by C. Gockel
Alexis didn’t bother to fake a smile. It was still too early for this to be a pleasant visit. “What brings you here?” she said, standing in the doorway.
Rolling on his feet, Ran looked from side to side. Half shouting above the drumming of the rain on the tin roof, he said, “I need to come in.”
Alexis paused. Her guard didn’t shift their stances. They’d let him up the driveway. Had that been because he had papers—he was clutching a plastic folder to his stomach—or because he was captain of one of the few Net-drive ships, and a hero of the plague, and of System 33?
Ran leaned closer. “Alexis, you are in danger.”
She’d known that. There were no weere. He stepped forward, and she backed up automatically, and then winced when she realized how close he was. She turned away; she took a few steps toward the kitchen and inanely fell back on her manners. “Would you like some tea or coffee?” It was so early; she hadn’t made a pot yet even for herself.
“There is no time for that. Alexis, I am taking you to a secure location. Here are the orders.” He thrust the folder at her. She opened it, but all the words blurred together.
“This is very sudden,” she said.
Ran exhaled. “I understand that. But we are in a rapidly evolving situation.”
Her heart was beating fast again, or maybe it was the rain on the roof. “I need to look at these,” she said.
“Hurry, Alexis,” Ran said.
“I need light,” she lied, striding to the library, wishing the baby would wake, that she could claim a reason to go upstairs and wake Silas. She should have done that in the first place, now she was cornering herself in the library. She heard Ran’s footsteps behind her and quickened her own. Thankfully, he slowed in the library, perhaps because she was trapped. But why was she thinking that—he had all the papers … why hadn’t her Guard informed her of this relocation? Why hadn’t anyone informed her?
Putting the desk between them, she turned on the lamp. Scanning the first page, she saw the Counselor’s and Archbishop Sato’s signatures. The Counselor she barely knew wouldn’t necessarily give her advance warning. The archbishop knew her personally; he’d even graced the house lately and spent an hour asking her questions about The People. He hadn’t once mentioned anything personal. He hadn’t once mentioned her children. As Alaric put it, Sato was “distracted by his own genius.” She could imagine him not thinking to warn her. She flipped to the next page and saw Admiral Nillson’s signature—Holly’s husband. Alexis hadn’t been to see Holly in weeks—Alexis knew too much about fusion weapons, Republic defectors, turmoil in the Republic, and Net-drive ships. She worried about slipping up and saying something she shouldn’t. Holly had called her last night, concerned Alexis was saddened by Alaric’s recent deployment and being standoffish for fear of being a burden. Alexis had gladly accepted that explanation, relieved she hadn’t had to invent a reason on her own. Holly had sounded genuinely pleased to talk to her and had humored her with anecdotes about the admiral—her “Charles”—but perhaps she had been duplicitous?
But if that was so, this visit by Ran wasn’t to protect Alexis.
“Alexis, we must go!” The floorboards creaked as he came closer. She thought of the van out in the rain and knew if she ever got into it, she would not come out alive again—or worse, not herself.
Holding the folder in her left hand, she turned her body so she could slip her right hand into her pocket. Her fingers closed on the handle of her pistol, and she felt the faintest of vibrations as it recognized her bio-signature. “What about my children?” she asked, trying to stall, needing to compose herself.
“They’ll be safer here.” He spoke loudly. The tin awning just beyond the window was a metal drum. The children didn’t waken; she had no doubt they hadn’t heard him. It was so loud … they might as well all be deaf upstairs.
Of course Ran wouldn’t want to take them. They’d be too much trouble to bring along. She let the folder shake in her left hand and then slip to the floor. The nerves weren’t entirely feigned. Hunching her shoulders, she turned away from Ran, as though in despair, and put her left hand with the right on the grip of the pistol as Alaric had taught her. She took a breath and glanced down. There was a framed photograph behind glass on the low bookshelf beyond the desk—Silas and his brother, Alaric’s father. The photo was obscured by Ran’s reflection, his hand slipping to his holster. Alexis spun around, raising her pistol, but it was too late. She found herself staring down the barrel of Ran’s pistol. She didn’t drop her own.
For a moment, his eyes went wide, but then his lip curled. “Put that away, Alexis. You don’t want to shoot me.”
He was wrong. She really did want to shoot him. She struggled not to laugh, but her lip quirked. The rain was falling so fast the drum on the roof was just a single loud roar, going on and on. She almost did shoot him, just to be done with it, and then realized she couldn’t. “Who sent you?” she shouted. Her guards did not bang the door open; they hadn’t heard anything above the rain. She was alone.
Ran’s lips moved, and she wasn’t sure if she heard him or just read their movement. “The Counselor—”
“Lizzar shit!”
She saw him exhale, saw the briefest glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. He stepped to the side to sidle around the desk. She sidled in the opposite direction.
“Alexis—”
She’d been Infected, and she didn’t think he was. He seemed too much … himself. Too calm and still speaking as himself. “You aren’t Infected.”
“No!” Ran’s shout rang with outrage, and the pistol in his hand jerked infinitesimally.
“Who are you working for?” she demanded.
“Someone who cares about Luddeccea! Someone who knows the true mind disease is the Republic. It will destroy everything we are, Alexis. Surely you see that!” He’d always believed that and always believed Luddeccea could beat the Republic in an all-out war. She remembered her little joke about the Second Peloponnesian War between the Spartans and Athenians. The Spartans had technically won with Persian help, but ultimately, the Persians were the people who’d truly gained. Did he believe the enemy of his enemy was his friend? Perhaps. Or maybe this move had nothing to do with the Dark and was only another hostile takeover attempt.
He shifted again, slowly circling the desk. Again, she mirrored his move.
“You don’t want to shoot me,” he repeated and this time smiled.
He was wrong again, but she needed to know more. He took another step, and so did she, circling the desk like two predatory beasts. He was better trained and stronger. If he got close, she had no doubt he could disarm and overpower her. But staring down her sights, she realized she had an advantage he didn’t have. He didn’t want to kill her. Whoever he worked for needed her for some reason. It might have been shock, but she felt like laughing again. Why wouldn’t they want her alive? She had knowledge of The People and their language, fusion weapons, Dr. Zeller, the Net-Drive fighter carrier, the location of those last two, and her husband …
“Put it down, Alexis,” Ran said, neatly stepping sideways.
There was a flash of lightning, and from the doorway, Silas shouted in terror, “Alexis!”
Ran turned, pistol aimed …
Alexis shot Ran then. In the same moment, thunder boomed. Ran’s eyes went wide. His pistol sagged. And then she saw blood bubble from a neat hole in his neck like a spring. The next moment, he toppled sideways.
There was no sound except the rain, and then Alexis snarled, shouted, and screamed at his corpse staring at nothing with empty eyes. “The Persians won the Second Peloponnesian War!”
She took a step toward him, wanting to kick him, but Silas ran in and pulled her back. “Don’t, my Darling. Joel says he may be Infected.”
Joel’s muffled voice came from the doorway. “It’s not in here … the stench is coming from out front.”
Alexis was half bent over, panting. She turned to the weere man. “How did you
get past the men working with Ran?”
They must have tried to attack Joel, as they had the Weere Guardsmen and Merta. She felt sick. Closed her eyes, for a moment, and then when she opened them, realized Joel’s silvery ears were perfectly dry. Silas’s hands slackened. Joel’s eyes slid guiltily to Silas.
“Never mind,” she said. “I’ll take care of it.” Her eyes slid to Ran and instead of feeling fear, she only felt rage. She snarled. “I will take care of everything.”
11
Gabriel’s Star
Luddeccean System
Alaric wanted to drive a fist through one of the shiny, metal walls. His teeth ground, his vision tunneled, and his stomach was tightening into knots of worry and rage.
Volka’s stomach tightened with his …
Her eyes bolted open, and she was momentarily off kilter, uncertain where she was. She inhaled and remembered she was on Odessa, at a System 11 Guard base, in an apartment they’d given to her and her team.
Alaric was far away, and she did not want to be privy to his life. She wanted sleep, needed sleep, the unbroken, refreshing, undreaming, untelepathic kind. She tried to tell herself it was just a dream, but her stomach still clenched. It was not just a dream. Something had happened to Alaric, but she didn’t want to know what.
She almost cried into her pillow in frustration. In the past four and some weeks, Sixty hadn’t asked to get married … and who could blame him? Her previous lover was in her head.
She swallowed. Not that there would have been time. They’d been so busy. Every day, they’d picked up food from the ocean port at S5O4’s equator and transported it to Odessa. In her previous visits, she hadn’t seen S5O4 outside of the city of New Grande. Beyond the devastation of that city, the planet’s canyons and oceans were filled with agriculture and aquaculture. She’d never been to the Luddeccean ocean, and S5O4’s seas had been a wonder to her.
Seizing a strand of hope or inspiration, she imagined S5O4’s ocean, the crisp cold salt air, deep, dark blue waters, and waves lapping at the pier … the memory of their rhythm sucked her down into blissful darkness …
And then the rhythm of waves became the rhythm of boot steps on metal, and she was walking down an enormously long, but narrow hallway. Her consciousness again was merged with Alaric’s. He was so furious and so angry …
She forced her eyes open, heard a grinding, and realized it was her own teeth. She couldn’t be sucked into his problems. She had so much to do today. The Skimmers had done more than pick up food in New Grande. They’d picked up all but two of their captains and their families. Even Dr. Patrick was here; his cousin’s connections hadn’t been enough to make everything better. They were going to pick up their last two captains, Jerome and Stratos, today.
Thinking of her captains put Volka’s mind on another trajectory. They were no longer stationed in the presidential guest house. Her captains, their crews, and Sixty and Volka were housed in the narrow apartments that were the officers’ housing for Odessa’s Local Guard. Her team was very close, and her thoughts blended with their dreams. Ramirez was happy to have his wife here with him … so relieved he reached over to pull her closer and …
Volka scrunched her eyes so tightly she gave herself a headache. Mentally, she reached for the Skimmers. They were in a sleep-like state that was blissfully empty. Her headache vanished …
… And she opened her eyes to an immense starship bridge. Weere and human priests in long green robes were seated at a holotable, fingers flashing furiously over keys, eyes intent on readouts and the holo. In the holo’s light, there was an immense starship surrounded by short-range fighters that appeared miniscule in comparison. Jutting from the immense ship were outriggers that looked like they would unfurl sails at any minute—sails that would slip the ship through time and space. One of those outriggers was wrong somehow, and Volka felt her shoulders tighten. No, she realized, Alaric’s shoulders tightened. She was in his head. Again.
Rolling over, she almost said the Lord’s name in vain. She didn’t want to be in Alaric’s dream, and she was sure he didn’t want her in his consciousness. He obviously was very busy and had things to do. Prepare to fight the Dark things. Military strategy things. And she had to do those things, too. Volka and the Marines weren’t trained military pilots, and the Skimmers’ instincts weren’t predatory. Admiral Sato had been creating maneuvers to take advantage of the Skimmers’ unique capabilities and to compensate for their liabilities—liabilities that had grown since they’d left Fleet and lost the Skimmers’ special armor. The Skimmers, their captains and crews, and Volka had been practicing those maneuvers over and over again, and they would be putting them to use today. She squeezed her pillow tight and groaned. She had to sleep, she just had to. She tried to relax, to let her muscles and mind unwind. Feeling it working, she sighed in happiness, and then from her nightstand, Bracelet whispered, “Miss Volka, you really should try to go back to sleep. We have a busy day today. Perhaps you have forgotten?”
Volka groaned again. Bracelet had her Q-comm back. It had only taken minutes after the System 11 engineers had delivered the modified chip casing. Sixty said that Gate 1 had been working on the concept since Bracelet had sacrificed her previous chip, but Fleet had barely touched the project. Gate 1 had forwarded his prototype designs to Gate 11. Gate 11 had sent them to her favorite System 11 engineers. They had jumped on the problem the day Volka had arrived—and solved it simply by suggesting that maybe if Volka asked Sundancer to transfer the lost particle into the specially designed casing, they could tweak it for “voluntary insertion.” Bracelet still sniffed that humans had “blundered into the solution.” Sixty said that since the first AI beat a grandmaster chess champion and said grandmaster had designed AI-human chess teams that were better than AI or humans, it was accepted by human-friendly AI that humans and machines made each other better.
“Miss Volka?” Bracelet asked. “If you like, I could sing you a lullaby. I have composed one about Talos, a presumed AI from Ancient Greek mythology.”
The device began to emit sounds that sounded like strings breaking and a cat yodeling.
“What is that?” Volka asked, worried that the device was malfunctioning.
“Why, I composed the lullaby in Ancient Greek, of course! I used the estimated pronunciation and musical styles as determined by HistoBot404BC. It seemed fitting.” The cat yodeling commenced again.
“Thank you, Bracelet, but I think I need quiet to get back to sleep,” Volka said hurriedly.
Bracelet whispered, “Oh, of course!”
Volka sighed … as quietly as she could … and pictured herself at the top of the stairwell Sixty had helped her imagine for hypnosis, but somehow schematics in Alaric’s eyes began scrolling through the air before her. That gave her another idea. She reached into the waves and found Sixty’s sparking Q-comm. Sixty didn’t sleep, but when he rested, he reviewed the events of the day. His Q-comm’s sparkle reminded her of a winking Christmas light. The Skimmers had canvassed Odessa for the assassin of Ivan’s former host searching for just such a sparkle. They’d found one in a heap of self-immolated robotic remains close to where Ivan’s host had died. The chip’s outer casing had been damaged in the self-destruct, and its origins had yet to be identified. That was discouraging, but the journey had not been so. She remembered soaring over forests and plains, mind attuned to the waves … her body relaxed …
… And then she found herself back on the Luddeccean starship bridge.
Alaric’s voice cracked through the air, crankier than she was used to. “The Net-drive outrigger off the starboard fighter bay isn’t in correct alignment.”
He was cranky because he was worried, but Volka knew it wasn’t worry about the ship’s outrigger. That could be fixed. He was worried about something else—
Her fingers dug into her pillow, and she shouted in the dream, “Just tell me already what you’re worried about so I can go back to sleep, Alaric!”
His emotions flowed th
rough her. Recognition of her voice and the telepathic connection, worry about her, and annoyance. His thoughts came, clipped and focused. “I can’t be hallucinating on my bridge, Volka.”
For a moment, the connection faltered. She was in the merciful darkness of sleep or only her room. But then she was slipping along the waves again, back to Alaric. Her ten sets of claws dug into his shoulder blades in frustration. She smelled his shaving cream, and her whiskers tickled his cheek.
Wait … Her ten sets of claws? Whiskers?
Solomon’s voice erupted in her mind. “I’m pulling you into my mind this time. Invading Alaric’s consciousness is unhelpful for his marriage.”
“It’s not helpful to me, either!” Volka protested. “Let me go.”
Solomon’s whiskers twitched, and Alaric scratched him behind the ears.
“No,” Solomon purred into Volka’s thoughts. “It would be convenient for you to know what is going on here, and I’d rather not bother getting it approved by Luddeccean censors. It takes too long.”
Volka tried to open her eyes … and couldn’t.
“I’m not letting you wake up,” Solomon said.
Sighing, she surveyed the bridge. The viewport showed the curve of a gray planet. The light of an enormous orange star burnished its silhouette like a flame. The view looked familiar, a lot like the dark side of Gabriel’s Star that she’d seen in Luddeccean Geographic. Gabriel’s Star wasn’t a star but appeared to be from Luddeccea’s surface. It had no atmosphere to speak of and completed its orbit of Luddeccea’s sun every eighty days.
With Gabriel’s Star as a backdrop, tiny, almost insect-like vehicles approached Alaric’s ship. Robotic repair arms emerged from the tiny ships. She put together what she’d seen earlier, and what she was seeing now. “Luddeccea is building a faster-than-light fighter carrier at a secret base on the dark side of Gabriel’s Star. The first planet from Luddeccea’s sun.” She added the last, just to make sure Solomon knew she wasn’t completely ignorant.