by C. Gockel
Scowling, she said, “James, how are you doing?”
“I need to run a diagnostic. Will you be all right?”
“I’m fine,” Noa said.
They were all a bunch of liars.
Noa rolled her eyes, as though reading 6T9’s thoughts. “I’ll be fine.”
6T9 scowled meaningfully at her. She scowled right back. A mechanical hum arose from James as his diagnostic began, and 6T9 took the opportunity to warn Noa, “Your neck may be fractured.”
Near the rear of the shuttle, Volka called, “I’m getting the first-aid kit.”
6T9 gently touched Noa’s neck, and she winced.
“Noa shouldn’t leave this chair,” 6T9 said.
“We’ll have to carry her to Sundancer,” Volka replied, bringing him a brace. “Maybe we could detach her seat and carry her in it? Ship, what is it like outside?”
The ship responded, “The atmosphere is breathable and pressure is within acceptable parameters. Humidity approximately 21%.”
6T9’s joints loosened. They were going to have to transport Noa to Sundancer, and that would be much easier without having to worry about Volka and Noa’s blood boiling or 6T9 and James’s joints locking up in low pressure.
The ship continued. “No airborne or soil pathogens dangerous to humans detected in collected samples.”
… And they had oxygen and didn’t need to worry about exotic pathogens! One of the positive developments of the Dark’s invasion was that sensors for pathogen detection had become much more sensitive, accurate, cheaper, and ubiquitous.
“Let’s see how easy it will be to detach your seat, Noa.” Awkwardly maneuvering his injured leg to the side, 6T9 squatted and peered at her chair’s undersides. “I can unbolt the seat, but I won’t be able to carry it without repairing my leg first.”
Volka hummed, “Telling Sundancer we need FET12 and Bracelet … it will take her just a few minutes longer to get here. The three of them are still at school.”
6T9 nodded. “That will work.” Not long after the battle in System Zero, Bracelet had decided to exchange her Luddeccean fighter host for an android body. She’d chosen the body of a girl that appeared no more than ten. Ostensibly, she chose a child’s form so she didn’t “scare FET12.” But things she’d mentioned about her brief inhabitation of a sex ‘bot made 6T9 suspect she’d found that experience too overwhelming. On the positive side, that experience had made her realize that despite her vast access to information, she was still immature.
Child body or not, she was as strong as a full-grown human male, and she and FET12 would be more than enough to lift the seat. All three of them—FET12, Bracelet, and Sundancer—would not be pleased about leaving school, though. They all had access to a lot of data—FET12 and Bracelet via download, Sundancer via telepathy—but they all found application of that data challenging … and the Odessian school system had found them challenging. FET12 was still very shy with adults. Epiphany aside, Bracelet was still a know-it-all. Sundancer was not shy or a know-it-all, and was very popular. She was also very large.
Taking the brace from Volka, he gave her a small smile to let her know that although the situation was serious, it was manageable. Her ears relaxed. She wasn’t panicked; she’d known the situation was in hand, but she gave him a tiny smile in answer.
Ducking out of his line of sight, Volka peered beneath the seat. “I’ll look for a wrench to unbolt the chair.”
“Side compartment,” Noa said, almost moving her head. 6T9 caught her chin and raised an eyebrow.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Doctor Nine.”
Normally 6T9 didn’t like it when people used his official title outside of work, but in this case, he winked. “That’s more like it.”
Humming in the mechanical sense, James said, “It’s good that you’re a pediatrician, Sixty. It makes you uniquely qualified to handle my wife.”
Noa huffed. “You’re very brave when I can’t hit you.”
“Exactly. I have to take my shots while I can.”
Snickering, Volka unlatched a compartment behind 6T9. 6T9 heard her rummaging through the tools unhurriedly. They were on an uncharted planet, Noa likely had a fractured vertebra, but Volka was calm. He never regretted marrying Volka—part of him even felt that every good sex ‘bot deserved a weere and a season once a year—however, in moments like these, he was particularly proud that she was his wife.
“Doctor Sixty,” Noa said. “Punching him wouldn’t require me getting out of my seat if you just shifted me a little to the left.” She batted her eyelashes and raised her arm a few centis.
“No.” 6T9 pressed her arm down.
“Ha, ha,” said James.
6T9 schooled his expression to his best, serious, Android General 1 face, but he felt a smile threatening to form. James and Noa weren’t panicking, either. They were trying to make light of the situation, and he liked them very much for it. Hiding his smile, he ducked his head to inspect the brace Volka had given him. In its inactive state, it was a flat sheet of semi-flexible material. He slid it behind Noa’s neck, molded it gently with his fingers, and then connected the loose ends in the front. He pressed a few buttons on the side, checked a gauge, and let it inflate so it was rigid enough to keep Noa from moving her neck. In thanks, Noa stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes as though being strangled.
“Very mature,” James said.
“Here’s the wrench, Sixty,” Volka said, handing him the tool. Her eyes went to the “choking” Noa, and her lips quirked. She blinked up at Sixty. “I want to go check on my art supplies!” And then she scampered to the back of the Puddleskipper where they were stowed.
6T9 checked that the wrench would work with the chair's bolts. From the back of the ship, Volka said, “All good—”
The wrench fit. He glanced toward the back of the ship.
Volka was kneeling by her bags. Her face was turned away from him toward the airlock door. There was no window, but her ears were perked, as though she’d seen something. “Sixty, someone’s out there.”
6T9 bolted upright. “They could be dangerous.”
One of her ears swiveled to him; the other stayed forward. “They’re more afraid of us than we are of them. I think I better reassure them.”
6T9 hopped toward her. “Wait—”
The inner and outer airlock doors opened, and for a moment her tiny form was silhouetted against the pink sky, ears full forward, skirt lifting in the breeze. It was illogical, but the human expression, “My whole life flashed before my eyes,” became in that instant not a cliché but a fact. The image created a query that had the last few years scrolling through his mind: the long nights he’d worked on his thesis, the years of residency, having to plug himself in while he was with Volka because he’d been so busy at the hospital, he’d run his battery down. There had been many days when he hadn’t been able to do much with her except eat and reboot. Volka had supported him the whole time, literally and figuratively. Her paintings paid the bills. They were still in demand in System 11 and the other outer systems, System 5, and Kanakah. There were even a few interested collectors in the inner systems—though most of them wouldn’t dream of letting it be publicly known that they admired her work. The Luddeccean Skimmer attack at System Zero had been made known by the press. Most of the Republic regarded it with horror—regarded her with horror.
6T9 didn’t know how anyone could regard Volka with horror. She was so tiny against the vast sky. She looked demure—and she was—except for one frenzied week of every year that was so intense that if that was the only time they were intimate, it would be enough. She thought his child was worthy of carrying. She was his world.
“Wait, Volka—”
“They’re terrified!” She disappeared down the ramp. 6T9 struggled after her.
“Stop!” Volka shouted to someone unseen. He heard a thud, and then a desperate, “Sixty, I need you!”
His world shattered again.
Outsiders.
&nb
sp; They’ll destroy us.
We’re in danger.
The baby!
Get the baby to safety!
Warn the others!
That is what Volka had heard inside the ship. Noa’s pain had been sharp and hot, but the terror she’d heard had been louder, and more urgent than the flashing of James’s and Sixty’s Q-comms.
The ship had crashed in a rugged valley, surrounded by purple mountains. In the rose colored sky, there was the palest of pink lines, cutting directly overhead, east to west. The planet had rings. Perhaps they were the super conductive dust they’d emerged in as they exited the jump. Closer to earth there were amber grasses and trees and bushes with thick yellow leaves. Deep orange fruit hung from the trees, and it smelled delicious, citrusy and gingery.
And then she saw whose terror their arrival had evoked. The planet’s inhabitants had once been human—now they were Infected. The waves twisted the wrong way through them—maybe she hadn’t noticed inside the ship because of how furiously James’s and 6T9’s Q-comm’s had flashed. Maybe she hadn’t recognized the psychosomatic “smell” of them because of the lingering nausea of morning sickness that lasted all day and was supposed to have stopped at the end of her first trimester but had not.
There were six of them. Three women, one elderly but spry, one with an infant tied to her front in a sling, and two men. They stood motionless, staring at her from not fifty meters away.
She’s seen us.
What do we do?
She’s from the planet of blooming death!
The child killer!
Get the baby behind us.
They’ll know we’re here.
What if we make her one of us? That will keep us safe.
Volka growled.
She’s violent. She’s a child killer, remember?
I was a killer, too, before Peace discovered me.
One of the men came forward.
Volka threw out a hand. “Stop!” The command was laced with every ounce of compulsion she possessed, and, of course, it did nothing. She stumbled backward and fell back down on the ramp.
“Sixty, I need you!” Volka called out. Gritting her teeth, she focused on the sandy soil at the Infected’s feet and pushed. Sand sprayed up into the Infected man’s eyes, and he jerked back. She glared at him, and behind her, Sixty clomped down the ramp of the Puddleskipper.
“Volka, what’s going on?” he asked, putting a hand out for her to raise herself. He had a phaser pistol in his other hand, aimed at the Infected. Facing the Infected, Volka opened her mouth, prepared to say, “He’s an android, with a Q-comm, and now his gate knows we’re here, where we are, and what you are! Hurt us and be destroyed.” But she couldn’t. The would-be-words were drowned out by their terrified thoughts.
It’s Android General 1!
She is the weere who commanded the Universe Breakers!
They’ll destroy us and our whole system.
We won’t even have a chance to evacuate the babies. She saw the “babies” in her mind. They ranged in age from newborn to four years old. One hobbled on a crooked leg.
What do we do?
The Infected man at the head of the others fell to his knees and bowed his head. “Please don’t hurt us. We left. We left you alone.”
All the other Infected dropped to their knees, silent as the grave, except for the newborn; she began to wail, an earsplitting, heartrending, newborn wail.
They’ll hate the noise.
Make her quiet.
Alexis had said the Dark murdered newborns. Volka threw up her hands, “Don’t—”
The Infected silently began to sing.
Go to sleep baby, go to sleep.
Dream of distant oceans,
So lovely, dark and deep
Volka’s heart fell. It was a lullaby, sung by at least a hundred souls all across the planet. She gently pressed down 6T9’s weapon and whispered, “They’re Infected, but—”
“I’m calling the Luddecceans,” 6T9 whispered.
“No!” Volka gasped.
The man at the head of the Infected put his hands on the ground so he was completely prostrate before them. “Please, we have stayed away from the Republic and Luddeccea. We have done exactly as we promised.”
“Volka,” Sixty whispered. “They could be lying.”
The Infected kept singing:
Go to sleep baby, go to sleep.
Dream of the warmth, of darkness,
The wonder of dark peace.
The newborn’s wail turned to a gurgle, a gasp, and then the silence of sleep.
Volka gulped. The scent of them turned her stomach. But they just wanted to save their children. She rubbed her midriff. They just wanted what she wanted.
“They’re not lying, Sixty.”
Sixty pulled her back. “Sundancer will be here soon with FET12 and Bracelet.”
She nodded, and he began slowly edging her into the ship, as though they were backing away from a predator. Which she supposed it was … Although the Infected didn’t seem to be armed. Their clothing was worn, rough, and possibly homespun. They were carrying sacks that from their bulges appeared to be for gathering the apple-sized orange fruit. They could wait for rescue … and then what?
Would the Infected be blown from the sky?
They had contemplated Infecting her just now. They were still dangerous.
They also weren’t trying to take advantage of their retreat. Once, the Dark had punished any resistance, destroying what it couldn’t have.
Halting her steps, Volka blurted at the man, “What happened to you?”
Sixty’s grip on her tightened.
All of the Infected began to speak, words eerily in unison. “You destroyed us.”
Volka’s ears flicked in annoyance. “You exist on plenty of planets, in thousands of systems.” Her eyes narrowed, suddenly suspicious, and she dropped into her stalking stance on instinct. “You hate human forms.”
The Infected responded in their eerie chorus. “We don’t want to lose any more of us. It is too dry here for us to be our perfect form. Babies are necessary to survive.”
Volka’s suspicion turned to rage, and she growled. “The People must have lived on dry planets! You still killed all of them.”
Again, the Infected chanted in unison. “We didn’t kill them. They joined us. We gave them peace. You destroyed our home. You don’t want to join.”
Billions—maybe trillions—of The People dead. Millions of humans dead. Volka’s ears went back. “You’ve got that right. I don’t want to join you.” It came out a hiss.
The Infected spoke. “Please, don’t hurt us.”
Volka’s body unwound, and she stared at them, mouth agape. Did she want to hurt them? Should she want to hurt them? She looked up at Sixty; his face had no expression. “What do we do?” she asked.
“Let’s go back into the ship,” he said, backing her up the ramp. To the Infected, he said in his patented General voice, “Stay back, and you will not be hurt.”
“What’s happened to them?” Volka whispered.
The airlock door slid shut with a whoosh, and they both stood, staring at it.
“I think they … it … evolved,” Sixty said.
6T9 sat perched on the armrest of his battered chair. Noa and James had spun their chairs around. All of them were focused on 6T9’s wife.
Seated in her own chair, Volka’s head was bowed, and her eyes were closed. The seat had been built for a standard Galactican frame, which is to say, someone taller and broader than Volka. She looked very tiny, because she was very tiny, even five months pregnant. She’d had the survival of a species on her shoulders before, he reminded himself.
Opening her eyes, Volka said, “I explained what I could to Sundancer. She’s circling the planet now. She’ll get a better count of the number of Infected.” She gulped and met 6T9’s eyes. “Carl’s with her. He’s not talking to me right now. I don’t know how The One will respond.”
6T
9’s eyes went to Noa. All the admiral’s playfulness was gone; so was James’s.
James steepled his fingers in front of his body. “You did say that they considered Infecting you.”
“Yes,” Volka said, head bowing again.
6T9’s Q-comm sparked. “Is it a they or an it? If it’s an it, it is a murderer of billions.”
Noa crossed her arms. “In the Republic, even mass murderers do not receive the death penalty; they’re isolated, which has already been done.”
6T9’s eyes slid to Volka. “It might not want to remain isolated forever.”
“I have no doubt,” said Noa.
Volka visibly shivered at her words.
Noa’s gaze swept to the view screen. The Infected were still outside the Puddleskipper. They knelt, except for the leader, who remained bent over, hands and forehead on the ground.
“There is still no cure for the Dark,” 6T9 said. “There might never be a cure. If it Infects someone with quantum teleportation knowledge, fusion weapons knowledge—”
“They might not get that far. The Luddecceans would destroy this colony if they knew about it,” James said. “The One already know and might do the job for them … a few hundred would be nothing for The One.”
With a cry, Volka stood. The movement was awkward, with the burden in her middle, the baby that they still hadn’t named. This was their third attempt, and Volka didn’t want to “jinx” it. As illogical as that was, especially this late in the pregnancy, 6T9 couldn’t deny her.
“I don’t want to kill children.” Volka’s hand was on her midriff. The Dark might kill their child someday—or as good as. Was she being logical, or was she responding to hormones that were currently surging in her system that made her want to protect the most defenseless of the Infected’s numbers?
Pacing, Volka called up to the ship, “Ship, broadcast to them that they can feed the baby, they can stand up! We aren’t going to hurt them.”
6T9 added, “Tell them they have to stay fifty meters away and downwind.”
The ship responded, “Very well.” And a few seconds later, said, “Done.”
Going to Volka, 6T9 put a hand on her arm.