Supernova

by C. Gockel

  Carl blinked up at him. Werfles had eyebrows, just a few scant ones that protruded several centis from their foreheads, like a cat’s. 6T9 rarely thought about them, but he noticed that sometime in the last few months all of Carl’s eyebrows had become white. “We do support Noa’s plan.” Gazing down at Volka again, he said, “We didn’t want to be the ones to suggest it. The weere know we can manipulate the waves and minds. They wouldn’t trust us, though we can’t control minds so perfectly, or for so long that that sort of influence would work.” His tiny chest rose and fell. “Volka tugged at the waves today, too, though. She is manipulating them.”

  6T9’s lips parted. He hadn’t noticed, of course, but Volka said she did that.

  Carl added quickly, “I don’t think she could help it. But I think the love the populace have for her isn’t manipulated; it’s organic. System 11 doesn’t have many interstellar public figures, and I don’t think the tug will work over the news holos. Tonight, the Congress members will hear from their constituents. Tomorrow they’ll vote for their constituents. Then we’ll know.” His ears perked, and he said, “Come on, she misses us,” and he hopped along the railing to the stairs.

  It took a few minutes to reach Volka, but hours to leave the Den. Volka couldn’t go two steps without a Congress member, member of the press, member of the Local Guard, or simply a fan approaching. Volka gently directed anyone with questions of tactics to Noa, and questions regarding Intel to Orion and James. 6T9 handled questions of logistics. He was certain that S5O4, the planet New Grande was on, could handle the supply needs of Odessa at a cheaper price than the unincorporated systems. Outside of New Grande, S5O4 was agriculture and aquaculture. Their food exports weren’t wanted because of fear of contagion. With the Skimmers doing the transport, there wouldn’t be any fear of contamination. Also, it would be easy to pick up the Skimmer captains in System 5. Time Gate 1 was working on getting them medically discharged on grounds of “exotic radiation exposure.” There was plenty of traffic to System 5. The captains could make their way there, rather than have the Skimmers show up in systems individually, which would generate too much attention.

  6T9 was pleased with how things were coming together, and he was proud of how Volka maintained an air of admiralishness. He knew she hated crowds, but Volka kept her chin up. He could see the adoration in the eyes of those who spoke to her, and he saw how they saw her … tiny, but strong, seemingly undefeatable.

  Even he forgot how fragile she could be.

  9

  Imperfect Evolution

  System 11 : Odessa

  Volka fell back from the toilet, exhausted and close to tears. Her body had betrayed her. Again.

  Sixty didn’t knock. He entered her bedroom, walked into the open bathroom and over to the sink. He filled up a glass of water and sat next to her. “This is the second day in a row,” he said. “Should you see a doctor?”

  With a shaky hand, Volka took a sip from the glass and handed it back to him, afraid of dropping it. “This is the third formulation I’ve tried. It’s better than the alternative.” Even if it didn’t seem like it at that moment. The alternative to the hormone suppressors was the season, a week of hormone induced lust where she’d be useless to everyone. She let go a breath. She had too much to do, whatever Odessa’s Congress decided.

  “Volka—”

  Closing her eyes, she drew her knees to her chest and lay her head in her hands. “If I can just sleep through the night, it’s fine. It’s just I had a nightmare about S2O15, woke up, and couldn’t go back to sleep.”

  The night before her vomiting session had started with a nightmare about being buried under corpses, frozen solid. She’d tried digging herself out, but no matter how much she struggled, there were just more and more dead. She’d woken up gasping, and then realized that it was Noa’s dream she’d been experiencing. Volka had felt the other woman’s wakefulness in the next room, and although she couldn’t read James, she could feel Noa’s reaction to him as he’d taken her into his arms and cradled her against his shoulder, whispering, “You’re safe, now. You’re safe.” It had made Volka’s own aloneness starker.

  Why weren’t she and Sixty married? Did they really need to wait any longer? They wanted babies together when all this was done—if all this was done—and if this never was done … well, wouldn’t it be better to be together now? Her ears curled. She didn’t want to ask though, or push. She’d pushed before, and it had gotten her nowhere. If a man wanted to marry you, nothing would stop him, her mother had always said.

  And Sixty was here now, and he’d been here last night. Part of her wanted to forget about every promise she’d made to herself and just make love. She swallowed. But then her brain chemistry would alter and losing him would be that much more terrible.

  And he was here now, she told herself again.

  “S2O15? What made you dream of that prison planet?” Sixty asked, scooting closer to her and setting an arm around her shoulders. He was wearing pajamas, and he was gorgeous in pajamas. Volka noticed that with a tiny little part of her brain, but all she could think about was throwing up again. Focusing on enunciating each syllable, trying to use the effort to turn her attention away from her roiling stomach, she said, “It was where my Fleet Interrogator threatened to send me.”

  There was a crack, a crash, and pins in her knees. Volka looked up from her hands. Sixty was still sitting beside her. She felt water encircling her toes. With a gasp, she drew back, thinking the toilet was leaking, and almost lost her stomach again.

  “Don’t move,” Sixty said, “you’ll cut yourself.” That was when she noticed the glass in his hand had shattered, and shards of it lay in the puddle growing on the floor.

  Without a word, Sixty scooped her up and carried her into her bedroom. He set her on her bed, drew back, and then said in despair, “I got blood on you.” He flexed his hand and synth blood dribbled to the floor from between his fingers.

  “It’s nothing,” Volka said.

  “It’s not nothing,” he said. “I have a violent glitch.”

  Violent “glitches” were why he’d said that they should court. A violent glitch had almost caused him to murder Alaric. She’d thought Sixty had been exaggerating, but when Sixty looked at Alaric, something came over him. His face, normally so expressive, went blank. She’d seen that blankness when he’d looked at Lauren G3, and when he’d killed the original Android General 1 in New Grande … she saw that look now.

  “I wanted to kill my interrogator, too,” Volka said. A clock ticked in the hall.

  Sixty was a shadow against a window lit by starlight. “Are you sure you can’t read my mind?”

  “Of course not. You lose all expression when you think of …” Volka didn’t finish.

  “Murder?” Sixty suggested. For a moment, there was profound silence, and then his lips quirked, one of his eyebrows rose, and he was himself again. “I was programmed to show emotions, but not to murder. They must have skipped ‘murderous’ when they created my repertoire of expressions.” He stared down at his bloody hand.

  Volka’s ears folded. “We all have glitchy programming, Sixty. I can’t sleep.”

  The clock chimed the half hour. Sixty took a deep breath, and when he did, she realized he hadn’t been breathing before. Plucking a paper tissue from her nightstand and blotting his hand, he said, “We could try hypnosis.”

  “Hypnosis?” Volka asked. “Like hocus pocus?”

  “Not hocus pocus,” Sixty assured her. “May I sit down? FET12 is standing in the doorway; he’ll make sure I’m good.”

  Volka blinked past him, and saw that, sure enough, there was FET12. She felt mildly disappointed by Sixty’s promise to be good, but she also felt sick. She made room for Sixty on the bed, and he sat next to her. “Hypnosis works in approximately 91.67% of the human population. It’s just suggestion. It can help you take your mind in the direction you want it to go.”

  “Anything is worth trying,” Volka said, bowing her head
to her knees.

  Wrapping his arm around her, he said, “Let’s first start on your breathing …” His arm was warm. It had been so long since anyone had held her after a nightmare, really held her. Alaric had clasped her hand and sat beside her after she rescued Alexis. She hadn’t minded the door being open and two chaperones then. Now she did. If she hadn’t felt like moving might dislodge whatever was left in her stomach, she might have wanted more than just being held. She did want more, but …

  “Picture yourself at the top of a stairwell,” Sixty said in a soothing voice. “Every step you take …”

  She imagined walking downstairs, slowly, step by step, hand in hand with Sixty. At the bottom of the stairs, she kissed him, and she knew it was a dream because people didn’t float in the air when they made love.

  When she woke up, it was mid-morning, and Sixty was gone.

  Sixty left Volka on her bed, his bloody handprints on her knees.

  He could not change that he’d reacted irrationally. But it occurred to him, as she’d fallen asleep in his arms, that he probably could solve the trouble with the hormone suppressants she was taking. They were on a planet of technologically advanced weere. There had to be a solution. He’d peeked into the ether and found one.

  He arrived at the pharmacy an hour later. He’d stopped at another shop he’d passed on the way on a whim. It hadn’t been open, but the shopkeeper had been busy preparing for the day and had recognized him—or had recognized the hover car from the presidential estate and the crimson-clad Local Guardsmen in his wake. 6T9 had had the shopkeeper’s undivided attention for an hour. He patted the item he’d acquired from the shop, tucked into the pocket where Eliza’s ashes had been. It was an engagement band. He wanted to marry Volka, but his programming was still glitchy, violently glitchy. He was learning, though. He hadn’t killed his own interrogators. He had let Lauren G3 go in the end. He was being a model of respectability in the courting department; he hadn’t used sex to coerce Volka into a decision she’d later regret. He was patching his bugs. When the patches were complete, he’d be ready to propose.

  The guardsmen were still trailing him in the pharmacy as he went down the aisle where over-the-counter hormonal suppressants were kept. As soon as he reached the suppressants, he realized he’d grossly miscalculated how long his trip would take. There were so many brands. He connected to the ether—and immediately an app chimed with a message left for him by Lauren G3. He almost tossed it, but then listened to it instead. She still hoped she could be his lawyer and his friend. For 3.5 minutes he stood frozen in disgust. He wanted to kill her, but he couldn’t go to jail. She did have to be stopped, she did have to face justice, and justice was a trial. But how could she be brought to trial? His Q-comm flashed. How did Shissh and Volka stalk their prey? A query brought a memory of Volka and Shissh slipping silent as shadows off into the forest. Smiling, he composed an apology for Shissh and Carl’s behavior, added an effusive desire to remain friends, and sent it to her mailbox. And then he attacked the task he’d logged on to begin with—he began running queries on hormonal suppressant reviews and on the reviewers, trying to sift the real reviews out of the fake.

  He’d been at it for 5.33 minutes when a woman exclaimed, “You’re with the admiral. You’re Android General 1!”

  6T9 jerked out of the ether. A weere woman with a neural port and glasses stood before him. The combination of the modern and the ancient technologies briefly sent him offline.

  “You’re with that woman, Commander Noa Sato, from Fleet as well.”

  6T9 blinked. The admiral she was referring to was Volka. He hadn’t heard Noa described as a commander in a long time, but that had been her rank during her most famous exploit. He glanced down at the woman’s long white coat. A neat tag embroidered into it gave her name, Staya, and her position, Nanomacist & Pharmacist. She was a specialist in nanomacology—the medicinal use of nano ‘bots—and pharmacology.

  “Yes,” 6T9 said.

  Holding up a finger, she said, “Just a minute.” Her eyes became glazed as she plugged into the ether. 6T9 waited, resuming his silent review for the highest-rated hormone suppressant. He was surreptitiously pulling one from the shelf when Staya came back into the real world. “Wonderful, she’s given me permission to give it to you. Come with me, and I’ll fetch it and ring you up.”

  “Pardon, who?” said 6T9.

  Already walking down the aisle toward the back, Staya waved a beckoning hand. “Noa Sato.”

  Following, 6T9 tilted his head. He hadn’t realized Noa was in need of a prescription, but of course she would be. She was over 140 years old.

  Shaking her head, Staya said, “I didn’t think I’d be able to prepare it so soon. Usually, these orders take at least a week. It is a specialized formulation I had to mix myself. I put a rush through for the source ingredients and told them it was urgent, and they got it to me last night.” She hid a yawn behind a hand. “I mixed it just before you came in. I was sure she’d want it as soon as possible, and since you are here, I ethered her to ask.” She smiled. “You have her permission.”

  6T9 smiled back … cautiously, not sure exactly what had been formulated especially for Noa.

  Staya disappeared into the back, and 6T9 went to the counter. Two minutes later, she appeared at the other side and passed a small bag to him with the prescription clipped to the side. “Your ether-wiki entry says you have a medical background. I’ve listed exactly what went into this. Please go ahead and review the ingredients.”

  “Thank you,” 6T9 said, perusing the formulation. He was glad he hadn’t smiled too broadly. Several pieces of unusual data he’d noted but hadn’t been able to categorize or verify fell into place. Why James had wanted to stay here at least a week was clear. More importantly, he was certain the android had a death wish. The reason why was in his hands.

  When 6T9 arrived back at the guest house, he found Volka sitting on the couch in the sitting room, a mug of broth in her hand, one of her ears upright, one of them sagging. She bolted up at his entrance and looked distinctly uncomfortable. The reason for her discomfort was obvious. James and Noa were fighting, aloud, in the kitchen. The guest house wasn’t as large as the asteroid’s mansion, but it was still palatial by most standards. They were past two closed doors, on the other side of the house, but 6T9 had more-than-human hearing, and so did Volka.

  “We will need the Luddecceans eventually!” Noa said.

  “We can’t trust the Luddecceans,” James replied just as vehemently.

  6T9’s circuits darkened, and then fired all at once. He winced. “I’ve always heard it is uncomfortable for children to hear their parents fight. I understand that now.” He clutched the bag tighter, not believing they were really fighting about the Luddecceans.

  Taking his hand and giving it a squeeze, Volka whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  There was the sound of a chair scraping across the floor. Noa’s voice rose. “They didn’t betray the cause, and that is more important to me. And the Darmadis didn’t—”

  James’s voice was almost a monotone, and for some reason, that was more unsettling than a shout. “I was right there, and they—”

  “—did exactly what we would have done,” Noa replied, sounding tired. 6T9 tallied the hours since their flight and compared it to the strength of the prescription. She wasn’t in immediate danger and wouldn’t be for days. She sounded tired for other reasons. “Let it go, James. We need them, and you need their friendship.”

  “No.”

  Noa sighed. “You do. I won’t …”

  … be here forever. 6T9 finished the sentence for her in his mind. He’d heard it from Eliza many times.

  Volka squeezed his hand. “She is … sick? I guess. She hasn’t thought about it, not at all, until this morning. She’s very good about not thinking about her life being in danger.” Her brow furrowed, and 6T9 fought back a laugh he was afraid Volka would misinterpret. It was an understatement. Noa could be on death’s door and think
only of the mission. Volka’s nose twitched. “And I can’t smell it … whatever is making her sick.”

  “It’s with her cybernetics,” 6T9 said, squeezing her hand back. He lifted the package with the pharmacy’s logo. “I have something for it, but I think I had better—”

  “I can’t,” James said. Again. Monotone.

  “James—” Noa’s voice was a sigh.

  A door slammed, and James’s footsteps came from outside. He’d exited through the kitchen.

  6T9 swallowed. “I need to take this to her, and then I think I need to talk to James.”

  “Yes, of course,” Volka said with feeling. 6T9’s emotion reading applications pinpointed her tone as “earnest” and “sincere.” He’d left Volka without telling her where he’d gone, and they’d had an emotional morning. She was not thinking about that; she was thinking about Noa.

  6T9 had been told he was “high drama” too many times in his life to count. Volka was not high drama. Maybe they balanced each other out? “You are perfect,” he said. He opened the bag and handed her the suppressants he’d bought. “I think these might play better with your body’s chemistry. If they don’t, there are literally 103 different variations to choose from.”

  She took the package, ears fully forward.

  It occurred to 6T9 that an endearment like “you are perfect” was a “tell” and not a “show,” and that maybe courting should be more of the latter. “Lauren G3 left an ether message for me. Would you believe she still hasn’t figured out that I am angry with her? That, or she is playing for the other side and thinks I’m too stupid to imagine it.”

  Volka’s ears went sideways.

  6T9 took one of her small hands in his. “I thought about telling her to plug her charger into a Jupiturian lightning storm, but then I thought of you and Shissh’s stealth as you hunt your prey. You don’t announce your murderous intentions. I will find a way to destroy her—legally—and she will never see it coming.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re improving my programming and making me a better android.”