by C. Gockel
“Luddecceans,” Five said. “They escaped the Merkabah’s explosion with Captain Darmadi but weren’t blown from the tick like he was. It has been bouncing between bits of debris. It will be in open space soon—if it isn’t shot first.”
6T9 let go of the handle, dropped to the floor, and grabbed one thing the airlock had in abundance: hauling line. The particular line he’d picked up had a hook at the end of it. He jumped up again, caught the handhold, and commanded Time Gate 5 to open the airlock. Five hadn’t pressurized the airlock yet and complied without argument. Turning off the image of Volka, 6T9 surveyed the scene, calculated the tick’s trajectory, location, and the centrifugal force he’d have to overcome. The line wouldn’t be long enough. 6T9 threw it toward Davies anyway. Davies’s eyes widened, and he lunged out and caught it in a single hand. His body slipped from the tick, and another form lunged for his feet, and a third man grabbed the second. They were in freefall, but they still had mass and velocity. Even with Five’s “gravity,” 6T9 was almost yanked out of the gate. He caught himself with his legs. He could see Davies grimacing, his hands slipping on the line. 6T9 almost ordered the mech ‘bot out to catch them, but then ethered Five instead. “Transmit my words to their radios. ‘Davies, we met in System 33. I was with the Fleet Marines. I’m sending a mech ‘bot out to help haul you in. Don’t shoot him.’” The static of annoyance flared beneath his skin. He shouldn’t have to say that.
Five helpfully piped the responses into his mind. “Understood!” Davies grunted, and 6T9 made himself as small as possible so the mech ‘bot could slip by.
“What is that?” shouted one of the Luddecceans.
“It won’t hurt you, Guardsman. Hang. Tight,” Davies ordered.
“Yes, sir!” the man responded.
The mech zipped over and attached to the last man’s belt. 6T9 gave it a command, and the stress on the line immediately lessened. 6T9 began hauling the men in, and with each decreasing meter, sparks lit beneath his skin. He was saving them. He hadn’t thought about it, he’d just done it, and that made it even better…didn’t it?
A few minutes later, Davies was falling through the airlock, and then he and 6T9 were working together to pull his comrades in. They tumbled to the floor one after another, the mech ‘bot following just behind. Five sealed the airlock an instant later. The gate’s rotation brought the porthole into sunlight, and the mech room was lit by a brilliant spotlight. Wasting no time, 6T9 went back to the hover coil. Aloud, he said to his new companions, “We need heat to decontaminate, and then, Davies, I need you to help calm down your countrymen in the other airlock. They are discussing destroying Gate 5 and frightening it.”
Five’s thoughts echoed through the ether. “I am not frightened. I am very logically concerned.”
Rolling his eyes, 6T9 responded silently over the ether, “I’m translating that thought into human.”
“Ah,” said the gate. “You are accommodating their illogical natures.”
6T9 scowled at that, but holding up the end of the power cable, he said to the Luddecceans, “Anyone have a knife? I need to strip this.”
“Yep,” said Davies, pulling one from his belt. 6T9 handed him one end of the cable.
Aloud, 6T9 said, “Five, would you give us some air in here? This modified coil isn’t going to produce much infrared—we’ll need to get air molecules hopping if we want any heat.”
There was a whoosh of air into the chamber.
A few minutes later, Davies held up the end of the stripped cord for 6T9’s inspection. “I see what you’re doing. I’ll attach it to the coil.”
Nodding, 6T9 got out of his way and found a power outlet.
“Ready,” said Davies.
6T9 plugged in the cable, and Davies said, “It will take a few minutes to heat up.” To the other Luddecceans, he said, “Remember, your suit will tell you the temp it reaches on the outside. You’ll need to make sure every square centi is hot.” They nodded earnestly. 6T9 noticed one of them was a weere—he had yellow eyes with oval pupils like Volka’s. The weere man shuddered. “The Dark’s in here. Not strong, but I…smell…it.”
6T9 blinked. The weere man couldn’t smell the Dark through his suit. The suit was sealed…he sensed it and imagined he smelled it—like Volka imagined she heard thoughts. His circuits dimmed. She sensed thoughts, felt them through the wave. It was so much more profound than hearing.
The coil sparked, pieces of it turning red. 6T9’s suit registered the rise in the external temperature. The humans, the weere, and 6T9 raised their arms and lifted their feet, bathing themselves and their weapons in the heat. One of the humans laughed. “It’s like washing sand off your feet after the beach.”
Davies snorted. “If sand were a mind-controlling parasite.”
“And if sand smelled like disease and death,” the weere man muttered.
Arms raised, 6T9 turned so his back was to the “heater.” There was a sizzle as the ice he’d collided with boiled away. The weere said, “That’s some of it.”
Aboard the Merkabah, James and 6T9 had to be “slow cooked” to kill the pathogen. But that had only been because their suits had been breached, and they needed temps that didn’t damage mechanicals or melt synth skin. The hover coil was much hotter, and decon was fast.
“Where’s the rest of the stuff, Lang?” Davies asked.
“Under Falade’s arm,” Lang, the weere man, muttered. The man who must have been Falade began hopping up and down, flapping his arms.
Davies snapped, “Stay still and hold your arms up.”
Falade did—just in time for the hover coils to erupt into sparks and flames. The little mech ‘bot sprayed the coils with fire retardant. “Is it gone?” Falade gasped.
“It’s gone.” Lang took a long breath and let it out slowly.
Remembering how Volka said the presence of the Dark made her want to vomit, 6T9 resisted the urge to put a reassuring hand on Lang’s shoulder. Instead he said to the group, “We’ll lea—”
Darkness fell over the room. 6T9 squinted up at the porthole; a piece of debris was blocking it. There wasn’t even starlight in the mech room—even weere eyes wouldn’t be able to see.
“What’s happened?” Falade asked, shifting on his feet.
“It’s just debris covering the porthole,” Davies rumbled.
“We’ll leave,” 6T9 said.
But Lang said, “I can’t see!”
And Falade said, “Me, neither.”
Without thinking about it, 6T9 switched on the lights in his eyes.
The weere man whipped a pistol toward 6T9’s chest. 6T9’s vision went white and only came back after he’d knocked the pistol away with enough force that the weere’s arm would have fractured if he hadn’t been suited. As it was, the phaser went clattering across the room. 6T9’s vision returned in time to see the man reach for something else at his belt. Lip curling, his vision went white…When his focus came back, his hand was already around the man’s neck. The man was still struggling to reach something in his belt, and with a snarl, 6T9 lifted him from the ground. Struggling to breathe, the weere man grabbed 6T9’s wrist with both hands.
“I can’t trust you, so why shouldn’t I kill you?” 6T9 demanded, static dancing along every inch of his skin. He could kill the man with a squeeze of his fingers. It would be slow, and the man would know he was dying.
“Stand down, Guardsmen,” Davies ordered, voice calm. “If he’d wanted us dead, we’d be dead.” Glancing in Davies’s direction, 6T9 noted he was restraining Falade. The man had a pistol half unholstered, but at the order, Falade slowly put his weapon away.
“Sir,” Davies said, addressing 6T9. “There has been a misunderstanding. If you put him down, I’ll vouch for his good behavior.”
Tilting his head, 6T9 ground out, “I need his word, not yours.”
“Who are you?” gasped the weere man suspended in 6T9’s grip, his legs swinging wildly in the air.
6T9 glared at the weere without see
ing him. His model number had connotations that even Luddecceans understood. He could say his name was Sixty…Volka’s image played in the periphery of his vision, the small loop of her semi-transparent and delicate—Sixty was a name for her lips, a name for friends.
He didn’t need this man’s friendship. He needed his respect, but he was a machine, a sex ‘bot. If he wasn’t respected, he couldn’t lead this motley band or rescue the other Luddecceans. He needed the Luddecceans to secure the gate—if the gate was overrun by the infected, all his updates would be for nothing. Letting his voice echo Davies’s calm, 6T9 said softly, “I am Android General 1,” and lowered the man gently to the ground.
Coming to stand beside him, Davies cleared his throat. “Err…I’m not exactly up to date on Galactic Republic Military branches. What are you a general of, exactly?”
The inset of Volka switched to a memory of Volka on the asteroid, laughing and reciting poetry while she painted. “Oh, what tangled webs we weave, when first we practice to deceive!”
6T9 was no general. Generals had armies. His lips parted. He prepared to confess— but at that moment, the door to the inner gate whooshed open. Beyond the airlock, there was a long corridor lined with robots: tall cylindrical Security ‘bots, tiny cleaning ‘bots, delivery ‘bots, and many more.
6T9 stepped dazedly into the hallway, the Luddecceans trailing a step behind him. The airlock groaned shut. In the hallway, electronic eyes blinked, motors hummed, and a chant rose from the ‘bots. “Android General 1, we are ready to serve you!” A ‘bot that was a shiny, metallic, perfectly proportioned German Shorthaired Pointer trotted over on rubber paw pads, metal claws clicking, tail wagging, and red eyes glowing. It reached 6T9, turned around, and pointed in the direction he supposed they were to go.
6T9 set off without looking back. “I’m the general of them.”
FIN ~
I am sorry about that cliffhanger. I just couldn’t get to where I needed to be in one book. There are only two more books in this story arc: Admiral Wolf and Supernova. I hope you stick around for the final bang. (Snickers in foreshadowing.)
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