Starship Waking

by C. Gockel

  Starship Waking

  C. Gockel

  Illustration and Design by:

  Tom Edwards Design

  Contents

  About Starship Waking

  Acknowledgments

  1. Luddeccean System

  2. Galactic Republic

  3. The One

  4. Rebooting

  5. Luddeccea: Unexpected Arrivals

  6. Kanakah Disk: Gateway to Luddeccea

  7. Four Months Later Luddeccean Standard Time: Rainy Season

  8. Falling Stars

  9. Strays

  10. Casualties of War

  11. Cruelty

  12. Family Ties

  13. The Guard Strikes

  14. Of Angels and Androids

  15. Blast Off

  16. Trust

  17. Darwin’s Loophole

  18. Liberty

  19. The Robotic Man

  20. Betrayal

  21. Thaw

  22. Darkness Rising

  Also by C. Gockel

  Contact Information

  About Starship Waking

  On an icy, barren world, a starship dreams of doom…

  Throughout the galaxy, the reclusive alien race known as The One are incapacitated by terror.

  On the planet Luddeccea, wolf-human hybrid Volka harbors a terrible secret…a secret that must explain her nightmares.

  Trapped on a luxurious asteroid, pleasure ‘bot 6T9 struggles to find purpose—until he receives a message from an Unidentified Caller.

  The worlds of The One, Volka, and 6T9 are about to collide. The galaxy will be shaken to its core.

  The starship is waking.

  Copyright © 2018 C. Gockel

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, subject “Attention: Permissions,” at the email address below:

  cgockel@cgockelwrites.com

  For Print Edition:

  ISBN: 9781728761176

  Imprint: Independently published

  Created with Vellum

  Acknowledgments

  This book wouldn’t have been possible without the help of many people.

  Thank you Kay McSpadden for reading this before anyone else—several times.

  Thank you Sarah Easterly, Melissa Flores-Hosman, Elizabeth Morris, Ron Neito, Gretchen Almoughraby, Amy Eberhardt, David Rhodes, and K. T. Bowes for being my next set of eyes and for all your detailed feedback.

  Michael Hritz, Davinia McCoy, Kimberly Dawn Turral, Chon NicKol, Inga McMinn and many others helped me whip this into its final shape, and gave me the courage to put it out there.

  Thank you Michelle Fritz for all your help getting the word out for all my books.

  Thank you to all my fans. You keep me going.

  Thank you Eric Gockel for helping me get started.

  1

  Luddeccean System

  Planet Luddeccea. City of New Prime

  It was dark outside, and the night-time pterys were calling when Volka applied the final coat of primer to the canvasses. Flicking her ears for the breeze, she wiped sweat from her brow.

  Mr. Darmadi’s attic studio had all the latest innovations for cooling. The ceiling was high and arched, and it had a vent at the peak. There were multiple fans. The windows were located precisely across from one another, and all were covered by awnings so the room was never struck with the full force of the Luddeccean New Prime sun. But at the height of the dry season, nothing kept the house really cool.

  “Are you finished with those?” Mr. Darmadi asked from behind the enormous painting he was working on.

  “Yes,” Volka replied.

  “Good, good,” Mr. Darmadi murmured. “You can begin the drawings, then.”

  Volka’s shoulders fell, and her heart sank. She was hungry, tired, she still had to tidy the kitchen, wind all the clocks, and she had an hour-long bus ride ahead of her. She bit her lip. Mr. Darmadi had taught her everything there was to painting, and he paid her well even though she was only a weere, a wolf-human hybrid. She would get no better job, and she should go about her work cheerfully. She shouldn’t feel…trapped.

  “Volka?” Mr. Darmadi said.

  The doorbell rang, and Mr. Darmadi’s stool scraped across the floor.

  Bolting from her seat, Volka turned to her employer, her eyes wide.

  In his fifties, Mr. Darmadi was a tall, thin human with neatly combed gray hair. With his sharp cheekbones and strong nose, he was a dead ringer for his nephew Alaric, but his eyes were brown, not Alaric’s startling gray. Mr. Darmadi wore glasses when he worked, and now they were slipping down his nose. Squinting over the rims, his eyes slid to the wind-up clock ticking on the bookshelf, and then to the window. Only family or official messengers would come at this late hour.

  Mr. Darmadi put a hand to his mouth. “Volka, I can’t look. You go check.”

  Running to the window, Volka peered down. There was a car parked in the drive, and it bore the official Luddeccean seal: a dove with a branch in its beak.

  Despite what he’d said, Mr. Darmadi was leaning over her shoulder a moment later. “Is that an official seal on the side of the car?” Mr. Darmadi asked.

  Volka’s ears swiveled in momentary confusion and concern. He only needed glasses when working on something close-up…didn’t he?

  “It’s too dark to see,” he said.

  She exhaled. Sometimes she forgot that humans had such poor night vision. “It is the Guard Seal,” she replied .

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Go get it! Go get it!” Mr. Darmadi said anxiously.

  Wiping her hands on her smock, and then throwing it over a chair, Volka headed to the studio door.

  “Volka!” said Mr. Darmadi. He touched his hair. “Your fur! Check it in the hall.”

  Nodding hurriedly, Volka left the room, ran down the stairs, and stopped in front of the hallway mirror to check her “fur.” She hated that he called it that, even though that definitely was what it was. Although it was confined to her head, it never grew longer than a few inches, and had been gray since she was a child. On her wolf-like ears, it turned to a soft, slightly darker velvet. Her dark lined eyes, nearly black fingernails, velvet covered ears, and “fur” gave her away as a weere. And right now, fur, ears, and nails were spattered with the white gesso she’d been using as a primer. She used her fingers to rub it out and then wiped her fingers on the inside of the boxy tunic she wore. The doorbell rang again, and Mr. Darmadi whispered, “Volka!”

  Ears going flat, she ran to the door, pulled it open, and bowed at the waist.

  “Official delivery for Mr. Darmadi,” said the messenger.

  Volka didn’t raise her head until Mr. Darmadi entered the foyer and announced, “That is me.” He handed the messenger, a young human male who didn’t smell older than twenty-three, his identification. The young man scanned it, checked a photo on the envelope he bore, and scrutinized Mr. Darmadi briefly.

  And then, nodding smartly, the messenger opened the stiff cardboard envelope, gazed at the contents, and said, “Congratulations, sir, you and…” his brow furrowed, “… one passenger for accompanied cargo, have been approved for a trip to Libertas.” He handed the contents over to Mr. Darmadi, and then the envelope and a pen. “Please sign this.”

  Volka’s hands flew to her mouth as Mr. Darmadi signed beneath his picture. “Volka!” he exclaimed. “We’re going to Libertas!”

  At his
words, the human messenger’s eyes narrowed and slid to Volka. A muscle in his jaw jumped. Volka ducked her head. Going to Libertas, the fourth planet in the Luddeccean system, was a great honor for a human, let alone a weere. To travel aboard the Leetier, the only approved near-lightspeed passenger vessel, took a special invitation, a background check, and a small fortune. Her eyes prickled. She’d passed the inspection. Alaric was a captain now in the Luddeccean Guard. They would have asked him about his uncle and her. He hadn’t said anything bad…it wouldn’t have been like him to be so petty. Still, it made her chest warm, and she suddenly felt like he was very close.

  “Volka, have George make this young man some tea and sweets,” Mr. Darmadi said.

  “George isn’t here,” Volka whispered. The elderly weere chef wasn’t well, and Volka had promised to do his chores for him.

  Mr. Darmadi rubbed his temple and looked heavenward. “That’s right, that’s right. You see to this young man’s refreshments, Volka.”

  Containing a sigh, Volka straightened, nodded, turned to the young man, and said, “Right this way, sir.”

  A few minutes later, they were in the kitchen, and the young man was seated at the table. The kettle was already on, and Volka was measuring out tea for the steeping decanter.

  “Exactly two spoons,” he grumbled. “I know how you weere have no taste buds.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Volka, although his criticism wasn’t necessary. She could make a fine pot of tea by scent alone.

  Putting the remaining tea leaves away, her eyes rose to the kitchen window, open to the night. Above the trees she could see the remains of Time Gate 8’s ring, glowing like a moon in the night sky. Before Revelation, Time Gate 8 had been a gateway to the Galactic Republic and Earth. Spaceships had used it to cross hundreds of light years in a heartbeat, and the “ethernet” signals that were like radio—or telephone lines between minds—had passed through, too. But then Revelation happened, and the giant computers within the time gates had attacked Luddeccea and taken over the Galactic Republic. The brave Luddeccean Guard had destroyed a huge chunk of Time Gate 8 and spared the Luddeccean solar system from all of that. Now, Guardsmen like Alaric kept Luddeccea and all the planets and outposts in the Luddeccean system safe—just like they’d been doing for over one hundred years. Alaric was somewhere up there. She scanned the full expanse of the sky.

  At the table, the messenger said sharply, “Myself, I wouldn’t want to go to Libertas. Might be part of the Luddeccean solar system, but being in space just puts you closer to the demons and djinn-possessed aliens.”

  The kettle whistled, and Volka hurried to pour the water over the tea leaves. Her ears went back. Possession by demons and djinn was a common belief among the weere and uneducated humans. Alaric had told her there were no demons or djinn; it was just that the machines became “self-aware” and had taken over. The humans in the Galactic Republic, mentally roped to the machines by the ethernet, had been helpless to go against them. “There were no aliens,” Volka said. “It was machines.”

  “Who’s to say there weren’t aliens?” the messenger objected. “Anyway, I wouldn’t want to go up there.”

  “I trust the Guard,” said Volka, eyes going back to the window. Alaric was somewhere between Luddeccea and the Kanakah Cloud—two months at near-light-speed from her. Her brow furrowed. He’d said that for her on Luddeccea it would be four months…something about light speed and “time dilation.” He’d been older than her when he’d left. How much time had he spent at light speed? Was she older than him now?

  “You shouldn’t argue with me,” the human grumbled.

  “No, sir,” Volka agreed, fetching some sugar.

  “It’s dangerous up there,” he added.

  “Yes, sir,” Volka murmured. Her eyes drifted to the window again. She was still glad to be going to Libertas. She didn’t mind if it put her closer to the Galactic Republic, that horrible place where machines ruled everything. Going made her feel…untrapped. Yes, she’d be untrapped. She frowned. At least for a while.

  2

  Galactic Republic

  Asteroid S12O7.234935

  6T9 sat in the library of Bernadette Wu the Third, recently deceased. Across the room from him sat Raif Wu, Bernadette’s sole living descendant, and two human women who might be Raif’s secretaries, maybe his friends, or possibly his lovers. Raif hadn’t introduced them.

  “I can’t believe you let your Grand Mamere take up with a sex ‘bot,” one of the human women whispered.

  6T9 paused chewing his gum and did a quick check of his internal sensors. He felt heavier, but there had been no change in the artificial grav. His gum had long since lost its flavor, but he chewed faster.

  “I can’t believe you let her put him in her will,” Raif’s other female human companion added.

  Static flared under 6T9’s skin. He stopped chewing, blew a bubble half the size of his face, and let it pop.

  One of the women gasped.

  Raif Wu huffed.

  The other human woman hissed, “No respect for humans. ”

  6T9 turned to bat his eyelashes at them, but the three had already turned away.

  He found himself staring at their profiles. All three had fashionable Afro-Eurasian features and appeared to be in their mid-twenties. However, 6T9 knew Raif was in his early hundreds. The two women were either twins, or plastic-augmented to appear to be.

  6T9’s eyes caught on the neural interfaces embedded in the trio’s temples. Circular, not larger than two centimeters in diameter, they featured central ports for hard linking and maintenance. Around the ports were drives the width and breadth of fingernails. Most humans had NI for mentally connecting to the ethernet and downloading apps, but they usually weren’t encrusted with precious stones like Raif’s and his…friends’.

  6T9 shifted in his seat. The trio gave him the disturbing sensation of invisibility . Sex ‘bots were designed to be noticed. He was tall but not jarringly so, muscular, but not bulky. His tan skin was a perfect blending of the hues of all the races. His nose, lips, and eyes were stunningly symmetrical, except for an artistically placed dimple in his right cheek. But they didn’t care.

  6T9’s circuits dimmed, and a shiver rippled through his synth skin. Determined not to show his discomfort, he nonchalantly turned away. His eyes slid over the gold embossed spines of books he’d never seen “Grand Mamere” read.

  “The solicitor contacted me over the ether. They’re on the asteroid,” one of the women muttered, touching her neural interface. “But they’ve got themselves in a pickle.”

  6T9’s processor whirred with that strange intel, and his gaze went to the desk where the solicitors for the will reading were supposed to have been twenty minutes ago. The desk was large, wooden, intricately carved, and considering they were sitting on a cold ball of atmosphere-less rock in the middle of nowhere, completely ostentatious. But then, so was owning an asteroid, encapsulating it in glass and cement, and supplying it with breathable air, artificial gravity, day and night cycles, and physical books. Why anyone would want to live on an asteroid, 6T9 had no idea.

  One of the women whispered his name. 6T9 spun with inhuman speed and blew them a kiss. This time they couldn’t hide that they’d seen. One woman’s mouth dropped open as though she might vomit. The other put her hand over her neural interface as though 6T9 could hack into her thoughts over the ether. Sadly, psychic eavesdropping by androids wasn’t allowed anymore. Sadder still, Bernadette hadn’t taken advantage of 6T9’s primary function as a sex ‘bot so at least 65.3 percent of their obvious revulsion was unwarranted. He’d only been Bernadette’s chef, nurse, and physical therapist.

  6T9 glanced up at Bernadette’s portrait above the desk. Painted eighty years earlier, it didn’t depict the blue wig she’d taken to wearing in the later years of her third century, the distinctive age spots, the delicate crepey skin, or the fifty extra kilos she’d put on. She’d never had sex with him, and it had been agony.

  Th
e Q-comm chip that gave him the rights of legal personhood also gave him the mental versatility of a human and allowed him to enjoy books, music, and holos. But on some level, he was still a sex ‘bot. He needed to be needed . Eliza, his original owner and lover after his Q- comm installation, had arranged trysts for him when she was no longer interested in sex…

  All his circuits, except those of his memory banks, dimmed. He saw Eliza, her hair wispy and white, her skin translucent and dry, and her lips cracked. He remembered her whisper, “I wanted to take care of you. You’ve taken care of me for so many years…” An emergency subroutine initiated. Don’t think of Eliza, and all of 6T9’s circuits fired at once.

  His head jerked up, and his jaw got hard. The last will reading he’d been to was Eliza’s, 122.4 Earth years ago. At that reading, he’d been too overwhelmed to speak. His processor had been caught in an endless loop, reviewing what he could have done differently, and if she’d been comfortable when she’d died. She hadn’t appeared afraid or in pain, but it would have been like Eliza to put on a brave front for him.

  Bernadette had been a disagreeable, shrewish, selfish prude, and when his portion of her will was read, he was going to jump up and dance. His processor hummed, and he smiled. Maybe he should do a striptease? Laughing, he blew another huge pink bubble that popped just as the solicitors finally arrived.

  He almost laughed again; one of them he recognized! It was Lauren G3. An android with a Q-comm chip like 6T9’s, Lauren was petite and appeared to be a young Afro-Eurasian woman with light brown skin, almond eyes, thick black hair, and glasses that had to be an affectation. It was so nice to see another AI! Maybe when all this tedium was done she’d be interested in testing her sexuality functionality with him. He winked at her, but she didn’t appear to notice. 6T9 mentally pinged her over the ethernet as she took a seat behind the desk .