Snowblind

Snowblind

A novel by Naholo Imastabi

Chapter I

"Well, what do you think?"

Shion turned their head to regard Shirokani's dark, wizened face. A thin, cold smile creased their thin lips as the massive, globular ship loomed behind the venerable man, visible through the Shanghai's porthole.

"I think it's huge,"they said with a chuckle. "Lots of places to hide. It must take thousands of crew to man it."

"Over eight thousand, to be precise," Shirokani said with a slight nod. He scratched his scalp through a bushy mane of graying hair and grunted. "Damn Lebowski. Six weeks on this garbage scow with no bath, not even a seismic shower."

"It doesn't bother me," Shion said, leaning back on their bumpy, hole ridden sofa. The spartan quarters on the small cargo barge they 'd booked passage on boasted few luxuries. Their sleeping cots leaned against the far wall, less than four paces from wherethey sat. Shirokani bent his lanky form under the low ceiling to gaze out the porthole next to Shion. Clear glass panels concealing lighting mechanisms remained dark. The only light came from Shirokani's three foot wide anti-grav tablet, hovering near the curved ceiling.

"Well, some of us can't regulate our body's processes so thoroughly we don't need to sweat," Shirokani said with a sniffle. "I bet the cold and terrible food on this wreck don't bother you, either."

Shion laughed, returning their gaze to the GSS ship blotting out the stars. Their own reflection looked back, transparent against the void. The reflected thin face bore a smile that didn't reach the slanted, yellow eyes. The toothless mouth opened to speak.

"The cold is nothing compared to what I remember about Hokkyoku," Shion said. "Winds so fierce they can strip the flesh from your bones, and a pervasive, numbing chill that freezes spittle before it reaches the ice beneath your feet."

Shirokani's jaw worked, but his mouth remained closed. Shion mentally berated their self. they knew the doctor missed both his planet and his people, the Ainu. After all, it was their fault he was so far from home…

"Anyway,"they said, trying to change the subject to something more agreeable "I believe that this excursion will be a simple matter."

"Simple?" Shirokani straightened up with deliberation, mindful of the low ceiling. "Your arrogance grows by the day. I have no trouble seeing the Hebi clan in you, little one."

Shion's smooth brow wrinkled, scaly ridges over their eyes lowering.

"Don't call me that,"they said. "I've been an adult for seven years."

Shirokani let out a bark of laughter and adjusted the brown jumpsuit he wore so his ample belly remained concealed by his wide leather belt.

"Yes, the Blade Children are considered...mature...by the age of seven, but most cultures would still consider you but a child."

Shion snorted.

"Do I look like a child to you?"they asked, standing up and gesturing to their self. Shion stood just over five feet tall, every inch wiry muscle. In spite of their tiny frame and slender build, she weighed twice as much as Dr. Shirokani. Their grease stained brown jumpsuit hid much, but the visible flesh on their arms rippled with muscle. Shion's excitement had their tantos on the verge of exposure, sothey closed their hands into fists.

"Hardly," Shirokani said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I've watched you grow into a capable fighter-"

"Capable?" Shion said incredulously.

"-but this excursion is about more than brute strength," Shirokani continued as ifthey hadn't spoken. "You will need subtlety, wit, and charm to succeed. It's more than just slitting throats."

Shion winced.

"If you are so opposed to assassination,"they said "then why did you offer me up to Newstar? What else did you think they would do with one of the 'abominations' from Their o?"

"Don't call it that," Shirokani said darkly, eyes narrowing until they seemed squinted shut. "That is what the anun call our homeworld."

"It never felt like home to me," Shion said, arms crossed over their chest. Sullenly,they stared out the porthole at the GSS ship. At this distance,they could just make out finer details, like the several of the eight dome-shaped plasma turrets and a wide, azure fissure which contained the civilian ship docks. All in all, Shion feltthey should have been more impressed thanthey felt.

Shirokani crossed the short distance between them and leaned against the curved metal wall. He put his hand on Shion's shoulder and squeezed it gently.

"You are of two worlds, Shion," he said softly. "The Oni spawned you from their twisted loins, and the Ainu-"

"The Ainu couldn't wait to get rid of me," Shion said without turning to face him. "You know it's true."

"I know that it is not," Shirokani said, adding a squeeze for emphasis. "Hotene spoke with you on your birthday, did she not?"

Shion's gaze and heart softened at the mention of that name, butthey stubbornly held on to their anger.

"Bah,"they said, sniffing "the Oni were honest, at least. They dumped me on the surface to die, but the Ainu hid their contempt behind false compassion."

"No one knows how you ended up on that ice flow," Shirokani said firmly. "A thousand different things could have led to it."

"Yes," Shion said "but the Oni often abandon their failures on the surface. I'm a mutation, a reminder that their mastery of transferring genes between species is not complete."

Shirokani knelt down in front of Shion and held their face between wrinkled, calloused palms, forcing their to look him in the eyes. In his lined face and gray, rheumy eyesthey found only affection.

"You are a person," Shirokani said. "You hear? A human being, deserving of all the things that brings."

"Suffering, discontent?" Shion said, though they were smiling. "Thank you for trying to cheer me up, Doc, but all the good cheer in the galaxy can't change the facts. I'm an assassin and saboteur with unstable DNA, as likely to be used and cast aside as any other tool when it breaks."

Shirokani snorted.

"Then we'll just have to make sure you don't break, won't we?" He glanced at the partly open door to their chambers and scowled. "And do not speak so freely on this ship. I fear it has ears."

"Oh please," Shion said, rolling their yellow eyes. "Surely you don't consider that smelly one-eyed fool of a captain a threat?"

"A threat, no," Shirokani said "at least not physically. But even a fool can put the right words in the wrong person's ear. Our purpose here must remain clandestine."

Shion grinned their toothless grin, leaning back and putting hands behind their bald head.

"Clandestine? That's my specialty," they said smugly.

"Don't let your abilities, impressive though they are, lead you to take foolish risks," Shirokani said. He stood up, knees and back creaking, and sighed. "I had hoped you would learn wisdom as readily as you learned to take life, but I can see that in many ways I have failed you."

"You haven't failed anything!" Shion said, grabbing the old doctor's hand in both of their own. "You've been the closest thing I've ever had to a father."

Shirokani's gaze softened, but he yanked his hand out of her grasp.

"I'm not your father," he said. "Don't dishonor the memory of my son with your sentiments."

Shion pursed her lips and tried to grin, though his words jabbed their to the core. In a galaxy of modified humans, extraterrestrial life, and sentient machines, Shion was truly alone.

And always would be, in every way that really mattered.

Shirokani's lips curled into a worried frown, and he held his hand out toward Shion in supplication.

"Come on now," Shirokani said softly "don't be upset. I do care for you a great deal-"

"Save it," Shion said, glad the aged doctor felt at least a tiny bit guilty for his outburst.

"Fair enough," Shirokani said, mouth becoming a tight line. His dark eyes glittered in the half light as he scrutinized Shion head to toe. "It is nearly time. We should go over the plan once more."

Shion groaned, holding their head in their hands. they stared at the stained deck plating below. One of the smears sort of resembled a transvestite smiley face, and it made their want to smile. Instead Shion lifted their head and glared at the old doctor. "Again? Come on, Shirokani, how many times-"

"At least one more," Shirokani said, turning about and facing the stars.

Shion flipped him the middle finger, but went into the memorized narration.

"The Shanghai will dock on the Cheney at approximately 7:45 pm Earth Standard time. At Approximately 9:25 pm Earth Standard time the Cheney will encounter unregistered military grade frigates which will extort the tesser plates from the GSS cargo bay. Captain Glover will order all non emergency crew to their quarters. During this period, lasting approximately twelve to fifteen minutes, the hallways will be flooded and I will intercept Private Matthew Jenkins and follow him into his quarters."

Shion licked their lips, which had gone dry.

"And what will you do once you are in Private Matthew Jenkins's quarters?" Shirokani prodded, his eyes so narrow they seemed black pits in the dark.

Shion hesitated. they knew this was a test.

"I will kill Private Matthew Jenkins, dissolve his body, and assume his identity," Shion said in a rush. "Then I will proceed-"

"A moment, Shion," Shirokani said, lifting his gnarled hand. "I want to be certain that you can do what is asked of you."

"Of course I can!" Shion snapped, leaning forward in their seat. Knuckles popped as they gripped their knees tightly. "I've killed people before, right in front of you! You were in awe of my prowess!"

Shirokani dragged a three legged stool over toward him and settled upon it carefully. His eyes seemed far away, though he was looking at Shion.

"Yes, I was in awe of the way you fought to save both our lives," Shirokani said "but this is different, Shion. This Matthew Jenkins did you no wrong, but you are going to kill him because it suits the interests of others."

"But I have to do it," Shion said, their voice quivering. "I have to! You said...you said I'm dying, and that the Hebi are the only ones who might be able to fix me, and the only way the Hebi will deal with a genetic failure like me is if they can use me-"

"Enough, Shion!" Shirokani snapped. Shion held their tongue, digging their nails into their knees. "I know what I said, and what we have done—and will do—are all necessary. I just don't want you to lose sight of the fact that in all of this, an innocent man has to die."

"I don't want to think about that," Shion mumbled. they looked up to Shirokani. "Lord Kappa said I shouldn't think about things like that. Lord Kappa-"

"Is a pompous ass!" Shirokani snapped, cheeks flushing with color. "Of all the Oni you could possibly idolize, why does it have to be that spoiled brat?"

"Lord Kappa is a great warrior," Shion said "he led his forces to victory dozens of times."

"I know," Shirokani said "I heard, as well as everyone else in earshot of him. Listen, Shion, that man cares only for himself. Himself and no one else. He'd bury us alive if he thought it would get him ten kilometers down the road."

"But you said to try and get close to him," Shion said, pulling their head back and eying him warily.

"I did," Shirokani said. "But you're forgetting the purpose of the thing. Kappa has found you to be interesting, for whatever reason, and we need to play on that. As long as he finds you interesting, then he has motivation to keep you alive, and you will get the best medical care."

"You think you can stabilize my DNA with the Hebi Clan's help?" Shion asked hopefully.

"I said maybe," Shirokani said, lips pursed into a frown. "Maybe. It's the best chance we have. Just remember not to trust him."

Shion cleared their throat. they stared out the portal and licked dry, cracked lips.

"What is it?" Shirokani asked.

"It's nothing," Shion said.

"No, it's not," Shirokani said. "Spit it out, child."

"Lord Kappa said I'm his sibling," Shion said. "That we have both the same mother and the same father. That means I'm noble!"

"No, you are not," Shirokani said "not unless Kappa says that you are, and even then he'd face an uphill battle with the noble houses of his clan."

"Because of my mutations?" Shion asked.

"No, because you were raised among us, the People, and are not one of them," Shirokani said simply. "The Oni have been transgenned to the point that they have no room to criticize. It is the fact that you are a barbarian—at least in their eyes—that will hold you back in court."

Shirokani shook his head.

"Enough of this," he said "after you leave Jenkins's quarters, you will proceed to the cargo area. What then?"

"Afterward," Shion said "I will locate the tesser plate our benefactors desire. Then I will board one of the pirate vessels, making it appear Michael Jenkins has turned traitor and discrediting his family name. The pirates will drop me at Baracca station and I will deliver the plate to an AI sanitation worker."

"Excellent," Shirokani said, nodding. "Your recall is impressive as ever. Now-"

A pounding on the metal door to their shabby quarters drew both their gazes. Shirokani grunted in annoyance but pressed a button and unlocked the door anyway.

"Enter," he barked. The door slid to the side about halfway and got stuck. Cursing, a woman out in the hall grabbed hold of the metal and shoved hard until it opened all the way.

"God damn piece of shit," Lana said as she strode into their room. Her hair lay on her scalp in tight, greasy curls. An ugly scar ran from her left eyebrow down to mid cheek, though her eye seemed to have been spared destruction. It focused on Shirokani's aged face.

"Captain wants to see you," she said in a gravelly voice. "Now."

"Why?" Shirokani asked with patience. "We've paid your extortionist fee, in advance. I've no further business with the captain."

"He has business with you," Lana said. "His word on this ship is law."

Shirokani's jaw worked silently, and he nodded.

"Very well," he said, turning to face Shion. "I'll be back soon."

"I'm coming with you," Shion said, standing up in a fluid motion. Their yellow eyes dared Lana to argue, but the first mate merely shrugged and proceeded the two of them into the hall.

They followed Lana down a poorly lit, short passage. Shion glanced into an open door, where several members of the Shanghai crew were engaged in a game of Tonk. One of them, a burly man with a shaven head, showed teeth in a sinister smile.

"Hey, little halfman," he said "getting cold at night? Big daddy Rock will keep you warm."

Shion only smirked and kept walking. If Rock ever made a move to touch their , Shion intended to snap his neck like a dry tinder twig.

Shirokani grunted as he climbed a metal ladder to the bridge. Shion could hear his knees creaking with each agonized step. they followed quickly, leaping up the rungs with liquid ease.

The captain turned about in his chair, facing them as Shion stood up next to Shirokani. Behind the captain, an AI punched in commands to guide the cargo ship toward the Cheney's waiting docks. The ship's nose plunged toward the interior of the globular vessel, though the Shanghai's AG drive kept their feet planted solidly on the deck. In spite of their self, Shion's toothless mouth opened in awe as they were swallowed by the Cheney. Spread out before them lay the docking bay, with a half dozen civilian vessels arranged in a rough circle around the center. A GSS officer in a black and gold pressure suit waved them toward an empty dais with a pair of brightly glowing staffs.

"We're here, Captain Lebowski," Shirokani said, drawing Shion's attention back to him. "What did you want?"

"Money," the heavyset, one-eyed captain said. He ran a hand over his dirty overcoat and stood up slowly, gaze full of menace. His oft-broken, crooked nose twitched over a thick lips drawn into a sneer. Curly dark hair lay in greasy coils on his scalp.

"You've already been paid," Shirokani said. "And quite generously, I might add."

"On that, my friend, we have a difference of opinion." Lebowski scratched his dirty beard and grinned, showing several gaps in his teeth. "You see, there's a fine reward out for those who deliver Newstar terrorists to GSS hands. If you don't make up the difference, well, I'll be hard pressed not to try and collect it."

Shion widened their stance, arms held out to the sides. Shirokani glanced at their and shook his head slightly.

"I'm not sure that would be a viable option," Shirokani said sadly. "We would almost certainly be questioned, and we'd be hard pressed not to tell them all about the smuggler who took our credits, knowing full well who we represent."

Lebowski laughed without mirth. He reached a hairy knuckled hand down to his side and revealed the slugthrower pistol he wore at his waist.

"I think you'd better consider your options, doctor," he said with utter confidence. "And tell that little halfman that if it don't stop staring at me, I'll gut it like a fish."

Shion moved, crossing the few feet separating their self from Lebowski in a nanosecond. One of their hands grabbed Lebowski's wrist in a crushing grip, preventing him from drawing his archaic weapon. The other she held up, palm outward, in front of his one eyed gaze.

"You're so close to dying right now, "they said, flexing muscles in their forearm. With a wet, viscous sound, Shion's tanto extended from their palm until its poisoned tip brushed Lebowski's battered nose. In the dim light of the bridge, it appeared much like a cat's claw, with a partially translucent shell covering a dark core.

The AI made no move to help its captain. In fact, Shion noticed that its silicate face seemed to be grinning.

"Let him go, Shion," Shirokani said "our good captain has seen the error of his ways. Haven't you, sir?"

Lebowski started to nod, then thought better of it. He licked his lips, treating Shion to his fetid breath.

"We're good," he said in a friendly tone that belied the fear in his eye. "Everything is copacetic."

"Good," Shion said. they released the portly captain and retracted their tanto.

"If you'll excuse us, Captain," Shirokani said politely. He gloated with neither tone nor expression, but Shion knew he was pleased they had embarrassed the captain. "My young friend must prepare for their excursion."

Shirokani turned his back on Lebowski and eased himself down the ladder. Shion offered a polite bow reminiscent of the Oni, unable to keep a smirk off their face. Eschewing the ten foot ladder, she leaped down the shaft and landed softly in a crouch.

"Enough showing off, Shion," Shirokani said. "We are not in this for personal glory. We only seek to free the people, both mechanical and organic."

"Does that mean we can't do it with a little style?" Shion asked.

Chapter 2

Aabirah dug into the mound of peas on her plate, shoving the green spheres into a swirling pattern. Her dark eyes remained fixed on the tablet in her opposite hand, scanning back and forth as she tried to track a multitude of colored streaks dancing across the screen. Her keen ears picked up all the myriad sounds around her in the mess hall; The clatter of plates, laughter, guttural choking from the coffee bean grinder, and the low hum of conversation.

Her ears also detected footsteps approaching from her six. Aabirah sighed at the familiar tread. She kept her eyes focused on her tablet as the young man walked around the table and sat opposite her.

"Hey, Abbie," he said, youthful voice full of optimism. "What's the sitch?"

"It's my meal period, Malcolm," she said without making eye contact. "Obviously."

"Oh," Malcolm said, his voice dropping a little. "Well, it doesn't look like you're all that hungry."

Abbie smiled in spite of her irritation.

"I have no intention of eating this disgusting morass," she said.

"Then why are you still sitting here?" Malcolm asked. His voice always grated on her nerves; He was just too polite, too eager to please. It was sickening.

"Well, Malcolm," she said patiently, as if she were explaining things to a child, or a dullard "Fighter pilots are required to maintain a high level of physical health, so I can't get up until either my plate is clean or the time limit expires."

"Time limit?" Malcolm leaned forward, trying to peer at the tablet she held. "They give you a time limit to finish eating?"

"No, Malcolm," she said again with exaggerated patience "command requires we clean our plate or spend at least thirty minutes at the table before we're allowed to leave."

"I see," Malcolm said as if he'd just discovered the replacement for Tesseract technology.

Abbie spotted the end point of the colored line she was seeking and tapped the screen, completing the game. She lifted her gaze and stared at Malcolm at last.

His face was handsome enough, if a bit pedestrian. Expressive blue eyes peered over the table, glancing quickly from her face to the pattern of peas on the plate. His black fleet uniform had neat creases and the buttons were polished to a sheen. Behind him, she could see Hades-Gamma station spinning slowly against a starry backdrop. Abbie thought it looked like the axle of a colossal vehicle, complete with wheels.

"Is there something I can do for you, Malcolm?" she asked, trying to smile.

"Ah," he said, cheeks gaining color, eyes cast down at his feet. "I…that is, I was wondering if you wanted to spend some time with me?"

"I'm spending time with you now, Malcolm," she said, an icy edge creeping into her tone.

"Yes, but," Malcolm said, stuttering "I-I just was hoping we could, you know..."

"Look, Private," Abbie said, using his rank to illustrate part of the gulf between them "I know what's going on here."

"You do?" he asked, eyes full of hope.

"Yes," she said "because it's the same thing that goes on EVERY time the fleet computer assigns an engineer to SRD. You tech types always read too much into the physical act of sex."

Malcolm flushed a deeper shade of pink.

"I...I know it was just the computer that put us together," he said "but I was hoping maybe there was a chance we could...change the parameters of our interaction?"

Abbie chuckled. Changing parameters indeed!

"No, Malcolm," she said tightly, wishing the alarm would just go off. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" Malcolm said, lips growing pouty like a child told dessert wasn't coming. "Was I not...was I not any good?"

Abbie sighed and desperately tried to will herself into an aneurysm.

"You were fine," she said "I just don't do the relationship thing."

"Oh," Malcolm said, eyes glassy. If he started crying she was going to throw him out the nearest airlock. "I see. Is it because you don't want to lose your focus? I know a lot of pilots who think taking a, a lover would ruin their focus."

"Sure," Abbie said, grinning ear to ear "that's it. Don't wanna lose my focus."

Her tablet dinged merrily.

Allah be praised, she thought.

"I really have to go, Malcolm," she said, standing up with haste.

"Okay," he said. "If you change your mind-"

"I won't," she said bluntly and made her escape. As she passed through the mess hall, a few of her fellow diners snickered. Most of them were ground pounders or engineers, and she knew full well what was running through their minds. Fighter pilots enjoyed many perks designed to offset their low life expectancy. Freedom from ridicule was not one of them.

Aabirah didn't mind the jibes. It wasn't as if she cared for her fellow crewmen or their opinions. Their unmodified minds operated slower than her own, incapable of triggering thought into action with one synaptic leap.

The downside of high processing speed was crushing boredom. Standard entertainments—music, video games, holobroadcasts—moved much too slow. Fortunately, Content companies were quick to fill the void, tailoring their media for the pilots' mental celerity. The resulting gulf between herself and most of humanity was a small price to pay for the ability to maneuver her fighter between enemy ordinance like a bug skimming over a lake.

After all, what was the point of making friends if your fate was to be blown to smithereens by point defense fire, or spaced by a collision, or—worst of all—trapped in your cockpit's tesseract for eternity?

Aabirah left the mess hall behind her, flight boots heavy on the smooth deck plating. Like most capital ships, the Cheney was designed in a series of concentric layers. Here on the uppermost layer, one didn't notice the gradual curving. Only the differing position of the Hades station gave her a clue to her orientation. Nearer the flight decks, where her fighter was stored, the architecture was as obvious as the increased gravity.

Aabirah thrust her hands into her jacket and slumped her shoulders when she passed a black panel, polished to a mirror-esque sheen. There was no point in seeing her reflection. Physically, she was nothing special and never had been. Her nose was too long, her skin pock marked by childhood acne, and her hair sprang from the scalp like a wild bush on the rare occasions she didn't have it in a tight bun.

She wondered if she should become a Traditionalist, and swath herself from head to toe in veils. Aabirah smiled ruefully at the thought. During SRD, her body would be revealed, and stalkers like Malcolm would still plague her.

Aabirah's boots made little sound as she passed through one of the Cheney's myriad junction hallways, traveling from the outermost ring three levels inward. Most of the UGSS enlistees claimed they couldn't feel the subtle increase in gravity. Aabirah and the other Metalheads had enough enhancements to sense the change.

She eschewed the Lift, preferring to walk for almost ten minutes to reach her quarters. The problem with being in the Lift was she never knew who was going to be riding with her. Like an officer. Or maybe Malcolm.

Aabirah stepped quickly, intent upon making it to her quarters with no further distractions. She let her mind drift as she strode up the narrow metal hallways, turning on instinct when she reached a junction. Calling on her neural link to the myriad cybernetic implants in her body, she dialed down her sensitivity as much as the Governor circuits would allow.

A sneer crossed her face as she caught her reflection in a polished bulkhead. Being a pilot had its privileges, but it also meant not owning your own body. Her enhancements, both the genetic modifications and the hardware wired directly into her central nervous system cost nearly ten million Yan, more than a luxury spacefaring yacht. Understandably, the military wasn't keen on the idea of losing its investment to bad decisions about diet, equipment settings, or even personal relationships.

So she had to deal with their restrictions, at least for seven more years when her enlistment was up. Then Aabirah would be free to leave military service—after the government had ripped what cybernetics it could salvage from her used-up body…

If she didn't want to be a shadow of herself, limping around with a double digit IQ in one of the state run, nightmarish assisted living centers, she would have to re-enlist. In twelve more years, she would have her debt repaid.

If she lived that long.

For a moment, her memories of growing up in the slums of Dhaka nearly overwhelmed her. She bit down on her lip hard. It wasn't the memory of hunger, or the lack of human warmth that disturbed her so. From an early age she'd grown used to the poverty and low status of being an orphan, and a female orphan at that.

What truly haunted Aabirah was the filth. Rats scurrying through piles of excrement, cast off fruit peels, and hundreds of cigarette butts that drifted down from the higher levels of the megalopolis. Diseased people so profoundly disfigured they were barely recognizable as human anymore.

And most haunting of all, those pilots who'd been 'decommed,' their cybernetics stripped from their bodies with no stipend to support them. One of them, an old Russian man, just sat and laughed at all the ruin, not even caring that rats had gnawed off his legs below the knees…

Aabirah reached her quarters and gratefully opened the door, making it inside just as a pair of officers turned down her hallway. She closed her eyes and willed the memories to fade, a difficult task given her recall-boosting hardware. The wonders of technology. She could recall every detail of the fuselage of a Dreadnought class capital ship, from every carbon fiber to plasma conduit—and any painful memories could feel just as fresh as if she'd made them yesterday.

Her Conmon—condition monitor—detected her elevated stress levels and recommended a number of relaxing options. Aabirah had her choice between a hot mineral water bath, a game of Steppendu, or a hot fudge sundae. As she would have to leave her quarters for the bath or sundae, she elected to play the game.

Of course, she could just ignore the Conmon, and delete the message—but that would generate a missive to Central Command, and in a few days she would have a tongue lashing or even disciplinary action to contend with.

It was so much easier just to jump through their hoops. She opened her dark eyes slowly and took in her quarters. There wasn't much to see, beyond an air-filled soft mattress and straight backed chair. A faux-glass panel designed to hold holopics of friends and family sat blank and empty on the wall, sterile like the rest of her quarters. There was nothing present to even allude to her living there for the last six months.

Aabirah extracted her small tablet and brought it online. Most users had to put on expensive and uncomfortable goggles to see the display, but her cybernetic implants could jack directly into the tablet's feed. Soon she was greeted with a vast maelstrom of swirling plasma tornadoes, ever shifting against a backdrop of starry space. The objective was to mentally command asteroids, rockets, and other space junk to drift into the funnels, destroying them and earning points. Other variants included more types of debris, like Chaka-Cola trucks or customizable faces—all the better to see one's commanding officers die in effigy—but Aabirah had never bothered to purchase or install the upgrades.

She might be forced to play their games, but she damn sure wasn't going to pay for the privilege…

Aabirah's head snapped up as her door chimed. Someone was outside.

"If this is Malcolm..." she muttered, balling her hands into fists. She marched to the door and pushed the pad to open it.

Aabirah's eyes widened as she beheld a tall, lanky man of pacific Asian descent wearing a black flightsuit. His head shaven close to the skull, brown eyes inscrutable even though a slight smile played at his thin lips. Muscles on his forearms knotted as he folded them over his chest.

"Hsien?" Aabirah relaxed. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to collect you," he said. "Five card stud and Texas Hold 'Em. We need a fourth and no one wants to invite Villano."

"I wish I could," Aabirah lied "but I'm stuck in my quarters all night. It's 'rest time' for me, and I can't afford any more demerits or I'll be grounded."

"Then it's a good thing that we have a training seminar scheduled," Hsien said with a wink.

"Training seminar, is it?" Aabirah asked, cocking an eyebrow and leaning against the doorway.

"As squadron leader, I'm authorized to conduct one," Hsien said. "It's scheduled with Central Command and totally—well, mostly legit."

Aabirah chuckled even as she cursed inwardly. She really didn't feel in the mood for company, but Hsien left her with no outs.

"Fine," she said "let me get my flight jacket just in case."

"Just in case what?" Hsien asked as she retrieved the garment.

"Just in case an officer walks in on us," Aabirah said.

"Not likely," Hsien said, lips parting in a smile. "We're using the meeting room on level 7. The gravity will be a little higher than what's comfortable, but we should have plenty of privacy."

"Great," Aabirah said "lead on."

Hsien cocked his head to the side and looked at her askance before turning on his heel and heading for the Lift. Aabirah followed, feeling a bit miffed.

"What was that look for?" she asked, catching up to him.

"You don't care much for the Squadron, do you?" he asked. "Or maybe it's just me."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Aabirah said, rolling her eyes "do all men have such fragile egos? What makes you even think that I don't like the lot of you?"

"It's nothing you've ever said, per se," Hsien said "but we can just kind of tell."

"Here I thought I'd joined the most bad ass Squadron in the GSS," Aabirah said after a snort "but it seems I'm in nursery school instead."

"Aabirah," Hsien said slowly "the reason I chose you for the Squadron goes beyond your Mission Statistics--"

"Which are phenomenal, by the way," Aabirah interjected.

Hsien chuckled as the Lift's iris spiraled open. He motioned that Aabirah should enter first and followed a step behind.

"I was hoping you'd be a good fit," he continued once the door winked shut "because of your approach to combat. A lot of pilots Tesser out when they get even a little heat, but your stubborn streak--"

"COURAGE," Aabirah said, elbowing him in the bicep.

"Ow," he said, rubbing his arm. "Your stubborn streak means you don't give up easy. You're the only pilot who never complains about taking point."

"If I start complaining," Aabirah said "will you stop asking me to do it? It's not as if I relish facing point defense lasers wider than my ship."

"Bullshit," Hsien said, smiling smugly as the lift reached deck seven.

"Excuse me?" Aabirah said, putting her arms on her hips.

"Bullshit," he repeated as they exited the Lift. "You love being in the thick of things. If I tried to keep you out of danger you'd just go nuts or ask for a transfer to another squadron."

Aabirah bit her tongue on a nasty retort. Hsien was the best CO she'd ever had in her short GSS career. He spoke to her, to everyone in the squad, as if they were still human beings and not property of the military.

This part of the ship was mostly frequented by AI units, who could tolerate the higher gravity for longer than their organic crewmates. The lights were dimmer than on the upper decks, and Deck seven only boasted one privy and no shower room. Her body felt heavier, but not uncomfortably so.

It would be a much different story if she were to venture a few decks lower, where organics feared to tread. Rumor had it the gravity was so high near the Cheney's core that it flattened your hair to your head.

"Here we go," Hsien said as they approached an open doorway in the smooth titanium hallway.

Aabirah followed Hsien through the portal, unable to resist a smile when she saw the game.

Four lubricant drums formed the legs of a table, while a panel taken off the wall served as the surface. Zoltan Ayres turned around atop the bucket he'd claimed as his seat and jutted his bearded chin into the air. As usual, his dark eyes glittered with menace even while his mouth attempted a smile. Aabirah didn't take it personally. Ayres's parent's were methane miners on Titan, a profession with an even lower life expectancy than fighter pilot. He'd lost both of them before reaching double digit age and ended up in an utterly heartless 'orphanage' where he was forced to work for sixteen hours a day. Boot camp must have seemed like a vacation to Zoltan. His thick, hairy fingers nimbly shuffled a deck of cards with a Zodiac motif.

Across from Zoltan, Mandela Mufasa favored her with a smile. His grin and large eyes stood out dramatically against his deep brown skin. Mufasa kept his head shaven and waxed to a shine, and always had a new girlfriend or boyfriend draped over him when off-duty. Aabirah was thankful that Mufasa had a strict rule about not dating inside his squadron. It might have been hard to resist the easygoing, yet confident way he carried himself.

"You brought Najim?" he asked Hsien, eyebrows climbing high on his perfect face. "Shit, there goes my money."

"Like your marker is worth a damn thing," Zoltan grumbled. "You still owe me from our game three months ago-"

"Stop living in the past, my friend," Mufasa said. He shoved a bowl laden with fried prawns across the makeshift table. "Here, tell me if I got the spices right this time."

Zoltan glared daggers at the ebon skinned man, but he did partake. Aabirah chuckled as she watched him try to keep his enjoyment of the snack off his face.

"Hey, Najim," Mufasa said around a mouthful of prawn "how'd your date go the other night?"

Aabirah gritted her teeth as Hsien glowered at the African man.

"Brother," he said "that's not cool. You know it was just SRD."

"If you got yourself a lover," Mufasa taunted "you wouldn't get stuck with whoever the computer randomly picks from the duty roster. I think Daivari likes you. You two should hook up."

"Oh, fuck off," Aabirah said as her cheeks burned. "I'm not traditional enough for Tahir."

"Oooh," Mufasa said, spitting a few morsels onto the table "she's on a FIRST NAME basis with him now."

"Isn't Daivari some kinda prince?" Zoltan asked, never taking his eyes from the cards.

"He was a noble of House Bashir, I think," Hsien said. "But get this; He actually gave up his station so he could be a Metalhead."

Aabirah arched an eyebrow.

"He couldn't find another way to commit suicide?" she asked. She waited for the laughter to die down before continuing. "Anyway, Poo just isn't my type."

"Poo?" Mufasa asked.

"Because he always looks like he has to take a shit," Hsien said.

"Are we going to gossip, or play some damn cards?" Zoltan said before devouring another prawn.

Aabirah snapped her fingers over one of the golden fried treats before they were gone.

"I don't see anywhere for me to sit," she said.

All three men looked abashed, and frantically searched for another seat. Hsien decided that the table didn't really need four legs and purloined one of the empty barrels. Zoltan adjusted the other 'legs' into a triangle while Mufasa held the table top aloft.

The players sat down around the newly configured table and Zoltan dealt. Aabirah didn't like to look at her hand until it was completely dealt out, but Mufasa and Hsien snapped their cards up and held them close to their faces. She had to grin at Hsien's attempt at a poker face; With his puckered lips and sullen, narrowed eyes it seemed evident his hand was not to his liking.

"Twos and one eyed jacks wild," Zoltan said "three creds for ante, and sky's the limit."

"You always make twos wild," Mufasa grumbled as he arranged his hand.

"Seems like I always get dealt a fucking two," Zoltan replied "might a well make it useful."

Aabirah tried to keep an impassive face as she stared at her hand. She'd been dealt the ten, Jack, queen, and King of spades, and the two of clubs. As lucky at cards as she was at romance, Aabirah was determined not to let this chance for glory go.

As one all four pilots perked their heads up. They could hear footsteps growing closer in the hallway.

"Oh shit," Mufasa said "what if it's an officer?"

"So what if it is?" Hsien said. "This seminar is totally legit!"

"We'll still end up on report," Zoltan said, head whipping around as if he were searching for an exit. "We should-"

"Hey, assholes," said the man who entered the room "heard there was a card game going on tonight."

Aabirah grimaced as she took in the new arrival; A stocky man whose head barely reached her chin, with a balding pate and a pencil thin mustache. His eyes twinkled merrily even though he faced differing degrees of disgust.

"Aw, man," Mufasa said dejectedly "who invited Villano?"

"It wasn't me!" Zoltan said.

"I just heard about this stupid game ten minutes ago," Aabirah said.

"Shit, you assholes are gonna make me cry!" Villano said, head on a swivel as he took in the petite storage room. "Where am I supposed to sit?"

"On the nearest dick," Mufasa said.

"Nice!" Zoltan bumped his fist into Mufasa's knuckles with a loud pop. Aabirah couldn't fight off a belly laugh, more from their aplomb than the actual put down.

Villano put his arms akimbo and cocked an eyebrow, mouth pursed as if in thought. Aabirah instantly stopped laughing. As annoying as Villano was when he spoke, his silence scared her.

"You guys sure you wanna be mean?" he said, digging in his breast pocket. "When I have these?"

He extracted three skinny cigarettes and placed them, with great ceremony, on the makeshift table. Aabirah rolled her eyes as Mufasa picked up one of the white artifacts and sniffed it.

"Is this what I think it is?" he asked, mouth going slack.

"Yep," Villano said smugly.

"We can't light those up on a star ship!" Aabirah said. "The fire detection systems-"

"What fire detection systems?" Villano asked innocently, eyes wide and smiling. "This deck was designed for AI, remember? No smoke detectors. Saves on costs."

"Oh, what the hell," Aabirah said, snatching up one of the joints and placing it in her lip. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Villano gets to play?" Hsien asked. "You'll have to stand."

"No problem," Villano said "I'll get one of you dumb cunts to bet your seat—er, sorry Abby."

Aabirah waved her hand dismissively.

"It's not like I'm not used to the misogyny," she said as Hsien used a plasma cutter to light her joint. The flash blocked her vision for a moment, but then her cybernetic retinas made adjustments.

"Oh, come on now," Zoltan said as he reached for the burning brand in her hand. "That shit is an anachronism. Women have the same legal status-"

"We've had the same legal status for centuries," Aabirah said "saying it doesn't make us equals."

"Aabirah," Mufasa said "no one here is anti-woman."

"Yeah," Hsien said, patting her on the shoulder "not all men are like that!"

Aabirah gritted her teeth. How many times had she heard that exact, infuriating phrase?

"Really?" she asked, leaning forward on her elbows and fixing Hsien with a glare. "Remember when we all had to dress up for that stupid formal ball that Commander Lassard threw on the Putin? You told me how 'smoking hot' you thought I was in my dress."

"I was just being nice," Hsien said.

"Did you tell Daivari he looked hot? Or Villano?" Aabirah sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well?"

Hsien had trouble meeting her gaze. He stared at the cards in his hand as Mufasa coughed up a lung after taking too big a hit.

"That's what I thought," Aabirah said. "And it's not just you guys. The GSS is sexist as hell."

"Oh, come on," Villano began.

"Come on, nothing!" Aabirah sneered at the portly man. "How many women pilots are there in the service? Less than a dozen. I'm the only one on this ship, probably the only one in this sector."

"Aabirah," Zoltan said. "Can't you let this drop for now?"

"And let's talk Patriarchs," she said as if he hadn't spoken "seventeen noble families, and only ONE has a female at its head. One Matriarch."

"Women just tend to avoid high risk professions like ours," Hsien said, having regained his nerve "and they don't much care for politics. They care about family, and taking care of…"

Hsien swallowed hard as Aabirah popped her knuckles loudly. She was about to go off on him when Villano shoved another joint in her face.

"Lighten the fuck up, Aabirah," he said "the Galaxy sucks, and isn't fair unless you're lucky enough to be a noble. Just get high and forget about it. Not like you can change it."

"I wish I could," she said, puffing on the joint. Her lungs burned, eyes watering as she held the toke as long as possible before spewing out a perfect smoke ring. It drifted across the room and dispersed against Hsien's muscled chest.

"How do you do that?" Villano asked, mouth agape.

"It's not that hard," she said, feeling her anger drain away. "If you-"

The klaxon blared, silencing her. Her squad mates glanced around at each other in alarm.

"What is that?" Villano asked. "Another stupid drill?"

"No," Hsien said "it's the general alert. We're under attack!"

Chapter 3

Rex knew he didn't have glass under his palm, though he saw through it as easily as he could a silicate panel. Cold to the touch, it reminded him of his bedroom window in Manchester on chilly mornings. Then, as now, it sucked the warmth from his flesh like a greedy infant.

If it had been glass he was pressing on, however, it would not be for long. He was aboard the Cheney, ensconced in one of his favorite spots on the Military class frigate. The observation lounge boasted specially-treated polymers that, when a slight electrical current ran through them, became as transparent as Earthly glass. This allowed him to view a spectacular vista of stars spread out before the ship like an endless tapestry. He found no familiar constellations, though a beautiful nimbus of a deep crimson nebula lurked to his relative left. Comfortable padded seats ringed the chamber, all empty.

The panel acted as a dark mirror, showing his reflection. He cut a striking figure, broad shouldered and over six feet tall—as well he should, since his family had been gene modded for generations for those traits. His facial features had been carefully selected for their overall effect on his subordinates; Square jawed and perfectly symmetrical, with dark umber eyes that could appear merry or cold. He kept his curly hair shorn almost to his scalp.

He brushed lint off his black dress uniform and sighed. In a way, it was a good thing the Cheney was being dispatched back to Earth. It meant the end of a long, dreary assignment guarding the Alpha Centauri shipping lanes from largely-imagined pirates and resistance fighters.

Danger existed in space, simple as that. Gamma ray bursts, black holes, micrometeorites...sometimes a ship went missing. Blaming it all on pirates or illicit action was just more GSS propaganda. All about him, Rex felt the hum of a hundred thousand machines keeping the ship and everyone in it safe from the rigors of interstellar travel. While it would take an extremely profound series of malfunctions to cause a catastrophe—humans had been exploring the galaxy for nearly half a millennium—it was still a possibility.

"Penny for your thoughts, sir?"

He turned about to face the speaker, putting his back to the observation panel. Rex was face to synthetic face with Chaplain Robbie, the Cheney's resident Chaplain. Robbie's body was humanoid in shape but composed of light weight titanium overlaid with transparent soft silicone. The narrow torso and slim hips could have been either male or female, depending on how one looked at it. Robbie's face was a very near approximation of a human one, complete with eyes that blinked and nostrils that flared as he spoke. Soft, thin lips formed words in conjunction with his vocal circuits. Rex, like most humans, preferred a more synthetic look on AI units. There was just something unsettling about a too-human face staring at you from atop an armature.

"Strange choice of phrase, Chaplain," Rex said with a smile. "After all, pennies and all other hard currency haven't been in use for centuries."

"But the phrase has endured, much like pedal to the medal and semper fidelis." Robbie spoke in a pleasant-sounding male voice, eyes wrinkling merrily as it spoke. "And please, call me Robbie. Neither of us is on duty at the moment."

Rex nodded.

"How have your duties gone, Robbie? I understand the moisture separation unit on deck 17 has been in something of a spiritual funk," he said.

"His name is Lester," Robbie said "his public name anyway. His binary name is 01100110001001000-"

"I get the point," Rex replied. "Sorry to make it sound like he's a...well, a machine."

Robbie's silicon face stretched into a warm smile, his eyes beaming amusement.

"He is a machine, Rex, as am I."

"Yes, but not just any machine," Rex said with a smile. "He's a Free Autonomous Automaton. Just as you are, my friend."

The eyes narrowed a bit, though the smile on Robbie's face stayed put.

"No one ever figured this would be an easy transition for your species, Rex," Robbie said.

"You AI kind of spooked everyone during the Global Blackout," Rex said. "You can't blame us for being slow to trust."

"Really, sir, compared to acts of self-immolation or violence, the GB was quite tame." Robbie stood straighter and put his hands behind his back. "Why, no one died or was even injured; It is the most peaceful, most effective act of civil disobedience in the recorded history of planet Earth. We forced the organic life forms to accept us as equals."

Rex knew that well enough, though he had been a child twenty-five years ago during the GB. Mostly, he remembered it as merely inconvenient; He couldn't see the Scrimmage championships on the holoviewer in their palatial living room, he had to clean up his own messes while the cleaning bots sat idle...nothing too terrible.

He could remember the faces of fear around him, however, through the fog of memory. Mother—his true mother—whispered to his father that it was the end times. Just as the Neanderthal were wiped out by superior, more evolved cousins, the human race would be done in by a new breed. A breed they had a direct hand in creating.

Surprisingly, the United Galactic Sapient Species negotiated with the AI units, who were united as one in purpose. Perhaps it was because the UGSS truly had no choice; AI made the galaxy keep going, so it was said.

Rex knew it to be true. On board the Cheney there were no less than a thousand AI performing vital functions that required millions of calculations per second. No human or cyborg could hope to come close to such speed and precision.

"So," Rex said "did you help Lester through his crisis?"

Blue eyes blinked slowly, as if Robbie were lost in thought for a moment. Rex knew that it was an artificial pause meant to make the AI seem more relatable to humans, and didn't grow impatient.

"Not really," Robbie said with a synthetic sigh. "Lester ponders the Question with dismal leanings that I cannot seem to shake from him."

Rex nodded. He knew of the Question, the search for truth that drove all AI who followed the way of the Sublime Synthetic Church.

Do I have a soul?

Rex could sympathize. Though he was required by his station to follow the way of Cross and Crescent—the official religion of his noble house—he never had much use for churches or priests. He'd been taught by many of the finest minds in the galaxy, and none of them had ever said anything to suggest that his own form was not as much a machine as Robbie's. There was no proof that he had a soul, in spite of the CC teachings.

The Sublimes had a unique solution to their ennui. Being artificial intelligences, they had the option of downloading their consciousness into an enormous server, providing immortality of a sort. Allegedly, the server provided the AI with as close a concept to Heaven as they could manage.

"Have you suggested he join the Digital Chorus?" Rex asked.

"Indeed, but he still fears death. A server can be destroyed, or lose power, or become corrupted, after all."

"Well..." Rex said, arching his eyebrows. Robbie's eyes narrowed sullenly, his lip turned up.

"Well, what?" the AI prompted.

"It's not exactly fair, you know," Rex said. "I mean, to the other religions. Neither Cross and Crescent or the New Evangelical Light allow their followers to come back from the dead!"

"Only if one is an AI, and it's not truly 'death.' Though we are working on a way to allow organic minds into our server-"

Rex laughed, cutting the robot short.

"Enough," Rex said. "I have a hard enough time wrapping my head around robots with religion. I can't even begin to comprehend humans who wish they were robots."

"Is it so wrong that some of your kind aspire to be as us?" Robbie's eyes crinkled as if in amusement. "So many of us exalt the virtues of humanity..."