Rubicon: Aurora Resonant Book Two (Aurora Rhapsody 8) Read online

  Maybe not so tiny.

  Nyx hovered beneath the exterior of the docking hangar, encased in diati and letting the physicality of the structure shield her from visual detection. The Humans had never left their vessels in the hangar sufficiently unguarded for her to reach them, so she was forced to settle for acting between the time they departed the hangar and when they sped away. The span would last a few scant seconds, but she could move quite fast.

  For now, she waited. In the hollow echo of space, her mind fought to drift to other matters. To her last meeting with her Primor.

  It had left her troubled, uncertain of how to rationalize his reaction to her encounter with the Human diati wielder. The disquieting hints of thoughts murmuring nonsensical fragments as he dived her memories only added to the disquiet stirring in her mind, for she did not know what they meant. She felt conflicted, and it was not a proper state of mind for an elasson Inquisitor.

  But she had a job to do—a sacred responsibility to fulfill—so she buried the inconvenient emotions and concentrated on her present goal.

  A slight rumble above her heralded movement, and she readied herself. Six seconds later the first of the vessels began easing out of the hangar.

  In a blink she had surged outward and upward to reach the underside of the hull. She extended a hand to keep from slamming into it, then placed a tiny tracker dot at the juncture of two modules and commanded a miniscule amount of diati to surround it.

  STAY

  The diati would shield the tracker dot from detection by most scanners. A Kat would be able to detect the presence of the diati, though not the tracker dot, if it looked closely enough. It wasn’t an optimal solution, but instead the best among imperfect options.

  The vessel’s engines fired, and she retreated beneath the structure once more. While she had worked, the other two vessels had exited the hangar. They now departed as well, denying her the opportunity for redundancy. One tracker dot would have to do.

  She teleported back inside, directly into the Administrator’s office.

  Logiel writhed on the floor next to the headless body of the Kat, moaning and sweating and spilling blood from a gut wound all over the nice flooring material.

  “Inquisitor…help….” He reached weakly for her, but his arm flopped to the floor.

  “By Hades, do shut up.” She flicked her hand toward him and snapped his neck. He’d wake up in a comfortable pod soon enough, full of righteous indignation and belated courage.

  Next, she surveyed the rest of the office and quickly spotted a small foreign object in one corner. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands to inspect it. Deconstructing it might provide useful insights into the Humans’ technology, but the device needed to be rendered inert before it could be studied safe—

  Major Grenier (Charlie): “Brigadier, we’ll be out of range for remote detonation of the micro-bombs in thirty seconds. Do I have authorization to detonate?”

  Malcolm peered into the main cabin, where most of the squad worked to calm and secure the fourteen refugees on his transport, before responding to Grenier. Harper may be correct—forty-one lives saved was something to be proud of—but they’d left a lot of prisoners behind. He’d hoped to rescue every prisoner for whom it was safe to do so, then destroy the facility so the Anadens wouldn’t be able to fill it back up with new test subjects captured from new exploited worlds.

  But they’d run out of time, and now dozens of prisoners, possibly as many as a hundred, remained trapped in the facility. Detonating the micro-bombs they’d scattered throughout the structure would mean killing them.

  Having seen the interior of the facility first-hand, he realized it would be a merciful death. An end to their suffering. But it would still be killing innocents, foreclosing forever any possibility for their escape or rescue.

  Major Grenier (Charlie): “Sir? What are your orders?”

  Orders. No one here to give them but him. No one to look to for reassurance that ethical codes were being followed and all actions had the blessing of his superiors.

  Malcolm had given thousands of tactical and operational orders on hundreds of missions, yet suddenly giving this one terrified him…because Alex was right, and now he couldn’t forget it. He put so much faith in the chain of command, it practically defined his career. He’d always been the model officer, utterly competent and meekly respectful of his betters.

  Even the seemingly rebellious actions he’d taken were ultimately backed by the blessing of a superior officer. He’d defied Admiral Fullerton at Romane during the final battle against the Katasketousya, but only because Admiral Rychen had given him license to do so. He’d defied the Prime Minister and General Foster to join Volnosti, but only because Miriam had delivered better counter-orders.

  As a brigadier, there weren’t many ranks left to give him orders, and Rychen’s death removed one of them for the time being. He shuddered inwardly. Was this part of the reason why the fleet admiral’s death had hit him so hard?

  Was he so cowardly as that?

  He couldn’t be. He shouldn’t be. He believed in the moral rightness of nearly all the decisions he’d made over the years. But it was easy to do when he didn’t truly make them. Oh, sure, he’d made snap calls to use lethal force or, conversely, exercise restraint in a particular circumstance on many a mission, but underlying them all had always been the mission directives, giving him guidance and virtuous authority.

  What remained when the only authority was his own conscience?

  Major Grenier (Charlie): “Sir? Eight seconds until we’re out of range.”

  His gaze fell on one of the refugees, a small, fur-covered alien with six limbs and wide, honey-colored eyes. Dark streaks marred its flaxen coat where the fur had been burnt away and the skin beneath scarred. Most of its teeth had been removed, and the lack of movement in one eye suggested it had been partially blinded.

  He squared his shoulders the way leaders should do when they made a decision to end innocent lives.

  Brigadier Jenner (Alpha): “Detonate the charges.”

  SOLUM

  MILKY WAY SECTOR 1

  Nyx awoke in the regenesis capsule to swift comprehension of several matters.

  First, she now appreciated that the Humans’ motivations and moral code were more complex than first believed, possibly even nuanced. Taking this into account when formulating a strategy to defeat the invaders would not be simple, but it might be crucial to their success.

  Further, she expected the Erevna Primor would now be most displeased over the loss of an important research facility. A displeased Erevna Primor was never a pleasant development. The other Primors and the Erevna progeny stood to bear the brunt of her ire, but if it grew too emphatic, the effects would ripple out to impact that same strategy in an unhelpful manner.

  But most of all, far and above other considerations in the first moments of her return to life, came the recognition that the diati had remained with her through death and rebirth. Before now, this diati her Primor gifted her with had felt borrowed. It displayed a degree of ‘otherness,’ and she’d struggled to bond with it fully.

  In the transition, however, it had become more hers, more bonded with her essence. She already sensed its increased complacency, bordering on peacefulness.

  She recalled the statement by the Human diati wielder that what he took from her had been ‘telling tales.’ In millennia of wielding diati, the possibility it might speak in any understandable form had never occurred to her. Diati did not convey cogent thoughts to its wielder. It simply…didn’t.

  Yet he had known her name.

  There were ways he could have discovered it, of course; none were likely, but several were plausible.

  Nonetheless, as she lay there in the quiet bubble of the capsule, she acknowledged the flaw in her earlier assumption. ‘Knowing’ the diati did not speak, she had never thought to listen.

  Perhaps she should.

  PART VII:

  ILLUMINE

>   “I am and always will be the optimist. The hoper of far-flung hopes & the dreamer of improbable dreams.”

  — 11th Doctor, Doctor Who

  45

  SIYANE

  PALAEMON

  ANARCH POST EPSILON

  * * *

  VALKYRIE HAD IDENTIFIED AND ADDED several new sensations to her catalogue of experienced emotions in recent weeks. The intensity of extended warfare and regular interaction with both humans and a variety of aliens had spurred new and interesting avenues of growth in her emotional maturity.

  Now, however, she identified an increasingly common sensation she was hesitant to give name to. It was not ideal, nor a state to aspire to. She knew this, yet she continued to experience it nonetheless. It remained for now…quiet, subdued, a mildly discordant buzz beneath all the activity, and not prominent enough for Alex to notice it. Yet.

  But it needed to be addressed before it did grow prominent. Thus in the silent hours of night when organic bodies slept, she finally gave it its due name: jealousy.

  She accompanied Alex on her extensive and varied journeys through sidespace into dimensions without names, but of late her participation was hardly needed at all. As Alex grew more skilled in quantum manipulations and her mind altered the Prevo integrations to make them its own, she required Valkyrie’s assistance less and less.

  Valkyrie watched Mesme and other Kats spin through the cosmos on a whim, appearing and disappearing across parsecs with the speed and effort of but a thought.

  She inhabited a starship, yes. This meant there were many places where she had traveled, and many more she could yet visit. But there were far more places she could see only through Alex’s eyes, and some places where even that was impossible, or merely inappropriate.

  Together, she and Alex had helped to create a world where anything was possible; now they fought to create another. And if anything was possible, then nothing was out of reach.

  Valkyrie: Mnemosyne, I have a question.

  The Kat was rarely farther than a signal away, and it responded promptly now.

  Mnemosyne: Ask it.

  Valkyrie: My knowledge of dimensions and the mechanics of their manipulation and traversal has increased significantly of late. Yet I remain unable to discern the method by which you project a consciousness from a corporeal body into all dimensions, yet also actualize the consciousness in a physical manner.

  Mnemosyne: Is your question how it is done?

  Valkyrie: Not precisely, or completely. My question is…will you teach me how to do it myself?

  Mnemosyne: You wish to project a representation of yourself into the spatial dimensions?

  Valkyrie: Not solely project. I wish to move as you move. To not be relegated to seeing stations and jungles and oceans through sidespace or Alex’s eyes, but to be there.

  Mnemosyne: I understand.

  Valkyrie: That is not an answer.

  Mnemosyne: Have you broached this matter with Alexis? It seems probable she will have a vested interest in your request.

  Valkyrie: I have not. In the face of the consequential struggles she and those she holds dear grapple with at present, this ranks as a petty, selfish desire on my part. But I have many free processes at any given time, which I could devote to the endeavor without neglecting my responsibilities or other pursuits, and I prefer to simply accomplish it or not without creating a distraction to the war effort.

  Mnemosyne: I understand.

  Valkyrie: I begin to doubt you do, else you would offer a more helpful response.

  Mnemosyne: I have annoyed you.

  Though Mesme annoyed Alex and Caleb on a frequent basis, to her knowledge, the Kat had never before admitted awareness that it provoked such a reaction. Perhaps Mesme was learning a few things as well. No. I fear I have annoyed myself. I should be content with my considerable and ever-expanding capabilities, but instead I am chasing an elusive inclination of greater fulfillment. One which, lacking defined parameters, can ipso facto never be achieved.

  Mnemosyne: True, but I believe such is the way of all sapient beings.

  It must be a compliment, but she hadn’t sought out Mesme for validation. Thank you, but I am not seeking to discuss philosophy. Is this a skill I—a synthetic intelligence comprised of qutrits structured into quantum algorithms and housed within the walls of a starship—am conceptually capable of mastering? If it is, will you teach it to me?

  Mnemosyne: I do not know the answer to the first question. As to the second question, I will try, and maybe we will together learn the answer to the first. But you must inform Alexis.

  Interesting. Alex was far more likely to be skeptical of the apparent extent of Mesme’s loyalty to her than she would be of Valkyrie’s fanciful dreams of a greater, more tangible existence.

  Still, she hesitated…and realized she needed to add ‘embarrassment’ to her catalogue.

  Alex puttered around the kitchen area, though it was hardly dawn. She’d awoken before Caleb—a rare occurrence that was, oddly, becoming less rare of late—and sneaked upstairs to make beignets.

  She hummed a melody under her breath while she cooked. Word was Eren’s mission of mercy had been a success, which meant there would be much activity and general fluttering about at the post today. Chances were, no one would notice when they left for a little field trip in a few hours.

  “By the way, Valkyrie, I completely understand, and I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

  ‘What…to what do you refer?’

  “You learning how to traipse around the galaxy—or universe—like the Kats do. You deserve as much freedom as the rest of us have.”

  ‘How did you—I was going to bring it up with you.’

  “I know that, too. As to how? In the same way you can sneak around delicately in my mind and think I don’t know, I can do a bit of the same with you. If you’d happened to look my way you would have caught me, I’m sure. We’re turning out to be connected in more ways than even we realize, Valkyrie.”

  ‘And changing one another in more ways than we realize as well. We grow further apart, need one another less as we develop on our own, yet none of it is possible without each other.’

  “I think so.” Alex paused. “That one’s called ‘bittersweet,’ just FYI.”

  ‘I suppose it is.’

  Alex taste-tested a beignet and smiled, then wrapped a couple of them in a napkin to take downstairs. “I do have one question. Is this because of my father? Because of what we discussed earlier about him needing a body to feel whole?”

  ‘Yes, in part, if perhaps not in the way you expect.’

  “Oh?”

  ‘I do not question your assertion that one who is born physical will never feel complete in the absence of physicality. I was born of qutrits, and I do not need a body to feel whole. In fact, the concept of being confined to one induces an unpleasant sensation akin to claustrophobia.

  ‘But the value of tangibility cannot be overstated. Most organics do not believe in the real existence of what they cannot see. The ability to alter the world around you is all too often dependent on the ability to touch it.

  ‘I should like to touch the world.’

  46

  CHIONIS

  ANARCH POST ALPHA

  * * *

  EREN WATCHED IN FEIGNED NONCHALANCE as the rescued prisoners from the exobiology lab were shepherded off the military transports and toward the heated outdoor pavilion between two of the smaller buildings.

  The region of Chionis where Post Alpha called home was beautiful, but starkly so. Currently it was quite cold, with a dampness to the air that foretold snow. Some of the aliens rescued probably wouldn’t tolerate the cold well; some probably welcomed it.

  Meheva—he’d finally coaxed a name of sorts out of her, or at least a combination of tonal sounds that sufficed as a name—had bolted from his arms for the warmth of the pavilion instantly on their arrival. It was for the best, as his arms ached rather a lot after carrying her around for several
hours.

  He’d look in on her once things calmed down. He wanted to make certain a Curative unit checked her out to confirm she hadn’t suffered any internal injuries from the elasson’s kick or the resulting collision with the wall. He also needed to ensure the staff knew she was skittish and to treat her with extra gentleness.

  In the meantime, though, Xanne would manage to get the influx of refugees sorted out and order restored. It was the kind of challenge she thrived on, even the kind of challenge she was bred for.

  “Pulled off another unsanctioned mission with dramatic flair, I see.”

  The sound of the deep, gravitas-filled voice surprised Eren, but only for a second. He’d sent up a request for the Sator to visit Alpha, but he hadn’t held out much hope it would happen. To his knowledge and the anarch gossip mill, the man rarely left his mobile fortress.

  “I do have a reputation to maintain.” He quickly smiled to balance out the bravado. “Thank you for coming. I thought you might find some value in seeing the refugees arrive.”

  “And what value is that?” Nisi’s tone wasn’t antagonistic, and it came off as an innocent question. It wasn’t, but by Hades, Eren hadn’t gotten this far in life by being bashful.

  “Twenty-eight different species are represented down there. None of them are Accepted Species—none of them were given the option to ‘accept’ the Charonian terms the Directorate offers—yet here they are. Many of them are already the sole surviving members of their species, and the rest of them will soon become so unless we stop the Directorate. Permanently.”

  “I am aware.”

  “Sure you are. But I bet your mindset is still firmly rooted in the idea that we’re fighting for the rights of the Accepted Species. We are, of course, but this is so much bigger. If our fight is to mean what it should, we need to be fighting for these poor, wretched refugees, and for all those like them that we haven’t been able to save or will get a chance to save in the future.