When Fighting Monsters Read online

My eyebrows twitched. There was a reproof in her voice, more evidence that something happened on Retief that I didn’t know of.

  “Sure,” I said, and reached for another cup.

  Dusko reappeared and perched on the communications station chair. “There is good news, I take it?”

  “Yes,” Maauro said. “Our network to Jaelle is healthy and intact.”

  “Good,” he said, scratching his chin. “She was always a smart one.” His eyes, blue from lid-to-lid, betrayed little of what went on under his salt and pepper hair, but he seemed genuinely pleased.

  I unscrewed the bottle and poured for us. Then, moved by a sudden impulse, I took out another recyclable cup and poured a tiny shot, placing it in front of Jaelle’s image.

  I raised my glass, “To love, friendship and forgiveness.”

  Each of us thought our individual thoughts on that subject and savored our wine.

  I head to the galley while Wrik handles the inflight refueling with Persephone, something I could have done while I wandered the ship through my interface with it. I like to leave the details of flying Stardust to him. It is very important to Wrik to be a good pilot, and even I am impressed by his skills. Meanwhile, I will work on one of my own developing skills: cooking. It would no doubt have amused my Creators that I, an M7 Mark 2 Prototype Combat Android, would enjoy the act of making food for biologicals, when my initial purpose was to destroy biological life. Well, Infestors anyway. But the small rituals of classic feminine behavior intrigue me. I have built an identity as a female, and while there are many ways of defining female, I enjoy looking after my crew. In this regard, I have the unlikely assistance of Dusko, who left the bridge for his hydroponic garden. We will have fresh vegetables, fruit and herbs tonight.

  I briefly consider my menu: lamb, roast potatoes, rosemary bread, peas, onions and carrots. The wine will be a pinot noir. Ice cream and fruit will finish the meal. I hum to myself in the galley until I spot that, as usual, some item of Delt’s clothing is hung over a chair by the metal table.

  As delighted as I am to have Delt with Lost Planet, I have quickly learned there are some downsides. He has a tendency toward practical jokes, which are more effective on Wrik than I, and he is something of a slob. I have unconsciously been assuming that all men are like Wrik, who I now see is much more fastidious about his person and quarters than the unruly Delt.

  Wrik merely laughed when I mentioned this on the voyage from Retief to the jump point. “Yes, he was always a bit of a mess. We used to bunk together in the Kaydets. If I hadn’t made his bunk for him, he’d be marching off demerits daily. You have to remember, I’ve been a deep spacer. There’s no spare room on ships. Everything has to be just so. He’s had a whole planet to leave his gym socks around on. I think his mother and older sisters spoiled him too.”

  I privately think that vaporizing a few of his random bits of clothing is not a bad idea, assuming he notices they are missing. Still, I decide to be tolerant. I am not used to this many males in close proximity. Dusko keeps to himself, or his quarters, most times and would never leave anything where someone else might lay hands on it. He seems even more determined to do so since the relentlessly cheerful Delt signed onboard.

  I sigh. While I too enjoy the bright presence, I occasionally long for the quieter Stardust. Still, it does me good to see Wrik in the company of his old friend. The darkness that so often clouded his face is much rarer since he’s completed his self-appointed mission to confront his old squadron mates. I also know that he is worried about Delt, who has not lived up to his promise as a young man, being also wounded deeply, but in a different way than Wrik.

  So I simply remove the offending item and place it in the laundry, then return to my dinner preparations. Dusko greets me with shoots of onions and cloves of garlic.

  The remainder of the transit to Olympia is uneventful. Wrik and I spend the days together and make love several times. I am still trying to adjust to being a sexual, as well as a loving, being. I grow more attuned to his moods, to the way that he looks at me. As for myself, I revel in the sea of love that surrounds me. Though I have no libido, being a machine in origin, I do throw in situations where I initiate, which I notice he appreciates. Still, I wonder what it must be like to be in a human body during sex. To be so utterly swept up in something one was made to do, something that most of their culture and art is based in. Perhaps my answers lie ahead on the bright world growing in our screens.

  We are cleared for a landing in the capitol city, Marathon and pass liners and other far larger freighters that must be wondering why this small scoutship-freighter is accorded such honor. I fancy that Wrik looks extra proud as he guides our ship into the approach to the spaceport. The automatic landing system takes over, as it does at most spaceports. Both Wrik and I stay in the circuit and monitor. He, because of his professionalism as a pilot, and I, as usual, alert to treachery. There is nothing to be alarmed of and we planet in a perfect fin down landing.

  “Well, we are here,” Wrik says, stretching and standing after securing us for planetside routine. “Landing time is 1500 hours; weather is sunny and bright on a summer afternoon.” He looks at me. The voyage to Olympia was my plan and I have not yet shared with him my reason, nor am I yet ready to discuss it.

  I too stand. “We have our invitation from Shasti. I wish to see her as soon as we can.”

  He looks at me curiously. “I hadn’t realized you two had become so close.”

  I smile. “Shasti and I are much alike. We did not have much time together, but I think we are, well, you might say kindred souls. We were both created, she biologically and I mechanically, and we see the universe in similar terms. I can hardly wait to see her again.”

  He nods, aware that something more underlies this, but as usual, and I am thankful for this, he gives me the space to unfold at my own rate.

  “So, what do you want the rest of us to do?” Delt asks. Behind him, Dusko, who usually prefers his own cabin for takeoff and landings, makes his way into the bridge.

  Again Wrik looks at me. “I’ve made no plans beyond our arrival here. Doubtless we will be contacted by MI, given what Jaelle said, but until we know what they want, it will be hard to plan.”

  “Nor I,” I reply, “but with our lives, it probably pays to have the ship refueled and reprovisioned as quickly as we can. Dusko, will you see to the sale of our present cargo? We will hold off taking on general cargo until we decide where we voyage to next. Of course, you will want to enjoy some leave in the capitol. My AI on the ship can take care of routine tasks.”

  He nods. I know he will take the time to peruse the market for his own semi-illicit trade in questionable goods. So long as this causes no trouble for the ship, I do not care.

  “I can take care of the reprovisioning,” Delt says. “I don’t know anyone here and I’m sure there will be time for local exploring.” He then grins. “I hear the local girls are goddesses.

  “And the local men, gods,” Dusko added, with a touch of smug satisfaction.

  “Always ready to rain on any parade you see?” Delt shot back.

  “Maybe you can find a female with poor eyesight,” Dusko returned.

  “Behave,” I growl at them both. Delt merely grins, but Dusko shuts up. In his culture, I am his alpha, only to be displeased at cost. Since his service to me on Retief though, he has been testing his newly expanded limits with me.

  Wrik, I notice, is watching me with careful attention. My boyfriend, I think and savor the word, is unusually sensitive and intelligent, he too sees the change.

  An incoming text message hits our system.

  “A vehicle is being sent to meet us,” I say, saving Wrik the time to read it. “We have barely time to change before we will be whisked away.”

  “We?” Wrik says with a smile.

  I stick my tongue out at him. A moment later my outer body shimmers. Then I am
standing before them in a taupe bolero jacket, over a deep-aqua blouse that matches my eyes and skirt to match the jacket, closed toe shoes with a three-inch heel and a bow on the side. A strand of pearls hangs about my neck.

  In my hime-style hair is a small yellow silk ribbon, confining a fingerful of my hair. A silk ribbon was Wrik’s first gift to me, and I have always worn something yellow in my hair since, save in battle. It used to be a larger bow, but now I judge that too juvenile a look for me, given that my appearance is now closer to an apparent age of in my early twenties. My first ribbon was lost in battle before I took such care. I have always regretted it.

  Delt whistles. “Maauro, you are the definition of understated elegance.”

  Wrik shakes his head, “And in the blink of an eye.”

  “You better get your homely self in motion,” Delt said. “You’re holding up the parade my friend.”

  “On my way,” Wrik says and dashes off.

  I leave the bridge to Delt. Dusko nods carefully at me and disappears to attend to my orders about disposing of our cargo. I make my way back to our cabin where I have a small present for Shasti, a set of earrings made from an unusual stone found on a plateau of the highlands of Retief. Each is a perfect fossilized miniature shell, in pink and gold. I hope she will like them. By the time I retrieve my present, cunningly wrapped in handmade paper over an ornate wooden box, Wrik has changed and is waiting for me. He wears his best uniform, an officer’s dress blues of the Confederacy, modified with our Lost Planet logo. As our commissions are secret, he doesn’t wear the military rank he is entitled to in the Confederate Navy, but on his collar is the single star that denotes a ship’s master. He wears the full cap with a Lost Planet insignia on it. I think he looks very handsome.

  We leave the ship by the main airlock, both of us donning sunglasses. In Wrik’s case, it’s for protection from the fierce Olympian sun. For me, it minimizes attention to my overlarge eyes. At the foot of our ship, a flitter is already waiting. It bears the insignia of the Olympian Security Directorate. An unmarked vehicle behind it holds two security officers.

  A woman stands besides the marked flitter. She is beautiful, with blood- red hair, and stands 6-feet and 3.65 inches. She greets us with a professional smile and firm handshake. “I’m Ameline Girardot from Director Rainhell’s office. I was sent to welcome you to Olympia.” She gives me a very curious look, and I wonder how much she was briefed about me.

  We exchange the usual pleasantries, then slide into the vehicle. There is a uniformed driver, a precaution, as it is automatically piloted. We lift off, followed by the unmarked flitter. I gaze back at Stardust, as she sits vertical on the fins that hold her impellers. Her green and gold colors sparkle in the brilliant sun. Beyond her the city of Marathon, with its blue and white buildings contrasting with taller glass and metal skyscrapers, embraces a wide bay. I wonder how Shasti stays so pale under such a fierce sun.

  My knowledge of Earth history tells me the planet was named with Earth’s ancient country of Greece in mind for two reasons. The first was its sun-washed shores, abundance of islands and aquamarine seas in its more habitable regions. The second was more ambiguous, a devotion to the art of human perfection, initially by contract marriages between the more “perfect” people and later by genetic engineering. We are here to visit with the epitome of that science; for all that she turned her back on her creators and brought down that government.

  I couldn’t quite contain my nerves or excitement at the thought of seeing Shasti Rainhell again. Her voyages, both with Robert Fenaday and later, when she in turn captained the privateer Sidhe, were the stuff of legend. That legend might be less popular here, where Shasti and Robert had destroyed the Eugenicists of Olympia and touched off a brief war with their allies, the Voit-Veru, who, unfortunately for them, had been holding Fenaday’s wife as a prisoner for years. In return, he atom-bombed one of their cities.

  I snuck a glance at Maauro, who sat calm and still in the right seat of the oversize flitter. She wore sunglasses as well and they looked good on her. She detected my glance and half-turned, smiling sweetly, and rested a hand on my arm.

  “It will be good to see Shasti again,” she said, in her musical voice.

  I could only smile back. “If by that, you mean seeing Director Rainhell, hero of the Confederacy, I agree. Though I doubt I will be able to bring myself to call her by her first name.”

  “Well, we have discussed many personal issues,” she replied archly. “We are closely networked.”

  I wondered if I was one of those personal issues discussed by the two deadliest females in known space and what it was that was bringing them together. I was still concerned about some emotional fragility to Maauro. It took place only when we were alone, but there were times when she was sad. This frightened me, because I thought it might arise out of the change in our relationship. When finally I’d confronted her about it on the outbound leg of the voyage—she’d been genuinely surprised.

  “Nothing could be further from that,” she’d said.

  Thereafter, she’d been more cheerful, but I’d felt that she was just hiding whatever was bothering her.

  It particularly galled me that Dusko might know more of this than I did. He’d been with her while I’d escaped to Retief to confront my past and my family. But the Dua would never part with any secret that she’d shared with him. He’d originally lived in dread of her and had almost died at her hands several times during his first months aboard. While it seemed that the nature of their relationship had changed, at the heart of it was his healthy fear of displeasing the “alpha” of his particular little pack.

  Maauro put her head on my shoulder, which stilled my sudden impulse to ask her why we were here.

  We flew over the bay, circling upward. Our hostess was making sure we got a good look on Olympia, with its population of millions and the rocky shoreline and beautiful bay.

  “Is it strange,” Maauro suddenly asked, “to have landed in the same spaceport as Robert Fenaday’s Sidhe when he came here?”

  “It is,” I replied. “He wasn’t aboard when she landed, having snuck planetside with the attack force the night before. The star-frigate landed in the bay,” I pointed to an area seaward of the Stardust. “Shasti landed us as close to where she landed as she could. Sidhe was a hell of a lot larger than Stardust.”

  “But not prettier,” Maauro insisted.

  “But not prettier,” I agreed.

  We flew the rest of the distance to the Presidential Palace in companionable silence. After all, I was with the woman I loved, and it was a beautiful day.

  CHAPTER TWO

  While Wrik and I chat, I am scanning all available networks and wavelengths. Even on the homeworld of a friend, it does not pay to be lax. The secret of what I am is barely a secret anymore. While I remain hidden from the general public and casual inspection, too many in powerful places have learned of my existence. One of those groups, the Voit-Veru, formerly had much influence here.

  As we fly, I sense Delt purchasing fuel and sundries for the ship. Stardust’s AI is inspecting and repairing the ship, using small nonautonomous robots I have made for it. I do not care for other machines much, and these are non humanoid and mostly confined to the mechanical spaces of the hull, seldom seen by the crew.

  Dusko has left the ship to seek buyers for our cargo. He will spend the night seeking diversions of his choice. I do not approve of some of these, but he needs a chance to “blow off some steam” as Wrik would say. He will prefer to purchase female company, rather than cultivate it, as he would consider the latter a waste of time on a world he may not return to.

  I find myself wondering how Delt will deal with his needs and wants and hoping that he will be less casual. Then I wonder why the thought occurs at all. For some reason, I feel that sex is important and should be a mutual gift and not sold. Perhaps I am being impractical. As one who has bare
ly put a toe into the waters of sensuality, perhaps I should not judge how others swim.

  My thoughts are interrupted by a slight jar as the automatic landing system for the palace takes control of us. The pilot sits back. We circle down to an immense building which partly resembles the Pantheon of ancient earth, set among other more modern structures that complement the ancient style. We are well up on a foothill above the city.

  “I hate ALS,” Wrik says.

  “There, there dear, I know. It must be so hard to trust your well-being to a machine.” I say. His double take and strangled laugh are most enjoyable.

  The flitter settles on the pad. We are greeted by a detail of soldiers wearing the green and gray colors of the OSDF as we disembark behind Giradot. All are tall and we are treated to their salute, which Wrik returns and I nod at. Wrik at six foot –two inches is not tall here and I, eight inches shorter, must look up at everyone.

  We are escorted into the large building, past people hurrying about on errands and well away from a tour of school children. Giradot leads us into one of the modern looking buildings to the right. Soon we are in offices, but everyone immediately yields right of way to Giradot, and my suspicion that she is one of Shasti’s closest aides is confirmed.

  We pause before a door labeled Planetary Security, which opens as we advance. Giradot steps aside and motions us forward. She does not follow us in. The office revealed is opulent and, at a large desk surrounded by holos and monitors, sits Shasti. She rises gracefully with a smile. The years since we saw her last, on the night we returned her wounded grandson to her, have been kind to her. Now 106 years old, only the silver banners in her long black hair and a certain weariness in her eyes betray the age of the greatest of the Engineered.

  She comes around the desk, towering over us both. I barely come up to her chest. Wrik throws his best salute. “Director Rainhell, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  Her smile turns indulgent, and Shasti extends her hand. She is a personal hero to Wrik and well aware of it.