Supernova

by C. Gockel

  Volka’s ears sagged.

  Noa nodded. “Because you’re a genuine telepath.”

  Orion’s nose did a funny wrinkly thing as he thought, “She is not telepathic. Why is the admiral indulging her?”

  Carl and Shissh looked at Orion, looked at each other, and then looked at Volka. Was she going to let that stand?

  Volka’s ears flicked madly. She didn’t feel like fighting Orion on the matter.

  Noa nodded again. “Thank you for giving us plausible deniability.”

  “We suspected,” James said. “But didn’t push because we didn’t want to be in the position of withholding information.”

  Noa smiled ruefully. “Doesn’t matter now.”

  Sixty squeezed Volka’s shoulder. “As to your other question, why the hallways were so empty, the Republic Counselor’s ship in System 11 refused quarantine, claiming diplomatic immunity. The president of System 11 blew it out of the sky, and then Gate 11 cut off all incoming ships. Only data is allowed … I imagine most personnel were called into emergency meetings, or glued to holocasts.”

  Orion gulped audibly. James rubbed his temple. Noa’s eyes narrowed, and she thought, “A potential ally,” in the same way Shissh and Volka thought about injured deer in the woods.

  “Was the ship Infected?” Volka asked Carl and Shissh.

  Shissh’s tail lashed side to side. “Impossible to know. We only have one agent in System 11—”

  Carl chirped. “We don’t need many agents there. It’s filled with descendants of weere.”

  Shissh growled. “—our agent’s host body was killed in a hunting accident, just before the event. He knows his body wasn’t assassinated by the president or his cabinet, but he is still hopping from body to body to find the culprit.”

  Sixty said in his General voice, “It will be an android.”

  There was a beat of silence. Volka couldn’t read 6T9 or James’s minds, but their Q-comms were sparking furiously. She knew how Luddeccean weere worried about reprisals whenever a weere murdered a human. Did they worry about reprisals against androids in System 11? She had no idea what to say. Bowing her head, she asked instead, “The Republic will declare war on System 11 …?”

  The emotions that surged from Noa made Volka expect a feral smile, but when she looked up, there was no smile to be seen. Noa’s eyes, however, were very bright. “Oh, they wouldn’t dare. Too many of Fleet come from System 11. There would be mutiny.”

  Orion nodded, and James said, “There will be talks.”

  Orion exhaled. “Androids attempted to assassinate Carl and Shissh on Time Gate 1 when you were arrested. I’d thought they were System 3 … But could they have come from System 11?” At Orion’s words, Volka saw Shissh and Carl in his memories being herded down a hallway by three men in Fleet Service Grays. Readouts in the ether had told him the cameras in the interrogation room had been taken offline. Orion did not like The One. But he hadn’t known the men guarding Shissh and Carl and had known instantly that the werfle and tiger were in danger. He’d attributed it to xenophobic factions wanting to start a war with the creatures, and he’d remembered the plague on Luddeccea that The One had instigated. Orion pursued the agents, overrode the door to the interrogation room with credentials that should have been removed with his demotion, and shot one of the agents. Shissh had taken out the other. The third had mysteriously short circuited.

  Carl said telepathically, “That was me!”

  It had only lasted a second.

  “I haven’t perfected it,” Carl admitted silently.

  Orion had shot that agent, too. He did all of it knowing he was risking death, and worse, in Orion’s opinion, a Court Martial and public humiliation. He hoped it was enough to keep The One from retaliating …

  Volka exclaimed, “Orion saved you!” and too late realized she’d said it aloud.

  Noa raised an eyebrow. James cocked his head. Sixty may have sighed.

  Carl’s ears flattened. “Did not.”

  Shissh lashed her tail. “To answer your unspoken question, Orion, we don’t believe it was System 11’s government that killed our agent there. We will not seek retaliation against a people for the actions of a rogue agent they do not condone. Also, we do appreciate your actions today. You saved us a lot of trouble.”

  Carl sniffed.

  Orion gulped and turned pink. “Well …” He rolled on his feet. “I guess I didn’t do too badly for a lowly midshipman.” His lips quivered like he was trying to joke. His demotion hurt him, ridiculously. And yet … he was trying to be good. Volka found herself charmed, despite herself. Orion was hardly her favorite person. “The Fleet Marines interrogating me said you are still a captain.”

  Orion’s eyebrows hiked. “An error that I’m sure will be resolved soon.” And then he scowled and thought to himself, That was a huge error. An impossible error. He looked up at James. “Was it you?”

  “It was Time Gate 1,” James said. His smile turned wry, and he glanced at 6T9. “Daddy 1 is our ally.”

  Orion’s stomach dropped at the irreverent nickname, and he gulped. “I, ahh … don’t think you should tempt fate by calling him that.”

  The feral smile Volka had expected finally came to Noa’s features. “Big Daddy has assured us that he can arrange the Skimmers’ captains to receive medical discharges if they so desire …”

  She looked expectantly at Volka.

  Volka’s ears flicked. “I can ask the ships …” As soon as she said it aloud, she was already connected to the Skimmers and their captains. She felt the Marines’ anger at their reassignments. To a one, the Fleet Marines were certain the Dark was behind today’s misadventures, and they were certain that disbanding the Skimmers made the Republic’s position more precarious. Dr. Patrick was still convinced it was a horrible mistake. He was trying to contact a cousin, who knew someone, who knew someone Patrick was sure could fix everything. “I think,” she whispered. “The Marines would be happy to be discharged if it meant they could fight the Dark. Dr. Patrick …” She shrugged. Dr. Patrick had often been the voice of caution. He’d kept her from flying the Skimmers pell-mell into System 3. Volka had no idea what he would want to do.

  Noa’s eyes narrowed, and she immediately began thinking of how to pay them, which made Volka’s ears perk. That was her first thought?

  Carl said aloud, “Everyone has to eat.”

  “I’ll think of something,” Noa said.

  “Look out, Noa’s got a plan,” Sixty murmured, but Volka could hear the smile in his voice.

  Noa turned back to the stars, and Volka’s ears folded. An impossible plan was forming in Noa’s mind … ways to make the Skimmers more formidable than ever, and how they could resume their search for System Zero—their name for the location of the Dark’s shipyard … it was a plan that involved weapons and conventional ships and firepower and yes, money they didn’t have …

  Volka flattened her ears and tried to think logically. Maybe they could join the Luddecceans? Would the Luddecceans accept Volka as an admiral? Her stomach sank. Would the captains accept defecting to Luddeccea? Ramirez had kids, a few guys were married or committed, they all had extended family, and if they joined the Luddecceans they’d have to live out their lives in a very foreign place. Would they want to?

  She blinked up at James. “Who was the person they asked me to identify when they interrogated me?”

  Carl blinked up at her. “That was Dr. Emelia Zeller. She defected today … she was the woman you smelled among the Guardsmen.”

  “What?” exclaimed Noa, Orion, and James all at once.

  “Who?” asked Sixty and Volka.

  Carl waved a paw. “Oh, master of quantum teleportation … like the wave disruptor detectors and the fusion bombs. The Luddecceans will have those soon. That’s what got you the trumped-up crime of treason. Sorry about that.”

  “Carl …” Noa said warningly. Orion went beet red. James growled. “Darmadi betrayed us.”

  Sixty’s arm arou
nd Volka stiffened. She looked at him in alarm, but he didn’t have his murder expression on; his eyes were focused on nothing. Before she could ask, “Mindscape?” he shook his head and looked down at her. “System 11 is requesting our services.”

  “Our services … for what?” Volka whispered.

  Noa beamed a thousand-gigawatt, mercenary smile. “You are a delivery service, aren’t you?”

  7

  Special Delivery

  System 11 : Odessa

  “I think you are ready,” 6T9 said.

  He was in one of the aft compartments with Volka, the ships still hovered near the “baby galaxy,” and Sundancer’s hull was translucent. It was as though they were walking among stars. Between them was the holomat. 6T9 was jacked directly into it. System 11’s main planet, S11O3—or more colloquially, Odessa—shone in its light. It was Earth sized, but with less than 700 million people and only one main city, Anabevba.

  Volka was staring at the planet, ears curled sideways.

  System 11 was the home of Volka’s ancestors, yet she’d known nothing about it and had asked for a brief history before they ventured there. He’d never been to System 11. It was an outer system, its people not known for anything more than barely eking out a living on a planet that until recently, had slowly poisoned them. It was only ninety-eight years since engineers had induced its magma core to spin and generate a magnetic field again. Less since radiation levels had dropped to what was normally considered tolerable. Not that radioactive dust had kept the inhabitants from terraforming since the early days. The planet had less water than Earth, although there were some places that were clustered areas of forests. There were many more areas of rugged mountains and golden plains on its ten continents … but still more of barren wastes.

  “I suppose … well, it’s only a delivery,” she said.

  Wrapping one arm around herself, cradling her elbow, her other hand touched her cheek. She didn’t have an eidetic memory, or apps to do that task, so she repeated their plan. “You will slip into a mindscape and address their gate—Gate 11—who will give us a location to jump to. When we arrive in the system, you will contact the president directly and arrange a landing site.” Glancing again at the holo, her ears went back, and a furrow appeared between her brows. “They wish to speak with us in person—which may or may not be a cultural thing. Carl and Shissh insist though that we don’t have to worry about the president, his family, or his advisors, even though Ivan—their one member of The One on Odessa—is off scouring the Great Western Forest for evidence of who shot his last form.”

  6T9 smiled. “You’ve got it.” He touched his temple. “Leaving you for a moment.” He let his consciousness enter the gray of a mindscape. Gate 11’s consciousness was already there—and it had a form—a female weere form, if weere could be made of liquid copper. “Android General 1,” she said, nodding respectfully. “Are you and the admiral coming?”

  6T9 summoned his own avatar. “How did you know Admiral Sato is with us?”

  Gate 11’s weere avatar’s ears perked, and she gazed at him with copper eyes that had no iris or pupil. “Gate 1 did not inform me of that. She is welcome, but of course I meant Admiral Wolf.”

  6T9’s avatar blinked, although it shouldn’t have shocked him. They’d requested the Skimmers’ services.

  “Of course,” 6T9 said. “We are coming.” Before he could ask, coordinates for the jump and a flight pattern to Odessa’s spaceport flowed into his mind.

  Gate 11 bowed again, so low it was almost obsequious. “It is my sincerest wish that you and the admiral, as well as all members of your crews, will feel welcome, General.”

  “Thank you,” he said and jerked back into the real world, static immediately flaring beneath his skin. Was there a hidden meaning behind the weere avatar? Deception behind the politeness?

  “What is it?” Volka asked.

  Noa and James had joined her.

  “I’m not sure I entirely trust the gate,” 6T9 admitted.

  Noa frowned. “We must go to System 11. We need to know where they stand.”

  “Agreed,” said James.

  “We’ll go, then,” said Volka, both arms wrapped around herself.

  6T9 sent the coordinates to the holomat, converting them to a three-dimensional vision of their destination, complete with a dotted line to show their flight path.

  “Got it,” said Volka. She closed her eyes, and the ship and everyone aboard turned to light. When they were solid again, Odessa hovered below them, and the other Skimmers materialized beside them. Gate 11, smaller than the immense inner gates, was a narrow gleaming band of silver off their starboard bow. Volka focused on the planet below, her fingers curling at her sides, not quite making fists.

  6T9 connected to the local ether, and Gate 11’s voice flowed over the channel. “Welcome, Admiral. Welcome, General. You are cleared for approach.”

  “Clear,” said 6T9, yanking out the cord that tethered him to the holomat and smoothing his face back on.

  Volka’s ears flicked in acknowledgement, and Sundancer lowered into the planet’s atmosphere, the other Skimmers following behind. They slipped through clouds and emerged over one of the planet’s immense plains. It was dotted here and there by trees and what looked like masses of brown boulders. Their flight path took them much closer to the ground than was usual, and as it did, 6T9 realized that the “boulders” were in fact great herds of bison.

  “It looks like they have plenty of one of your favorite dishes, at least,” he said to Volka.

  Instead of smiling or licking her lips, she frowned and stammered, “I … it’s hard … directing so many ships.”

  They shot past the plain. The spaceport and the hangar they’d been instructed to land in appeared. It was a long, low slung, practical, poured cement building that would have been unremarkable except for the rooftop of gleaming titanium, a metal that was, or had been, one of the system’s main exports.

  Sundancer dropped a few more meters, and the interior of the hangar came into view … it was filled with hundreds of troops wearing blood-red uniforms, their weapons at the ready.

  “What is going on?” Orion asked.

  “Volka, wait,” Noa said, tone alarmed.

  Shissh roared, and all the hairs on the back of 6T9’s neck rose, but Sundancer and the Skimmers kept approaching. Volka was staring at a point on the hangar floor before the troops. Her forehead shone with sweat.

  6T9 grabbed her arm. “Volka, the troops.”

  Sundancer halted so quickly everyone stumbled.

  Volka blinked up at him and down at the troops. “Oh, I didn’t see them.” Gazing at the troops, her ears curled. “I don’t sense the Dark … but … oh …”

  The troops parted, and two humanoids walked between them, a man and a woman arm in arm. 6T9 recognized them from the previous System 11 lesson. It was the president and his wife.

  “I don’t think they want a delivery service, Sixty,” she whispered.

  “What do they want?” he asked.

  Carl hopped into the compartment. “They want you to stay. Permanently.”

  “We can’t do that,” said Volka.

  Rising to his hindmost paw pair, Carl cocked his head.

  James said, “Noa, you need—”

  He was interrupted by Shissh padding into the compartment. “Let’s stay a little while. I’m going to be hungry soon.” She smiled, revealing the barest hint of teeth. “You won’t like me when I’m hungry.”

  Sundancer’s keel opened. Volka stepped down with Sixty, the others behind them, and the ship rose above their heads, flashing a happy yellow. The rest of the Skimmers were not as happy. There were a lot of weapons around for just a friendly greeting, in their opinion.

  It was a friendly greeting. Too friendly. Volka heard the thoughts of the Local Guard in their striking Dress Reds.

  “She’s here. She’s here, and her man.”

  “They’ll save us.”

  “She’ll keep the
Dark away.”

  “The general will keep the machines from rebelling.”

  “They’ll prevent a civil war.”

  “She’s here! Admiral Wolf!”

  Someone shouted an order, and the first line of troops marched past the Skimmers and fired their phasers in salute. A man and woman in neat suits, flanked by people who would be recognized as advisors anywhere, came toward them. The whole party bowed deeply. Rising, the man at the lead said, “Admiral Wolf, General, it is an honor and a pleasure. I am President Voy and this is my wife, but you must call me Sasha.”

  “And me, Lia,” said the woman.

  President Voy’s eyes were gray, his pupils ovoid. His ears were human, but although he had a full head of hair, it was very fine, and its coloring was a mottled brown and black. Volka knew by the man’s scent that his hair, like hers, would never grow longer than a few inches. He was at least part weere. The woman Volka would have known was his wife just by scent. Her hair coloring was blonde at the forelock, blending to red—a common wolfish coloring, though it was long and was worn in a bun at the nape of her neck. Her wolf-like ears were a darker brown, and her eyes were orange like Ben’s. Like Volka’s, they were lined by dark kohl-like pigment. The woman’s fingernails were similarly dark, as were her lips. The two studied Volka, and she had an odd sensation … as though they’d touched her, though their hands were at their sides.

  They were telepathic—or empathic—she was sure of it. Their heads tilted in unison. They also had matching neural ports.

  Carl strolled up between Sixty and Volka’s legs. “The pleasure is all ours. We’ve had quite a day. The Republic tried to kill us, and we had to leave in a hurry.”

  Ears swiveled, and heads turned to the werfle. Disgust and alarm flared from the president and his wife—Sasha and Lia—and then as they glanced at each other, the waves hummed with mercenary aspiration and desperation, too. Noa’s and Orion’s alarm rang like a bell at Carl’s nonchalant stating of the facts, and Volka had to fight to maintain her composure.