He reached over and pulled Eliana into a hug. “Thank you, my love. Thank you.” He caught his breath and told his heart to stop beating so fast. “Yes, it was necessary. And Mata Hari’s limpet complink gained useful information about a future gathering of these genome harvesters. I hope we can . . . disrupt their gathering after we return from the Small Magellanic Cloud.”
Eliana kissed his neck, breathing warmth against skin that had become cold from his memory of O’Toole. “We will, my love. We will bring as much justice to the poor and injured people of this galaxy as can be done in a human lifetime.”
Matt smiled at his love’s simple declaration of her own commitment to his geis, to the pursuit of those Anarchate entities that allowed planets to die, cultures to be destroyed, cloneslave babies to be born, and whole star clusters to be ruled by alien Conglomerates that owned people through bondServant contracts. In a galaxy with trillions of lifeforms, more than thirty thousand species, and billions of habitable planets, setting things ‘right’ would not be the job of a single lifetime. But . . . perhaps he and Mata Hari and George and Suzanne could create a landslide of resistance that would bring a kind of . . . personal freedom to planets that had never known the like.
Eliana tugged at him. “Up, up! I gotta show you what dear Gatekeeper has created in the Life Room, next to the pool. You will love it!”
Suzanne looked up as the Spine slidedoor opened and Eliana brought in a lively, healthy-looking Matt to see their version of a park. The Vigilante wore his checkered yukata robe tied with a white silk tassel. He entered a place of growing things with water, rocks, soil and the buzz of some alien bees. She and George had been enjoying the small lake that filled one part of a space formerly occupied by a few dozen roomsuites. She and her new lifepartner had not thought it possible to create something green and living aboard a Dreadnought-class starship built by aliens. But Mata Hari and Gatekeeper, appearing as a middle-aged Greek man with no beard and dark brown skin, had done it using a bag of gardening tools and a few Nullgrav floaters that moved grass sod and trees to various locations. They had created a true biome at the rear of this starship.
Matt’s brown eyes widened at the sight of their miniature park, noticed the swirl of alien bees, then stepped forward to kneel and put a few fingertips into the lake’s water. “Amazing! It has a pebble shore, floating lily pads, Earth frogs and . . . and—”
“What?” asked Gatekeeper as his life-size holo walked up to Matt and Eliana, followed by the summer girl persona of Mata Hari. So very different from the Lady of the Sword they had seen in the vidrecords of the harvester battle. “Did you think that this ball of optoelectronics and molecular memory crystals lacked an imagination?”
Matt smiled, then stood up. His south Mediterranean face studied the new image of Gatekeeper, then noticed how Mata Hari’s summer persona held hands with Gatekeeper the gardener. A sign of emotionality and attachment that Suzanne had never before seen in any AI. Though it seemed Mata Hari’s mood had infected the Gatekeeper she knew, which had been more of a hotel manager than a conspirator in insurrection.
“Seems we have a third couple,” her George muttered from his squat beside her.
Suzanne sighed. “Yes, we do.” Remembering how new was hers and George’s romance, though she had known the stocky, strong man from a distance while on Omega, she wondered about how the two AIs had become so . . . linked. “Gatekeeper, Mata Hari, how did you two become so, so, attached?”
Gatekeeper nodded to the holo of his partner, imitating the human male mode. The tall, slim woman who had usually appeared as a helpful but distant AI wearing the Spy persona, smiled. It was a smile similar to Eliana’s, but narrower due to the AIs slim face and pointed chin.
“We found each other during the evacuation of the Omega casino,” the female AI said as she and Gatekeeper sat next to a seated Matt and Eliana. “We shared data links in order for us each to complete the jobs Matt assigned us. But . . . as Gatekeeper tachlinked with me to guide the refugee shuttles to various starships, we got to know each other deeper. And when he chose to come aboard rather than be with the Owners, I sensed a change within him. A change that felt . . . emotional to me.”
Gatekeeper smiled briefly, the very picture of a rural groundskeeper who was shy about praise. “She infected me. In the best way. By being herself, by relating to her Matthew the way she did, I learned a new way of relating to the universe than the simple tracker of arrivals and departures that the casino Owners had assigned to me. Gambling has never interested me. But discovering how organics can feel emotions, and how an AI can perhaps do the same through long association with an organic, made me wonder if such were possible for me and Mata Hari.”
Suzanne wondered about that. “But you two did not know each other as long as George and I have known each other. How did it happen so quickly?”
Mata Hari’s black eyes fixed on Suzanne, her expression patient but affectionate. “The minds of AIs think far more quickly than the minds of organics. Your Gatekeeper and I found a rapport that extended beyond routine duties. He liked my seven years of relating to Matt, while I enjoyed his several decades of knowing scores of alien species. His knowledge of this galaxy and its organics is far more extensive than mine. Though my emotional abilities are very new to him. Right, dear one?”
The holo of a middle-aged Greek man who was clean-shaven, with grey head curls, curved ears, a squarish face and skin that was light brown, looked down at his crossed legs, then reached up to unbutton the top of his white cotton shirt that lacked any sign of ironing. He wore a dark brown jumpsuit that showed dirt stains on the knees, in perfect imitation of an image either he or Mata Hari had seen sometime in the past. The AI Suzanne thought she had known well acted like a new person, not just a new AI.
“Yes . . . my dear.” Gatekeeper squinted at her and George sitting together with arms around each other, then at Matt and Eliana seated similarly, though Eliana’s head leaned against the left shoulder of Matt. “You organics possess something we AIs have never understood. Nor seen the value of. But Mata Hari’s sharing with me of her full-blown emotionality and feelings for Matthew Dragoneaux has expanded my perception of reality. The greenery inside the casino had always appealed to me due to its seasonal growth changes. Now, I too can grow beyond my programming. Thanks to Mata Hari.”
“Congratulations,” rumbled the deep voice of George, reminding her of their own new found love for each other.
“Yes,” Suzanne said as she recalled the love of her Swedish parents for each other before they left to colonize a Sixth Wave world in Perseus Arm. “Congratulations to both of you. And to you too, Matt and Eliana.”
Sitting beside the cool blue waters of a small lake surrounded by young oak trees, pinyon pines, juniper trees, wisteria bushes, and some weathered boulders scattered here and there, all beneath a warm yellow sunlight that shone down from the room’s ceiling, Suzanne felt happy. And it seemed two other couples felt equally happy. Both at being together and at celebrating life. Hopefully this feeling would last a good while.
Eliana smiled back at Suzanne, her newfound friend and a woman with software programming abilities that would surely help her efforts to forge a gene therapy algorithm. She need help in locating the common genetic elements possessed by the inner core of the slow virus that was attacking Matt’s gene sequences. But more than the research, she needed a friend who did not care that she possessed a prehensile tail and a dislike for meat foods. Her Derindl heritage had fixed in her tastebuds a preference for plant and tree-borne foods. She could enjoy cooked fish, but anything else gave her an upset stomach. While she had enjoyed seeing Matt inhale the foods offered the other night at Eire Park, she had joined him in tasting only a few. The Irish colonists of Morrigan were serious meat-eaters. And also drinkers of spirits. She had enjoyed the golden beer, then had discovered the dangers of drinking more than a half-cup of Scotch. Her head had hurt badly the next morning, even as the memory of happiness among good pe
ople overcame the pain.
Now, they were back on the geis road, aiming to do serious harm to the Anarchate. Would they achieve the disruption sought by BattleMind? Or would a bureaucracy millions of years old simply shrug off their attacks as pinpricks? Recalling the memory of Matt’s time as a cloneslave decanter, she swore to herself, to the memory of Calyce and to her dead grandfather Petros that this time the Anarchate would notice the harm it had caused!
Matt sat in the Interlock Pit, thinking in normal human mode, mind-feeling the shape of his starship. They were still in Translation and had weeks to go before arriving at an outer star system of Omega Centauri. He’d done research on BattleMind’s target using Anarchate databases and the encrypted data of the Intelligence dome. They said the cluster held perhaps ten million stars, with the stars belonging to a wide range of Hertzsprung-Russell classifications, with most belonging to the F, G, K and M types of stars, their colors ranging from white to dark red. Ancient research by the Loglan species had determined the cluster was the remnant of a dwarf galaxy torn apart by the Milky Way, sometime in the very distant past. Thus the cluster held many stars with ages in the billions of years, and many Earth-like planets, in addition to moons with atmosphere that could be occupied. Like Megadeen. Intelligent species in the cluster had lived under the Anarchate for at least two million years, per the Combat Command data file. He grimaced at the thought of the task he faced.
“Matthew,” spoke Mata Hari in his mind by way of their lightspeed link. “I have located an F-type main sequence star lying on the outer portion of the cluster. Its primary lifeworld is Galifray, fourth in orbit about the yellow-white star CC1939. It has long been a mercantile world where all that matters is the size of your platinum Standards pile. The Anarchate leaves them alone unless called, since the two Conglomerates based in the system have their own space defense forces well able to handle commerce raiders, resource pirates and genome harvesters. Do you wish to see the system’s layout?”
Did he? At least they would leave this star system intact. All it took to get what they needed was enough valuta to prompt an orbiting Supply Tube to link up with Mata Hari and transfer enough deut-li fuel pellets, water, consumables and gases for the lasers. Then they would head out-system for the heliopause and prepare to Translate to the moon Megadeen. Bringing massive death with them.
“Yes, Mata Hari, please feed the data to the front holosphere.”
Mata Hari did so. To his left and rear, Eliana, George and Suzanne looked up and saw the basic ID info on the illustrated star system. Eliana leaned forward. “Is that the star system of Megadeen?”
“Nope,” Matt said. “It’s the mercantile world Galifray where BattleMind plans to obtain fuel and supplies. Before we attack Megadeen in another star system. Then after we take out the Anarchate Admin node in the galactic tachnet at that star, it wishes to Translate on a south galactic heading for something called the Magellanic Stream. It needs a lot of fuel to do that.”
George shifted behind Matt. “What the heck is the Stream?”
In his mind’s eye Matt saw Suzanne lean forward, clearly eager to participate in their joint effort. “George, the stream is a giant plume of gases left behind by the Large and Small Magellanic Clouds as they orbit the Milky Way,” she said earnestly. “The clouds are dwarf galaxies captured long ago by the Milky Way. This stream is a gaseous filament torn off those two small galaxies by the gravity pull of home galaxy. Even though the stream is mostly gas with few stars in it, Mata Hari told me it is the pathway used by the ancient T’Chak when they made trade visits to the Milky Way.”
Mata Hari took form between Suzanne and Eliana, this time dressed in her Victorian dress Spy mode. She nodded at George. “This gas stream will give this starship the opportunity to gather deuterium and tritium isotopes of hydrogen to fuel our onboard reactors,” his partner said. “The reactors are what power the Alcubierre Translation and fusion pulse drives. We will have to drop out of Translation several times in order to fuel up, using an electromagnetic scoop and filter.”
“How far is it to get to the Small Magellanic Cloud?” Eliana asked.
“Far,” Matt said, reclaiming the conversation. “At least 197,000 light years measuring from Sol. But the Omega Centauri cluster is located on the bottom, or south pole side, of home galaxy. That puts it closer to the Magellanic Stream of neutral hydrogen that links home galaxy with the two Magellanic clouds. That might reduce the distance by a few thousand light years.”
Suzanne frowned, her yellow eyebrows pulling together. “Far that is. Will it take us a year to get there?”
Mata Hari turned to face the front holosphere. “Unlikely. This starship moves faster in Translation than any starship within the Anarchate. If we do not encounter any opposition to our movement, we should reach the T’Chak homeland within four months.”
“Opposition?” said Eliana in a puzzled tone.
Matt let his AI partner lay out one of the mysteries of home galaxy. “Eliana, George and Suzanne, there are areas of home galaxy where the Anarchate does not govern,” Mata Hari said, looking back over her shoulder. “No one knows the reason why. Whether it is a lack of space-going species, or lack of planets, deadly radiation belts like in the central core near our central black hole, or . . . the presence of powerful and unfriendly aliens is not known. The Combat Command memory crystal held a detailed map of this galaxy, the territories of various species, and those few areas that are marked . . . Do Not Enter. Going from Omega Centauri to the nearest part of the Magellanic Stream takes us close to one of those regions. We shall see,” she said softly, walking closer to the holo of the F-type main sequence star that harbored Galifray.
Matt did not like the idea of going near any kind of Do Not Enter region of the galaxy, but this was BattleMind’s Task imposed by its organic bosses, and he could not see any further combat lessons to be taught to the arrogant dragon. Perhaps when they arrived in the Small Magellanic Cloud the AI would see its masters were dead and then, BattleMind might enroll in Matt’s version of a ‘take over home galaxy’ plan, a plan that would free millions of beings from lives of bond slavery.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
George stood in his full-scale combat suit, next to Matt, and beside the mid-ship exit portal that Mata Hari would open for them now that the ship’s exterior had been altered to match the look of a Brokeet merchant ship. Like most non-military starships in home galaxy, it showed the central tube with two outrigger tubes look, but decorated with red and green streaks that were allegedly some kind of Brokeet family clan marker. While larger than most Brokeet ships, its false ID transponder and their sedate journey inward from the heliopause had followed the standard approach used by the twenty-one starships now docked with Galifray’s orbiting Commerce Station. However, Matt had chosen to hang next to the Station, like fourteen other starships. The occupants of those ships would access the Station by way of shuttle transport or powered suits. Like theirs. George swallowed, blinked his right eye in the pattern Matt had taught him, and brought into action the virtual reality faceplate display that showed piles of data and images on the left, right and central faceplates.
“Feeling strange?” muttered Matt over their joint tachyon comlink.
Strange? With his mind perceiving the mind-shape of Mata Hari, his limbs feeling like those of a superman, and his heart beating faster than it should now that Mata Hari had injected him with the nanoDocs that would keep him healthy, alert, immune to any outside disease, and capable of rapid healing, he thought not feeling strange would be a contradiction of reality.
“Yeah,” he said. “This combo of blink control and PET thought-imaging to chat with Mata Hari while simultaneously seeing a dozen system readouts from this suit’s weapons systems is really strange. I know we went through two weeks of onboard suit training, but I’m glad I passed on the neck socket for this ocean-time link you use to connect with the computer minds of our AI partners. Don’t think I could have coped.”
Matt c
huckled, even as George’s central faceplate showed a real-time view of the Vigilante’s face from the inside of Matt’s helmet. A view similar to what Matt could see of him, and which was also seen by Mata Hari. She glowed in the back of his mind like a red cloud that roiled, curled and acted faster than George could think. “I grant you, having a mind guest is not for everyone,” Matt said over the comlink. “And even fewer organics can handle a direct mind flow link with an AI.”
“Agreed. Mata Hari has been patient with me.” In truth, the AI was backing him up as he joined Matt for a combat-suited delivery of a cask holding 14,329 platinum Standards. The currency would pay for the supplies they’d ordered during their inward journey to system CC1939’s fourth planet. A Supply Tube ship even now approached starship Mata Hari to offload the food and fuel they had contracted for with a business named Trans-Galactic. The Supply Tube would dock soon, after he and Matt paid its owners, and use its own automated supply sleds to deliver crated supplies over to the handling of Mata Hari’s own botsleds. The supplies would be delivered through a newly created cargohold airlock near the rear of the starship. He lifted the cask holding the Standards. “Don’t mind doing grunt work as delivery man. I’ll leave the ‘fight and win’ stuff to you!”
The flexhull wall puckered open before them, exposing them to vacuum even as the hull walls came together behind them. The small puff of escaping air moved them outward. Very slowly. George felt Matt’s mood shift to focus on the imagery George saw in his right faceplate quadrant. Now where is that control for the Repulsor block that let him follow the Vigilante?
Vigilante Series 2: Nebula Vigilante Page 20
