The woman looked back at her and waved her away. “Go back, Mirilee! Save yourself!”
The Gryphonites landed on the boat behind the woman. Nebula pushed the oars through the water, propelling her canoe forward as the woman took the meager wood paddle and gripped it as a weapon. But she didn’t have time to strike. In an instant, the birdmen were upon her, smothering her with their wings on all sides. She disappeared in a cluster of white feathers.
The Gryphonites turned in her direction and Nebula’s fear rose to tighten her throat. She had an overwhelming feeling of disgust coupled with an urge to get away. Nebula jumped into the water. Instead of swimming, she felt herself sinking to the bottom. Why wasn’t she trying to escape? Her vision blurred and the world spun in a smear of blue and black. She sensed there was more to the memory, yet something in her mind was blocking off the end result.
She’d only unearthed a small portion of the past, yet the more she tried to hold onto it, the farther away it fled. The memory shrank to a pin-sized hole, and the entire scene flickered out.
* * * *
Nebula awoke with her face pressed against the piano keys, her cheek resting on an ominous set of dark tones. How long had she been unconscious? The ship was coasting at optimum speed and she could see a distant galaxy beyond her window. She looked at the clock. The third shift was on duty. She’d only been out for a few minutes yet it felt like an eternity.
She closed the piano lid and analyzed her options. Although the rebel wasn’t in the memory, she suspected the man from the phase chamber was still a key to her past. Why did he summon the same melodies that brought the memories?
She needed to learn more about her visions, and to accomplish that, she needed to find the rebel who recognized her. Since the rebels would still be in processing, the best step she could take at the moment was to consult someone about the impossible recollections that weren’t her own.
Nebula walked to the private intercom. Angstrom was her closest ally on the ship. Since he was the only Frigian aboard, they’d found an unlikely camaraderie resulting from their strange backgrounds. Both were considered to be products of human experiments: Nebula as a construct and Angstrom as a newly discovered species, not yet considered an equal partner in the UPA.
Now the ship was on course and the rebels phased in, Angstrom would be off duty. She turned on her screen and buzzed his private room. Minutes went by before he answered, his slotted green eyes sleepy and his tube hair sticking out. He seemed surprised to hear from her. “Nebula? What’s up?”
“Angstrom, I need someone to talk to concerning a private matter.”
Her words drew him closer to the screen. His voice was soft, tinged with concern. “You bet, Neb. I’m here for you.”
“Can you meet me in the lounge at the bar?”
“Right now?” He glanced at the pajamas he wore.
Nebula’s face was blank as a computer screen on sleep mode. “It cannot wait.”
“All right. Be there in ten minutes.” He shut off the connection and her monitor faded to black.
Nebula buzzed herself out of her room and walked swiftly to the officer’s lounge on Deck Fourteen. The ship was quiet during third shift and she passed only a few guards in the hall. They nodded to her as she stepped by. One perk to being a cyborg was no one questioned her motives or purpose. All cyborgs were programmed to benefit the common good and complete missions as ordered. Why would anyone think she would do otherwise?
Nebula entered the lounge and took a seat at the far end of the bar. The bartender bowed his head to acknowledge her, but didn’t offer anything. Everyone on board knew she didn’t drink or eat as frequently as humans. Engineered for optimal efficiency, she could go for five days without water and fifteen without food.
Angstrom joined her moments later, his hair tied back like a stem of celery behind his head. He had on his UPA uniform as well. “Hey, Neb, don’t let the uniform rush you. I had to suit up because I go on duty in an hour. But I still have time to talk.” He looked to the bartender and ordered guavarian juice with ice.
“My apologies for disturbing your rest.” Nebula was programmed with a full repertoire of appropriate responses. Although it was well intentioned, her words came out flat. She couldn’t help the lack of inflection and she knew it. Before that night, her emotional deficiency was never an issue, but just then, she felt like the even response wasn’t enough.
She was lucky Angstrom knew better than to expect a heartfelt sympathy from a cyborg. He waved it away. “No problem. I had to get up anyway and eat something or else my stomach would be rumbling all day.”
The bartender came back with a sparkling lavender drink with a cherry on top. Nebula waited until he placed it down and walked to the other side of the bar before she continued. “My differences are the reason why I asked you to meet me here tonight.”
A serious look stretched on Angstrom’s face and he sobered. “What do you mean?”
Nebula paused. There was no turning back once the question was voiced out loud.
Angstrom waited on her next words. He always backed her up, even when she made mistakes that humans would scoff at. She knew she could trust him.
“Have you ever heard of a cyborg having memories from the past?”
Angstrom took a swig of his drink. “Well, yes, all cyborgs have memories. Don’t you remember the time we caught Venus kissing the captain after their team won the strobe fight?”
“Not their own memories. Memories from before they were made.”
“Wow.” Angstrom put down his glass. “You mean the memories of the people they were made from?”
Nebula nodded and his face blanched.
“Never. I’ve never heard of such a thing.” He took her hand. “Do you mean to tell me you’re having memories you can’t account for? Memories from a different life?”
Nebula nodded again. “Memories from Earth.”
“But you’ve never been there. How do you know that’s where they’re from?”
“I identified the images from my databank in my central circuit board.”
“Wowee.” Angstrom leaned forward. “Have you notified the cybernetics company?”
“No. There is a high probability they would collect me and terminate all my memories.”
Angstrom shook his head. “Clean slate, huh? Well, you can’t do that. It’s out of the question. All the good times we’ve had… Well, they would be lost forever. Do you know how long it took to get you to laugh at anything I said?”
Nebula smiled. “Are you saying I am hard to program?”
Angstrom sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “No, what I’m saying is I don’t want to have to make friends with you all over again. It was hard enough in the first place.”
Nebula knew he was teasing her to make light of the situation and refused to take the bait. The subject matter was too important for diversions. “There is more. I have been experiencing strange feelings lately, emotions that are not programmed into my schematics. These feelings are equivalent to anxiety, hurt and fear.”
Angstrom looked at her like she’d taken her first steps. “Why, Nebula, that’s wonderful.”
Nebula did not share Angstrom’s cheerfulness. She looked around, searching the room as if everyone at the bar may potentially turn her in. A couple sat across the room, eating breakfast and chatting about small talk and a fellow crewman snoozed in the corner, his glass empty. No one seemed threatening or even slightly interested in their conversation.
“I am not supposed to have these feelings.”
“I know. But I’ve heard reports of cyborgs experiencing certain degrees of such feelings. I guess it depends on how much of the body was used.” He studied her from head to toe. “Nebula, out of all the cyborgs I’ve seen, you look the most human.”
Nebula’s central processor was fast at work. “And how many have you seen?”
“At least a hundred. And I don’t n
eed you to tell me the probability of that.” He squeezed her hand like a proud parent. “How much do you know of the person they made you from? Like what happened to her? How she died?”
Nebula gazed beyond the sight panel, as if trying to access the answers from space. She shook her head. “Nothing.”
Angstrom nodded. “I see. Makes sense they don’t want cyborgs going around with emotional baggage. You’d have too many of them searching for their previous lives. It would distract them from their duties. I wonder why no cyborg has ever expressed a reason or a desire to know.”
“Maybe the engineers in the cybernetics company do not let them stay conscious long enough to find out.”
Angstrom massaged his chin as if he were deep in thought. “Sounds dangerous, if you ask me. I don’t know, Neb. Do you truly want to know what happened to your former self? If it were me, I wouldn’t want any unpleasant memories. What if something awful happened?”
She squeezed his hand. “Yes, but you must experience the good with the bad. What if it leads to something wonderful? I cannot pass this up. I have a great yearning to know where and from whom I came. These feelings are flooding my body like an addicting elixir. I do not want to have my memory erased. I have always sought truth. To let the emotions go would be to shun knowledge itself.”
Angstrom stared at her like the words he had left to speak were the most important words in the entire universe. His voice wavered as if he’d swallowed a bad sip of juice. “Then don’t tell anyone you don’t trust.”
Chapter 3
Radian
Although Nebula had an inner clock ticking away, the seconds felt like minutes and the next shift trudged along like the very first mission to Mars, before the discovery of optimum flight speed. She worked on the main control deck, computing all the possible trajectories of the rebel freighter and the Gryphonite Warbird before their impromptu rendezvous. She sat between Angstrom and Oso as they did their own calculations in preparation for a course to Titus Three. Although they were both fully immersed in their tasks, Nebula’s orders took only a fraction of her attention and she found her gaze drifting to the captain’s office, where he talked with Venus concerning the rebel passengers. Their fate hung on his decision and Nebula couldn’t help but feel curious. Using her high-definition sensitivity for audio input, she could hear the words being said.
“I know you don’t want me to turn them in, but they are dangerous, Venus.” The captain let out a huff of air. “We can’t keep them aboard when we visit the alliance negotiations. Gryphonite ships will be there and I don’t want them blown up by revenge-crazed rebels. Now, I know Titus Three is not the ideal place for them, but that’s where they will have to stay until we can return back to Earth.”
“They will not get a fair trial. You know as well as I rebels are condemned for life.”
“They knew that when they signed up.”
Venus’s voice fell to a whisper, and Nebula had to boost her reception. “But sir, in all honesty, what if the rebels are right? What if peace gets us nowhere while others die?”
“I have to believe treaties and negotiations will prevail over full-fledged war.”
Venus offered no response. The air fizzled between them, and Nebula could almost feel the static electricity. How two humans could change the vibrations in a room, she did not know, but whenever the captain and Venus were together, the room buzzed, like it was filled with cosmic photons.
The captain continued in a more sensitive tone. “I understand your relatives were taken by the Gryphonites, but in no way does that justify revenge.”
“You think this is about me?” Venus’s words were so cold they stung Nebula’s ears. Then Nebula heard something crash to the floor. She estimated by the sound of the weight hitting the deck and the glass breaking, it was the captain’s ship in a bottle, with a probability of two point three eight percent to one.
“This is bigger than both of us.” Venus sniffed. “Go ahead, Carl. Turn the rebels in and see how your conscience reacts to that.”
The door to the captain’s chamber slid open and Venus burst out. She passed Nebula without so much as a greeting and took the main elevator to the decks below. Although Venus was kindhearted, Nebula knew the captain was right. Babysitting the rebels was like holding a ticking time bomb. It was far too dangerous to fly them to the treaty negotiations or keep them on board.
Although Nebula thought the captain made the right decision, she prepared herself for the worst. She was acutely aware of how he felt about Venus and calculated the odds were in Venus’s favor he would change his mind before the ship reached Titus Three.
The captain emerged from his chamber and walked toward her as her fingers blurred over the keyboard, typing calculations at the speed of light. “How’s the data going, Nebula?” Although he tried to hide it, his voice sounded tired. The skin under his eyes sagged and he slumped forward as if resigned to be a heartless commander.
“Very well, sir. I have thirty-five possible trajectories for the rebel ship originating from five different star systems, and seventy-eight possible origination points for the Gryphonite Warbird.”
“That’s good.” But Nebula sensed the captain wasn’t listening at all. “Why don’t you take the rest of the hour off, okay?”
Nebula crinkled her eyes in a quizzical expression. “Sir?”
He rubbed his head. “I’m giving the entire flight crew a break for the next hour. I need some time to be alone, to think.”
She almost told him what she thought right then and there. But whether or not she held the probabilities in her hand, she was in no position for decisions such as that. Besides, she shouldn’t have been listening in the first place.
“Very well, sir.”
“Thanks, Nebula.”
She rose with the grace of a Russian ballerina and walked to the elevator, pressing the button for Deck Eighteen, where the prisoners were kept.
“Don’t get into too much trouble now, you hear?”
Nebula whizzed around. Had he noticed which deck she requested? Was he aware of her scheme? She scanned his face, but only saw amusement. Captain Ritter was just being himself. She’d logged thousands of his illogical quirks during the five years aboard the Flightship Freedom, and still she couldn’t understand him any better than her first day.
Nebula heard the whish of the lift as it came to collect her. There was a chiming beep and the threshold appeared behind her. “I will certainly try not to, sir.”
* * * *
The containment cells on Deck Eighteen were protected by a trio of guards. Nebula knew she’d have to construct a ploy to gain access to the prisoners. As the elevator eased and the doors swished open, she approached the main entry point with confidence and authority.
The guard nearest her spoke first. “Good afternoon, Nebula.”
Nebula computed the appropriate response pitch level that would sound casual and unthreatening. “Good afternoon, Corporal.”
“What brings you to this dark place?”
Nebula’s eyes shifted to the row of cells. “I am writing essays for an Earth journal exploring the motivations behind radical behavior. I thought these rebels would be excellent test subjects for my questions.” She had to overrule several erroneous warning flashes in her eyes in order to get the lie out. When she had a spare moment, she would have to shut off her superior judgment system.
Doubt registered in the guard’s eyes and Nebula resisted the urge to squirm. She kept her position and looked at him directly.
“Go ahead and try to talk to them. We all have, and we’ve got nothing back but spit and cursing.”
“I understand your concerns, Corporal.” Nebula’s voice flowed, mild and smooth. “But my research would be greatly improved with any exposure, whether it is positive or negative.”
“Very well.” The guard pressed a code into the panel alongside the threshold and the glass doors whizzed open. He followed behind her
as she peered in cell after cell, trying to find the one man who drew her in like a planet to a star. “We had to put them in separate cells because we were afraid they’d start to plan a way out. This way, no one knows what the others are thinking.”
“It is a safe assumption, considering the odds.” Nebula recognized the leader from the viewing chamber and he stood to watch her walk by, his eyes shifty like mercury. The woman with pink hair sweated in the cell beside his, doing pull-ups from the bars above her head.
Nebula passed several more cells before she came to the man with the deep-set blue eyes. He sat on the floor holding his head in his hands. She resisted the urge to run to him and press her face against the glass. He looked up just then as if he sensed her presence and froze in place, an odd mix of reluctance and pleasure in his gaze. “This cell, Prisoner Twenty-six. This man here will do.”
“All right.” The guard punched in a longer code than the first and the door to the cell disappeared. He took a step to follow her into the cell, but she waved him away.
“You know as well as I that I can take on three men his size.”
The guard backed up. “I’ll be right down the hall if you need me.”
She stepped into the chamber and nodded for him to bring up the barrier once again. The guard regarded her with a steady gaze and mouthed the words, “Be careful.” She waited until he disappeared before turning around.
The man stared at her like he knew she’d been coming all along. Their gazes locked, blue on black, and she stood unmoving. She felt uncomfortable as he studied her presence, his eyes watery with tears. Unpredictably, he rose from his position on the floor and walked toward her, closing the distance. Although combat tactics flashed through her circuits, she overrode each one and allowed him to take her into his arms. He held her close, smoothing over her back in gentle strokes, and buried his face into her hair.
Nebula had never been embraced. The sudden rush of contact flooded all her senses, both peripheral and emotional. She felt like her body was on fire, liquid gold running through her veins. She nestled her face into his shirt, taking in the feel of his body close to hers. She wanted to know if he had the same rush of pleasurable feelings and looked into his eyes for her answer.
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