by C. Gockel
Bowing his head, 6T9 murmured, “Eliza risked her life to get me out of Luddeccean space—” He looked up at the animal. “—before I had a Q-comm.”
The werfle’s voice came across the ether. “I know.”
“Luddecceans torture machines—tear us apart and dismember us.” Static prickled his skin. He could upload all his memories if he was captured, but if he did, would Gate 1 ever give him a new body? And if he did get a body, would it be one as dour as Lauren? The gates were such prudes. “The Luddecceans are fanatics that believe anything that isn’t human and dumb as…”
“A werfle?” suggested the animal.
“Is possessed!” 6T9 said.
“Technically,” said the werfle, “I am possessing this form.”
6T9 shook his head. “The ship will be lucky if they only destroy it.” If they decided that the ship should be tested to see if it felt pain…
“I know.” The werfle’s body hunched down so it was almost laying on the roof. “6T9, your neural interface has been covered—”
Patting the spot where synth skin hid his interface, 6T9 grumbled, “You’d be amazed at what independent traders try to stick in your port if they know you’re a sex ‘bot.”
“You have more…people skills…than most androids,” the werfle added.
Smirking, 6T9 said, “Well, that is true.”
The werfle’s ears flattened. “That’s not what I mean. Luddecceans control Libertas. You have practical experience in Luddeccean culture that few other ‘bots have.”
6T9 swallowed. He’d lived on Luddeccea for decades before he had a Q-comm and a true mind. He hadn’t understood that ‘bot purges and genocide had been happening around him. He only knew Eliza was healthy, and so it had been a very happy time.
The werfle spread his upper paws. “You are willing to eat to get power, and you also have invisi-filament chargers embedded in your skin. You can function without a hard recharge, which most androids cannot do.”
6T9 grimaced. “Sometimes the independent traders got picky when it came to rationing power and food. Also, they were always trying to stun me.” His top-of-the-line invisi-filaments were woven into his synth skin and weren’t noticeable to the naked eye. They converted heat, light, stunner fire, and even minor, indirect phaser blasts to power. After the first time he’d had to get a limb replaced, it had seemed like a good idea to have them. The invisi-filaments weren’t perfect; if he was hit directly with a phaser blast, that body part would be destroyed. And too many stuns and the filaments wouldn’t be invisible. Overwhelmed, they’d convert excess power to light, and he’d be as bright as a Luddeccean Christmas Tree.
“I do believe you’d be perfect for this mission,” the werfle finished.
6T9 found himself holding Eliza’s ashes so tightly his fingers hurt. The subroutine that warned him against reminiscing about Eliza screamed, but this time, 6T9 turned the warning off and remembered …
…leaning over Eliza’s bed aboard the ship they’d escaped Luddeccea on, before he had a true mind. “Eliza, I believe that this trip has been detrimental to your health,” he’d whispered, his circuits dim with apprehension. “You should not make another trip like this, my darling.” She hadn’t been interested in sex at that point, and she’d been forgetting things, sometimes in the middle of a sentence.
“But I had to do it for you, 6T9,” Eliza had declared. “Someday there will be a processor that will make you a real person, and I have to make sure that you are in one piece to get it.”
Her words had made no sense to him at the time. He’d had no imagination.
Now he knew she’d risked her life to give a dumb ‘bot a mind. And as much as he hated being aware, he never wanted to go back. Knowledge was like an instantly addictive drug, and once you had one hit, you needed it always. His one unhappiness before he had a Q-comm was that he wasn’t smart enough to satisfy Eliza. He was as intelligent as he once wished to be…he blinked…but unlike Eliza, he was unhappy . And it wasn’t just because he wasn’t at an orgy at the moment.
For nearly a century, he’d been asking Eliza what he should do with his new mind. But she was gone, and maybe the right question should be to himself. What would Eliza do?
“Is she a nice ship?” 6T9 asked, but as soon as he’d asked the question, he realized the answer didn’t matter.
Hsissh’s presence in the ether seemed to vibrate, and then to ripple and expand. “Let me show you.”
And 6T9’s world went black.
4
Rebooting
It was a mindscape, obviously, but so inky dark that 6T9 couldn’t even see his own avatar.
“6T9, are you there?” Gate 1’s thoughts sounded far off and muffled.
“I’m here,” 6T9 said.
“What has the creature Hsissh done?” Gate 1 asked.
At that moment, the werfle hopped into view, a flame on the pitch-black horizon. Shadows tugged at it and the creature shimmered, like heat on rocks on a hot day.
“You are experiencing Sundancer’s consciousness now,” the werfle declared, rising to its hind paw pairs. “This is her despair, her fear, and her knowledge of her impending doom.”
There was a hiss of static from Gate 1.
6T9’s eyes darted about, and he wondered if he needed a reboot. Human emotions could travel over the ether; AI emotions, too, if the machine had that functionality. There were all sorts of apps that could be put in place to block emotions. 6T9 had such blocks, and he was sure Gate 1 did too—emotions could spread like a contagion—but when such blocks were activated, a little light would blink at the periphery of 6T9’s visual cortex, alerting him to the sender’s anger, happiness, or depression. 6T9 had no such notification at the moment.
“Erm?” he said.
“Her emotions! Feel them!” Hsissh said, stretching out its topmost paws. 6T9 noticed that his fur had risen, and his ears were back.
“I sense nothing,” said Gate 1.
The werfle’s ears flattened. “No, it’s more than dark. She’s here. You must sense her.”
“No,” said Gate 1. “The only consciousness here is you, 6T9, and myself.”
The werfle’s tail swished. “My fur is standing on end, my limbs are shaking, my hearts are pounding so hard my chest hurts, my stomach feels like I have a hairball, and I’m fighting the urge to flee, and you feel nothing?”
Gate 1’s presence dimmed, and 6T9 shook his avatar’s head. The werfle backed up, ears pressing flat against his head. “Maybe it is my relaying abilities at fault…It must be. Sundancer ‘speaks’ in images and feelings. They are…”
“Underwhelming,” said Gate 1.
“No, just the opposite,” the werfle asserted. “It is hard for my kind not to be subsumed, to lose ourselves in Sundancer’s consciousness. That is why her danger is a danger to us!” He bowed his head. “This is her dream…her nightmare. This is her subconsciousness’s realization that the Luddecceans will soon be upon her, and she must escape.”
“AI don’t dream,” said 6T9. But he knew humans did. He’d sometimes shared Eliza’s over the ether .
“I’m not sure 6T9 should risk a trip to Luddeccea for this…this…nothingness,” Gate 1 said.
The werfle’s tail swished madly, and it looked up at 6T9. Its pupils had become round and full. In a human, 6T9 would describe the look as imploring. “Sundancer is more than something, she is someone .”
“I am not convinced,” Gate 1 said.
The scene vanished, and 6T9 was on the balcony again. “Maybe you’ll find this of interest,” Hsissh said.
An overlay of stars played in 6T9’s vision. His Q-comm hummed, and Time Gate 1 declared, “This is a view from the Andromeda galaxy one million years ago!”
The werfle bobbed up and down on the roof. “There’s more!”
Scenes of strange planets—hazy, like a human’s imagination, not like a computer-generated holos or ether scene—overlaid 6T9’s vision.
“Fascinating,”
Time Gate 1 said.
“Yes!” said Hsissh.
Time Gate 1’s consciousness buzzed. “How have the humans on Libertas not noticed Sundancer?”
The werfle coughed. “She’s buried in a glacier.” He waved his paws. “But I’m sure with proper explosives we can help her escape.”
“Are you sure she is spaceworthy?” Gate 1 asked.
“Oh, yes!” Hsissh said. “It is difficult to explain…we’re creatures of feeling and you…” He turned his bewhiskered snout toward 6T9. “Are different in how you experience the quantum wave, but my species can sense that she is ready to fly! She just awaits passengers. And she can fly at lightspeed; we are certain from the images she dreams of, though she has no time bands. ”
6T9’s circuitry sparked, but this time only with Gate 1’s interest.
Perhaps sensing the interest, Hsissh declared, “Let me show you!” and began hopping on the roof. Schematics began playing in the periphery of 6T9’s vision. Sundancer appeared to be shaped like an elongated teardrop with delicate wings and nearly organic indentations along her pearlescent hull. She didn’t have windows, or, from what 6T9 could see, a hatch or doors; but Gate 1’s fascination rippled through 6T9 like warm water. “It would be valuable to explore the technology behind such a transport,” the gate said. The gate and the werfle continued to go back and forth discussing Sundancer’s potential technological marvels, but 6T9 was barely paying attention to them.
He was clutching Eliza’s ashes so tightly his joints were hot. He’d been an incomplete and shallow creature when he’d first come to Eliza. His lips turned up wryly. He’d heard on more than one occasion that he still was.
Yet Eliza had still saved him. When he’d questioned her about it later, she said, “There seemed no better way to end my life than to bring life into the world.” Eliza had been willing to sacrifice herself out of faith there would be a better future for him…
Gate 1 sent a spark through the Q-comm, literally zapping 6T9 from his musings. “We don’t have a guarantee that this Sundancer can really fly, or if she can, that she’d be receptive to 6T9 or to you—”
“But we do,” Hsissh declared. “We, The One, can feel it.”
6T9 looked out at the dark, empty gardens of the asteroid. What was there for him here ?
“You don’t have to go, 6T9,” said Gate 1. “You don’t know or owe this Sundancer anything.”
6T9 found himself huffing softly in laughter. To top it all off, Eliza had expected 6T9 would leave her as soon as he could think for himself. She’d thought he’d want to be “free.”
“Even though I think you’re the perfect candidate, you don’t have to, 6T9,” said Hsissh the werfle, or alien, or whatever it was, echoing the gate with a sigh. The werfle’s ears flattened and it licked a paw. “It will be hard, but I can find someone else.”
The weight of Eliza’s ashes was oddly heavy in his hands. There was a potentially sentient starship that would be destroyed by Luddecceans if they found her. 6T9 didn’t know what Eliza would do in every situation, but he did know what she would do in this one. Rolling his eyes heavenward, 6T9 said several epithets about lizzar dung, xenbat guano, and Luddites, and then he snorted. “You’re both idiots.” They weren’t; he just had always wanted to say that to Gate 1.
6T9 huffed. “Of course I have to go.”
The werfle hopped down from the roof onto a small patio table and stood up on its back paws.
“I suppose we need a ship?” 6T9 said.
The werfle nodded.
6T9’s Q-comm sparked. “I…think I have one.” Or rather, there was a time gate worthy, near-light-speed vessel that he could borrow. By law, private asteroids had to have their own escape ships. Usually, they were simple, bare-bones pod-like affairs. Bernadette’s had a gold-plated bathtub, sink, and toilet…not to mention a chandelier. He reached out across the ether to it.
The ship replied, “6T9, I am at your disposal. ”
“You answered,” 6T9 thought, surprised.
“I am the emergency shuttle for this asteroid. I answer to its caretaker,” the shuttle AI responded. Its voice was inflectionless, and 6T9 knew this wasn’t an AI he would derive any pleasure from vexing with idioms.
“Well, fire up,” 6T9 commanded. “We have an emergency.”
“Yes, sir,” the ship replied.
6T9 rubbed his chin. Finally, he had some authority—and it was over an asteroid he didn’t even want.
To the werfle, he said, “I do have a ship.” He narrowed his eyes. “Will you need a litter box?”
Hsissh’s whiskers twitched. “I am perfectly capable of using human facilities.” His tail swished, and his ears perked. “My werfle-nip stuffed-mousey would be nice to have, though.”
6T9 narrowed his eyes, trying to determine if it was joking.
“No, no, no, you’re right, mustn’t be distracted,” the werfle said. Its ears went back. “If you have a laser pointer, it might be better if you keep it to yourself. This body does have…urges.”
Static from Time Gate 1 flared in the ether and through the Q-comm. “You really don’t have to do this, 6T9.”
6T9 shook his head. To the werfle, he said, “So, what’s the plan? We have one, right?”
“We must go to the Kanakah Disk,” the werfle replied. “Vera Rubin—one of my species in the body of a werfle—knows a Luddeccean refugee there. His name is Judah Freeman. We must speak to him about the path he took to escape the Luddeccean Guard forces.”
The Kanakah Disk was a giant, self-sustaining space station in the Kanakah Cloud, and it orbited around the Kanakah Time Gate—the closest time gate to the Luddeccean System. It made sense if there were Luddeccean refugees, they would be there.
The werfle’s whiskers twitched. “And we need to get you some clothes.”
6T9 gazed down at the black pleather coat over his gold sequined shirt, skin-tight purple suede trousers, and gold shoes. Static flared beneath his skin. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”
5
Luddeccea: Unexpected Arrivals
Carrying the tray of scrambled eggs and toast into the studio, Volka said, “Your dinner, Mr. Darmadi,” and set the tray beside him.
Sitting on his stool, Mr. Darmadi didn’t turn away from the enormous canvas before him. Nearly as high as the ceiling, the painting featured the Luddeccean Premier’s son. Mr. Darmadi was working on the first color layer.
Volka waited. It smelled like ozone—she glanced at the window—though the dry season was far from over. They’d have lightning tonight without rain.
The clock ticked on the mantle and rang the hour. It was an hour and a half later than when she was usually dismissed. She sucked in on her cheeks, bit back her impatience and her hunger , and reminded herself her job had given her opportunities she’d never dreamed of. They were going to Libertas in just a few months! She rolled on her feet and reminded herself again for the thousandth time, You’re going on a spaceship.
Her ears twitched at the sound of a car honking its horn on the road. It must have been loud enough for Mr. Darmadi to hear because he pushed his stool away from the canvas and looked down at the meal. His lips turned up in distaste. Volka put her hands behind her back, and her nails bit into her wrist. He’d had her doing the underpainting for one of his other commissions and prepping canvases on top of cleaning the house. She’d barely had time to scramble the eggs and make the toast she’d put before him.
“George is out again?” he asked.
Volka nodded and bit her lip. She was worried about the old chef.
Gesturing to the canvas, Darmadi said, “What do you think?”
Raising her eyes, she appraised the portrait of the young human man in Luddeccean Guard dress greens on the canvas. He was standing with his hand tucked into his coat and wore a ceremonial sword at his side. In the background, the Northwest Mountains reached to the sky. The sun was setting behind them. A moon and the remnants of the accursed time gate hovered nearby.
She surveyed the young man’s features. Brown hair, brown eyes, full somber lips, strong jawline, and a discreet nose. “And he looks very handsome—” Better than in real life, she thought. In real life, his nose had an arrogant upward turn, his lip had a cruel curl, and his jawline wasn’t so strong. “—yet still like himself.”
Mr. Darmadi snorted, smiled ruefully, and ran a hand through his silver hair. “I can still capture the young men in paint at least,” he quipped.
Volka flushed. She knew his proclivities, but hated knowing them, hated him speaking of them, even though it tied her to him more tightly, and was job security. She didn’t judge him so much as she used to. Mr. Darmadi had paid a doctor to declare him infertile so that he wouldn’t be forced into marriage. Lying was a sin, but as she had gotten older, it had seemed less sinful than the men who cheated on their wives to be with other men. Or cheated on their wives to be with weere.
“Did you finish the underpainting of Mrs. Bolivar?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said.
“Bring it over,” he said, beginning to pick at his eggs again.
She was anxious to leave. She’d been at his home since six in the morning, but she bit her lip and retrieved the canvas from the other side of the studio. It was much smaller than the one of the Premier’s son. She had no color sense, but her sense of value was very good, and she’d painted Mrs. Bolivar in shades of burnt umber, providing a base of values upon which Mr. Darmadi would add color. Avoiding touching the still-wet paint, she lifted it for Mr. Darmadi’s inspection.
