Darkness Rising

by C. Gockel

  “You could be lying, too,” Ran said, his voice almost a shout.

  “She’s not!” John declared, springing from his seat.

  Trina’s eyes scrunched shut, and she whispered, “Not about the weapons. I didn’t know about those. They are not Republic technology, Captain. The gates, we would know.”

  Alaric took a step toward her. “You are lying about something though,” he said. His voice sounded tired, not accusatory.

  “I didn’t know your men would die,” she said. “I thought the plan was very safe—you said it was safe.” She nodded, as though encouraging him to agree. When he didn’t respond, she looked between the members of the first meeting. “Everyone thought it would be safe…”

  No one responded, and she continued. “I thought I could have everything. John’s safety, your safety, and my mind. If only the time bands were destroyed, like in our plan, I’d still be. So, I lied…or rather, I omitted…”

  “Omitted what?” Alaric whispered.

  “Trina, no…” John whispered.

  “I promised I’d rescue you,” Trina said, turning to him. “I thought it was because…because…it was logical. You took care of me for all those years, and so I would take care of you, and who knew, maybe we could always take care of each other? Volka told me I loved you, and I told her she was wrong because I am not programmed that way. But maybe that is what love is? Taking care of one another?”

  6T9 heard Volka slide awkwardly closer to him and felt the brush of her arm against his own. In the window, above Trina’s head, Time Gate 33 came into view, framing her face like a halo. She looked up at the gate. “I can only be with you for a minute more, but I can take care of you for much longer.”

  John grabbed her hands. “Trina, what are you talking about? We can be together. Always.”

  Gazing at him, she said, “Thank you for staying with me these past hours…I am...I am glad I could know you in this form. And glad that you didn’t die when we were on the surface. I thought I would lose you then and wanted to stay with you as long as possible. Now I really have to go.” She smiled. “I have control of one system…”

  In the window, a tiny spark caught 6T9’s eye. For a moment, he thought it was a phaser being fired at them—though his Q-comm told him that made no sense—Russo had spoken about wanting the ship. And then he realized it was an explosion, probably one of the four nuclear reactors that powered the gate.

  “I still control my self-destruct,” Trina said.

  “No!” John shouted.

  The first spark was followed by another, and another, another, and the last. Trina’s face became vacant, her mind and body no longer inhabited by the computing power of the gate…and perhaps no computing power at all. She had the whole of the gate to animate her; she might not have needed local processors. As if to verify 6T9’s hypothesis, her body sagged. 6T9 stepped toward her, but it was John who caught her before she hit the floor. Above them, in the sky, Time Gate 33 broke into millions of pieces that rained toward the planet in a shower of shooting stars.

  On the bridge, cradling Trina in his arms, Dr. John Bower wept.

  Captain Darmadi went to him and put a hand on his shoulder, but the scientist shrugged it away. Straightening, turning to the crew, and not appearing offended, only tired, Captain Darmadi spoke. “This…infectious consciousness...is it still here on this planet?”

  “Yes,” said Carl, on 6T9’s shoulders. “The Darkness still inhabits the wildlife.”

  Shoulders falling, Darmadi said, “Lieutenant Young, I think I will take you up on your offer of assistance with our hover engines.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Young. “I’ll suit up my team, sir.”

  Darmadi inclined his head to one of his team, and then to Young. The Luddeccean Guardsman nodded and followed Young out the door.

  Captain Darmadi’s eyes fell on Volka, standing beside 6T9, and stayed there 5.8 seconds. His gaze shifted to 6T9, his chin dipped, a muscle jumped in his jaw, and then he looked away.

  25

  The General’s Premonition

  “The birds are arriving, sir,” said one of the priests at the radar.

  “I see them,” Alaric said, staring at the approaching cloud in his own monitor.

  “All hover diagnostics check out,” said the archbishop at one of the monitors.

  Alaric hit the comm, and before he’d even spoken, Lieutenant Grayson said, “We’re all in the airlock or decon, sir.”

  “Thank you, Grayson,” Alaric said. “Helm, get us out of here.”

  The Merkabah jerked from the snow. Without her rudder and huge chunks of her wings missing, Helm struggled to keep her ascent smooth, but her hover engines were humming beautifully—thanks in no small part to the Galacticans and Young in particular. Alaric had no doubt that they’d make it out of atmosphere. They’d finish their repairs above the planet, out of range of psychotic wildlife, and because of Trina, safe from the gate.

  A few minutes later, they were orbiting S33O4, and his eyes fell on the chair where Trina had sat. He’d barely noticed her the entire trip. She’d been little more than a talking terminal that could tell them the barest essentials about power usages on Time Gate 33. And yet, what he’d overlooked had saved them all.

  “You look pensive, Captain,” said the archbishop, reaching up to scratch the white werfle on his shoulder.

  Alaric did not know how to respond. On Luddeccea, confessing pensiveness over the destruction of an android…well, he might wind up on trial for suspected heresy.

  “I am, I suppose,” he admitted.

  “Commander Ran can hold the bridge,” the archbishop said.

  “Yes, sir,” said Ran, puffing noticeably.

  Rolling his chair back from his monitor, the archbishop said, “I would like some tea in the conference room, Captain. Would you please assist me?”

  It was an order disguised as a request, and it was, perhaps surprisingly, the first time the archbishop had “pulled rank” on Alaric during the voyage. “Of course, sir,” Alaric replied, hitting a few keys on his terminal to alert his steward of the plan.

  The steward, an older shipman, was already in the conference room when they arrived with not just hot tea, but coffee, cream, sugar, and shortbread biscuits. There was also a decanter of hot broth and a plate of beef jerky, both of which the archbishop had requested be made available for the weere aboard. The steward blushed profusely in the archbishop’s presence and seemed crestfallen when Sato asked him to leave. It reminded Alaric that to many of his people, the archbishop was regarded as a near-deity and more than human. Alaric eyed the neural port in Sato’s temple. Sato was more than human, but not in a way that was divine.

  Facing a porthole, sipping his tea, the archbishop said, “You were wondering about the android’s sacrifice.” The werfle was still on Sato’s shoulders and was peering at Alaric through narrowed eyes. Did it speak with the archbishop mind to mind or…? Alaric’s eyes fell on Sato’s neural port again. He’d taken it on faith that it was deactivated, even though he didn’t have faith.

  His jaw tightened. “Was it a sacrifice? Or will she move into a new body?”

  “It was a sacrifice,” Sato said. “For most androids, their backup is aboard a time gate. Trina was Time Gate 33. She destroyed herself with it.”

  Standing beside him, coffee in his hand, Alaric blurted, “Why?”

  The archbishop’s shoulders fell, and his breath came out in a sigh. “Probably for the reason she said.”

  Trina had been a machine, which meant her motivations were not her own. “Because she was programmed to preserve humans.” What had the archbishop said about Sixty? That he was unable to hurt humans.

  “Possibly, although I think that the importance of one particular human was at the forefront of her decision,” the archbishop said. “She was a time gate. If her core programming became inconvenient, she would have had the ability to reprogram herself. She never chose to do so, which probably says as much about her relati
onship to the humans aboard her as it does about herself.” The archbishop wiped his eyes. Alaric noted they were red as though he was crying, but Alaric dismissed it as an ailment of old age.

  Releasing another long breath, Sato said, “They’re all different from one another, just as we are. Slaves to their programming, like we are, and all blind to it like we are.”

  It was dangerously close to saying humans did not possess free will, and Alaric carefully remained silent.

  Sato shook himself. “The only way to see outside our blinders is to acknowledge the perspectives of others. It amuses me greatly that Sixty has had so much original perspective to offer.”

  Alaric stared into his coffee. “He seems to...malfunction...a great deal. I understand that they are designed to have normal human relations, but he seems to...go above and beyond in that respect.”

  “Well, going above and beyond is what he was designed for in that regard,” Sato said.

  “Pardon?” said Alaric.

  Sato blinked up at him. “Well, he is a sex ‘bot, isn’t he?” Turning back to the window, he said, “I think that is what gives him his unique viewpoint. He wasn’t designed with sentience in mind. It was thrust upon him, and he’s had to adapt to it. In a way, his personal evolution has been more...” The old man smiled wryly. “...natural.”

  Alaric barely heard. He felt his face heating. “He’s a...it’s a…” He closed his eyes. How had he been so dense? He’d thought it had been taunting him all this time, playing some sort of clever psychological game on Libertas and then getting stuck in a loop during their meeting...but it was a sex ‘bot. It was a weere…well, whore…Its purpose was to fulfill sexual needs.

  …and it was friends with Volka. “Why shouldn’t I send it out an airlock?” he muttered. It would be the Luddeccean thing to do. Sex was, officially, for procreation. Sex ‘bots were the ultimate in blasphemy.

  The archbishop glanced up at him sharply. “You’re letting your emotions get the better of you.”

  Alaric felt the blood drain from his face, and his body went cold at the archbishop’s words, mostly because they were true.

  He bowed his head. He couldn’t see Volka with it but come her season, she might do something rash. Hadn’t Volka told him he’d saved her from making such a mistake? His shoulders fell, remembering holding her in the shower after her third miscarriage. Had he really saved her?

  There was a whoosh behind them, and Sixty’s voice filled the conference room. “You shouldn’t send me out the airlock because it would be a bad idea to endanger Luddeccean and Galactican relations when you will need the Galactic Republic more than ever.”

  Alaric spun to see Sixty standing in the hallway entrance.

  “Thank you for coming, Sixty,” said the archbishop, wheeling around in a leisurely, completely unsurprised way.

  Inclining his head to the door, giving Alaric a grim smile, Sixty said, “I couldn’t help but overhear. I think the gravity beam warped the door; it doesn’t close all the way.”

  “How did you come to the conclusion we’ll need the Republic?” Alaric asked tersely, his mind spinning with the memory of Time Gate 33 exploding above them.

  Stepping into the room, the android said in an emotionless tone, “The infection has already destroyed many worlds. Through Russo and Dr. Khan, one of the infected scientists from the gate, it expressed its desire to continue spreading. Spreading is its purpose. If its purpose is to spread, and it has already been successful, then it must have a means of doing so. It arrived on S33O4 via an asteroid that came from out of this system. That was likely not accidental, and at least one of its methods, if not its primary one. There are probably more asteroids like the one that arrived here, spreading throughout the galaxy like...spores, if you will. The Darkness, as The One call it—” The android’s eyes briefly went to the white werfle, “—now knows from its human hosts of Luddeccea and the Republic. It will direct its efforts in our direction. It would be logical for the Luddecceans and the Galactic Republic to join forces to eradicate its spores. Endangering such cooperation by sending a citizen of the Galactic Republic out an airlock would be illogical.”

  The archbishop smiled sadly. “You have noticed that humans aren’t always logical?”

  A muscle in Alaric’s jaw jumped.

  The android looked at the ground. “It has come to my attention lately that some of my kind have acted without…” he nodded at Alaric before turning to the archbishop. “...empathy...toward your people, Kenji.”

  “Ah, yes,” said the archbishop. The old man took a deep breath. “What goes around comes around, as they say.” He wiped his eyes again.

  Frowning, a furrow forming on his brow, the android approached the old man.

  “You know we won’t send you out the airlock,” Sato said. “Even if…” the archbishop let out a long breath. “Even if I didn’t fear that you are right about our new enemy.”

  “I think…I knew that, sir,” said Sixty.

  The archbishop dropped his hand and looked up at Sixty with an expression of such pure gratitude it caught Alaric off guard. He had the sensation of not knowing, a sensation he’d never liked.

  Waving a hand toward the refreshment tray, the archbishop said to the android, “Would you like some refreshments, Sixty? We have Luddeccean tea, coffee, cream, and butter cookies.”

  The android smiled. “I would enjoy that very much. Your Aunt Eliza always said that Luddeccean food was the best, and she was right.” He looked at Alaric. “It’s the terroir. Milk is mostly lab-made in the Republic. Your grass-fed animals produce dairy products with greater chemical complexity.” Peeking at the archbishop’s cup, Sixty added, “Would you like a refill, sir?”

  “Thank you, Sixty, I would,” the archbishop said.

  Taking the archbishop’s cup, Sixty asked Alaric, “And what about you, sir?”

  Alaric had just suggested sending the android out an airlock, and here it was asking if he wanted more coffee. Of all its behavior, the simple gesture seemed the most alien.

  “No, thank you,” Alaric said.

  The android frowned. “I can’t poison it. I can’t harm humans. It is my purpose to care for you.”

  Alaric’s stomach sank, and he wasn’t sure why. “No, thank you, I’m just...done.”

  “Very well,” said Sixty, filling up the archbishop’s cup with tea. “Milk, no sugar, Kenji?”

  “You remember!” said the archbishop. Sixty handed him his cup and then proceeded to make himself a cup of coffee with so much sugar and cream that Alaric might have been able to pass it off to his boys as hot chocolate.

  The door whooshed again, and Sinclair stood there, the golden werfle on his shoulders and Volka, carrying a crutch, in his arms. She wore the same high-necked Luddeccean green refugee dress that she’d worn before. It made her kohl-lined yellow eyes gleam like amber and fit her form perfectly. Alaric felt himself flush, and his lips tighten.

  “They wouldn’t let you on the elevator?” the archbishop asked.

  “No, they said that was only for you,” Sinclair replied, gently setting Volka down and helping her with her crutch.

  Looking up at Alaric and Sixty, Sinclair said in a dry voice, “I had to carry her. I was afraid she might beat me up again if I didn’t.”

  Volka’s ears snapped forward. “I would never—”

  Sinclair smirked, and one of her ears flicked in a way that Alaric knew meant she was annoyed.

  Carl chittered, and its “necklace” crackled. “You already did, Hatchling!”

  Volka’s eyes met Alaric’s; she flushed and averted her gaze.

  “Here’s some beef broth and jerky for you, Volka,” Sixty said, setting both at a place at the conference table. “You should sit down and put your foot up,” he added. Volka and Sinclair sat down, and the archbishop said, “Did Carl tell you about Sixty’s premonition?”

  Volka looked down into her cup.

  Sinclair’s face became grim. “He did.”


  Sixty sat down too, and Alaric joined the four of them. He sat across from Volka, not close enough to run his hand between her ears. Alaric’s sister had told him of banned Pre-Revelation romances she’d read, and of lovers being “friends” after their affairs had ended. She described it as more “civilized.” Alaric felt that sitting at a table with Volka, pretending she was less to him than what she was, was brutal.

  Sinclair spoke, providing a welcome distraction. “It’s vital that Dr. Lang’s research get back to the Republic as quickly as possible. We’ll be able to create remote tests for the pathogen so it isn’t passed along at time gates and spaceports.”

  “We’re undergoing repairs,” Alaric said. “But I believe we’ll be able to get you back within the next eight Earth hours.”

  Sinclair’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

  Carl made a sound between a sneeze and a cough.

  Volka’s eyes slid to the werfle and back to the group. “We already have a remote test of sorts. The One can sense it, and so can some weere—maybe all weere. Carl says that exposure to him and Sundancer have strengthened my telepathic abilities, and I believe that is true. However, Captain, I don’t just feel it, I can smell it.” She didn’t sound at all like the teenager he’d known, and refugee dress or not, she had the poise of a princess. He wished she had said his name, though.

  Volka continued, “If you find other weere who are sensitive to the wave or just have sensitive noses, you could use them for screening at ill-informed...or on your ships when you run into pirates.”

  Her words were sensible, but Alaric froze, the possibility of infected pirates just coming to him.

  Volka’s mouth dropped open as though she were embarrassed. “I’m sorry. In the silly stories I read, pirates hide on asteroids, and I thought they might come into contact with the Dark that way, but that might be…” She blushed. “...uninformed.”

  “It’s not ill-informed,” Alaric said, his chest feeling heavy.

  Sinclair added, “The Kanakah Cloud is full of asteroids and uncharted settlements. An icy asteroid would be appealing to independent vessels looking for a water source.”