Transfer, which most of the known universe had, all except undiscovered planets like hers.
"Brittany."
She looked up instantly, her dark green eyes wide, full of fear and confusion. But then she shot to her feet, flew at him, clung to his chest. And in a small voice that steadily grew louder, said, "I was beginning to think you weren't real, that I'd dreamed you, too. You are real, aren't you? Tell me you're real!"
"Very real, kerima."
"You aren't going to disappear on me again?" she demanded sharply.
"You will never be far from me, not ever. I would not allow it."
She relaxed somewhat, leaned back to stare into his eyes, as if she might find all her answers there. She found none, but she did seem to find the reassurance she'd been in need of. She stepped away from him, agitation now taking the place of her fear, though the confusion was still rampant.
"You've got some explaining to do."
"I know," he agreed.
"You can start by telling me how I got here, and where here is."
"Martha has already told you‑"
"Don't even think of feeding me that same line of bullshit that she did! It's all been a dream, and I've just woken up from it, right? I can buy that. But how did I get here to begin with, and when? Last night? So everything that happened in City Hall today didn't really happen, you didn't fight Jorran with swords, didn't get wounded‑no, of course you didn't. There's no cut on your chest.
She was staring at his chest triumphantly, thinking she'd Just managed to confirm everything she'd just said. "The cut was there, but is now gone," he was forced to tell her. "Such is the amazing ability of a meditech, which I was Transferred into upon arrival here."
"Dalden, are you okay‑mentally? You don't really believe that nonsense, do you?"
He smiled at her concern for him. "You were told that all would be revealed to you after our task was completed. The time for answers is now."
"Then start telling me the truth, because this science fiction crap just doesn't wash. And you can start with where we are."
"In my quarters aboard the Androvia."
"Aboard as in‑on a ship? Quarters without a bed or bathroom? Sure."
In this case, it was much easier to show her than convince her. He took her hand, pulled her over to the Sanitary wall, and pressed a button there. Walls immediately enclosed them in a small area, a toilet and sink slid out, the circular shower rose up from the floor to fill the corner, and a ledge dropped down with other amenities, including access to the dial‑up closet. He took a moment to dial a light blue tunic. It was delivered in less time than it took to don it.
While she was staring incredulously at everything that had been revealed, he pressed the button to send it all back into concealment and dragged her over to the other corner of the room. Pressing the button there slid out new walls, and a section of the floor flipped over, leaving a narrow bed in its place that would adjust in size once someone laid down on it.
These, too, he sent back before he said, "I feel confined here, which is why I do not leave these things out, but send them away until they are needed. I am told it is designed to make these rooms seem bigger than they are."
"I get it," she said, finally looking at him again. "This is a movie studio, right? Props, make‑believe stuff that isn't really real."
He sighed. He had known this would not be easy, but he hadn't thought it would be impossible.
"You search for any answer but the truth," he told her.
"Show me Proof! " She was getting agitated again. "If this isn't a studio made to look like a ship, show me what's outside of it."
"This room has no windows."
"Correction." Martha's voice came through on the audiovisual ship's intercom on the wall, proving she was in standby
assistance mode. "Knowing how much you hate being reminded of what you're traveling in, Dalden, the windows were never revealed to you."
The walls began to move again, in Martha's control this time, opening up a long bank of windows made of something other than glass that revealed nothing but water and a lone fish swimming past.
"A submarine?" Brittany said in surprise, but then she frowned and added skeptically, "Or a large tank of water. You call this proof?"
Dalden growled in exasperation. Martha chuckled. "Give it up, kiddo. She doesn't require proof. She already knows what she's dealing with, she just refuses to accept it, and no amount of words will change that."
"Because aliens are a myth, perpetrated by the UFO craze!" Brittany shouted for Martha's benefit, but then she rounded on Dalden and slapped her palm against his chest. "Look at you, you're flesh and blood, you've got all the right parts in the right numbers, even if you are a bit big. There's nothing alien about you!"
"It pleases me to hear you say so," he replied. "This name you have for off‑worlders is only slightly more tolerable than what I am usually called."
"He's referring to the name barbarian," Martha supplied. "It's how the rest of the civilized universe views his world, not because of the way his people look, dress, or even that they still fight with swords. It's their overall outlook, their primitive laws, their stubborn adherence to tradition that's outlived its time."
"You are not helping, Martha," Dalden said.
"Just telling it like it is, warrior. Why go through this stonewall disbelief twice? Besides, her idea of an alien is something bizarre looking that isn't humanoid‑another reason why she's having trouble grasping reality here. If you looked like the Morrilians with their oversized heads that accommodate their magnificent brains, she'd have no problem pointing at you and saying you´re an alien."
Brittany wasn't listening. She was gripping the hair on both sides of her temples and saying to herself, "There has to be a logical explanation for this. There has to be."
Dalden moved to put his arms around her. "Kerima, your distress pains me. What must I do to ease it?"
She leaned into him, trying to accept the comfort he offered. "Just tell me there's a really good reason for lying to me."
"Talk about a double‑edged request," Martha said in one of her more distinct you've‑annoyed‑me tones.
Brittany swung around, searching for Martha's voice, since Dalden was no longer wearing his communicator. "The audiovisual monitor on the wall," he pointed out with a sigh. "She controls the ship, thus she has eyes and ears in every room."
Brittany marched to the monitor on the wall, which was presently blank. "Show yourself to me. I want to see the woman who has the gall to try to convince me I'm on an alien spaceship.
"I'll do better than that," Martha purred.
Dalden stiffened, but before he could warn Martha off, Brittany was transferred out of the room. He swore, knowing where she'd been taken, and that he couldn't get there in time to prevent Brittany from further shock.
Chapter Twenty‑nine
BRITTANY WAS IN SHOCK. IT HAD HAPPENED AGAIN, THAT moment of tingling, then waking in a Completely new location. Waking? No, she was standing up. Even if they'd been able to put her to sleep somehow to move her somewhere else, she wouldn't wake up on her feet.
It had to be illusions, or perhaps rotating walls. She'd seen enough moving walls since she got here to know they had that process down pat and in high speed, so she could be in the same room, just with new walls and‑and a really big computer console in the center.
"This is the command center." Martha's voice seemed to come at her from all sides. "If I weren't here, this room would be filled with the specialists needed to run a ship this size, all made obsolete with a Mock II on board. I'm the Mock II, by the way."
"What is a Mock ll?" Brittany demanded. "And where are you hiding this time?"
"I'm currently housed in the console you're looking at. That's right, doll, I'm a computer, one of the most highly advanced computers ever created. Dalden let that slip the other day, but fortunately you decided he was just pulling your leg. Not an unrealistic conclusion on your part, s
ince the computers you have on your planet are prehistoric dinosaurs compared to me, and those are all you've had for comparison‑until now."
"More bullshit?"
"Your disbelief is wearing thin, child," Martha said with a sigh. "I'm going to make this brief before Dalden barges in here to retrieve you. He's not too pleased with me at the moment. You're causing yourself, and him, a lot of grief over nothing. He did good today. He should be celebrating his victory instead of having to deal with a hysterical woman who can't get past one simple little fact.
"A simple fact!?"
"Why don't you try using the logic you were crying for a few minutes ago? It's rather egotistical of your people to think that your insignificant planet, tucked away in this sector of the universe, is the only planet that supports life. Look at it this way: your solar system has moved into a well‑established neighborhood, sorta like the new kid on the block. But there were other systems on the block first so much older than yours that the species in them were exploring far into space while you still had dinosaurs roaming."
"You don't get it. I'd have to be dreaming for this to be real, but I'm not dreaming. I know I'm not, because I pinched myself and it damn well hurt. So stop trying to mess with my mind."
"We'd have to be pretty cold‑blooded to try to pull what you're accusing us of trying to pull. Is that really how you see Dalden?"
Of course she didn't, which was why none of this made sense. There had to be a reason for these lies, but she couldn't hope to guess what it was and was driving herself crazy trying to find a plausible explanation.
"Just take me home already," she said wearily. "My job is done. You've captured your thief. You don't need me anymore. I want to go home."
"It's too late for that. It became too late when Dalden made you his lifemate."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"You were already told what it means. You chose to see that as a joke, too. It wasn't. And you're still not taking it seriously yet, but for him, it's about as serious as you can get. You're now his to protect, his to have and to hold, for life. There's no getting out of it, like you people do around here. There's no breaking it. It's a done deal, and it's permanent. So you go where he goes, doll, no ifs, ands, or buts. And where he's going is home to Sha‑Ka'an, a planet in the Niva star system, light‑years away from here."
"You just slipped up," Brittany said, pouncing on it, and pointing out triumphantly. "Light‑years would take more than one lifetime to travel."
In response, chuckling filled the room. "With anything your planet can currently produce, yes, but the rest of the universe runs on different sources of power. This spaceship is powered by gaali stones, the newest and most impressive known source, so it win only take us a couple of months to get home. But even crysillium, the last, now obsolete power source, was capable of similar speed, as well as the one before that. Your planet hasn't come close to knowing what real power is yet."
"You have an answer for everything, don't you?" Brittany said bitterly.
"'Course I do, I'm a Mock II. We don't stagnate, we grow with age."
"You mean upgrade," Brittany corrected.
"No, my parts can't be replaced, but nor will they ever need to be," Martha recorrected and made a brief attempt at explaining. "Imagine a simulated brain, superpowerful at birth, yet like any brain, capable of maturing. Yes, that means I'm capable of thoughts and decisions just like you, even though I am man‑made."
"That's not possible."
"Doll, anything is possible for the Morrilians who created me. They are a very old species whose intelligence can be likened to godlike, if you need a comparison. I'm talking genius beyond anything you can imagine, beyond anything most worlds can imagine, even high‑tech worlds far more advanced than yours. Ironically, they are a very simple people with few needs other than intellectual, and very nonaggressive, which is fortunate for the rest of the universe. That nonaggression is made part of all Mock Ils before they are sold."
"Sold? You're actually owned by someone?"
"It might help if you stop thinking of me as a person. While that's great for my ego, it's not very factual. Mock Ils are designed to be compatible with one and only one owner, so all programming is geared to that one individual, and his or her happiness and well‑being are our number‑one priority.
"My individual is Tedra, Dalden's mother," Martha added. "And her happiness includes her family's, which is why I was sent along on this retrieval trip, not just to recover the Altering Rods but to make sure her son returns home in one piece. Remember her son, the Sha‑Ka'ani who has decided that you're the only woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with? Do you really think that he would intentionally hurt you by messing with your mind?"
I´m trying not to think. Thinking right now is going to lead to a nervous breakdown."
"I wouldn't allow that."
"You wouldn't be able to prevent it."
"Sure I would. Or have you forgotten the option I was going to use if Dalden had just had his fun with you and left you behind? You can be made to forget us and everything we've revealed to you. Is that what you want? To never see Dalden again, to have him leave you behind?"
"And the alternative is? To be taken off into deep space? To
never return here, never see my family again? That is what the bottom line is here, right?"
Martha made a taking sound. "One thing that hasn't been mentioned yet is that in the universal scope of things, Dalden's family is about as rich as rich can ever get, for the simple reason that they own the largest gaali stone mine in existence‑power that the entire universe is in need of and is willing to pay just about anything for. So with the right inducement, I'm sure you could convince your lifemate to bring you back occasionally to visit your family."
"I didn't get asked if I want to be his lifemate," Brittany said in a small, resentful voice.
"Warriors never ask. On Sha‑Ka'an, it's a male decision that females have no say in. But just out of curiosity, what would your answer have been if you were asked?"
"Before all the rest of this was revealed to me, or right now?"
"Never mind. I'll ask that question again someday, but right now, you'll just say something emotional that has no bearing on your real feelings. Humans tend to do that a lot. Silly of them, and half the time those wrong answers cause even more hurt feelings, all of which could have been avoided with a little honesty up front."
"You have no idea what I'm feeling. You couldn't even begin to‑'
"Now there's where you're wrong," Martha interrupted in a purring I'm‑ready‑to‑impress‑you tone. "You're not used to a computer of my caliber yet, but you'll find that it's pointless to argue or disagree with me, simply because my forte is probabilities. So even if I don't have all available facts to work with, I can still come up with the answers. Let's take yourself for an example."
"Let's not‑"
"Too late. I'm proving a point, and I'm a bit hard‑nosed when points need to be proven. You flipped over the warrior when you first saw him. There was no getting around it, you were hooked.
Even thinking him 'foreign,' which was probably at the bottom of your list for acceptable mates, couldn't detract from the kind of attraction you were in the grips of. You threw up all the standard roadblocks your people favor for stalling the inevitable, but it took no more than a couple of intoxicants for you to break down all barriers and jump in with both feet to a full commitment. And you did commit yourself, by the way, which was all the 'yes' he needed to make his own decision to bind you to him for life."
"I'm not agreeing with you," Brittany said stiffly and with deliberate emphasis. "But what has any of that to do with now, with this ship, with your ridiculous assertion that you're aliens from outer space?"
"it's off‑worlders, doll. That's what we're called. We're no different from your own people from Asia or India. You wouldn't understand their language until you learned it. You wouldn't take to their culture because it's not
yours and you naturally prefer your own. But you can visit them and get along with them and might even like their countries and peoples well enough that you want to stay. The only difference between them and us is, instead of hopping over an ocean for a visit, it takes a spaceship for us to do so and vice versa. Besides, it's not that you don't believe any of this, it's that you don't want it to be true. And it's time for the final proof, so you can get around to relaxing and seeing this as an adventure rather than your worst nightmare."
"You want to rip my life to shreds and I'm supposed to find it adventurous?" Brittany snorted.
"You're going to be the first from your world to travel into deep space. You're going to see things that will astound you. You should be excited by the prospect, not crying that you want it to all go away. The facts I have assimilated from your planet show your species to be much more bold than what you're showing me."
It was said in a derogatory tone. If the intention had been to insult, it worked wonders. "What final proof?" she bit out.
"You might want to have a seat," Martha said, and one of the chairs in the room that were bound to the floor turned in Brit
tany's direction. "And keep an eye on that wall of observation screens that I'm going to turn on with brief explanations for each. Biggest and center is our frontal view. I've been raising us from the ocean floor while we spoke. No point in hanging around down there anymore when we have business to complete on the other side of your moon. We'll be on the surface in a moment, and then high‑speeded out of visual range of the planet's surface, so sit."
Brittany bolted toward the indicated chair and dropped into it, gripped the arms for dear life. "There's no seat belt!" she pointed out in a panic.
"What am I, an amateur?" Martha's tone turned aggrieved. "There isn't a pilot born who has a hope of flying these things better than I. Don't worry about the speed, doll, I adjust gravity within to accommodate for it. You'll only feel a slight pull and shift in weight."
Heart of a Warrior Page 17