by C. Gockel
11
Irrational Dread
Galactic Republic: S3O2 Shinar
There was a flash of light—and then Volka could see Sundancer’s pearly interior again, and 6T9, Carl, Noa, James, and the Marines dressed like office workers on business trips, suitcases in tow. Had they come to the right place?
Bracelet said, “In contact with Time Gate 3 Docking Authority,” just as Sundancer’s walls became translucent again. There was what she assumed was S3O2...Shinar. It had white capped poles that extended a quarter of the way across the planet from the North and the South. There was a strip of blue broken up by two land masses. One land mass was spread out over the equator. It was brown, without a trace of a lake or river. The other land mass extended from the white icy cover of one pole to below the equator. At the equatorial region, it was similarly brown without a hint of water for relief. There was only a thin strip of green between the desert of the second continent and the snow in what was either the North or South pole—Volka wasn’t educated enough to know which was which on Shinar. In that narrow strip, there were rivers, lakes, and snowcapped mountains.
Touching their neural ports, James and Noa moved toward the compartments at the back of the ship. Obviously, they were in communication with someone.
Carl, at the center of the floor, said, “I will provide the telepathic docking instructions for Sundancer. Directing her to dock with a time gate is a lot more dangerous than landing her in a flower garden.”
Volka’s lips pursed. It was not dangerous. One of the “Consular staff”—a tall man with fashionably long hair and a doughy middle winked at her, cleared his throat, and spoke in Young’s booming voice, “Stand back. One wrong tail flick and we could wind up in vacuum.”
Young knew that wasn’t true. She blinked.
Carl rose to his hind legs and began gesturing like a tiny ten-legged orchestra conductor. Volka narrowed her eyes. Oh, someone was bored and showing off, and Young was in on it. She noticed three of the “staff”—two women and a man—looked visibly concerned. They were new; she didn’t recognize their scents.
Sundancer began maneuvering, presumably toward a berth on Time Gate 3. Volka turned back to the planet, briefly catching Sixty’s eyes a few meters away. He had an eyebrow raised and his lips quirked. He glanced quickly to Carl and back to her. She answered with a shrug and a smile and gazed down at S3O2. “So much ice—and so much desert,” she whispered. Sixty stepped over so he was standing just behind her shoulder. “Despite being the second orbital, S3O2 is nearly the same distance from the local sun as Earth is from Sol. However, its moon is small and didn’t hit the planet as hard as Earth’s moon did. S3O2 doesn’t have much of a tilt. The poles never unfreeze. The equator is blistering hot. On the other hand, in the narrow band of the temperate zone, it is very comfortable for humans all year round. The planet’s capital, Shinar, is the only major city—and over time, the whole planet started to be referred to by just that name. The city was built on rocky land, sparing all the good cropland.” He pointed down to the mountains near the coast. “Shinar’s there, at the foothills of Mt. Enmerker, the volcano Noa was talking about earlier.”
“Is it safe to build a city at the base of a volcano?” Volka asked.
“They’ve spent a great deal of time, money, and research in making it safe,” Sixty assured her.
Sundancer’s interior became opaque again.
Her lips parted, about to ask how a volcano was made safe, but Carl raised two little paws in very dramatic fashion, and shouted, “Get back!” before slamming the paws down. The three new “office workers” jumped. The rest chuckled and merely stepped away from the middle of the floor. A circular opening appeared in the bridge near Carl’s feet. Cold air that smelled like metal and ozone rushed in. Through the opening, Volka saw the planet through the hazy film of a plasti-tubing gangway. They weren’t inside an airlock but tethered outside the gate.
Carl smacked his paws together like he was wiping flour off of them, and then took a bow. Someone applauded.
Striding briskly, Noa and James emerged from the back. To Volka, the admiral said, “The director of Time Gate 3 has invited the Consular staff, James, and me to a reception. You’ll be free to wander about the gate while we’re there.”
“You’ll probably have more fun,” a voice she remembered belonging to Lieutenant Young said from a face she didn’t.
That didn’t sound too bad…
Noa spoke to the disguised Marines. “Bring your bags.” And to Volka again. “They won’t let Sundancer in atmosphere, but we will want you and Carl with us below. I’ll let you know as soon as we confirm the shuttle dock.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Volka said, standing up straighter.
Two of the “staff” exited the ship down the flexible, cylindrical gangway. A moment later, Noa and James left. The rest of the Marines followed.
At the sound of their retreating footsteps, Volka turned to Sixty. “Should we go explore the gate?” All the gates were similar, but usually there were a few shops and exhibits that were local to the worlds they hovered above.
Sixty’s face was unusually flat. “I am on 1.2% power,” he said. “I have to go recharge immediately.” He rubbed his temple. “I could have asked them to stun…” He shook himself. “I’ll go to the back. Carl, would you—”
“Opening the compartment with the charger,” Carl said, and Sixty walked away without looking back, spine stiff, movements robotic. He disappeared a moment later into the compartment Carl had opened.
She looked down at the werfle with concern. Excluding their first journey together, Sixty didn’t usually run low on power. He was very conscientious about charging well before he ran low. She bit her lip. But Noa’s visit had been unexpected, and he hadn’t really had a moment to himself before they’d left the asteroid.
“Long day for him,” Carl commented. “I’ll check out the tin can with you if you want, though.” He rubbed eight tiny paws together. “Maybe they have a holo theater!”
Volka’s eyes got wide and her mouth watered. “Butter rats!”
Carl pointed a sharp little claw at the ceiling. “Exactly!”
Volka grinned. She took a step toward the gangway, felt a blast of cold, and her smile melted, her stomach sank, and her vision got blurry. She clutched her middle, overcome with dread…dread that she knew wasn’t her own, but was threatening to overwhelm her. Around her, Sundancer’s interior grew dark.
12
Dark Conjecture
Luddeccea
Alaric woke from a dream, wide awake, staring into darkness. As a rule, he didn’t have trouble sleeping, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep after the nightmare he’d just had.
Maybe nightmare wasn’t the right word. The scenario his subconscious had dredged up had felt logical, cool, and distant, and yet terrifying at the same time. Like most logical-seeming dreams, on wakefulness it was illogical…and yet…
Faster-than-light sentient spaceships, a mind-controlling entity bent on domination, telepathic werfles, and telepathic Volka—what was left of logic in the universe? And if the deductions in his dream were correct...
He went cold beneath the covers. He slipped his legs over the edge of the bed and softly padded out of the room to the office. He got halfway there. What was he going to do? Call his superior in the middle of the night and say he had a bad dream? That was ridiculous. But he could compose a report of a likely scenario of the Dark’s next attack based on what he had learned in the waking world: from the Galactic Marines, Alexis, classified reports on Alexis’s family’s attempt to destabilize Luddeccea, and reports by Luddeccean spies in the Republic.
The report Alaric wrote would be dutifully read. Probably forwarded up the chain. It might even reach the archbishop. Who, at a certain point, would maybe decide that it was important enough to inform his contacts in the Republic about. Probably. Might. Maybe. Those weren’t good enough.
The next thing he knew, he was padding down the st
airs, and then onto the dew-wet blades of grass of his front lawn. One of Alexis’s security guards saw him and gave him a nod.
Waving in acknowledgement, Alaric looked up at the stars and Time Gate 8’s shattered form. The night sky was not as bright here as it was in the country, but he could even make out the orangish-star that was the planet Libertas. Atlantia would be just above it to the right…but the sky in New Prime was too bright to see the icy moon that shone like a diamond or the mining colonies surrounding the gas giants. The Luddeccean colonies were small compared to the outposts of the Republic. Most of the Republic’s population was not particularly fertile. The last spies put the fertility rate of the major colonies and Earth at 1.1 child per woman, but with their cybernetics it didn’t matter. They could live forever, extending centuries...He felt a stab of jealousy. His hands clenched at his side, the jealousy disappeared, and the chill returned, penetrating deep to his bones. All those outposts…If the Republic fell…Luddeccea fell.
He exhaled. The Republic would fall, might already be in the process of falling. Probably. Might. Maybe. Not good enough.
His jaw clenched. His stomach roiled, and he felt dread. Not for him...for everything. His family. His planet. All of the Luddeccean System. And the Republic too…Volka was there. Shutting his eyes, he heard the faintest of slithers in the grass and tiny paws. Opening them, he looked down and saw a gray shadow at his feet. “Solomon,” he whispered.
The shadow rose to its hind paws. Dark eyes peered up at him, and the werfle shifted his focus across the lawn. Alaric followed the werfle’s gaze and gaped.
Volka was walking toward him across the grass. But that was impossible. She’d left Luddeccea days ago with Admiral Sato; Intelligence would have told him if she were on her way back. And in any event, she couldn’t get across the lawn without an escort. For a moment, he doubted where he was. Maybe he was still in a dream. He looked over his shoulder. The house was still there, the guard was still there but paying no attention to Volka. It was a dream then? Was he still asleep? Alaric looked back to Volka, still approaching. A purple dress was swishing at her calves. The hem at the sleeves swirled with faint lights. Designed to look like the night sky, he realized. It should be a pretty dress, but for some reason he was struck by its alienness.
“Alaric, what’s happened?” she whispered.
The guard did not come running or even shout.
The golden werfle, Carl Sagan, was at her feet. “Once-mom?” he cheeped.
“You’ve gotten even fatter,” Solomon replied.
“It’s. Just. Fluff!” hissed Carl, fur rising. And then he muttered, “Some moms never comment on their children’s weight.”
Crossing paws over his stomach, Solomon retorted, “Some mothers are concerned about their children’s hearts.”
Alaric rubbed his temple. Solomon didn’t normally speak aloud to him. This was a dream, or… “Am I in some sort of telepathic phone call?”
Solomon bobbed. “Volka felt your upset.”
Carl spread his upper paws. “Sundancer amplified the signal.”
A long time ago, when he was in Seminary, Alaric’s father had called his uncle’s house to say that his mother was in the hospital. Alaric had felt helpless and far away. Volka had come into the room, out of breath, after dashing from somewhere in the garden. “Something is wrong,” she’d declared. It hadn’t been the first time something like that had happened. Certainly not the last. Each time he’d brushed off what was now obviously a deeper connection as a coincidence. Usually he’d appreciated the coincidence. She’d been there when he needed her. Now that he knew the extent of it, that connection felt vaguely…invasive.
Volka’s expression became pained. “I’m sorry.” He swore she started to fade, but he threw up a hand. “No, stay.”
Volka—or the dream of her—became more solid. Despite the clothing, she was still…herself, and his hands rose as though to catch her in an embrace. Catching himself, he lowered them and noticed that Volka’s hands had risen too. Clasping them at her waist, her ears went back.
She looked as uncomfortable as he felt. And why did he feel uncomfortable?
Because he felt like he was cheating on his wife. He exhaled, trying to breathe away the feeling. His chest still felt tight.
There was still a connection between them. Would it always be there? He swallowed. It needed to be more than a dream now.
“It is more than a dream,” Carl insisted.
And Solomon bobbed.
“I…I…” Alaric stammered. “Are you still with Admiral Sato?”
Volka nodded, eyes meeting his and shining in the night like a wolf’s.
“We are,” said Carl.
He couldn’t look away from Volka’s glowing gaze. “I don’t know where the Dark’s attack in the Republic will be,” he said. “But I believe I know their strategy.”
13
Humans
Galactic Republic: Time Gate 3
:: Local Environment Safe For Prolonged Human Exposure ::
6T9’s vision was white—no, pearly white—as he came out of boot up. He was in one of Sundancer’s rear compartments, lying on the floor with his shirt and socks off, arms spread out to the side, head turned so his cheek lay flat, legs bent with his soles pressed to the floor. Sundancer was warm where all those contact points touched her. She was gently adding an extra charge to the one coming from the cable at the base of his spine. There was dust in his eyes—no one had closed them while he’d been unconscious—tear ducts watered to remove it.
He blinked. He was still only at 15 percent power. His back outlet charged him more efficiently than the neural port in his temple, which is why he’d invested in a plug that was virtually flat, and a cable that was the same. With the addition of Sundancer’s heat, he charged 5 percent faster…something had awoken him early.
“Sixty?” It was Volka, and she was very close. He rolled his head toward her voice.
She was kneeling over him, Carl perched on her shoulder, whiskers twitching. Her eyes went wide as his gaze met hers. “What’s wrong?” she asked, hands that had been on her thighs coming toward him.
He caught her hands and brought them to his chest, feeling his sensors light up where her skin met his but not letting his gaze leave hers. “Nothing’s wrong.” Nothing at all, except that the ether was pinging with a message from James. Still, he barely noticed it.
“Your eyes?” she whispered.
She thought he was crying. “I didn’t shut them before I rebooted. The tears are just to remove the dust. I’m fine.” He noticed the creases beside her eyes, the tightness in her expression. “You’re not fine.” His hands tightened on hers, and then Noa’s ping joined James’s, and he scrunched his eyes shut. “It doesn’t have anything to do with James and Noa pinging me, does it?”
She smiled slightly. “A bit. They need us to join them at…” She blinked, and Bracelet supplied, “Shuttle dock D305.”
“To go down to the planet,” Volka finished.
6T9 connected to James and Noa with a sigh, sent a simple message letting them know they caught him rebooting but that Carl, Volka, and he would be on their way and disconnected. He did it all without letting go of Volka’s hands. It was nice, coming on-line and finding her right there. Normally, he didn’t like it when humans saw him rebooting; it destroyed the illusion of him being human. Volka had seen him with his face half off and missing limbs but had still found him human enough to almost have spent her season with him and pair bonded with him for life. He hadn’t been able to pair bond then, but he could now, and she could be there every time he rebooted. He glanced down at their hands on his bare chest and felt the flutter of her pulse beneath his fingers. He looked up at her again…and found her frowning deeply.
“Something is bothering you,” he said. And then he released her hands. He’d held them too long; was he bothering her?
Sitting back on her heels, she said, “I…Carl and I…we have a message we have to get t
o Noa and James, and I am afraid of forgetting it.”
Several circuits lit in relief. It wasn’t him upsetting her, but...
“Message?” Bracelet and 6T9 asked at the same time.
“It was telepathic,” said Volka.
“Sundancer helped,” Carl squeaked, whiskers trembling. “It is important, 6T9—it is about the Dark.”
“The Dark” dimmed his circuits and then made them flash, and his skin heated from within. Sitting up, 6T9 disconnected his power cable. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right out.”
Volka got up with a nod and left the compartment.
A few minutes later, he joined her and Carl on the bridge at the gangway to the gate. She was staring down at Shinar, through the gangway’s semi-translucent plasti-tubing, lips moving silently. Her travel bag was at her feet. Carl was sitting on her shoulders, eyes closed. Glancing up at Sixty, Volka said, “I’m trying to remember everything.” Her eyes darted down the gangway and back at him. “It’s top secret, some of it,” she whispered. “Do you think there are any bugs here?”
Aboard Sundancer, there probably weren’t. In the gangway…there was a small circular box fifteen centis in diameter just outside the ship. Ostensibly, it was there to monitor air pressure, radiation, and the like. In reality, it was probably recording everything Volka, Carl, and he said to more accurately target them for advertisements while they were in the gate terminal.
“You can’t tell me here,” he said, swinging his own bag over his shoulder. He took Volka’s in a hand. On her shoulder, Carl cocked his head. Her lips parted, though she didn’t protest. She looked up at him strangely, ears at half-mast. “I’ll follow you. Bracelet can show a holo, but if I look at that, I bump into things.”
He had already downloaded a map of the station and the gate. “Of course. Let’s go.”
