My Outcast State (The Maauro Chronicles Book 1)

by Edward McKeown

  “You can think that at a time like this?”

  “Now more than ever as we find ourselves at the edge of destruction. Each moment may be our last. Shall we not grab those moments of beauty available to us? I have always found such sights comforting. No matter how dire the battle, some beauty, if only that of the stars, survives our petty struggles.”

  “Let’s hope we survive our petty struggles.”

  She nodded. “Time to go.” Maauro picked up an SMG, then threw a Kandalorian travel cloak over her shoulders and tucked her hair under a turban. I threw a cloak over the heavy MG I’d taken off the dead Guilder. I added a broad hat of the type fashionable in the high desert. I pulled a scarf across my face, thin disguise but useful. I tucked my usual pistol into my waistband.

  We slipped out of the flophouse with Maauro moving more normally. We couldn’t afford to attract any attention. I waved down a pedicab. Dusko had likely circulated our images, but we had no choice. It was kilometers to Jaelle’s place and we dared not use up Maauro’s remaining mobility.

  The pedicab dropped us off. I had to pay extra, as he needed his motor to move our combined weight. We climbed to the top of a nearby building and looked across at Jaelle’s place.

  “Can you see anything?” I asked.

  “Yes, signs of a struggle inside, in the form of broken furniture. Things of value have been removed, but I believe Jaelle resisted being taken into her father’s custody.”

  I heaved a sigh. It was only circumstantial evidence of her innocence, but nonetheless comforting. “If it was her father, he’d have taken her to either the restaurant or to his villa on the river. My bet is the villa.”

  Maauro shook her head. “According to a local new server, the Spacer’s Rest Society leased Tekala’s villas for a charity event this weekend. I doubt that he would allow Dusko to hold his daughter, so she is likely at the restaurant.”

  “Let’s go.”

  An hour on another pedicycle brought us to The Watering Hole. We dismounted a block away and made our way toward the restaurant. The Watering Hole wasn’t the only restaurant; a number of lesser establishments lined the square. The square itself was the usual chaotic mass of small stalls and carts, with the occasional vehicle weaving around them over the smooth concrete and stone of the Old City’s bones. We found a shady, quiet spot near a fountain in a small park across the street, and settled in on a metal bench. It was early evening now and the streets were full enough that we did not attract attention

  I looked up at the Hala Saga. Its topaz dome sent out buttery-yellow rays reflected from the setting sun. It already seemed an age since I had sat there with Maauro, enjoying a fine meal as she savored the sights and sounds of the city below.

  I turned to my petite mechanical companion. “What do you see?”

  “I have been examining the restaurant using a variety of scans. Many of the usual staff are missing. The people replacing them have the look of Guild operatives with concealed weapons. They could be guarding Jaelle, protecting her father from our vengeance, or both.”

  “We won’t be walking in there.”

  “No. While I could easily defeat those I see who have only small arms, I suspect there are others concealed with heavier weapons. By now they know the cleanup team that came after us has not returned. If they sent more troops, they will know that our bodies do not lie beside them. They would not rely on handguns to stop me.”

  “So how do we get in?”

  “I do not yet know. For now we wait until darkness and quiet.”

  I surprised myself by falling asleep sitting on the bench next to her. When I snapped awake, hours later, the street was clear and the last of the shopkeepers was closing up.

  Maauro, who’d sat unmoving next to me for hours, gestured with her hand. I followed her through the park around the giant palms that waved overhead to a stand of sword bushes not far from the back of The Watering Hole. Lights hung on the adobe wall of the restaurant, making any approach across the broad avenue suicidal.

  A large green and yellow truck turned onto the block and then parked in front of one of the small restaurants. I looked at it without interest. “Meat delivery.”

  “This could be useful,” Maauro said. “Follow me.”

  “What?” I said. But she was up and moving already, albeit with a limp that ironically served as a good disguise. Who looks for a limping android?

  “The Watering Hole is the largest establishment on this street. It has an interior courtyard and does not take its deliveries from the street. That truck will be passed in. I will hide in the freezer unit. You must distract the driver until I get on board.” Maauro made a right turn down an alley, leaving me to approach the truck.

  The driver, a stout middle-aged human woman, came out of the native diner, trailed by a simple robot sled now empty of produce, as I walked up,

  “Excuse me,” I said. “I seem to be lost. I’m looking for a bar called the Spacewitch. It’s worth a fiver to me.”

  The woman gave me a frank and appraising look. “Honey, you’re way off. The Spacewitch is all the way over toward the aerospace part of the spaceport. That’s kilometers away from here.”

  “Can you draw me a map? I don’t have my comp on me. Here’s that fiver.”

  “Hey, I don’t charge humans for help. We’re a long way from home world.”

  “Ain’t that the truth? You’re sure?”

  “Yeah, Sweetie.”

  I spent a few minutes chatting amiably with the driver and getting my map. My guilty conscience made me insist on her taking the five. I left, walking quickly up the next block back to the spot where I could see the restaurant. I got there just as the truck disappeared into the gate, a Guilder having climbed on the back bumper. Either Maauro hadn’t got into the vehicle or somehow she’d hidden inside. Given her ability to ignore cold or heat, she might well have buried herself under frozen meat. The truck emerged twenty minutes later and I settled back down to wait.

  I waited four hours as the stars rotated above me. There was no sign of life other than the occasional Guild guard. Then the gate opened and Maauro appeared, waving me over. I ran across the street and into the courtyard. I spotted the feet of the Guildsman lying behind a shed, dead or unconscious. I could not tell and did not care.

  “This way,” she said. “My observations tell me that she is being held in her father’s offices.”

  ***

  We pause outside the office where we’d first met Nenan Tekala months before. To my surprise, Wrik reaches across to stop me when I begin to move.

  “Maauro,” Wrik says, “one thing and it has to be this way. Under no circumstances can you kill Jaelle’s father.”

  I turn to face him. “Wrik, the tactical situation inside is unknown. Jaelle’s father participated in the attempt on our lives. How can you bind me when we do not know what will happen after we go in?”

  “Even if he is our enemy, we can’t kill him. It would destroy Jaelle.”

  “Wrik as fond of you as I am, I cannot compromise my security for your illogical notions. Jaelle despises her father. She will not be as upset as you think.”

  “Maauro, you need to listen to me. This is something about us living beings—”

  “I am a living being, Wrik.”

  “I mean those of us born, Maauro. No insult intended, but you never had parents.”

  “From what I know of you and Jaelle, I am not sure I have suffered in this regard.” I see that I have made him angry, though I am not sure why. He has said these things himself. I am silent as he fights for control.

  “Maauro,” he says, his voice strained. “Would you turn on your Creators if you could? They abandoned you. Would you attack them, kill them, if you had the chance for revenge?”

  I am stunned. The concept that I could turn on my Creators has never occurred to me. A memory program
tries to delete the concept. This starts an internal battle which consumes an amazing 2.73 seconds while I war with myself as to whether I may even consider such an idea. I realize that these are safeguards that my creators placed in me. They did not simply trust that I could not be used against them. But so much time, damage and change has occurred that the programs do not automatically win.

  I realize that my creators, like Jaelle and Wrik’s parents, wanted to ensure that their progeny are obedient. I am confused.

  “Maauro?” I hear Wrik ask.

  The confusion Wrik’s words have created is so profound that I have been totally distracted from outside stimuli, essentially helpless.

  “Very well,” I say, unsure for the first time in my existence of what is motivating me. “I will agree not to kill Jaelle’s father.”

  “Thank you.”

  Wrik releases my arm. I crush the door lock and we storm into the room. Wrik follows me with a drawn pistol. Inside, Nenan Tekala stands behind his desk, making an abortive move toward a com. He freezes as I place my hand on it.

  “Wrik,” Jaelle calls. She is secured to a chair with a chain. It is to my mind excellent proof of her innocence. “My Gods, I thought you were dead. Father told me that Dusko had killed you both.”

  “Cover him, Wrik.” I walk over to Jaelle and part the chain holding her. She stands, smiling in relief. The smile vanishes as she notices I am missing an arm.

  “Maauro, your arm! And you’re limping.”

  “I was damaged when we were shot down. My arm was torn off in the crash. This Dusko has run up quite a bill with me.”

  “Wrik!” Jaelle runs over to him as if to check that all his parts are present.

  She turns to her father. “You told me they were dead!”

  “Your father seems to have quite a pipeline to Dusko,” Wrik says.

  “I needed to keep her out of this,” Nenan says, sitting back in his seat and glaring at Wrik. “I just want to protect my daughter. You were fool enough to tangle with a crime lord and those as far above him as the Sala Haga is above us. I didn’t want her to die with you.”

  “How is it,” I ask, “that Dusko knew which route our ship was taking? We were shot down by a concealed missile battery and then set upon by Guild. They were in place waiting for us.”

  Nenan looks back at us, his eyes flat and yellow.

  “Father,” Jaelle says in a small voice. “You didn’t.”

  “It was to protect you,” he replies wearily. “We can’t afford the enmity of Dusko and the Guild. You’ve been a fool, my child, consorting with these non-Nekoans; no good can come of it.”

  “Wrik is my—”

  “Don’t say lover,” he spits. “He’s one of your dalliances, a childish provocation to me and your family. You can’t have any feeling for this—this…”

  “That’s enough, Father. No, no, I won’t call you that anymore. Whatever I feel for Wrik is mine to decide. But you, you coward, you’d murder my friends to secure yourself? Has there ever been any corruption that you held back from?”

  “Where do you think you would be if not for all I have done, all I have gathered? We would have nothing. I did this for all of us!”

  “That is what I have now,” she says bitterly. “Nothing. I disown you and withdraw the clan name Tekala from you. I won’t be kin to murderers, thieves and liars.”

  “You have caused me injury and distress,” I add. “You will make amends by telling me of this Collector who has giving orders to Dusko.”

  He looked at me, fear in his yellow eyes. “I can tell you little beyond that Dusko has been seeking artifacts of ancient make for sale to a high Guild official. I only heard of her referred to as the Collector. I know Dusko feared her and that she has a small ship down at the port. She is not on it, but sent it in response to Dusko’s information on you.”

  Jaelle looks at Wrik. “I’m sorry. I must have been sloppy and been overheard in a conversation with you about the trip. Your ship is destroyed, Maauro is maimed and it is my fault.”

  “I think we lay that blame with your father.”

  “Don’t hurt him,” she orders.

  “No. Maauro has agreed to that as well.”

  Jaelle gives me a mistrustful look. I nod at her. It seems to give her some comfort.

  I gather up the chain and secure Tekala to the chair. He looks at Jaelle. “If you leave with these aliens, I will have no daughter.”

  “Then we will be even, having disowned each other. Do not look to lay eyes on me again in this life.”

  I apply the gag.

  Wrik places his arms around Jaelle. “Are you sure you want to come with us? We don’t even know where we are going, or if we’ll be alive tomorrow.”

  “My decision is made. But Wrik, understand this. I’m not leaving for you. I’m leaving for me.”

  “Then let us leave, before we encounter more Guilders,” I add.

  “This first,” Jaelle says. She walks over to a console and activates it. “I’m going to take my inheritance a little early. We’ll need money. I’ve been planning this for a while.”

  In minutes Jaelle accomplishes her task. She stands and looks at her father for a few seconds. “There’s a very expensive aircar at the rear door. Let’s take that.”

  We leave through that door and Wrik takes the aircar controls, lifting us out of the courtyard. The Guilders below see us, but do not react to Tekala’s car. We speed north. The machine is an excellent model, designed only for atmospheric use, but it has the range to take us where we need to go.

  “Where are we headed?” Wrik asks.

  “The Murch. Any hope I have of repairs lies with them.”

  In the back of the aircar, Jaelle breaks down into tearing sobs.

  Wrik looks at me.

  “I can fly it,” I answer.

  Chapter 14

  We fly all night and make the Murch encampment mid the next day. Faroa and his friends meet us and take us into their care, though of course there is little they can do for me. I leave Wrik with Jaelle. I think this is best, as I can offer little comfort to the Nekoan.

  In the morning the three of us fly the aircar to the destroyed village. Wrik’s prediction proves correct; none of the natives have moved back to reoccupy what little I did not level.

  We walk onto the great stone jetty. The wind is strong today and whips at us, ruffling my long hair. I miss my latest silk bow, but it was lost with my arm in the crash. We come to the end of the jetty, facing the Tar Sea.

  I look up at Wrik as he steps forward to wrap his arms around me. I recognize the protective gesture. It and the concern in his hazel eyes cause a curious mix of feelings in me. I am aware that my emotions are different from a biological’s—distant, muted perhaps, less powerful—as they are not rooted in sex and death. Yet this feeling is strong and I find that though I cannot put a name to it, something inchoate wells in me. I am glad that his arms are about me, foolish though it may be.

  “Isn’t there another way?” he asks, looking at the Tar Sea with revulsion.

  “No, Wrik. Dusko did terrible damage to me. My only chance of finding what I need is down there.”

  “And if you can’t find it? How do you get back?” he demands.

  “You fear for me. Thank you for it. I cherish your concern, but you must remember that death has no terror for me. I do not fear being “buried alive” as you would. I fear failure and breaching my duty more than a cessation of awareness. If it comforts you, think of me as merely going to sleep coddled and preserved in the darkness.”

  “That is,” he says, his voice strained, “only a small comfort.”

  “Small comforts may be all we have. I do not wish to end this existence. There is much I want to experience. I want to travel with you, to see new and different vistas. Watch clouds and sunrises. Visit strange and wondro
us places. I want to strike down Dusko and hunt this “Collector.” It would vex me to fall to such mean and petty enemies as these.”

  I turn to Jaelle. She watches me from a distance as usual; her expression unreadable to me. “If I do not return, please stay with Wrik. He will need all the aid he can find to escape the Guild.”

  She nods at me.

  I turn to the end of the pier, slipping out of the comfort of Wrik’s arms. I look up at the sky, wishing it was night, as I have always watched the stars and feel that in some way they watch me.

  “Maauro!”

  I turn back to Jaelle in some surprise.

  “Good luck. Find a way to come back to us. We need you,” she says.

  Wrik’s face is a study in misery. “Yes, come back somehow, for God’s sake.”

  Now it is my turn to nod. I walk as briskly as I can despite the damage; if this is their last sight of me, I will not pathetically drag myself. I mount the stone edge and leap into the Tar Sea.

  I plunge into the sea and quickly sink. The pier stands at the edge of a steep slope and it drops quickly into deeper darkness. I land on the muck bottom and begin wading downward. My body is so damaged that I cannot swim, so I stagger forward drunkenly.

  I am in field of bodies. The Kandalorians had sacrificed many over the years before I destroyed their village. Bones and tar-preserved corpses are strewn about me. I remember Wrik’s revulsion at the sight of the Tar Sea. This was to be his and Jaelle’s fate at the hands of Lostra, the Guild enforcer who I tore to pieces for shooting Wrik.

  It is curious to me that biologicals find some forms of death so much more terrifying than others. I suspect if Wrik could see this field of death, it would unhinge his sanity. If I return, I must never mention what I have seen here.

  As if on cue, I see the upper half of Lostra’s body. She has looked better. It pleases me that she must now keep company with some of her own victims. I spurn the corpse with my foot and march on.

  Hours of travel later I reach the ancient battlefield. Hundreds of targets hit my scanners, only one of which I know, the landing barge I’d found the last time, but I am looking for better now.