gate. Volka took a breath, and her eyes got wide. The last man wasn’t a man at all—it was a woman in men’s clothing. Maybe she was a Galactican pretending to be a Luddeccean … or a Luddeccean woman pretending to be a man. How had she gotten so far in the Luddeccean Guard? There wasn’t any privacy aboard starships, and now the Guard had weere who could, like Volka, literally “sniff” her out.

  The woman was not marching as smartly as the others, now that Volka thought of it. Volka didn’t mean to get caught in the strings between herself and the disguised woman, but she did … sometimes the waves of the universe were as sticky as spider webs. The feelings that hit her almost made Volka fall over. The grief the woman was hiding made Volka think of the days after her mother had died, when she’d found herself an orphan and been half-mad with despair. The woman was so afraid of being discovered now ….

  Volka spied Solomon peeking his head out of Alexis’s purse. His eyes were on hers, and his mind whispered to her, “We’re all on the same side.”

  She blinked. The One must know who the disguised woman was. Maybe they needed a Republic spy on Luddeccea? Or maybe they just felt sorry for the woman. Maybe she was a Luddeccean who’d lost family somehow in the fight against the Dark? Maybe she sought vengeance and had somehow disguised herself and The One went along?

  “Volka?” Sixty asked. His hand had wound its way into hers. Volka jerked her attention up to him and found his eyes, soft and worried. The thread between her and the imposter Guardsman snapped, and she could breathe again. She shook her head. “I’ll tell you later.”


  His lips formed a hard line, but he didn’t ask.

  From behind them came the familiar bootsteps of Sharon Rhinehart, one of Volka’s former crewmates, now the captain of an eldership, and Shissh, who served aboard her ship.

  Shissh swung her huge head to Volka. “She’s not my captain. I’m her overlord.”

  “What are you doing here, Cat?” Sharon asked. “What are you doing slinking away? We’re scheduled to leave in fifteen minutes.”

  James had stood behind with 6T9 and Volka. Frowning at Shissh, he said, “She said she was hungry.”

  “Hungry?” declared Sharon, before Volka could. “She’s got an entire dead deer on my ship. What more could she be hungry for?”

  Shissh licked her lips. “Carl promised me butter-rats.”

  “You had bacon and eggs for breakfast, Carl,” Sixty protested.

  Volka’s ears flicked.

  Carl looked at Shissh. “Come to think of it, I’m not that hungry.”

  Shissh licked a paw. “The deer probably will be enough, even if Volka ate all the good bits.”

  “I gave you the brain,” Volka protested.

  Shissh stretched. “Come on, Sharon. Let’s get back to the ship. We’ve got to take off in thirteen minutes.” She loped over to the Marine. As they left, Volka heard Sharon mutter, “Cats.”

  “What was that about?” James asked Carl.

  Carl scratched his rump. “Can’t a werfle get a craving now and then?”

  “With the mission we have planned for today, no,” said James.

  Carl shrugged several of his tiny shoulders and began hopping toward Sundancer.

  James’s gaze flicked between Volka and Sixty. Sixty shrugged hopelessly. “Volka and I have no answers.”

  James sighed. “With friends like The One ….”

  Sixty’s hand tightened in Volka’s. They were standing in the doorway to the main promenade, preventing the door from closing. Her ears swiveled to the Fleet Marine guards. They had scanners, but they hadn’t noticed or commented that one of the Luddeccean Guardsmen had been disguised as a man. Because they weren’t supposed to, or ….