Darkship Renegades

by Sarah A. Hoyt

  But just in case I divested myself of five of them and left only one attached to my belt, as I softened the seal around the door and went into the room.

  I was prepared for everything. Or I thought I was. I was prepared for everything but Jarl’s voice coming at me from some unknown speaker.

  “’Xander?” it said, in a puzzled adult-Jarl voice. “What happened to you?”

  While I’m aware I look like the old bastard who called himself my father, I didn’t think I looked that much like him. All right, so I have Mediterranean features, perhaps all too well endowed with a rather strong nose. I still don’t think I can, in any way, qualify as a male.

  So I stopped, totally frozen for a moment. It was a moment too long.

  With only one gem on my belt, I was a much smaller zone of total destruction. That meant that there were peripherals active around the wall.

  Who knew peripherals could throw lassos? I didn’t. Which is how the lasso that came down from my head and started pulling shut around my body almost succeeded in capturing me. Almost but not quite because I lost it. I lost it in the peculiar panicky way that made my movements speed up.

  Before the noose could tighten around my middle, I’d cut it through with a knife. My other hand wanted to reach for a burner, but I didn’t let it. In this situation, a burner was the least useful of weapons. Instead, I reached for a hammer and flung it, without looking, in the direction of the thing holding the lasso. I heard a satisfying crunch, just as another peripheral raised an arm with some sort of a blade in it. That one too, got it with a hammer, and I used a hammer on one that carried something that looked like a lance before it could get close enough to use it.

  The damn things learned fast. Another threw a heavy object of some sort at me. I didn’t have time to see what it was, only to duck, fast.

  The peripherals surrounded me, circling me, end on end, some with weapons, some just circling. There were a lot more of them than of me. I hit out with hammers, but didn’t throw them unless I needed to. When I threw a hammer I lost it. I only had a half-dozen left. Same with knives. And there were hundreds of peripherals here. What did I expect? Did I expect this to be easy? What kind of an idiot was I? Don’t answer that. I was an optimistic idiot, who was very tired and just wanted her husband back.

  Above the peripherals I could barely see the computer. I had to go for the computer. But the way it was going to work, I was going to have to kill the computer, to completely destroy it. I didn’t have time to be subtle.

  And then I realized that in the center of the computer was a strange-looking component that I’d never seen in any computer before. It was a rounded thing that looked like an aquarium. I thought of Jarl saying that it had some biological components. I supposed other computers did too, at least a lot of them in Eden. But I didn’t know of any that had aquariums in them.

  I looked at the thing, which was filled with an odd reddish fluid.

  And suddenly I realized that Jarl had lied. No. I don’t know how I realized it. You could only see glimpses and pieces through the—glass? dimatough?—that the tank was made of, but it was enough to discern what had to be the contours of a human brain.

  A human brain, left attached to a machine for countless years, for centuries, with no human contact. I thought of what Simon had said. Strong people might last a year in solitary. Maybe Lucius Keeva had survived for a whole fifteen years. I suspected there was more to that story than we knew. But this brain—this human mind—had survived alone, in solitary confinement, for the last three hundred years.

  Cyborgs were by definition insane, even if they were the cyborgs of mice brains. I’d heard that once they’d used a bird brain hooked to a computer and that had been a disaster, though I suspected birds—at least chickens—were peculiarly insane all on their own.

  This brain had started out—I was sure—as an impression of Jarl’s brain. It would have started out paranoid. It had grown more so, and more scared. All alone, here, creating its evil little peripherals to protect itself.

  Did it—as Jarl seemed to want to half the time—wish to die? Or had it forgotten that it was even alive and become wholly machine? Or was it so completely insane that neither of the concepts applied?

  I aimed the burner at it. If that aquarium was ceramite or glass it would explode. If it was dimatough…if it was dimatough, I could still heat it enough to kill the brain.

  With the hammer in my right hand, I fended off a thrown object, and used my left—my dominant hand—to aim the burner at the aquarium.

  I was killing a living human brain. I hesitated for just a moment. An object aimed at my burner-hand passed close by as I pulled my hand back. But then I thought of the poor thing, locked with its own madness all these centuries.

  I don’t approve of killing people—or anything sentient—because we feel sorry for them or disapprove of their quality of life. You can’t tell how much something is enjoying life, after all.

  But this brain, left alive, would cost me my life and Kit’s life. Kit’s life. Self-defense is everyone’s ultimate prerogative.

  I aimed and the burner ray flew true. A surprised exclamation through the speakers, and then there was nothing, just the sound of boiling as the liquid in the tank bubbled up. And then a high, high pitch whine as every peripheral around me seemed to seize and malfunction at the same time, frozen in place.

  I collapsed to my knees before I realized how weak I felt. I heard someone sobbing and I wasn’t sure where it came from. I don’t know how long I stayed like that, before I became aware that the tears were falling down my cheeks, so it was probably myself who was making those horrible keening and sobbing sounds.

  AN ANCIENT DEMON

  I dragged myself back to the room where I’d left Kit/Jarl. Okay, it was stupid of me to just open the door and go in. You’d think with my varied and disreputable career, I’d have realized going unprotected into a room that might house a mortal enemy was a no-no.

  In my defense, I didn’t think either of the two people who might be occupying my husband’s body could count as a enemy. After all, Jarl had tried to kiss me.

  So, it was a very specialized form of female stupidity, right? Also, I was tired, I was in pain, and I just wanted to go in and check on Kit, and perhaps sleep before I got on the com to doc, and find out if Doc had discovered how to reverse Kit’s condition.

  Most of all, at the back of my mind, I just wanted to go back to Kit. I wanted my husband. And, after all, I’d left him with his hands tied, right?

  I didn’t have time to realize my mistake. I didn’t have time, because I was hit mid-body and dragged, up against the wall, and by the time I recovered the ability to see clearly, I was staring at a maddened face with Cat eyes.

  It was my husband’s face, but the eyes were not. The eyes were Jarl’s, but worse than I’d ever seen Jarl’s eyes look—terrible, burning, filled with a single intent purpose.

  I thought, dumbly: I’d tied his hands. Then I looked down. Around his wrists, where the cables had been, were cut deep ruts of bleeding flesh. I realized he’d defeated the binds by main force and regardless of pain.

  By that time I was struggling to get away from him. From the force with which his hands were grabbing me, they were going to leave bruises. People talk about insane strength, but they don’t know the half of it. It felt like he was crushing my shoulders, and a little more strength would break my bones. I had no idea what he wanted. Whatever it was, he wanted it very much. But from the blankness behind the intentness in his eyes, it might be tomato soup, or really good bunny slippers. Mr. Rational was not at home to anyone.

  I lifted my feet together and hit him hard in the part of Kit that both of us prized too much. He made a sound like “urk” and let go a little, but not enough, so I brought my legs apart and kicked both of his knees with my heels, as hard as I could.

  He stumbled, letting go for a moment. I rolled away from him, and scrambled, hands and feet on the floor, behind the pile of
junk in the corner of the room.

  He turned, intent, single-minded, reminding me of the scary monster in holos. He said something in what I presume was ancient Swedish. I don’t know. I’m not a comparative linguist, and there’s a language that’s only studied in some universities these days. But he said it in a sickly sweet voice, and I understood Athena in it.

  My heart lurched downward and my stomach upward, and I realized what he wanted with me might not be to kill me. And trust me, this was by far the scarier alternative.

  And yet he was in my husband’s body. I didn’t want to use the burner on him. Even for someone with good aim, in the heat of battle, it was too easy for me to kill him with the burner. I grabbed a hammer in one hand, a knife in the other, and I decided that damn it, if needed I would inflict damage and maim. Regen on Earth was expensive but doable, and I’d bully Simon into doing it for Kit. But I was not going to risk killing my husband.

  The sickly-sweet words trickled from Jarl’s mouth again.

  “Don’t come any nearer,” I said, even then aware that he was coming around the pile, and scuttling around, kicking pieces and stuff out of my way, so I could go around it. “Or I will hurt you, even if you are in Kit’s body.”

  He chuckled. I can’t explain it, but that chuckle, bouncing off the walls, was one of the scariest things I’d ever heard.

  And then he leapt. He might not have full command of Kit’s speed, yet, but he had enough, and as he launched himself around the pile of pieces, I couldn’t even see him move, till he had me by the shoulders again, bringing me down, full force, hard against the floor.

  The pain where my head hit made my vision swim, but I blinked moisture—blood? Tears? Sweat? Who cared?—away from my eyes, and tried to twist away from him. Something like a low croaking growl was forming at the back of my throat, leaving it scratchy and raw as it tore itself out. “Bastard,” formed itself out of those words, and “Let go, bastard.”

  He didn’t let go. The way he was holding me, I couldn’t reach him with my weapons. And he looked at me with those intent and yet blank eyes. He said, “We must have children,” his voice sounded almost robotic. It made me wonder how much of the computer-bound-alter-ego had transferred itself into Jarl’s head just before I killed him. I was afraid it was a lot. “We must have children. Humanity needs us. The Earth needs us.”

  And damned if he didn’t bring his mouth down on mine and try to kiss me. I bit his tongue again. Hard. You’d think he’d learn. Apparently not. He made a sound, backed off. I bit his nose. Then his ear, as he tried to back away. He let go of me. I ran behind a columnar robot. The idea, as far as I had an idea was to leave the room, lock the door, then go to the com, get help.

  I didn’t get a chance to. He used Cat speed again, and next thing I knew the door was closed, and he was coming towards me. There only so much I could take of dodging him around the stupid server bot. He was bleeding on his nose, and I’d torn a good strip off his ear tip, but he was still coming at me.

  I shoved the robot towards him, hard, so he had to hold it to prevent being hit with it, and then I took a fast swipe at his shoulder with the knife. I wished I’d spent more of my youth studying anatomy, and not in the recreational way. I wanted to hurt him, but not in a way that would cause him to bleed out before he could be healed.

  But even sinking the knife into his shoulder didn’t stop him, and I realized in the state he was in, he might not even feel the pain. There’s this state that broomers can get into, a mix of adrenaline and, usually, something illegal and potent, such as Oblivium, where nothing will stop them. I’d seen it happen a few times, fortunately not to a member of my own lair.

  Usually broomers who did this were suicidal. But instead of killing themselves cleanly and easily, they’d go out and kill and maim till the authorities brought them down. I thought Jarl was trying a version of this. He wanted to die. He probably had wanted to die since he’d realized he was alive—or at least that he was alive, and what he was. But the same training they had inculcated him with to keep him from committing suicide in childhood was probably still active. They’d convinced the poor bastard he didn’t have the right to take his own life. That, in fact, he didn’t have the right to his own life, keep it or leave it.

  And I had to defeat him mentally. No matter how much I hit him, it was not going to stop him. And I risked accidentally killing the only body my husband had.

  Did I mention I’m not a crisis psy-tech? Sure, you could probably surmise that. But I had no choice. I hit him, now with two hammers, one in each hand, trying to get his joints, trying to keep him away from me, trying to keep him from using Cat speed, as I danced backwards away from him around the room, and called out, “Sure. Rule the Earth. Because you did such a great job last time?”

  He ducked a hammer blow and came for me, and his accent was heavier than ever as he said, “This time I know better. This time I’ve seen the histories of both Earth and Eden. I know what to do.”

  “Bullshit. You still don’t know what every human wants. How can you think you can decide for each of four billion humans?”

  “Because I’m older,” he said. There was an edge of hysteria to his words. “I’m wiser.” He jumped for me, and I realized he was about to use Cat speed. I’d probably gone into my speeded-up state myself, which meant he wasn’t that much faster than I as he should be. So I had time to clamber up the robot trash pile.

  It wasn’t a careful plan, more the idea that I weighed less than he did, and I could dance up the pile, while he—

  He fell heavily on it, causing an avalanche of robot parts, and I sang out, my voice purposely imbued with mockery. “Wiser? But humans aren’t wiser. They’re just human. Take for instance how you’re trying to force yourself on me, when I’d rather have anyone, anyone at all than you.”

  This made him hesitate. He looked up, surprised. “But I am your husband.”

  “Like hell. Kit might still be in there somewhere, but mostly you’re an abused overgrown child crossed with a crazy canned cyborg.”

  “I am not…” he said. He stood very still, and his hands opened and closed.

  “Oh, yes, you are,” I said, and realized the words were hurting him more than my physical attacks. “You are part the cyborg Jarl left behind, in the control room of this place, and which went mad from lack of human contact. And you are poor fucked-up Jarl who grew up convinced he wasn’t a normal, natural human. And it’s all stupid. And you’ve wanted to die since you knew you were alive, and all you have to do is let go, Jarl. All you have to do is let go.”

  He looked up at me, and for a second—for just a second—his eyes lost their blank look, and were a little boy’s eyes, lost in whatever labyrinth his mind had become. Kit’s eyes, perhaps, when he was very small and got hurt. Or Jarl’s eyes, when he’d been a child for whom no one cared, a child that people thought wasn’t even human.

  And then he gave something that might be a growl and rushed for me with such speed, that even as he fell atop me, on top of the pile of robot parts, he didn’t let go. He wrapped his arms around me, and we came down, in a pile of parts, as he screamed at me, part in unknown languages, part in Glaish. I couldn’t understand half of it, but I got the gist of it. I didn’t have the right to refuse him. I wasn’t a normal, natural human any more than he was. Humans might have individual wills. But we didn’t. He’d been raised to believe neither of us was human. It was deep in his psyche at a level that couldn’t be reached rationally. It was my duty to have his children and rule the Earth.

  “The humans who created you are dead, Jarl,” I said, as I grabbed a pointy robot arm and tried hard to shove it between us, point towards him. “They were stupid. They didn’t realize that a few chromosomes don’t a super man make. You were never a super man, Jarl. You’re just human, all too human, and almost as stupid as those who made you.”

  “But I must,” he said. And his voice was the lost voice of a child, in the resonance and timbre of a grown man. “I
must do what I was created to do. Why else am I alive?”

  “You don’t have to justify being alive. And besides, you’re not. You’re an inconvenient ghost in my husband’s body. I want my husband back. Let go, Jarl. Let go of me. Let go of life. Let go of Kit. Let go. Your time is past and your creators are dead.”

  “But I’m brighter than they were!”

  “What does intelligence have to do with it? Very smart people have been artists and poets and inventors, but some of the smartest leaders were the most horrible and responsible for the worst massacres.”

  “But I have governed.”

  “But you didn’t do it well. Your creators were morons and they created a monster. You might have been a good person, Jarl, but no one can create someone to rule other humans, much less to rule people they don’t understand. And you don’t understand us. You never did, not even three hundred years ago. You weren’t raised to understand normal people.”

  “People trusted me!” he said. “I did the best I could.”

  “People trusted Caligula too,” I said. I’m not a student of history, as Kit is. But I knew enough to know that people had always had great hopes of the young and bright, even when they turned out to be mad Roman emperors.

  At the risk of not making any sense, my fight, both words and physical, reminded me of a story Kit had once told me of one of the ancient mythologies, in which a mortal man had wrestled with an angel all night long, before emerging victorious in the morning.

  I felt that I too was wrestling with someone older and better informed, although the only thing that Jarl had in common with an angel was that this had once been his nickname. However, the image in my mind was still of a mortal, all too mortal, human, wrestling with a supernatural being.