The Defiant Read online

  Sundancer’s trembling stopped, and Sixty said, “Easing the armor around her. Snapping together…”

  The holo changed. Briefly it was like looking at a landscape of black scales. Sixty murmured, “Creating composite image…”

  And the holo changed to show Sundancer wearing the armor with only the tip of a wing exposed.

  “Fixing that wing,” Sixty said, eyes narrowing. Little bead-like drones detached from the armor and smoothed the material over the wingtip.

  Volka blinked. The armor smoothed out the organic indentations on Sundancer’s surface. Mounted on her wings were faux phaser cannons. Once Sundancer started accepting the armor regularly and putting it on properly, Fleet said they’d give her real cannons. At the moment, faux cannons or no, she looked like a very pretty, black fish. “You look beautiful, Sundancer,” Volka reassured the ship.

  “The material looks exactly like the material of the condom brand I use,” said Sixty.

  Volka’s mouth dropped open.

  He blinked at her. “Even though I can’t get sexually-transmitted diseases, if I’m in a group situation where I can’t wash up in between partners, condoms are useful.”

  “Did you have to put that image in my mind?” Carl declared. The werfle stared down at the holo, whiskers twitching. “Think of fish, Carl,” he muttered to himself.

  “Don’t think of fish,” said Sixty. “Think of the World Sphere, so we can drop off the ‘bots.”

  Their destination was the World Sphere, the remains of an ancient alien civilization destroyed by the Dark. The sphere was a ruin, larger than Earth or Luddeccea, and hollow. Instead of living on the outside, the aliens had lived on the sphere’s inner surface. According to Sixty, the structure had been a technological feat beyond even the abilities of the techno-savvy Galactic Republic. And yet, that ancient civilization had been conquered by the Dark. They needed to know how, and they needed to know if the aliens had discovered some way to defend themselves—even if that defense had come too late for the aliens, it might not be too late to save humankind. Volka felt a shiver, and then bit her lip and straightened her spine. Hopelessness was next to godlessness. She refused to believe this mission would fail.

  Carl sighed. “A werfle’s work is never done.” So saying, he settled back down onto Sixty’s shoulders, yawned, and closed his eyes. In the holo, Sundancer began to move through the stars. The ship could travel faster than light; but, when she did that with the armor on, the armor was left behind. The Galactic Fleet wasn’t about to lose a trillion-dollar prototype, so they’d traveled as close as they dared to the alien space ruins before donning the chainmail again.

  James’s voice crackled over Bracelet. “I’m waking the ‘bots.”

  Lights flickered, and at Volka’s feet a robotic voice piped up. “Are we there yet?” A moment later, Lishi2429, the origin of the voice, was hovering at Volka’s right shoulder. Lishi was about three quarters as tall as Volka’s torso. Made of a highly reflective chrome metal, he was shaped like a raindrop with a flattened bottom where hover bands were. Along his center there were sharp appendages. Some were pincer-like hands. Others were possibly soldering and welding tools. At the top of his raindrop body, there was a glass marble that was his eye. Through the eye Volka sometimes saw flickering lights. She had begun to associate the flickering lights with Lishi’s mood. Right now, they were yellow and flickering like mad. “Are we? Are we?”

  “No,” said James and Sixty in unison.

  Bouncing in the air, Lishi asked, “How much longer?”

  Stretching on Sixty’s shoulder, Carl said, “At current velocity, about thirty minutes.”

  Lishi’s sparkling yellow marble-eye dimmed. “Oh.”

  He swiveled in the air. Volka hadn’t noticed him having a front or back, but he did seem to be leaning toward her slightly. He swiveled again, leaning this time toward Sixty. His marble sparkled.

  Sixty blinked at him. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

  The marble went dark.

  “I don’t think that Volka is afraid of you,” Sixty said.

  The hovering robot swiveled in Volka’s direction and back to Sixty. Sixty narrowed his eyes at it.

  Volka’s ears flicked in irritation. It was obvious she was part of an ether conversation she couldn’t hear. “I’m not afraid of you, and it’s rude to talk about someone behind their back…or through the ether when they can’t listen in.”

  The marble-eye flushed pink, and Lishi swiveled back toward Volka. “I didn’t wish to offend. Far from it. It’s just…you are from Luddeccea and my current form…” Two thin metal arms with sharp pincers for fingers emerged from the raindrop. It gestured at its shape. “Even many Galacticans find me disquieting like this.” The pincers snapped open and closed. Lishi’s marble eye flushed pink again. “Someone at the space terminal said my hands look like they belong on an earwig.”

  Volka’s irritation melted. She had seen earwigs in a bathtub on Sixty and Carl’s asteroid—unwelcome settlers from Earth. The comparison, she noted, glancing at the pincers, was sadly apt. But Lishi wasn’t a bug. She tilted her head. True, he did look vaguely insectoid with his hard metal shell, but he had a mind that was human-like. Also, if he said he didn’t mean to offend, he probably meant it. Androids and robots could lie, but they seldom bothered. If they harbored disdain for humans, like the lawyer android Lauren G3, you could tell, usually within the first five minutes.

  “I don’t find you disquieting at all,” Volka said. “Your appearance is…” She studied him more. The reflection of the holo on her wrist was dancing along his surface. “Striking.” She smiled, imagining him hovering in the forest of the asteroid, reflecting the trees, artificial sunlight, and plexi-panel sky. “I’d love to paint you.”

  “Oh…Oh…” Lishi’s marble flushed a deeper shade of pink and he bounced in the air. “I would be so honored!”

  “You must come visit us when your mission is complete.” She tried to say it cheerfully, even though he was being dropped into enemy territory.

  The marble dimmed and then brightened. “I may be in a different body by then. Perhaps my old, human-shaped one. Not so shiny, but not as conspicuous either.” The marble flickered yellow in what she suspected was false cheer.

  Also, while he wasn’t lying…he was being extremely optimistic.

  Lishi and his other AI companions were voluntarily dropping into the World Sphere along with worker drones. Their goal was to explore the ruins, access any computer data they discovered, try to uncover and decipher the language the aliens used, and find out what happened to the aliens. The ‘bots would be in constant real-time contact with the Republic through their Q-comms. All their memories would be preserved on the servers that functioned as their minds aboard Time Gate 1…but they might not receive new Q-comm chips to communicate with said servers if they were destroyed, in which case they would never inhabit new bodies. They would exist neither alive nor dead, only in thoughts trapped in distant computers.

  His marble flickered orange, and he raised himself a few centis in the air. “Ahem…but what I wanted to speak to you about—before we were distracted by the superior aesthetics of this form—” He swiveled in the air.

  Volka grinned.

  Sixty snorted.

  Lishi continued, “—was life on modern Luddeccea. Android General 1—”

  Rolling his eyes, Sixty said, “That’s not my name.”

  James’s voice crackled over the speaker. “You did suggest this mission and recommended Lishi and his associates.”

  Lishi bounced in the air. “For which I will be forever grateful!” His body leaned toward Volka. “For once I am a history maker, not just a historian!” His marble winked yellow, and he pulled back. “However…I am very interested in modern Luddeccean culture. Android General 1’s expertise is in pre-Revelation Luddeccea,” he said, referring to when Luddeccea, Volka’s home planet, was part of the Republic over a century ago. It had broken away after Revelation,
when machine sentience had been revealed.

  Sixty’s cheerful smile turned into a wicked smirk. “In particular, I am an expert in sexual deviancy among the fundamentalists of the pre-Revelation era. I helped EroHisto2242 write his paper on that very topic.”

  Static erupted from Lishi, and his eye flushed deep pink. “Not my specialty. Ahem…Volka, you are the preeminent authority on modern Luddeccea. And I would like to hear all about your experiences.”

  “Oh,” Volka said. Her ears went back in embarrassment. She had gotten used to being regarded as a “master painter” and even a cool head in a battle. But to be an expert on Luddeccean culture? “Weere aren’t really part of Luddeccean culture.” They were wolf-human hybrid refugees whom Luddeccean humans allowed to live on the planet in separate communities.

  Lishi twirled his body around. “A subculture! Even more rare and interesting!”

  Volka’s eyes went wide. They were flying on a sentient starship—she mentally sent out a nudge of love to Sundancer and received a rush of the same in reply—they’d discovered that werfles like Carl Sagan, cats—including big cats—and wolves, were sometimes inhabited by quantum-wave-surfing sentient beings, and they were facing off against the Dark, a mind and body-stealing, world-destroying enemy. Lishi himself was hovering in midair, as his friends would be too, as soon as they booted up. This was an interesting life. Her life on Luddeccea…not so much. She glanced at Sixty, expecting another snort—he knew how tedious her life had been—but instead of looking derisive, she found him giving her a bemused smile.

  She flushed but said, “Well, I’d be happy to help you. Ask me anything, and I’ll try to answer the best I can.” Remembering he was a Doctor of History and her manners, she added, “Dr. Lishi, sir.”

  She would try to help this brave little robot, though she couldn’t imagine how a super-advanced machine living in the Galactic Republic could find her former life interesting—or helpful. Her life had been very restricted as a weere; she had had little freedom and less education. The focus of her life had been very narrow. Had she been human and a Luddeccean lady, she could give the little robot so much more.

  2

  A Luddeccean Lady

  Planet Luddeccea: City of New Prime

  A bell jangled as the door slammed behind Alexis Darmadi. Her arm wrapped protectively around five-week old Markus, snug against her chest in his wrap, forgetting that he wouldn’t hear. For a moment, she froze in place, and then, realizing he wouldn’t wake, her eyes roved around the opulent foyer of the New Prime Historical Society. The floor was a beautifully detailed fresco of the Luddeccean dove. Dark wood paneled the walls, and a painting on the ceiling depicted the battle of Time Gate 8.

  There was a man sitting behind a single heavy desk with brass ptery claw legs. Smiling genially, he stood and said, “Ma’am, this is not a place for ladies. Perhaps you have gotten lost?”

  “No, actually, I’m here to buy a book,” Alexis replied.

  The man’s expression soured.

  “I’ve heard you sell it,” she pressed, though peering through the double doors leading from the foyer she saw no books, only a sunbeam speckled with dust. But she smelled more wood, coffee, and pipe smoke, and got the impression of authority and knowledge. Forbidden things for her.

  Coming around the desk, the man said, “We don’t sell romances or…” His eyes fell on Markus and softened. “Child-rearing manuals.”

  He was a lowly clerk, but his words put in Alexis’s mind her own father’s words, “That’s not a book for ladies.” How many times had he said that? How many times had he chuckled as he pulled a book from her fingers?

  The clerk continued, “But I’d be happy to direct you to—”

  Straightening her spine, Alexis lifted her head and lied. “I’m here on behalf of my husband.”

  “Your husband?” The man smiled in a way that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “My husband,” Alexis said, keeping her voice level, even though inside she burned. “Captain Alaric Darmadi.”

  The man’s jaw went slack. Mentioning Alaric’s name often brought on that expression. Her mother’s voice rang in her ears. A woman’s influence is only as great as her husband’s. The clerk’s mouth snapped shut, and his eyes roved from her head to her toes. She was dressed the part of an officer’s wife and then some—her own mother couldn’t have found a flaw. Even Markus’s sling was fine. The navy-blue silk was embroidered with gold. Still, maybe it wouldn’t be completely out of line for him to worry that she might be lying…she was lying about her purpose, after all. Pulling a slender silver card case from the pocket of her dress, she said, “I can show you my identification, if you wish.” She tried to keep her annoyance out of her voice. She hated this charade.

  An older man with a thick paunch and long silver mustache entered the foyer from the room beyond. “Croft, what’s going on?” he asked.

  “Ahhh…” replied Croft, eyes getting larger as he spied Alaric’s name and picture next to Alexis’s on her identification card.

  The older man addressed Alexis sternly. “I am sorry, ma’am, but this isn’t a place for—”

  Frantically tapping Alexis’s ID, Croft interrupted him. “Ahhhh…”

  Glancing down, the older man blinked and pressed a pair of spectacles to his nose.

  “I want to get him a book,” Alexis lied. “A particular book I was told you might have. He deserves a good book to read while protecting us from invaders. Would you really keep me from getting it for him?”

  Drawing himself up, the older man said, “I suppose, in the circumstances, I could go check to see if we have the book in question.”

  The door opened behind Alexis, and four young men in university student uniforms came in. The bell jangled, the door slammed, and their footsteps and voices were thunderous in the relative hush.

  The older man continued. “If you just wait here a moment, Mrs. Darmadi—”

  “Darmadi?” said one of the new entrants.

  “Darmadi?” said another. “Is he here?”

  “I want to meet him! I heard he was in seminary before he became Captain.” Their movements became animated; one of them ran from the foyer and into the forbidden space beyond. Markus was deaf; but perhaps he could feel the vibrations in the floor, because he began to fuss and stir.

  “I’m going to tell the others!” said another young man, heading back out the door. Again, the bell jangled, and the door slammed. Markus bleated, and Alexis turned to the older man. “Please, I don’t want him to wake.”

  The door opened again but didn’t shut this time. “Hey, mates, Captain Darmadi is at the Historical Society!” a young man exclaimed, waving his arm for an unseen number of companions to enter.

  Markus bleated again, and Alexis bounced on her heels to soothe him. Markus’s delivery had been rough, and the motion sent a zing of pain from the stitches she’d received and threatened to empty her bladder.

  Sighing, the old man beckoned to her. “Come with me.” She followed him gratefully out of the foyer, into the space beyond and found herself in a central sitting area. There was a lush green carpet on the floor and large leather upholstered chairs, some clustered around small tables. Behind each chair was a tall reading light, though at the moment the room was lit by skylights. The sitting area was surrounded by bookshelves higher than her head, and above those shelves was a balcony laden with more books.

  “Now what is it you’re looking for?” the old man asked.

  Catching herself gaping, she affected a bland, bored tone. “It’s an old Earth text: On the Origins of War and the Preservation of Peace by Donald Kagan.”

  The old man grunted. “That’s a man’s book alright,” he replied and gestured for her to follow him through the sitting area. As she walked by, some of the gentlemen glanced up from their reading. She saw one of them had a Libertarian Times—the newspaper of the fourth planet in the system—another the Atlantia Dispatch, from the colony on the moon around one of the gas
giants. A tiny byline caught her eye on the Dispatch. “Colonel Laou Reaches LO8M44. Becomes New Fargo’s Head of Base.” Her lips turned down at her father’s name and his recent reassignment. The forty-fourth moon of the eighth planet in the Luddeccean System was not where a Guardsman ended a distinguished career. It was a demotion in all but name. Her father claimed the new chancellor backed by Archbishop Sato was paranoid. Alexis had her own ideas about it. She patted Markus on the back.

  “We should have a copy,” her guide continued, leading her into an aisle between the shelves. Alexis noted the bronze plates at the end of each shelf declaring its contents.

  Her guide harrumphed. “You’re the first woman to ever be in the Society’s stacks.”

  “I’m sure my husband will appreciate you helping me,” she lied. “May I tell him your name?”

  At that, the man visibly straightened. “Oh, Berger. Professor John Berger. I used to teach at the seminary, you know…before your husband went to school there…” He droned on, and Alexis smiled placatingly until he stopped at the end of a shelf with a bronze plaque declaring it the repository of books of Ancient Earth History.

  Scratching his head, Professor Berger peered between a gap in the tomes and said, “Well, it’s gone. Someone else must have purchased it.”

  Alexis’s shoulders fell.

  Tugging at his mustache, Berger said, “It is a classic. We always carry it. Hold on a minute. Let me go see if the replacement is in.” He waddled off and Alexis’s gaze roved the shelves. She was sure if someone had looked at her at that moment, they’d see her eyes glowing demonically. So many books, all of exactly the sort she wasn’t supposed to read! Just on a whim she peered into the spot where On the Origins of War was supposed to have been and blinked. There was a book shoved behind the others. The edges of its pages were just barely visible. Maneuvering so she wouldn’t have to reach over Markus’s head and wake him, she slipped her arm between the tomes and managed to grasp the book in the back and wiggle it out. It popped from its prison in a cloud of dust that she waved away and blew off of Markus’s cap. He didn’t stir. She kissed his head in gratitude, and then studied the book she’d liberated. She had to wipe off more dust to read the title. When she did, she frowned. Wild Swans. It sounded like a romance. She hated romances. They were unrealistic and that made them depressing. Still…she opened it and read the full title. Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China. Not a romance? That was more promising. Flipping to the copyright page, she was surprised to see it had been printed before Revelation. Her breath caught. How extraordinary. Now she had to have it.