“They’re here to help,” Lina croaked out between gasps.
He nodded and ran up to her but stopped within a meter, uncertain of what to do.
“Where is the infirmary?” an olive-skinned woman with short, unkempt hair asked. She had an arm around Captain Fukui, who was missing one of her tall, pointed ears, and had a bandage around her head that covered the right side of her face. He spared only a moment to look at her before turning his attention back to Lina.
“What happened?” he asked.
“The infirmary,” the woman repeated, fixing him with a hard stare. Some part of him registered that she had the Confederate Star Corps symbol on her armored e-suit. He heard the ship hiss and the ramp descend behind him.
“By the Matre, Cylus, let us by before I bleed out,” Lina said.
He blinked as her words sank in, but the woman in the military e-suit didn’t wait. She pushed past him with Captain Fukui. The robot followed in her wake with Lina, and he had no choice but to get out of the way and trail along behind them.
“What happened?” he asked again as the group shuffled into the airlock. With the big humanoid robot it was a tight squeeze. Behind them the ramp groaned and rose up to seal the ship.
“I’ll get the heiress to the infirmary.” Captain Fukui ducked out from under the military woman’s arm and headed in with the drone. The woman nodded with a look of concern and then dropped back to stand next to Cylus.
“My name is Lieutenant Androdameia Ironstar, CSS Iapetus, serial number D-213843.” She stood at attention with her arms at her sides and her chest thrust out as though he were some kind of drill-sergeant. He looked her over, noting the strong, athletic frame beneath the armored plates, and two long, red gashes in her left cheek.
“I’m Baron Cylus Keltan, Keltan Securities,” he said, feeling the need to match her introduction in some way. “Nice to meet you.”
She took in a deep breath. “I’d like permission to travel with you and your crew.”
“That’s a given,” he said, puzzled by her demeanor. Was Lina going to be okay? He looked at the closed hatch of the airlock. The three lines of House Mitsugawa stared back at him. He hoped she was okay.
“Baron, I have information about the attack on this colony,” she said.
His eyes met hers. “What information?”
“I was here when it happened.”
He blinked at her. “You were here? You survived? How many others did?”
“Just me and Iapetus. This colony was hit by a nanoweapon codenamed ‘Siren.’ I’m only alive because Iapetus was able to place me in hibernation-sleep and devise a way to counteract the nanomachines,” she said.
He licked his lips. There was a way to counteract Siren? The thought sent a shudder of excitement through him. “Who is Iapetus?”
“My ship’s AI downloaded a fragment of itself into the DS-109 combat drone I have with me,” she said, as though that explained it.
“Ah, you mean the robot carrying Lina?”
She nodded. “Combat drone, sir, though since the chassis is inhabited by a sentient AI, the Wilson Convention applies.”
The Wilson Convention was a meeting three-hundred years ago that deemed fully sentient AI’s to be entitled to some of the legal protections afforded to self-aware, biological beings, though they could still be owned. In this case it meant the robot was no longer considered just a piece of property. Cylus found it strange that the Lieutenant would mention it, most people he knew treated inorganics as objects despite the law. It was interesting to note, but he was much more interested in obtaining whatever it was that made Lieutenant Ironstar immune to Siren. If he had that, with the proof that Zalor destroyed this colony, he would own the man.
“Could this cure for Siren your Iapetus devised be applied to others?” he asked.
The question seemed to take the Lieutenant aback. She blinked, and nodded. “Yes, sir, but I need something in return.”
“Name it.”
“I need those who stranded me here, the same ones who attacked this colony, to pay. Promise me you’ll support me in that and I’ll give you anything you need.”
Do it, Cylus, he thought, and smiled. Immune to Siren, he would have nothing to fear from Zalor.
“Consider it done.”
“Thank you, Baron.” She saluted as the inner airlock door dilated open.
Chapter Sixteen
New Harbidum, Zov System
41:3:43 (J2400:3236)
The limo went over a bump in the road and sent Nero up against his restraints. He blinked, sharing a look with Sorina as her ears twitched. Cracked and sun-bleached plaster buildings rolled by around them. Most were four or five stories tall, and had rectangular windows with small arches at their tops. Below them, crowds of white and gray-skinned VoQuana went about their day alongside greater numbers of green-skinned Isinari. The sight of the VoQuana’s wiry bodies and bulbous heads sent a shiver down his back. He hadn’t been around this many of them since his trip to see Maskhim Sinuthros in the Diplomatic District. As it was then, many beings of both species were nude or wearing little in the way of clothing. Though all of them had sandals with ankle-high thongs, a handful wore either form-fitting bodysuits or short skirts slit up the sides coupled with cropped tops that covered only the shoulders and upper arms while leaving the chest and stomach bare. It was easy to see the circle and line tattoos covering VoQuana bodies from head to toe. The Isinaris’ skin was decorated in a similar fashion, though their tattoos glowed in neon colors and were made of fractal patterns.
“It can be striking,” Login said from the bench seat across from them.
“What can?” Athame asked.
“The sight of so many of them together. It is not common in the Confederation.”
“I’ve seen similar groups before,” Nero said.
“I’m sure you have, but what about you, Agent Khepria?” Login stared at her.
“It is surprising.”
“How old is this limo? It’s got wheels.” Nero frowned.
“The quarantine—” Login responded as they rolled over another bump that caused the driver, an Isinari with a spiky crest, to duck niur head.
Nero cocked an eyebrow.
“—limits what can get in and out. There are supply ships, of course, but aside from that, Zov doesn’t get much in off-planet goods. That means the population has to rely entirely on local production, and on top of that, the peace treaty limits what they are allowed to make,” Login said.
“Hence, wheels instead of dark-energy projectors,” Athame said.
“Dark energy projectors can be turned into weapons.” Login glanced out the window for a moment. Nero tried to follow his gaze but all he saw was the passing crowd and the light traffic of other ground vehicles around them.
I wouldn’t normally say this about an Abyssian, but do you think he feels for them? Prospero thought.
He couldn’t say. He believed that the other Abyssians, the true machines like Athame, had no emotions—but that wasn’t the case. Athame seemed to have them to a limited degree, and now Login’s behavior was showing something similar as well. Maybe they did have them? He didn’t know.
AI’s are programmed with ‘motivators’ that function like emotions, Prospero explained, but research by Cleebian University’s Doctor Xarxovz states that they are not the same in experience of the agent—
Solan, please, Nero thought.
They experience things differently, Prospero said. Maybe I should say ‘we,’ since I am an AI, though one that is symbiotic as opposed to fully autonomous.
He rolled his eyes.
“The years have not been kind to the VoQuana since the war,” Login stated. “Is that what you are here to inspect?”
“What?” he asked.
“Rephrasing: Are you here to inspect the living conditions on Zov?” Login asked.
“We are not,” Athame stated.
“It is unusual to have two Praetors, and unheard of to ha
ve two plus a CSA agent on an inspection,” Login said. “Praetor Athame, your previous inspection concerned only the orbital facilities and containment measures. Other than my own iterations, no Praetor has stepped foot on Zov.”
Nero suppressed the urge to sneer. He didn’t like overly clever people, be they biological or machines, and it seemed this Praetor was overstepping himself. “Didn’t Daedalus fill you in on our mission?”
Login shifted in his seat, again surprising him with the emotionality of the gesture. “No.”
“Then we will not,” Sorina said. He could tell she was suppressing the urge to look smug.
“Indeed.” Login moved his silver-ringed eyes to gaze straight ahead.
They continued on down the pot-hole-ridden street to a building that was both wider and taller than the structures around it. It had a pair of ornate bronze doors with an image of a crown pressed into their surfaces. A row of lights dangled over them from the center of a long, arched awning of red fabric. Gold thread embroidered into the written VoQuana language decorated the end of the projection in circles, lines, and cuneus. Beneath it stood a masculine-looking Isinari dressed in a short, white skirt and a sleeveless vest with the same crown embroidered in gold on its lapels. Niu put green eyes on them when the limo pulled up to the curb and the passenger doors swung open.
Nero got out, feeling the air envelop him in its sultry grasp. It was heavy with the earthy smells of stone and plants, and clung to his skin. Behind him Sorina and Athame exited the vehicle and stood at his flanks. Login moved to the attendant and said a few quick words in VoQuana. The Isinari nodded and entered the building.
Prospero? he thought.
I’m loading the translation program now. He told the attendant to let the desk know we are here.
“Your room is being prepared.” Login turned back towards them.
“Room?” Sorina asked.
“Affirmative.”
“Only one?” she asked.
Login blinked. “Do you require more than a single room?”
Sorina moved to answer but Nero put up his hand. “Two.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Athame messaged him. Prospero relayed the transmission to Sorina. “I can shut-down in a closet to give you and Agent Khepria privacy. I do not believe it would be wise to separate at any point while we are on the surface.”
He nodded. It made sense. “Correction, one room will be fine.”
Login blinked again. “Very well.”
“Also,” Athame added. “We will no longer need your guidance for this inspection. I will contact you when we are ready to leave the surface.”
Login turned towards her. “As the local Abyssian—”
“You are not needed,” Athame said. “Praetor Graves and Agent Khepria are sufficiently competent. Any information we require can be obtained through the local Cyberweb.”
Login stared at her for a moment. “Confirmed. Your presence is requested at the local Lugal’s office tomorrow morning. Her name is Meshara, and should you accept, you are expected at 09:30 hours local time.”
“Thank your mistress for the invitation,” Sorina said.
“I shall.” Login headed back to the limo.
The three of them watched it pull quietly away from the corner and hum off down the street into the flow of traffic with the rest of the electric vehicles. After a moment Sorina turned to Nero.
“Did you notice?” she asked.
“What?”
“He did not dispute me.” Her ears quivered.
He frowned for a moment, then got it. “You implied he was serving the local Lugal instead of Daedalus.”
“And Login did not deny it,” Athame said.
“Well done.” Nero scratched his chin. “I think we should go to that meeting tomorrow. It might prove interesting.”
Sorina smiled as the hotel attendant reappeared and held the door open for them.
They entered a spacious lobby with red carpets and golden columns a meter-wide. White divans and tall, green, fern-like plants were arranged in regular patterns throughout the floor. Nero’s eyes settled on a long table at the end of the lobby between two staircases that curved up to a balcony above it. Behind the table were three Isinari in white shawls displaying the hotel’s logo. He chose one and approached with Sorina and Athame behind him. When the clerk looked up niur eyes went wide.
“An Abyssian,” niu exclaimed in VoQuanese, then seemed to catch niurself and cleared niur throat. “I mean, welcome to the Queen Hotel. How may I assist you?”
“I believe we are expected,” Athame said in the same language.
The clerk nodded, and niur eyes glazed over for a moment. “Yes. Your room is ready. The lock will key to your bio-electric signatures when you pass through the door. Be sure that everyone goes inside before you close it the first time or they will be locked out. You are on the eleventh floor, room 1127.”
“Thank you,” Nero said with a nod. “Where are the lifts?”
“Behind me, on the mezzanine level,” niu said.
He nodded and headed for the stairway.
“No access codes for the rooms?” Sorina asked in Solan.
“VoQuana don’t use implants,” Athame stated. “The Isinari do to a degree, but the VoQuana prefer as little invasive technology as possible.”
Sorina frowned.
Nero glanced around as they crested the staircase. The beings around them were mostly Isinari of varying shades of green, but there were a handful of VoQuana staring at them as they moved to the lift bank. He watched them in the reflection on the golden doors, pressing his lips together until the car arrived and removed his mirror. Several Isinari moved to join them but diverted their courses at the last moment. As a consequence, they had the lift to themselves when its doors closed. Athame pressed the button marked “11” with her finger, and it took until the car was in motion for him to realize the control was an actual, physical panel instead of a digital menu.
“You weren’t kidding about them having limited technology,” he said.
“No,” she stated.
“My skin is crawling from all the staring.”
“Mine, too,” Sorina added.
“We are still a novelty to the general populace, but do not forget what I said before. What one sees—”
“—they all see,” he finished for Athame. “I won’t forget it.”
The lift came to a stop and opened into a white corridor carpeted in green. It reminded him of the old-Earth style hotel Sorina stayed at when they were guarding Baron Keltan on Earth; even the smell of cleaning solvents was the same. Light fixtures instead of glow orbs illuminated the hall, and rectangular, black doors in ornate frames interrupted the smooth walls at regular intervals. Room 1127 lay at the end of the corridor by an alcove with a vensynth machine. Nero watched Sorina trail her fingers down the walls as they walked and cracked a smile.
“What is she doing?” Athame messaged.
She likes human style hotels, he messaged back.
“This is a VoQuana hotel,” she returned.
It’s close enough to an older Solan style that even I think it’s basically the same.
Athame reached out and trailed her fingers on the wall until they reached the room, surprising him.
“I’ve never been to Sol,” she sent.
He cocked an eyebrow as they opened the door and entered one by one. Once they finished an electronic chirp sounded.
“I guess that means we’re good.” He looked around at the two double-beds with a nightstand between them. The opposite wall held the half-moon of a holographic projector and a small refrigeration unit below it. The room’s only window faced the center of the city where a cluster of the ziggurat-style buildings the VoQuana favored dominated the skyline. Unlike the one on Kosfanter, these were massive in scale, their smooth walls stained with decay.
They must have been truly impressive when they were built, Prospero said. Whenever that was.
Sorina looked
at the holographic projector with distaste, but smiled again when she moved over to the beds and ran her hands over the blue-and-brown checkered sheets. She took in a deep breath, and spreading her arms above her head, flopped back on the one closest to the window.
“Does it pass the test?” Nero asked.
Her ears vibrated, and her amber, feline eyes gleamed. “Everything except the holographic projector. That would not have been in a Solan room until at least the twenty-third century of the Solan calendar. It is out of place next to these twentieth-century style beds.”
“I guess we’ll have to live with it.” He winked.
Athame walked up to the window beside him. “Prospero, New Harbidum was settled in 2,970.32 PC, then destroyed and rebuilt numerous times during the Cephalon-Qua wars. The ziggurats that you are presently viewing were constructed in 110 PC by the VoQuana resettlers.”
PC means Pre-Confederation, Nero, and by the way, Athame is a wise-ass, Prospero said into the link between them. Did you just pull that off of the local Cyberweb?
“The local network is excessively hard to access,” Sorina chimed in, reminding him that she shared the link with Athame and himself. “I had to provide my CSA credentials just to get basic information.”
“The Treaty of Seven severely limits VoQuana access to the Cyberweb, even the local nodes maintained by the Isinari,” Athame explained.
He frowned, looking out at the city of box-like, plaster buildings. Each had a roof slightly smaller than the base such that all of the outer walls were at an angle. From this high up the people moving on the streets looked like tiny dolls.
“Is it just me,” he said, “or do the limits seem a bit strict to you?”
“To whom are you speaking?” Athame asked. He hadn’t turned around when he spoke.
“Either, both, everyone,” he replied. “I’m just musing. These people don’t even have air cars.”
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