Starship Waking

by C. Gockel

  Standing on top of the snow not far from her, Carl said, “The rebels are attacking the Guard ship.”

  Volka gazed up at the rubble in despair. “Could anyone survive that?” she whispered. Sniffing the air, she began frantically climbing the pile. Her skirt was coated with snow and weighed heavy on her. Stumbling in the unfamiliar gravity on the treacherous terrain, she ripped it off so she was in only her leggings and boots. The building’s collapsed floors stretched before her as though it was a staircase built for giants. “Alaric!” she called, climbing up the first floor. “Sixty?”

  “Volka, Sixty’s not responding to ethernet hails—I think he’s been destroyed!” Carl Sagan cried into her mind. “Come back!”

  “No!” she shouted, inhaling deeply, trying to detect any trace of Alaric or Sixty.

  “It’s too dangerous!” Carl said. The world spun and went black, and the fear was back, the fear that wasn’t hers, but Sundancer’s and maybe Carl’s.

  The wave of black beetles was approaching. This time she recognized it for what it was, and she didn’t have a moment to spare for it. She called out, “Sundancer! I need to keep going,” but the fear didn’t abate. The fear wasn’t words; it was pictures and emotions…and that was the key. Instead of thinking in words, Volka mentally pictured Alaric and let herself feel the way he made her knees go weak, how when he was close she was pulled to him like gravity pulled her to earth. The swelling of the fear abated but did not disappear, so she thought of Sixty, pictured him in her mind’s eye, and let herself feel how he made her feel—not weak, but full, secure. It was a friendship feeling, and it surprised her that she felt it. Maybe she felt it because she needed it. She didn’t have many friends left—Joseph and Esther’s visages played in her consciousness and an overwhelming sense of loss. She had to get to Alaric and Sixty. She tried to walk through the dark and the fear and cried out in determination and rage…

  The fear vanished, and Volka was spinning through space aboard Sundancer, a distant sun getting closer. She caught her breath, feeling Sundancer’s meaning—Onward!

  Volka smiled. “Thank you, Sundancer,” she whispered. She’d barely said the words before she was shivering in the snow again, but there was still a glimmer of light in the corner of her eye.

  “Volka!” Carl said, hopping by her feet. “You’re communicating with Sundancer all by yourself!”

  Before she could answer, the wind swirled, catching new scents and bringing them to her nose.

  Giving a cry, Volka sprinted forward and fell to her knees.

  A man was pinging 6T9 over the ether. “Sixty, are you there?” But he couldn’t answer.

  Something heavy was on top of him. It was dark, and his mouth was full of dirt and rocks. He heard sounds in the distance. Perhaps a holo of a space battle? It was also colder than it had been a few minutes ago. He wondered why the humans had turned off the heat. He was losing power too fast, and he might not be able to fulfill their sexual fantasies if they didn’t hurry things along.

  The weight on 6T9’s head and neck vanished, and he found himself staring up at a woman with ears like a wolf’s. She smiled at him, and her smile made his circuits light. Coughing up the rocks and dirt that had fallen into his mouth, he said, “I was not adequately briefed on this sexual fantasy.” He winked at her. “But you must be the woman we were expecting.”

  Her smile dropped.

  “You weren’t destroyed,” said the voice in the ether. “Why couldn’t you answer me?”

  6T9 replied to the voice, “I couldn’t answer you. There were rocks in my mouth.”

  “Why would rocks keep you from answering the ethernet?” the voice asked.

  6T9 blinked and tilted his head. “I don’t know. I should run a full diagnos—”

  “Just bang the back of your head on a rock,” the voice ordered.

  Since there were no other humans about to supply instruction, and he was conveniently lying on a rock, 6T9 did. And almost wished he hadn’t. He heard phaser fire, far too close. Someone nearby was groaning, and an engine was revving in the distance. Worse, Volka was leaning over him. “What are you doing here?” 6T9 said. “You have to escape.”

  “No,” she growled.

  Gritting his teeth, he tried to lift the weight on top of him. A huge chunk of what he now knew was the ceiling was on his torso and upper legs. Something else was on his shins. He didn’t have the leverage to move either. “Volka, I can’t get out. You have to get away.”

  Lip turning up, she growled again but then vanished from view. He heard her treading across the rocks and exhaled in relief. The addition of a smaller weight on his chest made him blink. “Carl Sagan,” he said. “You must go with Volka.”

  “Hmpf,” said Carl Sagan. The creature disappeared into a crevice, and 6T9 felt him running along one side of his body and then the other. The snowfall was letting up. Somewhere, 6T9 heard a hover engine roar, and his Q-comm hummed without his volition. Schematics for craft with similarly sounding hover configurations began playing before his eyes. “What’s happening?” he asked the werfle, since Carl was apparently staying.

  “We have found ourselves smack in the middle of an armed insurrection against the Luddecceans. Rebels attacked the inn. I convinced Volka to jump out a window just before their plasma grenades went off—or the smell of Dean’s blood convinced her. He’s dead, by the way. I don’t understand why they killed him.”

  6T9’s mind flew to Dean’s hover, connected to its external sensors, rewound them, and watched the scene from a verbal altercation between Dean and a group of men dressed in mechanics’ coveralls. In the midst of the fighting, Dean had drawn himself upright and had gone suddenly very still. His gaze had taken on the same intensity 6T9 had seen when Alaric had looked at Volka. Dean had stormed away from the argument, opening a door that let in a blast of snow. A minute after he left, one of the men, armed with a shotgun, went after him. 6T9’s Q-comm hummed and warmed, connecting the visuals with Volka’s proclamation that Dean and the innkeeper’s daughter were lovers. The most likely scenario was the men in the garage were the rebels. They’d wanted to blow up the inn. Dean had disagreed and stormed off, probably to warn his lover and her family. The rebels had silenced him with a bullet that hadn’t been heard over the wailing of the wind.

  6T9 opened his eyes, and his lips twisted into a grimace. Humans weren’t programmed to kill or to preserve, and you could only guess what they were going to do.

  Carl Sagan emerged on the rubble to 6T9’s left. Hopping back and forth and wiggling his body, he said, “Volka, over here!”

  There was the sound of Volka’s footsteps, and a moment later, she appeared beside Carl Sagan. She carried a meter-long bar of metal in her hands. She’d wrapped her hands in 6T9’s coat sleeves. His Q-comm hummed and he realized it was so they wouldn’t be burned with frostbite on the metal’s surface.

  Phaser fire streaked above her head. A phaser cannon went off only a dozen or so meters away, and men screamed.

  “You should go,” 6T9’s programming compelled him to say. His Q-comm hummed, knowing he would not be heeded. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  “Put it in here!” Carl said, gesturing with a paw. “There is a beam beneath you can use as a fulcrum.”

  Thrusting the bar into the ground, Volka grunted and tried to wedge the piece of roof off of his chest.

  “Volka, if you die,” 6T9 said. “I will—”

  Pausing her efforts, she snapped, “Stop talking!” With a cry, she began pulling on the bar. Jumping up, Carl Sagan grabbed the length of bar just above her hands, as though his small mass could affect the outcome. 6T9 scrunched his eyes shut. He should commence final upload. If he wasn’t here, they wouldn’t be endangering themselves.

  Volka growled. Carl squeaked. The plasma cannon sounded closer. A groan sounded in the rubble nearby. And the weight on 6T9’s chest lightened. Opening his eyes, 6T9 twisted his arms in the centimeters of space opening up beneath the fallen roof a
nd added his strength to the task of lifting. He heard cries of pain from what had been the street, but also more in the rubble around him. 6T9 felt static dance under his skin and frustration at being unable to help the Luddeccean Guardsmen fallen around him. Even if they’d considered “slagging” him, they were still human, and his programming demanded he assist. Another few centimeters of space opened up, and 6T9 was able to add the power in his torso to the strength of his arms. He heaved the slab off of him and sat up.

  Volka panted to Carl, “Is Alaric alive?” She swallowed. “Can you find him?”

  Carl’s ears went back. “Can’t we leave him to his own people?”

  The moans of injured humans sounded all around 6T9. Until they started firing on Volka, he needed to help them. Flinging the piece of roof off of his shins, 6T9 said, “No, we cannot leave him.”

  Swishing his tail, Carl said, “Oh, all right,” and raced across the rubble.

  Still panting, Volka looked at 6T9. The vapor from her breath had frozen in her eyelashes, and snow clung to her ears. “Thank you,” she whispered, eyes soft. It wasn’t the quantum wave warping stare she’d given Alaric, Alaric had given her, or Dean had given the rebels. 6T9 wanted that look, but he got up anyway—someday maybe from someone else.

  “Over here!” Carl said, squeaking in the real world. Raising her bar, Volka sprinted over to him.

  A red light at the periphery of 6T9’s vision screamed. It was much colder than it had been when they’d left the escape pod and he’d just exerted himself. He was going to be out of power fast. Overriding his warning systems and default power routings, he chased after Volka.

  The faces of his sons Lukas and Sam played behind Alaric’s eyes. They were running toward him across a green Luddeccean field, laughing, arms extended. His wife walked behind them, head held high, shoulders back. Black hair pulled back against her skull, skin as white as Libertian snow, Alexis was tall, stately, and regal. She looked down at him and said sternly, “Come home on your shield or not at all.”

  Alaric shuddered, woke, and that dream became a nightmare. It was dark and he could feel the sharp claws of cold on his right side and a slower seeping chill on his left. He tried to think, but his brain was overwhelmed by agony. He could not isolate the pain to one spot on his body or block it out. His breathing was rapid and ineffectual, and a blanket that felt like it was made of steel was smothering him.

  He felt the haziness of unconsciousness pulling him under again, but then the blanket was partially peeled away. The icy claws of cold struck suddenly, and light pierced his eyes. He took a breath and it was frigid, but filled his lungs. His pain had origin points—his ribs, his right leg below the knee. Someone groaned, and he realized, distantly, it was him. He heard Huang say, “Help me,” and a man respond, “Don’t worry I’ve…got…you.”

  Alaric’s eyes opened and saw the android lifting Huang away. He was too disorientated to contemplate what it meant. Huang groaned, and the android stumbled as he pulled the airman clear of Alaric.

  “Sixty, are you all right?” Volka asked.

  “I disengaged my thermoregulation to…conserve power…Cold…don’t worry. I’ll be fine for a…while.”

  Alaric blinked, looking for Volka. He raised his gaze and found her leaning over him, warm yellow eyes on his. “Don’t worry. Sixty will free your legs.”

  Alaric glanced down his body. He was lying half on his side, his legs twisted at an odd angle. He remembered the building sagging and struggling not to be sucked out of the relative protection of the door frame. His bottom half was trapped beneath a slab of the roof. The android came back, and began knocking some loose rocks away, the werfle scampering around its feet.

  He heard phaser fire and the roar of the LSC hover engines. It was getting closer. The phaser cannon boomed. Very close by, Huang called, “Captain? Captain?”

  Putting a hand on Alaric’s shoulder, Volka whispered, “Sixty says he’ll be fine, as soon as your medical crew…” Her voice drifted off, and Alaric winced. His medical crew was most likely buried under several floors of rubble.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, stroking his chin. Her fingers were calloused, but the gesture was soft. “We weren’t a part of this.”

  “I…can lift…this now,” said the android.

  “We?” Alaric whispered.

  “Sixty, Carl, and me,” she said.

  Alaric stammered, “Why…?” and ran out of breath. Why would she align herself with such a creature, the enemy of her people? She was the religious one.

  Leaning so close he could almost taste her lips, Volka shook her head. “He’s saving you.”

  Alaric shook his head. “No.” That didn’t make sense. The spies he’d encountered would self-destruct when caught, taking any human nearby—Guard, civilian, children—with them. They had no fear of death, their minds lived in servers elsewhere, and had no concern for humans for whom death was the end—no matter what Volka believed.

  “It’s true,” she whispered, caressing his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “When I first met him,” she said, “I thought he was an angel. ”

  Alaric’s eyes bolted open in alarm. She’d gone mad.

  Volka gave him a beatific smile. Phaser fire was getting closer. The LCS was getting closer. What would they do when they found his head practically in the lap of the enemy? He and Volka both were destined to die, and he couldn’t push her away.

  The android stood slowly, raising the slab of roof in his arms. With all that was going on, it was odd that Alaric’s eyes were drawn to the werfle. It also was standing, raising itself to its back two leg pairs. It turned toward Alaric and held up a paw, tiny digits spread, and squeaked as though to tell him something.

  Volka whispered urgently, “He says to wait. If you move—”

  The pressure on Alaric’s lower leg vanished, and he instinctively yanked it toward his chest. He was instantly hit with a stab of raw pain. His vision went white and his scream rang in his ears.

  Huang shouted, “No!” and a phaser blast shot above Alaric toward the android.

  “No!” shouted Carl Sagan, still standing on his back two paw pairs.

  Phaser fire streaked above Volka’s head toward 6T9. In the instant she saw it, she remembered him saying he couldn’t withstand a direct hit from a phaser.

  It hit him square in the chest, pushing him back a few steps…and then the bolt veered sideways. Volka gaped. There was a black hole in Sixty’s chest about two centimeters deep, wide as a man’s fist, and a streak of black across his chest and upper arm following the course of the blast. His shirt was in tatters, fluttering behind him like wings, and where it had been 6T9 began to glow, then to shimmer, and then to shine. White light spread from the scar to his face and hands. It was so bright it made his eyes look black in comparison…like an angel. At his feet, Carl Sagan crumpled like a stuffed toy. “I…can’t…help…you…anymore…”

  “Carl!” Sixty said, partially bending over and then straightening and growing even brighter. Throwing back his head, arms outstretched, he screamed, body jerking madly and light pouring from him so brightly it shone through his clothing. Throwing up a hand to shield her eyes, Volka turned her head. The gunfire in the background stopped, and she knew everyone’s eyes must be on the top of the pile of rubble and on 6T9, shining like a lost star.

  Scuffling made her look up, and she saw Huang—she knew because of his name on his uniform. He was the Guardsman they’d found above Alaric, and he was shambling in her direction. His eyes and his phaser were aimed at 6T9. At her motion, he turned it on her. “You,” he hissed. Volka froze.

  “It’s…me…you…want…” Sixty grunted, body still jerking, light still spilling from under his skin.

  Huang swiveled, aiming once again at 6T9. Volka bit her lip. Sixty was drawing Huang’s fire. He had helped her save Huang and Alaric even though he knew they wanted him destroyed. They thought he was dangerous, but he couldn’t kill…and maybe, in a strange w
ay, that made him an angel? Was God not mighty and imaginative enough to allow His creations to take many forms? In the Third Book, the Prophet said that angels were above men because they could do no evil, but that humans could rise ab ove angels because they could choose to do good over evil, and choosing was the harder path.

  What type of evil didn’t protect angels from men?

  Dropping fast, Volka picked up the pole she’d used to pry Sixty and the men out of the rubble. Huang saw it and spun toward her. Volka’s pole was faster. She clipped Huang’s wrist and heard it break. The phaser went flying. “He just saved your life!” Volka growled.

  Grabbing his wrist, Huang snarled, “Heretic,” and dived for the phaser.

  The hovering ship was very close, and she thought she heard men running toward the mound. Someone shouted, “Look, the captain’s up there.”

  “Guard are coming from the ship,” she heard Sixty say, but she couldn’t turn away from Huang as he dived toward his weapon. She tried to bring her pole down on his hand, but the pole was heavier than she was used to, and Libertas’s gravity was higher. She slipped in the rubble. The pole hit the ground with teeth-jarring force, missing Huang, and he snatched up the phaser. She lifted the pole again, and he rolled over on his stomach and lifted the phaser.

  In an instant she knew many things…She knew she didn’t have time to adjust her grip or her angle, she knew she was only going to get one more swing, and she knew it would be a killing blow. She swung. The pole hit Huang’s head. She heard the sickening sound of breaking bone as the pole sank into his skull as though it were as fragile as an eggshell. The phaser blast meant for her chest hit a piece of rubble near her feet, but Volka did not move.

  She stared at the man’s face, twisted and misshapen by the blow. Snow was already accumulating on his hair and shoulders. It maybe wasn’t the first time she’d killed someone, but it was the first time she’d done so knowingly.