Planetary Parlay

by Cameron Cooper

  “Slate doesn’t look at all human,” I pointed out, as he came up to us. “Why is that, by the way?” I said, addressing the android. “Why are you so…thick, when all the other translator androids we’ve seen are all slender and…”

  “Elegant,” Kristiana finished for me, and I realized I had been trying to pick a less hurtful word to spare Slate’s feelings. I nearly rolled my eyes at my own anthropomorphizing.

  “The assistants you refer to, Danny, are all very new. Activated this season.”

  “You’re very old, then?” I asked.

  “I am due to die soon. I have several critical components which will soon become inoperative. Then I will cease to be.”

  “Can’t the parts be replaced?” Kristiana asked Slate. She was using the tone of voice I associated with the engineering side of her nature, rather than the politician.

  “Replaced?” Slate repeated the word with a blank, puzzled tone.

  “Swapped out for good parts,” Kristiana replied patiently.

  “No. That is not a thing which is considered useful.”

  “So they just chuck you out when you keel over?” I asked.

  Kristiana rolled her eyes at me.

  “Yes, that is the way of it,” Slate replied, and he actually sounded dignified, as though I had offended him.

  “They must go through androids like…like…” Kristiana paused. “I don’t think there is anything we Carinads use just once and toss. Not complicated machinery like this.” Now she sounded offended.

  Slate said, “This is the way of it. I have been a useful assistant. The great Melissa added extra capacity in me when I was activated. It has made me additionally useful, which pleases me.”

  “Who is the great Melissa?” I asked.

  “The great one you are able to call Rayhel Melissa,” Slate replied.

  Mace came over and looked at Slate. “You call him The Melissa?” he asked.

  “He is the Melissa,” Slate replied.

  “I’m missing something here,” I said. “Melissa is his second name, yes? To distinguish him from other Rayhels?” If there were any. “What makes him great?”

  Mace held up a hand. “It’s a family name,” he told us. “Your society is built upon family lines, Slate? Clans…or tribes?”

  “I am of the Melissan family,” Slate said. “The Melissa owns me.”

  Mace and Kristiana exchanged glances. Over Mace’s shoulder, I spotted Jonas Keskemeti. He stood where the corridor began, his back against the wall as he stared at Slate with what looked like genuine nausea. His arms were wrapped around him as though he was cold, which was impossible in this overly heated room.

  “Ask it for water,” Marlow called out. “Please!”

  Slate’s head swiveled slightly, indicating he had heard Marlow. “Shall I explain to your Drigu where water can be obtained?”

  “Our…Drigu?” I breathed.

  Ven looked up from the crate he was sorting through. “He means me.” His tone was complacent.

  Heated fury tore through me. I felt Kristiana’s hand around my arm, squeezing hard, and took in a deep breath. “Ven is not a slave. He is no longer Drigu.”

  “That is not possible,” Slate replied. “A Drigu is always a Drigu.”

  “You don’t even manumit your Drigu?” Mace asked, his tone rising.

  Slate paused. “Manumit. Free from slavery. I see. No, Drigu cannot be unmade from Drigu. There would be nothing to make them into, after that.”

  More heads were lifting, around the room, as they keyed into our conversation.

  “You could make them Ami,” I said.

  “That is impossible,” Slate replied. “They are not Ami.”

  Ven shook his head. “There is no rising through ranks, as you did with the Rangers, Colonel. A Terran’s station is their birthright and remains constant all their life.”

  “No social mobility,” Marlow muttered and shook his head. He and Ven exchanged a glance. Ven smiled grimly.

  “Well, Slate, you’re just going to have to deal with new facts. Ven is not Drigu anymore. He is…Carinad by adoption. The equivalent of your Ami.”

  Slate hesitated once more. “That is an odd concept I must consider.”

  Which reminded me of something. “The recordings you make to learn from later. Who has access to them?”

  “No one has ever requested access to them.”

  “But anyone could ask for access and you would give it to them?”

  “I have agreed to obey any and all commands Jai Van Veen gives me, which includes obeying any command, wish or whimsy of any Carinads in his company, as he commanded me.”

  “So anyone could access those recordings?” I pressed.

  “Anyone he is permitted to interact with,” Kristiana added.

  “That is correct,” Slate replied.

  “I am giving you a command now,” I told him. “You are not permitted to share those recordings with anyone. Tell me you fully understand this command.” I was finally feeling as though I was on familiar territory. I have sterilized thousands of public terminals before using them. It felt odd to think of Slate as a dumb terminal but making sure he was neutralized and safe to use was just the same. I was even using voice commands to do it.

  “I understand your command, Danny. I am not to share the recordings with anyone. However, I must point out that Jai Van Veen can countermand your command.”

  “He is a higher authority,” Kristiana murmured.

  Jai straightened up from leaning over a crate. “I reinforce Danny’s command, Slate. You are not to share the recordings you make with anyone.”

  “Wait, wait,” Kristiana said, her hand out. “Slate, you said you are of the Melissan, that you are the property of Rayhel Melissa, yes?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Then Rayhel Melissa can countermand Jai Van Veen’s command?”

  “If he chooses to, yes.”

  I sighed. Literal computers. I was out of practice dealing with them. I had the luxury of dealing with a digital sentient, Lyssa, who did all the dumb computer wrangling for me. “You cannot give him access to the recordings, Slate.”

  “He has to, if Rayhel asks for them,” Kristiana pointed out. “He owns Slate.”

  I growled under my breath. “That’s…how the hell can we have Slate among us, listening to everything, if Rayhel can just suck up everything we say!” I glared at Slate. “Was that the reason he loaned you to us? To spy on us?”

  “This is impossible,” Jai muttered. “We need the damn thing.”

  “We can’t even ask for water without it,” Marlow added, his tone grim.

  Slate made a soft sound that might have been its own version of growling. Or distress. “I do not know, Danny. The Melissa does not share his thoughts with me.”

  “But you’re connected by his implant, aren’t you?” Kristiana asked. “He said he…all of them, the Agar, all the upper class Terrans, they’re connected to their androids—”

  “Assistants,” I supplied.

  “Assistants,” she amended. “They’re all connected directly to their assistants with implants.”

  “Implants. Yes, I supposed the devices might be called that,” Slate said. “You are familiar with…implant technology?”

  “We are,” I said firmly.

  “My connection to Rayhel Melissa is inactive,” Slate said.

  “Now he has a newer model,” I said dryly.

  “Inactive, but not dead or removed,” Kristiana said. “He could activate it at any time?”

  “He could,” Slate replied. “But it is unheard of for a master to reconnect to a discarded assistant.”

  “Unheard of, but not physically impossible,” Kristiana said grimly. “What is the nature of the connection? Radio waves? Terrans seem to like using radio spectrum technology.”

  “I confess I do not know the specifications of The Melissa’s device, nor the matching device in my interior. Such knowledge is withheld from assistants.”


  “In case they resent the connection so much, they do something to dismantle it,” I said, feeling sick.

  “Precisely.” Slate’s tone was polite.

  Kristiana drew herself up. “You don’t know what it is, but you know where it is, right?”

  “Of course. It is necessary for me to know the topography of my systems, in order to function properly.”

  “Where is it?” Kristiana demanded. “Show me.”

  Slate paused once more. His head turned, as if he was taking in all the people standing around him, hemming him in. We had a full audience, now.

  “You can open your surface to gain access to your interior, can’t you?” Kristiana asked. “You have seam lines,” she added. “They’re disguised as part of your exterior decorations, but they’re there.” She pointed to his torso.

  “That is correct,” Slate replied.

  “Do you need a sterile environment to expose your interior?” I asked. “Do you have biomechanical components?”

  “I have no…biomechanical components,” Slate replied. “A clean room is sufficient.”

  “This room?”

  “Yes.”

  Kristiana knocked her knuckles against his barrel chest. “So open up and tell me where the remote connection module is.”

  “May I ask what you intend to do when you have located it?” Slate asked.

  “I’m going to rip it out of you,” Kristiana said. She crossed her arms and looked up at his head. Slate was a lot taller than her. But nearly everyone was taller than Kristiana.

  “Maybe try cutting it out carefully,” Sauli said and held out a roll of tools to her.

  Kristiana took the roll and looked up at Slate. “You don’t want it in there any more than I do. You don’t like the idea of having your thoughts sucked out of you whenever The Great Melissa feels like it. So open up, and let’s deal with the damn thing.”

  I realized I was holding my breath.

  Slate stood very still for nearly thirty seconds. Then he shifted on his feet. A swaying motion. A heavy metallic click sounded, and a section of his belly jutted out. A door. A hatch.

  Kristiana delicately opened the door wider. Sauli and Yoan crowded in behind her. I was happy to step back and let the engineers figure it out.

  “Where is it, Slate?” Kristiana asked him.

  “The device looks like this,” Slate said. A square section on his upper chest, which had been black, came alive. It was a screen. An image of a small electronic device appeared. The device turned, showing all sides and all angles, while the three of them studied it.

  “That’s it, there,” Sauli said, pointing inside Slate.

  Kristiana dropped the roll of tools on the chair closest to her and unrolled it. She selected a multitool and straightened. “Do you want us to remove the device, Slate?” she asked him. “It’s up to you.”

  “You cannot function without me. I cannot assist you while the device is in me. It must be removed,” Slate said.

  “No,” Kristiana said, her tone patient. “I asked you what you want. Do you want it out of you?”

  “I…I…do not want it in me,” Slate said softly. “Please take it out of me.”

  Lyth’s smile was the warmest and happiest of those around Slate. Marlee Colton, the other Xavien in the group, gripped her hands together with a fierce sort of glee.

  So we took the fucking thing out of it. I don’t think a single one of us paused to consider that what we thought was simple computer terminal sterilization was something the Terrans would consider an act of war. We’d radicalized one of their own. Of course they wouldn’t like it.

  —11—

  Marlow’s simple request for water ended up being far more complicated than any of us suspected it might be. But I should have been braced for that. Nothing had been simple or straightforward since we’d stepped off the Lythion. Marlow and Fiori’s three-way discussion with Slate about acquiring water brought us…yeah, not water.

  I was in our room, unpacking my own small crate of things—well, the things I didn’t mind anyone seeing, at least. The others remained beneath the false bottom. There were additional hidden storage holes in many of the other crates, too, but I would get to those, later. All of them were shielded so any type of inspection short of a saw slicing open the crating would see nothing.

  I had been feeling paranoid since Jai and I argued, and he insisted I come to this damned meeting. But is it paranoia if someone really is out to get you? Or is it merely prudent planning?

  I didn’t mind the risk of looking like an idiot, when the other option was to end up very dead because I believed the Terrans wanted to discuss peace.

  One of the things I hauled out of the crate and straightened out was a dinner gown. I’d had to consult with Kristiana, who was a clothes maven, about what to bring. She’d insisted upon at least one long evening gown—with sparkles, for stars’ sake. I’d shoved it in the crate, thinking it would stay in that corner untouched.

  And here I was, brushing it off and preparing to wear the damn thing.

  That was when I heard my name being called. I went out to the common area and halted at the end of the corridor. Keskemeti was still hugging the corner, there, and he was back to looking ill once more.

  I didn’t need to ask him what was happening. I could see for myself. Jai stood beside Slate, and both of them faced a bevvy of Drigu, all standing just inside the door of the room. There were too many of them to count quickly.

  “What the hell?” I said.

  Jai waved me over. “They’re here to…” He looked at Slate with a helpless expression I’d never seen him wear before.

  One of them stepped forward. Juro. He bowed that impossible bow once more and straightened and spoke.

  “Slate indicated that you require assistance. We are yours for the duration of your stay. Shall I assign each of us? Or would you prefer to each chose your own?”

  I wanted to wipe my mouth. “You mean…we each get one assistant of our own?”

  “That is the way of it,” Juro replied.

  I shook my head slowly. “I have no need of an assistant.” I was flat out not going to call them slaves. Or even Drigu. Fuck that.

  “You requested water,” Juro replied, sounding puzzled.

  Marlow straightened from his lean against the wall. “That was me,” he said. “I can use the water from the bathroom, but what I really need is fresh fruit. You can just show me where to get it. I’ll take it from there.”

  The Drigu all looked at each other, startled.

  “But…it is our function to do such things,” Juro told Marlow.

  “You don’t have to do that for us,” Marlow replied. “Just point in the right direction.”

  Again, the blank look.

  Juro tried again. “You…do not want fruit, then?”

  “Yes,” Marlow said. He hissed and pushed his hand through his hair. “I want to get it myself. Do you understand? Show me where the kitchen is, or the dining room, or whatever you call it here. There has to be a basket somewhere. Do you have apples? Grapefruit? Berries? Something sweet, with fructose, to offset stress…” He trailed off, while the Drigu studied him with the same blank expressions.

  Jai put his hand on Marlow’s arm. “I think doing for oneself is not a concept they can understand. If we’re to get anything done today, I think we must do it…what did they say? We must go with the way of it. At least for now, until we figure out how it all works.”

  Marlow grimaced. “I don’t think I can,” he said flatly.

  “How badly do you want fruit?” Jai shot back.

  Marlow swore under his breath. He pointed at Juro. “Please bring me…do you have grapefruit?”

  Slate translated, and there was an extra discussion—probably while they sorted out what grapefruit might be.

  “We have such a fruit,” Juro declared. “I will bring some. Is there anything else I may do for you?”

  “Some water that you consider drinkable,�
�� Fiori said from one of the armchairs. She lifted her head. “I want to test it against the water in the bathrooms and see which is easiest to treat so we can drink it.”

  One of the other Drigu bent into a low bow. Her silver hair brushed the floor. “I will bring you water, mistress.” She whirled, slid through the outer door and was gone. Juro was also gone. He’d slipped away while I looked at Fiori.

  The other Drigu were splitting up, each of them heading toward the few of us still lingering in the common area. A short woman, wizened, with narrow eyes and grey hair, came up to me.

  Jai caught my gaze, as I cast it around the room, looking for a way out of this. “Just deal with it for now, Danny,” he said. “As far as the Terrans measure such things, they are being highly hospitable, providing us with Drigu as we have none of our own. When we’re in discussions, we can find a way to communicate our way of things.”

  I grimaced and looked at the little old woman before me. “Okay, come on, then,” I said. “I gotta get dressed for this thing tonight.” Of course, she didn’t understand a thing, so I gestured for her to follow me and went back to my room.

  Dalton was still in the shower. I tapped on the door. “Don’t walk out naked,” I warned him. “We have company.”

  The little woman was standing in front of the evening gown, holding it out to inspect it. She brushed off a piece of lint, then tugged at the seam, straightening out the wrinkles.

  She glanced at me, waved her hand at the dress, then at me.

  “Yes, for tonight,” I said. “Dinner.” I mimed eating.

  She nodded.

  “I’m Danny,” I told her. I tapped my chest and repeated my name.

  She tapped her chest. “Kamil.”

  I pointed to the bathroom door. “Dalton.”

  She tilted her head. Pointed. “Dalton.”

  “Yes.”

  She glanced up at the bed.

  “Yes,” I repeated.

  Kamil smiled and nodded. She lifted up the hem of the gown and waved toward me, the gown, then to me once more. Both hands, gesturing to herself, then to me.

  “You want to help me get ready?”

  It’s the way of things, I reminded myself and I knew I was going to hate that phrase by the time we left.