Starship Waking

by C. Gockel

  Sixty’s voice snapped in the darkness, “Carl Sagan, stop transmitting Sundancer’s nightmares. I like being able to see!”

  The vision vanished, and Volka jerked back in shock.

  “Merp,” said Carl Sagan, at the same time the voice played in her mind, “I’m sorry. The danger we are in overwhelmed me and I transmitted it to Sundancer and reinvigorated the ship’s own fears. She’s dreaming and not in full control of her vision transmissions.”

  Stroking its fur, Volka whispered, “Sundancer?”

  The werfle and Sixty both turned to her.

  “Our starship,” Sixty said.

  “Starships can be afraid?” Volka asked.

  “You felt it,” the voice in her mind said. She nodded tentatively at Carl.

  “I see the darkness, but I cannot feel her emotions,” Sixty whispered.

  Volka glanced up and saw a look on his face that was almost mournful. She tilted her head. “Of course you wouldn’t,” Volka said. “Machines don’t feel.”

  Sixty’s jaw got hard. “I do feel, Volka, even if I don’t feel like you, or a werfle.” He rolled his eyes. “Or a dream-transmitting starship.”

  Volka blinked. In some of her books, robots were programmed to behave as though they could feel emotion and pain, but in all her books, it was clear that was just an illusion. A startling thought occurred to her. Did Sixty actually believe that he felt emotion?

  The werfle growled and the voice in her head said, “ We need to deal with the matter that caused me to have a moment of panic. ”

  “We’ll get to Sundancer before the magni-freight construction reaches her,” Sixty said aloud.

  Flattening its ears, the werfle looked up at him and hissed. In her mind, the voice—Carl’s voice, she resolved to believe—said, “I’m more concerned that the Guard has transmitted orders for your immediate executions by airlock.”

  “Our execution?” Volka said, her stomach going woozy, her head getting dizzy, her fingers clasping tightly on the werfle’s fluff, hoping that she was just imagining what she’d “heard.”

  The werfle looked at Sixty. “They know Volka is here, and that you are her accomplice, but they think that you’re in the passenger area.”

  “The passenger area is where we have to go,” 6T9 said, unsnapping his safety harness.

  “What?” said Volka. “Couldn’t we hide in here in a trunk or something?”

  “They’re going to depressurize the cargo area,” Sixty said, swinging his pack on and patting the front of his coat. “Possibly by opening the external hatch.”

  Jaw dropping, Volka met his eyes. He smiled grimly. “Trust me. I’ve flown in cargo before.”

  She unsnapped her safety harness. Sixty threw Carl Sagan into her backpack, buckled it despite the werfle’s noisy protests, and then thrust the pack into her arms. Volka stood up, feeling strangely light, and wobbled on her feet.

  “Gravity has decreased,” Sixty said. “You may feel dizzy.” Going over to the trunk, Sixty inclined his head to the hatch above. “Go up there.”

  “I came in from below,” Volka said. “Are you sure we can get out—? ”

  From below came a groan.

  Volka looked up. There was a hatch in the ceiling about three cargo compartments up.

  “Jump now!” Sixty said, pulling the cords from the trunk.

  “Jump!” said the voice that might have been Carl Sagan’s in her head.

  Looping her arms through the pack so it hung in front of her, Volka jumped straight up. She passed a huge cargo container and then another. Feeling her ascent slow, she grabbed hold of the ladder. There was another groan of metal below, and the ladder shook.

  “Up! Up!” Carl Sagan’s “voice” said. She didn’t need urging, and climbed as fast as she could until she was just beneath the hatch. It was larger than a manhole cover, and had a lever that had to be the “doorknob,” and a keypad, which from paperbacks she’d guess was where you typed an “access code.” Gritting her teeth, Volka put her hands on the lever. It didn’t budge. “It’s locked!” she shouted. “Should I try putting in a random access code?”

  “No!” Sixty replied, so close to her heels she started. Next thing she knew, he’d propelled himself up so that his chest was to her back. Holding onto the ladder with one hand, he used the other to hook the cord from the trunk to one side of the ladder. A moment later, he’d hooked it to the other side, crushing their bodies together, and securing them to the ladder. Her backpack, hanging on her stomach, was stuck between rungs, otherwise Carl Sagan would have been squished. “More than three attempts and we may be permanently locked out.”

  There was a flat gray plastic piece set into the hatch beside the keypad. “Maybe we can hotwire it,” Volka said, trying to pry the plastic off .

  “You can ‘hotwire’ a door?” Sixty asked, sounding impressed.

  “No, but I’ve read books where they do,” Volka said. The plastic popped off, but there weren’t any wires beneath, just a strange-looking electrical outlet. “Oh.” Volka sighed in disappointment.

  “My power cable is compatible—but the ship’s etherless and I don’t know the security codes.”

  The voice of Carl randomly said, “4329 Alpha Bravo Foxtrot.”

  “How?” Sixty asked.

  “The priest!” Carl cried. “It’s on his mind at this very moment.”

  Beneath them there was another groan and Volka tightened her grip on the ladder. If the hatch opened, would her eyes be sucked out of her head in the void like it happened in some paperbacks? Or would she turn instantly into an icicle like in others? If she froze, would she be awake on the inside? For how long? She gulped, remembering the tools in the car. Freezing would be better than torture, and the universe would take no pleasure in her death. Her hands loosened on the ladder.

  She felt Sixty’s hand sliding between them and whip out a moment later.

  Before she could ask him what he was doing, there was a whoosh and an ear-splitting bang. Air rushed past her, her hands tightened on the ladder, and she tried to brace her feet more tightly on the rungs. She still felt her body slipping. If it weren’t for Sixty and the cords around them, she knew she’d be lost. Her neck was jerked to the side by the pressure, and she found herself looking down in the cargo hold. Bags were tumbling down through the ladderway. Her trunk had rolled from its berth and had formed a dam where she’d been sitting a moment before. Before her eyes more and more bags fell on top of it, and then they exploded downward, the plasti-mesh floor of her former compartment crumpling like foil.

  Volka took a breath, and her lungs spasmed, forcing her to take another and another. More bags tumbled into the brink. The ladder shook, her feet slipped, and then everything stopped. The hold was eerily silent. She wasn’t being sucked down anymore. Volka tried to speak, but couldn’t; it felt like her lungs were exploding, and then there was a whoosh of air from above that smelled like cleaning solvents and dust. It hit her lungs in a rush, and she gasped. She felt Sixty on either side of her, unclasping the cords that bound them to the ladder, and then he was gone. She looked up and saw him above her, already leaving her behind.

  Below her, there was a groan, and then air was whipping by her again. “Hold on!” A voice cried in her mind, but the pressure was too great. Her feet were sucked from the rungs, her body was jerked away from the ladder, her hands slipped, and then her fingers. Suddenly, pain shot from her wrist and instead of being sucked down, she was being yanked up. A moment later, she was sitting in a small enclosed space, her back was against the wall, and the hatch was sliding shut beneath her. She glanced up, lungs spasming. Sitting in front of her was 6T9. There was a fat thick wire protruding from his head and running to an outlet in the wall. A quarter of his face was open by his left eye, revealing a metal skeleton and blinking lights. Volka jerked back against the opposite wall with such force her teeth rattled. She gasped for air, but it didn’t seem to be doing anything.

  Like something from a nightmare,
the robot man leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. He pressed too hard, and Volka needed to breathe . She inhaled desperately through her nose. His fingers found the corner of her lips and cruelly pried her mouth open. His lips parted and he blew air into her mouth. Volka’s eyes went wide, too shocked to react, but her lungs did respond. They sucked the air greedily and then released when he pulled away. Sixty blew into her mouth again at the end of the exhale. She didn’t fight or pull away, but her eyes remained wide open. The eye on the open side of his face was naked, unblinking, and locked on hers. The eye on the other side was closed. He reminded her of a broken puppet.

  Somewhere a whirring began, and she felt cool air that smelled like metal on the top of her head. They performed the ritual one more time, and then Sixty pulled back and hid the metal side of his face with a hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking away quickly. “I don’t need oxygen, but you do. I need to stay jacked in. Would you please check on Carl?”

  The werfle! Volka opened her bag. The creature’s body lay lifeless within. She touched him gently. His body was still warm, but she couldn’t feel a heartbeat. Her heart fell. “Oh, Carl,” she whispered.

  “Oh, no,” Sixty said. He gulped. “We can find him again, but…”

  The werfle’s body suddenly went rigid, and Volka gasped. And then the werfle lifted his head and swished his tail. “Sorry about that, Hatchlings, but I had to go werfle-atonic until that oxygen situation was sorted.” The werfle blinked at her. “Get it? Werfle-atonic? Like catatonic…” His head bobbed in Volka’s direction. “I can possess cats, too. ”

  Volka blinked. Cats were also thought to be demon creatures.

  Sixty rolled his visible eye but then smirked. “You punish us with your wit.” Volka swallowed, eye catching on the way Sixty’s skin and muscle—or something designed to look like those—was rolled back. She sniffed. It smelled like plastic, metal, and grease.

  The werfle blinked at Sixty. “What sort of mess have you gotten us into this time?”

  “He saved us!” Volka whispered, awed by the turn of events. Although, maybe she shouldn’t be awed by anything anymore.

  Sixty’s uncovered eye shot to her and then he looked away.

  “Not yet,” Carl muttered, ears flattening.

  Sixty grimaced. “We are in a broom closet that doubles as an airlock. I’m managing to keep the door and the hatch locked, and I got them to reverse the oxygen outflow…”

  The whirring overhead abruptly ceased.

  Sixty winced. “But they’ve undone that already. We have to get to an emergency escape shuttle. There are six men outside the door. The good news is they won’t use plasma weapons, only stunners.” Still holding a hand up to shield his eye from Volka’s view, he reached into his pocket and clumsily withdrew three stunners. “I removed these from the guards on Luddeccea who tried to harm you, but they’re almost spent. We may be able to take the men in the hall, but then we’ll be on our own. Also…” He took a breath, though he’d just said he didn’t need oxygen. “I can’t kill anyone, and I would be very poor at subduing them without a stunner. ”

  Aggressively licking a paw, Carl said, “But you’re a master of human anatomy.”

  “I’m programmed not to hurt humans,” Sixty replied. Tilting his head from side to side, he looked at the ceiling and added, “Unless they ask nicely.”

  “How did I not know about this particular programming flaw?” Carl asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe because you didn’t ask?” Sixty snapped at the werfle. Good eye returning to Volka, robotic eye still covered by his hand, he said, “I have downloaded the ship plan; I know where we’re going. I’m immune to stunners, but other than a guide and as a shield, I’ll be of limited use after our stunners are used up.”

  Pushing two of the said stunners to Volka, he asked, “Do you think you can shoot these?”

  Volka looked at the stunners. They had a handle like a pistol, and an ovoid charge pulse chamber on the top. There was a clearly marked safety dial and a trigger. They looked easy to use, but she’d never used one before. “Not accurately. ” Looking around the small space, she stood up, grabbed a broom, and started screwing off the brush end.

  “What are you doing?” Sixty asked.

  “Making a weapon that I can use,” Volka said. She hefted the broom handle. It wasn’t wood, some sort of poly, light and hopefully strong. She eyed the unscrewed end—and it had a decent point. She looked around again and realized she’d begun to pant. Low oxygen already?

  “If it’s of any use, I can start fires with my mind,” Carl said—or rather thought. His ears flattened and his eyes narrowed. “But my venom hasn’t returned since my last milking and my bite will be useless. ”

  Sixty and Volka both looked at the werfle.

  “You never told me you could start fires with your mind,” Sixty said.

  “You never asked,” Carl replied, licking his shoulder.

  “Is there anything else I’ve never asked that you can do?” Sixty said in a too even tone.

  Ceasing his grooming, the werfle appeared to study a spot on the ceiling. “Maybe.”

  Shaking his head, Sixty muttered, “Fire might come in handy. Let me think about it.”

  There was a thunk from outside the door.

  Stretching, the werfle said, “Well, should we get this over with? Put me in your backpack, Volka.”

  Volka did as he suggested and slid the pack to her back. She looked at Sixty, still sitting on the floor, hiding his naked eye behind a hand.

  “Is something wrong?” Volka asked.

  “I’m having a conflict with my original programming.”

  Volka shifted on her feet. The sound of metal banging on metal came from beyond the small chamber.

  “Care to enlighten us?” asked Carl.

  Hunching lower, he muttered, “No.” And then he sighed. “My open temple is terrifying to Volka. I need it open in case I have to plug into this pile of bolts in a hurry, but I’m programmed to avoid terrifying humans.” He glanced up at her. “If you could just be disgusted, I’d be fine. Humans are often disgusted by my kind, and we’re programmed not to care about that. ”

  Louder banging sounded on the door.

  “I’m not disgusted,” Volka said.

  “You could have lied,” Carl snipped.

  “Or terrified,” Volka said, and realized it was true.

  Sixty looked up at her doubtfully .

  Shrugging, she said, “I was…startled…But you don’t smell like you’re in pain or are wounded.” She nodded. “I am fine.” Even if she still found it disquieting.

  Dropping his hand, Sixty pushed the loose end of the cord beneath his collar and rolled the flap of skin back over his face as far as it would go. It still left a noticeable gap—the men in the hallway would know what he was at a glance. He shoved one stunner in his pocket and picked up the other two weapons. Standing, he put himself between Volka and the door, and she found herself panting against his shoulder.

  Raising the stunners, he whispered, “Ready?”

  There was another clang from outside, and the door ground open enough for a beam of light to slant in.

  “My stomach doesn’t feel as woozy as it did before,” she said by way of an answer.

  Sixty said, “That’s because the ship is accelerating again and gravity is approaching Earth standard G.”

  “What does that mean?” Volka asked.

  “That they don’t want the Leetier to land until the threat—that’s us—has been neutralized,” 6T9 responded.

  “Oh…” Volka said. Panting heavily, she asked desperately, “Are you ready?”

  “No,” Sixty replied. His answer was almost drowned out by the shriek of metal on metal as the door rumbled open.

  The door opened, but nothing happened. 6T9 stared from just within the doorway across the hall at a wooden wall. It was stained a rich mahogany and inset with neat geometric moldings. The floor and ceiling were a simple laminate
tile with a marbled gray design. Identical lighting was inset in both. From his position inside the broom closet, he could see a wooden door to one of the crew compartments. The door stretched from floor to ceiling and had a knob precisely in the center that would be as accessible in the same location in deceleration and acceleration.

  It occurred to Sixty that he was going to have to step out of the airlock. With a sigh, he did. He was immediately hit with a stunner in his left shoulder. The charge crossed the barrier of his jacket and shirt, radiating to his core in a wave of power. “His face!” someone shouted.

  Licking his lips, 6T9 aimed his stunner at his assailant, hit him square in the chest, and completely missed the man who charged him from the right. The man struggled to pull 6T9’s arm back, shouting, “Stunners don’t work on him.” 6T9 tried to turn into the man’s grip, but another man was on him from the left.

  The man on his right said, “Is he glowing?” And 6T9 glanced to see that his invisi-filaments were emitting a slight glow, but in the lighted corridor it wasn’t as noticeable as it had been on Mr. Darmadi’s drive.

  There was a growl, and the man on his right was crashing against the wall opposite the airlock, pushed by Volka and her broom handle.

  The man tried to grab the shaft, but Volka dropped to a crouch and out of reach with surprising agility. Another stun hit 6T9 in the right shoulder. The shooter stared at 6T9 with wide eyes and said, “They really don’t work!” 6T9 stunned him immediately but instantly felt bad about it—these men weren’t talking about torturing anyone, and from what he’d heard over the ship’s computer, they thought he and Volka were “dangerous criminals.” He frowned at the man’s slumped form, and the other man on the left caught him in a choke hold. Letting himself fall back into the hold, 6T9 reached around and stunned the fourth assailant, but he caught the man’s hand and eased him down so the Luddeccean didn’t get a concussion. Volka’s spear went twirling over him at the same moment and cracked against the side of another assailant’s head. In the blink of an eye, Volka had pulled back, twirled the thing again, and knocked the man under the chin.