by C. Gockel
6T9 almost relaxed, but then the gate continued. “However, they have Fleet-grade anti-jamming devices.”
6T9’s Q-comm hummed. It was only when he felt dust settle in his eyes that he realized he’d been standing absolutely motionless for 3.4 minutes. His eyes teared, and he blinked. Michael was standing with Strom and the Luddecceans. Everyone was staring at him.
“What is it? Malfunction?” Michael asked.
“They’re not trying to beat down the door anymore,” 6T9 whispered.
The little cleaning ‘bot hummed. “Indeed, not. My sensors detect they have retreated.”
“It can’t take the gate before they arrive,” 6T9 whispered.
“That’s good, right?” Strom asked.
6T9’s Q-comm went white, remembering the corpses at Reich’s research facility. It had been completely senseless, cruel, unnecessary death. “It will try to inflict as much damage as it possibly can … however it can.”
The little ‘bot beeped and spoke with Gate 5’s voice again. “They can blow up their sections, but I can counter the forces with my own thrusters, and by strategic off-gassing. The people on this side of the quarantine and my servers are safe.”
6T9’s Q-comm still hummed in apprehension. He pulled data on the most recent starship battles in the system—the retired admiral who’d assumed command of the uninfected members of the System’s Local Guard had drawn the fighting to the more sparsely inhabited portion of the planet. Which left the most densely populated city, New Grande, exposed. 6T9’s vision returned, and he said with certainty, “Gate 5, you will no longer be its main objective.”
His eyes met Michael’s. The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed, though no ether connection hummed between them.
The little cleaning ‘bot declared, “A ship just launched from the Infected side. And another! They’re abandoning us!”
“They’re going to infect New Grande, aren’t they?” Michael whispered.
6T9’s eyes went to the upside down horizon where Virginia had gone. “The Infected aboard are from this system. They’ll go to their homes … lots of people will let them in.”
The gate was safe. He wanted to call Volka. He wanted to go home—which was any place she was—the asteroid, Time Gate 1, their starship—it didn’t matter. But the planet—and millions of lives—were in danger.
“Do they have ground forces in New Grande?” Ko asked.
“The system’s ground forces are on the other side of that airlock,” Michael said. The Infected, in other words.
Gate 5 said, “I have already contacted Admiral Nilsson—he will divert some of his forces. But if he brings the bulk of the battle to the skies above New Grande, even more civilians may die in the crossfire.”
6T9’s processors whirred. If he stayed here, Volka would spend more time alone with Darmadi. But hadn’t he changed his programming to save her life? Millions of new Infected …
If he went to her, he’d be even less than the man she’d fallen in love with. And yet, he’d have her. His Q-comm supplied vivid memories of the softness of her ears, the feel of her pressed against him, the pressure of her lips on his after he’d proposed. She’d never said yes. He’d accepted that passion as an affirmative, but was it? She was telepathically linked to Darmadi, and he was on Time Gate 1. He huffed bitterly—with a telepathic link, did it matter where the captain was?
6T9’s hand fluttered to his side, and he felt the packet that was Eliza’s ashes beneath his suit. What would Eliza do? Nebulas. Eliza had given him a Q-comm expecting him to leave her; she’d given it to him so he could be free.
Conversation was swirling around him. But 6T9 tuned it out, downloading data on the planet below. Maps, geography, geology, current conditions, imports, exports, and manufacturing …
When he spoke, his jaw was tight. “I have the perfect army.”
8
Mission Creep
Galactic Republic: Time Gate 1
In the Diplomatic Corps residence, Volka finished putting on the glove of her envirosuit.
Bracelet declared, “We’re sealed below the neck, Miss Volka. May I suggest putting on the helmet?”
Flexing her fingers, Volka winced. “The helmet smooshes my ears, and doesn’t let me hear properly. The Dark isn’t aboard Time Gate 1.”
“Mmm …” said Bracelet. “Another reason not to have a physical form.”
Volka huffed. Bending down, she retrieved said helmet and Carl. The werfle was already in his own envirosuit, snoring softly. Maybe she should try reaching Sixty again … She bit her lip. No, he’d call them when he could.
With a deep breath, she exited the room, Carl and helmet in her hands. She had plenty of time to reach Sundancer, and she didn’t have to hurry, but she did. With Carl asleep and Sixty on Time Gate 5, the Diplomatic Corps Residence felt lonely even though there were plenty of people. There was some sort of meeting going on, and men and women in somber colored high-necked suits came and went. There were two Fleet Marines she didn’t recognize standing guard outside the conference room. They wore combat uniforms with heavy phaser-proof vests and held stunner rifles at the ready. When Volka came into their line of vision, their heads snapped to her but their eyes immediately got vacant and their frames relaxed—presumably as they checked her identity over the ether. The men and women in suits didn’t react to Volka at all.
She hurried to leave the residence, and then through the crowded, though hushed, promenade of Time Gate 1. In the Galactic Republic, most people relied on the ether to converse in public. Speaking was reserved for strangers whose ethernet address you didn’t know, or children whose neural ports hadn’t been activated yet.
When she reached Sundancer’s berth, she found Lieutenant Young and his team were already there, going through some gear. The scientist-engineer type person who’d been with them at Reich was there, too—he’d designed Sundancer’s armor and her weapons, and Volka should know his name. Dr. Patrick … somebody. Dr. Patrick was wearing an envirosuit but carried no weapons. He had a tablet in hand and was hovering over half-a-dozen crates.
As Volka approached, Sundancer radiated a happy yellow glow that had giddy pterys rising in her stomach.
Young looked up, smiled, and said, “Hiya, Volka!”
Her steps got lighter. It was nice to be seen, especially when things otherwise were so … bleak. She thought of the last time she’d seen Sixty. It had been right before they’d picked up Alaric—
“You brought my space kitty!” The exclamation came from Rhinehart, the weapons specialist. She grinned at Carl, still asleep in Volka’s arms, and mimed scratching him behind the ears.
Jerome snickered. “Space kitty.”
Volka’s lips quirked. “He prefers to be thought of as a demo—”
“You’re here,” Dr. Patrick said. He said the words so crossly Volka looked surreptitiously at Bracelet to make sure she wasn’t late. She wasn’t. Her ears flicked.
“We need to get these drones aboard,” he continued. He pointed to the crates and up at Sundancer. “It won’t open up for me.”
“It is a she,” Volka replied defensively.
“How do you know that?” he asked.
Volka’s ears went back. “I just do.”
The doctor scowled at her.
“I feel it,” Volka clarified.
He lifted his chin.
She wasn’t telepathic, but looking up his nose, she knew that hadn’t clarified the matter for him at all. She flushed in frustration. Of course, he was a scientist; he wouldn’t believe in anything that he couldn’t measure. She sighed, exasperated, almost threw up her hands, not knowing what to say, and then she did know what to say. Smirking, she replied, “‘There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, than you dream of in your cold science.’” It was the only bit of Shakespeare she knew—she found the Old English very difficult to follow—but it had its desired effect.
Dr. Patrick gaped at her.
Bracelet made a coughing noise a
nd whispered, “… it’s ‘dreamt of in your philosophy.’ Although, technically ‘philosophy’ could be translated as science in this instance.”
Dr. Patrick touched his port, and Volka knew he was searching the internet for the reference.
Smiling at the small triumph, she walked past him and lifted her hand up to touch her friend and spaceship. Sundancer glowed brighter, and she felt the ship trying to dispel the shadows in her heart. Volka sent a wave of gratitude to the ship, and then she envisioned all of the Marines and their gear inside. Sundancer opened her keel and then abruptly dimmed.
Volka turned around. Most of the Marines were going about their business, teasing each other as they did. Young, by contrast, looked grim. Dr. Patrick was touching his port, looking serious, but thoughtful.
Carl shifted in her arms and sighed. She felt him wake—felt his mind connect with hers. Usually, when he woke, he found something grumpy to say, but his necklace didn’t so much as crackle and he didn’t grumble into her mind. A chill crept up Volka’s spine.
“What is it?” Volka whispered to Young, Carl, and Sundancer.
Young’s jaw got hard, and his next words were a low rumble. “We’ve been given a different mission.”
Dr. Patrick lowered his hand from his port. “It’s a good idea. We should pursue every option, especially non-violent ones.”
Young’s glance at the scientist shot daggers.
“We have to try,” Dr. Patrick said, and he reminded Volka of someone, but she wasn’t sure who.
“Try what?” she asked.
Young answered, “The Republic is going to send a diplomatic envoy to meet with the Dark.”
“They want us to take them,” Dr. Patrick said.
Volka’s eyes returned to Young. “We can’t take a diplomatic envoy to meet with the Dark. It will be a suicide mission—”
“You don’t know that,” Dr. Patrick protested.
Volka kept her gaze trained on Young. “—and we will be murderers if we help them.”
Young’s shoulders straightened. “We won’t be murderers.”
“You know what the Dark will do!” Volka exclaimed.
Young’s brow furrowed, and he looked pained.
“Carl!” Volka lifted the werfle so his bewhiskered snout faced her. “You know what it will do. The One can’t let this happen!”
His nose trembled. “The One will not stand in the way.”
Volka almost shook him. “I’ve already got the deaths of children on my conscience!” Their faces still gave her nightmares. She didn’t need a new batch of terrors.
She heard Dr. Patrick inhale sharply.
Young put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve seen the reports, Volka. You weren’t to blame for that.”
Carl nodded vigorously. “Remember, even Sixty said there was no other way.”
Volka pulled Young’s hand off her shoulder. “But there must be another way. They can’t send an envoy to the Dark.”
“You don’t know that it won’t work,” Dr. Patrick protested.
Volka spun to him. “No one who has met the Dark believes that.” She turned back to Young. “You have to dissuade this … this … envoy—”
“Ambassador Zhao,” Carl said. “He was in the conference room of the Diplomatic Corps when we left.”
“I have informed them of the risks,” Young replied.
Ears flicking, Volka said, “You know the risks, yet you’ll blindly follow their orders to take the envoy to … wherever—”
“Where is still being worked out,” Carl interjected.
“Not blindly,” Young said, drawing himself taller. “But I will follow my orders. So will my team.”
Volka’s ears swiveled. The team had stopped their tasks and had gathered around Young, the doctor, and her. She looked for sympathy in their eyes—and found it—but none of them said they agreed with her.
Carl sighed. “Perhaps … perhaps it is for the best, Hatchling.”
“It’s for the best that I escort a human to a fate worse than death?” Volka demanded.
Carl’s whiskers quivered. “Hatchling—”
Shaking her head, Volka thrust him into Rhinehart’s arms.
Turning from them all, she all but ran from the berth. “I need to think.” That was a lie. What she really needed to do was talk to someone who wasn’t a member of The One—humans that were not their “pets” were disposable to them, and not a member of Fleet—Young and the others were going to follow their orders no matter what. She needed someone who would care about the death of civilians. She needed Sixty.
“Bracelet, connect me to Sixty!” she ordered, and then added, “Please?”
“Of course, Ms. Volka,” Bracelet replied. “Attempting it now …”
Volka’s feet carried her out to the promenade, out to the pack of hushed bodies hurrying to their gates.
“Bracelet?” she whispered.
“I think … he’s busy,” Bracelet replied.
Volka’s shoulders fell, and then she realized something. “What would you do, Bracelet? How would you change their minds?” Bracelet was a machine, with more computing power than Volka had and access to more knowledge. Her heart rate sped up, and her stomach fluttered. She did not want to be a murderer, not again, not of someone who didn’t wish to do her any harm.
“Miss Volka … I … I’m only a few days old.”
Drawing to a halt, Volka gazed down at the coppery device and then closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, forgive me, Bracelet.”
Around her, pedestrians flowed in etherly hush. She looked about helplessly. Who could she turn to? Where was Sixty when she needed him most?
9
Containing the Flood
Galactic Republic: Time Gate 5
“An army?” Time Gate 5 said.
“An army?” Michael repeated.
“What army?” asked Commander Ko.
6T9 found himself staring at the enormous airlock doors that held back the Infected. Or had held them back—now they were leaving, on their way to the place where they could cause the most chaos and despair: New Grande, the largest city of the planet below.
“New Grande is the largest manufacturer of …” 6T9’s Q-comm sparked. Could he tell a secret here? The Dark knew that Fleet was on its way, despite spotty ethernet. Could he trust every single member of Time Gate 5’s police? Even if they didn’t deliberately reveal intelligence, could they by accident? He glanced at one of the toppled security ‘bots. Smiling grimly, he lied, “… Security ‘bots in the galaxy. At any given time, there are over 100,000 waiting to be shipped from the RoboForce Factory alone.”
“They are yours to reprogram and command, Android General 1,” Time Gate 5 declared from the cleaning ‘bot body. “I will give you access to the factory.”
6T9 met the single camera eye on top of the ‘bot. Time Gate 5 was contracted to handle cyber security for most of the planet below. If it let him in to steal 100,000 ‘bots, it would lose those contracts … and probably be charged with grand larceny. 6T9 probably would be, too. “Thank you,” he murmured. The camera eye winked.
Commander Ko eyed the security ‘bots, now deactivated. “Would these things stand a chance against the Dark?”
“No, they won’t,” 6T9 admitted, and then lied again. “But they’ll be able to delay the Dark’s advance with their sheer numbers.” Security ‘bots, even the ones that were more agile than the ones serving as barriers here, were too obvious; they’d never get close enough to the Dark’s forces to delay anything. He waited for someone to point that out.
“It’s worth a shot,” Police Chief Strom said, and 6T9 thanked the random forces of the universe that humans could be so unreasonably optimistic.
Her brow furrowed, and she added, “They’ll need leaders.”
Michael said, “I can contact some of the Fleet personnel on the surface.”
6T9 considered that. “How many could rendezvous with us at RoboForce’s factory under incoming fire?”
<
br /> Michael frowned. “Not many.”
“And what sort of kit will they have?” Ko asked.
Because he wasn’t the general he was pretending to be, 6T9 had to silently query what “kit” meant in this instance—it referred to combat weapons and gear.
The Luddeccean Commander’s eyes became distant, almost as though he was connecting to the ether. “In the Intel vids we saw of the planet below, most of the homes seemed to be in skyscrapers. Having military personnel organize defense of individual buildings would be more useful than having them trying to reach the factory.” He inclined his head to Sixty. “Let your ‘bots attack the enemy in the streets. Let military personnel on the surface turn each building into a fortress.”
6T9’s Q-comm sparked. It was a good suggestion, a practical solution, and he found himself remembering Kenji saying how important it was to see a situation from multiple perspectives. Still … “It’s a good plan, if they’ll listen to us.”
The cleaning ‘bot whirred, sputtered, and sparked. “You are … You are …
“I’m not a general to humans,” 6T9 said before it could self-combust.
It swirled several times and beeped angrily.
“They might listen to me,” Michael said.
Ko raised an eyebrow. Chief Strom gave Michael a narrowed-eyed look that was even more skeptical.
Flushing, Michael said, “Not as a lieutenant, but as someone they know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Before I joined Fleet, I went to some veteran’s events to see what I was getting into.”
Ko inclined his head and looked thoughtful, and Strom said, “That might be a help.”
Static flared along 6T9’s spine as an internal chronometer told him that the ships that had left the gate were probably entering the atmosphere by now. “We still need leaders.”
Five declared from the tiny cleaning ‘bot, “I have twenty unused Q-comms. Plug them into some of the security ‘bots, and you’ll have your leaders!” It was a hugely generous offer—staggeringly generous, but all 6T9 said was, “That’s twenty more leaders.”