by C. Gockel
“Don’t even think about it,” Carl said into her mind. “There are guards on every floor and in the stairways.” He kneaded the duvet. “The captain does mean well…he thinks that Sixty was using you, and that Sixty will dispose of you as soon as he gets the chance, simply for knowing too much.”
“I need to help you, Volka,” Alaric whispered, confirming Carl’s words—or thoughts.
Volka let out a breath. She’d never be able to shoot Alaric anyway. When he almost kissed her, just for a moment, she’d been fifteen again, and back in a time when he’d been the best thing in her life. He was so close, and her body hadn’t forgotten him. The centimeters between them felt too far. She desperately wished she’d had that last kiss.
Carl said, “Volka, Sixty says you must turn him over.”
Biting her lip, Volka remembered the man she’d bludgeoned in the hallway of the Leetier and thought to the werfle, “Alaric thinks Sixty killed someone, but he didn’t. It was me .”
Carl’s voice entered her mind. “You don’t know that…it could have been the man that Sixty pushed away in the elevator shaft.”
Volka’s eyes widened and her ears went forward. She hadn’t known about that.
“You hear something?” Alaric whispered.
She couldn’t answer. Carl’s voice was continuing, “Volka, 6T9 says for me to tell you, ‘Volka, I can’t die, and I can turn off physical pain, but I do feel emotional hurt, and I can’t turn that off. If you and Alaric die, I will have failed my most basic purpose…I won’t be the same, Vo lka. I won’t be able to function or save Sundancer, or Carl.’”
“Volka, please,” Alaric whispered, pulling her to him, his breath tickling her ear.
Carl stopped purring. “6T9 says, ‘Volka, please.’”
Volka felt like her dismay was too big for her body, and that it was leaking out into the universe.
…and then the universe answered…or rather, Sundancer answered. The scene around her vanished, and she was standing in Sundancer’s pearlescent interior, staring out the enormous windows, but instead of space, she was seeing a dreary gray world of rain. She felt hopelessness, and the rain outside the ship pelted harder. It took a moment to realize that what she was seeing was…sympathy. And as soon as the feeling was granted, she realized how much she needed it.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The scene vanished and she was staring into Alaric’s blue-gray eyes. She searched his face. It had been what—nearly ten years? She’d worried that maybe he’d spent all that time at lightspeed, that she’d look older than him, but he’d aged, too. He had some gray at his temples, and the angles in his face were more pronounced. He was still the most handsome man she’d ever known, and she included Sixty in that estimation. She tried to memorize his features because she knew she would not see them again. He was going to offer his patronage, and she would not take the offer—but their lives were worth something, and so was Sundancer’s.
“He’s in the closet,” she whispered, as 6T9 said he wanted. He wasn’t human; he was a machine, and different…so maybe it was true.
Alaric spun in the direction of the door only ajar; at the same time, Carl Sagan’s voice leaped into her mind. “Sixty says thank you, and that you’ve helped make him real.” Before Volka could comprehend those words, Alaric pushed her down and said, “Under the bed, now!”
Carl Sagan added, “‘Don’t argue,’ 6T9 says.”
Volka slid under the bed and peeked from underneath. Alaric had his phaser out, but then put it away. He walked over to the closet and opened the door.
6T9 had his hands in the air. “My evil plan was been thwart—”
Alaric grabbed him by the collar with one hand, his sleeve with the other, twisted, and threw Sixty. Sixty landed on his backside sitting up, but before Volka could breathe, Alaric kicked him beneath the chin. Sixty’s head went back and bounced on the floor. A moment later, he was lying flat on his back, blinking at the ceiling. Alaric stood above him, fists clenched, his chest rising and falling.
Volka gaped, shocked by Alaric’s efficiency, though she shouldn’t have been. He’d always been a perfectionist, both mentally and physically. He was one of Mr. Darmadi’s poorer relatives but had been accepted to Luddeccea’s most prestigious university both for his academics and because he’d been the best teenage wrestler in his province. He’d almost been ordained, but his family had pushed him to go into the military; his richer cousin got to pursue the priesthood.
“Hello, sir,” 6T9 said to Alaric. “I seem to be malfunctioning; I’m not sure how I got here or where I am.” He blinked. “Were we enacting some sort of fantasy scenario? If you refresh my memory, we can get back to it.” He gave Alaric a wink and then wiggled his hips. Alaric’s brow furrowed in confusion .
Volka hissed, “Is Sixty making a pass at my—at Alaric?”
Alaric glanced at her and back at Sixty. His eyebrows hiked. Outside in the hall, she heard at least three pairs of feet and whispers.
Carl, sitting out in the open, scratched an ear with his foremost right limb. “Yes.”
A noise rose in the back of Volka’s throat. It took a moment for her to realize she was growling. She clamped her mouth shut, but not before Alaric heard. Glancing at her, he put a finger to his lips. She couldn’t help noticing that he was smiling. Which he shouldn’t be as a married man who was facing off against a deadly enemy—or an enemy he thought was deadly. And the brief smile shouldn’t look like the sun coming out to her…
Someone was pounding at the door. “Captain? Captain?”
Attention back on 6T9, Alaric called out, “Ran, I’m all right…give me a minute.”
He inclined his head in 6T9’s direction. “There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than dreamt of in your philosophy.”
“My name isn’t Horatio.” 6T9 frowned and then he sighed. “Also, I am afraid that if you are a sapiosexual, you may find my capabilities extremely limited.” He brightened. “I can recite a philosophical text for you if you think that would work!”
“Shut up,” said Alaric, a muscle in his jaw jumping.
6T9 clamped his mouth shut and began pulling up his shirt. Volka bit down on her lip to keep from growling again.
“Keep your clothes on and stand up,” Alaric said.
Dropping his shirt, 6T9 obliged .
“Sir?” said a man from beyond the door.
Alaric sighed. “You can come in, Commander Ran. I’ve got our…uh…man.”
The door opened, revealing a man in a Luddeccean Guard officer’s uniform. There was a phaser in his hand. Commander Ran, she supposed. Behind him were men in camouflage body armor. At the level she was at, she noticed that Alaric wasn’t wearing boots. 6T9’s eyes roved over all of them, and he licked his lips.
Ran drew back in disgust, his face turning red. “This is it?”
“Yes.” Alaric said. “I’ve disconnected his Q-comm. He failed the Shakespeare test.”
Looking 6T9 up and down dubiously, Ran said, “This is a robot? He doesn’t look as dangerous as I’d expect, Q-comm or no.”
Tilting his head, Alaric said to 6T9, “Peel back the skin on your forearm.”
Ran started to say, “They aren’t that obedient when captured—”
But 6T9 was already rolling up his sleeve. A moment later, he peeled back the skin. Alaric rubbed his chin. The other men drew back.
“We should turn him to slag,” said Ran, raising his phaser. Volka’s eyes went wide.
Holding up a hand, Alaric said, “That was my first thought, but I think we have to get this one to Intel.” His eyes didn’t leave 6T9. “Something is…different about it.”
6T9 gyrated his hips and looked at the Guardsmen on Ran’s left and leered.
“I notice that,” Ran grumbled. “Even more reason to turn it to slag. ”
Shaking his head, Alaric commanded, “Android, stand absolutely still.”
6T9 stood up very straight. He blew a kiss at the Gua
rdsman on the officer’s right and winked.
Rubbing his chin, Alaric said, “I don’t mean his—”
“Obvious deviancy?” Ran suggested. His eyes slid to Alaric. “What made you come to this room anyway?”
Volka’s jaw got tight, hearing suspicion in Ran’s tone. The Guardsmen behind the commander shifted on their feet.
Not noticing—or more likely not caring—Alaric studied 6T9. “I came in here because it seemed…strange…that the guests would have left in the storm. I looked in the closet and I saw him…” Alaric touched his phaser. “I aimed, prepared to fire, almost called you—and then all I saw was my shadow. I convinced myself it was nerves.” He straightened and his jaw got hard.
“But you stayed?” said Ran.
Alaric stiffened ever so slightly, but then he said, “Yes. I found Cecil’s werfle.”
In her mind, Volka heard Carl say, “That dog does not own me.” But he hopped over to Alaric, looked up at him, and purred up a storm.
Picking up Carl, Alaric rubbed him behind the ears and gazed down thoughtfully. Carl kneaded his arms with such gusto that Volka felt another growl.
Alaric murmured, “We were having…a bit of a conversation. He began acting strangely, and I looked in the closet again and saw our man.” He shook his head and met Ran’s gaze. “The android is—was—capable of playing with our perception.”
“Mind control?” Ran said .
Carl purred louder, as though trying to drown out the idea.
Alaric’s jaw got hard. “Maybe.”
Ran nodded, eyes wide. “Intel it is.”
“Don’t damage him any more than I already have,” Alaric said, setting Carl on the bed. “And don’t keep him here. The werfle’s smell is all over the place, and I think it’s confusing Cecil. Move him to the top floor and take the men on the landings up there.”
In her mind, Carl said, “Volka, we have to get out of here.”
Staring at the Guardsmen, Volka thought, “I know that.”
Carl said, “I don’t think they’re our biggest worry.”
Commander Ran said, “What about the girl?”
Heart hammering, Volka thought, “They are a pretty big worry for me.”
“A girl is going to join us?” 6T9 smirked. “I like girls, too. Variety is the spice of the bornut cake.”
The guards gaped. Alaric’s eyes narrowed and just for a moment his hand dropped to his phaser. Volka blinked.
In her mind, Carl sighed, “Without his Q-comm, 6T9’s an idiot.”
Volka swallowed. She was looking at a robot that looked like Sixty, but he was just an empty shell. He didn’t have a soul or intellect…he’d given them up for her.
“The girl’s not here,” Alaric said, sounding wooden. “Get him upstairs and under guard. I’m going to get my boots.”
Ran nodded, and the men grabbed Sixty.
“Mmm…I like it rough,” Sixty said as they led him through the door .
Alaric followed, shutting the door behind him.
She heard one of the men exclaim, “What is he, some sort of weere?” Her ears went back at the slang for whore as their voices and their boot steps faded down the hall.
“Grab 6T9’s coat and your pack!” Carl said. “We have to leave now .”
Volka didn’t need any encouraging. Sliding from the bed, she swung on Sixty’s coat with its strange gel pack and his lover’s ashes over her own, and slipped her pack on her back.
Carl Sagan was pacing on the bed, tail low.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“The anger is rising…It’s hard to keep it out…and to keep from transmitting it to Sundancer…”
Before she could ask whose anger, she heard footsteps at the door. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, but then she recognized them as Alaric’s. He opened the door and beckoned to her. Grabbing Carl, she obeyed. “Hurry, hurry, hurry,” the werfle said. In the real world, it was only a squeak.
A moment later, they entered Alaric’s room. “Ran will check your room again,” he said. Volka swallowed. The place smelled more like Alaric, and it made her skin heat. She could sleep in a room with 6T9, but with Alaric? He stepped close to her, his hands skimming along her sides. A moment later, his body was flush against hers. Her mouth watered, and a wave of want so painful it was dizzying rushed through her.
Drawing back, he cursed softly. “I just realized that if Intel reestablishes his Q-comm connection, he may tell them that I rescued you.”
“What?” said Volka. The Q-comm could be fixed? How had she not known that ?
Carl Sagan began jumping in her arms. “Volka!”
Alaric gave her a rueful smile. “Believe it or not, I’ve never hidden a fugitive before. I don’t have experience planning for all the contingencies.”
He was going to kiss her; she could feel it in his gaze. Her heart leaped, and her stomach twisted in a knot.
“I—” Volka started to stammer.
“We have to leave now!” Carl cried. There was the snap of a latch. The window creaked, blew open, and frigid air whipped in, burning her skin. The moan of the wind became a scream, and snowflakes pelted the floor.
Alaric moved to close the window, but Volka grabbed him, sniffing the air, eyes going wide. “No…blood…I smell blood out there,” she whispered. Her ears flicked madly, but the wind that carried the acrid scent drowned out all sound…she gasped, recognizing the blood’s owner. It was Dean.
“Rebels,” Alaric whispered, eyes going hard. “I have to prepare my men. Stay. Down.”
Spinning on his heel, he left the room. She heard him on some sort of radio, issuing commands.
Carl leaped from her arms, hopped on the window sill, and looked back at her. “Volka, we must jump.”
“We’re four stories up,” she protested.
Carl’s eyes met hers. He wouldn’t look away, and she couldn’t . Her hips hit the window sill before she’d realized she’d started walking. “Now!” a voice rang in her head. Carl turned and leaped. Volka found herself falling in air so cold it cut like knives.
And then explosions ripped from behind her, louder than the screaming wind.
Climbing the steps three at a time, Alaric barked into his radio, “We’re under attack.”
Bonham’s voice cracked over the channel. “I don’t see anything at the front entrance.”
“All I see is snow,” said another man, and then there was a chorus of similar reports.
Alaric had airmen stationed at all ground floor windows and entrances, the basement in case of a hidden tunnel, and the utility room on the roof—to guard against a team using grappling line. He couldn’t see how they could be under attack, but he also didn’t believe Volka had lied. How could the rebels have any hope of taking them on here?
He realized his error as he stepped onto the fifth-floor landing. The stairwell had windows on every floor. Too narrow for a man to enter, they were made of double layers of plexi-composite that were poor conductors of temperature, and incidentally, nearly bullet proof and resistant to phaser fire. He hadn’t worried about anyone shooting out the windows, but the possibility to jimmy them open from the outside had existed, just not, he had thought, above the lower floors. Gazing through the snow-encrusted composite on the fifth floor, he heard the scraping noise and groan from the third floor, and then the soft ting of metal on cement. He identified the sounds instantly.
His radio was in his hand, already crackling from the airman on the first floor of the stairwell. “I hear something, going to—”
“All men, take cover,” Alaric ordered, throwing himself through the fire door on the fifth floor, his mind connecting at the same time how they’d done it. The wind was buffeting against the stairwell side of the building. They’d walked up snow drifts. Slamming the fire door, he heard Airman Lan say, “Sir!” Alaric looked over his shoulder and saw Huang running toward him from down the hall as though he were in slow motion. A moment later, a blast pounded against the steel
door, blowing it open. Bones rattling from the shock, ears ringing, Alaric saw rather than heard Huang say, “What?” Commander Ran came out of the room nearest them that they were using as a comm center.
Alaric almost answered. But his eyes slid to the side. The inn was small and only had rooms on the south side. The hallway that ran along the north side of the building had narrow windows like the ones in the stairwell. His eyes came back to Huang. The airman’s lips were moving, but Alaric couldn’t hear him. “Take cover!” he shouted at the commander and men coming out of the rooms down the hall. Obeying, Ran ducked back into the door. Grabbing Huang by the arm, Alaric dragged the airman into the open doorway. Ran was by a field desk they’d brought from the ship to hold their comm equipment. “Get underneath,” Alaric commanded. Ran looked ready to offer him the choice spot but they only had seconds. “That is an order!” Alaric said, eying the doorway. The frame was made of steel. More explosions ripped through the building, and the floor in the hallway began to sink. Bracing his back against the doorframe to keep from slipping into the hall, Alaric shouted at Huang, “Cover your head!” and pushed the younger man down just before the roof caved in.
Volka stared up at windblown flakes from inside a hole in the snow as long as her body and half as high. The shock of the fall was still an echo in her limbs, but the snow had cushioned her, and she didn’t think anything was broken. Clutching her pack, she clambered to her feet and found herself staring at a building that had a door like a barn. Above it was a sign that read, Iron Forge Hover and Auto Repair . Another explosion behind her made her turn around. Was it her imagination or was the inn leaning away from her? Metal screamed, and she stumbled backward through the snow. The inn groaned, and then bits of cement rained down. A moment later, the roof crashed down on the top story, and then it was like watching a house of cards tumble, each floor flattening the floor below it, making the ground beneath Volka’s feet reverberate.
Somewhere in the distance, Volka heard phaser fire and then a louder explosion. Spinning, she saw streaks of pink and faint orange through the veil of snow about six hundred meters away, and the hulking gray shape of some sort of airplane that looked too wide and square to fly.
