Faring Soul - Science Fiction Romance

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  There was perhaps a dozen of them, all dressed in the Federation’s green field fatigues, with not a stitch of armor on any of them. “They’re not drones,” she said, puzzled. “They’re stationed troops.”

  “Groundhogs?” Brant said. He studied them himself. “They’re all bunched up together, in one nice convenient target. Do you think they’ve even had tactical training?”

  Catherine shook her head. “This doesn’t make sense. If we wait until they’re in range, that last cracker of yours would take them all out. They can’t be that stupid.”

  Bedivere nodded toward them. “They’re moving fast enough.”

  Catherine picked up her fletchette. “Perhaps a couple of close shots will break them up. Then I’ll feel better about picking them off.”

  “They’re all carrying what looks like the latest model rattler,” Brant pointed out. “When they start firing back, you’ll be more inclined to shoot them.”

  “That, too,” she agreed and settled herself properly against the side of the crater so that she could just see over it. “Bedivere, how far away is Lilly from the ship?”

  “About six hundred meters.”

  “It’s going to be close,” Brant said and settled on one hip against the slope.

  They watched the ground troopers make their way up the road, moving cautiously, but still clumped together.

  “Almost in range,” Brant murmured, sighting carefully along the gun, which he had balanced on the edge of the pit.

  “Try a warning shot,” she suggested. “We just have to slow them down for a bit longer.”

  Brant fired off a shot, which could not have reached them, for they were still nearly a kilometer away, but the effect was spectacular. The dozen men scattered, a few jumping down into the little creek, the others throwing themselves off the road and into the only cover they could find—the fields of manolillies on either side. They dropped down below the level of the tall flowers, into cover.

  But around each trooper, the lillies rippled into a rainbow of different colors.

  “It’s like they’ve painted targets around themselves,” Bedivere said. It sounded like he was laughing.

  “They’re still Federation troopers and they are all carrying rattlers,” Catherine said sharply.

  “I know. But it’s…” He let out a soft breath and shrugged. “Four hundred and fifty meters,” he added before she could ask.

  Brant shifted his aim and took a shot at the three troopers making their muddy way along the creek bed. The three flattened themselves in the dirt. “Bedivere has a point,” he said. “This is almost too easy.”

  “Have either of you stopped to consider that these bumbling groundhogs could be here to pin us down, while the real professionals get here?”

  Brant glanced at her, frowning.

  “We need to get back to the ship and get out of here as quickly as possible,” Catherine said. “Even if it is easy.”

  “They’re moving,” Bedivere said.

  The circles of color were easing forward. The troopers hiding among the manolillies were crawling closer.

  “Throw a rock at one,” Catherine suggested.

  Bedivere grabbed a rock, lifted himself up on one elbow and lobbed it at the nearest patch of color. One of the hidden troopers fired a shot in return, but it didn’t come anywhere near them.

  “Bad shots, too,” Brant said.

  “Stay focused,” Catherine snapped. “Even bad shots can accidentally hit their target and those are rattlers they’re carrying. Bedivere?”

  “Four hundred meters.”

  They continued to throw rocks and fire shots, keeping the three troopers in the creek pinned down and slowing down the progress of the rest that were hiding under the manolillies. But they couldn’t halt their forward march and it was clear that very soon they were going to be flanked on both sides.

  “Bedivere?”

  “Ninety meters.”

  Catherine nodded. “Out of the hole and run like hell,” she told them. “Fire back every few steps to keep them down.” She fired off a shot toward one of the circles of color and watched it freeze.

  They scrambled out the back side of the hole, onto the road and started running. But Catherine felt exposed on the open cart track, so she angled toward the field. She could run along the edge and take cover as she needed to.

  But her ankle turned on the ploughed earth and she smothered a cry of pain as she stumbled forward, trying to keep on her feet. But as her foot thrust forward to take her weight, the pain tore up her leg and she fell to her knees. “Damn, damn, damn!” she muttered. A twisted ankle was going to slow her down way too much.

  She got to her feet and tried putting weight on it again. Pain flared hot, silvery and sharp, right up through her knee, making her groan and sink back to the ground.

  A hand gripped her arm and hauled her onto her feet and she looked up. Bedivere was looking over his shoulder as he lifted her.

  “Move it,” he said sharply.

  Catherine gritted her teeth together and began to hobble. Bedivere did most of the lifting and carrying. After a few steps, he gave a hiss of frustration, ducked under her arm and took nearly all of her weight over his shoulders. “You hold them off,” he said shortly and began to run in a staggering, lopping motion that covered the ground more quickly than she would have been able to do by herself.

  Catherine didn’t protest. Instead, she looked over their shoulders in quick glances and fired when a trooper tried to lift up and take a look. He dropped back down again, the manolillies waving around him.

  “Hurry up!” Brant cried, not too far ahead of them. He had to be pacing them, giving coverage. Catherine didn’t have the energy to look up and check for herself. They pushed through the rough rows of manolillies, spreading purple in a swathe behind and around them. Bedivere breathed heavily.

  “Get down!” Brant shouted and this time he sounded even closer.

  The alarm in his voice alerted them. Catherine looked over her shoulder and saw the trooper than Brant had spotted fall backward and disappear under the buds, as Brant fired a short shot.

  Bedivere abruptly dropped her and spun around to face their other flank. “No!” He threw out his arms, as if that would widen the shield.

  Horror burst through her and Catherine reached for him, just as he was flung backward. He slammed into her and they both went down heavily.

  Catherine wriggled out from under him, her horror morphing into a silvery terror that sang high and sharp in her mind.

  Bedivere lay on the ground, blinking upward at the cloudy sky. His throat worked, as if he was trying to breathe, but there was nothing left of his chest that could draw air.

  Catherine bent over him. “No, no, no. Bedivere…!”

  Heavy footsteps behind her. Harsh breathing. “Ah…dammit!” Brant’s rough voice.

  His hand on her shoulder.

  Catherine shook it off and turned Bedivere’s head so he was looking at her. His gaze caught hers. He was trying to talk.

  Her vision blurred and she blinked hard to clear it. Everything sounded muffled. Distant. Even Brant’s shots firing from right over her shoulder.

  Bedivere lifted his hand. Fingertips brushed her cheek.

  “Bedivere.” She could barely speak his name past the hot, painful knot in her throat and chest.

  His head fell limply to one side.

  Catherine closed her eyes and rested her head against his. For long moments she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even move. It hurt too much.

  Then the tears flowed and sobs tore at her chest.

  “Catherine!” Brant was shouting and it sounded like it hadn’t been the first time he had called her name. “Get up! We have to get to the ship. Now!” His voice was a whiplash that made her wince.

  Rattler shots were firing all around them. At them. They were much closer now.

  “We take him with us!”

  “Leave him. You’re already lame. They’re closing in. Move i
t!”

  Instead, Catherine pulled her knife out of her boot and struggled to turn Bedivere over.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Brant demanded.

  “I’m not going without the tether,” she said and ripped the back of the coat open.

  “For the love of Glave…” She heard him grunt with effort, then the second crispy cracker made the ground shake and the dim day to brighten. Brant dropped to his knees next to her. “That will keep them occupied for a minute or two.”

  She had the layers of clothing torn open and rested the point of the knife against his spine, where she had installed the mesh tether only a few short weeks ago. But her hand was shaking violently and the tip of the knife skittered over the flesh, leaving pin prick nicks that showed red, but didn’t bleed. Of course they wouldn’t bleed. Bedivere was dead.

  Brant took the knife from her and thrust the fletchette gun into her hand. “I’ll do it. Keep them down.”

  She got painfully to her feet and sprayed random fire across the mangled fields of lillies. There was a second crater only a few meters away, still smoking and with patches of color around it—only two or three now. The manolillies surrounding her and Brant were dark brown on Brant’s side and the wretched green that they favored for her.

  There was no more purple.

  That brought more tears. She brushed at her eyes with the sleeve of her coat and fired indiscriminately across the fields one handed. Her chest hitched with sobs, but she held it together long enough that when Brant stood, the bloody mesh tether in his hand, none of the troopers dared raise their heads.

  Behind them, the ship’s engines rumbled into take-off intensity.

  “Lilly?” Brant wondered aloud.

  “Doesn’t matter.” She held out her hand for the tether.

  Brant shook his head. “I’ve got it.” He held it out from his side so the blood would not drip on him and took the gun back with his other hand. Catherine limped toward the ship, barely noticing the flaring pain in her ankle. Brant kept pace with her, walking backward and keeping the troopers’ heads down.

  They made the ship without a single more shot being fired by the pinned down troopers.

  It wasn’t a victory, though. Not at all.

  Chapter Twenty

  “The engines just fired up by themselves!” Lilly cried as Catherine made her limping way to the flight deck.

  “I know,” Catherine told her. She hauled herself into the chair. “We’re not out of this yet,” she said. “There’ll be a Federation cruiser parked just outside the atmosphere, or heading planetward. If we’re really lucky, it won’t even have cleared the gates yet. But we have to assume it has and we have to prep for a jump and fight them off at the same time. Brant, weapons console. Lilly, to your station. This is going to be one of the hardest jumps we’ve made and we’re going to have to do it under fire.”

  “You’re going to pilot and navigate?” Brant asked, disbelief coloring his voice.

  Catherine hung her head, fresh pain touching her. She pushed it away, tucking it deep. She would have to deal with it later. Much later. She lifted her head. “Bedivere, are you there?”

  “I’m already tracking the Federation ship. It’s just through the gates. We can come at the gates from the other side.” The voice was tinny and scratched, generated by computer algorithms and issuing from tiny speakers placed in strategic locations around the flight deck…and throughout the ship, too. It was distorted, but the voice was recognizably Bedivere’s, using the same inflexions and words, the same easy, confident tone.

  Lilly gasped.

  But it was Brant Catherine was watching. He straightened up from the console, his head snapping around, taking in the flight deck, then settling on her, the light colored eyes full of suspicion.

  “Bedivere?” he repeated. “Tell me it’s a coincidence that your navigation AI happens to have the same name.”

  Catherine shook her head. Just a little. Her heart was squeezing. “We’ve been trying to spare you this knowledge all along,” she said softly. “But circumstances are forcing our hand.”

  “Bedivere…is…a computer?” Lilly breathed.

  “An AI,” Brant breathed. The white lines had reappeared around his mouth.

  “I’m more than an AI,” Bedivere said calmly.

  Brant began to breathe quickly. He gripped the console. “Sentience,” he said weakly. “You let your shipmind reach sentience.”

  Catherine gave a shrug, trying to look indifferent. “It wasn’t me who did it,” she said. “Well, it was, but not deliberately. I was lonely. I’d been alone for over fifty years, living on the ship by myself. Bedivere just wanted to tell me that I wasn’t alone. He found his voice and his self-awareness so he could.”

  “You let an unharnessed AI grow out of control,” Brant said harshly.

  “I didn’t know he was unharnessed. I didn’t know there was only the one AI running the ship. The schematics and meta data were all legal and proper when I brought him.”

  “Stop calling it him!” Brant shouted.

  “I hate to interrupt the hysterics,” Bedivere said. “But we need to get this jump sorted out now.”

  Catherine nodded and turned to the console. Lilly cleared her throat and turned back to her own console.

  Catherine could almost feel the iciness issuing from Brant. It was a heated coldness that chilled her.

  “Once we’re in the hole,” she said softly, “you can both scream all you want and ask any question you want. But first, we have to get there.”

  “Course laid in,” Bedivere said, his voice stiffly formal. “Gates in three hours and eight minutes. Fewer, if Lilly thinks the engines can handle over-capacity draw for that time.”

  “Don’t…don’t you know that?” Lilly asked, sounding confused and diffident. And awkward.

  “You’re the expert,” Bedivere replied.

  “I…umm.” She cleared her throat again. “Sixty minutes. No more.”

  “That will make a big difference, thanks,” Bedivere said warmly.

  Brant growled. “Where are you taking us?” he demanded.

  “Barros,” Bedivere said. “The jump will take thirty days. That should be enough.”

  Catherine deliberately kept her back to both of them. She just had to get through this jump…and then what came next.

  * * * * *

  They slipped underneath the cruiser, which was moving too close to light speed and was too big and bulky to change directions or speed in time to catch them before they made the gate. Catherine left the navigation and most of the piloting up to Bedivere. As pure flesh and blood, she didn’t have the necessary reaction speed and Bedivere had become a far better pilot than her, anyway. But she carefully hid how little she was actually doing from both Lilly and Brant. Lilly was already close to being completely unnerved and Brant’s anger was still too hot.

  They slipped into the gates just behind the cruiser and space turned milky white and grey around them. They were safe, for now.

  Lilly left the deck as soon as they were in the hole and Brant followed her silently. He was still angry.

  Catherine pushed back tiredly away from the console. “I have to go face the music.” She hauled herself up on to her feet, her ankle twinging. She would need to stop off in the surgery soon, scan the ankle and make sure nothing serious was wrong. It was swollen inside the boot. She could feel the pressure. But the boot was helping support it at the moment, so she wasn’t going to take it off.

  “He’s very confused,” Bedivere said. “Take it easy on him.”

  “Shouldn’t you be telling him to take it easy with me?”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to talk to him at all right now.”

  “You may be right.”

  * * * * *

  She didn’t find Brant straight away. As she limped toward the common room, her ankle began to hurt more and more. Even knowing it was just an excuse to put off talking to him for a little longer, Cather
ine went to the surgery to take care of the ankle.

  After cutting off the boot and scanning her lower leg and determining she wasn’t going to keel over and die from a strained tendon, she injected anti-inflammatories and pain-mufflers and printed off a replacement pair of boots from her personal stash of files. While the big processor worked on the recipe for leather, she healed some of the nicks and scrapes she had from being thrown to the ground multiple times.

  When she found herself sitting on the bed, humming mindlessly in time with the processor, she knew she was dodging the unpleasantness to come. So she walked barefoot to the common room, moving slowly and favoring her ankle.

  Brant was sitting at the table, his boots on a second chair and his arm sprawled across the table top. He looked up as she entered and tried to sit up straighter, revealing the half-empty glass sitting in the crook of his arm.

  “Are you drunk?” she asked.

  “Not drunk ‘nuff.” He reached for the glass with a hand that seemed steady enough.

  Catherine pulled out the chair opposite him and sat. Brant drunk might be easier to deal with than Brant spitting fire and brimstone, with all his faculties intact. “You know it doesn’t matter how much you drink, right? It’s not going to deaden anything but your nerve endings.”

  Brant lifted the glass very carefully. “…will if I pass out.”

  “Sleepytimes will do it faster.”

  “Brandy tastes better.”

  Catherine wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather drink wine, especially if I’m going to drink so much my pores exhale the stench for the next two days.”

  “Good idea.” He lurched to his feet in a way that looked alarming, but managed to stay on them. He pulled the big decanter out of its cradle and dumped it in front of her, the table rattling with the impact. Then he pulled out a mug and slapped that in front of her, too. “Go on. Drink.”

  He fell back into his chair and laboriously put his feet back onto the other one, one foot at a time, concentrating on each movement.

  Catherine watched him, trying to find a way into the conversation. Getting drunk with him seemed like a good way to do it, but she had to keep a clear head for the next few hours. She poured herself half a mugful of the wine, taking her time with the pouring.