The Defiant

by C. Gockel

  Volka gasped. Her smile dropped, and her ears went back. He followed her gaze. In the distance was her little house. Sitting on the brick foundations of an old Prime building, it had a makeshift water tower in the back, just as he remembered it. But it had been repainted, and the sides were now warm orange brown and the shutters were white. There was smoke coming out of the chimney, and pots of flowers beside the door that hadn’t been there before.

  Before he could stop her, Volka bolted home.

  The wind whipped behind her back, propelling her steps as Volka charged forward. Before she was twenty-steps away from her house, the door swung open and a weere woman came out brandishing a poker. Rushing down the front steps, the woman raised it, blocking Volka’s path. Volka recognized the “weapon.” Fashioned from an iron railing, it had a wooden handle her father had whittled with his own hands.

  Skidding to a halt, Volka cried in dismay, “You’re in my house!”

  “I’ve got young boys here! You stay away,” the woman hissed, raising the poker higher, preparing to strike.

  Volka patted her sides, automatically, and gulped. She always carried a weapon. Why hadn’t she brought one today? How could she possibly have been so silly? Her eyes went to the still-open door…the door her mother had scavenged. She couldn’t see her paintings through its opening. Her feet started to move of their own accord. She saw the poker swing in the corner of her eye, too late. But Sixty’s hand caught it. His body was between her and the other woman so fast, the other weere yelped.

  Holding the poker with one hand and putting his other on Volka’s chest, Sixty said, “No one needs to get hurt.”

  “Wasn’t trying to hurt her. Just trying to keep her back,” the woman muttered, trying to jerk the poker away, but a marble statue couldn’t have been steadier than Sixty.

  “It’s my house,” Volka murmured.

  “Is not! I found it empty and fixed it up. Was a mess before I got to it!” the woman spat.

  Two boys came to the doorway. One couldn’t be older than nine; the other was thirteen or fourteen. He sniffed the air but didn’t come out.

  “It was Volka’s house before the Guard took it from her,” Sixty said coolly.

  The woman’s voice rose in pitch. “You can’t take it away from me! You can’t. You bring the Guard back here if you want it back.” Volka smelled tears, and her gaze shifted to the woman. She was older than Volka, with a tan face etched with hard lines. She had wavy auburn hair that flowed between ears with velvet the same color. Her eyes were yellow like Volka’s own, but not lined with the same kohl-like pigment. They were red and glistening with unshed tears.

  A creak of a floorboard made Volka’s eyes return to the house. A tiny girl had emerged to stand between her brothers.

  The woman’s voice became almost a sob. “You got a fancy human man. My man died. You can’t take my house away. It’s all I got. All we all got.”

  Volka took a shaky half step back. It was her house. This woman had taken it from her...Her ears fell sideways...She’d been absent for months, and the woman had taken care of it, better care than Volka had. What had Volka thought? That she’d just move back in? No, she hadn’t…still, she’d thought it would be empty, waiting for her. But why would No Weere stand still? Volka hadn’t stood still. “I…I…” Stammering, she took in the fresh paint and the flowers in buckets by the door—the children standing in the doorway. The woman had taken care of it, and she had children who needed it. Volka didn’t need it anymore.

  “I’m not going to take the house,” Volka whispered. Despite her words, she began to babble. “My father built it. I grew up here and lived here after my parents died.”

  The woman didn’t release the poker from her white-knuckled grip, but her face fell, as though the scant tears on her cheeks might turn to full-on weeping.

  Volka shivered. “Please take care of it.” She turned toward the copse of trees where she’d first found Sixty, unable to turn back the way they came and face the stares of No Weere. She heard Sixty’s footsteps behind her. When he was at her side, she drew to a stop. Sixty put a hand on her arm, perhaps fearing she’d rush the woman who still stood defensively between them and the door. She found herself wanting to lean into him, wanting him to hold her up.

  Biting her lip, Volka turned back to the woman. “What happened to the paintings?” She leaned into Sixty as she asked the question. He did hold her up, just like she’d known he would.

  Lowering the poker, the woman said, “I’m sorry, girl, they were torn to shreds. It’s a shame…they looked like they had been pretty.”

  Volka nodded. Of course the Guard would do that. “The books, the paints, and other things?”

  “Books, furniture, were all destroyed,” the woman said. “But some of the paints were still good. I gave them away to the church school.”

  Volka’s lips parted. The church “school” was a place where parents could leave their children at any time of night or day when they had to work. Not all employers were as kind as Mr. Darmadi. He’d never begrudged Volka tagging along with her parents. And certainly, not all employers would give their help’s children art supplies to play with, let them look through their books, or give impromptu art lessons.

  “The church had a fine art teacher for a while,” the woman said. “‘Fore he joined the Weere Guard.”

  Still dazed, Volka turned away again. She’d not gone two steps when the woman said, “If you come back—not in the season—I’ll make you soup.”

  Nodding, hurting too much to contemplate the offer, Volka walked toward the trees, Sixty a solid presence beside her. As they passed into the shade, Volka took a deep breath. “She’s given my house a brand-new life.” She looked up at him. The sunlight was burnishing his hair and skin. “I have a new life, too, so it’s fair.”

  Tripping a bit on a root, she admitted, “But my legs feel weak, like I’ve lost my…foundation… ”

  Sixty’s arm vanished beneath her hand but took up a new residence on her back. “I’m here to hold you up.” His hand was warm and heavy, in a good way. He wouldn’t let her fall. The warmth spread from his fingers to every inch of her body. She’d felt the same warmth earlier, when he’d put his arm around her shoulder as they skirted the angry crowd. She didn’t want it to go away.

  His hand smoothed down her side, leaving tendrils of heat in its wake. “It was a very generous thing that you did.”

  Volka shook her head. “If I was generous, I would have taught art classes before.”

  “Mr. Darmadi kept you very busy,” Sixty replied.

  She scrunched her eyes shut. “That is true. He gave me opportunities that other weere didn’t have, though. I should have given more back.” She could hear the babble of the stream she’d first found him in when he’d fallen from the sky.

  “Maybe you could do it now,” Sixty suggested. “It would be the perfect excuse to come back to No Weere and a way to make innocuous contact.”

  She took a breath. She would be helping defend the Galaxy against the Dark and teach weere children how to draw and paint. Her hand fell to his hand on her side. “Sixty,” she laughed. “Sometimes you’re a genius.”

  His fingers slid between hers, and she flushed head to toe. She had to get away from him just to think, to cool down. The stream was in sight, and she pulled out of his grip. Instantly missing him, she still felt too hot…Eyes on the water, she reached down to take off her shoes. She’d wade in, just a bit.

  “Volka,” Sixty said, his voice very serious.

  Hands pausing, she looked back. He was only a few steps away, but it felt like too far.

  He frowned. “Don’t go in the water. It has levels of toxins in it that are unsafe.”

  “I’ve been in it loads of times,” she said, turning around and backing toward the stream. Imagining the sand in the stream between her bare toes and splashing him on the bank, she grinned down at her shoe, still not off…looked up and he wasn’t there. She gasped, rose, and back
ed right into him. “Not amusing,” he whispered, his breath warm on the back of her neck.

  She closed her eyes, imagining his hands coming around and pulling her closer. Startled by her own thoughts, she sprung away. He was Sixty, and he was…well, himself. Scanning the ground, she licked her lips. “Maybe we should go to the North checkpoint to leave?” They could walk along the creek that way. She needed the shade. Pulling at her sleeves, she headed off along the trail. “Is it hot?”

  “No,” Sixty replied.

  “Just me then,” Volka muttered, and then winced, expecting the innuendo-laced comment that would come. It didn’t. Her legs still felt weak. “I think I’m hungry. I feel lightheaded. There is a restaurant by the North checkpoint.” She turned back to him but couldn’t look him in the eye. “It caters to humans, too. Mr. Darmadi even ate there when he came down for my parents’ funerals.”

  Joining her on the trail, Sixty took her hand, his grip firm this time, not teasing. “Since you’re lightheaded.”

  She flushed again. It was hot. Maybe his temperature receptors were wrong. Was she catching a fever? She couldn’t release his hand; it was the only thing solid. The ground and her body didn’t seem to be.

  They walked for a few minutes in companionable silence, and then Sixty asked, “When did your parents die, Volka?”

  After all the years, the question still made her chest constrict. She took a few more steps and saw the opening in the trees and the streets near the North checkpoint, one of the few places humans entered No Weere.

  Her pace slowed. “My father died when I was twelve. My mother when I was fourteen.”

  “You lived alone in your family’s house since then?” Sixty’s hand tightened around hers.

  “Yes,” Volka said.

  Sixty stopped and reeled her closer. Or maybe she stepped closer, she wasn’t sure. It was warm no matter what Sixty said, but she still fought an urge to press herself against him.

  “Don’t be alone again, Volka,” Sixty said seriously, eyes on hers.

  Volka took a half step forward, just catching herself before their bodies touched, but she was not able to look away. “Well, you did promise me you’d be with me when I died.” Insects buzzed around them, not biting, just catching the sunlight like tiny stars.

  Sixty did not back away. “I did.”

  Volka’s ear folded submissively. “But maybe you say that to all the girls.” And all the boys. She swallowed.

  Sixty’s free hand caressed her ear, his touch light and slow. Reverent. Trails of heat followed his fingers. She closed her eyes and leaned into him.

  “No, only you,” Sixty whispered.

  Volka’s eyes opened and rose to his lips. She felt drawn to them as though by gravity. Her free hand drifted up his chest to where his heart would be. There was no beat, only a barely perceptible hum…It was a nice hum, and otherwise he felt like a man. He was warm, he felt like flesh and bone, and despite the slight smell of grease and plastic—things a human could pick up working in a garage or on a factory line—he smelled human, and like no one other than himself. She gathered his shirt in her hand and pulled him closer to her. “I need you, Sixty.”

  His lips were on Volka’s in less than a heartbeat, and stars erupted behind her eyelids. The kiss wasn’t frenzied; it was long and slow. Perfect. Volka’s body felt like it had turned to liquid. Dizzy, she fell…only centimeters, landing on her heels. She hadn’t realized she’d lifted to her tiptoes. She opened her eyes and found Sixty’s gaze searching hers.

  “I think,” he whispered, “that I’ve been waiting for that for over a hundred years.”

  Breaking into a smile so wide it hurt, Volka nodded. She felt as though a piece she hadn’t known had been missing had fallen into place. Alaric would die for her. She knew that. Ben had died for her and the galaxy. Sixty would live for her. He couldn’t give her children—but she couldn’t give anyone children. She’d found someone who wouldn’t mind. That was a thought that usually made her unhappy, but in this moment, she was so happy she felt like she would burst. His lips were too far away. Knuckles aching from how tightly she held his shirt, she pulled him down again. “I want you.”

  Sixty’s lips were on hers again, and this time she was demanding. She hated the clothes between them, and her hands went to his collar. He caught her fingers, and his lips left hers, but before she could complain, they were on her neck. The new kisses stoked new fires, and for a moment it was enough, but then it wasn’t. Her fingers frantically fought his grip, but he didn’t release her hands.

  Pulling away, his voice slipped into his Android General 1 tone. “Not in this forest, Volka. I want you to live for a thousand years.”

  “You’re worried about a little pollution at a time like this?” The words came out a hiss.

  In the same serious tone, he said, “I am going to burn your shoes later so they never touch your skin again.”

  The words melted her as much as the kisses. He wanted to take care of her.

  “I’m not going make it to the embassy,” she said, unable to look away from his gaze. “I need you now.” The words came before she’d thought, but as soon as she heard them, she knew they were true.

  Groaning, Sixty kissed the other side of her neck. “Think of another place,” he said, voice almost a whisper but still commanding.

  Her eyes got wide. “I do know a place.” Anyone who saw them would know they were lovers, but what did it matter? They were, and everyone had seen it before she had herself.

  Slipping just far enough away, she led him along the trail. Just before they left the trees, she stopped and turned to him. “I miss you already,” she confessed. Sixty swept her up with one arm as though she weighed nothing, and her legs wrapped around him. His free hand caressed her ear, and she rubbed the other side of her head against his. Pulling back, she almost kissed him, and then she smelled her scent on his skin.

  Her lips parted in sudden understanding. She was in season. Everything fell into place. It was why the scent of Chung on Barnaby had disgusted her so much this morning. Why they’d received so much hate from the male weere. Why the woman inhabiting her house had wanted to keep Volka away from her boy. The scent of her was putting weere men into a frenzy. It wasn’t time, but maybe coming home had triggered it?

  Setting her down, Sixty’s brow furrowed in concern. Stroking her ear, he whispered, “What’s wrong, Volka?”

  Was anything wrong? Volka’s mother had described the season as a gift. She’d said, “It forces us out of our sorrow and loneliness. Helps us take the risks we need to find love or to rekindle love when life is hard.”

  Volka’s old life was gone. It was time to start over.

  “Nothing is wrong,” she said. Taking his hand, she led him from the trees to the streets of No Weere.

  20

  Programmed For Love

  Planet Luddeccea: No Weere

  Volka had never been in the Hotel No Weere before. It wasn’t an ordinary weere house where weere girls and boys would service dozens of men a night—it was a fancy place for patrons and the weere they patronized. Built of scavenged wooden beams, with corrugated iron for shutters, on the outside it hadn’t looked much different than the other buildings, except it was a few stories taller. The lobby was a different matter. It was very clean, with a plush, ornate carpet underfoot and a crystal chandelier overhead. There were couches and overstuffed chairs where human men sat. Young weere women walked among them, each clutching the arm of an older weere woman. Tucked into nooks screened off by potted plants were weere women and human men. Hotel No Weere was a place human males came to offer their patronage, and later, to meet with their weere discreetly. So it wasn’t quite a brothel. Volka wouldn’t care if it had been. At the reception desk, she put down an exorbitant amount of Luddeccean Credits. “We need a room, please,” she said, hoping it didn’t sound too much like begging.

  The woman behind the desk smiled, sharp or kindly, Volka couldn’t tell. “I can tell that
you do.” Deftly slipping all of the credits into a lock box out of view, she said, “Let me see what is available.” She glanced at Sixty. Had her eyes lingered?

  Fighting the urge to snap at her or to rip off Sixty’s clothes then and there, Volka backed against him. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled their bodies flush and kissed her neck. It was possessive and she loved it. Closing her eyes, she enjoyed his warmth, his touch, and knowing the other weere woman would know she’d have to fight her to get to him.

  “I have the key,” he whispered in her ear.

  Somewhere far off, the woman behind the counter was saying, “Wait until you get to your room, or we will charge you extra.” Sixty pulled her in the direction of the stairs with the same feverish urgency she felt.

  He swung her up into his arms on the stairwell, and they crashed up the staircase. Volka loosened his collar and rolled the side of her head against his neck. Sixty whispered delightfully naughty things in her ear that made her laugh with lust and joy. She didn’t think it was just the season making her feel that he was really good at this.

  He didn’t put her down until they were in the hotel room. She began tearing at the buttons on his shirt before he’d even closed the door. She needed this. She felt so empty in her core. Fingers digging into her hips, he whispered, “Can you let me know what brought this on? If it was something I did, I want to do it again.”

  “It’s the season,” Volka said, pausing her crusade against the buttons to kiss his chest, savoring the hum there and rubbing her head against him. She could feel his hardware against her stomach, and it made her lick her lips.

  “The summer?” Sixty asked.

  She laughed. The season made her unabashed and unafraid of being crude. “No, I’m in heat. Mad with lust…” She ripped off a button and growled. “I need this.” She needed to be full.

  Sixty’s hands dropped to his sides. “Ah, well, leave it to the sex ‘bot to take it for the team.”