Supernova

by C. Gockel

  Minutes later—seconds later?—Volka opened her eyes. Dr. Patrick and Lieutenant Young’s eyes opened a millisecond after—unnerving all the Luddecceans, and maybe Sixty, too. He shifted in his seat. James’s gaze slid sideways.

  Lieutenant Young said, “103 planets fit the parameters. Hand me a tablet, and I’ll start giving you their locations.”

  A priest passed one to him.

  Fingers fumbling, Young said, “This would be faster if I could hardlink to it.”

  “No,” said Kenji firmly.

  Young sighed and kept fumbling.

  The door opened, and a Luddeccean officer entered and handed another tablet to Alaric. As soon as Alaric knew what it was, Volka knew, and her heart clenched.

  Young, still fumbling, muttered a curse. Maybe it had been mental, because no one reacted to it. Or maybe everyone’s attention was on the tablet in Alaric’s hand. He stood up and carried the tablet over to the archbishop, who peered at it through his glasses. The chill Alaric felt spread to him.

  “What is it?” Sixty asked.

  Kenji spoke. “There were four more unincorporated settlements in the Kanakah Cloud that have … possibly … been emptied of their inhabitants.”

  Possibly, Volka knew, because they’d gleaned the information from interviews with pirates that had surrendered to them rather than face the Dark.

  Noa pictured Luddeccea, green and lovely, and thoughts of it infected by the Dark sent dread, cold and sharp as an icicle, right through her heart. Yet the admiral’s voice was steady when she said, “The settlements will need to be investigated and sterilized.” Noa exhaled. “I don’t think you can count on the Republic’s help.”

  Clearing his throat, Young pointed at the ceiling. “I hate to volunteer Luddeccea for more than you have done already, but what you have here is impressive. At a cursory inspection, and I’d say you could get 180 fighters aboard this thing. You don’t have to be everywhere at once. With the Uriel, you could drop fighters off at multiple targets within minutes. Plus, with your Net-Drive LCS and …”

  Alaric was staring at him, and Young knew there was something that he was missing. Volka saw in the minds of the Luddecceans what the lieutenant did not: the Uriel had hundreds of fighters, but not enough pilots. She saw dozens of conventional ships that had been damaged or destroyed during Alexis’s abduction. If Luddeccea’s Net-drive faster-than-light ships were occupied in Kanakah, Luddeccea’s conventional ships might not be enough to protect their own system.

  The archbishop stared at the tablet, worried about speaking the truth. But without the truth, the problem could never be solved.

  Sixty turned to Kenji. “I have a sex ‘bot army that may be put to some good use.”

  The weere priests leaned back in their seats in shock. Sixty’s lips turned up wryly, and although she couldn’t read his mind, she suspected he was thinking, “Propriety, at a time like this, really?”

  Sixty continued, “They could be programmed to look for signs of local infection and sent to the unincorporated outposts. It would be the difference of knowing at the beginning of an outbreak, rather than at the end.”

  The archbishop nodded. Alaric tapped his fingers on the table. It wasn’t enough.

  The archbishop had tasked her with being honest. But maybe he hadn’t spoken quite correctly; maybe she was supposed to take them to the same place—that meant revealing something not even Alaric wanted the Republic to know—just how vulnerable Luddeccea was. Sixty was here, but she couldn’t ask him. Her eyes fell to the table, her ears curled. She was still alone.

  “Volka?” Sixty asked. “Do you have something to say?”

  She raised her eyes, found his fixed on hers. He couldn’t read her mind, and she couldn’t read his, but he was here. He’d support her, even if she became a pariah for revealing Luddeccean state secrets. He’d help her fight her way out of here if it came to that. She lifted her chin and forced herself to meet the eyes of every Luddeccean in the room. “You need more people.” To replace the ones they lost. But in Ko’s mind she saw that wasn’t precisely all they needed. “Pilots for the Uriel’s fighters, and for the forces protecting Luddeccea itself. And you need mechanics. People with skills.” She gulped. This was a big, beautiful ship … and, beyond the few hallways they’d traversed, it was almost empty. Luddeccea, which prided itself on its people’s fertility, didn’t extend life the way they did in the Republic. They didn’t utilize machines to the same extent, either. They didn’t even allow women to serve. And that was why they were vulnerable. The Uriel, the faster-than-light LCS had been in the works for decades, and if the Dark had not arisen, Luddeccea would have quietly retired most of their conventional vessels and had more than enough ships and men to protect their system. But now they were protecting Luddeccea, the Kanakah Cloud, and helping guard the Republic; they needed their conventional ships, but they didn’t have enough manpower.

  The waves rippled around Volka as the Galacticans absorbed what she said. They had thought Luddeccea would be safe, that even if the Republic fell, they’d thought Luddeccea would prevail, and though Luddeccea wasn’t quite their ally, Luddeccea was human, and it had been a small light of hope in all their hearts.

  The silence stretched too long and seemed to consume the oxygen in the room. In the Luddeccean priests’ and officers’ minds, Volka saw more she should not know—the Luddeccean teleportation fusion weapons weren’t quite ready, even with Dr. Zeller’s help. It would be weeks before Luddeccea had the weapon that would be the best deterrent against a Republic attack. And she knew even more … the Luddeccean System was rich in minerals the Republic would want and need now that the Dark was seeded in Systems 3, 6, and 13. Luddeccea would need the fusion weapons to protect themselves from the Republic—if not the Republic’s military, its civilian corporations. The Republic didn’t have the will to curb its pirates or aliens hell bent on complete domination. It wouldn’t stop its corporations from rapacious behavior outside its own borders. It would probably claim they were just … pirates.

  She tried very hard not to let the knowledge of all those things show on her face. She noticed Alaric staring at her through narrowed eyes. The archbishop was cleaning his glasses again.

  “I doubt the Galactic Fleet would be willing to loan people,” one of the weere priests said.

  From Volka’s wrist came the sound of a feminine throat clearing. Volka’s lips parted in alarm. Sixty’s eyes shot to Bracelet, but the device was already speaking. “TAB, my associate, and I would like to volunteer to be among the Uriel’s fighter pilots. We don’t mind being blown up!”

  “What is this?” asked Archbishop Sato.

  Lifting her wrist, Volka hurriedly exclaimed, “This is Bracelet, she has a Q-comm, and so does TAB. He’s … well, he was a digital tablet, but he is currently in Corporal Jerome’s neural port.”

  Bracelet continued excitedly, “You can plug us directly into your fighters! We’d be able to command other, pilotless fighters via lightbeam and communicate with your human pilots that way, too, as long as we have a clear line of sight, of course. You could use us for your suicide missions!”

  In Alaric’s mind, Volka saw how in a melee Bracelet and TAB would only be able to command a few ships, but they wouldn’t be susceptible to jammers. It would help, and if they didn’t commit the Q-comm chips to suicide missions, Bracelet and TAB could continuously take command of pilotless-fighter squadrons—or better yet—drone squadrons or guided torpedoes outfitted for lightbeam control, escorting them as close as possible to their targets. His heart rate picked up, thinking of Luddeccea. Would it be better to send such powerful weapons to protect the homeworld?

  A Luddeccean priest sneered, “We cannot trust machines with fighters! It could wipe out a whole village.”

  Archbishop Sato said, “Perhaps not in Luddeccean space, but to help destroy the shipyard, why not? Let them be destroyed in the place of our men. We’ll need our Guardsmen later no matter the outcome of this battle.”r />
  The archbishop’s words reminded all of the Luddecceans of their system’s dire situation.

  “Yes, let machines die in the place of our men in System Zero,” another priest said. Murmurs of assent went around the table.

  Bracelet chirped, “Technically—”

  Volka smacked her hand down on the device, and Sixty put his hand over hers just before Bracelet reminded everyone that machines couldn’t die. For once, Bracelet took the hint.

  “Agreed,” said Alaric, but he was thinking, “It won’t be enough.” She saw in his mind how vulnerable Luddeccea would be. Two Q-comm devices wouldn’t be enough in the battle for the shipyard and Luddeccea. Despair swirled around Volka like an undertow. She tried to focus on the androids’ Q-comms, sparking furiously and bright, guiding her to the surface.

  “I have an idea,” James said.

  Volka’s ears perked.

  James wore an almost-smile. Noa’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at her husband. James turned to Alaric, and the android’s almost-smile became a rare, unmistakable smirk. “You’re going to hate it.”

  17

  Fanservice

  Luddeccean System

  The sunny side of the moon Atlantea was snowy white, but here and there it was crisscrossed with blue canals, spreading out from sapphire blue thermal vents. Behind the moon glowed an orange giant with delicate rings. It had been a century since James had seen the moon and its giant partner, the jewels of the Luddeccean system. His system sparked with memories.

  “That looks right,” the weere priest said. “Well done, Admiral Sato.”

  “It’s from James’s recollections,” Noa replied, surveying the holographic image spilling up from their holomat. In the holo, the moon and planet appeared to be visible through a window that stretched from floor to ceiling behind the conference table.

  The Luddecceans scanned the holographic illusion from top to bottom. “This is necessary?” a priest asked.

  “It looks very official,” Noa said.

  “Staged,” Alaric said.

  “Mmm …” Noa smiled. There was no ether aboard the Uriel, and James wasn’t privy to her thoughts, but he thought humans would classify the smile as “enigmatic.”

  Noa had suggested the backdrop would capture the imagination of the Galactican audience, hold their attention even if they weren’t interested in Alaric’s message. There were people in the Republic who still mourned the loss of the beautiful moon, its flaming-orange partner, and the fragile, sparkling city beneath its habitat dome. There was also a great deal of frustrated scientific interest in the unique species that lived in the seas beneath the ice in Atlantea’s lighter gravity, their bodies not limited by the intense pressure of Earth’s deep abyss.

  Alaric’s teeth ground. “Politics.”

  James tended to agree. The backdrop was a distraction from the message. But although Noa avowed to hate politics, she excelled at it. You didn’t rise to admiral without an ability to navigate that inscrutable layer of interactions and motivations that pulsed below the surface of every human endeavor. Machine society had its own politics, but James had an innate understanding of that.

  Still, overall, this was James’s idea, and it was, he thought, a good one. He smiled a smile designed to telegraph smugness.

  “You’re enjoying this too much,” Alaric said.

  “Not too much at all.”

  Alaric’s teeth ground again. A curious habit. James wondered what sort of evolutionary advantage it bestowed. Perhaps the advantage was to the children of the cavemen parents who ground their teeth. It acted as warning.

  James put his hands behind his back. “We’re putting your fame to good use.”

  “I don’t think I ever heard the exact nature of Captain Darmadi’s fame,” 6T9 said. He was sitting on the opposite side of the table next to Volka. Between them was a digital tablet. On either side of them were priests. Sixty and Volka were reading a speech that Noa had written and the priests had reviewed for “heresy.”

  “Estrella Steam,” James replied, referring to the author and creator of the bodice-ripping fanholos. “Her most recent bestsellers star the ‘barbaric and passionate’ Luddeccean ‘Captain Dar.’”

  Volka put a hand over her mouth. 6T9 stared at James for 1.5 seconds. And then he burst out laughing so hard he bent forward and smacked his head on the table. James frowned. When he’d changed 6T9’s programming to allow him to do harm, he’d given him the ability to harm himself, but still, the response seemed buggy. Shoulders shaking, 6T9 continued to laugh, gasping for air as he did. He had much more … dramatic … expression apps than James.

  Alaric glared through the illusory window at the illusory moon. “I thought you put a stop to those holos.”

  “Tracking them down and confronting their producers was tedious. I lost my motivation about a month ago.” After Darmadi had stolen Dr. Zeller from beneath his nose, he hadn’t seen the point—unless the “costar” in the holo appeared too much like himself. James’s processors briefly went dark, then sputtered back to life. Those he had found ways to make disappear.

  Darmadi sighed. “I suppose I deserve that.”

  It wasn’t an apology. It was an admission that “hard feelings” were understandable.

  6T9 cleared his throat. “Are you sure that it will attract the right sort of attention?”

  Noa responded. “One of her animated creations is being made into a live action holo. It’s kept Captain Dar’s—excuse me, Captain Darmadi’s name in the public’s mind. His address to the Republic will generate more media attention than a plea from the premier. It will be impossible for the right people not to hear it. It will be everywhere.”

  “I like this speech,” Volka said. To the Luddeccean priests, she said, “I don’t think your edits detracted from the message at all.” They briefly looked pleased, but then her ears folded. “But I’m not a Galactican and haven’t lived there long.”

  Volka pushed the tablet across the table, and Alaric spun it around and read through it. Noa smirked. “Don’t worry, I don’t have you promising to abduct any woman who joins your legions.”

  A few of the priests gaped. Clearing his throat, one said, “I wouldn’t think there would be any women.”

  Noa tilted her head, smiled slightly, and regarded the man. He coughed, and then muttered, “It’s not right. You’re weaker, the G-forces fighters endure, the upper body strength needed—”

  Noa raised an eyebrow. “All correctable with technology.”

  “Men and women serving together—” another priest said.

  “Have them serve in an all-female team,” Volka suggested. “It will discourage those with romantic aspirations.”

  Noa shot a glance at Volka that James could not comprehend.

  Volka flushed, her ears curled, but then perked forward. “I’m sorry, Admiral, but after meeting Galacticans, I think you will have some women like that. They don’t have … they don’t have … they don’t have understanding of what is really going on. It will be like one of those real-world holo shows to them.”

  Noa’s lips pursed.

  James suggested, “You could call the female squadron ‘Valkyries.’”

  Noa tapped her chin, but Alaric shook his head. The weere priests regarded James with furrowed brows and frowns.

  “Pagan reference,” Alaric whispered.

  Oh.

  Volka smiled and jumped a little in her seat. “What about ‘Judith’s Squadron’?”

  James’s Q-comm created a query that cross referenced Judith with historical figures in the Abrahamic tradition—

  “That was one of Eliza’s favorite stories.” 6T9 smiled at James. “Judith was a Jewish maiden who married Holofernes, an enemy of the Israelites. She seduced him, and then cut off his head when he went to sleep.”

  “Judith’s Legion,” a weere priest echoed. Brows smoothed.

  “The Galacticans should serve separately anyway. They are all cyborgs,” one said. Consultation among
the priests commenced in rapid, hushed whispers.

  Darmadi looked at the tablet in his hands. “Can we get this over with?”

  “It’s not that bad,” James said.

  Darmadi’s teeth ground. “Not the speech, no. The other part of it …”

  “Your romantic appeal?” James asked.

  One of the priests—a human—too thin, with a shining bald head, looked up over his glasses and suggested, “Perhaps we could leak a leak before the leak.” His chin bobbed. “That’s how they do that in your holomedia, yes?”

  Another priest blinked owlishly. “Yes, I remember that paper on reality holostars presented by Bishop Yardsley. A leak before a leak to drum up interest. Perhaps the Guard has some video footage or photographs of the captain in training as a young man?” He cleared his throat and said to Noa, “If you think it’s a good idea.”

  Beaming, Noa said, “I think that would be perfect! You are very media savvy.”

  Both priests blushed, and the first said, “My father swore that was a useless class to take—but here it is coming in handy!”

  Bending over his tablet, the other one chuckled. “Mine was the same. I’m going to have to gloat about this next time I see him.”