Starship Waking

by C. Gockel

  Mr. Niano said, “What? Of course I’ve been called an angel before…no, I didn’t mind, but it was under different circumstances.”

  Her ears flattened, and she looked down her body. Her boots were gone, but she was otherwise fully clothed. The water was muddy, and bloody too, and her jaw hurt from where she hit the ground. He must have seen the direction of her gaze, because Mr. Niano said, “It would be better if you were wearing no clothes, but I’ve noticed that I, ah, make you uncomfortable.”

  Volka nodded again. “An angel would be sensitive to that sort of thing.” And might not realize he was flirting when he winked at her, or that Mr. Darmadi had been flirting with his comment on shellfish, and she completely forgave him for calling eating meat barbaric. She knew that meat eating meant that some animals had to suffer. It was the sin of the weere; just as infidelity was the sin of humans.

  “Volka, I’m not a—”

  “Rawr!” hissed Carl Sagan, and she thought she heard the strange voice again. It made her ears itch.

  Turning to the werfle, Mr. Niano snapped, “Look, if a woman who’s anorgasmic is cured by my head between her…” He looked at Volka, looked back at the werfle, and snarled. “Of course, I’d understand ‘angel’ as a figure of speech and would take it as my due. Different circumstances. We’re not lying to Volka.”

  Carl aggressively licked a paw. The world went black, and Volka slipped into the water. She shivered violently, even though the water was warm verging on hot, and her teeth chattered. It was coming. It was inescapable ...

  “Turn on the lights, Carl!” Mr. Niano shouted.

  She heard her breathing coming in fast gasps, the water slipping higher ... “The darkness is coming!” Volka cried. “Make it stop.”

  And then the bathroom came back into view. Mr. Niano was staring at her. So was the werfle .

  “Carl Sagan, did you transmit Sundancer’s fear to Volka?” Mr. Niano asked.

  The werfle narrowed its eyes at her as though to say, “ No, she’s picking up on it herself.” Or was that the voice in her head again?

  Volka pulled her knees up to her chin. The werfle poked its nose closer. “Do you hear me, Volka?” the voice said, and she turned nervously away from the werfle’s intense gaze.

  Mr. Niano sighed. “I am an android, not an angel. There is a ship on Libertas. If we can get you there, we may be able to save your life.”

  “An android…like…a robot?” Volka stammered, the idea somehow more preposterous than the idea that he was an angel.

  Mr. Niano exhaled softly. “We don’t have the time you need to work through your shock and disbelief, but you need to know what I am.” He rolled up his sleeve, ran his hand down his arm, and peeled back his skin. Volka gasped at the sight of muscle and fascia, pulling away like a thick blanket, but then she sniffed, and realized that it didn’t smell right. It smelled like…plastic, and it wasn’t bleeding. And then her eyes went wide. Beneath the plastic blanket were long metal rods. Mr. Niano flexed his hand, and the metal rods jumped.

  Volka cowered as far away from him as she could in the tub.

  “I can also pull back the skin on my face,” he said, “if you need further evidence.”

  Volka shook her head vigorously in the negative, imagining many a paperback cover. “Please don’t.”

  “Good, because I’d really rather not. I do have artificial blood that contributes to my lifelike appearance, and sometimes, when I’m not careful, I open a vessel and spring a leak.” He rolled down his sleeve and raised an eyebrow. “You believe me then?”

  It wasn’t an impossible scenario. The Guard said that the robots and their enslaved minions were always trying to infiltrate Luddeccean space, prepared to violate good Luddecceans in body, mind, and soul. Her brow furrowed. Though Mr. Niano hadn’t seemed to have done any of that…yet.

  “You believe me?” Mr. Niano asked again.

  How could she ever have believed an angel would protect a sinner like her? She nodded in the affirmative, eyes glued to the arm.

  He released a breath. “Will you be coming with us?”

  A terrifying thought occurred to her. “Can you read my mind?” Alaric said that was superstition, and that it was only ethernet-bound humans that could have their minds read and be controlled by machines. But she wasn’t sure if she trusted him or her paperbacks more at this point. Alaric hadn’t told her robots glowed or peeled back their skin. That was something that might happen in a paperback. And Mr. Niano had convinced her to bring him home that first night…hadn’t he?

  “What? No!” Mr. Niano said, leaning back. “Volka, I can’t read your mind.” His eyes narrowed on Carl Sagan. “The werfle, however, is an asshole.” Turning back to her, he said, “Will you be coming with us?”

  Robots stole human souls. Volka swallowed. And a soul was worth more than life itself. “I can’t.” Her heart stopped. She pressed herself farther against the back of the tub and waited for the fury she knew would come.

  He nodded, not looking pleased or displeased. “All right, then. Can I get you any clothes? Maybe you have some up at the house…?”

  Volka’s mouth dropped open. She searched her thoughts for the telepathic assault that always happened in her novels. There was no mental droning of, you will obey me. She just felt cold and very alone.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you could wear my chef uniform, I suppose—”

  “I have clothes here, in the guest house, in the attic,” Volka said, wrapping her arms around herself because she was becoming cold, and because of the memories the clothes conjured.

  Leaning forward, Mr. Niano slipped a hand in the water.

  Volka uncrossed her arms with a start.

  “I’m just checking the temperature,” he said. “The water needs to be 40 C to warm you properly.” He turned on the spigot, and hot water crashed into the tub. Volka felt her body wanting to relax and resisted the urge.

  Pulling back, Mr. Niano asked, “I’ll be able to find them if I go up there?”

  Volka nodded. The warm water beckoned and she slipped deeper in, her body warming again, as Mr. Niano left the room, Carl hot on his heels. Instead of making her feel more relieved, their absence just made her feel more alone. What was she going to do? The Resistance wouldn’t help her. Could she make it to the Northwest province on her own?

  Her breath caught…if she even escaped this house. She was being an idiot, thinking of the Guard, when the real danger was here in the guest house with her. Mr. Niano was a robot . He came from beyond the Luddeccean System, where humans were slaves to machines. She might not escape the city of Prime with her life, but she was unlikely to escape this guest house with her mind…or her soul.

  “No, you shouldn’t try to control her mind, Carl Sagan!” 6T9 snapped in the ether, yanking on the lever that pulled down the attic ladder.

  “It would be for her own good,” the werfle grumbled.

  Climbing up the stairs, 6T9’s circuits dimmed. “I can’t deny her agency in this decision.”

  “Why?” Carl asked, following close behind.

  6T9 stopped on the stairs and looked back at the werfle. “It goes against my programming.”

  “But you’re programmed to protect humans from harm,” Carl Sagan said.

  Shaking his head, 6T9 began climbing again. “She isn’t in immediate danger. I cannot intervene.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you leaving her here alone? Don’t you like her?” Carl Sagan asked.

  6T9 frowned in contemplation—needlessly, since the werfle was behind him, and he wasn’t sure if it could read human expressions anyway. “My circuits are…dimmer…with the thought that the Guard came after her because of us—”

  “You feel guilty, you mean,” Carl Sagan harrumphed in his mind.

  6T9’s eyebrows rose. It was impossible to correlate human and AI emotions accurately. “Maybe. But it is not my place to deny Volka this decision. ”

  “So, you don’t care at all what happens
to her?” Carl Sagan demanded.

  6T9’s shoulders fell, and he blinked in the near darkness of the attic. “No…if she dies, I feel like it will be a…waste.” His hands slid down the outside of his coat, over the comforting bulge of Eliza’s ashes. “I feel that about all human death.” There was a saying, whoever saves one life, saves the world entire . 6T9 felt like each human death was the loss of a world.

  He turned on a light in his eyes, scanned the attic again, and walked over to a trunk. It was the only thing in the space besides insulation and a few two by fours. Opening it, he found a single, large package wrapped in lavender tissue paper and a pair of black boots. On top of the parcel was taped a card with faded ink.

  Volka ~

  New clothes for a new life.

  Yours ever,

  ~ A

  6T9 picked up the parcel, and the tape and card tore away, revealing undergarments and a blouse in a muted blue-purple. There were more clothes beneath, a black skirt, black leggings, and a light coat.

  “What is it?” asked Carl, and 6T9 realized he was hesitating.

  “It’s nicer clothing than I’ve ever seen her wear.” He ran a hand down the blouse. It was a heavyweight, knitted Luddeccean silk. Volka had another life, and his circuits sparked in curiosity, but he turned around and left the attic. It was another life that would no longer intersect with his…and most likely would be over soon.

  Volka smoothed down the blouse and the skirt. They fit perfectly. The boots were stiff with years of disuse, but the right size and not scuffed and muddy. They didn’t smell like Alaric anymore, and she wasn’t sure if that was a comfort or not. Her eyes got hot. That life was done, and all she could do was try to live this life to the end the best she could. Gathering the coat in her arms, she exited the bathroom.

  “I think it will still work,” she heard Mr. Niano saying.

  Carl Sagan squeaked plaintively.

  She heard Mr. Niano move, and a moment later, he was in the hallway, blocking her exit. Volka drew back. Mr. Niano pulled something out of his pocket and held it up. Volka stared at the object.

  “The car keys,” he said. “You’ll get farther with a car.” He might have winced; it was difficult to tell in the darkness. “There are a couple of the Guard trussed up in it, but thoroughly stunned. I suppose I can help you pull them into the garage.”

  “Rawr,” said the werfle, and Volka’s ears twitched. She swore she heard the strange man’s voice say, “We don’t have all day.”

  “We have some time, Carl Sagan,” Mr. Niano replied.

  Volka found her heart racing, and her hands cold and clammy. She gulped, thinking of trying to drive—something she’d never done before—with “trussed up” Guard beside her. Mr. Niano said he couldn’t kill them, and she knew she couldn’t, either. “I’d like the help,” she said.

  He didn’t move. “Um,” he said. It occurred to her she was supposed to take the keys. In some novels she’d read, as soon as the human touched the robot, it jolted the humans with enough charge to leave them stunned or dead, and then the robot invariably laughed maniacally.

  But he said he couldn’t kill. She blinked. Was he a he? Was that a lie? How much was real with robots, and how much was an illusion? It made no difference really, did it?

  Gathering her courage, she slid along the wall, snatched the keys from him as quickly as she could without making contact, and then dashed to the garage. Mr. Niano followed, and so did the werfle. She opened the door, switched on the light, and her jaw dropped open.

  Mr. Niano had backed the car into the garage, and she was staring at the trunk. It was open, and inside there was a large black case. The case was open and within it gleamed wicked steel instruments like she’d seen at the dentist but worse. A shaky breath rattled through her. The tools were larger than at the dentist, and there was a saw. Volka threw a hand over her mouth.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Mr. Niano said, pushing past her. “I needed the wire they had in the trunk to tie them up, and you were dangerously cold—the stun affected your body’s natural thermoregulation.” He closed the trunk and then went to the side door, all the while saying, “I rushed you upstairs and was afraid to leave you alone.” He pulled a struggling man from the back seat. The man’s wrists were tied to his ankles with thick wire. There was something stuffed in his mouth and secured with more wire, muffling him. His eyes fell on Volka and narrowed defiantly. Volka looked away.

  “You’ll have to face others like him if you stay,” the strange male voice whispered in her mind. “And Sixty won’t be there to truss them up.” In her mind’s eye, she saw the tools. In the real world, she saw the eyes of the werfle blinking up at her.

  “Carl Sagan,” Mr. Niano snapped, setting the second man none-to-gently by the first. “It’s a decision she must make for herself.”

  Swishing its tail angrily, the werfle walked away. She imagined the strange voice saying, “I was only telling her like it is.”

  6T9 drew the last man out of the car, put him to the side, and said to the werfle, “I know.” Straightening, he turned to Volka. “You’re still welcome to come with us.”

  Volka swallowed. He was beautiful, too perfect to look at. Some said that the devil was ugly, but some said he was beautiful, too, and would say sweet things to lure away your soul.

  “Squeak,” said the werfle, sitting by Mr. Niano’s feet.

  Volka shook her head, trying to recapture the image of his skin peeling away. “I can’t.” She couldn’t risk her soul.

  “Cheep?” said the werfle.

  “Very well,” said Mr. Niano softly. “I don’t really believe in luck…but it’s customary to say ‘I wish you luck’ where I’m from…so…I…there, I said it.”

  Volka nodded, or maybe she shivered. She just wanted him to go away, to not be so nice. The devil could be sweet. “You too,” she blubbered.

  He hesitated a moment, but then he left the garage. Volka let out a breath, went to sit in the driver’s seat, and then realized she’d have to open the garage door. She tried putting the key in the ignition anyway, thinking she’d at least get the car started first so she could zip quickly out into the dawn as soon as the door was up, but her hand was shaking too much .

  She remembered Joseph and Esther’s bodies, the men in her house, and the tools.

  Eyes hot, she got out of the car. The man who’d glared earlier narrowed his eyes at her, and she swore those eyes smiled. He would have enjoyed torturing her. Her hands curled at her side. If she had a phaser, she would kill them all right now. Her eyes slid to the trunk, and she thought of the tools. She could kill them right now, and she wanted to.

  Her stomach dropped, and she fell back down into the driver’s seat and put her head in her shaky hands.

  She could kill them, and she’d still be captured by men like these. Her fate would be the same. No matter what she did, these men won. Her lips twisted. What would she give up to deny men like these their twisted heaven?

  Her jaw got hard, and her hands stopped shaking. She’d walk beside the devil himself to deny them the pleasure of having their way with her.

  Standing, she ran from the garage.

  “Mr. Niano, Mr. Niano,” she called, running inside and finding him by the front door, about to leave.

  He turned around. He did look like an angel, but she guessed that was what the devil was, an angel that had fallen. The werfle was around his shoulders. Joseph had said only the devil himself could make a werfle behave.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said.

  The werfle purred and kneaded his claws. Mr. Niano smiled and squinted at her with one eyebrow cocked. “Would you do one thing for me?”

  Her nails bit into her palm, waiting for what was sure to be a grisly request. She couldn’t bring herself to say yes or no .

  “Would you please call me 6T9, or at the very least, just Sixty?”

  Volka stepped back, brow crumpling in confusion.

  Sighing and rolling
his eyes, he turned around and opened the door. She watched him walk out into the lawn, the dawn light making his dark jacket appear red.

  With a deep breath, she ran after him.

  15

  Blast Off

  The porters yanked the trunk from the back of the van and it landed with a thunk. Volka gasped, imagining Mr. Niano inside. Mr. Darmadi jumped from his seat in the front and ran to the back. “Be careful!” he snapped, and then under his breath, he said, “Volka, it’s your job to keep them from treating my equipment like that.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, adjusting her pack and hopping from the van. The head porter looked her up and down and then scowled at Mr. Darmadi. She smoothed down her dress self-consciously, knowing what the porter was thinking. When Mr. Darmadi had seen her clothes, he’d exclaimed, “Volka, they’ll think I am your patron.”

  “I wanted to look nice for my first spaceflight,” she’d lied. Now the porter was leering at her, and she knew Mr. Darmadi had been right. Straightening her shoulders, she lied again. “Sir, that trunk contains thousands of credits in equipment. Treat it carefully.”

  Mr. Darmadi released a breath. “That’s more like it, Volka.”

  She turned and looked up at him. His eyes were on the trunk, not on her. She bit her lip. He had sometimes been difficult, but he had taught her everything she knew about painting, he had paid her well, and had been to her parents’ funerals when they’d died. He worked her hard, but he worked hard himself, and she supposed he knew no other way.

  She’d repaid him by replacing most of the contents of his trunk with 6T9. When she’d protested, worried about the inconvenience that betrayal would cause Mr. Darmadi, the robot had replied, “And his inconvenience is worth more than your life?”

  She wrung her hands. “Goodbye, Mr. Darmadi,” she said.

  His eyes shifted to her. The tone of her voice must have betrayed her, because he asked, “You’re not getting space-fright already, are you?”

  Volka shook her head. “No, sir.” She’d never see him again, though, and that was causing her a fright.