by I. O. Adler
The two Cordice looked at one another. The others in the audience remained silent.
The historian spoke like a doctor informing her of something less than pleasant. “What’s left here might be summed up as her deeper memories, anything beyond recent events and surface thoughts, even well-ingrained skills and functions, along with knowledge learned during her stay with us. Her simulated time here was extensive as she exercised her options to dial back her temporal perception. What remains of her can be likened to a fully functioning shadow of the person she is, augmented by the simulation. Usually this remnant would be suspended until the individual can be made whole, but if you believe it could be useful, I can summon it here.”
It, not she. The last thing Carmen wanted was to meet a shadow of her mother in this place. She felt sick. Wanted to breathe real air in her physical lungs. What would stop them from trapping her there?
But they still hadn’t concluded the matter.
She fought to control her voice to sound as calm as possible. “I don’t understand why I’m here. If you can dial time as needed, you could spend months in your debate and reach a conclusion in minutes, right?”
“We’ve spent longer on this than you can imagine, Carmen Vincent,” the engineer said with a hint of embarrassment. “We are now a people divided. When matters like this have occurred in our distant past, we’ve declared an impasse. Like any pubescent entity, we would split and form new communities, be it in a new cave, a new mountain, a new continent. Mutual need and shared experiences have always brought us back together. We, like so many others, have learned the futility of collective destruction. But in our current state, a separation is no longer possible.”
The engineer gestured at the historian.
The historian picked up the narrative as if the two were co-lecturers. “My spore brother’s school of thought encompasses a bare majority who believe we need to depart our galaxy to preserve what we have left. Our lives, our memories inhabit the servers on board our home ship. We have many others with us, including races eliminated long before your kind even dreamed of venturing beyond your world. His faction is correct in their desire to uphold our responsibilities to all who live on in our simulation.”
“We’ve given them immortality,” the engineer added. “We have a responsibility.”
“We do,” the historian agreed. “But our ship is in a poor state. With the caretaker malfunctioning, we face imminent breakdown. Throwing ourselves across the chasm of space between galaxies without even knowing if our enemy or a new one waits on the other side is irresponsible. Our bodies have died from irreversible soil blights. We haven’t saved ourselves by running. We must aid those who might still save themselves. The harvester must go to the Melded.”
“Which would doom those who live here,” the engineer said. “The majority voted and we decided to depart the Framework out of concern that the enemy would return to finish his destruction. Our repairs can wait. My colleague’s conspiracy to allow Sylvia Vincent to steal the harvester could have cost us everything.”
The historian and the engineer faced off with each other.
“You’re both crazy,” Carmen said. “I mean that with all due respect. Your run-down spaceship looks like it’s falling apart. Your caretaker isn’t just malfunctioning, it’s broken. It tried to kill us. Why haven’t you fixed it or anything else here while you had the harvester? And if you think these Melded are trustworthy, you’re mistaken. The Primary Executive shot my sister. Maybe a human life isn’t worth anything to you people. But he also blew up She Who Waits. I get that you’re pacifists here. But your translator works for all of you, doesn’t she?”
The historian let out a sharp click. “An unfortunate accident. The junior translator is but a minor functionary and we see she still lives. The Melded have the temperament of ones committed to a short life span. But they also possess the resolve to carry through with what we are incapable of doing: taking the fight to the enemy.”
“Being bullies doesn’t make them strong. If you brought me here to get me to side with you, I can’t do that. I won’t give them the harvester.”
The engineer turned his head and addressed the assembly. “There, you’ve heard it. The matter rests. Carmen Vincent won’t side with those of us who would attempt to war with the enemy. The harvester will be returned to us for the purpose of rebuilding. We repair what we have to. We continue with our intention to leave this system.”
“So we vote,” the historian said with a sigh.
A jolt ran across Carmen’s field of vision. At first she thought someone on board the Cordice home ship had flashed a light across her eyes where she reclined in the medical bay. But each of the Cordice council members shifted ever so slightly. The effect was most noticeable with the engineer, who had been coiled with his head high. He moved in an instant, his centipede body now stretched as he slumped over a stone lectern. Others in the audience likewise appeared to droop.
The engineer rose again. “We can’t go on arguing about this. But we have no consensus.”
A time shift. It had to be. How long had they argued without her?
“The harvester belongs to you,” Carmen said. “Why can’t I just give it back? One of you can take us home. Give someone on Earth a chance to help you and the Framework. We have smart people there.”
“Our discussion covered our options. If the harvester is returned, the war faction will not relent in their efforts to hand it over. The resulting disruption will be…uncomfortable.”
“Then show the Melded how to build their own. You make spaceships, don’t you? You must have the schematics saved. Make them available.”
The historian answered her. “The harvester is a product of one of our splinter colonies which had hundreds of years to perfect its design and production. Their star system was the last one our fleet visited. They had been destroyed. The harvester was found dormant where it had been undergoing post-production testing. While we recovered it, it would take many years to produce another like it.”
Carmen caught a note of gloom. “And you think the enemy will be back before that can happen.”
“It is a certainty.”
The engineer cocked his head. “It is a supposition. We don’t know. But the enemy has found us any time we linger. Thus our need to depart and bring all we can with us.”
“And what if Carmen Vincent doesn’t understand the consequences, dear spore brother?” the historian asked. “To red shift away means we leave those behind who won’t commit to uploading into the simulation. And we abandon those who would fight.”
“Each must make their choice. We help the ones we can. But we preserve those who are already with us. It is our duty.”
“I take it it’s not just a majority vote?” Carmen asked.
Neither answered. But then she noticed a red light appear next to the historian. It clicked at them and Carmen had no idea what was being said.
She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the med bay, to ignore the simulation around her in its perfect replication of reality. Found herself whispering, “I want to leave…let me go.”
In an instant she came to, her eyes taking a moment to make sense of what she was seeing: the hospital bed and the ceiling of the Cordice home ship. She sat up and disconnected.
She Who Waits’ bed remained sealed. The window was completely fogged by the gas. But a red light winked from the top of one of the two floating miniature blimp bots that lingered nearby.
“Who are you talking to?”
The second bot produced its own red light. “The Primary Executive. He is making another appeal to the Cordice.”
“Disconnect them.”
“It is my duty.”
“You almost died. The Melded were willing to hurt you to get what they wanted. Don’t you see? You have the power here. You can stop acting as go-between and translator unless they agree to certain rules. Rules you get to set.”
“My assignment is to facilitate communication.”
&nbs
p; “I understand. But it needs to be between parties who won’t try to steal from each other and won’t clamp a bomb on you when they’re not happy with how things are going. Who are you sworn to serve?”
“She Who Rules tasked me with service to the Framework. There were to be twelve more of my kind. I was to learn at their side. But none made the rendezvous. And She Who Rules perished during the attack.”
“How many of your kind are left?”
“I am alone.”
Carmen tried to imagine it. She had endured stretches of isolation when feeling disconnected from her mom and dad, times when her sister was too busy, and she had her darkest year after her big breakup with the only serious boyfriend she had ever had.
But to lose everyone?
She Who Waits didn’t seem to be willing or able to enter the Cordice simulation. If the journey from their last checkpoint had been as long of a trip as indicated, She Who Waits had been without others of her kind or perhaps any other companionship for many years.
“I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t do much to comfort you. But no one should get to treat you like this. The Primary Executive attacked you. Your assignment isn’t to let him kill you, is it? You don’t owe him anything. There must be others on the Framework that would agree with this. Disconnect them.”
The red light vanished.
“And now, if you’re up for it, put me through to both of them.”
She received her two red lights.
“This is Carmen Vincent. I’m in control of the harvester. I wanted to give it back to its rightful owner, but that’s gotten complicated now that I know it’ll be given to the Melded. I came here for Sylvia Vincent. Mom, I hope you’re listening. You’re not well. The Cordice still have part of you inside their simulation. You need to go back to them and let them help you.”
The Primary Executive barked, “You child! You’ve caused great damage—”
“Stop. From what I can see, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed. If your decision is to go fight the enemy, then do so. But the harvester belongs to the Cordice. Until they have a consensus, I won’t surrender it so you can steal it.”
“By the merciful stars, your interference will cost us everything!”
“I’m not finished. You almost killed two people. I don’t know how justice works with you, or within your Framework, but I’m holding you responsible. You have one translator and you were willing to sacrifice her to get what you want. How many on the Framework are willing to let this slide?”
The red light pulsed, then went out.
“They have cut communication,” She Who Waits said. “And their ship is departing.”
Carmen hurried to reconnect to the harvester. In an instant she confirmed what had been reported. The Melded vessel was moving away from the Cordice home ship. Somehow they had dislodged themselves from the harvester sphere. A trail of debris followed them or spiraled away. They were leaving and her mother was with them.
With a thought she detached the sphere. She could intercept them in minutes and disable them. If she brought more spheres into play, she could tear them in half like they were wet cardboard. She could save her mother.
She disconnected.
The sphere would remain in place next to the Cordice home ship as they continued their orbit around Mars’s smallest moon. Maybe the Melded departure would allow the Cordice some breathing space so they could reach a compromise.
She went to She Who Waits’ bed. “I don’t suppose you’d take the harvester off my hands and bring us home?”
When the red light appeared Carmen wondered if she would have to explain humor. But what she heard sent a chill down her spine.
“It’s the Melded,” She Who Waits said. “They’ve activated one of their missiles and are targeting us.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A missile?
What would be the point in the Primary Executive engaging in a final bluff like this?
Carmen reconnected. Zoomed in on the departing Melded vessel. It glimmered as it passed before the distant sun. One of the tubes stored on the outside of the ship now hung detached in space. It was moving under its own power and turning as it tumbled.
A sensor confirmed what She Who Waits had already told her: they had been hit with a targeting laser. If the missile was real, then there was no time to try and talk the Melded out of whatever they were intending.
With a command she pulled the sphere towards the rest of the sections of the trailing harvester to bring it closer to the Melded ship. There was the briefest delay and then the sphere began to move. The Melded ship wasn’t in a direct path, so she corrected the sphere, willing it to go faster even as the back of the missile blossomed a blue flame and pushed off, instantly accelerating. It was racing towards them in a long arc so quickly, the Cordice home ship felt as if it were sitting still.
The sphere had just enough momentum. She locked on to the missile and drove the sphere into it. The sensors signaled a flash. And just like that the missile was gone. But so was the sphere. Pages of data tried to command her attention but she dismissed them. A hazy cloud of amber expanded near the Cordice ship. Both the sphere and the missile had been annihilated.
The Melded ship continued its retreat. It took her a few seconds to spot the missile array on the hull. A second tube popped free. A remote arm appeared to be trying to remove the other two but the array looked damaged from her earlier attack with the harvester.
“Tell them to stop,” she cried out. “Call them.”
Carmen received no reply. Was She Who Waits even listening?
The nearest sphere was too far away. An intercept plot showed it would take minutes. The first missile had halved the distance in mere seconds before being intercepted.
The new missile began spinning free.
What would destroying the Cordice home ship accomplish? The icy realization came to her that it would decisively sever control over the harvester. The Primary Executive could then hack it at his leisure. And he was willing to destroy all the Cordice and anyone living inside their simulation to get what he wanted.
She Who Waits’ calm voice spoke as if right next to her. “The Cordice wish to talk.”
“Busy.”
She was pushing the sphere as hard as it would go. The harvester felt like it had a mind of its own. It kept wanting to rearrange itself and place its power plant at the rear of the configuration as if in anticipation of future commands she had no intention of making.
She wasn’t about to use the machine to gather resources. Once again it was a weapon of war, and if she couldn’t smash the missile then she needed the incoming sphere to land a kill shot on the Melded vessel.
It was the only way. The ship was closer. Whether knocking the Melded out would stop the missile once it took flight was unknown. The missile came to life, making a final orientation turn before streaking off at a terrible speed directly towards them.
“Tell my mom I’m sorry.”
The sphere was building speed as well. It would strike the Melded at the same time the missile would find its mark.
Seconds left.
She wished she could hold Jenna’s hand.
The blue plume at the back of the missile winked out. She zoomed in. The weapon was no longer under power. With a quick recalculation she charted its trajectory. Its course would take it on an ellipse just behind the Cordice home ship. It was drifting in space, the targeting laser down, its power out.
Her sphere was about to impact the Melded ship. At its current velocity, a change of course would be impossible.
“Car?”
She felt Jenna alongside her. She was there virtually at the harvester controls, a second set of hands and eyes. They overlapped, their thoughts shared. There was no need to communicate the situation. Jenna understood instantly. Highlighted a function that Carmen hadn’t inspected. Together they touched a control.
The sphere scattered into dozens of separate pieces. The wedges glided past the Melded
ship by a hair’s breadth. Carmen was too numb to do anything, but Jenna reassembled the sphere and slowed it down to a crawl. It remained poised just beyond the Melded ship and could be brought into action in an instant.
Carmen savored the moment with Jen. Didn’t want to leave. But she forced herself to unplug.
“Open communication to the Primary Executive.”
One of the blimp bots was waiting as if anticipating the request. The second bot had also approached with its own light. The Cordice had wanted to talk. But short of them handing her a solution, she couldn’t take the time to slog through more of their deliberations.
She was ready for more bluster. Ready for the Melded worm to shout, make demands, and deliver an ultimatum. What she wasn’t prepared for was her mother to be on the other side of the translation light.
“I saw what you did, Carmen. It was incredible.”
“Mom? What’s happening over there? Why did they attack us?”
“To take the harvester, of course. It was the Primary Executive’s last order before the Melded on the Framework nullified his position in command. His first officer aborted the last missile. They’ve yet to decide on a new leader. The Melded asked me to talk to you.”
“How many Melded are we talking about?”
“Thousands. This is only one of their vessels, their biggest and least damaged. But I don’t have much time to explain. All I can tell you is that you did the right thing in not destroying their ship. The priority on their agenda right now is to restore relations with the Cordice and bring everyone back to discuss how best to use the resources available.”
“The Primary Executive tried to kill all of us and now the Melded want to talk? Are they insane?”
Her mother paused. “They’re desperate and scared. They’ve had two years to repair and resupply and it’s gone slower than they hoped. The Primary Executive had the loudest voice. The Melded listened. But now there’s no agreement on how to proceed. It will take them time to find a new leader.”
“And what’s to stop him from taking over again?”
“Many of the Melded were shocked when he departed the Framework to pursue the Cordice. And when the feeds of his actions on board the home ship began to circulate, they ordered an election. It’s chaotic, but they can act when motivated.”