by C. Gockel
Gesturing to Sixty’s severed limb, Volka said, “FET12, would you please pick up that arm and bring it here?”
“Yes, Miss Volka,” FET12 replied, hurrying to do as asked.
“You can give it to me,” said one of the men in Fleet Grays. He smiled down at Volka. “We can take it from here.”
Ignoring him, FET12 retrieved the arm, hopped up onto the chunk of cement, and stood close to Sixty and Volka, clutching Sixty’s arm to his chest.
Volka turned to Noa. “Admiral, if you don’t mind, I’m going to stay with Sixty until he’s better.”
“We’ve got him,” James assured her. “We need to talk to you.”
Volka didn’t budge. “I’m staying with Sixty.”
James lips parted, as though he had more to say, but Noa lightly touched his arm.
“I’d appreciate her company,” Sixty said.
“Of course,” said Noa.
The man with gray hair raised an eyebrow at Noa and James, and then said, “That’s fine, of course.”
Noa held out a hand toward the stranger. “Volka, this is Darren Starcrest. Darren Starcrest, Volka, Sixty, Carl, and Sundancer hardly need an introduction.”
“Indeed, not,” said Starcrest. He bowed slightly. “Miss Volka, when your friend is operational again, I do need to talk to you about an urgent matter.”
Catching emotions from people was normal for Volka, but sometimes, when she was exceptionally exhausted, she could read their thoughts. When she looked at Starcrest, she didn’t see herself in his eyes, she saw her home-world. “After Sixty is fixed, you can tell me all about it…but I already know.”
Starcrest rolled back on his heels as though startled.
Sixty had been lightly grasping her wrist. His grip tightened.
Carl hissed and lashed his tail.
Helping Sixty to his feet, she murmured to herself, “You want me to go home…back to Luddeccea.”
6T9 sat on a tool bench in what could charitably be called the “machine shop” of the Fleet shuttle. It was more of a closet with tools. The drab, gray space was so narrow that FET12 was standing in the door frame, keeping it from closing, just to allow the mechanic to move about. Carl was seated on 6T9’s freshly repaired thigh—probably because the synth muscles and skin grafts were still warm. Volka was squeezed into the corner on 6T9’s uninjured side. What she was seeing—the mechanic currently stretching new skin over the top of his injured, still detached arm—made static flare beneath his skin. He didn’t like being disgusting to humans. But then, she’d seen him without a face. Maybe this would be mild in comparison. Also, he had an irrational fear that if they were separated, he’d emerge from the shuttle and find that she’d been whisked away by Fleet. How they’d manage that without him opening the airlocks—well actually, they’d be very capable of it if they cared to do so. His Q-comm fired off all the weapons at their disposal and the ways they could break through the asteroid’s defenses…and then it began dredging up data that was even more disturbing…Were they going to “request” she accept the “patronage” of Commander Ran? They’d tried to blackmail her into doing it before. She’d rejected the “request,” but that had been before Ben had died, and before Volka had vowed to do anything to help defeat the Dark…she wouldn’t prostitute herself…would she? Such a thing would be fine for him, but not for her.
Maybe they’d thought of some other way to have her play spy on Luddeccea. But the Luddeccean government had been trying to kill her when Carl and 6T9 had rescued her. Granted, there had been a regime change since then, but she’d be a second-class citizen. Her safety couldn’t be guaranteed.
Crossing her arms, Volka said, “Well, are we going to talk about it?”
“I was hoping we would,” Sixty said.
Lowering her arms, Volka exhaled. “Good. Do you know why all the ‘bots and androids on S5O4 know your Android General 1 nickname?”
6T9 blinked. They weren’t talking about Starcrest wanting her to go back to Luddeccea?
The mechanic looked up from where he was still working with 6T9’s skin. He also blinked. Granted, all the ‘bots and androids knowing his nickname was shocking.
“Well?” said Volka.
“I don’t know why—” said 6T9.
“Aren’t you curious?” Volka asked.
His circuits fired. “No.”
Volka’s mouth fell open. “But it’s odd, isn’t it? Don’t you care?”
“Care, yes. Curious…” He frowned. “Not enough to go poking around in places I don’t want to go.”
“Poking around? What places?” Volka asked, a crease forming between her brows. His local systems, designed to be responsive to human emotions, and his Q-comm that couldn’t not process just about all input emotional and otherwise, both identified the expression. Concern. Worry. For him. He wanted to smooth the crease away with his thumb or his lips…an echo of his core programming.
Volka leaned closer. “Shouldn’t you know who did it…I mean, it seems odd.”
His Q-comm fired again. She didn’t know. “It is odd,” he said. “But I know who did it, which is why I don’t want to know why.”
Her eyes went wide, and local and remote programming told him she was surprised. His world was so different than the one she came from; sometimes he was surprised by how much she understood—and sometimes by how little she did understand. “Multiple models by multiple manufacturers all knew me. All of them had the information in their local databases,” 6T9 said. “There was only one machine that could have programmed all of them.”
She tilted her head. The mechanic, who probably put it together, looked back at 6T9’s arm.
“Time Gate 5.” 6T9 winced. “I don’t want to know why.”
“Why not?” she asked, and there was that distracting crease again.
6T9 lifted his good hand. “You’ve talked with Time Gate 1. The older gates have God complexes. I’d rather not indulge them.” Or deal with their insults. Plenty of androids looked down on him for his lusts; the gates were worse.
“Oh,” said Volka.
His hand lifted, and he leaned forward, about to smooth that crease—
The mechanic said, “This arm is pretty beat up and I don’t have enough synth skin for a proper repair. We have a replacement that could serve.”
Sixty’s hand dropped, and his head turned toward the man with speed that would be disturbing to 88.8% of humans. “It has sensory memory and autonomic reflexes I wish to keep.” He managed to keep his voice calm, but his remaining hand flexed, and then his fingers went to the ashes that were in his coat, now lying beside him on the table. Getting rid of his tactile memory seemed as wrong as disposing of her ashes. “I’ll get a graft later,” 6T9 added, proud at how level his voice was.
Shaking his head, the mechanic said, “It won’t be operational more’n a week if you don’t cover the joint. Too much of the skin is missing; dust, debris, and moisture will get in.” He held up the arm for Sixty to see. The skin was melted halfway down the metal humerus. The humerus itself had a chunk missing and was going to have to be replaced—6T9 could see several in a box along the wall, and plenty of rubber tendons, and synth muscles. But the mechanic was right. The joint needed coverage. His circuits dimmed.
“Could we cover it with that?” Volka said, pointing to a roll of shiny silver tape.
6T9’s Q-comm hummed.
The mechanic scratched the back of his head. “I thought that sex ‘bots put a priority on appearing human.”
Q-comm sparking, 6T9 pointed to Volka—or rather, gestured with his stump. His systems hadn’t quite caught up with the fact that he had no arm there. The mechanical equivalent of a phantom limb? Fascinating. “She doesn’t mind, so I don’t.”
“Oh, I see,” said the mechanic. “Well, all right then, if your girl doesn’t mind...” He took out a replacement humerus, and some rubber tendon and synth muscle and began replacing the ones that had been melted.
…And the implications of
“your girl” hit 6T9 like a sledgehammer to the Q-comm. For a moment he went offline, and then came back online with a start, Q-comm informing him that the mechanic “saw” a sexual relationship between Volka and himself. Which would be delightful, of course, but wasn’t the case. 6T9 had meant that she was Luddeccean and, if it didn’t bother her, it shouldn’t bother anyone. He had no problems with such misunderstandings, but Volka might. He looked at her. She was smirking and rolling her eyes but didn’t appear discomfited.
He almost smirked back, but then remembered what he had been obsessing about when she distracted him with her own worries. “Why does the Fleet want you back on Luddeccea?” He didn’t quite shout it.
On his lap, Carl sat up with a start.
Volka shrugged. “I don’t know exactly.”
Carl yawned. “They want you to be attaché to Starcrest, the Galactic Republic’s Ambassador in charge of the embassy in New Prime on Luddeccea.”
“We don’t have an embassy on Luddeccea in New Prime,” Sixty declared.
Scratching behind an ear, Carl yawned. “We will soon.”
The mechanic, a few steps away, dropped a pair of tendon pliers on the floor. “I think you just let me in on intel above my security clearance.”
Twitching his whiskers, Carl sniffed and eyed the doorway FET12 was standing in. “I think I just let the whole shuttle in on that intel.”
James and Starcrest appeared behind FET12. FET12 jumped and spun, backing into Volka. Static fizzed along 6T9’s spine. That was not normal behavior for a machine designed to be a sex ‘bot. Had the pirates aboard the Copperhead programmed him to be afraid? His Q-comm sparked, and for a moment all his circuits went dark. It would be something a certain type of human might enjoy. His head jerked to the side.
Volka put her hand on FET12’s shoulder. “It will be okay,” she said. “I promise.” FET12 pressed against her and didn’t move.
Starcrest cleared his throat, and James said, “You have informed the rest of the crew of top-secret intel.”
“Volka,” Starcrest said, looking down his nose at her, “it would be much appreciated if you’d come with me to discuss the situation somewhere private.”
Volka shifted as though she were about to step forward, but then she stopped. “No. What you tell me you can say in front of Carl and 6T9.”
Starcrest drew himself up a little taller. James lifted an eyebrow. Volka’s eyes narrowed, and her ears flicked. “No, offense Ambassador-to-be,” she said, “but although the Republic on the whole has been good to me, I’ve been offered opportunities by your officials as well.” The last came out a growl.
The ambassador’s jaw went slack.
James tilted his head.
Carl bolted up to his four most hind limbs.
6T9 smiled in relief. She wasn’t going to mindlessly obey them.
Volka’s lips pursed. “You don’t want me for my academic honors. On Luddeccea, I’m a second-class citizen. Attaching me to the Republic’s Diplomatic Corp makes as much sense as the Athenians sending a helot to play diplomat in Sparta.”
They’d learned about the second-class citizens known as the helots among the ancient Spartans together. The comparison wasn’t far off. Noticing the ambassador touching his neural interface, Sixty smirked. “Give him a moment to download that reference from the ether, Volka.”
The faintest of smiles tugged at James’s lips.
Carl sniffed in what sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
Volka’s ears flicked. The ambassador-to-be flushed and dropped his hand.
Volka said, “You have some other plan in mind for me and I want witnesses when you tell me what it is.” She smiled ever so sweetly at James. “You’re welcome to stay, too.”
“I know what he’s going to say,” James replied. He nodded at 6T9 and Carl. “And I see you’re in good hands…and paws.” To the mechanic, James said, “Shipman, you’re with me.”
Leaving his work on the table beside 6T9, the mechanic hurried from the room and followed James. With FET12 beside Volka, there was just barely room enough for the door to slide closed.
Carl twisted his body toward Starcrest, appearing vaguely cobra-like. 6T9 tilted his head and tried to meet the diplomat’s gaze. Starcrest avoided his eyes and didn’t look at Carl. The human’s shoulders fell infinitesimally, and he cleared his throat. “You are correct; although your title would be attaché, we need you for something more dangerous than an aide position.”
Volka crossed her arms. “What is it? And why me in particular? I know things that the Luddecceans don’t want weere or humans knowing; things that they were willing to kill me for. Also, I’m a weere…there’s only one way I can get close enough to Luddeccean humans to spy on them, and I’m not going to do it. So forget trying to make me Ran’s weere.”
6T9’s Q-comm hummed. He wondered if they asked her to be Captain Darmadi’s weere if she’d be so unwilling. His head tic returned, and he put his remaining hand behind his neck to stabilize it.
Hands going behind his back, Starcrest said, “We don’t want you to spy. We want you to recruit.”
“Recruit?” Volka asked, ears going back as though she were annoyed.
“Recruit weere,” said Starcrest. “Weere are sensitive to the Dark. There are a few left in System 11, but with thousands of space ports, colonies, and outposts scattered across the Republic, not nearly enough.”
Volka shook her head. “I’m female…and I’m rumored to be the wee—rumored to be involved with a human man. No self-respecting weere man would ever follow me.”
Static flared beneath 6T9’s skin. Obsessions with purity were as archaic as marriage.
“We’re not interested in the men,” Starcrest said. “They’re being actively recruited by the Luddeccean Guard. If we focused on them…” He winced. “I’m sure they’d…object. We’re interested in the women.”
Volka’s lips parted. She stood a little straighter and slipped out from behind FET12. 6T9’s Q-comm fired in alarm. He knew the look of intent on her face…
Perhaps not knowing he’d won, Starcrest continued. “We know that you weren’t allowed to join Fleet because you aren’t ethernet compatible. We know that may be a case for a great many of the weere recruits, so we’re creating a special division that will be connected to the ether by devices like the one on your wrist. They’ll receive Fleet salary and benefits. They will not be second-class citizens of the Republic.”
“I’ll go,” said Volka, too quickly, as 6T9 knew she would. His circuits went dark.
“And so will I,” Carl declared. He yawned and licked a droplet of venom off a fang, smacked his lips, and narrowed his eyes at Starcrest. “I presume we’ll be taking Sundancer, and you’ll need me as a backup pilot if something happens to Volka.”
Starcrest actually smiled. “I’d thought I’d have to convince you. We do need you to be backup pilot.”
“I’m going too.” The words were out of 6T9’s mouth before he’d thought them through. As soon as he said them, his Q-comm started humming. He and Carl both needed to be present on the asteroid for a certain amount of time or it would revert to the possession of its former owner’s family. But they’d been living here fairly consistently for a few months—they could leave for a few months based on the local system’s laws on what constituted residency. However, Luddeccea wasn’t a place he’d typically think of abandoning the asteroid for. Luddecceans were ultra-religious and…
Volka smiled and his Q-comm stopped humming.
Starcrest frowned. “We hadn’t been considering taking an android…what with the Luddecceans being so averse to technology.”
“Any weere who come to the Republic will have to get used to it,” Volka said.
Starcrest’s eyes slid to her, and then back to 6T9. “This is a mission, diplomatic, but a mission, nonetheless. You won’t be able to…” he waved a hand, “...do what you do in the Republic with Bart, Celeste, Walker—”
Hands going to her hips, Volka
demanded, “How closely are you spying on us?”
Sixty felt the electric heat of pride and satisfaction. Winking at Starcrest, he said, “I bet you learned a few things if you were spying closely.” Q-comm sparking with possibilities, he asked, “Do you have it on holo?”
Starcrest flushed. “And the rest…”
“...and the rest?” Volka said in a tiny voice.
“The Marines who stayed here,” 6T9 helpfully supplied.
“Oh,” said Volka.
Carl slapped a paw over his nose.
To Starcrest, 6T9 said, “Can I watch them? The holos, I mean. I am the star in them. It only seems fair.”
Three other paws joined the first over Carl’s nose.
“Dalliance on Luddeccea might get you slagged,” Starcrest finished. “It might get us all slagged.”
6T9’s Q-comm sparked. He’d just been told, ‘no.’ Diplomatically. His synth skin heated with sparking circuits. “I can refrain from maintenance while I’m on Luddeccea.”
Volka blinked. “Without a change in programming?”
“Can you?” said the ambassador-to-be.
“You are familiar with the former owner of this asteroid?” 6T9 asked.
“The elderly, heavyset lady in the painting in the library?” Volka asked.
“Yes, I knew her,” the ambassador replied dryly. “That painting doesn’t adequately capture her charms.”
“No, it does not,” 6T9 agreed. “She was several dozen kilos heavier when I knew her. I didn’t fulfill my maintenance routines with her—or anyone—for four years.”
“That hardly seems like an imposition,” said the ambassador.
6T9’s Q-comm informed him what that meant, and he wished it hadn’t. His lips turned up in disgust. “You humans and your beauty standards.”
The ambassador’s eyes narrowed. “You need a reason to come with us to Luddeccea.”
…And 6T9’s Q-comm saved him. “You’ll need an embassy chef. One familiar with Luddeccean cuisine.”
“He does cook an excellent Founders’ Feast,” Volka said. “Even Archbishop Kenji Sato said so.”
