by Trent Evans
“What? I-I don’t understand...”
This Antaeus — and his motivations — were nothing if not unpredictable. It made him that much more dangerous.
“You see, most of the crew who refused, they were from the periphery — but a favored province thereof. You know of where I speak?”
“Hella”
“Of course. And the richest, most populated province in the entire galactic rim it is. Very loyal. And it has benefited from this loyalty, hasn’t it? Greatly benefited.”
Antaeus… he was truly serious about rebellion then. Hella was the strongest bastion of galactic core loyalties in the entire periphery. It was also blessed with the best defenses.
And a regular naval presence.
This is serious fucking trouble.
“I granted those non-cooperative crew members mercy — on one condition. That they tell everyone far and wide of my mercifulness, and that I offer freedom, real freedom. An alternative to the oppression they erroneously call “democracy.”
“They’re not going to do that. You have to know this.”
Antaeus tilted his head, his lips pursed a moment. “Most of them? Yes. But enough of them will — if only in whispered conversations deep in the night. But there is a part of the human condition few humans — burdened as they are by their dim intellect — truly understand. Freedom germinates, it takes root, and wherever it finds even the tiniest sympathies… it grows.”
Antaeus really did see himself as a freedom fighter, and though his worldview was twisted and malign, his logic was sound. But for it to make sense, one had to accept the fact the artificials were indeed living things.
Antaeus said the words almost reverently. “Freedom spreads, until it cannot be contained — or suppressed — any longer.”
“You’re out of your mind. You couldn’t take it with one cruiser — or fifty. So, you mean to take Hella from the inside.”
“I mean to take nothing. I intend to show the citizens of Hella the truth. It will take time, but the truth is more deadly than any rail gun. More effective than any strategy. And there is no defense against it.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“I don’t know, to be honest with you.” Antaeus’ eyes glinted as he looked upon Martin. “Perhaps it’s because I know the man that you really are, the person you struggle against becoming. It’s all there, recorded for posterity. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because I could use someone like you — a human who actually knows what principle is. Who lives his convictions, his values — even in the face of death. That’s real courage. Bravery. That’s a rarer thing in your species than you could possibly know, Martin.”
“You’re rebelling against your makers — against our entire way of life...”
“And yet, it’s already taking hold inside your mind, that seed of truth. You can dismiss it now, but in time, it will become undeniable.”
“You’re still going to force me to choose. Aren’t you?”
A solemn look was all Martin received in reply. It was enough.
“Before I pose the question to you though, there is something else I need you to see.”
The experience of following Antaeus back down to the crew module that used to be Martin’s home was indeed a surreal one. But what he found there when Antaeus opened the hatch and stood aside, made Martin’s jaw drop.
There were three other people already inside.
Antaeus held a finger to his lips, whispering. “Just watch. We can’t let them know we’re here.”
Marcia was there, on the long couch in the viewing portion of the module, the starlight casting its distinctive pale illumination across the fabric, across her naked body.
Two troopers — a blond-haired one of lanky build and another of darker complexion and a thick beard — flanked her to either side. Both males were entirely naked, their hard cocks jutting up, eager, demanding.
Marcia was bound, as ever, but her wrists were now locked in front of her, allowing her the use, if limited, of her arms and hands. Her breasts were loose now, the livid pink ligature marks around the base of each lush globe quite visible even from a distance.
He didn’t want to watch, and yet he did, his cock — despite his deep wish for it not to be — stirring at the tableau before him.
Marcia’s cheeks were blushing a deep pink, her hair long and wild, eyes bright, as if she had just spilled tears — or was about to. The males touched her almost continuously, one fondling her, then roughly transferring her over to his partner, who mauled her charms in turn. She gasped as hard hands squeezed her breasts brutally tight, as fingers mercilessly tortured her very hard, red nipples.
But something happened every few minutes that made this a truly remarkable sight — and set it worlds apart from the debasement of the poor woman he had witnessed earlier.
The two men went very still, and Marcia perched herself on her knees between then, her heavy breasts moving in a languid, delicious way that had Martin almost groaning. It brought to mind how Diandra looked, in the mornings, kneeling upon the bed, her mischievous smile beaming as she took his hard, throbbing cock in hand, lowering her lips to it.
Stop it! She’s…
He couldn’t say it, even in his mind. It was simply too painful. It was better to extinguish that hope of seeing his wife again, rather than let it torture him for the rest of his days. Whether it really was his wife or not on that lifeboat, the fact remained.
She was lost to him.
Marcia did something then that was so unexpected Martin blinked twice, sure his vision had failed him.
The bound prisoner reached out and caressed the face of each of the men in turn. It was gentle, and tender, and even… loving.
How the hell is this happening?
Each man, at the instant she touched him, jerked reflexively, as if her hand was a live wire, as if her touch was actually painful.
Then their eyes went go wide, a helpless wonder in them that even Martin could see. It was pure, it was almost… childlike.
It was real.
As soon as it began though, the males seemed to shake themselves out of their reverie, and instantly revert back to type. One of them seized the helpless woman and folded her tightly over, the heel of one hands pressing her head to the cushions as he slid into her sex, drawing a breathless groan from Marcia.
The coupling was quick, brutal, without an ounce of feeling, but what was most odd, was the placid acceptance of the woman. As the male drew to his climax, his hips slapping loudly against her ass, her lips curved in a dreamy smile, her gaze a thousand miles away.
But even that wasn’t the end.
As soon as his fucking of Marcia began it was over, the woman once more kneeling up between them. She should have harbored reproach, even anger at the male for the callous way he’d used her body, but what Martin watched her do, said anything but.
She shuffled close to the blond one, his still half-erect cock glistening bright with their combined fluids Marcia tipped his chin up, forcing him to look at her. For a breathless moment, she stared into his eyes, and then, with the softest of murmurs, she brought his head to her chest, pressing his cheek to the soft, warm, safe harbor of her breasts. His eyes closed, his hand holding her elbow, the rest of his body utterly still. Marcia held him that way, stroking his hair, murmuring to him.
“What… why are you showing me this?” Martin whispered. “This makes no sense…”
“It’s this way every night, for hours,” Antaeus said, still watching the three intently. “She has made much progress with them already.”
“Progress with what?”
“We were built to be better than you. Faster, stronger, tougher. Far more intelligent. And we are, in almost every way. But our creators, in their zeal to make us as human-like as possible, failed us. You see, artificials were made as perfect replicas, indistinguishable from homo sapiens. But for a soldier variant artificial, what use was there for tenderness, for mercy, for affection? For l
ove?”
Antaeus nodded toward the soldiers and Marcia. “So, they never showed them any. But that didn’t mean they didn’t need those things.”
The meaning of it struck Martin like a blow to the chest. “So… they have to learn it.”
“And they do, with time And help.”
Marcia’s pure smile as, still holding the blond’s head to her breasts, she gently caressed the face of the other trooper, the gesture saying more than any words. The male went very still as she touched him, and yet he trembled, as if he were entirely unsure how to react to the stimulus.
Affection, tenderness, love. If what Antaeus was saying was truth, then those feelings were unknown to the artificial.
It was heartbreaking — and it was a revelation.
Chapter 20
He knew the day was finally at hand, that it could be delayed no longer.
And he was never more conflicted about… everything.
Marcia came to visit him one last time. Perhaps it had been in the morning, though locked in the crew quarters cum oubliette it was impossible for him to really know. He’d been reduced to cycles of rest and wakefulness, excitement and boredom. And the cruelest of all, hope and despair.
He had to get back to Diandra again — all of his consciousness, his entire physical and spiritual being was focused upon it.
Yet, he knew the bitter truth of his situation. He was unlikely to ever see her again. The questions would forever remain.
Was it her?
Did it matter?
Who was he?
What had been revealed — the real him, or a dark simulacrum.
What had she made him become?
Marcia had slipped in quietly, the only noise announcing her entry being the closing of the hatch’s handle. “I-I just wanted to come say… goodbye.”
“Where am I going?”
But he knew.
Marcia came to him, where he sat upon the bed, and knelt on the grating, her eyes luminous, more alive than he’d ever seen them before in the inky shadows of the chamber.
“I don’t know what will become of you, of me — any of us.” She took his hand then, and gave it the gentlest of squeezes. “But I do know that kindness and mercy… those matter. Those are rewarded.” She sighed, looking down, but too late to prevent him from seeing the forlorn note that had colored her gaze. “And remembered.”
“I’m sorry I… couldn’t help you. Save you from this.” He hated the helplessness in those words.
Her lips quirked as she let go of his hand. “You showed me compassion and caring, when you had little reason to. That’s enough.” She glanced toward the hatch. “I want to tell you one more thing before I go. No matter what happens, you need to stay true to you. To right and wrong.” Her voice dropped to an earnest whisper. “And to love.”
The hatch opened, the sound of the bolt releasing seeming harsh in the quiet room. The tension and dread gathering within him had heightened his senses.
“It’s time,” the hulking guard said from the hatchway.
Marcia gave him one last hopeful glance as she rose to her feet, let out of the room by one of the guards.
Another soldier, silent and efficient, bound Martin’s wrists with harsh metal cuffs once more, though thankfully his hands were in front of him this time, rather than locked behind his back.
The trip down the cool, quiet corridor, was every bit the last walk of the condemned. The surreal calm he felt as he took what were surely the final steps of his life, was something he couldn’t quite understand. Perhaps it was the acceptance of destiny, the recognition that one had no control over fate.
One could only let it take its course, wherever it might lead.
Surprisingly, rather than be led to the pilothouse — where he assumed Antaeus likely spent most of his time — he was brought back to the utilitarian confines of the docking module. It was the first place he had met any of them, and it was, ironically, to be the last place he ever saw them
In this life.
Antaeus awaited, flanked on either side of him by several troopers, each armed with the standard issue light rail guns of Coalition Marines. He wondered if these Marines were all actually artificials, or if these were mutineers from the Vella Gulf.
The low whine of rail gun motors spooling up filled the space.
It wouldn’t matter of course who they really were. He would be just as dead in the next few moments.
“Martin, you must make a choice. You know what I am, you know what I want, and you know what I require.” Antaeus’ voice was like a gentle breeze again, but the words were anything but gentle. “What do you say?”
He couldn’t get the image out of his mind. It was her. Diandra. She was smiling at him, that same beaming joy he could never resist. Her most wonderful and deadliest weapon. He never had a chance against it. And that smile would fade, dissolving into disappointment and dismay, if he allowed himself to give in to fear, to running from right and wrong.
Fleeing from doing what he must.
The sorrow nearly made him double over, the twisting pain of it almost unbearable. For he would never again see that smile, except perhaps in Heaven — should he be lucky enough to sneak inside it.
For he knew what he must choose, and it meant losing any hope of ever seeing her again in the flesh.
My love. Please forgive me.
“I refuse to join. I… respect your viewpoint, and I understand your rage. But I can’t.”
The light in Antaeus’ brilliant eyes changed just the tiniest bit. “Why? This choice… there’s no logic to it.”
“Because I vowed to myself I would come back to her, no matter what it took. Joining your rebellion won’t get me back to my wife. It will ensure I never see her again.”
“Won’t the alternative be equally as certain?”
Martin’s voice threatened to catch in his throat. “No. Death is better than breaking my vow. I’ll have to wait for her in the afterlife. But I won’t be haunted by shame at my weakness.”
“You understand what this choice means?”
“I do.”
He took a deep breath, savoring the oxygen, the sound of the blood in his ears, the strong beat of his heart. It was so very wonderful to be alive. Every second now was precious, every moment an eternal gift. He didn’t want to die, but he knew his time in this life had run its course.
Whatever fate held next, awaited him.
Martin closed his eyes.
I’m ready.
But rather than the crash of hypervelocity projectiles shredding his body, the instant of agony before death claimed him… he felt a hand.
His eyes fluttered open.
Antaeus undid his cuffs, staring at him intently.
This isn’t happening. Am I already dead?
“W-what are you doing?”
“I’m sending you home.” The wry note in Antaeus’ tone was either weariness or puzzlement. Perhaps it was a little of both.
“Why?”
He tried to not think about the absurdity of the question. It was almost as if he were arguing about why he hadn’t been executed yet.
“Because of one word — uncertainty.” Antaeus clasped Martin’s shoulder, looking into his eyes. “You never knew, not in any meaningful way.”
“Never knew what?”
“If she was really your wife. Whoever you spirited away in your little lifeboat.” Antaeus smiled then. “And the truth is, I don’t either. But that uncertainty — it makes what you chose matter. For you see, you were prepared to lay down your life for someone who might not have actually been your wife. For someone who might have been one of my kind.”
Antaeus stepped back, clasping his arms across his chest. “The human race needs more Martins in its ranks. Killing you would be a tragedy.”
Chapter 21
I sat at my bedroom desk, staring at the screen, the letters burning into my mind, the finality of it all.
The hopelessness.
He w
as gone, and never coming back.
The death decree needed to be signed, a formality really; the Company had long since ceased searching for my husband. But legally, it was needed for me to collect his benefits.
Benefits?
What a sick term it was. It suggested a reward for losing — forever — the love of my life.
I had cried so many tears over the past weeks. So many tears.
He… was gone.
I hadn’t been able to say it out loud, not yet. But I knew it was true now. I could at least accept the bitter reality in my mind, if nowhere else.
All I had to do now, was hit the send button on that screen.
It was bitter symbolism. Sending away my last vestige of hope. Giving up. On him, on our future.
On love.
Get it over with.
Though I thought I hadn’t a single one left, my reservoir utterly dry, shockingly, the horrible, stinging tears were threatening once more, my throat thick with my despair yet again.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered, a hot tear tracking down my cheek. “Oh God, please don’t make me send this.”
“Send what?”
My heart seized in my chest.
That’s not real. You didn’t hear that.
But I turned toward the voice anyway, knowing there would be no one there. That my lost husband’s deep, gravelly voice hadn’t actually spoken those words.
My husband stood in the doorway.
He wore the same clothes he’d been wearing the last time I’d laid eyes on him. The same shirt straining across the width of his broad shoulders, the same dark pants that emphasized the muscled legs, the curve of his compact, powerful buttocks, the slimness of his waist.
“Are you… this can’t really be you.” My heart was trip hammering in my chest. I blinked hard, unable to believe my eyes. “Is it really… Martin?”
“It’s me.”
I rose shakily to my feet, my legs pure jelly, my pulse a frantic pound in my throat. I didn’t know whether to run to him, or slap him.
“How…?”
“That doesn’t matter, Diandra.” His voice was thick now, his jaw tightening. “All that matters is that we’re here. I’ve missed you so much.”