by C. Gockel
“At least someone isn’t afraid to inflict pain,” Carl Sagan harrumphed. “Where would be the best place to start a fire?”
Someone jumped on 6T9 from the right. He stunned him, lowered him to the ground, and sent Carl Sagan a schematic of the ship and a likely place for a strategic spark. “We should be careful to make sure—”
On his left, someone said, “Try this phaser blast, fiend! For Luddeccea!” Before 6T9 could move, Volka spun her stick around, catching the new man beneath the wrist. The phaser went flying, and Volka charged, knocking the handle into the man’s forehead. He reeled back, stunned.
“—that there are no people around it,” Sixty finished, catching the wayward phaser.
The second man, the one who’d been the first to catch the flat side of Volka’s “spear,” was slumped against the far wall. He stirred and Volka attacked him with a cry of rage, hitting the side of his head with the end of the stick like a golfer with anger management issues.
6T9’s jaw dropped.
She turned around and immediately hit the man to his left who’d been staggering forward. 6T9 tried to stun him—out of mercy, really—but his stunner didn’t work. He glanced at the meter, noticed it was out of charge, and tossed it aside.
Volka hit the man again, and he slumped to the floor. She glared at 6T9, lip curled, stick raised, her ears flat back. She looked like a wolf. His Q-comm hummed with the useless knowledge that it probably wasn’t an accident when she broke a man’s toes with her umbrella. His eyes slid to the second assailant. There was a blood on the floor beside his head, and 6T9 could detect no breathing. Had “innocent” Volka killed him? He remembered telling her weere were for all intents and purposes human…
His jaw hardened. Their superiors would do worse to her, and to him if they could.
There was a boom, and the ship shook.
Volka’s look of rage turned to one of surprise. “What is happ—?”
She was cut off by the wail of alarms.
In the ether, Carl Sagan said, “Oopsie.”
6T9 heard crew members scrambling in their quarters. Grabbing Volka’s arm, he raced toward one of the access ladder shafts. “We have to get to First Class.” He heard shouts from within and hesitated.
“What did you blow up, Carl?” he asked.
Volka pulled away from 6T9’s grip and began frantically pressing an elevator call button.
“The oxygen tank that is on the exhaust side of the carbon dioxide converter—the damage may be, err…extensive,” Carl replied.
“That’s one level below us!” Sixty accused. He sniffed and smelled burnt plastic.
“The elevator is here!” Volka cried, hands over her ears .
Sixty exhaled. “You’re—”
Volka dragged him into the elevator just as a man jumped out of the access ladder shaft. His eyes went wide at sight of 6T9 and Volka, but the elevator doors whooshed closed at just that moment. It must have been a vacuum safe seal because the wailing stopped and alarms were replaced by classical music.
“—never supposed to be on board an elevator during a fire,” 6T9 finished.
The elevator rocked, and the lights dimmed, but it began its ascent and the classical music didn’t stop playing. There was an outlet in the car and 6T9 whipped out the business end of his cable and jacked in, but when he tried the code, was denied access.
“They’ve got security waiting for us in First Class,” Carl Sagan said.
6T9 cursed to himself. “Carl, the code!”
“We can take one or two more,” Volka said with certainty, and 6T9 remembered the blood on the floor.
“Foxtrot Bravo Alpha 9234,” Carl replied.
Entering it with a thought, 6T9 said incredulously, “That’s the same code as before but backward.”
“The priest is stressed,” Carl replied. “It is his first exposure to non-Luddeccean tech.”
6T9 barely heard him. His mind was filling with data prepared to be sent via light beam to the Guard—some of it featured video surveillance of him and Volka. He wiped it clean and ordered a defrag and a hard reboot of the surveillance systems to stall for time.
The werfle said, “There are twenty-five security officers waiting for us.”
“I’m not going out without a fight,” Volka replied, dropping to a crouch and holding the broom handle like she was preparing to strike. “I’m done playing nice with humans.” Her eyes narrowed and looked at 6T9. “You caught a phaser. Can we use that?”
“Not without possibly cutting a hole in the hull!” Sixty replied. The “priest” had reprogrammed the elevator doors to only open on the first floor State Room in First Class where the security officers awaited them. Sixty focused on altering the code—and then the elevator ground to a halt. A red dot showed in his mind. Someone had physically locked the elevator down; he couldn’t make it move to another floor. He scanned the ceiling and the floor. There was no exit hatch. His eyes widened, and he reprogrammed the door not to open at all.
He took out the phaser, pulled up the schematic of the ship, and let his Q-comm hum.
“My stomach feels woozy again,” said Volka.
6T9 had been ignoring every system in the ship except the elevators, but at Volka’s words, he realized that they were decelerating again. He pulled up the nav logs and grinned. “They have to land! The ship is running out of oxygen.”
His Q-comm returned a string of numbers and he said, “We might escape if I don’t send us into the vacuum.”
“Pardon?” said Carl.
Entering two last commands, 6T9 yanked out his jack, activated the phaser, and pointed it at the floor. The laminate tile blackened and curled back. The smell of melting plastic and hot metal filled the elevator car. Following the path conjured up by his Q-comm, 6T9 cut a roughly ovoid shape. It didn’t fall away. He jumped on it. It still didn’t budge.
“I think I’m going to hurl a hairball,” said Carl .
“I feel like throwing up,” said Volka.
The gravity was 21.2 percent of standard and was dropping fast. Gripping a railing for leverage, 6T9 brought his foot down on the floor. The ovoid piece of flooring dropped a few centimeters. He pounded it again, and it fell in slow motion down the elevator shaft.
“I’ll go first,” Sixty said, and then added by way of explanation, “The edges are still hot.”
“Too sick to cool it…” muttered Carl.
Stripping off the hover pack and holding it above his head, 6T9 dove out of the elevator car and drifted down the shaft as gently as a leaf. At the first State Room level below the elevator, he grabbed hold of a vertical strut in the wall just outside a pair of doors.
He heard banging above him in the elevator car. “They’re trying to get in!” Carl Sagan said in the ether.
“Volka, come quick,” 6T9 called. He saw her prepare to jump out of the car, and then the simulated gravity completely vanished.
Volka shot up in the elevator and didn’t come down. He heard the sound of retching. “Volka, push off the ceiling,” he cried. He saw her body spin, and then her backpack was launching toward him in slow motion down the shaft. He exhaled in relief seeing Volka’s fingers attached to it, and then caught his breath again. Through the hole he’d cut, he saw one of the security officers floating into the elevator car. 6T9 grabbed the backpack and pulled it and Volka to the side of the elevator shaft, pushing her against the doors to the State Room, shielding her from incoming stuns with his body. “I unlocked the door,” he said. “It should open.”
Volka grunted. “It’s not budging.”
A stun hit him in the back of the neck, giving him strength. Floating behind her, he let his hover pack drift beside him and tried to pry the door open himself. Fully charged, he had a moment of hope when a sliver of light appeared, but the door didn’t budge farther. “We need someone to open it from the inside,” he muttered.
“It’s…Darmadi’s…state…room ...” Carl said, and then a hacking noise came from Volka’s
backpack.
“Help!” Volka said, pounding on the door. “Mr. Darmadi, please help us!”
A scrape above made 6T9 lift his head. A guard had launched himself out of the elevator car toward them. 6T9 twisted around, and, gripping the strut, flattened himself against the wall. The man reached toward him, but Sixty had leverage and more than human strength. He caught the man’s wrist while he was still above them, yanked and released, sending the man tumbling beyond their feet. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out a stunner and stunned the man before he could reorient himself.
Darmadi’s voice came through the door—it was muffled, yet 6T9 could hear the fear. “Volka?”
A mechanical rumble started above them. 6T9 looked up and saw the elevator car start to shake and heard voices within it.
“Yes, it’s me,” Volka cried. “Please help us.”
“What’s going on out there?” Darmadi said.
The elevator jerked above, and 6T9 snapped, “Is that a question you’d ask your daughter ?” The elevator began rumbling toward them. 6T9 looked around, but saw no escape. Grabbing hold of his backpack, he swung around, prepared to drag Volka down the shaft to give her just a few more seconds of life.
He’d just grabbed her shoulder with his free hand when the State Room door opened. Mr. Darmadi was floating inside, holding onto a safety grip. His eyes went wide at sight of Volka, and he yanked her in, pulling Sixty with her. 6T9 found himself in a sitting area with matching ornate tiles on the floor and ceiling. There were mirrors set precisely in the center of the walls and recessed lighting in the floor and ceiling. Golden light was everywhere, and it smelled like eucalyptus. He took that all in, and then the elevator shot down the shaft past his ankles, snapping him into the present. Remembering the man he’d stunned, Sixty whispered, “They’ll crush their own team member. Animals.”
“Volka…” Darmadi whispered. “What is wrong with Mr. Niano?” Darmadi’s mouth was open and his eyes were fixed on 6T9’s open temple.
Volka’s lips were turned down. Glaring at 6T9, she looked like she might cry or hit him.
“What?” 6T9 said.
“Animals?” Volka hissed. “Have you forgotten what I am?” And again, 6T9 remembered blood on the wall from where she’d beat a man with a stick.
He heard the elevator grinding to a halt. It would reverse course soon. Volka had been acting in self-defense. If she’d killed, it was manslaughter, not murder…she deserved a court of law, not execution. He gulped. They both deserved that.
They started drifting to what had been the ceiling, and Volka looked “up” in alarm.
“Gravity is shifting,” 6T9 said. “Twist.” He did a sit up in midair and let his body twist “upside down” so the room’s furniture was still attached to the “ceiling” above his head. He remembered the brochure advertised the Leetier’s staff turning the furniture around for First Class passengers—they must be busy. Volka followed his example, and they landed on their feet in a gentle twenty-fifth of standard G. Darmadi didn’t quite catch himself in time and landed on his backside.
“We have to go,” 6T9 said to Volka, pushing against her shoulder.
“You haven’t explained what is going on,” Mr. Darmadi said, scampering up and putting himself between them and the door.
“Mr. Darmadi…” Volka said. “Thank you.” Before 6T9 knew what had happened, she ripped the stunner from his hand and fired at Darmadi. She hit him in the chest, and he slumped slowly to the floor.
“What are you doing?” 6T9 gasped.
Volka sniffed. “I don’t want them to think he had anything to do with us. He saved us, don’t you see?”
6T9 exhaled, plucked the stunner from her grasp, saw it was out of power, and slipped it away. Outside in the hallway, he heard footsteps and a man shout, “Take your positions.” Picking up Darmadi’s slumped form, 6T9 hauled him over to the State Room’s escape capsule. He put Darmadi’s hand on the palm reader and a portion of the wall slid aside. 6T9 blinked. The escape capsule was only big enough for a single person.
“On three!” the man in the hallway outside ordered.
“Come on,” he said, waving Volka over. The elevator shaft was open, and he could see the cables moving and hear the grind of gears.
The man in the hallway began counting, “One…two…”
Volka had possibly beaten a man to death with a stick, but now she was sobbing.
The top of the elevator came into view, and in the hallway, a man shouted, “…three!”
The world was a blur. Volka had thought that her life had ended when the Guard had invaded her home, the living monument to her parents. She’d been wrong. Stunning Mr. Darmadi had been the end. She’d betrayed him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to survive anymore. The rage and fear that had propelled her was gone.
“Volka!” Carl Sagan said, “They’ll dismember 6T9!”
The world did not unblur. Volka’s eyes were too filled with tears but words made her look up. She heard pounding in front of her and in the elevator behind her and heard Sixty beside her, “Volka.” She couldn’t see in the real world, but she saw in her mind his too-beautiful face.
She had to move. Through the fog in her eyes, she saw the door exploding inward. She darted toward Sixty, but was too slow. She heard stunner fire, and then she was lifted and pushed into the capsule. More stunners fired, and then Sixty was in beside her and a door slid closed. She heard Sixty growl, “The outer door between the door and the pod isn’t sealing.”
Her backpack wriggled, and Carl hissed in her mind. “I’m being squished.” She inhaled and smelled werfle vomit. He was so small; had any of his organs gotten damaged in the running around? “Carl, are you…do you…will you…” Need medical assistance? As though they could get him to a vet right now.
“I’m fine, but some of the hairball I puked up might have gotten on your sketchbook,” the werfle grumbled. She knew it was a grumble. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach.
“I’m glad you’re not really squished,” she said .
“And I’m glad you’re not a Volka-icicle,” the werfle replied.
“We’re not out of this yet,” Sixty muttered, plugging himself into an outlet.
Peeking around his side, Volka saw a window behind him. Men were rushing toward the capsule. One lifted the butt end of a stunner rifle and began beating at the glass. It didn’t make a sound, but she could feel the capsule trembling.
“Carl, there is a different code!” Sixty said.
“Ow…ow…ow…” hissed the werfle, and Volka tried to shift her body so the werfle wasn’t squashed.
“Carl!” Sixty said again.
“I’m working on it…” Carl said, “Oh, oh, oh, that man is thinking, ‘They can’t possibly guess the general override. We’ll get them.’”
“That doesn’t help me, Carl!” Sixty said.
“Wait, wait, wait…” Carl replied.
For a moment, the man who was beating his rifle butt against the capsule paused, and his eyes met Volka’s. His lips curled back, and she could see him shout in rage, but eerily, she couldn’t hear him no matter how much she strained her ears. Had she looked like that when she’d attacked the man below? Flattening her ears, she closed her eyes and buried her face against Sixty’s chest. Despite all his exertions, he smelled mostly the same as before—metal, plastic, and that peculiar human male smell that had hidden his true nature. He didn’t smell like sweat or fear…it was disquieting.
Carl’s thoughts blurted in her mind. “632405.”
The trembling in the craft ceased. Volka lifted her eyes and peeked around Sixty. She mostly only saw her own pale reflection in the glass, but she thought she made out the seal of the sliding door. There was a jolt, and they started pulling away from the wall, and the door disappeared.
“What’s happening?” she whispered.
Sixty exhaled. “We’re spinning a bit, but are still semi-contained within the Leetier, which is why we still have simulated g
ravity. I opened the external hatch and fired the thrusters to damage the control mechanism so they can’t trap us inside.”
In the window, a sliver of stars appeared, and then the sliver widened. One of the stars was orangish-red, slightly bigger than the others, and getting bigger. “Libertas,” she whispered.
She felt Sixty’s chin bob in a nod. “Thanks to Carl’s fire, they have to land. And since the fire damaged a thruster, they can’t roll and put our eventual ejection on a trajectory for one of the moons.”
“So, what do we do now?” Volka asked, eyes riveted to Libertas, still looking like a star and not a planet. She’d dreamed of a view like this, but there’d been no chance for it in the cargo area. Joseph always told her to be careful of what she wished for. Her eyes got hot. She shifted on her feet.
“When we get closer,” Sixty said, “I’ll blast us to the planet’s surface. It might be, ahh…a rough landing.”
Volka nodded in understanding. Carl Sagan was quiet in her backpack. Her ears cocked. The only sound was a hum from Sixty’s chest. “You have no heartbeat,” she whispered.
“No,” Sixty replied, his breath warm against the top of her head. “My original designers wanted me to have one, but at the time there were worries about humans becoming more attached to s—’bots than to each other…so I have no heartbeat.”
Did he sound mournful, wry, or both? She glanced up. The flap of his fake skin and muscle was pulled back. His left eyeball and metal skeleton were fully exposed. The wire cord was strung between his head and the outlet in the wall. The right side of his face was still too perfect. Both eyes were on her. She looked away and took a quarter step back—all she could manage in the coffin-like space.
“Rawr!” cried Carl.
Volka jumped forward, pressing her full body against Sixty. “Carl, are you okay?” she asked, wiggling and trying to get the pack off.
“Stop! You’re knocking me against the wall!” the werfle cried.
