Rogue Stars

by C Gockel et al.

  A few breathless minutes later, in the hologlobe the Luddeccean patrolmen said goodbye to Eliza.

  Her head bobbled, and she grinned and waved as they left—the perfect granny. As soon as she shut the door behind them, her demeanor changed completely. Her eyes went to slits. She looked directly up at one of the cameras and shook her cane.

  “That is the sign for us to go up,” 6T9 said. Putting the hologlobe back in the cabinet, 6T9 jumped up, grabbed another handle set into the ceiling, and pulled. A chunk of the ceiling opened up and 6T9 pulled down a ladder. He was about to start up it when Noa said, “I’ll go first. I don’t need the view of your moon and saber.”

  Lifting his chin, 6T9 smiled. “I know those metaphors. They have sexual overtones.”

  From above came a cackle. “I quite like the view of your moon and saber, 6T9!”

  6T9 pointed up. “Eliza quite likes my—”

  “Shut up,” Noa grumbled, sliding by him, arms protectively around the still completely-hidden Carl Sagan.

  6T9’s mouth snapped shut.

  From above, Eliza said, “Noa, are you insulting the love of my life?”

  Noa snorted.

  6T9’s face went blank. He turned to James, and for just a moment James thought he saw a flicker of something—concern maybe?

  But then 6T9 smiled at James. “Would you like a view of my moon and saber?”

  “No,” said James.

  “After you then,” said 6T9, holding up a hand, a pleasant smile on his face and all trace of concern gone.

  For a moment, James froze. ‘Bots of all sorts could “feel” concern for matters within their primary function—James’s dig ‘bots “fretted” often enough about the proper force to use when clearing dust from artifacts—although “voiced concerns” was perhaps a better description than “fretted.” But what about Noa or Eliza’s statements could concern a sex ‘bot, James couldn’t imagine. Shaking his head, he hastily climbed up the ladder.

  Noa ducked her head and crawled out of a narrow doorway into Eliza’s kitchen. She blinked back over her shoulder. The doorway was cleverly disguised as a kitchen cabinet. Scrambling to her feet, wobbling only a little in exhaustion, she smiled at Eliza, a snappy comment on 6T9’s nudity on her tongue. The comment died as she looked at Eliza for the first time in proper lighting. It had been only a few years since Noa had last visited her—but the woman seemed to have aged decades in that time. She was shorter, more stooped. Her hair, once steel gray, was now completely white, thin and wispy, and didn’t completely conceal her scalp—although Noa noted that the fine wisps were strategically collected with a colorful rose bloom pin right above the spot her data port would be. Her face seemed to have collapsed in on itself in wrinkles. Inwardly, Noa’s heart sank, but with some effort she was able to keep the smile on her face. Carl Sagan poked his nose out of the cocoon of her jacket. She stroked her fingers between his ears.

  “So you’ve got a young man at last,” Eliza cackled, leaning on her cane. “About time.”

  Noa scowled as the werfle ran up behind her shoulder. “I do not have a young man,” she hissed in irritation. Eliza had never remarried, and the implication that Noa was better off with a significant other was downright hypocritical.

  “Really?” said Eliza, her voice wheezy, high, and chiding, an impish smile on her thin lips.

  Before Noa could retort, James poked his head out and nodded politely up at Eliza.

  The old woman’s eyes went wide, the chiding smile vanished. “He looks like—”

  Tim. It wasn’t just Noa who saw the resemblance, and Noa wasn’t sure how that made her feel. She shook her head, to say, no, we’re not a couple, or no, don’t talk about Tim, please.

  “Like who?” James asked, climbing to his feet and dusting himself off.

  “Like he’s hungry!” Eliza said brightly, in true Luddeccean grandmotherly fashion. Noa nodded her head at Eliza in acknowledgment of the small mercy.

  Thumping her cane, Eliza commanded, “6T9, get these people”—Carl Sagan chirped from Noa’s shoulder—“and their werfle some soup!”

  Poking his head out of the cabinet door, 6T9 stared up at Carl Sagan. “That’s not a rat?”

  Noa barely heard Eliza’s response. On shaky legs, she sank gratefully into a chair. Following her, Eliza said, “And while he’s doing that, I expect you to tell me all about how you came to be on the Luddeccean Most Wanted list.” Her voice lowered and her eyes narrowed sharply. “And then you can tell me why you need my help.” There was accusation in that voice, and oddly it made Noa smile with relief. As much as Eliza’s body had aged, her mind was still sharp.

  An hour later, Noa was still at Eliza’s table, a half-eaten bowl of soup before her. 6T9’s cooking app was very good, but Noa was too anxious to finish. Next to her, James was on his third bowl. Carl Sagan was asleep by the stove. 6T9 had left the room to prepare rooms for James and Noa to sleep in.

  Eliza was sitting in front of her, nervously playing with some beads around her neck. Her eyes were still bright and sharp—Noa’s relief at that was tempered by the fact that the more of her story she told, the deeper Eliza’s frown lines became.

  “So,” Noa said, “I think at this point the best option is to bring in outside assistance.”

  “The fastest any deep space vessel can reach the next time gate is 9.633 years,” Eliza said. She exhaled shakily.

  Noa leaned back in her seat. She wasn’t sure how many details of the hidden time gate to reveal—she trusted Eliza, but good intentions weren’t enough to hide the truth if someone were to pry loose your neural net. And Eliza still had her neural net in place, that was for certain. Although Noa couldn’t see the port, the old woman’s observations were too precise to be anything but net enhancement. One of Eliza’s eyebrows rose. “And frankly my dear, I don’t think I’ll live that long.”

  Before Noa’s brain and net had a chance to process that reply, 6T9 walked into the kitchen and interjected, “The doctor said you’re perfectly healthy. The cancer you had was completely eradicated by the immunotherapy and the plaques in your heart and brain were removed by nanos.”

  “It isn’t my health I’m worried about, dear,” Eliza said.

  6T9 came over to the table; it put his derriere closer than was comfortable to Noa’s nose. He’d thankfully put on a pair of boxer briefs beneath his apron—hot pink boxer briefs—but it was still disquieting. She found herself leaning away from him. Where he sat between Eliza and Noa, one of James’s eyebrows rose.

  “If not your health, then what, darling?” 6T9 said, leaning over the table, putting a hand on Eliza’s shoulder. His expression was such a facsimile of human concern that Noa nearly shivered. She didn’t mind ‘bots that looked like ‘bots, but the ones that looked human and talked like humans made her uneasy. It was, as her military psyche training taught her, too easy to bond with a human-like ‘bot—a faulty glitch in the emotional centers of the human brain. For that reason, military ‘bots never looked human, so no commander ever felt guilty sending a drone on a self-destruct mission.

  Eliza was silent. Noa’s eyebrows rose. 6T9 hadn’t heard her conversations, and Eliza hadn’t told 6T9 that possessing a ‘bot was illegal … If she had, 6T9 might have wiped his memory and turned himself in. Eliza was risking her life for a ‘bot … Noa rubbed her temples. If she didn’t need Eliza’s money, she might call her on it. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught James’s gaze on her, inscrutable, emotionless, and probably judgmental. She got the feeling he didn’t approve of 6T9. She wished she could reach him through the ethernet to reassure him that she didn’t approve of 6T9 either.

  “You contributed to the premier’s campaign fund,” said 6T9, snapping Noa back to the present.

  “What?” said Noa, eyes going wide in alarm. Apparently, Eliza had been discussing some politics with her ‘bot. James sat up straighter in his chair.

  Waving a hand at Noa and James, Eliza said, “Don’t worry, I never supported his
policies.”

  “Then why did you fund him?” James said.

  “Because he was going to win,” Eliza snapped.

  “You said contributing to his campaign fund would protect you against vicious gossip and wagging tongues,” said 6T9. “That’s what you’re afraid of, right?” He shook his head and tsked. “You shouldn’t be. Gossip won’t kill.”

  Noa sighed. Gossip was all the danger 6T9 could conceive of, she supposed. It was probably beyond his processing power to understand that they were in the midst of a genocide.

  Turning to 6T9, voice soft, Eliza said, “My money won’t protect me anymore, dear.”

  6T9’s head tilted to the side. “Why not?”

  Eliza gave a wry smile. “Because I don’t think there will be any more elections.”

  “But that is part of the charter, elections every six years,” 6T9 protested.

  “They will change it,” said Eliza.

  Next to her, James sighed and put down his spoon. “If history is any indication they’ll find a way.”

  Noa took a deep breath. “Yep.”

  Eyes glued to Eliza, 6T9 said, “I do not understand.”

  “Don’t worry about it, darling,” said Eliza.

  6T9’s expression softened immediately. “Okay.” He smiled a smile of utter peace and contentment—because an end to worry was simple as an order when you were a ‘bot.

  Stroking her beads, Eliza said, “Why don’t you go upstairs, prepare some towels and clothes for Noa and James, too. You gave them separate rooms, right?”

  6T9 nodded, and Eliza smiled brightly. “I’ll join you shortly.”

  6T9’s smile dropped. Dipping his chin, he raised an eyebrow and then winked at Eliza, giving a look that Noa supposed would be “smoldering” … if you didn’t know it came from a ‘bot. She glanced between James’s light features, and 6T9’s more conventional tan skin and brown eyes. Both of them were two of the most beautiful examples of masculinity she’d been around in a while. And she wasn’t attracted to either of them, for very different reasons. She smiled bitterly to herself. It was unfair, but sadly convenient.

  “I will be expecting you,” 6T9 said in a low voice.

  Putting a hand to her chest, Eliza giggled like a schoolgirl. “Yes, sir.”

  Noa rolled her eyes as 6T9 prowled out of the room. As soon as he was out of sight, Noa turned back to Eliza. “You see why this is so important, then.”

  Looking at the table, Eliza fidgeted with her place mat. “Yes … but I must consider my options. 9.633 years … ”

  “There is a faster way,” said Noa.

  Eliza’s eyes narrowed. “You said you need money to help finance a mission … I know you have no ship, so you must be stealing one, and I don’t know how you can get by the grid … ”

  “I have a plan. But the less you know the better.”

  “So you say,” said Eliza, looking away. “To get past the blockade you’d need either a very big ship or a very small one, but a very small one wouldn’t last in deep space … a big ship … ” she rocked in her chair.

  Eliza’s eyes slipped to James. He was dipping a roll in a plate of rinseed oil. It struck Noa that he looked too big for the tiny table, and just the simple act of dipping the bread seemed a feat of difficult maneuvering for his large frame.

  “Are you privy to the whole plan?”

  James put the bread down. “Yes.”

  Noa prepared herself for Eliza to pry him for details, but instead she said, “What do you think of it?”

  “That it is near suicidal,” James replied.

  “And yet you are going along with it,” Eliza said. Her voice had become softer as the night had worn on. Her eyes were drooping. “May I ask why?”

  One of James’s eyebrows rose as they did when he was telling a joke. “I’m still asking myself that.”

  “You are a wry one,” Eliza chuckled. “And what is your answer?”

  James was quiet for a long time. Noa found herself shifting in her seat.

  “I am a hyper-augment … ” His head ticked, and straw-blonde hair fell into his eyes. He pushed it back. “I don’t have a lot of options, and … ” He looked at Noa, and then away and shrugged.

  Eliza stared at a spot on the table between her and Noa. “This is a big decision for me.”

  Noa’s jaw got hard. “So many lives are at stake, Eliza.” Kenji’s life was at stake. Her thumb went to the stumps of her fingers.

  “Including my life,” the old woman said.

  Noa sat back in her seat. “You’re a founder of the colony … surely if you just got rid of 6T9 … ”

  Eliza’s nostrils flared.

  Noa felt her skin heat in anger. “He is a ‘bot.”

  “But I’m not,” Eliza said.

  “Of course not,” Noa said, not sure where this was going.

  Eliza’s eyes became pained. “You think he is just a sex toy, but he’s not. He’s my hands, my arms, my legs.” Her hand shook. “My body is falling apart, no one can fix that at this point; but my mind is still alive thanks to nanos and apps. Without 6T9, they’ll find some way to put me in a home. They don’t allow nano flushes or apps anymore.” Her eyes dropped. “I’ll become a vegetable.” For a moment it looked like Eliza might burst into tears.

  Noa released a breath. “Eliza … ” She reached toward the old woman.

  “And if I’m going to die,” Eliza said, “I want to be having as much sex as I can with the most beautiful man I can for as long I can.”

  Noa’s hand fell.

  Eliza’s thin eyebrows waggled, and she giggled, her bony shoulders rising. “He really is excellent,” she whispered. “It took me centuries to get lovin’ like I’ve got now.”

  From the doorway came 6T9’s voice. “Did you call me, Eliza?”

  Eliza turned to him. “No, I … ” Her brow creased even more. “Actually, I think I could use your help getting up the stairs.”

  6T9 strode into the kitchen, thankfully wearing pajama bottoms. “You know I live to sweep you off your feet.”

  “Eliza … ” Noa said.

  Eliza waved her hand. “You know where the spare rooms are … I’ll give you my answer in the morning. I need to sleep on it.”

  Kneeling beside her, 6T9 said, “I hope you won’t sleep too much.”

  Eliza waggled her eyebrows again and let him help her into his arms. “Oh, you … ” she giggled as 6T9 gently stood, nuzzling her neck as he carried her from the room.

  Noa put her elbows on the table and stared at her bowl of half-eaten soup. She dropped her head in her hands.

  “That sounded like a ‘probably not’?” James said.

  Noa felt sick to her stomach. She was asking Eliza to give up more than a toy. She was asking her to give up her freedom, her independence … and her very life.

  “What do we do now?”

  Head still in her hands, Noa sighed. “Sleep, I guess.”

  “I meant if she says no?”

  Noa rubbed her eyes. “I have no idea.”

  When Noa woke from a nightmare at 25:43 Luddeccean Time, even though James was dozing, he knew it. Since he’d awakened in the snow, he had been unable to truly sleep. His body was still, his eyes were closed, his breathing was slowed, his temperature was lower than normal, and memories were tripping through his mind in a semi-dreamlike way. At the same time his mind almost dreamed, there was, off in the corners of his neural net, a running inventory of what was still going on around him—minus vision, of course. At 01:00, Noa went downstairs and he heard her start to pace back and forth. That brought him out of his semi-conscious state. With his augmented hearing, even from the second floor he could hear her sigh.

  He wasn’t really sleeping, anyway.

  Sitting up, he shook off the last vestiges of his doze—an image of Ghost’s face flickering from a perfect hologram—and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Just before he stood up, he caught sight of the skin of his arms. He swallowed … and part of h
im registered that was a very peculiar reaction to unease. Was he trying to devour his disquiet? It didn’t work; the strange markings on his skin still had him on edge. Earlier when he’d taken a shower, the strange tattoos had risen in stark black relief on his skin. They hadn’t disappeared like they normally did; they’d only faded. He exhaled sharply. They always made him nervous, but they were too regular to be some nano-inspired tumor. He closed his eyes. He could do nothing about them right now. If they succeeded with Noa’s plan, on Earth he’d reunite with his parents. They could help him recover the memories locked away in his mind, explain the tattoos, and hopefully give him the ability to smile and frown again. James drew his hand across the slightly raised flesh of the designs. When they were faint, they looked less like a leaf pattern and more like ... feathers. The thought made him bolt up from the bed. He pulled on the long-sleeved train operator uniform shirt before he left the room to hide the tattoos—from either himself or Noa, he didn’t know which.

  Minutes later, he found Noa in the room with the chess board. She was standing by a bookshelf, staring at a small glowing hologlobe. In it, many people, all facing the camera, were smiling back at her. As he padded forward, Noa jumped. Spinning in his direction, her body dropped to a semi-crouch, but then seemingly catching herself, she straightened. Wrapping her arms around herself, she asked, “Did I wake you?” Carl Sagan poked his bewhiskered nose out from between some books.

  James shook his head. “I wasn’t really sleeping.” Which was the truth, if not the full extent of it. He walked toward the holo, and his head tilted. He saw Noa in the holo, near the front. She looked to be about twelve. An older man had his arm draped protectively over her shoulder, and the younger Noa had her own arm wrapped around a boy slightly shorter than her. Noa’s mouth was split in a wide grin. The boy wasn’t smiling, but he had one of Noa’s hands in his. No one in the holo shared Noa’s unique coloring, but … “They are your family,” he said. He could see Noa’s small, delicate, rounded nose on a man’s face, her wide lips on another woman, her brows on another, her high cheekbones on someone else. The boy she was next to in the holo looked like Noa, but he was tan instead of dark brown, his eyes were so light they were almost gold, and he had wavy hair instead of her tight curls.