All the Difference Read online

  The Maauro Chronicles

  By

  Edward F. McKeown

  An Imprint of Copper Dog Publishing, LLC

  The Maauro Chronicles: All The Diffeence

  Copyright ©2018 Copper Dog Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Moondream Press

  An Imprint of Copper Dog Publishing LLC

  537 Leader Circle

  Louisville, CO 80027

  www.copperdogpublishing.com

  Ordering Information:

  Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address above.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Credits:

  Author: Edward F. McKeown

  Managing Editor: Michael H. Hanson

  Creative Director: Helen H. Harrison

  Editor: Laura Jean Stroupe

  Proofreader: Julie Harrison Saunders

  Proofreader: Catherine Van Sciver

  Cover Art: Pat Ventura

  ISBN:

  978-1-943690-26-8 (Paperback)

  978-1-943690-27-5 (Kindle)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018949106

  Fiction: Science Fiction

  Contents

  Contents

  Dedication

  Intro

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Appendix

  Dedication

  To my wife Schelly who has taught me most of what I know about family.

  Intro

  Confederate Military Intelligence Annual Summary—Top Secret Access

  From: Candace Deveraux—Head of Section:

  Subject: Artificial Intelligence Maauro:

  The CMI still retains the services of the android Maauro, though we are no closer to learning anything of her Creators, her construction, which is far beyond anything of our science, or how it is that this machine being became self-aware. In return for citizenship and continued freedom, she is at least nominally responsive to our security needs. I believe this is more due to concern for the safety of her closest friend, the human, Wrik Trigardt, than any other factor.

  Maauro is designed for war; though she has the current appearance of a twenty-year old human female. She has no sense of personal fear and, should conflict arise with her, casualties and damage could be astronomical. The threat she poses arises out of her quantum computer brain and ability to hack into almost any other computer system, rather than her albeit formidable personal combat capability.

  Her utility to us has been diminished recently by her and Trigardt’s well-publicized rescue of the Bexlaw Expedition and the grandson of Shasti Rainhell, head of Counter-intelligence on Olympia. Too many saw Maauro in combat with the immense Destroyer mecha. The cover story that Wrik Trigardt was testing a new form of Confederate robot does seem to be holding for now. We will not be using her or Lost Planet Expeditions again, until they slide out of the public eye….

  Chapter 1

  I awaken in the special chamber prepared for me, secreted in the underground supports of a fusion power plant. At long last I have accumulated enough money, power, and exotic metals to replace my left arm, blown off by a Thieves Guild ambush years ago. I had scavenged a replacement arm from an ancient Infestor fighting machine. It was, like myself, over 50,000 years old, but primitive by comparison. Still, it served me well for years, but I longed to be whole and symmetrical again. There was no comparison between the static Infestor arm and my malleable ceramic alloy chassis for feedback and responsiveness. I have used fantastic amounts of power and credits while I lay in stasis, being repaired.

  The human—led Confederation I now live in is a great, star-spanning conglomerate, but its technology has not reached the level of my creators. So it has taken me years to arrange this repair. I also had to arrange it all in secret. While I serve in Confederate Intelligence, I do not trust them. I trust only my companion Wrik Trigardt and, to a lesser degree, his consort Jaelle, and still less, Dusko, a former Guild lord, the other members of Lost Planet Expeditions. My location is a secret known only to Wrik, as I must be off-line during the period of my rebuilding; the repair matrices must be undisturbed.

  I rise to sitting, holding my arm up to inspect it. It is perfectly proportioned, slender and white. I alter the exterior so that it resembles the rest of my outer casing, a red and gray, form-fitting jumpsuit, common on Star Central. I stand and examine myself in the reflection from a nearby metal cabinet. I am still not as tall as I was when I was originally created. I was forty percent larger back then, before being damaged in a fight on an Infestor base. With the slight amount of surplus material left over from creating my new arm, I have added two inches of height. I am now five-feet, six inches tall.

  Meanwhile my consciousness pervades every computer net in the area, and I begin to sop up all the data that has been generated or changed during my sleep. I detect no immediate threats to myself or my network. Jaelle, according to her comp-calendar, is returning from a trade meeting. Dusko has been dealing in gems of questionable provenance. Wrik, my dearest friend, has been uncommonly quiescent, apparently rarely leaving our building.

  I shut down the peripheral machines I created for the repairs and seal the room against future need, leaving my old Infestor arm behind as a spare. I hope to have no need of it again, but my experience argues against that optimism.

  From the underground chamber, I move into the sewers and then to streets of the Confederate Capitol of Star City. It is well after midnight, but the capitol is ablaze with lights and activity. I attract little attention as I make my way to the Mag-Lev train. Well, no more attention than any attractive female with impossibly large eyes. When I was found by Wrik on the asteroid, I patterned myself on a game simulation of a young female in his computer, as my initial appearance was too frightening to him. I have never dared change that base line pattern again as I malfunctioned soon after. Besides, I have grown accustomed to my new face and body; they go with the name I gave myself, Maauro, and are my identity in this time.

  I head for Lost Planet. Soon I spot the five-story office building on the edge of the spacefield with a certain degree of relief. I am concerned by Wrik’s lack of evident activity. It may be that the growing rift between him and his Nekoan consort has again caused dist
ress. This gives me a feeling of guilt. I do not compete with Jaelle, but the bond between Wrik and me has only grown since he found me on the asteroid. I cannot be his physical lover as she is, but there is something in us that calls out to the other. Our bond has become a wedge between Wrik and Jaelle.

  I sigh internally; it will be necessary to again walk that emotional tightrope around the beautiful Nekoan, who is my friend as well. I understand now why the relationship is called “the dance of three” is some languages, the comparison is apt, there are too many feet in our dance, and the toes seem to bruise easily.

  I am spared any awkward reintroductions due to the early morning hours. I head for my room. Even my having a room, is mere convention; a convenience for my friends; personal possessions mean little to me, nor do I sleep. I would not rust, being made of refined nuclear materials, if I stayed outside gazing at the stars. Still my friends expect me to act like the living being I resemble and the room is mine. It was fun to decorate it with Wrik.

  When I open the door, I note immediately that there are handwritten sheets of paper on the desk by the seldom-used bed. I stride across the room and pick up the paper, wondering why anyone would use such an inefficient means to communicate with me. The answer is quickly apparent.

  My Dearest Maauro,

  By the time you read this, I will be gone on my way to my homeworld of Retief. Forgive me for sneaking off while you were incapacitated. I hope you can understand that I must do this, and I must do it alone.

  You know that things between Jaelle and me have changed. What I thought we were becoming is now only a fading memory of something stronger and sweeter than what remains. We’re drifting apart, more each day. She has her children and the trade business that has become her life.

  And this is my fault. I never really gave myself to Jaelle. I never even gave her my real name, or the full details of how I deserted my squadron in the skies over Retief. How can I blame her for being angry over how I have compartmentalized my life? I feel I have lost that chance and it’s best to leave things as I did with her. “Call me friend,” she said when I saw her last, “but not more.”

  I’ve come to realize that I’ve never really stopped running from that battle. I know until I face my past, my family, and all those I let down, I will never have peace, never own myself enough to give myself away.

  I don’t know what to expect when I return. My father held a funeral for his disgraced son. He will not be happy to see this ghost. Many others may feel the same. But I have no choice. If I am ever to be whole again, I must return home.

  You would want to accompany me, to protect me from much of what I must endure, as you have always protected me. I can’t have that. I can’t hide behind you.

  My only regret is the pain that I must cause you. Please know I am sorry beyond words for it. Know I love you in a way that I love no one else. I promise to return if I can, and ask you to trust to the luck that has kept me alive across all the dangers we have survived. Please forgive me.

  Your loving friend

  Wrik.

  I race into the planetary network and slash through the clumsy protections of the Confederacy until I find the shipping databases and confirm what I now dread. Wrik set off for Retief over fifteen days ago aboard the SS Cosmic Dust, a third-class freighter with passenger cabins that plies the frontier. The freighter would have reached jump space and left the system 182.344 hours after launch. He is gone.

  I walk downstairs to the main office of Lost Planet in confusion. Already, my quantum computer brain is engaged in many levels and places. It is trivial work to locate the others and send them messages to come immediately to the office. Meanwhile, I am ordering all manner of supplies and fuel to be brought to the Stardust. Yet much of my powers are bent on a question that resists analysis. Why? Why would Wrik do this? Why would he leave me behind? He feared I was going to stop him from enduring some punishment he said, but what punishment and from whom and why? What does he hope to accomplish?

  I am like an ancient mariner in the seas of emotions that my biological companions live in. I too, am gifted with emotions, but mine are somehow less urgent, less compelling than theirs. I have attributed this to my emotions not being rooted in sex and death. While the longer I operate networked to Wrik and the others, the more complex and varied my emotional repertoire becomes, I remain familiar only with the surfaces. The depths, that I sometimes yearn for and fear at the same time, drop off below me.

  An hour later, when Dusko and Jaelle arrive, I am no closer to answers.

  “This better be good,” Jaelle says, her rough mane of hair is pulled back in a simple style, and her appearance confirms haste. “It’s not easy finding a sitter on such short notice.” The leonine Nekoan is dressed in a conservative business suit, which does not display her athletic body.

  The Dua-Denlenn, Dusko, as usual, merely grunts and fills his cup with the unpleasant-smelling brew his kind uses in place of coffee. The tall, elfin, former crime-lord is well-used to odd hours. His pupilless blue eyes betray nothing under their shock of salt and pepper hair.

  I hand Jaelle the letter. Dusko walks up behind her and reads it over her shoulder.

  “Crap,” he says, a disgusted expression on his face. He drops into a chair. “What did he have to do that for?”

  Jaelle’s face is unreadable. “I wondered why I hadn’t heard from him.”

  “Did you not think that a two-week absence was cause for concern?” It comes out more accusatory then I intend. Maybe.

  Her hot yellow eyes fasten on mine, and perhaps her teeth are a bit more in evidence. “Not lately. We’ve been … spending less time together. He’d said he was going to do some flight training at a base on the moon.”

  “Two light seconds away,” I state, “hardly out of contact.”

  Jaelle stands and draws some of the warm fruit juice that she prefers for mornings. She sits back down and stares moodily at the cup. “Sometimes with Wrik, physical and emotional distances aren’t the same. Truth is, we haven’t seen much of each other since that fight about a month ago.”

  Silence sits uncomfortably in the room for a long minute.

  “The question for us,” I finally say, “is what are we going to do about this?”

  Jaelle picks up her cup, stares at its contents for some seconds, then drains the cup. “I am not going to do anything about it. This is something he felt he needed to do, and he needed to do alone. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it will finally get what ails him out of his system.”

  She stands and walks toward the door. “I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.”

  I am outraged. “You cannot leave. We are not done here.”

  She turns toward me, and her look is not friendly. “Yes, we are. That letter was sent to you. Not to me.”

  This jolts me. I had not considered that. “He surely knew that I would turn to you to explain this. He mentioned you in it. He knew—”

  She shook her head. “We had our goodbye a while ago, even if it wasn’t clear to me that he meant to leave. If he comes back, I’ll deal with my consort then. If not, then I will keep the good memories and go on with the life I’ve chosen for myself. I warned you before; I’ve had enough of danger out under the stars. I have children. My mother’s people are with me now. I have responsibilities that do not include Confed Intelligence and getting my tail shot off. Do what you will.”

  The door closes.

  I look at Dusko. He stares back and sips from his steaming cup. “You first.”

  “I could use advice,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “Not from me. I have no insight into humans generally, and I never understood Wrik in any event.”

  “You are at least of the same type of life as he is!”

  “Don’t yell. I hear perfectly well. But face the conclusion, Maauro. It’s on you to make the call. I don’t understand how
it can be, but he is closer to you than any other being, even Jaelle. You’re the reason for the distance between them. There were always two of you in that spot. Wrik wouldn’t choose. You didn’t feel the need to, and Jaelle finally decided it all for the three of you. She’s been closing doors for a while now; you just didn’t notice.”

  Dusko’s speech should make me angry; instead I feel a deep sadness. I know he is right.

  I look into that little-understood well of wants, wishes and desires that has become part of me since I reawakened on the asteroid where Wrik found me. My connection to him is very precious. Through his friendship and later his love, I broke free of being a programmed weapon. I became myself. We are two very disparate parts of a new and strange whole. I wish him to be with me and for me to be at his side. Yet I am not capable of physical love with my ceramic and alloy body.

  I have pondered this since we voyaged to find the Lost Colony. I feared that my love for Wrik was selfish, dragging him into dangers better not faced. I hoped and dreaded that he might find fulfillment with one of his own kind, but that did not come to pass. Wrik and I returned from the Lost Colony to find Jaelle had her kits by one of her own kind, who also had left. I thought that we three would resume our lives together, but the balance we had before, now seemed impossible to achieve.

  Jaelle had given up her stake in Wrik, as more than a friend, anyway. The consortship wasn’t a marriage necessarily, just a legal union between species. Often it was commercial in nature and that seemed what Jaelle was content with now. I should have seen and understood this long before now. How could I not have?

  The answer came unbidden, as if Dusko had heard my interior monologue and answered me with, “You didn’t want to.” And in so much have I grown that I am now capable of self-deception, just like a biological.

  “You are uncommonly quiet,” Dusko says. “Are you functioning?”

  “Why?” I said. “Are you concerned?”

  He shrugs. “Say that I am.”

  Silence returns as I think on my choices.