Archangel Project 2: Noa's Ark

by C. Gockel

  James exhaled in a sigh and rolled down his sleeves. “But now the engine room won’t be as pleasant.” His voice was so dry that she couldn’t quite tell if he was joking. She wanted to fall against him, lean her head against his chest … and fall asleep. But maybe when she woke up … Shaking herself, Noa said, “Let’s go visit the doctor.”

  “With pleasure,” James said. Noa felt a prickle at the back of her neck. Did she hear an undercurrent of malice? And then she remembered him running out into incoming fire to haul Monica onto the lift. She shook her head. His tone was just so dry … He fell into step beside her, and together they strode down the short hallway to sick bay. The door slid away, Noa stepped in, and James followed. The medbay was darkened in the back. She saw Gunny there, passed out on a bunk. The girl and the boy were sitting on an unused operating table closer to the door. Carl Sagan was on the boy’s lap, eyes closed. The doctor was scowling at the ancient computer interface, plunking at singular keys, an old-fashioned stethoscope swinging from her neck.

  The door behind James and Noa closed with a whoosh. “We have to talk,” Noa said.

  Spinning in her chair, Monica said in a crisp, angry tone, “Yes, we do.”

  James felt like every nerve in his body was on alert. It wasn’t just because of Monica’s hostile tone … that was a confirmation of something he already felt. She was not to be trusted.

  On the boy’s lap, Carl Sagan lifted his head and squeaked at Noa—as though in hello—but then promptly rolled over on his back and waved all ten of his legs at the boy holding him. Noa had never closed the ethernet connection between them. She didn’t say a word when her eyes fell on the little creature, but she projected a ball of light in the periphery of his vision, expanding and contracting as though sighing in relief. But then it blipped out and in the real world her eyes went to Monica and narrowed slightly. “We can go someplace private—”

  “What is the Archangel Project?” Monica said, her voice trembling.

  Noa’s thoughts came to a halt so quickly that James felt the electrons in the ether between them wink. Across their link, in their cipher, she said, “And here I was thinking I’d be the one asking the questions.”

  Monica put a hand to her throat and looked away. “They kept asking me what I knew …”

  “They?” demanded James.

  Looking at the floor, Monica said, “I went to that ship, the new one that just landed. It was in good shape. I thought perhaps I could book passage to Libertas with them with my remaining credits.” She looked up at Noa. “That ship was where the Luddeccean Intelligence troops came from!”

  “Yes,” said Noa in a neutral tone. “We figured that out. They asked you about the Archangel Project?” Her chin dipped down toward her chest.

  James’s hands made fists at his side.

  Monica looked away, lines forming between her brows. “I couldn’t tell them anything; I don’t know anything about a project by that name. I worked with Fleet Intel and I’d never heard of it.”

  Her eyes came back to Noa’s. “Do you know what it is?” A moment ago she’d looked worried. But now she looked angry, her tone challenging. James reached into the ether to try and hear if she were transmitting. He heard nothing … but he had a moment of unease. When had eavesdropping across the ether became an instinctual reaction?

  One side of Noa’s lips curled in a sharp smile. “No, but I was sent to a prison camp for telling them I didn’t know.”

  Heat flared along James’s spine. James found himself taking a half step closer to Noa … and Monica. “They didn’t let people they suspect of being a part of the Archangel Project get away,” he whispered.

  Monica sucked on her lips and looked away again. Putting a hand to her temple, she shook her head. “They weren’t cruel, they were just insistent. And then they asked me about my husband, what he did, and about my research … and suggested I might like to come to Luddeccea with Zoe … that as a young mother and child alone we would be welcome there … to make a new start.”

  “And you turned down their generous offer?” The words came out of his mouth in almost a growl.

  Monica rubbed her arm and looked away. “I … there was something about the way he said it that made me uncomfortable.” She hugged herself. Heat flared beneath James’s skin. She had to be lying. The Luddecceans didn’t just let anyone associated with the Archangel Project go.

  Monica’s eyes shot to his. “You have to believe me, that’s all that happened. I don’t know why they let me go!”

  Through the ether, Noa said, “I do. As soon as she told them what her husband did, they knew he was a dead man … Monica’s beautiful, obviously has childbearing capabilities, and they were subtly suggesting she come and help them repopulate their planet.”

  James’s nanos snapped and sparked at that.

  “She has my pity,” Noa said across the ether.

  “Maybe that is part of the plan,” James said across the channel between them.

  Aloud, Noa said, “We know as much about the Archangel Project as you.” She tilted her head. “What is your research about precisely, Doctor?”

  Taking a deep breath, Monica rubbed her temple. “You’re in the Fleet … you know about the mech suits we started experimenting with at the end of the Six War?”

  “Yes,” said Noa, eyes narrowing at the doctor.

  Even as a civilian James knew about the mech suits. Ethernet-controlled machines had been next to useless in The Six Wars—the Six System asteroids were dense and unstable, and blocked light beams, microwaves, radio waves—just about every known way to communicate. The problems with communications in Six had reignited the research into quantum entanglement-based communication. But not having that, Fleet went with mech suits, highly specialized robotic shells worn by humans. They were seen as being the next best thing to quantum-controlled drones. The suits were nearly indestructible—gave one man the power of twelve—and when they were destroyed, it only meant one coffin was brought home, not a dozen.

  “You perhaps know of the psychological problems … with the suits?” said Monica.

  “Psychological problems with the suits?” James asked.

  Noa took a long breath.

  Monica waved her hand. “Not with the suits. With their operators.”

  “What are you talking about?” James asked, looking between the two women.

  Noa sighed. “Among other things, the suits were designed to be worn in situations where an operator might be isolated from teammates in full vacuum for extended periods of time … the mech suits were—are—smaller than ticks even, much more nimble. Ideal for espionage. To ease the effects of the isolation, the suits were made personable—”

  “They made them too personable,” Monica said, her jaw tightening, a scowl creasing her brow.

  “What does that mean?” James asked, an itch forming at the back of his mind.

  Noa’s eyes dropped to the floor. She put a hand to her chin and said, “The suits were designed to care about their operator’s well-being and mental health. To that end, they developed an emotional rapport with their operators. It seemed logical for the designers, but the suits became less tools, and more partners.”

  Monica frowned. “The Fleet personnel in the suits prioritized their suits over human lives.”

  A prickle of static itched up James’s spine.

  Turning to face the doctor, Noa said, “They did not prioritize their suits! They mourned their losses, yes, but they didn’t—”

  “They could snap out the suit’s hard drive. There was no need to be emotionally attached to the things!” Monica said.

  Through the ether, Noa projected a red ball … of what he assumed could only be rage … and he actually felt like it was warming him.

  “You know that isn’t true,” Noa said. “The soul of the suit wasn’t just in its hard drive, it was in the CPU centers of its arms, legs, and—”

  “Listen to your language,” Monica said, her voice becoming soft an
d losing its hard edge. “The suits didn’t have souls … the human operators who gave their lives for their suits did.”

  “Name me one human operator who gave his life for the suit,” Noa said.

  Crossing her arms, Monica said, “The 132nd platoon lost an entire fire team—”

  “They did not lose the fire team in some sort of misplaced desire to save their mech suits.” Noa’s voice rose in volume, her words coming clipped and fast. Her anger made the red ball between her and James’s mind pulse. “The humans and mechs made a strategic decision,” Noa continued. “They decided that having the humans leave their suits, effectively dividing into a human and a mech fire team in the Fenris cave of asteroid 634, would be the best way to complete the mission. They succeeded and retrieved the intel they were tasked with recovering! You dishonor the fire team’s intelligence and sacrifice by insinuating—”

  “It should not have been the humans that died,” Monica cried.

  “The fire team did what they needed to do to complete their mission,” Noa said, lowering her voice from a shout. Across the ether, her anger crackled, “No one dishonors my Fleet.”

  “You weren’t assigned to the task of explaining why the suits survived and the men inside them didn’t,” Monica said, her voice very even. “One of those men was a senator’s grandson … the Fleet lost funding because of that mistake.”

  “The data that ‘mistake’ retrieved,” Noa said in a more controlled voice, “saved hundreds of Fleet personnel’s lives and helped end the conflict.”

  As controlled as her voice was, the ethernet buzzed with her rage. Across the channel she hissed, “Maggot in the refuse of a dysenteric lizzar. Typical politician … ready to seize defeat from the jaws of victory.” The fireball of her anger was replaced by a graphic picture of said maggot across the ether … James reignited the fire ball and let it engulf the mental maggot. His eyes slid to Noa. There was the ghost of a smile on her lips, but her eyes were on the doctor. Across the ether, Noa said, “Oh, look, now she pities me. Doctors!”

  Monica’s expression had become pitying.

  Taking a deep breath, Noa prompted, “So, you told them about your research, which was …?”

  “Yes, how to assure that human-machine interactions did not lead to the anthropomorphizing of machines and maintaining the supremacy of human life.”

  “And they let you go after that,” said Noa. Across the ether, she said, “Well, it does almost fit with their philosophy.”

  The heat beneath James’s skin spread to every neuron and nano within him. He felt as though he were made of flame. “No, that excuse isn’t good enough. Why did they wait to attack us?” he asked. “They could have attacked as soon as they landed.”

  Monica’s arms dropped to her sides. She took a step back. “I … I … don’t know.”

  “They wished they could,” Zoe said.

  All the adults in the room looked at Zoe. She was looking down at Carl Sagan, scratching him beneath the chin.

  “What, honey?” said Monica, approaching her daughter.

  Zoe looked up. “I heard it with my augments.”

  “What did you hear?” Noa pressed.

  “‘Wish we could have full-on stormed the Ark,’ one man said,” Zoe replied. “But then the other one said, ‘No, can’t damage the Ark, might destroy the archangel … it must be taken alive … and ‘sides, Adam wants that ship. We can’t damage it without getting his sign-off first, or we might wind up floating home.’”

  “The archangel?” said Monica. “Did they tell you what that is, honey?”

  James’s eyes narrowed on the child.

  “One of them said it was a demon,” Zoe whispered. She sat up straighter. “Or a djinn … what’s that, Mommy?”

  Frowning again, Monica put a hand on Zoe’s shoulder. “Imaginary creatures.”

  Looking at James, Monica said, “James, what madness is this?” There was a note of plaintiveness in her voice that caught James off guard. He began to wonder at his visceral dislike for her. He had never felt anything before his accident except attraction to Monica—and annoyance that it was one-sided.

  “Welcome to the Luddeccean System,” James said after a pause that stretched too long.

  Noa cocked her head. “Where was Wren the whole time you were aboard the Luddeccean ship?”

  Monica blinked. “I don’t know.” She looked at her daughter.

  “He was nice, Mommy.” Zoe looked up at her mother. “He said they shouldn’t hold you, and that we should be allowed to leave. That we were his passengers, and they weren’t allowed to steal his fare.”

  The boy stiffened at Zoe’s words. Carl Sagan sat up with a squeak. He rubbed his nose against the boy’s hand.

  Noa sighed across the ether and said, “That sounds like Wren.” She turned to the boy. “And who might you be, young man?”

  James turned to the child. His stained clothing was not quite rags, and his long dark-brown hair fell in front of his face. His eyes were barely visible through dirty bangs. His features were nondescript Afro-Euro-Asian and he was very skinny. “Raif,” he said quietly, his voice cracking a little.

  “Nice to meet you, Raif,” said Noa. “You were helping Wren take care of his ship?”

  The boy gulped. “Trying.”

  “I’m sure you were doing a good job,” said Noa.

  She turned to James. “Shall we go talk to Captain Wren?”

  James nodded at her, but before either of them could move, the boy slid from the exam table. Cradling Carl Sagan in his arms, he said, “Can I come with you?”

  Noa’s dark eyes met James's. A fleeting will-o’-the-wisp of worry fluttered through the ether between them.

  The boy looked between them both, his hair falling away from frightened-looking brown eyes. Monica put a hand to her mouth.

  “Please,” said the boy. “He’s my dad.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Noa gaped.

  James's thoughts flickered across the ether. “That doesn’t … feel right.”

  And that was the truth.

  Monica began tapping her neural interface, the universal symbol for “Can we think together?”

  Ghost’s thoughts rang across the general frequency. “Commander and Professor, that … woman … is trying to reach you over the ether. Should I share access to the Ark’s ethernet?”

  Noa’s eyes went to James.

  Across the ether, he said, “The Luddecceans let her go too easily.”

  “I agree, Commander,” Ghost said.

  Noa felt something was missing from James. “You … don’t like her.”

  James shook his head and looked away. “It … might be irrational,” he said across the shared channel.

  Noa frowned, thinking about the bloodbath on Adam’s Station. “Her joining us on this ship wasn’t easy.”

  “So you trust her?” James said across the channel. At his side his fists were opening and closing. Monica looked frantically between the two of them.

  Noa put a hand to her chin and spoke into his mind. “She is condescending—but so are most Earth academics.” She gave James a tight smile. He rolled his eyes. Noa shook her head. “But she is also honest … I trust her enough.”

  “Fine,” said Ghost. “Giving her access to a general channel now.”

  Monica’s thoughts rushed across the ether, her eyes going from Noa to James and back again. “Raif showed up at Wren’s ship shortly after we landed and claimed to be Wren’s son. He had a DNA match kit that confirmed it. Wren didn’t know anything about him; but did know his mother. Apparently, some sort of sex worker. According to Raif, she died a few months ago. ”

  Noa exhaled.

  Monica said across the ether, “Wren let him stay and has had him doing odd jobs. I can’t tell if Raif is growing on him … or if he thinks maybe Raif is the cheapest labor option.”

  “You’re all talking about me in your heads,” said Raif. He licked his lips; they were so chapped they were sp
lit and bloody. “Are you going to take me to see my dad?”

  Noa looked at Monica, not sure how much she could trust her; and uncertain about Raif, and what he meant, what he revealed about Wren’s motivations. It wasn’t in her to trust a double agent; but Wren was human, had a family now, and hadn’t turned the boy away. She looked Raif up and down. The boy was a picture of neglect … but he was alive, unlike the other civilians on the hangar, and Wren had run back for him.

  Carl Sagan kneaded his claws into the boy’s pant leg and squeaked at the doctor. Monica went over to the werfle and scratched his head. The creature leaned into her touch.

  And Noa felt a certainty in her gut that she could trust Monica to be a doctor and to be honest. The bout of verbal jousting said that Monica couldn’t keep her opinions to herself … Noa trusted that more than the reverse.

  “I’m not going to hurt your dad,” Noa said. And then heat flared in her chest. Over the ether, she found herself venting, “Although maybe I should. He couldn’t get this child any proper clothes?”

  One of James’s eyebrows lifted. She must have inadvertently shared the thought with Monica as well, because the doctor nodded and sucked in a long breath.

  Holding her anger in, Noa said aloud, “Right now I need to speak with Wren alone.” The boy drew back, cradling Carl Sagan closer. The werfle snuffled against him.

  Noa bent down so her eyes were level with Raif’s. “No matter what happens, you’re welcome here.”

  Raif’s body visibly relaxed, and he exhaled loudly.

  Her eyes went to Monica.

  “Why don’t I take them both to the cafeteria?” the doctor suggested. She waved at Gunny. “He’s connected to the ether. I’ll know if he wakes up.”

  Over the ether, Noa said, “There were no … extraordinary chemicals in his system?”

  Monica shook her head and across the ether said, “He’s just drunk.”

  Noa sighed. To James, and only James, she vented across the ether, “I’d almost hoped he’d been drugged and had a real excuse.”