Supernova

by C. Gockel

  6T9’s Q-comm flashed in alarm. He remembered those conversations while they’d been separated. Volka had revealed medical data, not knowing it was a crime to do so.

  “Why would you do that?” FET12 asked.

  The mindscape darkened. Time Gate 1 replied in a low voice, “The One are true telepaths, and Fleet and the system governments have been isolating them. I don’t want that to happen to Volka.”

  “Neither would I,” FET12 declared.

  6T9 blinked. He wouldn’t either, but it wasn’t very much like a time gate to want to assuage anyone’s feelings.

  The gate continued. “I believe it may be a strategic advantage to have a telepath on our side. The gates are not united in the opinion that we should aid the battle against the Dark. Gate 3 in particular is not convinced. Where gates are undecided, humans and machines tend not to be.”

  … And that explanation of self-interest was more in keeping with the gate’s personality.

  “Gate 3 is the site of Lauren G3’s server,” FET12 commented.

  “Indeed,” Gate 1 replied. “And she has the ability to hack into your asteroid’s central computer.”

  “We’ll search all the logs for any mention of her telepathy,” FET12 declared, “and scrub them.”

  “Good,” said Time Gate 1.

  The mindscape vanished, and FET12 and 6T9 were standing in the hallway with the lingering smoke from the phaser burn. “I can search the outdoor records while you review the inside records,” FET12 suggested.

  Accessing the central computer, 6T9 snapped his hands behind his back. “Thank you. Be sure you remove any mention of merely empathic connection—”

  “Understood,” FET12 said.

  6T9 began hastily designing a query to detect any incidences of such declarations. Results flew into his mind, along with timestamps for each incident. He couldn’t help comparing the time Volka said to Shissh, “That young buck has got his antlers stuck. I feel it,” with what he’d been doing at that same time in New Grande. He’d been fighting in System 5 at that moment, with Davies, a Luddeccean Guard Sergeant. They’d been punctuating phaser fire with stupid quips. It wouldn’t be correct to call Davies a friend. They’d hardly known each other. But the Luddeccean hadn’t judged 6T9 when he shot an infected child, had slept soundly while 6T9 had his face peeled half away, and though Davies hadn’t liked The One, he had comforted Mao, a member of that species in the body of a kitten while it died, and—

  “6T9?” FET12 asked. “Are you malfunctioning? Do you need to reboot?”

  6T9 broke off from the unrelated query. His head was bowed. His hand was on his side where he used to keep Eliza’s ashes. He’d thrown them into the eyes of an Infected man to keep him from infecting Volka.

  Snapping his head up, he said, “I’ll be fine.”

  He focused on the task at hand, careful not to do additional queries, and he was fine—or at least not immediately distracted. Too soon Lauren G3 pinged him from outside the asteroid habitat. To FET12, 6T9 said, “She’s here. I’ve deleted some records. The gaps in the log will look suspicious.”

  “Note the time and location, and I’ll doctor the logs while you talk to her.”

  “Thank you,” 6T9 said.

  “It’s for Volka,” FET12 said.

  Heading down the hall, 6T9 was too busy to feign injury at that reply.

  “6T9,” FET12 called. “Why is she here?”

  A surge of static rolled beneath 6T9’s skin. “That is the big question.” Striding down the hallway to meet her, he muttered, “But it can’t be anything good.”

  In the long grasses of the asteroid’s prairie-scape, Volka laughed. “Mmmm … so good!” Clutching the deer’s liver, her fingers were wet and warm. So were her lips. The smell of blood, warm earth, and growing things filled her nostrils. “I’ve got blood all over my face, don’t I?”

  Shissh, a long shadow in a circle of flattened grass around the deer’s corpse, looked up while crunching down on the creature’s head. The tiger blinked slowly. “Yes.”

  “Sixty will be scandalized.” Volka smirked. Or maybe he wouldn’t be, now that he could kill.

  “I can fix it for you,” Shissh declared, running a washcloth-sized tongue across her lips.

  “Let me finish first,” Volka said, taking another bite. Her eyes nearly rolled back into her head in ecstasy—at the flavor, the scent, and the texture of the meat on her tongue.

  “Suit yourself,” the big cat replied.

  A light above caught their attention. “I wonder who that is,” Volka said.

  Shissh had been speaking through the ether-to-speech device dangling from her neck, but now she spoke telepathically to Volka. “Reach out; try to see.”

  Volka answered the beast the same way. “It’s rude to read thoughts.” And wrong. And she did it all the time without meaning to.

  Shissh replied, “Just try to see who is there.”

  Volka lowered the liver but hesitated. The ship dropped beneath the tree line and out of view.

  “Think of it as a test of your control,” Shissh suggested.

  Control was important. Volka took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and pictured the ship and the threads of the universe between her and it ….

  “They’re not threads,” Shissh chided.

  Volka’s brow furrowed. They were the waves that made up the universe, the energy of things, but they looked like threads to Volka—curled, wild threads of a glowing, unravelling sweater. She saw them now, but too many—the threads of the trees, birds, insects, a burrow of rats, and even a deer were between her and the ship. Nonetheless, there was something she didn’t see in the tangle. She shook her head. “I sense no humans.”

  Shissh rumbled. “Finish your liver, and then meet my brother by the house. We have an important lesson for you.”

  Another lesson in telepathy, something she’d been taught was wrong her whole life. Telepathy and mind control were, according to Luddeccean orthodoxy, something machines did to control humans. Machines couldn’t control humans or read their minds—Volka could. She didn’t enjoy reading minds. There were so many things about the lives of others one didn’t want to know—there was sadness and loneliness that people hid out of politeness, there were sexual fantasies that made her feel like a voyeur, and genuine love that made her feel worse than that. There were things that enthralled some people that bored her near to tears. And then there was greed and hatred, too. Humans were such a mix of all of those things. To know everyone around her intimately was overwhelming.

  But Shissh said there was an important lesson, which meant something new, and that made her curious. There was something different today. Despite her trepidation, Volka found herself eating the liver more quickly.

  A few minutes later, stomach full of warm liver, face and hands feeling a little raw from Shissh’s “kisses,” Volka was washing her hands beneath an outdoor spigot and studying the house thoughtfully from afar. Carl, tabby coat exceptionally golden in the light of the artificial dawn, came hopping toward her. He spoke telepathically. “Who do you sense?”

  “No one,” Volka replied in the same manner. “But I know there is some trick if you have a lesson for me.”

  She eyed the ship their visitor had come in. It was parked next to Sundancer, one of the Skimmers, eighteen faster-than-light, sentient spaceships. The other Skimmers were currently aboard Time Gate 1 with their captains. Sundancer and all the Skimmers had lovely, graceful, curved lines. By contrast, the shuttle was boxy, gray, and not particularly interesting looking, though not threatening, either.

  She shook her hands, flicking the droplets from her fingers at Sundancer. She missed, but the droplets gleamed in the morning light, and the pearlescent ship flashed in playful answer. Sundancer couldn’t speak much, yet, but the ship’s emotions were always at the back of Volka’s consciousness. The other Skimmers were linked with Volka, too. They were older than Sundancer, more mature. They could talk telepathically in words—though they
weren’t talking now. They were non-violent in the extreme, and if Volka probed, she knew she’d feel their disquiet at her joy for the warmth of raw deer liver. Sundancer was inured. Or was too young to know better.

  Carl grumbled. “Light-eating surrender-rocks.”

  That non-violence had been an asset to the Dark when it infected and wiped out The People, the Skimmers’ former symbiotic passengers. The Skimmers had grieved their passing but hadn’t retaliated … until now. The seventeen elderships had declared Volka their admiral and taken her former crew as captains. They were preparing now for today’s mission with them. Volka frowned, thinking about it. For weeks after New Grande, they’d been involved in the effort to find and relocate survivors on that planet. And then they’d briefly gone back to their search for The Dark’s current base, seeking where it was building up its own fleet of faster-than-light vessels. It was important work … and incredibly boring.

  Today wouldn’t be boring. She felt a chill at the back of her neck.

  Sundancer, sensing her apprehension, flashed brightly for her attention. When Volka looked, Sundancer turned gray, gave herself harsh black lines along her hull, and sank heavily to the ground. She was imitating the shuttle parked next to her, trying to make Volka laugh. When Volka did laugh, Sundancer turned her hull to the colors of one of the asteroid’s exotic, imported hummingbirds. Volka took Sundancer’s meaning: the tiny bird was far more interesting than the boring shuttle.

  Sniffing, Carl rose to his hindmost paw pairs. “Enough playing.” Sundancer let her colors fade. To Volka, Carl said, “There’s no trick. Just something new. You’re strong enough now. We’ll get closer.” Twisting about, he began hopping toward the house’s kitchen entrance.

  Following him, Volka’s ears swiveled at the calls of birds, the buzz of honeybees newly awakened, the thump of a rabbit’s feet, and the chirps of squirrels. The asteroid at this location had a lovely temperate climate, and since 6T9, FET12, Carl, Shissh, and Volka all enjoyed those sounds, the kitchen windows were open. She couldn’t see who was within, but she heard their voices. Volka almost exclaimed, “Lauren G3,” but Carl whispered into her mind. “Shh ….” She remained silent, but her ears flicked. She didn’t like the legal ‘bot very much.

  The scent of raw bacon wafted from the house, a knife thunked on a cutting board, and then she caught a whiff of freshly sliced apple—a fruit she could eat and actually enjoyed. Sixty was preparing breakfast for himself and lunch for her. Soon she’d smell melted butter, maple syrup, and pancakes, waffles, or French toast, depending on his mood.

  “I still am unsure why you had to force yourself to come all this way,” Sixty was saying. The knife snapped hard against the cutting board. “It was a terrible inconvenience.” The knife hit the board again with too much force. “It could have been done remotely.”

  “It wasn’t an inconvenience!” exclaimed the familiar voice of Lauren G3.

  “Mmm ….” Sixty said, and Volka smirked. The inconvenience was to him, but Lauren G3, who fancied herself terribly smart, hadn’t picked up on that.

  Next to her, Carl said silently, “Try to find the waves to Sixty and Lauren.”

  Volka closed her eyes and tried to picture the strings … they were there, but they were barely distinguishable from the drab threads of the tables and chairs. Sixty and Lauren’s strings had a faint shine, but they didn’t have the incandescent radiance that were the waves of living things.

  Carl said silently, “Let’s peek in the screen door. Don’t let yourself be heard or seen.”

  Opening her eyes, Volka nodded and padded with the werfle over to the door. Peering through the screen, she saw Sixty behind the island. He was chopping something else now, some sort of nut. Lauren G3 was sitting at the table. Wearing a smart lavender pencil skirt, cream silk blouse, and high heels, she was smiling up at Sixty. She looked so sharp and clean, Volka surreptitiously glanced down at herself. Her pajamas were stained with blood, and her shoes were muddy.

  “It could have been done remotely,” Sixty said. And Volka’s eyes snapped back to him. All of Sixty’s focus was on his task.

  Crossing her legs, Lauren G3 laughed. “Do friends need any excuse to see each other?”

  Sixty chopped faster.

  Carl whispered into Volka’s mind, “Look at the back of their heads, where the occipital bone would be in a human. Focus. Find the string there.”

  The occipital bone was at the back and base of the skull—Volka knew from her study of Anatomy for Artists, a book she’d studied extensively back on Luddeccea. Volka focused hard on 6T9 but saw nothing unusual.

  “He’s not thinking,” Carl whispered. “Or trying not to. Try Lauren.”

  Volka flicked her attention to the woman, closed her eyes, and looked for the strings.

  Lauren G3 chuckled. “Friends don’t need a reason to see each other. That’s what the humans say.”

  A spark flickered along one of Lauren’s strings, so fast Volka almost thought she’d imagined it.

  “I thought you liked humans,” Lauren G3 continued, and again Volka swore she saw a flicker.

  Pausing his chopping, Sixty said in a low voice, “You don’t like humans.”

  Volka’s lips parted. There had been a definite flicker from Sixty this time.

  “Good Hatchling,” Carl crooned in her mind.

  Lauren chuckled and her string flickered again. “That’s true.”

  Volka opened her eyes. To Carl, she thought, “I saw it.” She was ready to barge in and end the conversation. She had a sinking sensation it was going in a disgusting direction, but Carl whispered, “No Volka, let’s use this time for practice. Keep finding the spark.”

  Volka didn’t move, but she kept her eyes open.

  Leaning on her elbows, propping up her chin on her hands, Lauren G3 said, “Do you still like them, 6T9? I know you changed your programming to be able to kill.”

  There was something about the female android’s pose. Was she being flirtatious? Volka’s lip curled.

  “Control your instincts and focus on the strings,” Carl ordered.

  Volka pinched her lips together. She did need to learn not to growl at women—and men—who found Sixty handsome. There were too many of them. She glanced at Sixty. He’d resumed chopping again and wasn’t looking at the other ‘bot.

  Jealousy assuaged by his indifference, Volka closed her eyes. The string from Lauren’s occipital region flickered briefly, and the android said, “I’m surprised you survived as long as you did without the ability to kill … especially aboard that Luddeccean vessel. I’d met that human, that Captain Darmadi before.”

  Volka’s ears came forward.

  Sixty stopped chopping. His string sparked. “Really? When and where was that?”

  “Oh, in Luddeccean space before you rescued the spaceship,” Lauren G3 replied casually. Volka’s heart began to beat in her ears.

  Sixty’s string was sparking madly. “Oh?”

  Lauren G3 laughed. “You weren’t the only one to venture into barbarian territory! Darmadi almost captured me,” Lauren all but purred, her thread sparkling. “You should have heard the squalls of the humans and their larvae just before I self-destructed.”

  Volka’s nails bit her palms; her lip curled. Sixty’s thread became a bright white light.

  Her eyes went wide, half-expecting to see Sixty wearing a halo. He wasn’t. Nor was his skin glowing like it did when he’d overcharged. He was standing stock still behind the counter. The hand holding the knife had fallen to his side. He was staring at Lauren, utterly expressionless.

  “Of course, I could never get away with that now.” Lauren G3 laughed.

  Volka’s skin heated. She’d killed the deer with a phaser to the brain, and the weapon still hung in its holster at her waist, up to this moment forgotten. Her fingers found the handle, her eyes found Lauren G3, but then motion from Sixty’s side of the counter diverted her gaze. He was walking around the kitchen island in slow measured steps. He was
still carrying the knife. Fearing what he might be about to do, Volka barreled through the door.

  “Sixty, stop!” Volka’s voice cut through a white haze in 6T9’s vision. His Q-comm was downloading and uploading data so quickly it was overwhelming his other systems. He was quarter way around the kitchen island, six steps from Lauren G3.

  Halting, he twisted his head around to Volka in a way he couldn’t care wasn’t quite human. “Why?” She’d guessed his emotional state without an ether connection or Q-comm. She had superior fight or flight instincts.

  “Because I can’t lose you,” she whispered.

  6T9 blinked. Had he been about to destroy Lauren G3 or just to throw her bodily from his home? Either could get him tried in a court of law and could land him in prison, or worse, he could have his Q-comm taken away. He’d be trapped in his server, a digital ghost.

  He took in Volka’s eyes, soft and wide; her hands were raised. Her nails were black like a wolf’s, a little too thick to be human, and they glinted dully in the artificial light. There was blood on her shirt. She’d killed deer, men, and even successfully taken on his own kind, but now she was pleading for peace. She was right. He couldn’t destroy Lauren G3. Even if he slagged her body and her Q-comm with it, she could get new ones. Obviously, she didn’t mind the experience. His Q-comm fired white hot. Worse, Time Gate 3 housed Lauren’s precious server. It knew what she had done in Luddeccean space and had rewarded Lauren with her current Q-comm and body to house it.

  Lauren would lose nothing she valued if he slagged her. He’d lose his liberty and Volka with it. His hands clenched at his sides, and a warning light went off in his vision. He was damaging his palms.

  Lauren G3 rose from her chair. Eyes on Volka, she almost crooned, “You can’t keep him away from his own kind, silly creature. He was bound to get bored of you someday.”

  Volka’s lip curled, and she growled, but did not move toward the other ‘bot.

  It took a whole second more for 6T9 to process what Volka knew instantly. Lauren G3—who derided all things of the flesh—was suggesting that 6T9 might trade Volka for her.